Wait for the Rain (22 page)

Daphne sipped her drink again. “Is that so?”

“That is so. Plus, if you hadn’t noticed, I’ve had my eye on someone else tonight.”

She gave him a playful look. “Hmm. Interesting.”
He likes me!

He stared at her. “Yes, interesting. I know you’re older than I am, Daphne, but if it’s not obvious by now, I don’t care about age. To be honest, I like you
because
you’re older. It makes you different.” He began to stroke her forearm with his fingers, and she felt a flurry of tiny sparks flashing throughout her body.

He kept stroking her arm. “That younger woman tonight? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find her attractive, but with yo
u . . .
let’s just say there’s something appealing about dealing wit
h . . .
a more sophisticated buyer.”

She laughed. “So I’m a harder sell?”
If you only knew how unsophisticated I feel right now.

“In a way, yes. Now dance with me.” He set down his drink and reached for her hand, then pulled her onto the tiny dance floor. He put his hands around her lower back, and together they began to sway to the reggae music. Just one other pair shared the space, a married couple Daphne guessed to be in their fifties. They gave Daphne and Clay a friendly smile before returning their attention to each other.

“The way you carry yourself is elegant, like a ballerina,” Clay said. “I noticed that right away when I saw you on the beach yesterday.”

“I used to take dance classes when I was younger,” she said.

He pulled her closer to him. “I can tell. It’s sexy.”

She looked up at him. “So you like a challenge? Is that what this is about?”

He tucked a free strand of hair behind her ear, then returned his hand behind her lower back. “Let’s stop overanalyzing it, okay? I find you attractive, period.”

She smiled. “Really?”

“Yes. From the moment I saw you, I was interested, and that’s only grown as I’ve gotten to know you a little bit. You’re pretty, and you’re fun to talk to, but I don’t want to talk right now.” He pulled her even closer, then leaned down and gently touched his lips against hers. She was too surprised to resist, not that she wanted to. As she’d just admitted to him, she hadn’t kissed anyone in years. Her body responded accordingly.
Please do that again.

The tiny sparks she’d felt had been one thing, but the heat that was now buzzing inside made her a bit dizzy. His lips were warm and soft, and her body instinctively pushed against his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into her ear.

You smell so good
. She inhaled deeply to breathe in his scent. She was entranced by it, and she wanted to drink it in.

“Mm
m . . .
so hot.” He nuzzled her neck, then kissed her shoulder before moving back to her lips.

They kissed for a bit longer, then Clay began to caress the back of her neck with his hand. She caught her breath.
Oh my God that feels so good.

Suddenly aware of what was happening in a very public place, she opened her eyes and glanced around to see if anyone was watching them. The older couple was gone now, and as far as she could tell, no one else there was even looking in their direction, which helped make her a bit less self-conscious. The alcohol also served to dim the glow of self-awareness. She tried to remember the last time she’d behaved like this in public, much less on a dance floor, but her memory didn’t reach that far back.

Her mind was also too distracted at the moment to focus on anything besides how good his hands felt on her, how good his lips felt on her.
Please kiss me again.

“I love your body,” he murmured. “And your posture. I thought maybe you were a yoga instructor.”

She laughed. “Definitely not.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”

She smiled but didn’t respond
to the compliment. If he only knew how her muscles already ached. She really needed to start exercising more often, especially now that she knew guys like Clay Hanson were paying attention.

Just then they heard another roar, followed by the crashing din of raindrops hitting the roof.

“There it is,” Clay said as he looked up. “Don’t you just love that sound?”

Daphne closed her eyes and nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

He leaned down and spoke softly into her ear again. “
You’re
beautiful.”

“I could listen to the rain all night,” she said, her eyes still closed.
I could stay like this all night.

“Can I spend it with you?”

She pulled away from him and opened her eyes. “What?” Had he read her mind?

He gave her a suggestive smile and pulled her back toward him. “You heard me.”

She did her best not to giggle like a teenager, but she couldn’t help herself. “Is this how it works now? I’ve been out of the loop for a while.”

“You tell me.” He began caressing her shoulder, then lightly ran his fingers up and down her arm.

