...Los Angeles...

Chapter One Hundred Thirty Four

Clay ignored the other people at the highly polished mahogany table and turned his bored face to the tinted windows, windows that helped maintain optimum temperature against the late afternoon sun. In the glass's reflection he could see the six expensively suited men politely awaiting his response. Coffee cups and water tumblers perfectly aligned in front of each of them created a bizarre, strictly ordered and uniform sight.

He turned to the executives and smiled. "No thanks," he said genially and rose to his feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a busy schedule."

"Clay...wait."

Clay shook his head, holding level the arrogant brown gaze of the man who'd spoken. "You have my answer." He nodded to each of them in turn, said, "Gentlemen," and walked toward the closed meeting room door.

The contemptuous, "Because of...her?", came from the man who'd tried to stop him.

Clay wheeled, then strode back to where the man sat at the table. He placed one hand on the table, the other on the top of the man's chair, then bent down until his face was less than an inch from the other man's. "I'm a peaceful man by nature," Clay said lightly, then his voice hardened and lowered. "But if you ever refer to my wife again in such a manner, you will seriously regret it."

The man dropped his gaze to the floor, not raising it until Clay straightened.

A grey-haired man flatly stated, "You had that coming, Roger." Then to Clay he said a cajoling, "Clay, come on, can't we..."

But Clay had already left the room, gestured to Junior to join him and made a quick walk to the elevator. Clay said nothing and judging by Junior's silence and side glances to him, Clay's face and clamped jaw said conversation was out.

***

Catherine put Raleigh's bowl on the floor and gave her a quick head rub. "We're looking for a house, honey, so it shouldn't be too long before you have a nice yard to run around in, instead of an apartment house parking lot." It didn't matter that the rear of their apartment faced the woods or that there were only four apartments currently rented on their side of the building. The rest of the other apartments were owned by people who were in residence maybe three months of the year, abroad the majority of the time.

Raleigh ignored Catherine in favor of dinner and Catherine wandered into the large bedroom. They'd been in Los Angeles only a week, but Clay's schedule was so tight that it left little time to go house-hunting together. Maybe they'd have one built, like Clay suggested. But where would they ever find the time for all that something of that magnitude required? She sighed, then smiled. She didn't really care where they lived. Their love was so strong she knew even a treehouse would suffice to be called home as long as she and Clay were together.

This apartment was furnished, something that didn't particularly thrill Catherine, but it sure had been handy when they arrived here from Texas. Aunt Margaret had handled well her brother's death, better than Catherine had expected. Both Aunt Margaret and Eric understood the pressure Clay was under to return to LA and Eric had stayed in Texas instead of returning to Virginia. Eric was kneedeep in getting the old homestead prepared as a camp and Catherine knew, despite her brother's "everything is going fine" that there were a lot of headaches involved. Eric and Clay still spent hours on the phone honing details that had to be finalized if the camp was to open next summer.

Catherine looked at the clock, then drew and exhaled a deeply bored breath. Clay wasn't due home from his meeting for another hour. She sat on the edge of the four poster bed and stared at her image in the cheval mirror. She looked rumpled. Felt rumpled. What she wanted was a sense of excitement. The kind of skin-tingling excitement she felt just knowing Clay was near.

An idea hit and she giggled, but she raced for the shower and sang all the way through a scrubbing and subsequent drying.

She slicked back her wet honey blonde hair, padded naked to the pine triple dresser and rummaged in the top drawer until she found what she wanted. Clay had bought it for her and she hadn't yet had a chance to wear it. Slinky, shimmering black satin that ended just below her thighs.

She pulled it over her head, the thin satin straps light on her shoulders, and smiled to herself at how she'd surprise Clay when he walked in the door. She gave a turn in front of the mirror and despite what she had planned for her husband, blushed at what she knew she'd see in his eyes when he saw her.

Catherine's cell phone rang and she grabbed it when she saw it was Clay. "Hi sweetie," she greeted him, then her heart dropped and she added, "Are you calling to say you'll be late?"

Clay's soft laugh sent a shiver of anticipation up her spine. "Not at all. I'm on my way home. Is there anything you need while I'm out?"

Catherine walked to the living room's sliding doors and stepped outside, onto their long, second floor balcony, admiring the angry red sunset beyond the trees. "No, baby," she answered in a husky whisper, then turned to close the doors so Raleigh wouldn't use the balcony for her potty again. "But when you get here, well...let's just say I'll have a surprise waiting."

Clay's voice dropped to match hers. "I'm not far, sweetheart, and I've been thinking about you...if you know what I mean."

Catherine leaned on the balcony and grinned. "Let me see if I can figure it out," she started, then shot upright and turned toward the doors. "Oh, no," she cried.

"Catherine," Clay called. "What's wrong?"

Catherine grabbed the door handle and pulled. "Oh, shoot," she told him. "I just locked myself out."

Clay laughed. "So what? I'll be home in a few minutes."

"You don't understand," she told him. "I'm outside, on the balcony."

"Uh...okay. So?"

To Catherine's horror, two older women came from the woods, each with a Yorkie on a leash. "Clay," Catherine whispered and backed against the building. "You need to get here, real quick."

Clay laughed again. "Catherine, what did you do? Or don't I want to know?"

"Just hurry," she urged and hung up.

Catherine peered over the side of the balcony and saw the women had stopped and were staring up at her. She went hot all over, recognizing them as two of the very snooty apartment owners who had snubbed her "hello's" and made it clear they considered show business people to be rabble.

She offered them a polite nod, which they ignored and started around the front of the building. Within five minutes two more older women walking their dogs had exited the woods and given her the same look.

Where was Clay?

Panic set in. Had Clay gotten caught in the infamous LA gridlock? Catherine was beside herself with anxiety and could wait no longer. Their apartment was on the second floor. Surely she could drop safely to the ground before anyone else came out of the woods.

Tentatively, she put one bare foot over the side of the balcony and turned, then slowly put the other foot over, until both were firmly within the rail spaces. What a wierd feeling on the bottoms of her feet. She lowered her body until her butt was kind of hanging in the air above her feet, then she slowly slid her hands down until she felt it was safe to take one foot from the railing. Her arms were already tired but her sinking heart told her there was no way she had the strength to climb back up and over the balcony. With one foot hanging in the air and one eye always on the woods, Catherine struggled to free her other foot from the railing. Only when she had both feet free and dangling in the air did she realize how tremendous her mistake. It was way too far down for her to jump to the ground. And her arms were about to give out.

Where was Clay?

The burst of laughter was so loud, so sudden, and Catherine so startled that she nearly lost her grip on the railing.

Clay strode to her. "What in the name of God are you doing?"

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

"I was just upstairs and you weren't there. Now I see why."

"Funny," she shot at him. "Help me down. And hurry, please, before somebody else sees us."

"Well," Clay said nonchalantly as he walked to stand beneath her. "Personally, I don't care if anybody sees me..." he broke off and roared with laughter. "Catherine, you're not wearing underwear."

"No kidding," she said sourly.

She couldn't hold on any longer and her hands slipped from the railing. Clay caught her in his arms and a grin split his face. "So, you've just been hanging around...shootin' the breeze?

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirty Five

With Catherine still in his arms, Clay swung around when Junior came from the front of the building.

Junior began, "Did you..." then trailed off when he saw Catherine. Junior cleared his throat and kept his gaze on the ground until Clay had set Catherine down on her bare feet. "Well," Junior said casually. "That explains what those old biddies out front are chirping about."

"Oh, no," Catherine breathed, and lightly slapped Clay's arm when he laughed. "Take off your shirt, Clay," she said hurriedly.

Clay's eyebrows shot up. "Don't you think one of us in a public strip show is enough? Besides, isn't underwear the missing item of choice?"

Catherine grabbed his shirt, tearing at the buttons in a frenzy to separate Clay from his blue-and-white-striped shirt. "Poke fun all you want, Clay, but get out of that shirt."

Clay playfully swatted her hands away after two buttons went flying and she turned in exasperation to Junior. "I need his shirt."

Junior started walking backward, shook his head and put his hands in the air. "Oh, no. Uh uh. Leave me out of this. You two pervs are on your own." His deep belly laugh echoed back to Clay and Catherine as Junior went to the front of the building.

Catherine continued her assault on Clay's shirt until he was laughing so hard he couldn't stand straight. "Stop. Stop," he said in concession. She let go of the shirt but glared at him. Laughter still bubbled in his throat, but he managed, "You don't really think that I'd make you strut back inside dressed...or undressed...like that, do you?"

Catherine's hands were on her hips. "I'm starting to wonder," she said flatly.

Then her hands dropped to her sides and Clay saw her eyes fill and her lower lip tremble. Remorse instantly replaced humor and he tried to draw her close but she backed away from him.

"You don't understand, Clay. Those women...the ones Junior saw...they're probably two of those that came from the woods with their dogs and..."

"And they saw you?" Clay finished for her. He shrugged, not really getting that it was a big deal. "So what?" Then he looked closely at Catherine. "Or were you already hanging down and enjoying the evening air?"

He was relieved when Catherine giggled. "No, at least I was still on the balcony." Then she sobered again. "But...well, I didn't tell you before, but I saw them several times outside on the grounds this week and I tried to be friendly. They ignored me every time and turned their backs to me."

Clay touched the side of her face. "Are you sure?" he asked gently. "Is it possible they didn't hear you? Did you call hello or wave and they just didn't see you?"

"No," Catherine said. "I wish that is what happened. But it isn't. The one that wears the gold-rimmed glasses made sure that I heard her say show business rabble."

Clay's jaw set in anger and this time when he drew Catherine close she came freely. "Well, maybe when we get out front they'll be gone."

He took off his shirt and held it for her to slip her arms into, then he buttoned the blue buttons that had managed to hang on during Catherine's initial attack.

"Let's go," he told her and winked.

Hand-in-hand they strolled around the front of the building. To Clay's great relief the women were not in sight. Neither was Junior, but Junior's car was in the lot.

When they entered the apartment building's lobby Clay saw two women standing by the palm-flanked elevator. Junior, his face a hard mask, was talking to them and they looked none too happy with what he said.

Catherine balked at going in that direction, but Clay squeezed her hand, said, "Trust me", and led her toward the waiting elevator.

"Ladies," Clay said pleasantly, offering his warmest smile to the stout, gray-haired woman with gold-rimmed glasses.

His greeting went unreturned by them, it was met only with cold stares.

Catherine's hand in Clay's tightened and Clay knew she was angered. Not at them snubbing her, but because they'd been rude to Clay. He tightened his own grip, reassuring Catherine to maintain her cool.

Clay snapped his fingers as though he'd just remembered something. "Junior, I left a notebook in the car. Would you get it and we'll meet you upstairs?"

"Uh...sure," Junior answered, and with a polite, "Miss Catherine," went outside.

Clay gestured to the opened elevator. "Ladies, after you."

Dark eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses were haughty and the response was a cold, sneering, "Thank you, but we'll wait for the next one."

Catherine's hand jerked in Clay's and he knew Catherine was as mad as he'd ever seen her, but his grip reminded her to let him handle this.

"As you wish," he said genially, and walked into the elevator with Catherine.

Instead of closing the doors, he let go of Catherine's hand but put her facing the rear while he faced the front. When Catherine's blue eyes met his, he saw by the absolute delight in them that she knew what he was about to do. He pulled a coin from his pocket and tossed it to the elevator floor.

