Whisper Privileges (8 page)

He frowned. “All work and no play make for a
dull girl, you know.”

“Not when you enjoy what you do.”

“Which you do,” he returned, though sensed
some frustration regarding the same. Did she really enjoy what she
did for a living, or was she merely passing time until she found a
husband? A lot of women he met did just that—pretended to be
career-minded until landing a man to take care of them. Then it was
bye-bye career and hello stay-at-home. Nothing wrong with
stay-at-home mothers. His mom did. His grandmother did. But they
never pretended otherwise. Did Sydney?

“Yes. I like putting together events,
coordinating the details, helping carry a show to a successful
conclusion. For me it’s like conducting an orchestra. There are so
many different players, so many different pieces of the whole that
must be managed and arranged for a seamless outcome, that I find
challenge in the process, satisfaction upon completion. You know
you’ve done well when you see people having a great time without
the first thought as to how the event came together, from the
inconspicuous garbage cans to the positioning of signage throughout
the venue—because someone else handled the nitpicky details.”

“It’s true.” He leaned back against the
wooden chair. “Now that you mention it, I’ve attended a few
conventions and never thought twice about how they came to be.”
Clay proceeded to tell her about the boat shows he’d been to, the
previous Special Olympics events he and Q had participated in.

Sydney raised her glass as if toasting his
observation. “There you go,” she affirmed and took a sip of
water.

“It’s nice to enjoy what you do, so long as
it doesn’t dominate your life.”

She glanced outdoors. “In the beginning it
has to, don’t you think? If you want to be successful, I mean.”

“Sure it takes time, but you need to maintain
a certain sense of balance between work and personal. Everything
can’t be about the job,” he pushed, wondering how much truth there
was to Charlie’s comments about her. She sure seemed intent on her
career.
Did she use people for advantage
? Is that why she
dated her boss? Is that why she didn’t currently have a
boyfriend?

“One day I hope to work for a major
international company and restrict my duties to handling their
in-house events worldwide. I won’t get that job if I don’t prove
I’m willing to make my career a priority. Event planning is not a
nine-to-five job. It requires long hours, odd hours, and the
position I want means plenty of time away from home.”

Clay heard ambition when she talked about her
job, but he also detected a bit of free spirit in her voice, a part
of her geared toward the carefree and fun. This was the part he
wanted to know more about. “You like to travel, I take it.”

“I do. There are so many things I want to
see, places I want to visit and what better way than to combine
work and pleasure, right?”

He grinned. “I couldn’t agree more. But one
can travel for pleasure alone, too.”

“If they’re independently wealthy, sure.”

Lunch landed between them, each receiving a
thick chunk of Mahi Mahi scored by the familiar dark line through
its flesh, a wedge of lemon, side of asparagus and small portion of
pasta. Pleased by the sight of it, he commended her choice.

With a glance outdoors, Sydney picked up her
fork and changed subjects. “So what do you do for a living?”

Nice one-eighty, he mused. Smooth and easy.
But why? Did she not enjoy discussing her private life? Or did he
make her uncomfortable? Satisfaction swelled in his chest. He hoped
it was the latter. “Family business. My family has been in textiles
for generations. It’s expected that we kids continue the business,
keep it in the family.”

“What exactly do you do with the
textiles?”

“Nothing. I work the numbers side.
Management,” he said, purposely vague.

“Hm. Sounds interesting.”

“Can be.”

She stared at him. Where she could have
continued to probe, she switched subjects instead. “So when is your
son’s first event?”

“Sunday morning,” he answered, intrigued by
her change in direction. Most women he met wanted more information
about his background, his job, but Sydney didn’t seem to care.
Desire surged warm and new. It was a refreshing change. “Why don’t
you stop by? If you’re not needed elsewhere, I mean.”

“It’s possible.”

He cut his first piece of fish and slid it
into his mouth. Light, flaky, near creamy in texture, it hit the
spot. “This is fresh fish.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Anyway, I know Q would enjoy talking to a
fellow athlete. Now that he’s swimming, he’s all about the
competition, his time, how he can improve. Some days I can barely
get him out of the water!”