She closed her eyes again, so glad she’d worn a sundress, savoring the touch of his hands on her skin. She pressed her cheek against his firm chest, listening to the drumming of the rain on the thatched ceiling above them.

They swayed like that for few minutes before he spoke again. “Please take me home with you,” he whispered into her ear.

The question sent a sizzle down her spine. The familiar yet unfamiliar sensation of attraction, mixed with anticipation, stirring something warm inside her.
I forgot what this feels like
.

Their bodies pressed together, they continued to slow dance. The rain poured around them in sheets, nearly drowning out the soft sound of the music.

After a few moments, she spoke quietly in his chest. “Okay.”
Come home with me. Make me feel alive again.

He lifted her chin with his fingertips and smiled down at her. “Is that a yes?”

She glanced out at the beach. Her friends were long gone by now, and for the first time she wondered if any part of the group’s separation had been intentional. If it had been, she was grateful to whoever had orchestrated it. She turned her eyes back to Clay and felt her lips turn up at the corners. Then she nodded ever so faintly. “That’s a yes.”

When Clay and Daphne reached her beach house, soaking wet from their walk home in the rain, all the lights were off save for a small one on the back deck. The inside was still and quiet. Daphne peered in the window, then turned toward Clay and put a finger over her lips.

Clay eyed her with suspicion. “Do you want me to be quiet so we don’t wake them, or so they don’t know I’m here?”

Daphne tried not to giggle but couldn’t help herself. “Both. Will you take those off?” She pointed to his flip-flops before awkwardly removing her own. “I think you got me a little tipsy.”

He arched an eyebrow. “So you’re saying I’m taking advantage of you?”

She reached for the door handle. “Only if you want to.”
Please take advantage of me.

He laughed and scratched the back of his head. “I’m not sure how to take that. That’s hardly a glowing invitation.”

“Any invitation is better than no invitation, am I right?” She quietly opened the glass door and stepped inside the dark house.

“Touché,” he said as he followed her.

“Oh my gosh, it’s dark in here,” Daphne whispered.

He put a hand on her lower back and kept his deep voice hushed as well. “I like dark. Lead the way to the bedroom so I can get you out of that wet dress.”

“Scared I might catch cold, are you?” She reached behind her and took his hand, then carefully led him through the living room toward the hall, tiptoeing across the tile floors.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m so glad I’m doing this.

“I feel like we’re sneaking into your parents’ house,” he said. “If we get caught, are you going to be grounded?”

Daphne giggled again. “Shh.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d
giggled
. She also couldn’t remember the last time she’d tiptoed in the dark while holding hands with a man she barely knew.
This is so much fun.

When they reached the kitchen, she noticed two empty bottles of wine on the counter—and two used goblets in the sink. She pointed to them and was about to say something when Clay pulled her toward him and kissed her deeply, stroking her hair as he did so. When they finally broke apart, he gently touched her cheek.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you,” he whispered.

She smiled up at him but didn’t say anything, trying to catch her breath. Her mind, at the moment, was consumed by a single thought.
Please do it again.

“You had to know that,” he said.

“I wasn’t sure.”
I hoped, but I didn’t know.

He put a hand over his heart. “You’re killing me.”

She put her hand over his. “That’s a criticism of
me
, not of you. I’m sort of out of practice at this, if you couldn’t tell.”

He slipped his hands around her lower back, then leaned down and kissed her bare shoulder. “Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to you.”

She smiled up at him. “You find it attractive that I can’t even tell when a guy’s flirting with me?”
I find that sort o
f . . .
pathetic.

He grazed her forehead with his fingertips. “I find you attractive because you don’t try too hard. A lot of women my ag
e . . .
they try too hard.”

She cast her eyes downward. A vision of Janine from earlier suddenly flashed before her.
I used to be like that
.
I don’t want to be like that ever again.

She knew now that by default women Janine’s age were beautiful and attractive. They didn’t
have
to try.
Youth really is wasted on the young.

“You smell so good.” He nuzzled her neck. “What perfume are you wearing?”

She shook her head. “I’m not. Must be my shampoo, or maybe the body lotion I put on? I just grabbed whatever was in the bathroom.”

