What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 9) Page 47

  Approaching her doorway, Tracy motioned for Shayla to hand over her room card. “It’s his way of keeping himself in check. He just needs some time to cool down.”

  “He’s been doing it since he was little.” The click of the door unlatching mingled with JC’s low understanding laugh. “He’ll be back. He has to, he has no shoes.”

  “He’s just like our dad. That’s the only way we knew our parents were arguing.”

  Shayla couldn’t wrap her head around the outrageous idea. “This is how he argues?”

  Sometimes having patience seemed more like a jail sentence than a virtue. They were already late for their flight. Shayla waited an hour and thirteen minutes before John walked through the door. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she clutched her phone. “I don’t even have your number. I was worried—”

  “We’re gonna fix that right now. I already have yours, in case you were wondering.” He stood between her thighs, peering down at her. Dark bruising circles highlighted his red eyes. John retrieved her phone and entered his number. She remained quiet, unsure of what to say. “I know what I signed up for when we agreed on the weekend, but I had no idea how I was going to feel about you. I don’t like this one bit, but…you go do what you have to do.”

  “I was expecting him to be there when I get home, but he’s going to Washington and won’t be back for a few days.”

  “You spoke with him?” came a growl.

  “No, I just read his text.”

  He tugged her from the bed and into his powerful embrace.

  She went slack, nuzzling into his chest, inhaling the salty air lingering with his familiar scent.

  “Come home with me. I’m not gonna be myself without you, Shay. You settle me.” His low voice purred along her temple in a pleading hush.

  Wrapped to his waist, she lifted her chin. He caught her bottom lip between his. “Can’t. I have meetings and phone conferences scheduled all day for…I don’t know how long. Days? Weeks? It’s gonna be crazy. My boss, Tommy Clemmins, just got married.”

  Her fingers crept up his chest, curling around the back of his neck, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. Slowly, torturously, he relaxed into her mouth, possessing every sensitive spot he now owned.

  The twelve hour flight felt like it raced by in twelve minutes. The armrest acting as vital separation from John on the flight to Greece was now immediately hidden between the fully reclined leather seats. They both lay on their sides. Shayla snuggled as close as she could get with her arms tucked between them. John caught her hand, kissing each knuckle before taking her mouth in a fierce, insatiable kiss.

  Neither spoke much, only low murmurs between dozens of erotic toe-curling kisses and heavy petting that nearly made her climax in her seat. Shayla didn’t want to sleep, but eventually dozed off, half-stretched across his lap.

  A dim glow illuminated the plane’s interior, casting shadows over John’s slumbering face. Sleep relaxed the tiny muscles near his eyes, depicting his age more clearly. Unaware of how long she’d slept or where they were in route, Shayla dreaded the fact she was closer to Vegas. Wetness gathered between her cheek and the warm leather. She wiped her face and untangled herself from John, climbing over him carefully so as not to disturb him.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice a strand of silk.

  She bent, nuzzling his ear. “Be right back.”

  He locked onto her wrist, blinking to adjust to the darkness. He examined her face, frowning with concern.

  She smiled, carefully, and winked, easing out of his grip, hoping her sadness would be masked as fatigue from jet lag.

  She escaped into the lavatory and locked the door. Glimpsing her shattered reflection in the mirror, she grabbed a hand towel from the stack and ran it under cold water. She held it to her puffy eyes, praying it would ease her pain.

  “Shay?” he whispered at the door, knocking lightly.

  She tossed the rag in the sink and opened the door. Unable to muster a smile, she merely stood there.

  John maneuvered into the cramped quarters and she backed against the small granite countertop. Taking one look at her, he gave a sympathetic hum.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “God. Please stop making that sound. It makes me feel even more pathetic. Seriously, I just need to pull myself together. Every time I get within a five-foot radius you, I’m either crying or coming.”

  “I prefer the coming.” A flash of white crossed his somber face and he closed the small gap between them. “And don’t forget the laughing. Damn, I love your smile.”

