"Walk me to my car, Spring," Clay ordered some time later after nightcaps in the Andersons' den. "I've got to go."
"I'm sure you can find your way to the driveway," Spring replied blandly, not moving from her chair.
"Aw, c'mon," he whined boyishly. "There's something I want to show you."
"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Spring retorted, much to Summer's and Derek's amusement. They all knew that the "something" he wanted to show her was nothing more than a ploy to get her alone. Still, she stood, with a great show of reluctance, and walked out with him.
It was a dream of a night. Cool, fragrant, inhabited by dancing fog wraiths and twinkling diamond lights spreading out for miles around them. Spring closed her eyes and inhaled, then opened them to survey the glory around her. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured to Clay.
He turned and leaned against his low sports car, catching her forearms to pull her into a loose embrace. "I used to think so."
"You used to?" Almost without thinking about it, she rested her hands on his shoulders, her lower body settling lightly against his. "What happened?"
"I met you." His arms tightened around her. "Now I compare everything I see to your beauty. Nothing else measures up."
It should have sounded trite, corny. It did, of course, she assured herself, but it still made her knees go weak. She tried to sound annoyed, but her voice came out all breathless. "That's dumb. Besides, I'm not beautiful."
He lowered his mouth to within an inch of hers. "Yes, you are," he murmured.
"No, I'm—" She stopped, swallowed, then finally moaned. "Oh, Clay, please kiss me."
"Thank you," he said unexpectedly, then took her lips with the familiar hunger that was more overwhelming each time he kissed her.
Spring slipped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, her mouth opening eagerly under his. His hands were warm and searching over the lightweight sweater she wore, stroking her curves and contours with open palms. A tiny whimper lodged itself in her throat when his fingertips slid between the hem of her sweater and the waistband of her skirt to trace the soft skin there, then moved around and upward to cup one of her small breasts through the fabric of her bra.
"You are beautiful, Spring," he muttered against her mouth. "And I want you so much." He rocked her gently against his lower body, against the proof of his wanting. "I need you."
"Clay, I—" She caught her breath when he rolled her hardened nipple between thumb and forefinger, the sensation shooting from her breast to some deep, yearning part of her. "Oh, Clay."
He kissed her again, his tongue surging between her slightly swollen lips to stroke hers, withdrawing, then sliding back in. The sensual imagery made her weak with desire, and she arched against him in an unconscious plea for the ultimate intimacy. His hands fell to her hips, holding her almost painfully against his straining manhood for a moment before moving her a few inches away from him. His voice was raw with his need. "God, Spring. Much more of this and we'll end up making love right here in your sister's driveway."
She groaned in chagrin and dropped her hot face to his shoulder, pulling in a painfully ragged breath.
"What do you do to me, Clay McEntire?" she breathed. "At home I'm so sensible, so firmly in control. With you I'm like a stranger. Impulsive and impetuous and even a little wild. I don't know how you do it."
"
Don't you like what I do to you, Spring?" he asked whimsically, his own breathing returning slowly to normal.
"Yes, dammit. But it won't last, Clay. I'll go back to Little Rock next week and I'll be myself again. I'm...comfortable with my life there."
He was silent for a long moment, his cheek resting against her hair, which she'd worn straight and loose to her shoulders. Finally he spoke, almost reluctantly. "Is there someone special at home. Spring? Are you involved with anyone?"
"Not anymore."
He digested that, along with her tone. "Tell me about him."
"His name is Roger, and he's an attorney. Very attractive, very pleasant. We dated for almost six months. We had a lot in common, wanted the same things in life. Successful careers, marriage, family. A few months ago we realized that we didn't want those things with each other, so we said goodbye."
"Sounds sad," he said thoughtfully.
"It was, in a way. I cried when our relationship ended, but I think the tears were due more to the end of a pleasant fantasy than to the loss of Roger."
Clay raised his arms to cup her face between his hands, his eyes intense in the artificial light. "I don't ever want to make you cry, Spring. I never want to hurt you."
Was he warning her not to start wanting the same things from him that she'd thought she'd wanted from Roger? He didn't need to. Spring had known all along that Clay wasn't the type who would be content with someone like her. Perhaps he was intrigued with her now, but it wouldn't last. Clay thrived on excitement, new experiences, adventures. She wasn't the type who could provide such things for him on a regular basis. Nor did she want to try. She just wanted a normal, happy life. She wouldn't mind occasional adventures, some excitement, but she needed sanity, as well. She needed to be loved by a man who needed only her, who would want no woman but her.
And she really wished that man could be Clay.