Someone To Believe In (20 page)

She drew in a breath, sucked into a sensual
whirlpool of his making. “I remember.” She wanted to say, “The sex
was great,” but she couldn’t, just yet, minimize what had
happened. So she told the truth. “Clay, too much happened
yesterday.”

“Which time?” Now his tone was teasing. “On
the bed? In the bath? In front of the mirror?”

“Oh, God.”

“I’m miserable being here without you.”

She didn’t respond.

“Don’t you miss me just a little bit?”

Damn, damn, damn. “Maybe a little.”

He let out a long breath.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“I was just talking to my mother. She brought
your name up.”

“Not in a good way, right?”

“They blame you, Clay. Even if there wasn’t
anything else between us, which there is, my going to prison will
always be your fault to my parents.”

He waited a few heartbeats, then asked, “What
happened to you in prison, Bailey?”

“I...I never talk about it.”

“Will you tell me, someday?”

“I...shit, Clay...” Why did he make her feel
like she could tell him things she’d never told a living soul?

The door to the back room swung open. “Hey,
Sis.” Aidan stood there. “You got a visitor.”

“Just a second,” she said into the phone and
put it on mute. She was shaken by what Clay made her feel, even
over the phone. “Who?”

“Councilman Lawson’s out here looking for
you.”

“Okay.”

“Ma’s coming back to be with Rory.”

“Fine.” After Aidan left, she clicked into
the phone. “I gotta go.”

“I heard Aidan say someone’s there to see
you. Who is it?”

“Clay...”

“It’s Lawson, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you make plans to see him tonight?”

“No! He came here on his own.”

“Tell him to go home.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Fuck it, Bailey. Didn’t yesterday morning
mean anything to you?”

“Of course it did.”

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you. Not
even a kiss.”

“Hello, dear, I’m back.” Her mother stood in
the doorway, a quizzical look on her face.

Into the phone she said, “I’ve got to go. My
mother’s here.”

“Promise me!”

“All right, I promise.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Good-bye.”

Her mother came closer. “Sweetheart, what’s
wrong, you look like you’re going to cry.”

Bailey stuffed her cell into her pocket and
raised shaky palms to her cheeks. “Do I?”

“Who was that on the phone?”

“Nobody you need to concern yourself with.”
Rising, she kissed her mother and headed out to the pub fast.
Because Mary Kate O’Neil was right. Her daughter was perilously
close to tears.

ELEVEN

ON THE STOOP of Bailey’s building, grasping a
bakery bag in one hand, Clay rang the buzzer. Shifting from one
foot to the other, he chided himself for being here. But something
had happened on the phone last night and he was damned if he wasn’t
going to find out what it meant.

It had cost him to come here...

His parents’
disapproval...
What do you mean you can’t
make brunch?

Jane’s
disappointment...
Clay, darling, I thought
we’d spend the day together
.

Only Jon hadn’t pressured him. His son had
given him a knowing smile, said he was off to Bard anyway so he
didn’t care what Clay did today. He wondered if Jon was thinking
about the woman they spoke of Friday, though Jon didn’t know she
was Bailey.

As he waited—and rang again—Clay glanced
around her street. Late August was hot in the city, but trees were
still green. Soon summer recess would be over and he’d be back in
D.C. Not around to visit her like this. He punched the buzzer
again. Where the hell was she? Church maybe? He would have called
but he was afraid she’d tell him to stay away.

Finally, she answered the buzzer.
“Hello?”

“It’s Clay.”

A pause, and then she buzzed open the front
door. He bounded up the stairs to her apartment, and the door
opened as he reached it. Clay just stared at her. She’d obviously
been in the shower. Wearing a short pink terry robe and a
turban-like towel around her head, she looked young and fresh and
very desirable. Her face wreathed with a genuine smile, before she
quelled it. “Clay, what are you doing here?”

He held up a bag. “I brought you
breakfast.”

“It’s only nine. “

“I know. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Are you kidding? Rory got me up two hours
ago.”

Reaching out, he traced a smudge under her
eye. “You must be exhausted. What time did you get in?”

“Two. But it took me a while to wind down.
Coffee helped this morning,” she said when he gave her a doubtful
look.