He stroked her cheek again. “
Another
example of not trying too hard. It’s what makes you so sexy.” He lightly tugged at the strap of her sundress. “I think this is sexy too. Simple, yet beautiful.”

She glanced downward. “You like it?”

He put his finger on her chin and gently lifted it. “Very much. However, as nice as it looks on you, I think it would look much nicer crumpled up next to the bed.”

She laughed, then quickly covered her mouth and lowered her voice. “That’s a pretty good line, I’ll give you that. Did you get it from the same guy who gave you the tequila jokes?”

“I actually came up with it all on my own, so take that as a compliment. Now can we please go make out?”

Daphne smiled and put a finger to her lips, then gestured for him to follow her down the hall. As silently as was possible for a man his size, Clay tiptoed behind her. A sliver of light shone underneath the door to KC’s room. Skylar’s room, located at the far end, was completely dark. When they arrived in front of her room, Daphne reached for the doorknob, but Clay stopped her before she touched it. He turned her shoulders, then gently pressed her back up against the door.

“You’re so sexy, Daphne.”

Before she could respond, he leaned down and moved his lips softly along her neck and shoulder. “You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered.

Again she felt intoxicated by his scent, by the tingling sensation of his mouth against her skin, by the seductive sound of his breathing.
The feeling is mutual.

After a few moments he lifted his head, stared intensely into her eyes without speaking, then quietly opened the door and pulled her inside.

Chapter Nine

When Daphne woke up, the first thing she saw in the soft morning light was Fred. The gecko. Perched on the ceiling directly above her. She smiled at him.
Hi, Fred. Can you see me?
She was about to stretch her arms over her head, then caught her breath as the memory of the night before hit her. Along with the realization that she wasn’t wearing pajamas.
Oh my gosh.
She slowly turned her head to the right. Clay lay on his back, sound asleep, breathing deeply. She bit her lip.
Oh my gosh. What do I do now?
She shut her eyes tight, then opened them and looked back up at the ceiling, trying not to laugh.
Fred, tell me what to do!

She lay there frozen, literally paralyzed with uncertainty over what to do at that exact moment, not to mention how to act when Clay woke up. It had been more than fifteen years since she’d spent the night with anyone other than Brian. And while she’d had her share of make-out sessions before she got married, she’d never
slept
with a man so quickly before. Was there a next-morning protocol she was supposed to follow? She didn’t know it back then, and she certainly didn’t know it now.
Does this mean I’m slutty? Or am I kind of cool?
She smiled to herself. What she
did
know was that she’d enjoyed herself the night before. A lot. Clay had made sure of that. She flushed at the memory and
glanced up at Fred again.
My green friend, today I will consider myself cool.

She hadn’t expected to sleep with Clay. When she agreed to bring him back to the beach house, she thought they’d continue what they’d begun at the Pirate’s Cove, make out a little bit, nothing all
that
serious. But things changed once he closed the bedroom door. At first she’d been nervous to be alone with him, but her anxiety didn’t last long. The intensity with which he’d kissed her lips, neck, and shoulders; the compliments he’d breathed into her ears; the gentle way he’d caressed her skin: one by one her inhibitions began to slip away, and then it jus
t . . .
happened.

She’d relished every minute of it, especially the way he’d wrapped his strong arms around her and grazed the top of her head with his lips as they finally settled in to get some sleep.

“You’re beautiful,” he’d whispered before drifting off.

She closed her eyes, the hint of a smile still on her face.
I slept with Clay Handsome.

Just as she began to replay the steamy highlights in her head, she felt a tingling in her throat, followed by an uncontrollable need to cough.
No! Not now!

She reached her hand to her neck and squeezed gently, as if that might somehow prevent the inevitable. She knew what was coming, but she didn’t want to wake him up. She wasn’t ready to face him, not yet. She willed the sensation to go away, but it only grew more intense, and soon her eyes started watering. She thought about trying to exit the bed without making much commotion, but now it was too late. She sat up and grabbed the pillow, then coughed into it.

She gently let go of the pillow and looked at Clay again, then slowly removed the comforter from her chest and—as quietly as she could—got out of bed. She desperately wanted to brush her teeth, check her face, and put something on! She choked back a laugh at the sight of her and Clay’s clothes—still damp—lying in a heap on the floor. She scooped them up, tiptoed into the bathroom and gently closed the door, then carefully hung them over the shower railing, remembering the lusty rush with which they’d been removed, and was delighted to realize she wasn’t the least bit disturbed by the mess.
Apparently we had more important things to do.