  “How long—”

  “Shh,” he whispered into the curve of her neck, licking and nipping with his teeth. A smooth sensual groan crooned from her throat. “We’re not gonna talk. We’re not gonna discuss how long or tomorrow.” John lifted his elbow, bumping off the light switch.

  “Hey, wait, I like seeing you.” Her complaint went unheard as he stripped off her shirt, devouring her shoulder.

  “I want you to remember right now. Forever.” John shimmied her jeans to the ground and lifted her on the counter. He brought her hands to his face, brushing a kiss to the palm of her hand. “It’s just you and me, soaring a mile above any land mass. Nothing else matters, Shay. Nothing. I’ve never felt so connected to anyone as I feel with you.”

  Minutes passed by in dignified slowness, engulfing her senses in John’s texture and spicy scent. Blindly, she worked at his clothing. Laying her hands on his bare chest, she rejoiced in the warmth. The chill of her fingers brought a layer of goose bumps to his skin. John’s lower abdomen strained taut as she unbuttoned his jeans, loosening the denim over his hips.

  They traced each other’s bodies in long, sweeping strokes, filled with intuitive fixation. Each flexing chord and rope in his muscles brought a new thrill to her fingers. A rapacious growl hummed in her throat as her hands roamed lower over his chiseled stomach.

  “I love the sounds you make.” The moist heat of his heavy breath settled on her skin like a ray of sunshine. The palm of his hands skimmed across her chest, cupping her breasts. He rolled her nipples gently between his finger and thumb. John scooted her to the edge, gently nudging into her wet folds.

  She groaned, spreading her legs wider, propping a foot on the wall beside them.

  He impaled her, driving deeper.

  Shayla wriggled and panted, contracting around him.

  He withheld any movement, driving her to near madness before thrusting again. “Oh, yes.”

  So fully indulged in her euphoric high, she didn’t even feel embarrassed of the gratitude oozing in her voice.

  A dark, insatiable chuckle rumbled in her ear and he held still again, starving off her climax.

  “I can’t get enough of you. Part of me wants to make love to you sweet and slow and the other part—” His mouth found hers, firm and slippery. Placing one hand beneath her butt and the other on the mirror behind her back for leverage, he filled her again and again, possessing her mind, body and soul. “—wants to fuck you into the next atmosphere.”

  A familiar vision flashed in her mind. The same vision she’d had on the flight to Greece. Surrounded by the darkness, she’d never seen him more clearly. A bolt of heat shot through her. Surrendering to his inexorable rhythm, she let her momentum surge and she buried her cries into his mouth. He didn’t have to ask to say it. His name rolled off her lips in a long drawn out climax. “John.”

  Saying goodbye to John in Las Vegas was the most difficult thing she had ever done in her life. Tracy and JC took turns giving her hugs goodbye. Shayla couldn’t manage one solitary word, fearing she would have a break down.

  JC embraced her, assuring quietly, “Don’t worry. Everything happens for a reason.”

  John held to her tightly with his chin resting on the top of her head, swaying gently while the girls gathered their belongings.

  Watching him walk off the plane, not knowing when she would hear from him again, sent a sickening feeling freefalling to the
bottom of her gut. They made no plans, no arrangements, no agreements. Crossing her arms over her chest, she couldn’t ignore the ache settling behind her heart.

  Never in her life had her heart felt completely vacant as the moment she watched him step off the plane. She closed her eyes to visualize him and a flood of sorrow overwhelmed her. Shayla retreated down the aisle, and her quiet sobs filled the empty cabin. Shaking from head to toe, she wept in agony, unable to stop the upsurge of tears.

  Suddenly, rough, heavy hands touched her shoulders and John folded her into his arms. He cradled her face. “Shh. Don’t cry, baby.”

  Shayla’s chin crumpled and her stomach tangled in confusion. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you something to think about,” he said in a guttural voice. In one, smooth, deliberate move, he covered her mouth with his. Huge tears rolled down the side of her nose, catching in his palms. The taste of salt mixed with the minty flavor of his kisses. His tongue sank into her mouth, the sweet heat calming her shredded nerves. Her balance disintegrated and she clung to the hard planes of his body.

