Chapter 5
It had been almost two weeks since the slutty kiss – that's what she'd been calling it, because what else could she describe such silliness as?
Clair had spent the past week and more avoiding unnecessary interaction between herself and the most recent object of her dark fantasies. Fantasies she hadn't known she had, or at least had been suppressing all these years. She had been successfully keeping things strictly professional, making sure she was never alone with Brad—especially not in his house.
The last time was a mistake. A slip. A "slutty" kiss.
It had left her rattled, let loose inside her that she had apparently spent years keeping under a tight lid. And yet, her she was, control slipping ever so slightly from her grasp every passing minute.
If she only knew that there would be no escape today, maybe…
She arrived at the Callahan estate for her usual shift, expecting to see Jonas. Instead, the usually quiet house was even more so today.
Too quiet.
She paused at the grand entryway, her fingers hovering over the doorknob before she finally pushed it open.
"Hello, Josephine? she called out for the housekeeper as she stepped inside.
The echo of her voice rang hrough the expansive foyer. The smell of something rich and savory lingered in the air, warm spices wrapping their tendrils around her senses.
Then, he appeared.
He leaned casually against the archway leading into the dining room, his bare broad chest struggling to stay hidden behind the apron he was wearing.
Clair couldn't believe her eyes. He was practically coming at her guns blazing.
"You're here," he said, smiling. "I was starting to think you weren't coming in today."
Clair took a slow deep breath, trying to remain composed. "Where's your father?"
The corner of Brad's lips twitched. "Taking a leave of absence."
"Visiting relatives."
Something in his expression told her she'd been set up.The house was empty. She was alone with HIM.
She shouldn't leave.
No.
She should bolt. Leave her car behind if necessary and run away on foot.
But she didn't. Her feet stayed planted.
Instead, she let him lead her to the dining room, where a beautifully arranged lunch was set—an enticing spread of spicy Thai dishes, their vibrant colors striking against the white porcelain plates.
"You made all this?" she asked, arching a brow.
"I can follow instructions," Brad said with a grin.
"Actually, I had a chef in here overnight working on what you see before you."
"But it's the thought that counts, right?"
"Besides, I wanted to do something special for you." he added, first gazing into her eyes and then shifting his gaze to her lips.
She noticed every movement of his eyes as those last words settled heavily between them.
He pulled out a chair for her, his hand briefly brushing her shoulder, sending a shiver down her spine as she hesitated before sitting down.
They ate in a slow, charged silence.
The food was bold and intoxicating—the sharp bite of chili, the richness of coconut milk, the tang of lime and lemongrass. But it was nothing compared to the tension between them.
Every glance, every subtle brush of his fingers as he poured her a drink, every moment she caught him watching her—it all fed into something dangerously unspoken.
"You're quiet," Brad said, breaking the silence.
Clair set down her fork. "Just thinking."
"Thinking about what?"
She shook her head. "All the reasons why I shouldn't be here."
Brad leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I don't know what those reasons could be, but you are here. So be here – with me."
Their eyes met. She could feel the tension thickening between them, a long with what air there was in the room with them.
She could barely breathe.
"I should clean up," she murmured, pushing back her chair.
Brad caught her wrist, his touch warm, firm but unhurried. "Leave it. Stay with me a little longer."
The opportunities just kept coming, didn't they? This was another chance for her to take her own advice and leave.
Instead, she let him guide her from the dining room, down the hallway, to a very familiar surrounding—his bedroom.
The door was open.
Brad stepped inside first, then turned, to face her as she stood just outside the door.
He was giving her a choice.
Clair stood at the threshold, her pulse drumming wildly in her ears.
Then, she took a step forward and into Brad's room.
The door clicked shut behind her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint whisper of the wind in the trees just beyond the balcony and the shuffle of fabric as she shifted on her feet.
Then, Brad reached for her.
The moment his hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him, everything else fell away.
His lips met hers—a slow but searing kiss, deep and consuming. His hands traveled the curve of her back, sliding up before tangling in her hair.
Clair melted into him, the warmth of his body, the heat of his breath, the way he kissed her like he had been waiting for this moment forever.
There would be no hesitation this time. No uncertainty.
She wasn't thinking anymore.
His hands traveled again, lower this time, tracing over the fabric of her blouse before slipping underneath, his fingertips grazing over bare skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.
"Clair," he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with need.
Her breath hitched.
Brad lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed. The world tilted, and then she was beneath him, his weight pressing into her in the most intoxicating way.
He kissed her again, slower this time—a lingering exploration, savoring every reaction, every soft sigh and tremor beneath his touch.
