Clay scowled. "I hadn't heard about that." Great. He'd been so wrapped up in Spring that he hadn't even known that one of his kids had been in trouble. Thanks a lot, Spring.
"The kids are all furious with Tony's parents," Summer told him, fluffing her long bangs, a habitual gesture.
Spring shifted in her seat. "What else could the parents have done? It wasn't their fault that the police were overly enthusiastic in carrying out their jobs."
"They could have gone after their son themselves, rather than sending the cops," Clay answered, standing and looking down at her as if she weren't very bright, she thought resentfully. "Or they could have called Frank or me. We could have found him."
"I only know that if my son had run away, I'd do exactly what Tony's parents did. After all, if the police had been able to find Thelma earlier, she wouldn't have been so close to death by the time you got to her."
"And if her mother had called me sooner, I'd have found her earlier," Clay argued. "The cops never would have found her at all, the way they were going. It was probably just an accident that they found Tony."
"You mean everyone in San Francisco should call you when their kids run away?" Was he really so arrogant?
He flushed at the derision in her tone, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Not everyone, of course. But if I happen to know the kids and work with them, as I have with Thelma and Tony, it would seem only logical to give me a chance to help. Hell, I didn't even know Tony had run away until just now." His tone clearly implied that it was Spring's fault that he hadn't known—quite unfairly, she thought, piqued.
"Maybe they decided to try something new, if you've been working with him and he still ran away." Oops, wrong choice of words. I might as well have come right out and accused Clay of failing with Tony, she realized when his face hardened. She opened her mouth to clarify the statement, but Summer jumped in hastily to change the subject, obviously hoping to avoid the confrontation that was building between Spring and Clay.
"It's getting late," Clay said abruptly, still glaring at Spring. "Are you ready to go?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'm ready."
Spring was rather surprised when Clay told Derek and Summer that he'd take her home later. After their near quarrel she expected him to take her straight back to Sausalito. Instead, she found herself walking on a beach with him about half an hour after leaving the others, huddling into the windbreaker she'd worn with her slacks and sweater as the damp, cool, salted breeze tossed her hair and reddened her cheeks.
Clay kicked at a broken shell, then bent to pick it up and toss it into the waves breaking nearby. "Tonight wasn't much fun for you, was it?"
She took a deep breath and stopped walking, turning to face him squarely. "You didn't seem to be enjoying yourself, either."
"No, I guess I wasn't." His face was deeply shadowed in the fog-diffused moonlight. "I'm sorry."
Her chest hurt. She thought it might be because her heart was being thoroughly pummeled. "What's wrong, Clay?" she finally found the courage to ask. Please talk to me.
"What's wrong?" He shoved his fingers through his windblown hair, staring impassively at her as he appeared to debate his reply. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. "I'm going to miss you, Spring. Ill miss you very much."
She let her head drop forward. "I'll miss you, too, Clay," she whispered. But he hadn't asked her to stay, nor would she be the one to suggest it. How could she, when she wasn't at all sure that she wanted to stay in San Francisco? As much as she'd enjoyed her visit, she was already homesick. As much as she dreaded leaving Clay, she still rather looked forward to getting back to work on Monday. God, what a mess she'd made of everything! "Oh, Clay."
He caught her in his arms and held her tightly. "Dammit, Spring. Don't you know that you've disrupted my entire life? I haven't been able to think about anything but you since you arrived. My kids, my job, my friends—I forget them all when you're around. That's never happened to me before."
"I haven't tried to come between you and your work," she murmured, clinging tightly to him.
"I know that. I haven't forgotten that I practically had to kidnap you to go out with me." Even that was said with resentment. Spring blinked back tears.
"Clay, what do you want from me?" she asked at last, tilting her head back to look up at him. "I don't know what you want me to do or say."
"No." And this time his voice was sad. "You don't know me, do you? You don't even know how much I—" he stopped, swallowed, then went on a little too smoothly "—how much I care for you."
She didn't know what to say, so she remained quiet, clinging to him. His turquoise leather jacket was damp and smooth beneath her cheek, his arms hard and strong around her. And despite his current moodiness making him almost a stranger to her, she loved him.
Clay pressed his mouth to her temple. "Kiss me, Spring.""
She lifted her head, her hands going up to pull his mouth down to hers. It seemed like so long since he'd kissed her. He brushed his lips lingeringly across hers, then deepened the kiss. He groaned thickly when her lips parted to invite him inside, his hands tightening to lift her against him. "Spring," he muttered into the depths of her mouth. "Oh, God, Spring, I...I want you so much."
"Then what are we doing on this beach?" she asked huskily, straining to press closer—a physical impossibility with the barrier of clothing between them.
He shuddered when she arched her lower body suggestively into his, then set her firmly away from him. "It's late," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'd better take you home."
She blinked in dismay at the abrupt end of the caress. She'd thought the kiss was leading to something further, that he'd take her back to his house and make love to her again. Why wasn't he? Not because he didn't want her—they'd been in much too close proximity for him to hide his desire for her. She'd never been the instigator of lovemaking, but she wanted Clay so much. She had so little time left with him. "I hope you mean your home," she blurted out bravely.
"No. I mean your sister's home." He half turned away from her, his hands going into the pockets of his neon-yellow jumpsuit. "It is getting late, and I have to work tomorrow."