She smiled.

Clay reached for his glass and added, “I’ll
enjoy talking to her as well.” He winked. “An athlete—who by the
way—looks fantastic today.” For the second day in a row, she was
dressed in a sleeveless tank and plain straight skirt cut above the
knee. Today’s color of choice was a shade lighter than her
skin.

“Thank you.”

Short, sweet, it was the perfunctory
response. She sliced off another chunk of fish and he thought if
attire were any indication, Sydney was a no-fuss kind of woman.
“That shade of tan really compliments the green of your eyes,” he
said. It complimented the lean muscular tone of her arms, too.
Outlined the broad cut of her chest and shoulders, hugged her
fat-free midsection.

She cocked her head and finished chewing,
peering at him with a mix of pleasure and suspicion. She swallowed
and reached for her water. “You always this complimentary?”

Clay reminded himself not to push too hard,
too soon and smiled, “When the situation warrants it, I am.” Women
liked to be noticed. They liked to know that men hadn’t missed
them. But Sydney was no ordinary breed of woman. She combined brawn
and beauty and from what he could tell—brains—and rolled them up
into one
damn
fine package. So fine, you couldn’t miss the
woman. Yet he believed she wanted to hear the words same as any
other. “I hope you don’t find this too forward of me, but you have
one of the nicest figures I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks tinged pink, her lids shuttered
and her gaze dodged to the side.

Chapter Six

Direct hit
, he mused. Satisfied, he
watched as she sought shelter in her water. Actually, her body was
phenomenal, though he wasn’t about to push
that
flap open.
He wanted to reel this prize in slowly. “Somehow I managed to catch
sight of those amazing hits of yours. You're an incredible
volleyball player, you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” she said, the
comment pulling a reluctant smile to her mouth.

“Have I?” He chuckled, amused by her
observation. “I mean it. I’d hate to meet you in a dark alley
somewhere—I might get clobbered.”

She screwed her face at his choice of
metaphor.

“On second thought, that might not be a bad
idea! You and me in a dark alley,” he said playfully. “Definitely
dangerous.” She shook her head, refusing to rise to his bait.
Instead, she twirled a small amount of angel hair pasta onto her
fork, then slid it into her mouth.

Clay imagined what those lips of hers would
taste like, how that solid body of hers would feel held close
against his. He remembered all too well what it looked like on the
beach. From her calves to her rear, her abdomen to her shoulders,
he liked what he saw. “I'm glad Charlie invited me to your
game.”

“He only goes to stare at half-naked
women.”

Clay grinned. “Can't say as I blame him.”

“Yes, well...” She paused, and her mood
abruptly cooled. “I'm sure you impose a bit more dignity on your
natural impulses than he does.”

“Hmm... Depends on what you mean,” he said
cautiously, not happy about the sudden chill. But it did open the
door to her feelings for Charlie, an avenue he wanted to
explore.

“Charlie has a tendency to voice what he's
thinking, whether it's appropriate or not. How are you two even
friends?” She pushed the filet around on her plate. “You seem so
different from him, I don’t get it.”

“I told you. We go way back. Used to golf,
play poker.”

“You play poker?”

He grinned. “Used to play a lot with Charlie
during college, but since Q’s diagnosis, pretty much never.”

“Did you gamble?”

He laughed. Oh, how Charlie would have loved
that! But Clay never thought it would be fair. The other players
didn’t stand a chance, and bringing in the ringer to turn a couple
bucks didn’t sit well with him. Though early on, it had been pretty
exciting. To walk into a card game and know with certainty you
could run the table? Clay shook his head at the memory. “Nah, I
never bet.”

“Why not? Isn’t that why people play
poker?”

Maybe so, but for him the thrill came in
testing his ability. Challenging himself with better and better
players. Money never entered the equation. “I just enjoyed the
game.” He winked. “Played for the fun of it.”

“I bet Charlie gambled.”

That he did, but Clay didn’t want to drag his
pal into the ditch any further than Sydney already had. Dragged
him,
hell
. She was wielding a shovel and burying the poor
guy! He chuckled at the vision. “Charlie never gambled with me. Our
real connection is through family. Our parents are good friends and
well...”