She pulled her nightie off the hook on the door, then quickly slipped it over her head.
That’s better.
As she reached for her toothbrush, she evaluated her appearance in the mirror. Besides a tiny smudge of mascara under one eye, her face looked pretty good, or at least as good as it could after only a few hours of sleep—and more than a few rum punches. She carefully removed the mascara with a Q-tip, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail and splashed cold water over her cheeks and forehead, hoping the noise of the running faucet wouldn’t wake Clay—and simultaneously wondering if there was any chance he’d sleep through the sound of a flushing toilet.

She chuckled to herself at the absurdity—and unfamiliarity—of her behavior. She’d been married for more than a dozen years
,
yet here she was, acting like someone half her age. For not the first time this trip, she felt as if she’d gone back in time.

When she was ready to reenter the bedroom, she reached for the door, took a deep breath, and mentally prepared herself to see Clay sitting up in bed, wide awake. Or worse, gone.
Please don’t be gone.

She felt a shudder of dread at the thought that he might have taken off once she left the room. Seeing him after their intimate night together would be awkward, of course, but returning to an empty bedroom? That would be much worse. She hesitated.
He wouldn’t do that, would he?

Holding her breath, she gently nudged the door open with what she hoped was a relaxed look on her face, or at least a seminormal expression, given all the thoughts running around in her head. Assuming Clay was still there, she had no idea what she was going to say to him. While half her brain was still reliving the feel of his lips on her skin, the other half reminded her that she’d just slept with a complete stranger. Her eyes immediately darted to the bed. Clay was sound asleep on his back, still breathing deeply. She exhaled.
Thank God.

She quietly walked toward the dresser and picked up her phone to see if there were any messages from Emma, but the screen was blank. She set it back down, then turned around and carefully approached the bed, watching Clay’s chest rise and fall softly with his breath. Suddenly a strange thought occurred to her, one that caught her by surprise and—momentarily, at least—trumped her anxiety about having just slept with a man she barely knew.
I’m so glad you’re not Brian.

Before she could ponder the significance of that thought, Clay slowly opened his eyes. He furrowed his brow as if registering his surroundings, then slowly turned his head and made eye contact with her. She gave him a shaky smile and waved. “Good morning.”

He yawned and smiled back. “Good morning to you too. And happy birthday.”

She put a hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot today is my birthday.”
What a way to ring it in.

“I’m that good?” He sat up and patted himself on the back. “Well done, Clay.”

She laughed, grateful for the break in tension. “Glad to hear you’re not lacking in the self-confidence department.” Then again, he had no reason to. She blushed at the memory of how he’d made her feel, how attentive he’d been to her desires.

“What time is it?” he asked.

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, then crossed her arms in front of her and leaned her weight on one hip. “Just after eight.”
Is he planning to leave?

“I wonder how your buddy KC’s feeling today,” he said.

“Not great, I imagine. If she’s even awake, that is.”

“That was quite a gymnastics expo she put on there.”

“Yep.” Daphne had no idea what to do next, so she just stood there in front of the bed, her arms crossed.
Should I climb back in bed? Would he want me to do that?

She didn’t see any obvious signs of regret in his eyes, but then again, she was hardly an expert at reading the facial expressions of men, especially ones waking up naked in a virtual stranger’s bed.
Should I bring up last night?

Her mind raced for something, anything, to say, but she came up with nothing, so she remained silent, again wishing she had a guidebook for appropriate post-one-night-stand behavior.
Don’t make this awkward.

Clay glanced up at the ceiling. “Nice gecko. We have one in our house too.”

“I named him Fred,” Daphne blurted, then immediately regretted having done so. Talking to a gecko was odd enough. Naming him was worse. But
telling
anyone about it? That bordered on peculiar, with
peculiar
being a generous euphemism for
weird
.

Clay chuckled. “Nice. I named ours Gordon.”

Daphne let out a tiny gasp. “You’re joking. You named a gecko too?”

