“No,” Cletus said suddenly and unnecessarily.
Claire’s eyes cut to his and she gave him a flat look of annoyance before continuing. “He said, ‘You know, Claire, it was fun. But if I could play baseball with anyone in the world, it would still be my pop.’” She paused, allowing Ben’s answer to sink in, then added, “That’s the difference love makes. So Cletus is right on the one hand. Having experience, good technique, good moves—those are all just fine. If you’re having sex for recreation or playing it like a professional sport, then those things are critical. But if you’re making love, then experience and good moves are a bonus, but not at all important. It’s the person, not the technique, that makes it worthwhile.”
I felt my smile grow as she spoke and was grinning when she finished.
Claire’s clever eyes held mine. “So don’t worry about your lack of experience. You wait—if you want—because when the right guy comes along, he won’t mind about your technique or lack thereof, and you won’t mind about his. He’ll care about you. You’ll care for each other.”
Music, the muffled sounds of a live performance, invaded our space, but I paid it no mind. Claire’s words were like a salve to my nerves. Unthinkingly, I turned to Cletus, maybe to thank him for bringing me backstage, for making this stolen chat with Claire possible, but the words immediately caught in my throat.
His eyes were already on me and his look hit me squarely in the chest, a hot spike of awareness. It was another of those rare windows into the real Cletus Winston, unmasked and raw, but this time he didn’t look angry. He looked ravenous.
The hot sensation spread lower, to my abdomen and lower, to my . . . other . . . area.
I flushed, felt overheated. His gaze singed, and yet I also felt oddly liquefied by it, loose and adrift.
The muffled sounds dissolved, as though I’d been pulled into a tunnel where only he and I existed, Cletus and his ravenous appetite and his fiery-blue eyes.
But then I jumped, flinching and tearing my eyes away, because an unexpectedly loud knock rapped against the door. A moment passed where no one spoke and I couldn’t see, but the invasive clamor of live music met my ears followed by sounds of cheers and applause.
“I’ll get it,” Cletus said, his voice gruff, as though he hadn’t used it in days.
I watched him stand, watched him move to the door, his big shoulders rising and falling with an expansive breath. I noticed his hands were balled into fists and his forearms were bare. He’d rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. I tried to recall whether I’d ever seen his arms before. And, if so, why they were so distracting now?
A gentle nudge against my calf had me turning back to Claire. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open. She mouthed, You and Cletus?
I shook my head quickly.
Her gaze narrowed and flickered over me. She nodded her head, mouthing again, You and Cletus. This time it wasn’t a question.
My stomach fluttered with panic-induced vertigo. I shook my head again, whispering, “We’re not like that,” just as Cletus opened the door.
“Mr. Winston. Fine performance,” an unknown female exclaimed, drawing my attention back to the door.
“Mr. Platt, Ms. Flom. I imagine you’ll be wanting to speak to my partner?” Cletus crossed his arms, tilting his chin up and adopting a tone I’d never heard him use before. Most of his accent was gone. He sounded like a Yankee.
“Where is the lovely Ms. McClure? We’d love to congratulate her as well, maybe talk some things over. Did she get the champagne we sent?” a voice asked, which I guessed belonged to Mr. Platt.
Cletus nodded once. “She did.”
“Good. Good. So perhaps we can—”
“Let’s cut to the chase.” Cletus leaned against the doorjamb and a friendly smile curved over his lips, but from where I was sitting his eyes were remote and remarkably shrewd. “I want your Buick, Ms. Flom. You want Claire McClure in a contract. I’m sure we’ll be able to reach an equitable arrangement, where everyone leaves the table happy.”
“That sneaky bastard,” I heard Claire whisper and I looked back to her. She didn’t look upset. In fact, she was smiling.
“Did you know?” I leaned close to Claire so as not to interrupt the negotiation occurring at the dressing room door.
“Beau warned me,” she said on a low breath.
“What are you going to do?”
Her gaze held mine and I saw indecision, but I also saw excitement.
“Well, Cletus wants that car.” Claire smiled and shrugged. I returned her grin, laughing lightly.
She sighed, it sounded happy, and her attention moved back to the man in question.
I followed her gaze, repeating the words Beau had said to me less than an hour ago. “And Cletus always gets what he wants.”
***