“Got any more? There are croissants and
donuts in here.”

She glanced behind her. “Rory’s here.”

“I know, silly. You just said he got you
up.”

“He’ll—”

“See me.” He tucked together the lapels of
her robe and got a whiff of lotion. “I know, honey. It’s okay.”

“He’s a blabbermouth.”

“We’ll talk to him about that. Aidan told me
the day at the bookstore that he and Rory play a game of keeping
secrets. We can work something out with the boy.” He gave her his
best ingratiating look. “Truthfully, I was looking forward to
seeing him again, too. Let me come in.”

She hesitated. Leaning over he took her
mouth. It was a possessive, consuming kiss. “Bailey, please,” he
whispered against her lips.

Cuddling into him for a too-brief moment, she
whispered, “All right.”

She stepped back and opened the door for him
to enter. He crossed the entry hall into the living room and found
her little boy in New York Yankees pajamas, playing with his toys.
From beneath shaggy dark bangs, his eyes rounded when he saw Clay.
“Hey, mister. You read to me” He gave Clay a grin that stole his
heart. “We got pictures.”

“Do you now?” Clay bent down and scooped up
Rory. “Nice pj’s, champ.”

“Like those Yanks,” he said.

Bailey rolled her eyes. “My family, the
consummate Yankees fans.”

“Hey, you have good taste. I love the Yanks,
too.”

“You read to me again?” Rory asked.

“Sure.”

Bailey frowned as if she didn’t understand
all this, then nodded. “I’ll get dressed.”

His eyebrows arched. “Not on my account, I
hope,” he called to her retreating back.

When she returned wearing worn jeans
and a Yankee shirt herself, Clay was seated with Rory on the couch
reading
The Teddy Bear’s
Picnic
.

When he took a breath, Rory said, “Fun
picnic.”

Clay chuckled. “They’re having a teddy
bear’s picnic in D.C. in the fall. It was one of Jon’s favorite
books, so I noticed the ad in the
Post
.”

“Can I go?” Rory asked innocently.

Bailey frowned. “Senator Wainwright is a busy
man, Ror.”

“Not that busy. I’ll check my schedule to see
if I’m in town then. I’ll get back to you.” He cuddled Rory closer.
“Now let’s finish our story.”

“I’ll make fresh coffee.”

When Bailey returned, she handed him coffee
and cuddled up on the other end of the couch watching them, sipping
from her own mug. Clay finished reading the story then glanced over
at Bailey. She was asleep with the half-filled mug snuggled in her
lap, her drawn knees securing it.

“Mo-mm...”

Clay clapped a hand over Rory’s mouth. “Shh,
champ. Let Mommy sleep.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed in a
what’s-in-it-for-me look.

Food was always good with kids. “Let’s go
have some donuts.”

“ ’
Kay. I ate my cereal.”

When they finished donuts and small talk—Rory
had a king-size hero worship of Derek Jeter—they crept back into
the living room. Bailey was out cold. “Wake ’er up,” Rory said,
bounding for his mother.

Clay held him back by the shirt. The kid must
have something against Bailey getting enough sleep. Clay spied a
mitt, ball, and bat in the corner of the room. “Hey, want to go hit
some balls?”

Rory’s eyes widened, then glanced at Clay’s
big frame. “Yeah. Mommy hits like a girl.”

“Go change and we’ll find some place to
play.”

“Park:” Rory called over his shoulder and
disappeared.

Clay crossed to the couch. Bailey was cuddled
into a ball at one end, but there was a pillow behind her. Gently,
he drew her legs down. She stretched out easily and stayed
comatose. He covered her with a blanket and kissed the top of her
head.

Rory came back wearing a Number 2 Jeter
T-shirt, jeans, and two different color sneakers. “Lookin’ good,
champ,” Clay said and held out his hand.

Rory grabbed the mitt, gave Clay the bat and
ball and put his free hand in Clay’s.

It felt good.

“I GUESS IT’S all right now. Gentle though,
okay?”

The words came as if in a dream, far off.
Bailey turned her head into the pillow to block out the sounds. She
was in bed, with Clay, nestled against his shoulder.

“Gentle don’t work, Clay.”

