Chapter 3

Clara

Jack Dawson was a dangerous man. I knew it immediately when I’d seen him in the audience, and then later when I’d quickly read his article after the show.

Unorthodox, rule-breaking. The bad boy, blue-collar billionaire.

He was dangerous, I felt it in my gut the way a lamb knows it’s being watched by a wolf. It was a creeping tingle at the base of my spine when he looked at me. I wasn’t used to being looked at that way. With intent. Jack Dawson looked at me with intent, and it was making me all flustered. This was nothing like the boring arranged dates my mother set me up on.

I didn’t know what to wear. Where would this baffling billionaire take me? He had the money and sway to get into any hot location in the city, but he didn’t strike me as the type to be interested in that. Jack Dawson was cool in a way I didn’t know how to predict. He didn’t play at being too cool for school, he just was. It came from the very clear vibe he gave off that he didn’t care what anyone thought about him, and god how I envied him that.

I stared at my wardrobe. Jeans seemed too casual, and a fancy dress seemed too sexy, not that I had a lot of sexy dresses. I tended to dress conservatively. Like mother would like, a voice whispered in my head, but I forced it out. Being fashionable didn’t have to mean flashing everything.

I settled on a below-the-knee tea dress, with a floral print, which was pretty and romantic but paired it with a leather jacket and ankle boots. I didn’t know if it was appropriate, but it made me feel cooler than I was. Around Jack Dawson, I needed all the cool points I could get.

He pulled up at the curb outside my townhouse in a sleek black sports car and effortlessly lifted his strong body from the low seat. He strode toward me with the kind of purpose I wished I felt about anything in my life.

“Clara, you look beautiful,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss against my cheek. I inhaled the base of his neck and shuddered. That was some good stuff, and I missed the scent as soon as it was gone. I gestured to my outfit.

“I didn’t know where we were going,” I said, tucking my hair back behind my ear. Jack himself was wearing dark jeans, molded up the long, thick muscles of his legs, and a polo, with a leather jacket on top. He looked utterly edible.

“You’re perfect, as long as you can walk in those shoes,” he said, taking my elbow and steering toward the car. I nodded my affirmation, pathetically flattered by his praise.

“No driver?” I questioned, as we reached the sports car. He raised an eyebrow at me.

“I don’t particularly want another man on a date with me,” Jack quipped, opening my door for me. “Besides, no one drives my date but me,” he said. A perfectly caveman-like statement that made me burn even hotter.

I squirmed about in my seat. My body was not my friend today. It felt hot and weird in places. My nipples were hard, and I was pretty sure my panties were damp. How embarrassingly virginal was it to get all hot and bothered, just sitting next to someone. He wasn’t even touching me, for god’s sake. This was the danger of waiting too long to lose your virginity. You turn into a needy, desperate puddle of desire when faced with someone you’d actually like to go to bed with.

“Do you go on a lot of dates?” I questioned, and cringed, as he got into the driver’s seat, and pulled out into the evening traffic. Smooth Clara, really smooth. What a noob, idiotic desperate thing to say. The truth was, being on an actual date with a man who wasn’t auditioning to become part of the Winter family was unfamiliar territory to me.

“I don’t care about your mother”The memory of Jack’s voice saying those words still thrilled me.

He angled me an amused glance.

“Less than you might imagine. I don’t care for socializing,” he said cryptically, “though you might already have guessed that.”

“I don’t either… care for socializing, not the dates thing,” I said. My thoughts were jumbled and confusing. The more I was trying to come off aloof and cool, the worse it was getting.

“So, you do go on a lot of dates?” he questioned. An involuntary scoff left my lips at his insinuation.

“Some. Enough.” I settled for saying. He raised a rakish eyebrow at me, and that made sense, as I was acting like an insane person. I lowered the window a little, and let the New York street noises fill the quiet interior of the car. “It’s hot, isn’t it”?” I said, waving a hand to cool my blushing face.

“Not particularly,” Jack said. Right, that was it for talking today, I decided. At least I had until we got to the restaurant to get a grip.

Half an hour later, I stared around me, perplexed. Bright billboards, and flashing signs for rides, cotton candy, and ring toss surrounded us. The smell of sea brine filled the air, as well as sugar and hot dogs.

“You brought me to Coney Island?” I stated. Whatever I had expected, this was not it.

“I brought you to Coney Island.” He confirmed, and turned to me, flashing the grin that made my body melt at once. “Someone’s got to teach you how to play, Winter,” he quipped, before opening his door, and getting out. He crossed to mine faster than I could collect my bag and opened it. I got out, expecting Jack to step back, but he didn’t, so I ended up pressed against him. My entire body clenched with the closeness.

“Are you ready to play with me today, Clara?” Jack asked. I nodded, my eyes caught and held by his. His strong jaw was stubbled and when he smiled, his white teeth flashed against the dark outline. “No worrying about PR or reputations. None of that bullshit today. I bought and paid for this time, and I want my money’s worth,” he told me. I opened my mouth to argue about that but then relaxed into a resigned smile instead. What could I say? Jack Dawson felt like a force of nature, and why not let myself enjoy that for a day. One day, to feel wanted and free. One day to feel everything.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed with your goods, Mr. Dawson,” I said smartly. His grin looked victorious.

“Good, then let’s go sweetheart.”

* * *

Jack

It took a while for the tension to melt from Clara. By the time her shoulders were loose and her laugh was easy, she had already woven a spell around me. I took her on a couple of roller-coasters and instead of being afraid, she lifted her arms, closed her eyes, and let herself plunge into oblivion. I took her on the haunted house ride, and she laughed the entire time. We did the ring toss, and she had terrible aim, but her commentary of her performance had made my face ache, I couldn’t remember smiling so much in a long time. I shot down little targets and won her toy. Instead of picking a cute animal, she’d gone for an ugly-looking little troll, because, according to her, he had looked lonely.

