Page 13 of Clay

Ivy made a noise, somewhere between a moan and a laugh that took his control to the very edge, hovering there on a knife’s blade.

It would be so easy to slide underneath her t-shirt, so easy to push past her shorts, so easy to feel her desire beneath his fingertips. And he wanted it so badly, more than he could ever remember wanting anything.

It was that want, that driving need, that pulled him back from the brink. Made him disengage their lips and drop his forehead to hers, his breathing choppy, his hands full of her very delectable ass.

She looked up into his eyes, her pupils blown wide with desire, her lips wet from his, and he knew he could take her. That she was a free enough spirit to give him this and not hate him in the morning.

But he just might hate himself.

It took every fiber of his being, but he loosened his hands, pushed her in a long, lush slide down his body that made his cock throb in response, forced a pained grunt out of him.

And then he stepped back, smoothing her shirt into place.

When he spoke, his voice was rough. “I’m on the job,” he said and knew the words were wrong the second they came out of his mouth. But it was the truth. It didn’t matter that he’d never been so tempted in his life. Because she was sunshine and light, and he was the exact opposite. Had always been. Sleeping with her would bring them both nothing but misery. And he was here to protect her, not spend hours lost in what he was sure would be the best sex of his goddamned life.

Her jaw set in an obstinate line, and he was pretty sure she was going to argue, so he spoke first. “I can’t do my job if all I'm thinking about is fucking you.”

There. It didn’t get more bald than that.

Except she didn’t get angry, or offended, as he’d expected. As she had every right to be.

Instead she cocked her head and looked at him for so long it became discomfiting. Then she smiled, and it lit up her whole face. Made him want to taste her all over again. Feel the light.

She barely disguised her laughter when she replied. “So that’s how it is, huh? Tough macho dude can’t compartmentalize? That’s too bad, since I have no such problem.” She turned away, walked toward the stairs, her body moving with such feminine fluidity he was sure she was doing it on purpose.

“I’ll be thinking of you tonight,” she said over her shoulder with a wink, and climbed the stairs, the sway of her hips completely capturing every ounce of his attention.

Clay stared after her, wondering what the hell had just happened. Had she really just blown off his good intentions and thrown down a gauntlet?

He blew out a breath, followed her up the stairs and turned off the lights.

She’d not only thrown down a sexual challenge, but she’d also ensured what would fill his dreams, if he even got to sleep.

~

Over the course of the wee hours, Clay wondered more than once if he should have taken Ivy up on her offer.

It wasn’t as if he was getting any sleep.

But he wouldn’t, couldn’t succumb to that temptation. Because he was on the job. Because he wasn’t sure he could take her innate openness, the fact she saw everything with a rosy glow.

That glow had been stripped from him, if he’d ever had it, on the desert hardpack in Syria. The forty-five minutes it'd taken the PJs to reach them had been the longest and most painful of his life. Having to look at Dylan, hearing the copilot activelydie, wondering if he'd be forced to opt out instead of being taken prisoner.

Knowing that if he had to make that final, horrible decision, there was no one to truly mourn his loss.

He shook himself out of thoughts of the past. They’d gone over those things in therapy ad nauseum, both in group and in solo sessions.

He was in the here and now and he had a job to do. Right now that job was to find Katie McAlister, and, if needed, protect Ivy Foster.

And Clay always did his job.

~

Clay was already on his second cup of coffee by the time Ivy came out of her room. She looked like she’d gotten as many hours of sleep as he had.

That gave him a perverse bit of satisfaction.

She walked straight to the coffee maker, poured herself a cup and drank it down like she was mainlining it. Meanwhile, Clay sipped his very, very light coffee. He'd found creamer and sugar in her cabinets but no tea bags, so had to make do.

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