“All right. Let me do it.” Something nudged
her hip. She could smell Clay’s aftershave now. “Hey, Sleeping
Beauty, wake up before your son dive bombs on you.”

Clay’s voice.

Her son.

Bailey bolted awake. “Oh, my God. Rory.”

“Shh.” He grasped her by the arms. “It’s all
right, sweetheart. Rory’s fine.”

“I fell asleep.” Her tone was disbelieving,
horrified.

He scowled. “You didn’t commit a crime.”

“He could have gotten hurt. But he never lets
me sleep...I don’t understand.”

“Bailey, he was with me. I was reading to him
when you dozed off.”

“Oh.”

“Then I wouldn’t let him wake you. We had a
nice morning.”

“Morning? What time is it?”

“One.”

“In the
afternoon
? You came at nine.”

“I know.” He brushed back her hair. “You
shouldn’t work so hard.”

She glanced over at Rory. “Hey, buddy, you
okay?”

He approached Bailey, holding something.

“What’s that?”

“A kite.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Store. Got Jeter on it

“You went to a store?”

“Uh-huh. After lunch.” He yawned.

“You ate lunch?” She sounded like a fool but
she was disoriented.

“At McDonald’s. Got a happy meal.”

Clay said, “We left you a note in case you
woke up and were worried.”

Her gaze swung to him. “I...I don’t know what
to say.”

“He hit me balls. Better than you, Mommy.
“

She noticed the smudge of dirt on the knee of
Clay’s perfectly pressed khakis, and his beautiful wine-colored
polo shirt was a bit damp. He smiled. “From what I gather, that’s
not much of a compliment.”

“I liked it.”

Clay tousled his hair. “I did, too. We’ll
have to do it again”

Rory yawned a second time.

“Honey, want to go watch a video on Mom’s
bed?”

“ ’
Kay.” He crossed to Clay, who stood
so Bailey could get up. “Thanks.” Spontaneously, like he did
everything, he threw his arms around Clay’s legs.

Clay bent down and hugged him. “You’re
welcome.”

Bailey’s throat seized up at the sight. “I’ll
be right back.”

After she had Rory settled—this was the only
way he’d fall asleep for a nap—she took a minute to brush her hair;
it was so wild from washing it and not drying it, she gave up and
twirled it into a scrunchie, letting it hang in a ponytail down her
back. Checking her image in the mirror, she left the room.

Clay was leafing through a photo album that
had been on the coffee table.

Bailey approached him and eased onto the arm
of the couch, so she was looking down at the pictures. “Aidan’s
handiwork.”

He smiled, the dimple appearing in his chin.
She wanted to kiss it. “They’re wonderful. He’s got talent.”

“That he should do more with. Check out the
ones at the end.”

He turned to the back. “Ah, me and the champ.
Wow, Aidan can certainly capture a mood.”

She stared at the pictures of Rory and Clay.
“That one shows how much you enjoy him.”

“I do. We had a great time today.”

“I’m sorry about that. You didn’t come over
here to babysit.”

“I said I had a great time. Can’t remember my
last double cheeseburger and sundae.”

“Your tastes run more to caviar.”

Setting down the album, he turned so fast he
unbalanced her. She toppled onto his lap. “My taste runs to
you.”

His mouth closed over hers. The kiss was deep
and drugging; he tasted like Coke and peppermint. He undid a
button on her shirt and nosed into the opening. “Hmm. You smell so
good.”

She sighed.

A second button opened, then she heard the
buzzer ring. “Don’t answer it,” he mumbled into her bare skin.

She ran her hands over his shoulders. “It’ll
wake Rory up.”

“Damn.”

Pulling away, she grinned at him. He was a
man clearly aroused.

“Get rid of whoever it is.”

“Maybe.” She stood up.

He whacked her gently on the butt. “No
maybes, woman.”

Bailey was giggling like a school girl as she
walked to the intercom. “B., it’s Aidan.” After the time her
brothers caught her with Clay, she made them promise to ring before
they entered her home. She buzzed him in and opened the door before
he reached the top of the steps.

“Aidan...” She got a look at his face. It was
murderous. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to you, B.”

“Is everybody all right? Safe?”

“As far as I know.” He held out a newspaper.
“It’s something in here.”