"Only a little," Summer answered with mock innocence. "He thought my idea was brilliant."
"Someday, Summer Linda Reed, I am going to kill you. Slowly," Spring added, pushing irritably at her glasses, which were beginning to slide down her nose. "Besides, if I were going to have an affair—which I'm not—it certainly wouldn't be with Clay."
"What's wrong with Clay?"
"My God, Summer, how can you even ask? The way he's dressed, the way he acts—definitely not my type."
"Do you always judge people by appearances, Spring? When are you going to learn that a three-piece suit and a tie don't make a man? Clay's a wonderful, caring person. He loves to laugh and tease—as he did with you—and he's warm and very demonstrative in his affections. He's always got his arm around someone. As a matter of fact, Derek threatened to break that arm a few times before he realized that Clay wasn't getting too cozy with me. It's a shame there aren't more men who are as comfortable with their feelings and emotions as Clay. Yes, he dresses a bit oddly, but even that is due to his lively sense of humor. He likes making people smile."
It wasn't the first time that Spring had been chastised by her younger sister for her conservative nature—or made to feel vaguely guilty about those circumspect tendencies. "He's just not my type," she reiterated somewhat gruffly. "That man is strange, Summer."
"True," Summer agreed gravely. "But he's certainly not boring."
No, Spring didn't think Clay McEntire would ever be called boring. A lot of other things, maybe, but never boring.
"There's the doorbell," Summer said unnecessarily, sparing Spring the need to comment further on Clay McEntire. "Our pizzas are here. Connie should have the table set by now, so would you give me a hand with the salad stuff?"
"Sure." Spring turned and gathered an armful of forks and salad bowls, then found herself taking a deep breath for courage before joining the others in the dining room. She had to ask herself why she felt that she needed courage. She didn't have to answer herself, though, because the first person she saw when she entered the room was Clay. And he looked even better now than he had before, if that was possible. Damn.
Chapter Two
The dinner was certainly...interesting, Spring thought some time later. She hadn't heard such snappy repartee since the last Neil Simon movie she'd seen. Summer, of course, was a compulsive cutup, and Connie was just like her. With their dry wit and subtle humor Derek and Joel made perfect counterpoints to their irrepressible mates. And Clay.
Clay. Spring wasn't sure exactly how she felt about Clay. She was definitely attracted to him; there was no question about that. And she thought that perhaps he was as attracted to her. He was funny, he was charming, he was exciting. Maybe Summer was right about Spring having a weakness for scoundrels. Of course, she also dearly loved strawberry shortcake, but she knew better than to indulge. She was allergic to strawberries.
The frivolity continued after dinner, when everyone moved to the den for a game of Trivial Pursuit. Spring found herself partnered with Clay, which gave him an excuse to sit close beside her on a cozy love seat. She tried very hard to pay attention to the game, but how could she concentrate on History or Art and Literature when there was such a gorgeous male draping himself all over her? She was, after all, only human.
When she found herself mentally counting the number of times his enticingly close chest rose and fell with his breathing, she knew she needed a few moments alone to get control of herself. Summer called an intermission so that she could make coffee and slice a chocolate cake, and Spring took advantage of the opportunity to slip down the hallway to the guest room, where Derek had carried her bags.
There she plopped down on the edge of the bed, not even noticing the lovely decor of the tastefully frilly room as she wondered what on earth was wrong with her. It was almost as if in leaving Little Rock she'd left behind the rigid code of responsible behavior that she'd lived by for as long as she could remember. She wasn't normally attracted to offbeat, probably shallow men such as Clay McEntire. In Little Rock she wouldn't have looked twice at such a man. Well, she amended, she might have looked. More than twice. But would she have found him so utterly fascinating?
She found herself wondering if he really had volunteered to have a passionate affair with her. Would he be as unpredictable in bed as he was out of it? She suspected that he would be imaginative, sensitive, considerate, and just downright good.
"Oh, my God, what am I doing?" she groaned, shaking her head to dispel any such thoughts. "I just met the man, for pete's sake." She had never indulged in casual, recreational sex, nor was she about to begin now. "I'm not," she repeated out loud for emphasis.
She stood and glared determinedly into the mirror on one wall of the bedroom. She looked the same as usual. Hair still properly pinned on top of her head, white silk blouse neatly tucked into the waistband of the straight heather-pink skirt that matched the jacket she'd discarded earlier. She hadn't changed at all since arriving in California. Nor would she.
"Right," she said, nodding crisply at her reflection. Then she stepped out of the door of her bedroom and straight into the arms of Clay McEntire.
"Sorry," he murmured, though he didn't look at all sorry to find himself standing in the hallway with his arms around her. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied. Dammit, her voice had gone all breathless again, she noticed in disgust. "What are you doing?" Was he following her?
His lovely blue-green eyes twinkled with mischievous amusement as he nodded toward the door beside her bedroom. "That's the bathroom," he replied. "I had planned on visiting it. Okay with you?"
She flushed, trying to disengage herself from the strong arms that had tightened around her slim waist. "You certainly don't need my permission."
"For anything?"
"Of course not," she answered curtly, squirming against him. The movement made her want to groan with the pleasure-pain it caused her.
"Oh, in that case—" He smothered his own words against her mouth as he leaned her back against the wall and kissed her with painstaking thoroughness.
Had it been possible, Spring would have gulped. As it was, she went rigid with surprise. Much later she would try to convince herself that she'd parted her lips only to protest his impertinence. But whatever the reason, her action gave him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss—and he did.
Her fists clenched his shoulders when his tongue swept the inside of her mouth, exploring and claiming it. At the same time his hands began an exploration of their own, sweeping from her shoulders to her hips in long, arousing strokes. Spring moaned low in her chest, her eyes closing behind the glasses that were pressed crookedly between their faces. When she found herself wishing the glasses were out of the way so that the kiss could continue more comfortably, she opened her eyes wide and renewed her struggle to free herself. She twisted her head so that the kiss was broken and shoved against him with all her strength. "What are you doing?"
He chuckled shakily, though he allowed her to put several inches between them. "This time I think the answer is obvious, sweet Spring. I'm trying to seduce you."