"You named your tie? Clay, people don't name their ties."
"I do. He's named after the friend who gave him to me."
She continued to look at him as though he were crazy—which, of course, pretty well summed up her opinion of him. Gorgeous, sexy, mesmerizing, but unquestionably crazy. "Your tie is a him?"
"Looks like a him to me," he answered reflectively, tugging the end of the tie out of his vest and smoothing it downward so that she could see its full length. "Don't you think so?"
Spring choked, then burst into laughter. "Oh, my God. Your tie is a fish!" Fully exposed, the mottled browns and greens became scales. The fish-shaped tie was cleverly designed, the end a fish-head profile, complete with
gills, closed mouth and one glassy blue eye. "That's disgusting."
Her laughter had brought an odd light to his eyes. Smiling at her in a manner that she couldn't begin to interpret—nor did she care to try just then—he reached across the table to take her hand. "I knew you'd appreciate Morgan."
They talked of his work, both at the school and with the young people he continually referred to as "my kids" at Halloran House. Spring was fascinated by his dedication to the youth, his understanding of them and the way their minds worked.
"Do many of them run away from home?" she asked, thinking of Thelma.
"It happens often enough," he answered regretfully. "I'm afraid I was a runaway myself a few times. I know how cold and lonely it can be out on the streets." He had told her a bit about his childhood during dinner, an abbreviated version of what Summer had already told her.
"I always feel so sorry for the parents. Not to know where their children are, wondering if they're dead or alive, and all usually because of a simple breakdown in communications."
"It's sad for everyone concerned," Clay agreed. "Sometimes the parents couldn't care less what happens to the kids, but I know that's not always true. Many times the problems can be remedied through family therapy, once they realize that they need help—not that the problems are ever simple."
Spring thought that perhaps Clay would tend to be biased toward the young people's side in any family encounter, but considering his background and his vocation, she supposed that was understandable. She deliberately turned the conversation to lighter subjects, not wanting Clay to dwell on his career just then.
She was almost disappointed when he drove her straight back to Summer's house after dinner, though she didn't know exactly where she'd wanted him to take her. She only knew that she wasn't ready to say goodnight to him.
Clay parked the car in the driveway, snapped off the lights and turned to Spring, one arm over the back of his seat as he smiled at her. "I had fun tonight, Spring. Thanks for going with me."
She moistened her lips and returned the smile. He looked so good in the shadowy artificial light from outside. But then, he looked good in broad daylight, also. Or any kind of light. "I had fun, too. Thank you."
He chuckled, his hand stretching out to twist one of her curls. "Aren't we being polite?"
Because she was fighting the urge to catch his hand and hold it to her cheek, her own smile was a bit forced. "Yes, aren't we?"
Something in her expression must have given away her feelings, for his smile slowly faded, to be replaced by a look of hunger that matched hers. "I'd like to kiss you, Spring," he murmured, his hand sliding into the hair at her temple to cradle her face. "I think I want to kiss you now more than I've ever wanted to do anything in my life."
Chapter Five
Since when had he started asking permission to kiss her? She wet her lips again, realizing nervously that he wanted more than startled acceptance this time. He wanted full cooperation. He was making an implicit demand for her to acknowledge that she was attracted to him, that she wanted the kiss as badly as he did. Even as she almost shyly removed her glasses and leaned toward him, she wondered how much more he would force her to admit.
Her lips had barely touched his before he was kissing her. The battered fedora tumbled off her head, unnoticed by either of them. His mouth slanted greedily over hers, moving with the same rough-gentle passion with which he'd kissed her the day before. And, as with the last time, she could only hold on and allow herself to be lost in him. A far distant part of her mind pondered her response to him. She'd never been like this with anyone else. She'd never relinquished control. Clay took her control, yet he seemed no more the master of his own emotions than she was of hers.
It felt only natural when his hand slipped beneath her borrowed, oversize jacket to settle with bold possessiveness on one of her breasts. Almost unconsciously she inhaled, pushing herself more fully into his touch.
"Ah, God, Spring. You feel so good in my arms." His voice was only a breath against her lips; he refused to break the contact between them.
She didn't know what to say except his name. It seemed to be enough. He kissed her again, and this time his tongue surged between her lips to caress hers. Teasingly. Tenderly. Lovingly.
"Kiss me back, sweetheart," he muttered, then took her mouth again.
With no further hesitation she gave in to his half-pleading demand and returned his kiss with all the formerly unknown passion within her.
After what seemed like a hot, life-altering eternity, Clay suddenly startled her by pulling his mouth away from hers, giving a low, husky laugh and hugging her with such fervent enthusiasm that she thought she would have at least a few bruises, if not broken bones, when he released her. "You never stop surprising me, Spring Reed," he told her with apparent delight. "We're going to be so good together."
She swallowed hard. "We're...what?"
Cradling her face in his hands, he smiled meltingly at her and kissed her nose. "When we make love, it's going to be the most exquisite, most erotic, most incredible thing that has ever happened to either of us. I can hardly wait."