  Shayla showered him with intoxicating kisses, showing him the words he didn’t want to hear.

  John eased away from the warmth of her lips, his eyes fixed upon hers, demanding her full attention. “I want you to know, you’re not a reason or a season, Shay. You are the woman of a lifetime. I know it will take a few days, but I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  Over the next two days, Shayla felt off center in her world. She couldn’t stop the despondent feeling of mourning consuming her. She was lost without John. Carrie Ann stayed with her the first night she got home. Shayla sipped on a rock glass of whiskey, pouring her heart out. Her best friend took it all in, but remained speechless.

  “Say something. You’re freaking me out.”

  “I’m not sure what to say. I’m still stuck on the fact you…you just kinda went for it. You’ve been my best friend for ten years and you’ve never gone to bed with a man without dating him for at least a few weeks. I’ve never seen you make rash decisions.” Carrie Ann’s bright blue eyes sparkled empathetically. “Typically, you leave the impulse lays to me. Especially the younger ones.”

  “He’s not a lay,” she snapped defensively, a scowl tugging between her brows.

  “Oh, honey,”—Carrie Ann clinked her glass to Shayla’s—“I know he’s not a lay. It sounds like he’s the man of your dreams.”

  Shayla nodded hotly taking another slow draw from the glass.

  “When does Mat get home? I don’t envy you, he’s not going to take it very well.”

  “Two days.”

  Two days felt more like two years. The rising sun broke over the horizon, and surfers dotted the frigid water, waiting for the perfect wave. Not even the soothing sound of the waves crashing on the beach made her happy. Over the last few days, work left her in a state of exhaustion, yet sleep escaped her. She sat on top her surfboard and closed her eyes, letting her hands drift across the surface of the water. Shayla felt the imprint of John’s hands caressing her in the darkness like the water lapping at her thighs.

  “Shayla!” A female voice carried along a ripple of water, pulling her from her solitude. A young woman paddled up beside her. Shayla had seen her surfing on several occasions during the summer months. “Congratulations! I was hoping you’d be out here catching some waves today.”

  A jolt of panic jumped in the center of her chest. “Congratulations?”

  “Yeah. Heard Tommy finally got married!”

  “What?” Shayla’s mouth dropped open, partially relieved the girl wasn’t wishing her cheers to marital bliss.

  “My mom’s a hot mess! She’s always had the hots for him. Hey, is she pregnant or what?”

  “What? No! Where did you hear that?” Shayla didn’t bother waiting for her response. She laid flat and started to paddle for the next wave.

  The coarse sand beneath her feet couldn’t come fast enough. This was not good. Shayla had spent the last two days arranging interviews and releases, but nothing was scheduled for another week. Everyone assumed her Uncle would be publicizing a new film production or a humanitarian effort. No one would ever guess Tommy Clemmins would be announcing an engagement, let alone a wedding. Tommy wanted complete control when he broke the story about his wedding.

  With each pump of her arm, she went over every conversation, hoping she hadn’t inadvertently let something slip. She hit the beach running, not even bothering to rinse off the saltwater.

  As she rounded the corner for home, her frantic heartbeat dropped to her toes when she caught a glimpse of a black sedan parked out front of her house. “Shit! Not now. I can only deal with one catastrophe at a time.”

  As she neared her driveway, a driver stepped out and stood outside the door.

  Her stomach eddied. She’d gone over her speech with Mat a thousand times, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  “Mrs. Huntston would like a word with you.” The stone-faced driver extended his hand to retrieve her board and opened the car door.

  “Mrs. Huntston?” Shayla felt the blood draining from her face as she tilted her head, peering into the car. She opened her mouth to ask if Mat was okay, but was quickly swathed in a negative aura. “Umm, I don’t really want to ruin your interior with my wetsuit. Would you like to come in?”

  “How considerate of you.” Antagonism surged from her pursed lips in whitecaps and her hard glare never faltered from the back of the driver’s headrest. “But this won’t take long.”