"Catherine, I dropped something, sweetheart. Would you pick it up for me?"

"Of course, darling."

And she did.

Clay hit the 'close door' button.

The last thing he saw before the elevator doors slid shut was the two flabbergasted faces that Catherine mooned.

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirty Six

Clay glanced up at the elevator's corner surveillance camera, and though he inwardly cringed, he kept a casual pose. To the camera, he raised one eyebrow and stated, "Hey, if it walks like rabble, talks like rabble..."

Catherine's face was innocent when she looked at Clay, then into the camera and back to Clay. "Point made?"

"Point made," he affirmed solemnly, struggling to keep a straight face.

They stood side-by-side, hands folded demurely in front of them until the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Clay had no idea what was going on over in the security office, but he knew the cameras were viewed live, in real time.

The camera was not in position to see Catherine's bare butt, only that she bent over with her butt facing the door while she picked something up for Clay. But Clay suspected security recognized what had just happened and that if any of them had ever had run-ins with or even encountered the snooty women, they were probably cheering.

Clay and Catherine stepped out without another glance to the camera and walked directly to their apartment. It wasn't until Clay unlocked the door and they were inside behind a closed door that they let loose with unrestrained laughter.

Catherine collapsed on the pale gray carpet, wiping her eyes. "I never expected you to do something like that."

Clay was bent double and his stomach was in knots from laughing so hard. "Me?" he demanded. "I didn't show them my...breeze shooter."

"No," Catherine agreed in between hoots and blubbering laughter. "But you did one whale of a set-up to my doing it. They never saw it coming."

Persistent knocking on the door got their attention and Clay straightened. He shot Catherine a look and blurted, "Maybe they called the cops. Quick, put underwear on and hide the evidence."

That sent them both into roars of laughter, but somehow Clay managed to get to the door. After he put his hand on the knob he turned back to Catherine. She was now in a ladylike pose in the middle section of the black leather sofa.

Clay forced the laughter back down his throat and opened the door.

Junior wore a shell-shocked look and stared at Clay.

Clay stepped aside and Junior entered the spacious black, pale gray and teal living room, but still stared at Clay. He very obviously avoided looking at Catherine.

Junior's tone proved he was rattled. "Two questions, perv. Did you...did...Miss Catherine...tell me those old biddies lied..."

A glance into the hall said no one was racing to their door.

Clay closed the door, grinned, sat beside Catherine and put his arm around her. She pulled her feet up onto the sofa, tucked them to the side and leaned into Clay.

Clay laughed. "Don't ask the question when you already know the answer, Junior. What's your second question?"

Shock edged Junior's question. "What is it with you two and elevators?"

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirty Seven

Clay grinned at Junior. "The elevator episode at the Sundowner was Catherine's revenge on me. This one happened because...well, as you so succinctly put it, the old biddies were chirping." His face sobered. "I saw you talking to them in the lobby right before we came inside. What did you say to them that made them so indignant?"

Catherine carefully slid to the edge of the sofa, gave Clay a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried into the bedroom, to dress properly, Clay surmised. Clay gestured to Junior to take a seat in the oversized wing chair.

Junior guffawed, but didn't sit down. "After I told them what I thought of their gossiping and cackling, I let them know they looked and sounded like two plucked hens straining to lay an oversized egg."

Catherine's giggle reached them from the other room and Clay laughed. "I owe you, Junior," Clay told him and scooped Raleigh to the sofa beside him. "Take a load off and we'll figure out what's for dinner."

Junior glanced toward the bedroom and lowered his voice. "I know you sent me after a nonexistent notebook so you could...well, do what you did in the elevator. But guess who I just saw pull into the parking lot?"

Clay shrugged. "The elevator police?"

"Roger," Junior said tersely.

Clay shrugged again. "I know three people named Roger. Is this twenty questions or are you..."

"From the meeting."

Surprised, Clay looked at Junior, then shook his head. "He must be here to see someone else. I made myself pretty clear on where I stood, so I doubt he'd make a special trip over here to make his pitch again."

"I'm going back outside and make sure he doesn't come up this way."

Clay nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate that. I don't want Catherine upset by the likes of him - and he'd better understand that."

Catherine came out from the bedroom in jeans and a black Bubel/Aiken tee shirt. "Who's coming up?" she asked, pushing her still-damp hair back.

"Nobody," Clay answered.

"I'll call you later," Junior told him, then smiled at Catherine. "I'll take a raincheck on dinner. I have to take care of something first."

"Okay," Catherine answered, but was clearly puzzled.

Junior opened the door, then stepped out so quickly and shut it behind him that Clay saw nothing but a blur of a second man with his hand raised to knock. He briefly closed, then opened his eyes, but despite his wish that Catherine had missed the sight she was striding toward the door.

Clay got there a second after she had pulled the door open.

Catherine's scowl told Clay she well-remembered the director who had fired her from Clay's video shoot.

"May we help you?" she asked tightly.

Roger's smile to Catherine was winsome and so phony that Clay wanted to smash him. But stronger was his desire that Catherine not learn what had happened at the meeting.

"I'll call your office tomorrow," Clay said flatly, and tried to close the door.

Catherine grabbed it and stared at Clay. "What's going on?" she demanded, looking from Clay to Roger to Clay. Her glance to Junior was filled with suspicion but Junior didn't see it, he was too busy glaring at Roger.

"May I talk to you, Catherine?" Roger asked pleasantly. "There's been a misunderstanding and I think it can be cleared up if we all sit down."

"Misunderstanding about what?" she asked, and Clay didn't miss that her usual impeccable good manners, manners that would dictate she invite a person inside and out of the hall, were absent.

"Nothing," Clay said hastily. "I declined the commercial gig today. Finding another spokesperson shouldn't be too hard."

Catherine raised a hand. "Wait a minute." She pointed at Clay. "Am I hearing this correctly? The meeting this afternoon with the Krispy Kreme people...you turned down doing their commercial, the offer to be their spokesman?"

Clay gave Roger a cool look, one that warned him to keep his mouth shut. "The offer wasn't what I expected. Negotiations didn't go well."

Catherine gave Clay a thoughtful, evaluative look. "Uh huh. If you're implying they wouldn't pay well enough for you to do it, don't bother. You'd pay them for the opportunity to hawk their donuts. You'd like it even better if they'd pay you with donuts."

"It was a business decision, Catherine," he said curtly. "End of story."

"Bull...loney," she shot at him. "No way was money a deal-breaker. But something was and I'd like to know what."

Clay said nothing, but he felt his face flush when his stony gaze held Roger's.

"Miss Catherine," Junior interjected. "You don't need to hear about this. And Clay put him right in his place," he added heatedly. "He warned him he was never to talk about you again."

Clay closed his eyes and groaned, unable to believe his ears. Junior had tried to step in, to protect Catherine. Instead, he'd very probably lit a match.

Clay opened his eyes to find Catherine's blue gaze on him. "Is that true?"

"Yes," he said curtly. "And the man is on his way home. Aren't you, Roger?"

Roger appealed to Catherine. "I lost my temper at the meeting. That's why I'm here. To apologize to you both and ask you to hear me out."

Clay stepped between Catherine and Roger. "What's in it for you, Roger? You didn't come over here out of some twinge of conscience. So stuff the sugar coating."

Roger sighed, briefly closed his eyes, then nodded. "Okay. I admit that's not entirely why I'm here. But I am honestly sorry. I have no excuse other than I lost my temper."

No one would give Roger a break and they waited for him to give his true reason. "I've been fired from the shoot."

"Tough," Clay said flatly. "Not my problem."

"Hear me out," Roger said softly. "I need this job. Badly. My wife is very sick, she's in Italy, under the care of specialists. I need the money."

"I'm sorry about your wife," Clay told him, struggling not to let sympathy overrule his judgement. "But you brought this on yourself."

"Clay," Roger pleaded. "You don't understand. When word gets out I was fired I'll have a hard time landing other assignments. I can't take on extended shoots or even location shoots." His voice dropped. "I need to be available at a moment's notice...in case...Vivian..." he trailed off, then finished, "I may have to fly to Italy with no notice and this job is perfect for me."

When no one answered him, he cleared his throat, then nodded and looked at Catherine. "Well, I gave it my best shot," he said with a wry smile. "That's all I can do. Please accept my sincere apology. I do wish you the best."

He turned and started down the hall.

When Clay saw Catherine's compassionate gaze he knew. He didn't like what he realized was about to happen, but Catherine's gentle, caring heart was one of the things he loved most about her. It was hard, but Clay remained silent when Catherine called to Roger.

Catherine held the door wide. "Wait. Please come inside. We can at least talk and see if we can resolve whatever the problem is between you and Clay."

Clay saw the man's expression change, but with only a nominal view he couldn't be sure of what emotion had crossed the man's features. It may have been relief. Clay suspected it was a smirk, confirmed by Junior's dark look.

But when Roger turned, his face was a mask of innocence.

Clay leveled a hard gaze at him, letting him know that he was no one's fool and didn't intend to be played by Roger. And if Roger manipulated Catherine's soft heart for selfish gain it would be the biggest, most regrettable mistake of his life.

Clay would see to it personally.

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirty Eight

Clay was steaming when Roger walked past Catherine into the living room.

Clay and Junior followed and Clay stopped in front of Catherine long enough to give her a you'll deal with a very ticked off husband later look. All it earned him was Catherine's impassive blue gaze above her unreadable expression.

Why Junior came back, Clay wasn't quite sure, but he suspected that if there was any kind of brawl Junior intended to call dibs. Junior didn't take kindly to anyone putting down Catherine and only Catherine's restraint on him kept Junior from showing Roger exactly how he felt about the man's holier-than-thou mouth.

Clay took a seat alongside Catherine, opposite where Roger sat in the wing chair. Junior stood behind Roger's chair until Clay, despite his satisfaction in Roger's nervous glances over his shoulder, gestured to a second wing chair.

"I think Roger will be more comfortable with you in the other chair," Clay told Junior smoothly.

Catherine gave stern looks to Clay and Junior, then Clay was floored to see her warm smile to Roger. Oh, boy, was she gonna get it. Bad enough that she didn't bother asking Clay what this dirtball had said, why Clay had jumped to defend her, that she didn't now stand beside Clay in the unity he'd shown with her.

This cozy little gathering, in Clay's own living room no less, did nothing to unseat his anger. Oh, was she ever in for it for putting him in this position.

Catherine leaned forward and stretched out her hand to Roger, who shook it and returned her warm smile.

"Catherine," he started, "I am soooo happy you're giving me this opportunity. I realized the second Clay walked from the meeting that I'd acted unprofessionally, that it was unfair of me to refuse to include you, to hold a grudge against you over troubles on the other shoots we shared."

Clay felt the heat slam into his face, knew he'd turned so red that smoke must be shooting from his ears. This jerk was too much and Clay vocalized his contempt. "Was your sudden realization brought on by getting reamed by the Krispy Kreme execs?"

When he heard Catherine gasp, he took a deep breath and forced himself to speak calmly. "This isn't Catherine's decision," he told Roger. "It's my choice to do or to not do the commercial. I decided against it."

