Still...when she looked at him with those trusting green eyes, he couldn’t help wondering if things could be different. If he could be different.
Clay blew out a breath. With time a little short, he rolled out of bed, climbed into the shower, then got dressed for the day. While Ellie showered, he ordered breakfast: eggs, bacon sausage, potatoes, juice, toast, and coffee.
The food arrived before she had time to put on her clothes so she joined him wearing the big terrycloth bathrobe, her hair damp and curling down her back. Having Shepped dinner the night before, they ate ravenously.
Clay found himself watching her, enjoying the way she smiled at him, the playful laughter in her voice. He was more fascinated with Ellie than before, wanting her and wishing he could make love to her again. He didn’t because it would only be a short time before he left for Monaco with his father and the contessa, expected to play his usual role of playboy.
Ellie leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. “I’d better get dressed.” Holding half a slice of toast, she got up from the table. Clay grabbed her waist and pulled her down on his lap, kissed her so thoroughly he went hard. She tasted like marmalade and orange blossoms.
“I wish we had more time,” he whispered against her ear.
Ellie cupped his face with her hand. “So do I. How long will you be gone?”
“Too long.” He wished he didn’t have to leave at all. “I’m not exactly sure.”
Ellie just nodded and turned to leave.
Clay smacked her playfully on the behind. “Will you miss me?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you.” With a saucy grin, she darted into the bedroom they had shared and made her way back to the huge master bath.
With so much to do, Ellie dressed in slacks and a pink knit top. She’d just finished combing her hair and putting on her make-up when she heard the doorbell ring. Ready to leave, she headed back into the bedroom and pulled open the door to the living room.
Clay stood in the foyer, an attractive, dark-haired woman, slender build, late-thirties, clinging to his neck. The woman’s expensive blue silk blouse outlined her small, cone-shaped breasts. She was kissing him, her tongue in his mouth. Avery Whitfield stood beside them, grinning.
Ellie swayed against the doorjamb, watching Clay with the morbid fascination of a cobra studying its victim and feeling her stomach roll. Clay extracted himself from the woman’s arms and turned in Ellie’s direction. His face paled when he spotted her, a reflection of her own.
Staring at the woman whose lips still looked wet from Clay’s kiss, Ellie felt a surge of revulsion. Fighting a wave of nausea, she closed the bedroom door and raced for the big marble bathroom, turned the lock, and emptied the contents of her breakfast into the commode.
“Ellie?” Clay pounded on the bathroom door.
She didn’t answer.
“Ellie, please come out so we can talk about this.”
“I’m not feeling well,” she said, her face bloodless and numb. Beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead and dampened the hair at her temples. “Go with your father. I’ll take a taxi back to the hotel.”
“Ellie, please let me in.”
“No. I’m fine, really I am.”
“I can’t leave you like this.”
“Come on, son,” Avery called out. “The plane is waiting. We’ve got one more stop to make, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Come on, Clay, darling,” the woman said.
Ellie bent over and wretched again.
“Damn it, Ellie, let me in.”
“Come on, son,” Avery said impatiently. “Pack a bag and let’s go.”
“I’ll leave some money for the cab on the dresser,” Clay said softly.
“Don’t you dare!” Ellie called through the door.
Clay cursed and stalked away. She could hear him opening and closing drawers, snapping the latch on his suitcase, then slamming the door behind him.
