She sat for a very long time in her chair, in the dark, thinking and twirling her hair.
But Elodie knew, deep down, that she was already caught, like a fish on the line; all he had to do was reel her in… and that it had been that way for many years now—before and after April—and regardless of whether or not anything ever happened between them, more than what had already happened, it would always be that way.
He was everything she wanted, everything she craved.
And she was awfully close to letting him catch her.
Chapter 10
Clay was such a creature of habit that even though he'd tried to present their get-togethers as casual, they became as routine as their once a month lunches. They were very carefully planned and scheduled, although he didn't seem to have any sort of length of time for them—sometimes he and Elodie literally spent all day together.
And they were both reveling in it, but they never discussed it. They were each too closed-mouthed about their feelings to bring it up. Clay was afraid that talking about it too much would dispel the fragile tendrils of friendship and camaraderie they'd developed. She was finally starting to unwind with him and relax a little. He'd never realized until he started to get to know her better just how uptight and tense she'd been around him all the time. As her self-protective layers began to come away, like the layers of an onion, and what they revealed was a gorgeous rose beneath.
Elodie would never be flashy and outgoing and the center of everyone's attention, as April had been. She was too shy for that and would never want all eyes on her. But she shone in her own pleasant, soft-spoken way, especially when she was doing or seeing anything to do with art.
He'd taken her to several shows in the surrounding areas, and watching her was like seeing an entirely different person. He'd never seen her so animated. Her face glowed as she took in each painting, but it was as if she was in a trance. One of the exhibits was by impressionists, Monet in particular, and Clay watched her as she stood in front of picture after picture, just absorbing them with a soft, barely there smile of complete understanding and true ecstasy on her face.
And Clay became fully hard right there in the small gallery, in front of God and everyone; so much so that he had to use his coat and try to drape it casually over the front of his pants, and hope no one noticed.
The question that kept throbbing in his mind—and a lot lower—was whether she looked like that just after making love. All relaxed and serene and sated...
He consciously started to touch her more, at first very casually, then much less so, and she hadn't run away—yet—although she did manage to look extremely uncomfortable at times, even though she'd never taken him to task for taking any sorts of liberties. She'd never gotten mad, and seemed to melt into his arms when he held her. Clay felt like he was dealing with a virgin, not really knowing where the landmines of her preferences and tender sensibilities lay, but trying to tiptoe gingerly around them as much as possible.
Surprisingly, and much to his enjoyment, the spankings continued. They were getting to be a bit more frequent than he'd expected, but then she would occasionally come up contrary on some things that surprised him. Like the coat. And letting him pay for things. That was the biggest thing. She had certainly inherited her share of the West pride—more than a large helping. It eventually got so that all he had to do was give her the look, but it took several spankings for them to get to that point.
The worst spanking had been when he'd wanted to take them both down to that museum, especially because he'd come to realize, after a while, that she loved it so much. He'd known her for most of a lifetime and he'd never known that she was a true artist. He knew she liked to paint, but always saw it as a hobby or a casual pastime. Of course, she'd demurred and tried to denigrate herself and her abilities—for which she got herself another look, but he couldn't imagine that she could be bad at anything that lit her up so.