“Not joking. Isn’t Gordon the perfect name for a gecko? Doug wanted to call him Mervyn, but I won the house vote.”

“Gordon is clever, better than Fred. I’ll give you that. But Mervyn is pretty good too. My neighbors in Columbus have a dog named Mervyn, and it always makes me laugh to greet him.” She smiled at the thought.
Hi, Mervyn
.

He laughed, and she felt the tension between them soften a bit more.
What was I so freaked out about?
Just go with it.

She decided to climb back in bed with him, but the moment she took a step forward, he sat up and pulled the duvet cover to one side. “I’d better get going,” he said, swinging his legs onto the tile floor.

She froze. “Oh yes, of course.” She felt the awkwardness come rushing back and pointed to the bathroom. “Your clothes are hanging in there. Just to warn you, they’re still a bit damp.”

While Clay was in the bathroom, Daphne quietly poked her head outside her bedroom door and peeked down the hall toward the kitchen.
Why am I so embarrassed?
She wondered why it bothered her that her friends would soon know that Clay had spent the night. Unless KC had been the one drinking wine with Skylar, which Daphne highly doubted, Scott had probably slept over too.
Stop worrying. They’ll be proud of you. So should you.
She glanced back at the shut bathroom door and sighed. She knew what was really bothering her.
Couldn’t he have
pretended
he wanted me to crawl back in bed with him? Even for just a few minutes?

Yes, Skylar and KC would be happy that she’d spent the night with Clay, but there was no getting around how quickly he’d jumped out of bed and said he had to “get going.” No matter what her age, no woman wanted to hear those words from a man she’s just slept with for the first time. She winced.
What if I was terrible?

She took a deep breath, then stepped into the hall and quietly closed her bedroom door behind her. As she padded toward the kitchen, she braced herself for the inevitable encounter with her friends, but the spacious room was empty, the lights off, and the living room equally still. She turned around and looked back down the hall. Both Skylar’s and KC’s doors were closed. Maybe they were still sleeping? If Daphne had had as much to drink as KC, she’d be in a coma for at least half the day, but KC’s body operated on a different level. It wouldn’t surprise Daphne if KC were already out for a run.

Skylar, on the other hand, was more of a wild card. How late she—and Scott?—would sleep was anyone’s guess.

She decided to make some coffee and go sit out on the deck. She reached into the cupboard for a mug, and as she stood in front of the machine watching the liquid drip into the cup, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned around and saw Clay standing there, fully dressed, albeit in clothes that were decidedly more rumpled than when he’d worn them just a few hours earlier.

“Want some coffee?” Daphne pointed to the fancy machine. She hoped it wasn’t superobvious how uncomfortable she felt, but there was no getting around the reality of her mood.

Clay shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not much of a coffee drinker. I was thinking about hitting the smoothie stand.”

“Did I hear someone mention the sweet nectar that is
coffee
?”

Daphne looked to her right and caught her breath at the man she saw strolling into the kitche
n . . .
and wearing nothing but a pair of striped boxer shorts.

“Doug, hi,” she said in a near whisper.

“Mornin’, Daphne. Hey, Clay.” He yawned and scratched his cheek.

Daphne felt her blood run cold.
No!
Doug knew how drunk KC had been last night. 
How could he take advantage of her like that?
She quickly turned toward the coffeemaker, unable to look Doug in the eye, furious at him, at herself, at all of them.
I shouldn’t have left them alone. How could Skylar have let KC do that? She didn’t know what she was doing. We should have protected her.

“Daphne?”

It was Clay speaking to her now, but she still couldn’t bring herself to turn around.

“Yes?” she said in a strained voice.

“Doug and I are going to sit on the deck for a few minutes before I take off, okay?”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll bring his coffee out when it’s ready. You sure you don’t want anything?” she called over her shoulder, trying to keep her speech steady.

“Water would be great, or juice if you have it.”

“Okay, got it.” Acting on autopilot, she fumbled around for a second mug and a juice glass, then awkwardly pressed the button on the coffee machine. She opened the fridge and removed a carton of orange juice, then filled up a glass for Clay before brewing another cup of coffee. Her mind continued to race.
What should I do? How could this have happened?