Clair's hands found the buttons of his shirt, slipping them open one by one, revealing the toned, tanned skin beneath.
She traced her fingers over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm.
Brad sucked in a breath, his eyes darkening with something raw, something unrestrained.
"Are you sure?" he asked, voice husky.
No, she wasn't. But she also wasn't stopping.
Instead of answering, she pulled him down to her.
And then there was nothing but the sensation of skin on skin, lips trailing fire across each other's bodies, the soft gasps and whispered names, the slow unraveling of restraint as they gave in completely.
Clair lost herself in him.
And for the first time in years, she let herself forget.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The room was bathed in golden afternoon light, the sheer curtains still swaying slightly in the breeze.
Clair lay on her back, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her body still tingly in the afternoon of what had just happened.
Brad lay beside her, propped up on one elbow, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along her bare arm. The warmth of his touch was almost soothing, but Clair's mind was already catching up to the moment—the weight of what she had just done settling heavily onto her naked chest.
She had crossed the line. The very same one she had sworn several times she wouldn't. This was as good a time as any to mutter "dammit." But, she didn't.
Her gaze flickered to the ceiling as she tried to steady her thoughts, but then Brad shifted, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her shoulder, and she felt herself slipping again—wanting to sink back into that haze of warmth and passion.
"You're thinking too much," Brad murmured, his voice still rough from their earlier session.
Clair exhaled a quiet laugh. "I have a lot to think about."
He studied her, his fingers running ever so slightly over her skin as if unwilling to lose the contact.
"Regrets?"
Clair hesitated. Did she regret it?
She should.
But the truth kept tumbling around in her heart, refusing to form into a lie in her head.
Brad's hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch slow and deliberate. "Say the word, and we'll never talk about this again."
She turned her head to look at him then, really look at him.
There was something in his expression—something deeper than the easy confidence he always carried. Something that told her this moment had mattered to him, that she mattered.
And for a split second, she wanted to believe that was enough.
Instead, she forced a small smile. "I should get going."
Brad's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he exhaled, rolling onto his back with a groan. "You're killing me, Clair."
She sat up, pulling the sheets around her as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "We both knew this was a mistake."
Brad propped himself up on his elbow.
"It most certainly didn't feel like a mistake, and you know it."
She closed her eyes briefly. Don't do this. Don't make it harder.
Gathering her clothes, she stood, feeling the weight of his stare on her back.
"Clair," he said, voice softer now.
She didn't turn around. If she did, she knew she wouldn't fly back into his arms.
"I have to go."
She dressed quickly, smoothing down the fabric of her blouse, her hands trembling slightly as she buttoned it up.
By the time she was slipping on her shoes, Brad had moved from the bed, pulling on his pants with an easy, practiced motion.
He didn't try to stop her.
But when she reached the door, his voice stopped her in her tracks.
"This wasn't just sex to me."
Clair's heart clenched.
She could walk out and pretend this never happened.
Or she could turn back and let herself fall even further.
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the doorknob, but then for the first time since you day she set eyes on brad, she made the right choice. She opened the door and stepped out.
The drive home had been a blur. By the time Clair stepped into her house, the familiar scent of home—baby powder, lavender, the faint aroma of the dinner she had missed—felt almost foreign to her.
Toby was in the living room, flipping through the channels absentmindedly, while Clarissa sat on the floor, coloring with tiny but firm strokes of her crayon.
"Hey, sweetheart," Clair murmured, dropping to her knees beside her daughter, pressing a kiss to the crown of her soft curls.
Clarissa wrinkled her nose. "Mommy, you smell funny."
Clair's breath caught.
"She means you smell like outside," Toby chimed in without looking up from the TV.
Clair forced a laugh, ruffling Clarissa's hair. "That's because Mommy was working."
"Did you help people today?" Clarissa asked, looking up at her with big, curious eyes that mirrored her own.
Clair swallowed. *What would she think if she knew what her mother had done today?*
"I did," she said, forcing a smile.
Clarissa grinned, satisfied with the answer, before going back to her coloring.
Clair rose to her feet, her gaze drifting toward Toby her husband of five years and the father of her child. He looked tired and a bit distant, but definitely not suspicious.
"Long day?" he asked, finally glancing at her.
Clair nodded. "Yeah. I think I'll head up to bed early."
Toby hummed in acknowledgment, already turning back to the screen.
Clair took the stairs slowly, her body still aching in places she shouldn't be thinking about.
By the time she reached her room, she shut the door and exhaled shakily, leaning against the wood.
The guilt was suffocating.
But the worst part?
Beneath it all, she had just realized something.
She would do it again.