Roger nodded. "I completely understand your reason, too, Clay, and I can't apologize enough. If I thought getting on my knees and begging to Catherine would help, I'd do it. But I honestly think we can work this out."

Catherine put a light hand on Clay's thigh, squeezed it and smiled at him, then addressed Roger in a tone mild. "Speaking of getting on your knees, Roger, I think before we go any further I'd like to do that."

Roger stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

Catherine's voice was soft, her eyes gentle on Roger. "I've been in the position of acting badly and doing things I'd normally never do, trying to deal with the stress of a loved one that is in trouble or is very ill. I completely empathize with what you're going through. And I'd like us all to join together in a small prayer for your wife's recovery."

Clay and Junior's jaws dropped, then with Junior's mouth still wide open in shock, Clay's clamped shut and his anger grew to where he knew a shrieking train whistle accompanied the smoke shooting from his ears. Not because of Catherine's kindhearted prayer for Roger's wife. Never would he criticize something like that. But Clay was stunned at what he perceived disloyalty to him.

Roger's mouth moved for several seconds before he was able to speak. "That's...that's so...generous...so kind."

Catherine's smile was sweet. "May I have the number?"

Roger blinked. "Number?"

And Clay understood. And felt deep shame for doubting Catherine.

"Yes," Catherine said to Roger. "I'd like your wife to listen in and know that others are sharing her ordeal, that we're praying all goes well and she recovers."

"I...I..." Roger stammered. "That's not a good idea," he added hastily. "She's very weak and I try to be considerate, to ensure her rest."

Catherine frowned. "This is important to me. You asked for a second chance and I've accepted your olive branch. Please allow me to do this for your wife. May I have the number, please?"

Roger's mouth worked soundlessly, then he again stammered, "I...I..."

Catherine smiled and Clay saw the chill in her eyes, a chill she'd managed to conceal since she invited Roger into the apartment. Or more to the point, invited him into trapping himself within his own lies.

"You're not married, Roger," Catherine said. "Did you think I didn't know that? Or maybe you just hoped we wouldn't find out until after Clay signed a contract?"

Catherine rose to her feet and Clay joined her, staunchly at her elbow. Despite his fingers itching to grab hold of Roger and hurl him out the door he forced himself to remain still, and quiet, while Catherine spoke. "You have two choices. Either leave at my request or I'll have Junior escort you to your car."

Clay couldn't tell who shot to their feet the fastest...Roger or Junior.

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirty Nine

Junior's tone dripped honey. "I'm going that way, anyway, buddy," he told Roger. "I'd love to be your elevator companion."

Startled, Clay warned, "Junior..."

Junior gave Clay a withering, disdainful look. "Puh...leeeease," he shot at Clay. "We don't all howl at the full moon in an elevator."

Roger's expression vacillated between puzzled and frightened. "What are you two talking about?" he demanded. "I'm leaving, and I neither require nor want any escort," he blurted. Under his breath he muttered, "Especially a pervert." Before anyone could say a word he'd raced from the apartment.

Junior's mouth dropped open and he turned to Clay. "I think he got me mixed up with the two of you, if you know what I mean. Now," he said with a smile that warned both Clay and Catherine that he was up to something, "If you'll excuse me...I think I can still catch him."

With that, Junior left the apartment, closing the door with a silence Clay knew would unnerve Roger when he found Junior beside him.

Clay grinned from ear-to-ear when he turned to Catherine. "Boy, what I wouldn't give to see..." he stopped and frowned, surprised at Catherine's silent, angry look. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" she echoed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Umm...no, I don't believe I am," he joked.

"I want to know what happened at that meeting and why you didn't tell me about it when you got home?'

Clay shook his head and walked into the kitchen, but Catherine was right on his heels. "Now I know you're kidding," he told her flatly, then took a bottle of water from the refrigerator, unscrewed the cap and took a swallow.

Seeing she indeed was not kidding, he glared at her. "Would you like me to have told you in between swings from the balcony? Or maybe in the blink-of-an-eye span of time that passed when your hands let go and I caught you? Or maybe when you were shooting-the-moon to the biddies I could have freeze-framed it and said, Oh, by the way...". He raised his eyebrows and waited for Catherine to apologize.

"You called me," she reminded him. "You could have told me then."

Clay took another swig of water. "No, I couldn't have," he said, his temper rising. "I had no intention of telling you about it, for the simple reason that it doesn't matter. It's over. Done. Finished. End of story."

Catherine smiled at Clay, but it didn't reach her eyes. "We've never had secrets from each other, Clay. This isn't a good reason to start."

Clay's mouth dropped open. "Never had secrets?"

"Well," Catherine hedged, and Clay fought a grin that Catherine at least had the grace to blush. "Not about anything that matters." She lightly stomped her foot. "This matters. To me."

Clay put the bottle on the counter and tightened his jaw. He met Catherine's gaze and said, "Well, it also matters to me. I don't intend to repeat what that...man...said about you, the complaints. Let's just say you didn't get the job."

He turned and left Catherine in the kitchen and he strode through the living room and into the bedroom.

But determination had put speed into Catherine's step and she tapped his shoulder. He turned to see surprise in her blue eyes.

"Job? What are you talking about?"

"Krispy Kreme."

"No kidding," she said sourly, and plopped down onto the bed. "I thought this was an offer for you to be spokesman in commercials. There's more to that?"

Clay pulled off his shoes, socks and shirt. "The Krispy Kreme people thought it would be a cool idea if we parodied a famous movie couple in the commercial." He shrugged, then smiled, tossed his shoes and socks to the floor and his shirt to the foot of the bed. "I have to admit, I thought it was a great idea."

Catherine's face lit up. "That sounds like a lot of fun." She frowned. "But I don't understand how Roger was able to tell them who to have in their commercial. I gather he argued against me," she said dryly.

"To put it mildly," Clay confirmed. "When they first broached the idea I jumped on it and said you would be perfect..."

"Oh," she interjected. "So I wasn't their idea. I was your idea."

"Yes," he admitted and kissed her cheek. "But before the execs could offer a 'yay' or 'nay', Roger jumped in ranting about how unprofessional you were on any shoot he directed. How much trouble there was, how many production delays you caused, how costly..."

"I get the picture," Catherine interrupted.

Clay sighed and sat down beside her. "That's pretty much when I stepped in and put a halt to Roger and his rampage. Unfortunately, Roger is an award winning video and commercial director and they hand-picked him for these specialty spots. I suspected they would weigh his professional opinion and that if I signed on the dotted line that I'd be doing the spots with someone else. So I let them know I wasn't interested." He put his arm around her and squeezed. "It's no big deal. Now, can we talk about dinner?"

Clay's cell rang and he raised his eyebrows when he saw who was calling. "This should be interesting," he told Catherine and answered it.

He listened to the man on the other end, but gave only noncommittal "uh huhs" for Catherine to hear. When he hung up he said, "Okay. Tomorrow morning, then."

He flipped it off and turned to Catherine. "That was the honcho from Krispy Kreme. They'd like to see us both tomorrow morning. They'd like to work it out. But they also still want Roger." He grinned. "Are you interested?"

Catherine laughed, then threw herself into Clay's embrace. "Yes," she shouted. "Clay, this can be so much fun..."

But Clay was looking at the nightstand, where two donuts sat quietly, as though waiting to be picked up by a hungry hand.

He pointed. "Why are there donuts on the nightstand?"

Catherine tilted her head back and blushed to the roots of her honey blonde hair. "I thought we'd celebrate when you got home, in honor of you being a spokesperson for the product of your dreams."

"Ooooookay," Clay said thoughtfully, then lifted his brows and gave Catherine a smoldering look. "Sooooo....we're to feed them to each other?" he asked, his lips teasing hers, his breath mingling with hers. "In a sexy, sensual kind of way?"

She giggled. "Not exactly. I came up with a little game to play."

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty

Catherine's mouth was hot and slow on Clay's, her supple lips working his with a promise of what she had in store for him. He was still seated on the edge of the bed and she straddled him, winding her arms around his neck and gently pushing him backward until his feet were on the floor but his back was on the mattress.

The she slowly slid off him, her arms slipping through his hands as she rose to her feet and pulled her black tee shirt off. She laid her head back on her neck and languidly extended her arms toward the ceiling.

Then she raised her head again, lowered her arms and looked at Clay through eyes that sent blue smoke signals. "Give me a hand," she whispered.

He shot straight to a sitting position. "Sure," he said eagerly. "Where?"

He saw her bite back on laughter. "No," she informed him and turned her back to him. "I need you to...unhook me."

Clay's inner temperature flared and he put his hands around Catherine's waist, caressing her soft skin as he moved his hands from her sides to her stomach and back again. He put his face against her bare skin, grinning when his warm breath made her squirm. "I'd love to...but it's hooked in the front."

She half-turned and smiled. "I know," she said softly.

Clay felt the sweat breaking on his forehead. So far this was a great game. He didn't know where the donut part came in, but right now he wasn't sure if he'd still have his senses about him when that part happened.

With his breath falling rhymthically on her back, he reached his hands around the front of Catherine's slim body and cupped her firm breasts with big hands, then slipped his fingers expertly into her lacey bra's hook and flipped it open. It fell to the outside of her breasts and the thin straps slipped from her shoulders to her upper arms.

Clay's breath grew shallower as he gave a gentle tug to the straps and the bra landed in his hand. He dropped it to the floor and his hands returned to Catherine's breasts, to the hardened, upright nipples that rose and fell with the breathing that matched Clay's.

"Oh, God, Clay," Catherine breathed and Clay saw her eyelids flutter as his fingers teased, stroked, invited. "I'll never remember the rules if you don't stop that."

Clay turned her toward him and buried his face between her breasts, then offered one nipple a short, loving tug with his lips. "Rules?" he questioned in a low voice before he moved to the other nipple, his fingers working the snap of her jeans. "You make me forget my own name. Who cares about rules?"

Catherine giggled and backed up from Clay. "I do," she insisted, but the flush on her cheeks and the flames in her eyes said she forced herself to stop him.

"Okay," Clay said lightly. "What's the first rule?"

Catherine opened her mouth, then frowned, and Clay laughed. His sensual touches had ignited her to the point where she'd forgotten. "Come here," he growled and pulled her into the circle of his arms. "We'll play your game later. Right now..."

His mouth found hers in a hot need that sent excitement and anticipation through him so fast it scared him. Catherine moved away and stood in front of him, still shirtless, still with her jeans unsnapped. But he saw that she trembled.

Clay's heart soared to unprecedented heights at their inability to deny their shared passion, their insatiable want of each other. A fire hose on them would be useless.

"Okay, wiseguy," she told him. "Finish what you started."

Clay grinned at Catherine, but his mouth was unhurried as it reclaimed one nipple, then the other. His long fingers teased the fullness of her breasts, the curve beneath each, then moved downward, sliding her zipper open. His mouth didn't leave her breasts while his big hands freed Catherine's soft thighs from their denim prison.

Catherine's head was reclined on her neck and the low moans that escaped her lips incited Clay to tease her erect nipples with renewed fervor, his hands encircling her waist, sliding her lace undies down her hips.

Catherine stepped from her jeans and undies and kicked them to the side, her hands never leaving Clay's shoulders.

Clay's hands slid to Catherine's smooth buttocks, but her hands gripped his wrists.

"No," she whispered. "My turn."