“I’m sorry for you.” She stabbed her fish
with her fork, then sliced it clean through.

Damn... Charlie really brought out the blades
in this one. He reached for his water and contemplated his next
move. Alienating Sydney was the last thing he wanted to do right
now, but giving up his friend as sacrificial pawn didn’t feel right
either. Granted the man always had it too easy with the women which
made Sydney all the more intriguing, but that was his problem.
Charlie never had to try. Keeping his nose clean while he drank the
nectar of the gods was his biggest concern. But Clay had to admit,
the two of them sure did have some fun back in the day and women
were definitely front and center in the mix.

Giving him nothing but profile, purposefully
concentrating on the marina and not their conversation, he had to
pull her back. Had to keep it honest, but had to reel her back to
him, to them. “I don't ditch my friends just because they behave
badly, Sydney. I try to stand by their side and give them a chance
to improve. It’s only fair.”

Green eyes blazed as she announced in no
uncertain terms, “Charlie is a cheat and a liar. Like I said, he
dumped on a good friend of mine—one I introduced him to—then had
the nerve to act like it was no big deal, as if the
woman
was the one with the issue.”

Clay reached across the table, but not far
enough to touch her. Only in town for the events, he didn’t have a
lot of time and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let talk of Charlie
sever his chances. “I hear what you're saying about him, but
Charlie and I have been friends a long time. I'd like to give him
the benefit of the doubt.”

“Feel free,” she said, bitterness curling the
edge of her words, then plopped the bite of fish into her mouth and
chewed, her jaw rigid as it moved.

Half an hour later Charlie spun the Lexus up
to the front door of their office building. While Sydney gathered
her purse, Clay was up and out of the car, standing by her open
door with an extended hand. Placing her hand in his, he pulled her
up easily, yet remained very close. Face to face, he held her in
his very near gaze. “How about dinner this evening?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? A girl has to eat, doesn’t
she?”

She smiled in apology. “Thank you for lunch,
though. I had a nice time.”

“Are you sure? It’s just a harmless
meal.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

He grinned.
Because you’re a smart
woman
. “Okay.” He chuckled, amused by her direct response. Clay
reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. Pearly-smooth olive
skin was deceivingly fresh and floral scented and nothing of the
spice he imagined she’d wear. Placing the most gentle of kisses on
the slope of her wrist, more pat than kiss, more promise than
pleasure, he finished with a sweeping graze of his lips down the
length of her fingers, pausing at her fingertips, sealing the move
with a slight nip. He wanted her to think about this one later.
“I’ll see you around the pool.”

Mildly flustered, she asked, “The pool?”

“Q’s events?” he prodded, enjoying his effect
on her.

“Of course—
the pool
. Yes, perhaps,”
she replied, more stumble than certainty. “Maybe I’ll see you
around the pool.”

“I look forward to it,” he said and winked.
“See you later, Sydney.” Lowering into the car, he took
satisfaction in the way she absently rubbed the spot on her hand
where his lips had been. Don’t you worry. We will meet again,
you can count on it
.

# # #

Early Saturday morning, confident everyone on
site was in place and ready to go, Sydney glanced at the distant
sky. Without a cloud to speak of, she figured it would be easy to
spot the planes as they approached. But cupping a hand to her brow,
she struggled to catch sight of the first one.
Was that it
?
The pinprick of black, way in the distance?

She could barely make it out. But according
to the schedule, the first plane should be landing any minute now.
With over three thousand athletes set to arrive, they expected a
plane full of people to land practically every minute.
A plane
every minute
? She was no pilot, but that seemed like an air
traffic control nightmare. More like a crowd control nightmare she
thought, gazing around the cordoned-off section of the tarmac.
Everyone present was hyped and raring to go but at least they all
seemed happy and orderly. From the high school cheerleaders and
band members to the folks dressed in bright orange T-shirts
emblazoned with the words “I am a volunteer,” news media, Special
Olympics staff—everyone was buzzing with expectation.