head. It was a caring and intimate gesture that surprised Charity.
"Yeah, it definitely did not work out the way I really wanted it to."
"Well… I can tell you one thing," Clay said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smirk.
"What's that?" Charity asked.
"At least I'm technically not your client," he whispered in her ear, playing with a small strand of her dark-brown hair between his fingertips. "Which means we can do this…" His palms switched their attention to her chest, brushing her exposed nipples and causing her to shiver. "Without really breaking rule number seven."
"Brief technicality," she said, sighing at the heat of his touch. "Rule number seven is still a rule."
"You know what? I don't like rules," Clay remarked with defiance glimmering in his deep-blue eyes.
"Gasp! I'd never have guessed that one," Charity teased, running a trail of kisses down his torso.
"Hate 'em, actually. Never found one I really agreed with," he laughed.
"Why does that not surprise me?" Rolling her eyes, she gave him a playful slap on the arm.
"Hey! At least I'm honest!" Clay flashed his blue eyes at her, and she couldn't help but feel her skin warm once again. There was just something absolutely seductive about every inch of this man.
"Now it's your turn to tell me a few things," Charity said as she propped herself up, anxious to change the subject.
"Such as…?" Clay asked with an eyebrow raised.
"Such as… why you insist on causing trouble on the circuit? And what's with the badass playboy act? I've seen you, Clay. You are one hell of a bull rider."
A serious look crossed his face and he got quiet. "What is this, the goddamned Spanish Inquisition?"
Charity smiled. "Wow, cowboy. No need to get all bent out of shape about it. You wanted to know something personal about me. Now I want to know something personal about you. So, fess up."
Lacing his fingers behind his head, Clay leaned against the wooden headboard and took a deep breath. "We aren't that different, you and I," he finally replied.
"How so?" Charity propped her chin up in her hand, interested to hear what he had to say.
"We both care a hell of a lot about what others think." He rolled over on his side and locked eyes with her. "You're in public relations. I have a public persona to uphold that seriously dictates my career. Think about it."
"Clarify."
"Alright. You probably think I spend all my time getting drunk, starting fights, and picking up women," he reasoned. "In all truth, I don't drink. And any fight I've been involved in since I was fourteen is because the other guy laid a hand on me first."
She couldn't believe what she just heard. "Excuse me? So, you just run around like a fool for no good reason?"
Clay flashed a dimpled smile and dropped his voice low. "Honey, I have a very good reason. Those fans that show up to watch me ride a beast of an animal for eight seconds, do so to live vicariously through me. These are the same good old boys who go home to their wives and make it to church on time on Sunday, but wish they were out fighting and carrying on. So, yes… I go out and act like a complete jackass to make sure a whole crowd of people keep buying tickets for a sport I care about keeping alive and love with all my heart."
Charity was flabbergasted. "All this time, I thought you were just some immature man-child who couldn't grow the hell up."
"I get that a lot," he said with a grin.
"And the women?" she asked cautiously.
"Well, that part is slightly true. Hell, it gets lonely out on the road…" He ran his fingers through her dark-brown tresses again, stopping to stroke his thumb across her delicate jawline. "But the real truth is I haven't found someone who spurred my interest… yet."
Staring into Clay's deep blue eyes, Charity silently willed him to kiss her again. There was something mesmerizing about this man, although she wasn't entirely sure what it was. This new information he had offered her completely
"Yeah, it definitely did not work out the way I really wanted it to."
"Well… I can tell you one thing," Clay said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smirk.
"What's that?" Charity asked.
"At least I'm technically not your client," he whispered in her ear, playing with a small strand of her dark-brown hair between his fingertips. "Which means we can do this…" His palms switched their attention to her chest, brushing her exposed nipples and causing her to shiver. "Without really breaking rule number seven."
"Brief technicality," she said, sighing at the heat of his touch. "Rule number seven is still a rule."
"You know what? I don't like rules," Clay remarked with defiance glimmering in his deep-blue eyes.
"Gasp! I'd never have guessed that one," Charity teased, running a trail of kisses down his torso.
"Hate 'em, actually. Never found one I really agreed with," he laughed.
"Why does that not surprise me?" Rolling her eyes, she gave him a playful slap on the arm.
"Hey! At least I'm honest!" Clay flashed his blue eyes at her, and she couldn't help but feel her skin warm once again. There was just something absolutely seductive about every inch of this man.
"Now it's your turn to tell me a few things," Charity said as she propped herself up, anxious to change the subject.
"Such as…?" Clay asked with an eyebrow raised.
"Such as… why you insist on causing trouble on the circuit? And what's with the badass playboy act? I've seen you, Clay. You are one hell of a bull rider."
A serious look crossed his face and he got quiet. "What is this, the goddamned Spanish Inquisition?"
Charity smiled. "Wow, cowboy. No need to get all bent out of shape about it. You wanted to know something personal about me. Now I want to know something personal about you. So, fess up."
Lacing his fingers behind his head, Clay leaned against the wooden headboard and took a deep breath. "We aren't that different, you and I," he finally replied.
"How so?" Charity propped her chin up in her hand, interested to hear what he had to say.
"We both care a hell of a lot about what others think." He rolled over on his side and locked eyes with her. "You're in public relations. I have a public persona to uphold that seriously dictates my career. Think about it."
"Clarify."
"Alright. You probably think I spend all my time getting drunk, starting fights, and picking up women," he reasoned. "In all truth, I don't drink. And any fight I've been involved in since I was fourteen is because the other guy laid a hand on me first."
She couldn't believe what she just heard. "Excuse me? So, you just run around like a fool for no good reason?"
Clay flashed a dimpled smile and dropped his voice low. "Honey, I have a very good reason. Those fans that show up to watch me ride a beast of an animal for eight seconds, do so to live vicariously through me. These are the same good old boys who go home to their wives and make it to church on time on Sunday, but wish they were out fighting and carrying on. So, yes… I go out and act like a complete jackass to make sure a whole crowd of people keep buying tickets for a sport I care about keeping alive and love with all my heart."
Charity was flabbergasted. "All this time, I thought you were just some immature man-child who couldn't grow the hell up."
"I get that a lot," he said with a grin.
"And the women?" she asked cautiously.
"Well, that part is slightly true. Hell, it gets lonely out on the road…" He ran his fingers through her dark-brown tresses again, stopping to stroke his thumb across her delicate jawline. "But the real truth is I haven't found someone who spurred my interest… yet."
Staring into Clay's deep blue eyes, Charity silently willed him to kiss her again. There was something mesmerizing about this man, although she wasn't entirely sure what it was. This new information he had offered her completely
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