Clay laid back but Catherine offered a mischievous smile and shook her head. "Uh uh. Stand in front of me."

Clay stood up, but his hands shook when he reached to take off his shirt. "I think maybe you'd better back up," he joked.

Catherine laughed softly. "Come here, Clay," she said in a low, sex-filled tone. "Let me make you a little more comfortable."

Catherine lay soft, breathy kisses on Clay's lips as she unbuttoned his shirt, then slid it from his arms and threw it to the floor. She sat naked on the edge of the bed and used Clay's jean's belt loop to pull him closer. Her eyes held his for only a second, then they closed and her mouth left a trail of small kisses from his stomach to the top of his jeans. She gave him a long look, then used her mouth to open the snap.

"Ow," she cried and grabbed her mouth.

Clay laughed but gently rubbed her lip with his fingertip. "Guess you're not as good at this as I am," he said smugly.

Catherine's brows shot up. "Oh, really?" Her fingers had his jeans unsnapped, unzipped and they and his boxers to his ankles so fast he didn't think he blinked twice. He was very happy to be wrong.

He stepped from them, his skin now searing everywhere that Catherine placed a light touch. And she was placing a lot of them. Expertly.

When Catherine leaned forward, found, kissed and followed the trail of pale hair that led downward from his stomach, Clay groaned and closed his eyes. Even though he knew what was coming he was unprepared for the intense heat that throbbed through his being when her lips found him. His hands were on her head, lightly, moving through her hair as her hands caressed his testicles, her soft mouth loving him. Her hands moved to his buttocks, making small circles as Clay moved with the motion of Catherine's mouth.

"Catherine," he groaned. "I can't take any more."

He didn't wait for her response. He gently laid her full on the bed, rose above her and brushed her hair back from her face. Such love flowed from blue eyes into green that Clay thought his heart would explode.

"God, woman," he said gently. "It must be criminal to love you so much."

Clay's mouth claimed Catherine's and as his body found, then entered the ready heat of hers, she moaned into his lips, then mutual passion detonated and broke all semblance of control.

Again and again, Clay withdrew to the point of leaving her, then pushed forward, filling her, filling Catherine's body as fully as their incredible love filled and swelled his heart. Her soft cries urged him, her legs locked around his waist encouraged him, her arched back and thrusting hips met each increasingly hard and fast movement. Clay's mouth was brutal on Catherine's, their kiss so deep, so passionate that it roared in his ears, his need for her matched only by her wanton need of him.

The inferno raging between them blocked out all else. No one existed but them, no urgency existed except their need for release, no movement existed except for the rhythmn of their bodies, giving, taking, offering. Loving.

Catherine's nails dug into Clay's back and she screamed against his mouth as her body convulsed around his and sweat from their bodies mingled. Clay's groan was deep, involuntary. He could hold back no more. His entire body shook as his mouth seared into Catherine's and he found his own release.

They lay entwined, still together and breathing heavily for several moments.

Then Clay raised his head and gave Catherine a gentle kiss. "I think you'll agree that I played a pretty good game," he said softly against her lips. "Can I have those donuts now?"

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty One

Clay nuzzled Catherine's neck, moving only long enough for her to reach to the nightstand and pick up one of the donuts. She used her free hand to gesture for him to roll onto his back.

He grinned and rolled onto his back, clasping his hands behind his neck. Oh, this was going to be good. If there was one thing Catherine had learned quickly it was how to be innovative in bed, how to drive him to the edge and hold him teetering on the brink while her body worked its magic on his. Unless he missed his guess she'd come up with a new magic trick. When blue eyes looked into his green ones he thought ooooooooh, yeaaaaaaah. He couldn't believe she was able to stir his insides again so soon.

"No," she scolded. "You can lay on your pillow, but you need to put your hands down at your sides."

"Why?"

"Just do it," she told him. "My game, my rules."

Clay shrugged, but complied.

"Open your hands," she instructed. "Well, one of them, anyway. Your choice of which one."

Clay stretched out his right hand and Catherine carefully placed a raspberry creme donut in his palm. "Don't squeeze," she warned.

Clay sighed and blew a kiss to the donut, winked at it, said, "I'll love you later. Right now it's Catherine's turn," and turned his attention back to his scowling wife.

"You're a real riot, Aiken," she informed him.

"I try," he said with a half-bow.

Catherine put her hands on her hips. Clearly exasperated she told him, "Lay down...oh."

Clay waited but Catherine just looked at him.

"Oh...what?" he asked.

"Well, I was just wondering if maybe you're fooling around so you can stall for time. Maybe you're not...ready...to do this."

Clay laughed so hard he nearly choked, then with his free hand grabbed her arm and pulled her on top of him. "Now who's the real riot?" he asked, nibbling her ear and leaving a soft trail of kisses down her neck, then searing her mouth.

Catherine drew back and looked over her shoulder, taking in the towering sight of what she had hinted might not be ready yet. "Oh," she giggled. "Definitely my mistake. You're very ready."

"Not to mention willing," Clay added, and grabbed at her arm to pull her back to him.

But Catherine hurried off the bed, then went around to the side where Clay held the donut. "Behave," she insisted. "I went to a lot of trouble to think up this game. It's not easy spending my time missing you."

Clay laughed. "I don't know too many husbands who wouldn't love their wives thinking up kinky games to play."

"This isn't kinky."

"Catherine, I'm laying on the bed naked with a jelly donut in one hand - one I've got designs on, to top it off - waiting for you to tell me what I have to do with it."

She shook her head, but slid onto the bed. She lowered her face to his but stayed an inch away. Clay held his breath. She had the ability to drive him wild from across the room, and when she got this close, well, his "ready" status was at full alert. The familiar cadence started in his heart and as he saw the smolder in her eyes he waited for her to lower her lips to his. Screw the donut, he thought and started to toss it to the nightstand. He had a better idea and one he knew wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

"Don't you dare," she warned.

Clay gave her a guilty grin, but nodded. "I'm all yours," he said and completely relaxed against the pillow.

Catherine slid down so that she was laying beside Clay. "Close your hand gently over the donut."

"Excuse me?"

"Do it."

Clay felt silly, but he did as she said.

Catherine's voice was soft, breathy, and she leaned over to kiss Clay's other hand. "Now," she told him. "You can do whatever you like with your free hand. Put it behind your head, keep it at your side or place it on your stomach."

"None of those things is what I had in mind for it."

Catherine swatted the hand he directed to her breasts. "You agreed to play," she reminded him. "Now abide by the rules."

"Okay, this doesn't seem to be too hard."

"You think so?" she asked and her grin to Clay was pure mischief. "Now, the other hand, the one holding the donut. You're to hold onto that donut, no matter what, without squeezing out even one drop of jelly."

"But I like jelly."

Catherine tried her best to frown but as soon as Clay grinned Catherine could no longer hold back her own. She shook a finger at him. "Be quiet and listen to me so you know how to play. You are going to lie there while I do whatever I want to do to you."

"I'm liking this game so far."

"You are to hold that donut loosely in your hand. Without so much as a drop of raspberry jelly escaping from it. No matter what I do to you, you have to maintain control and not squish the donut."

"If I do?"

"Then you lose."

"What's the prize?" He laughed. "I mean, what's the other prize?"

"Whomever wins gets to eat the donut."

"Uh, Catherine, sweetie, I don't know how to break it to you," he said with smug superiority, "but I can't lose."

"Clay, sweetie, I don't know how to break it to you," she said in an amused voice that dripped honey, "but you've got no chance of winning."

Clay's brows shot up. "Sooooooo, what this comes down to is your talent versus my will power?"

"That's right," she said in a smoky tone that immediately shot holes in his will power. "And you're in big trouble." Her smile and the expression in her eyes was pure sex, uninhibited, free and wanton, exactly like her spirit. "I give you less than five minutes," she taunted him. "Starting now..."

Catherine's hands were feather soft on Clay's chest and when she raised her head and left soft, moist kisses in the hollows of his cheeks and dragged her warm lips down the side of his face to his neck there wasn't a doubt in Clay's mind he was in trouble. Five minutes? Neither he nor the donut had a prayer.

Catherine's hands wandered and Clay closed his eyes. Mercy those fingers were talented...touching, caressing, stroking, light, gripping, releasing, teasing his body as her mouth was now teasing the trail that led from his stomach downward. Clay groaned. Catherine's mouth had always been his undoing.

"Oh, I'm going to squeeze the donut, all right," he said curtly and tossed it to the nightstand. He grabbed Catherine in an embrace so tight, his kiss so hot on that yielding, willing mouth that his own head spun. Oh, he was so ready...

"Oh, no," Catherine cried and pulled away.

Exasperated, Clay said, "Forget the donut," and made a grab for her but she leaped off the bed.

Clay threw his head back onto the pillow, his gut throbbing as strongly as the abandoned object of Catherine's attention throbbed. "Catherine, I don't like this game anymore. Come back here," he wheedled, but she'd left the room. "Catherine," he called. "This isn't a game unless you're into torture."

Catherine hurried back into the bedroom and pulled her clothes and sneakers on. "I'll be right back. Wait right there."

Clay eyed her. "You're kidding me, right?"

Catherine shook her head. "Raleigh hasn't gone out for her walk and she's whimpering something terrible."

"I'll clean it up."

Catherine shot him a look. "It's not just the mess, Clay. Poor Raleigh. She hasn't had an accident in a long time and I'm sure it would upset her terribly. I'll take her for a quick walk. It's not a big deal," she said as she strode from the room.

"Maybe not to you," Clay called behind her. "But I could be dead before you get back. You'll be sorry then."

Catherine's voice reached him just before the apartment door closed behind her. "Well, if you die before I get back then I get both donuts."

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty Two

Catherine patted her pocket to make sure she'd grabbed the door key, then grinned when the door closed behind her. A warm flush ran through her from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She'd more than console Clay when she returned. Try as she could she could never define what loving Clay did to her heart and soul. In turn, Clay's love for her was visible in everything he did, everything he said. She giggled and scooped up Raleigh when the elevator doors silently opened. But she suspected Clay's thoughts were a little darker than loving when she told him to hang on until she'd walked Raleigh.

The doors closed and Catherine pushed the button for the ground floor, cringing when Raleigh squirmed in her arms. Please don't let Raleigh let loose like she did on Clay that night in California when Clay pilfered the envelope.

Catherine realized that holding Raleigh made the puppy even more uncomfortable so she put her on the carpeted elevator floor, the leash in her right hand. When the doors swished open Raleigh took off, jerking the leash from Catherine's hand as she bounded for the door to outside and relief.

Catherine was right after her, giving a short wave and smile to the security guard who stood just inside the opened door. Catherine bit back a laugh as she raced out the door into the descending night, caught Raleigh and took the leash, but kept pace with Raleigh's beeline for the wooded area and the lighted dog path. Thank heaven there was only a guard at night and none had been present when she and Clay had entered the building earlier.

Security lights illuminated the wide dog path that Catherine and Raleigh entered. Raleigh didn't wait, she ran only a small circle before settling to do her business. Catherine glanced around. There were a few people out with their dogs, some walking them, some sitting and chatting with other dog owners on the benches scattered throughout the well-maintained grass.

Catherine waited patiently and, silly as it seemed, avoided looking at Raleigh to give her privacy. When Raleigh finished and acted like she wanted to play, Catherine bent and ruffled her fur. "What are you going to do when we move? Huh? You think this is the only place to come and do..."