  Shayla couldn’t shake the feeling she’d just been called into the Dean’s office. She climbed into the car, awkwardly sitting at the edge of her seat. A hint of the ocean mixed with new car smell as she tucked a sandy, sodden strand of hair behind her ear.

  Mat’s mother gripped a manila envelope. She opened it and handed a stack of photos to Shayla. “It appears you’ve been very busy the last week.”

  A hostile chill hung between them. Shayla’s stomach felt like it dropped off a thirty-foot wave as it crashed beneath her. She thumbed through six photos of her with John in Greece. One picture was taken the first day in Greece while they walked innocently through the village. However, several shots were taken at the dock showing them nose-to-nose in an embrace, and two were from the airport of them kissing.

  “You had me followed?” she questioned blandly.

  “I know a bad egg when I smell one.”

  “You had no right to follow me. This is between Mat and I.” Guilt and contempt mixed with anger at the invasion of her privacy.

  “You are nothing but a dirty little tramp,” Mrs. Huntston glowered indignantly. “Worthless, like the rest of your family.”

  Shayla’s eyes narrowed. It’d taken years of therapy, but she’d learned to stop taking shit from bullies a long time ago. She forced a casual shrug. “I don’t think we should judge each other’s families. What do you want?”

  “I want you out of my son’s life. He has a great political career ahead of him and you are not going to sabotage it,” she fumed, jabbing her fingernail into the seat beside her.

  “I planned on telling Mat as soon I returned from Greece.”

  “You won’t get the chance. I’m handling it from here on out. I’ll be tactful. Do you understand? I don’t need your whoring around to get out to the media. You’ll make him look like a fool.”

  Shayla had heard enough. Keeping her cool, she opened the door and stepped out of the car. The driver shut the door. Her hands trembled violently. Taking control of her surfboard, she fumbled with the photos, dropping one on the ground. The car pulled away from the driveway as she bent to pick up the picture. Peering down at the photo of her and John at the dock, she realized it was taken the day of the wedding.

  An idea weaved an unsettling path through her consciousness. “Son-of-a-bitch. The fucking Frenchman! I knew it!”

  She laid her board on the ground and trotted barefoot after the car, knocking on the window. The dark tint lowered par
tially. “Did you really think he wouldn’t find out? I suggest you start worrying about the life left in your campaign, Mrs. Huntston. When Tommy finds out you’re the one who leaked his wedding, he’ll show you no mercy.”

  “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about! This picture,”—Shayla held up the photo and tossed all of them through the window onto the bitch’s lap—“was taken the night of Tommy’s wedding. Your investigator sold photos of his wedding just to line his own pocket, to sweeten the deal.”

  Mrs. Huntston looked as if the full transcript of her concession speech just played through her mind.

  Shayla straightened her posture, relishing in the uncomfortable silence. For the first time since Shayla had met her, Mrs. Huntston appeared frazzled.

  “I’m guessing you’re starting to sweat through that silk blouse right about now.”

  “I didn’t hire an investigator to leak your uncle’s wedding. That’s ludicrous.”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t refer to it as ludicrous, more like the demise of your campaign. You may not have hired him to leak Tommy’s wedding, but you sure as hell hired him nonetheless. And your dirty little political animal just outed one of Hollywood’s most influential players.” Shayla enjoyed watching her squirm. Judging by the ashen shade of grey Mrs. Huntston was turning, she was oblivious to the PI’s ulterior motives. “I’m assuming you’ll make certain Mat will be home tomorrow and that he won’t see these photos.”

  Mrs. Huntston shifted in her seat. She returned the photos to the envelope and curled her fingers into a tight ball on her lap.

  “Consider it done,” she said insipidly, closing the window and ordering the driver to pull away from the curb.

  Shayla worked with her uncle’s publicist through the night putting out fires. Tommy and Tess would be arriving earlier than planned. Tommy had an unimaginable wealth of resources, and would dig deep to find the perpetrator…and bury them. How her uncle handled Mrs. Huntston would be his decision, but there was no doubt the woman had just dug her own political grave.