All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)(23)

He leaned back in his chair and picked up the glass. “Nope,” he said easily.

“Good. Because I’m not. I have muscles. I’m strong.” She eyed him. “I could probably take you.”

“Not a chance.”

“I don’t fight fair.”

“Neither do I.”

That statement sent a shiver of undetermined origin rippling through her. She clutched her glass in both hands, not sure what to do next.

“Tell me about your family,” he said.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your family. Who are they?”

An unexpected question. “I, ah, don’t have any brothers or sisters. I lost my dad while I was still in high school.” She thought about him and let herself relax into the memory. “He was great. A carpenter. He was a big guy and when I was little, as long as I was with my dad, I knew I was going to be okay.”

She smiled. “We were a team.” Mere mortals in the shadow of her glamorous and disapproving mother. Her smile faded. “After he died, I was devastated. My mother and I had never been close. That didn’t change.”

An understatement of award-winning proportions, she thought. But there was no reason to explain that her mother was world-famous ballerina Dominique Guérin. Even though it had been over fifteen years since Dominique had graced a stage, her career lived on in DVDs and PBS specials. And her ego was a life force that would live on for generations.

“You don’t see her?”

“No, and I’m okay with that.” More than okay. Delighted. But why go there?

“You’re honest,” he told her.

“Too honest. I tend to only be invited on shopping trips with my friends once. I don’t get the whole polite-lying thing. Okay, sometimes, sure. But when you can see disaster coming? Why not say something? I’d want that.”

Rather than reply, he just looked at her. His dark gaze was steady and, after a few seconds, unnerving. She found herself needing to fidget, although she wouldn’t let herself.

“I like that you’re honest,” he said at last. “That you get defensive when you’re scared, that you risk your life for people you don’t know. I like that you’re a good friend and that everyone in town has something nice to say about you.”

She’d been uncomfortable with the compliments, but that last statement gave her something to hide behind. “You’ve been talking about me behind my back?”

“Unlike your plants, yes.” He smiled at her. “I’ll do it.”

Do what? She hadn’t asked a question and...

Thoughts filed neatly into subjects and the most obvious guesses of what he was talking about popped to the front of her brain. She opened her mouth, then closed it. A neat trick, considering her heart had come to a complete stop in her suddenly tight chest.

I’ll do it, as in “it”? The big it?

She had a feeling she’d gone completely pale. Or flushed the color of a radish. Neither would be attractive. But there had to be some outward manifestation of her inward disbelief.

“Why?”

The word burst out before she could stop herself.

Clay grinned, then stood and walked around the table. He took her hands in his and pulled her to her feet.

“I like you.”

She must have kept breathing, because she didn’t pass out. But the world seemed to be spinning.

“You say that now, but you’ll probably change your mind.” About all of it. “You know, I shouldn’t have asked. It was presumptuous. Too much, really. We barely know each other.” She tried taking a step back only to realize he was still holding on to her hands.

She stared down and saw his hands were much bigger than hers. His fingers were longer, his palms broader. There were no tingles, no heat. Just a sense of incredulity.

“I’ll get you where you need to go,” he told her. “How did you describe what you wanted to be?”

“Normal,” she whispered.

“Right. Normal.”

“Thank you. That’s very generous, but I’m taking it back. I’m okay the way I am. Really. Normal is highly overrated.”

He released one hand. “You’re scared.” He rested his free hand on the side of her neck, his thumb on her cheek, his long fingers reaching to her nape.

She wanted to tell him she wasn’t scared. That she laughed in the face of fear. Only she couldn’t seem to stop trembling long enough to speak. Terror wasn’t fear, right? She wasn’t actually lying.

The need to run grew, only her feet weren’t listening. Worse, Clay was moving closer. Like they were going to touch or something.

“You’re not starting now, are you?” she whispered, wishing she were somewhere in outer Mongolia. He would never find her there and she was pretty sure she would like yaks. “This isn’t a good time for me. I have grooming things I need to do and maybe I have to throw up.”

She pressed her lips together, wishing she didn’t sound like such a girl. She was strong, she reminded herself. Powerful. Safe. No one was taking that away from her.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, his dark eyes staring into hers. “Nothing will happen before you’re ready. It’s a process. I’ve been doing some research. We’ll go as slow as you need.”