Catherine stopped when she heard, "Mrs. Aiken?"

Dread balled in her stomach and she recognized the voice even before she turned and rose to her feet. She responded to the woman in gold-rimmed glasses with a polite, "Hello."

The woman's dark eyes weren't hostile, but they were far from friendly. Her attempt at a pleasant tone fell flat. "I'm glad I saw you out here. I'd like to talk to you about something."

Raleigh tugged the leash and Catherine said, "Sit, Raleigh," but would have been more surprised if Raleigh had obeyed instead of ignoring her like she usually did. "Clay and I aren't moving, if that's what you want." Catherine did her best to hold her tongue and be civil, but the woman's snubs brought fresh anger to the surface. She lifted her chin. "You had that coming and I'm not the least bit sorry that we did it."

"This isn't about...earlier." She cleared her throat. "This is about a charity near and dear to my heart. May I have just a minute of your time."

"Have the information sent over to me and we'll decide to donate or not. I assume contribution information is within the brochures."

"Please...just a few minutes. It's called Angels of the Night and it benefits teenaged girls that live on the street."

Catherine sighed as her heart melted. "A few minutes."

The woman nodded, then said, "I'd prefer to sit on the bench to talk."

Catherine followed her and sat down on the wooden bench, let Raleigh off the leash to run, but kept a sharp eye that Raleigh stayed close.

"I'm Eileen Harper...Mrs. Vincent Harper."

She'd said it like that made her royalty, but the name meant nothing to Catherine and she just looked at her. The woman smiled, but it wasn't anything close to what Catherine considered a genuine smile.

"You must be very new to Los Angeles society," the woman said. "Or you'd realize my husband is, well...he's very important."

Catherine continued to level an uninterested look at her. New to society? For some reason Catherine felt she was being compared - unfavorably - to the Beverly Hillbillies. Her anger started to rise, but she stayed quiet.

"Anyway, my husband said your husband is one of the most popular singers in...show business."

Catherine thought the woman might choke when she floundered out show business and she was more than happy to help her do so. She was really getting ticked now. Slights to her were one thing, but anyone crass enough to insult Clay to her had better run for their life.

Catherine rose. "This conversation is over."

Clearly bewildered, the woman rose with her. "Mrs. Aiken...have I said something wrong? Something to offend you? Please let me make it right if I did."

Catherine was blunt. "What do you want? And it's not a donation for this or any other charity, so don't play me for a fool."

A deep sigh, then, "I came to ask you to model in a fashion show that will benefit Angels of the Night. Maybe my words weren't..."

Catherine cut her off. "It's not your words, Mrs. Harper. It's your snooty, I'm-better-than-you attitude."

Eileen's jaw dropped. "I...I...I didn't mean to..."

"Yes you did," Catherine said curtly. "You just didn't count on someone standing up to you and throwing it back in your face. Your husband may be a very important man, but right now he's as important to me as you are. Not at all."

Catherine called Raleigh and put her back on the leash. She made no effort to offer a parting shot, just started back toward the building and the haven waiting for her. Clay.

A hand on her arm stopped her, but Catherine kept her back stiff and her face was like granite. "Mrs. Harper, please take your hand off of me."

A rush of words from Eileen fell over each other. "Will it help if I say I'm sorry? I didn't mean to offend you. This fashion show is so important to those women, the money goes a long way...please, Mrs. Aiken. My husband has asked me to contact the most...well known...people...in order to draw the type of money crowd needed for this event." She stopped and her voice lowered. "He specifically asked for you."

Catherine turned, surprised. "What?"

The woman sighed and Catherine saw she didn't at all like her next words. "My husband is a big fan of your husband, Mrs. Aiken. He very much would like to have Clay Aiken's wife take part in this fashion show."

Catherine was not impressed. "Then I guess you'd better tell your snooty husband..."

"There you are!"

They turned and from the way Eileen's face lit up, the tall, distinguished looking man walking toward them was Vincent Harper, confirmed when Eileen called a surprised, "Vincent!"

"Mrs. Aiken," he said, a friendly twinkle in deep blue eyes as he took her hand in his, then let it go. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to meet you. I've been a huge fan of your husband's since I first saw the Atlanta audition." He chuckled. "His is one of the few pop CD's I own."

Catherine smiled. Despite her intent she found Vincent easy to like. What he saw in Eileen was anybody's guess, but if a nice man like Vincent loved her then maybe there was some good to her. Down deep. Down real deep.

Eileen beamed. "I was just telling Mrs. Aiken about Angels of the Night and asking if she would be one of our model's, Vincent."

Vincent smiled at Catherine. "Your name on the program would be one heck of a draw, Mrs. Aiken."

Catherine frowned. "This isn't a subtle way to get my husband involved, is it?"

Vincent looked surprised. "Oh, no, no, no. Please don't think we're using you to get to him," he assured her. "This doesn't call for him to participate in any way."

Eileen interjected, "The male models are all society men, dear. We wouldn't dream of asking your husband." She turned to her husband. "Mrs. Aiken is, quite obviously, not used to the society circle so I'm making allowances for a lot of her ignorance."

Catherine's jaw dropped, then she snapped it shut. "I'll get back to you," she said stiffly, smiled at Vincent and let Raleigh guide her toward the apartment building. How she'd held onto her temper when the old biddy managed to insult her and Clay at the same time she didn't know.

Catherine seethed all the way to the building, but offered another smile and wave to the guard in the lobby as she headed to the elevator.

The only way she'd be up on that runway was if she was in a car and Eileen Harper was lying on the runway.

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty Three

Catherine unlocked the door and Raleigh ran inside the apartment, heading for the kitchen and her bowls while Catherine tossed the leash and door key on the end table beside the sofa.

She was surprised to hear the shower running, but went into the bathroom and called, "I'm back. What are you doing? Uh, Clay, you got water all over the floor."

Clay stuck his head around the shower curtain to glare at her, rivulets of water running from his head down his face. "I guess your idea and my idea of right back don't match up. So I figured I'd wait in here for you."

"Want some company?" she asked and used her fingers to wipe water from his forehead. "Hey, that's cold water."

Clay grinned. "It needed to be. You took way too long." His gaze did a slow, sensual, very pointed walk from her head to her toes and back again. "Think you can heat it up in here?"

"In a heartbeat," she said silkily. Feeling playful, she went to the other end of the shower and reached in to turn up the hot water. "This will help until I get into my birthday suit."

Clay laughed. "In other words you're not getting into a freezing shower."

"You got it."

Clay reached his hand out and beckoned her over to him. "Well, maybe I can help you with that birthday suit dilemma. Come on over here."

Catherine did a sexy sidle to where Clay waited. The water might be cold but there was heat in his eyes. "Sure you can handle it?" she questioned him.

"Is this another contest?" he asked. "If it is, let me warn you, lady, that I can soap up your birthday suit before you're even out of your clothes. And leave you sweating and panting for more."

"Think so?" she challenged, kicked off her sneakers and lifted her arms to remove her tee shirt.

With her hands above her head, she didn't see Clay reach for the soap. But she heard him laugh and say, "You're on." Catherine tossed her shirt to the far side of the room when she heard Clay drop the soap.

"Amateur," she called.

"Oh, yeah?" he taunted and pulled back the shower curtain.

"Yeah," she said huskily. "Let me show you how..."

They bent for the soap at the same time. Catherine was quick but Clay was quicker and grabbed the slippery bar an instant before her hand reached where it had been.

Water was hitting the floor in torrents, though now it was warm torrents.

"Give me the soap," she demanded. "Or I won't let you undress me."

"You're half undressed already," he informed her. "How about half a bar of soap?"

"I have a new game," she teased. "Give me the soap."

"Fat chance," he snorted. "Your game stunk. This time I set the rules."

Catherine laughed and lunged for the soap. Clay turned away from her, laughing as hard as she did. Catherine grabbed his waist and tickled him.

Clay tried to shake her loose, but she held on and tickled. "You win," he conceded and turned his body from sideways to face her. In the process, he swung his elbow and caught Catherine squarely in her left eye.

She screamed in pain and released Clay, throwing her hands up to her face.

Clay was out of the shower and on her in an instant.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," he said, forcing her hands down from her watering eyes to examine her face.

She knew from the upset look on his face that the eye swelling shut was either already black and blue or soon would.

Catherine stammered, "H...how bad is it?"

Clay's smile was forced. "Not too bad. It should go away in a few days. But I think we'd better have a doctor look at it to make sure it's nothing more than a black eye."

Catherine's heart hammered. "Nothing more than a black eye? Oh, no."

She leaped to her feet, wiping her streaming eyes. "I have to see it," she said, near real tears. "Maybe I can..."

She tried to push past Clay to get to the mirror, but he stopped her. "Honey," he said gently, "please wait to look at it. Maybe with a little ice or something to put on it we can get the swelling and the discoloration under control."

If it didn't hurt so much Catherine would have burst into tears at those words. "I have to see it."

She took another step toward the mirror and again Clay reached to stop her. This time they both slipped on the puddled floor.

Catherine lost her balance first and Clay grabbed her, but to no avail. She landed flat on her butt. Clay extended a hand to help her to her feet when his own feet slid from under him. When Catherine reached to help Clay she didn't think quick enough to compensate for his size, weight and force. She reached for his hand to stop his crash to the floor.

What she got was his elbow in her right eye.

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty Four

Catherine screamed as the sharp pain struck.

Clay continued his fall, then did a slip-slide on his hands and knees to reach her. Catherine covered her face with her hands, which Clay gently took in his own so he could again examine her face. She saw tears in his eyes when he realized what had happened.

"Oh, no," he breathed.

Both of Catherine's eyes hurt so badly she closed them, but watering from the impact and pain mixed with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Still naked and soaked, Clay got to his feet, then eased Catherine to hers. He drew her into his arms but said nothing, just rested his head on top of hers.

Catherine winced in pain at the contact and drew away from him. She had the most incredible headache she'd ever experienced.

"I'll call the doctor," Clay told her, drying haphazardly with a towel.

Catherine nodded and tentatively started toward the mirror. Clay stopped her, took her hand and made her go with him to the bedroom, where he dressed.

"I don't want you to look at your face just yet," he told her.

That scared Catherine and she made a beeline for the bedroom mirror before Clay could intercept her. She gasped, horrified to see two little blue points of light peek out from behind eyelids nearly swollen shut.

Clay came up behind her and sighed. "If it's any consolation, black eyes don't usually last more than a week."

"A week!" she cried in dismay, then glanced down at the nightstand. She blinked, then blinked again. "Clay, where are the donuts?"

"What?"

"The donuts. Where are they?"

"Uh...umm..."

She whirled on him. "You ate them, didn't you?"

A sheepish grin didn't erase his guilty look. "Well, I didn't see the harm..."

"Clay Aiken! You told me you were just so...overheated...because I didn't hurry right back that you had to get in the shower to cool down."

"Yes, yes, I did," he said smoothly. "And that's the absolute truth."

"But you took the time to eat two donuts first?"

"Catherine, it wasn't like that..."

Catherine scoffed, then put a finger to her throbbing head, giving him as dark a look as she was able from behind two black eyes. "Yes, Clay, it was like that."

"Oh, come on," he said with a laugh. "It was two donuts." He drew her close. "When you're feeling a little better we'll play your game." He nuzzled her neck. "And I promise to obey every single rule you throw at me. Fair?"

"We can't play," she informed him, tipping her head back to give him access to all the places he wanted to kiss. "At least until I get more donuts. And I sure don't trust you to go and get them. They'd never make it home."

Clay raised his head. "What do you mean?"

"That you'd eat them all in the car."

"No, what do you mean by not until I get more donuts? We'll use whatever's left out there."

"There aren't any left," she informed him. "I only bought those two."

Clay gave her a shocked look. "Two donuts? You bought two donuts?" He drew back in mock, abject horror. "What kind of sick, demented mind would only buy two donuts?"

Despite her pain, Catherine giggled, then gave Clay a stern look. "You just gave me two black eyes and have the gall to call me sick and demented?"

"Yeah. I'm not the one who only bought two donuts."

"Boy, those Krispy Kreme people are going to love you..." Catherine halted. "Oh, no," she said softly and fresh tears filled her eyes. "The meeting tomorrow morning. I can't go like this."

"We can talk about that and decide later," Clay told her and reached for the phone to call the doctor.

"Wait," Catherine said. "Call Doc Parker."

Puzzled, Clay said, "Why?"

Catherine held Clay's eyes. "I don't think it's a good idea for anybody that you don't trust as much as Doc to see me with two black eyes. Especially to know that you gave them to me."

"Not on purpose," Clay exploded.

"You know that and I know that," Catherine said, "but the media and the gossip hounds would have a field day with this."

After a minute, Clay nodded in agreement, called Doc and explained what had happened. When he hung up he told Catherine, "He'll be here in about an hour."

A knock on the door interrupted Catherine's, "okay", and she went into the kitchen while Clay opened the door. When she heard Junior's voice she sighed in relief and returned to the living room.

Junior's mouth dropped wide in shock when he saw Catherine's face and he wheeled on Clay. "What happened to Miss Catherine and where were you that you didn't prevent it? Who did this?" he demanded. "I want a name."

Catherine hugged Junior, who continued to glare at Clay.

"It's okay, Junior," she assured him. "Clay was there with me the whole time. In fact, Clay's the one who gave me the black eyes."

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty Five

Even as Clay started backing up from an advancing Junior he shot Catherine a oh, you just wait until payback look. He tripped over an ottoman and landed square in a chair.

Junior lowered his face to Clay's and his voice was cold as death. "Start talking."

Clay pushed his face back into Junior's, and though Junior didn't budge an inch Clay's voice was level. "If you think I'd ever lay a hand on Catherine in anger..."

"Talk."

"I don't owe you an explanation," Clay informed him.

"But you'd better have one."

Catherine watched as Clay sighed and relaxed into the chair. "I do have one."

"I'm waiting."

Clay studied Junior, then got belligerent. "So what if I did hit Catherine?"

Junior stayed silent, his eyes revealing nothing. But Catherine saw that his body was tense, and she knew he was fast as lightning when he pounced. She hadn't planned for her "Clay did it" comment to lead to this. Clay was no match for Junior so she decided she'd better help Clay.

"It was a misunderstanding, Junior. Clay thought I ate his donuts."

Junior moved his head just far enough to look at Catherine. But he stayed smack in front of Clay. "What kind of donuts?"

Catherine was so shocked she couldn't answer.

Clay and Junior burst out laughing, then high-fived each other.

Catherine stared from Clay to Junior back to Clay.

Clay laughed and went to Catherine, offering a kiss on her cheek although her mouth still hung open.

"Junior winked at me when I backed up so I figured we'd have a little fun at your expense. Kind of like you were having fun at my expense by siccing Junior on me."

Indignant, Catherine stated, "I did no such thing."

"Yes, you did, Miss Catherine. I know Clay would never lay a hand on you."

Clay chuckled. "Junior would kill me if I did and you knew it. So you made a little comment and waited for the fun." He laughed again. "Was it fun?"

"No, and neither are you," she said irritably. She took a seat on the sofa and Clay sat beside her but she crossed her arms in front of herself, pouting. She glared at him, then spoke to Junior who had taken a seat in the chair. "Clay did give me these black eyes."

"Yes," Clay agreed, "I did. We didn't have much luck with the donut game..."

Catherine gave him a shot to his ribs and Clay groaned, but chuckled, his look to her saying, I wasn't going to explain the game to Junior.

"To make a long story short," he continued, "Catherine walked Raleigh and when she came back I was in the shower. The bathroom floor was wet and..." he shrugged.

"Oh, no," Junior said, waving his hand. "Don't stop there. I gotta hear this. I have a feeling it's going to end with me calling you perv. Am I right, perv?"

Clay grinned. "Yep."

"Clay!" Catherine said in an effort to stop the story before Clay got into details, then put her hands to her head as pain shot through her skull.

Clay put his arms around her and stroked her hair. "Why don't you go and lay down. Maybe it'll help. Doc won't get here for a while."

Catherine grimaced as the pain ebbed a bit. "Go and rest my black eyes?" she joked, but the joke ended with her in tears as the pain came back.

"Miss Catherine," Junior asked softly. "Can I help? Anything? Name it."

Catherine glanced at Junior through a watery blur. She couldn't even shake her head to tell him no. She only mouthed it, then leaned against Clay.

Clay turned to Junior. "You never did say why you came back."

Junior didn't say a word, just pulled a small container from his shirt pocket and handed it to Clay.

"What's this?" Clay asked.

"The security video from the elevator."

Stunned, Catherine asked, "How did you get it?"

Junior smiled. "I had a little talk with the security people that collected that film and put in a fresh one. We made a deal. They'd give me that tape, no questions asked, and I'd arrange to get them front row tickets to the fashion show."

Catherine gasped and Clay frowned.

"What fashion show?" Clay asked.

Junior looked confused. "Some fashion show for charity. The guard told me it's all over the apartment complex that Miss Catherine is the star attraction."

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty Six

Clay turned to Catherine. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

Catherine nodded. "Yes. When I walked Raleigh I met up with the old snoot, or rather, she saw me and cornered me. Her name is Eileen Harper and she's very, very important. At least that's the way she put it."

Clay waited, then gestured, "And?"

"Her husband is Vincent Harper," Catherine said. "He's even more important than Her Majesty Eileen, if you can believe it. It seems Mr. Harper heads up some charity things for...umm...Angels of the Night I think she called it. It benefits teenaged girls that live on the street." She sighed, then added, "From what I gather they do whatever necessary to attract the deepest pockets in town. It sounds like a very, very worthwhile cause, but I have no intention..."

"No," Clay interrupted.

Catherine did a double take at the troubled look on Clay's face, the unease that flashed into and dominated his green eyes. "What? What do you mean 'no'?"

"Just what I said," Clay said flatly. "You're not doing it."

If Catherine's eyes weren't almost swelled shut she could have given Clay a more convincing stare of disbelief. "What did you say?"

His voice was clipped. "You heard me. We'll make a sizeable donation if you feel this is a cause you want to support. But modeling in this fashion show is out of the question. End of discussion."

Catherine's jaw gaped and nearly hit the floor, then she recovered with a fury. "Earth to Aiken," she informed him. "Nobody asked your permission. But just in case you thought the invite was for you to model, let me disabuse you of that right now. You're not hoighty-toighty enough." She cooled off then, ashamed she'd lost her temper with Clay over a frivolous non-issue. "Besides, I have no intention..."

Clay's voice was ice and green eyes held her barely visible blue ones. "I said no, Catherine. You're not modeling in that fashion show."

Flabbergasted, Catherine rose to her feet. "Since when do I need your okay to decide what I can and can't do?"

Junior rose and took steps toward the door. "I think I'll be going..."

They ignored him, intent on each other.

"Catherine, I'm asking you to listen..."

"You didn't ask me anything. You told me, like I’m a willful child that you need to put the brakes on."

Junior took a few more steps toward the door. "I'll see you guys later."

Ignored again.

Clay ran a hand through his hair. "Then listen now. Catherine...when you started telling me about this, I got this...chill...like something not only wasn't right, but that it was real wrong."

Junior waved from the now open door. "If I see the old biddy in the elevator I'll sing Blue Moon, show her the full one and tell her it's from you guys." No response, so he added, "Then I'll take her out for a pizza and beer before we rollerblade to a motel."

Clay and Catherine had eyes and angry attention only for each other.

Junior sighed, muttered, "Looks like I'm screwed if they ask for those tickets," and closed the door on his way out.

Catherine's voice was low. "You have no right to tell me what to do."

"I'm your husband."

"Yes, you certainly are," she agreed. "And I love you more than life itself. But you're not my boss and you do not make my decisions. Clay, you didn't even bother to ask me whether or not I wanted to do this."

Clay's voice hardened. "It doesn't matter, Catherine. I can't believe I'm saying this either, because it isn't something I ever thought I'd do. But...you absolutely are not doing that fashion show."

Catherine couldn't believe her ears. This was totally out of character for the easy-going, good-natured Clay that she'd fallen in love with and married. She studied his face, looked deep into those rock-steady green eyes and didn't like what she saw looking back. Determination to stop her from doing something that was, for all intents and purposes, not his to stop. Hurt that Clay would treat her this way battled anger borne of that same reason. He'd cut her off without ceremony both times she had started to explain she had no intention of participating.

"Promise me you'll turn this down."

"Clay, you have no right..."

"I have every right," he yelled. "I'm your husband."

"Not my keeper," she yelled back.

Clay calmed down then, but his voice was jagged. "Call me unfair or anything you like...but you WILL NOT do this fashion show."

Anger flooded Catherine then, and she felt her face burn red with it. She stormed to the telephone and her fingers shook as she dialed the apartment building's main line. "Yes, hello," she said to the young man that answered with a cheery, "This is Anthony. How may I help you?"

Catherine nodded to Clay and lowered her eyes, anger coursing through her. When she lifted her gaze back to Clay’s nothing in his eyes or expression had changed. "Anthony," Catherine said evenly. "This is Catherine Aiken in 2J. I know you can't give out Mrs. Harper's private telephone number, but will you please make a direct connection for me?"

"Of course, Mrs. Aiken."

A second later Catherine heard ringing, then an answering machine with a falsely pleasant greeting from Eileen Harper. She waited for the tone, then said, "Mrs. Harper, this is Catherine Aiken. About the fashion show..." Catherine glanced at Clay and determined blue eyes met and locked equally determined green ones.

“I’d love to be a part of it.”

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty Seven

Catherine hung up the phone, her gaze still locked with Clay's.

Clay's tone was low and furious. "All you just did was put yourself in a position of backing out of the show."

"No, Clay," she answered evenly. "What I did was let you know you don't dictate to me. And I won't be backing out of it. Today, tomorrow or whenever."

"You're being unreasonable," he gritted. "Let me..."

Catherine raised both hands in the air and cut him off. "Let you?" She nodded. "I assume the rest of that sentence was 'explain'...as in let me explain." She sat with a flourish on the couch. "Know what?" Her voice was sweet but anger edged each word. "You're right. I'll be reasonable. I'm going to extend to you the courtesy that you chose to not extend to me. I'm going to let you explain your arrogance of thinking you control me. Because that arrogance cut me off twice from telling you I had no intention of doing that show."

Clay's face had reddened with controlled anger, but his eyes snapped it.

Catherine's head was now hurting something fierce, but she held her ground and made a 'come on' gesture with her hands. "Let's hear your rationale for acting like a pushy, controlling husband."

Clay's face went dark and Catherine saw flames in his eyes, and she knew that the deep breath that he drew, then exhaled, was to keep his voice level.

"The unfortunate part," he began, "is that it isn't rational, so there is no rationale. Only a feeling, one that I can't shake. It's hard to put into words."

"You sure didn't have that trouble a few minutes ago. You weren't at a loss for words then," Catherine informed him and raised her hands to her throbbing temples, then briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them again deep concern had replaced Clay's anger.

"Catherine, why don't you go and lay down until Doc gets here? We can discuss this later."

"I'm fine," she told him, though she knew her pain was visible, "and I want to discuss it now."

Clay's eyes did a gentle walk on Catherine's face and in two quick steps he joined her on the couch. Never was she so glad to meld into the tight comfort of his welcoming arms. She fought tears that she knew would only make her hurt worse.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair.

"Me, too," she answered. "I hate it when we argue."

"I hate it, too," he said and tipped her face back to gently brush away warm tears that spilled and offer a tender kiss. "I'm sorry for the way I talked to you, but..." he paused, then added, "I can't explain it. As soon as you started to talk about that show I got a chill, a really cold, deep chill. I don't understand it, but I seem to have this sixth sense when it comes to you being in trouble or danger. I'll allow no one, no one," he emphasized, "to harm or to hurt you."

"Sixth sense?" Catherine asked.

"I was trying to help," he offered lamely. "Poor excuse, but the only one I have."

"Trying to help," she repeated. "But you didn't see yourself giving me two black eyes. Now, that sixth sense event would have been helpful."

Even though she'd try to lighten the mood with a joke, it fell flat. Catherine held Clay's gaze, seeing her pain mirrored in Clay's eyes.

Raleigh whimpered at Catherine's feet and Clay picked her up but placed her on his own lap, not allowing her onto Catherine's.

"I don't want to chance her jumping up for a kiss," he explained, then smiled at Catherine. "But I don't have to jump and I promise not to get you all wet."

Catherine smiled as Clay's eyes closed and his lips met hers. So many feelings shot through her as Clay's love and devotion to her slowly wended from his heart to hers that she started to cry. Clay put Raleigh back on the floor and gathered Catherine close.

"I love you, Catherine," he whispered.

"I know," she answered. "And I love you."

Clay smiled, his eyes as tender as his voice. "This has been a ridiculous evening in every possible way, hasn't it?"

Catherine nodded, then put her head on his shoulder.

Clay's lips brushed her hair and he sighed. "I'll postpone tomorrow's meeting with the Krispy Kreme people and I'll take care of the Harper's. I don't want you worrying about that or anything else."

Catherine drew back, her eyes searching those incredible green orbs that gazed lovingly at her. "What do you mean?"

Clay laughed. "I don't think you want to go to the meeting with two black eyes, do you? I don't mind the ribbing about how clumsy you...we...are, but I don't want you in any situation where you're at all uncomfortable."

"No, not that part. And, Clay, I think you meant how clumsy you are. But what did you mean by take care of the Harper's?"

Clay ran a finger up and down the side of her face, taking great care that his touch was soft. "Actually, I meant how clumsy you are," he teased, then sobered. "I'll make your excuses to the Harpers for you. Just trust me to find the right words, okay?"

Catherine drew back. "You're kidding, right?"

Clay stared, then shook his head. "Catherine, I thought this was over."

"Oh, yes, it's definitely over," she assured him. "I gave my word, Clay. I'm doing the show. Even though they frown on rabble mixing with the hoighty-toights, I'll get you tickets and you can sit in the front row with Junior and his new friends."

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty Eight

Clay tapped his fingers, fighting for patience. "Catherine," he said, in a quiet, quizzical tone. "Have you wondered why you've been invited to model?"

Catherine lifted her chin and Clay battled not to wince as he looked into those beautiful, nearly swollen shut blue eyes. Eyes that did their best to conceal the pain Catherine was in and that he knew this discussion did nothing to ease.

"Mrs. Harper asked me at her husband's request. She contacts the most well known people as a draw to the big money crowd. Vincent Harper is a big fan of yours and he's even bought your CD's. He told me so himself."

Clay nodded and smiled. "I see."

Furious, Catherine countered with, "No, Clay, you don't see. I can tell by your smug face that you think this is all a ruse to get you to perform there."

Clay shook his head, but he knew guilt was on his face. "That's one of two possible reasons that hit me," he responded. "The other is revenge."

Visibly startled, Catherine said, "Revenge? Are you crazy?"

Clay's expression was impassive, but he had trouble keeping his tone even. "Has it occurred to you that she might be setting you up for humiliation of some sort? Payback for the elevator?"

Catherine gasped and rose to her feet. The areas that weren't black and blue had paled. "Clay," she breathed. "How could you?"

Clay rose and put his hand out to her, inviting her into an embrace of truce. She chose to instead take a step backward, away from his offer, but her eyes locked his. "What kind of a person would sabotage an exclusive event, a major fundraiser for charity, out of desire for personal revenge?"

"Maybe that was another poor choice of words," he conceded. "But...

"But nothing," she said flatly. "So the only two possible reasons I would be asked is one, they're secretly fishing for you to perform, or, two, this woman is willing to wreck her husband's event and reputation just because I mooned her in the elevator. Certainly not because I might be a valuable addition to the show."

Stunned, Clay hurriedly said, "No! Catherine, no! I didn't mean..."

Catherine nodded, her eyes hurt and disbelieving, then put her hands out to block Clay when he tried to approach her. "I'll wait in the bedroom for Doc."

Clay drew and exhaled a frustrated breath as he sank onto the sofa. Bar none, he'd never been so furious with himself. Would he ever learn to think before he opened his big mouth? How could he undo the terrible impression he'd just given her? Catherine was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on and she forever owned his heart - lock stock and barrel. But what she'd just heard from him sounded like he believed her value to others came chiefly through being Mrs. Clay Aiken.

He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his face, then picked up Raleigh and petted her. "I have a big mouth, Raleigh," he confided in the delighted puppy that repeatedly jumped up and kissed his face. "The worst part?" He sighed as fierce protectiveness of Catherine flooded his heart. "I know I'm right."

***

Catherine sat quietly on the sofa while Doc did a meticulous examination of her face and shone a thin beam of light into her eyes.

Clay watched from the wing chair.

"There's bruising and swelling of the eyelids and the tissue around the eyes," Doc said in a professional monotone as he peered into Catherine's eyes. "I don't see any broken blood vessels in the whites, so that's a good sign."

He flicked the small flashlight off and asked, "Any blurred vision?"

"No," Catherine answered.

"No open cuts is another plus," Doc continued. "Well," he said. "Normally, two black eyes mean an x-ray to make sure there's no fracture. But since these weren't a result of head trauma and they happened minutes apart..." He stopped and glanced at Clay, then chuckled. "You know, if I didn't personally know you two I wouldn't, for one minute, believe such an off-the-wall story."

He turned back to Catherine. "As these heal and the swelling goes down, the discoloration will fade to green or yellow before it's completely gone."

"How long?" she asked.

"About a week," he answered cheerfully. "Maybe a little longer."

"Can you give her something for the pain?" Clay asked.

Doc gave Catherine a closer look. "How bad is the headache?"

"It's gotten worse," she admitted.

"Take one of these about every six hours and try to avoid stress," Doc informed her, handing her a small container of pills. "A good rule everyday for all of us, but in this case it's important. Stress is going to make your headache worse and that, in turn, will increase the pain around your eyes."

Clay's heart jerked. He had made Catherine's pain worse. Him and his lightning-quick mouth.

Catherine gave Doc a small smile. "Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate you coming over here."

Doc laughed. "Do you know how many rag sheets this news would sell?" He moved his hand straight across, as though reading a banner headline. "Clay Aiken blackens wife's eyes."

When neither Clay nor Catherine laughed Doc raised his eyebrows and shot Clay a look. "Is there more to this? Something that I need to know about?"

Clay shook his head. "No. It's just been made to hurt worse, by me, because we've been arguing about Catherine's offer to model in a charity fashion show."

Doc turned to Catherine. "That's great. Which charity?"

Clay clamped his jaw, determined to not renew the still unresolved battle, but Catherine kept her gaze on Doc.

"Angels of the Night."

Doc whistled. "I'm impressed. That's a very exclusive charity show and they only invite the A-listers to participate. Congratulations, Catherine. If the show is more than a week or two away you'll be as good as new." He laughed. "I missed last year's but I'll definitely be at this year's show now that I know you're in it."

Clay interrupted with, "What type of show is it, Doc? Just an average, run-of-the-mill fashion show?"

"Oh, no," Doc told him. "Top designers strut their stuff after the models finish showing off their duds. Some of them are breathtaking, some are bizarre." He laughed. "That applies to both the designers and their fashions."

Clay ignored Catherine's glare. "Have there ever been any mishaps?"

Puzzled, Doc frowned. "You mean like a model falling from the catwalk or a fire starting? Not that I'm aware and I've attended a few of Harper's charity shows." He shrugged. "Vincent Harper is the driving force, but his wife does all the coordinating, starting with which designers make the cut right down to which A-listers she approves to model what clothing."

Catherine smiled. "I'll be sure to get you tickets, Doc. You can sit with Clay," she said pointedly, but Clay didn't blink when she gave him a dark look.

Doc closed his bag and picked it up. "I look forward to that, Catherine. Maybe this year I can get there before the finale entertainment."

Clay's head snapped toward Doc. "Entertainment?" Despite his good intentions he sent an I told you so look at Catherine.

Catherine looked crestfallen and Clay immediately felt like a heel. It gave him no pleasure to hear Doc confirm that the old biddy had indeed used Catherine as a way to finagle him to perform.

"Yes," Doc said. "They usually have the models sing at the end. They pick one of them to end the evening with a solo on the sappiest song they can find. Usually Entertainment Tonight covers it live."

Catherine's face lit up and she smiled at Doc, then gave Clay a shy smile. "Oh, wow, that sounds great. Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll pick me."

Clay felt as though he'd been punched in the chest. He now knew precisely what revenge the old woman had in mind. What he couldn't figure out was how or when the old biddy had heard Catherine sing.

 

Chapter One Hundred Forty Nine


Clay cleared his throat. "Doc, how well do you know the Harpers?"

Doc looked thoughtful. "I've known Vincent the longest, probably about fifteen years. He married Eileen about...maybe twelve or thirteen years ago. He was a widower, she was a widow with two adult children." He chuckled. "Vincent and Eileen is your classic odd couple. He's as down-to-earth and salt-of-the-earth as they come. Eileen judges people by how old and how green is their bank account and what shade of upper crust blue flows through their veins." He shrugged. "They've made it work, though, and, most importantly, they make each other happy."

Clay walked Doc to the door, thanked him again and closed the door behind him. With his hand still on the door he forced a casual tone and asked Catherine, "Which Harper asked you to be in this show? Biddy or Mr. Biddy?"

Catherine giggled. "Mr. Harper is really very nice, Doc even said so."

Clay turned to face her. "Which one?"

Catherine frowned. "Does it matter?"

Clay struggled to act nonchalant, but walked into the kitchen and took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "Just curious," he said lightly.

Catherine followed him to the kitchen, got out her own bottled water and took one of the headache pills Doc had left. "Mrs. Harper asked me, but it was her husband's idea."

Clay kept his gaze on Catherine's face, a face so innocent, so oblivious to what that old biddy plotted. He could cheerfully choke Eileen Harper for what she intended to do to Catherine. But he'd see to it that she never got the chance.

Clay smiled. "I wonder why Harper himself didn't ask you, since he volunteered that he's a fan of mine."

He saw Catherine bristle. "Are we making this about you again?"

"No, no," he assured her. "Doc made it clear that there's no outside entertainment, that the models end the show. I was just curious since this big charity event is Vincent Harper's baby, why Eileen Harper asked you."

Catherine's eyes did their best to conceal her hurt from him, and he did his best not to let on that he not only saw that hurt, but knew that he caused it and that it hurt him much more than it did her. But he was determined to get to the bottom of this, to intercept any arrows that Eileen the Harpie shot at Catherine.

"She asked me at her husband's request," Catherine said softly and when Clay saw the film of tears he struggled not to grab and hold her close, to whisper, "It's all right. I'll coat them both in honey and dump ants on them."

"He wasn't there when she asked me, no, but he came over a few minutes later." Catherine lifted her chin and her eyes were bright with tears. "He was very, very happy that I said I'd get back to him, that I didn't refuse outright. And he made it clear that this event doesn't need or require your participation…at all." She swallowed hard and Clay's heart felt like lead when she said, "But thank you for being so happy for me, so proud of me."

She turned on her heel and went into the bedroom.

Clay knew she didn't want him to follow, but also knew that each step she took away from him reinforced a potential gap between them.

It nearly killed him to not follow.

***

Five minutes later he heard the shower running.

Clay sank onto the sofa, his mood the heaviest he'd ever remembered in his life. How could he avert disaster? He didn't yet know, but what he did know was that if there was no way for him to convince Catherine to dump that fashion show then he'd... Clay tilted his head and strained his ears, at first unsure of the sound. Then in a split second he was on his feet, racing into the bathroom.

He jerked the shower curtain open and bent to lift a quietly sobbing Catherine from where she sat on the tub's floor.

"Oh, God, Catherine," he whispered, fighting his own tears as he rocked her close to him. "I'm so sorry."

Catherine clung tightly to him, her naked, dripping body soaking through his clothes. "I think it's true," she sobbed softly. "They didn't want me. They wanted you."

Clay picked her up and put her on her feet in front of the mirror. He grabbed a hand towel and rubbed the steam clear, then forced her to look in the mirror.

"There," he said softly. "There's the most beautiful girl that ever walked this earth. The one whose smile melts my heart, whose laugh can take any bad mood and lift it in a heartbeat." He put her wet hand on his chest. "A girl whose heartbeat echoes my own."

His head was above hers in the mirror, but he wasn't seeing her black eyes, he was seeing her pure heart, the love shining from her eyes into his.

"I am proud of you, Catherine. Very proud that you belong to me and even more proud that I belong to you. And anytime I lose sight of that or you're unsure, well..."

Clay turned her to face him. Catherine gasped as she lost her footing on the wet floor, but this time Clay was quick enough to catch her. But when she fell against him it was hard enough to knock him off balance.

He lost his footing and crashed to the wet floor.

Catherine slipped again and Clay grabbed for her, determined to spare her another painful mishap. He jerked her body toward him, to keep her bare butt from hitting the cold, slippery floor.

Completely off-kilter, Catherine fell on top of Clay.

Her elbow caught him squarely in his right eye.

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifty

Clay yelped and grabbed his eye but Catherine pulled his hand away from it.

If it didn't hurt so badly Clay might have laughed at the sight of Catherine examining the eye she'd just elbowed with her own nearly swollen shut eyes, two blue victims of Clay's flailing elbows.

Catherine grimaced as she looked closely, then her gaze held Clay's, her voice careful. "Did mine discolor right away?"

Clay's heart dropped. "Yes. Almost on impact."

He didn't expect her curt, "Drat it."

Clay scrambled to his feet, wiping water that streamed from his hurting eye as he hurried to the mirror. He peered closely at his reflection, then turned to Catherine.

"My eye isn't discolored."

"I know."

He lifted both eyebrows. "You don't seem real happy for me."

"I'm not," she answered loftily, turned, grabbed a towel to dry with and headed for the bedroom. “Misery loves company, you know.”

"That's what a loving husband likes to hear," Clay called in mock chastisement to her retreating back. He grinned as he studied his face. He knew Catherine didn't really want him to have a black eye, even though she’d ended up with two from the same type of clumsy wet-floor two-step they'd done earlier.

He went to the bedroom doorway and leaned against the jamb, his arms folded across his chest. Catherine was combing back her wet honey blonde hair and had wrapped the towel around her body, tucking it into the front. She offered Clay a sheepish grin.

“Won’t I just look dandy modeling…anything,” she said in a depressed voice.

Clay watched Catherine as her arms lifted to part and comb her hair, a familiar stirring heating his insides as his eyes roamed her from head to toe and back, making a few stops in between. “I’ll let you know after the audition,” he said silkily.

Catherine gave him a puzzled look, and he said, “Model for me.”

She giggled. “Model what? This beautiful wet blue towel?”

“Yes.”

She giggled again, then her eyes registered that he was serious.

“Unless your head still hurts,” he said quickly. “You can…”

Catherine turned to face Clay and his heart jerked, thumped and jerked again at the pure sex in those barely visible blue eyes.

“Don’t,” she said huskily, “even hint that you’re going to tell me what I can or can’t do.”

She took two slow steps toward him, the blue towel just touching the tops of sensually swaying hips. Her voice and eyes smoldered, pinning him as she took her good old time closing the distance between him, every step more seductive than the last. Her last step brought her almost smack up against him and she put her hands on his head, her fingers wending through his hair as she drew his mouth down to hers. Her lips lightly brushed his and the gentle sweeping of her breasts against his wet shirt was no accident.

“Is this your version of the donut game?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he answered softly against her lips. “But I promise not to eat the towel.”

“Hmmm…” she breathed back against his lips. “This seems a little unbalanced. I model for you in your game and you eat the donuts in my game. I can’t win.”

Clay grinned and put his arms around her, nipping her lips with his teeth. “Oh, you definitely won’t lose,” he said, his breath quickening. “I’ll see to that personally.”

Catherine pushed him back and smiled. “Stand right there. The show’s about to begin.”

Clay leaned again on the jamb and crossed his arms. Catherine was an outstanding dancer, something he knew from watching her performances in videos, but more importantly, from the private dance she’d given him in Vegas.

Catherine walked to stand beside the bed. “Hum a sexy dance tune for me,” she said coyly, playfully batting her eyes.

Clay laughed. “Can’t think of one.” With his eyes on Catherine’s body and his mind on what was coming he could barely think at all.

She looked thoughtful, then said, “House of the Rising Sun.”

Clay shrugged. “Okay, that’s an easy one.”

He soon learned it was anything but easy to hum anything while Catherine’s body moved in graceful invitation. Her movements dried his mouth and his throat, even as his groin sent him signals of, “hey, let’s go. What are we waiting for???”

Clay hummed There is a house…in New Orleans, his gaze riveted on Catherine as one foot extended to the side, toe pointed, while her hips swayed to the beat. Her arms lifted above her head, then she dropped her head back onto her neck, eyes closed, as her hips rolled a perfect circular motion to they call the Rising Sun.

Her arms fluttered to her sides, her hips still rolling, her head still laid back.

Clay hummed, but had trouble concentrating. …and it’s been the ruin…of many a poor boy…

Catherine’s hands lifted in butterfly motion to where the towel was tucked between her breasts. She turned her back to Clay, her legs wide, her head back, her hips swaying to “House of the Rising Sun”. The towel dropped and Catherine deftly caught it, then spread her arms and held them spread in front of her, the towel taut across her back, only the very bottom of her buttocks visible.

“And, God, I know…I’m one,” Clay sang softly, his mouth dry as a bone, his body straining to be free of its denim prison.

The towel dropped as Catherine danced to face Clay, her hands on her hair, her head back. He couldn’t hum another note, could do nothing but stare at his beautiful wife.

At his silence, Catherine opened her eyes, eyes lit with realization she’d rendered him incapable of speech. So she hummed it herself and slowly approached him.

It was a superhuman effort for him to remain still while Catherine unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, her lips unhurried, heated magic as they sought his, her fingers gliding over his bare chest. And still she hummed, “House of the Rising Sun”.

Clay groaned when Catherine unsnapped his jeans and slid them over his hips. Groaned and bit down on his lip, fighting to remain still when feather soft hands touched the hottest part of his body.

She bent to her knees and before he knew it, Clay was as naked as Catherine. Still humming softly, she slithered sensuously back up his body, and he knew that her breasts slowly, temptingly enveloping him on the way up was not by chance.

Clay’s breath was short, his heart pounding, flames licking every fiber of his being.

Catherine’s arms wound around his neck and her supple mouth found his, her tongue teasing, inviting as crackling flames detonated into a full-blown pyre.

“I thought this was my game,” he breathed into her mouth, his green eyes dark with a passion that neared explosion.

Clay nearly lost it when Catherine traced a soft finger down the side of his face and whispered, “I need you.”

His guttural growl rumbled from deep within, spurred on by her fierce, “I can’t wait.”

Clay lifted her onto his body, knowing he’d never make it to the bed. She cried out against his mouth as he entered her, locking her legs around him as they moved together in hot, relentless need. He held her waist, lifting, thrusting, his mind spinning as they rocked together in frantic rhythm.

He carefully dropped to his knees, then eased Catherine onto her back on the carpet. With one hand he reached over and pushed the door shut, preventing Raleigh from entering if she decided to visit.

Clay’s mouth left Catherine’s, but his gaze locked hers. Their bodies still joined, he lifted one of her legs to his shoulders, then the other. His hands went beneath her buttocks and lifted her, held her as he guided deeper. Catherine’s eyes closed as Clay started to move within her, his hands holding her firm, each motion taking him deeper, deeper into indescribable heat.

The incredible, beautiful excitement of their joining seared Clay’s mind, as deeply and as completely as it scorched and penetrated every inch of his body. His throbbing body craved blessed release and he rode the edge of it, battling his fevered need to succumb, determined to take Catherine with him.

Catherine’s head rolled from side to side and she bucked beneath him, meeting, welcoming and matching each long, hard, frenetic thrust. Her nails dug into his arms, and when her legs stiffened on his shoulders, Clay rode the crest with her.

His hands crushed her buttocks tightly to his body, and he was so deep inside of her when the wave hit that he cried out. Catherine’s cry echoed his and when her body spasmed and tightened around his, together they hurtled into volcanic release.

They lay together for long minutes, both trembling from the intensity of their spent passion. Clay lifted his head and smiled tenderly into Catherine’s blue eyes, then gently kissed her lips.

Catherine’s return kiss was as sweet and delicate as honey, nectar to Clay’s heart. He lay his forehead on hers, their sweat mingling.

Her voice innocent, Catherine asked, “Sweetheart, do I get more than this one rehearsal for the fashion show?”