So far, Clara was nothing like her reputation portrayed her to be, a jaded, snobbish ice-princess. Instead, she was a burning little ball of energy, naivety, and fire, beneath a thin, ice-coated veneer. But then, I’d already known she was different, from first glance in the auction house. The girl who started fire at the crowd and held her head up like a queen had not been who everyone thought she was. The fact that only I seemed to realize it made the connection I felt to her only stronger. It felt special and secret. The real Clara, reserved only for me.

“The stones were from a small mine in South Africa, where the villagers are shareholders in the operation. They mine much less than other places, but it’s all safe, and the best part is it benefits the whole community,” Clara chattered on about her diamond earrings. Engaging her about her jewelry line was fascinating. She was full of passion when she talked about the designs and sourcing the materials. I should have guessed she’d been the designer of the beautiful pieces she’d worn at the auction, so individual and rare looking, in a sea of wannabe lookalikes. Just like Clara herself. Unique, rare, and precious.

“So, tell me about all those dates you go on” I prompted her, as we took a break on a bench overlooking the shore. She had a soda slushie in one hand, and a hot dog in the other. I couldn’t watch her eat the hot dog without my mind shooting off into filthy places, so I kept my gaze firmly on the water. She snorted a perfectly inelegant sound.

“By saying dates you imply that there have been many and that they were anything other than my mother forcing me to go to dinner with a procession of suitable candidates, while she ran background checks to make sure our kids would be of the right stock. That’s what is important to her,” she muttered. Her tone was so flat, she was surely paraphrasing her mother. If I’d expected a family like the Winters were insufferable, I realized then that I’d had no idea to what extent.

“The right stock? How would I fare in your mother’s eyes?” I asked though I knew the answer. Clara winced. “Right, better not to ask. I’m not interested in your mother. Anyway,” I said, dusting icing sugar from my fingers. “I’m interested in you. What’s important to you?”

“What do you mean?” she seemed utterly perplexed by the question, as though no one had ever asked her that.

“What matters to you? What do you want from life?” I asked her. She could have taken the questions as being overly sweeping, and brush them aside with a laugh. Instead, her beautiful face turned thoughtful.

“I want to be someone other than a Winter,” she said suddenly, rolling up her hot dog wrapper neatly.

I had a few ideas about how she might achieve that.

“I want to be known for something else… no wait, I take that back. I don’t want to be known. I’d like my jewelry to be known, valued, enjoyed… and I would just be the designer behind it. Not a Winter, using my family name and influence to break into a competitive field,” she sighed.

“Everyone uses connections to get a competitive edge,”

“You didn’t,” she said, turning her eyes to me. “You worked your way up, and managed to get where you are on your inherent skill and brilliance alone,” she said. It did something to me, to hear her quiet admiration. Someone had been doing their research on me, and I’d be lying if the thought of Clara sitting at home researching me wasn’t hot. I wondered if she’d been in bed when she did it. I wondered what she’d been wearing. Yup, I was officially crossing the line into creepily obsessed, but it was futile to resist. I was under the spell of Clara Winter.

“If I’d had a connection to use, I would have. I didn’t use any because I had none. Maybe if I’d had some foothold, I’d be where I am now, five years ago,” I said, playing devil’s advocate. Clara was shaking her head with conviction.

“No, I don’t think you’d change it, even if you could,” she said with perfect confidence.

“No? Why’s that,”

“Because, this way, you can be sure that everything you earned, you did it yourself. You made your own world, and I don’t think you’d change that for the sake of five years.”

“My, in your eyes, I am quite the big shot,” I murmured, though every single one of her words was true. I had earned everything I had with blood and sweat, and I was damn proud of it. I had a feeling that if Clara was mine, she’d be just as proud of my accomplishments. Not if… when.

She was sitting so close, the evening air blowing her perfume my way. She had a crumb caught on the corner of her lower lip, and I brushed it off. She closed her eyes at my touch, seeming to savor it. That was the moment that snapped the reserve that had been tested since the evening before in the car, when she’d looked at me, and seen me, in all my loneliness.

I couldn’t stop myself from kissing her. I wound my hand into the heavy mass of honey hair at her nape, and tilted her face toward mine slowly, giving her every chance to stop me, even though I knew she wouldn’t. This fire burning inside me couldn’t burn alone. She ignited it, and I knew she felt it too.

My lips met hers gently, and she sighed as her mouth opened to me, melting into my chest. It was like she had been waiting to kiss me, and that thought drove me wild. This girl, who in the course of twenty-four hours had stormed into my life and taken possession of my thoughts, wanted me to kiss her just as badly as I wanted to taste her. It seemed impossible, but it was apparently true.

Clara kissed me hesitantly and sweetly, her full lips moving against mine gently, her tongue sliding against mine with a shudder. Her body was trembling beneath my hands, and I wanted to ease her back on the bench and feel every single shudder and shake beneath me. I wanted to press my weight against her soft, pliable body, and feel her open for me.

“Jack, what are we doing?” she whispered against my lips, pulling herself free of my possessive hands long enough to send me a hazy look.

“We’re just playing, Clara. We’re just beginning the game,” I told her, with a grin. She stared up at me for a long, intense moment, where I felt like I saw deeper inside her than I’d ever seen in anyone. I saw her hopelessness and despair on dates her mother had forced her on. I saw her loneliness and felt its mate inside me. I had been lonely a long time, lost in those gaps between the man I used to be, and the one I was now.

This woman would be the one to end that isolation, I felt it in my gut with the same strength of conviction I’d felt when I built my first computer, at the tender age of fifteen, and knew I’d follow that obsession to the top.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, smoothing her hair back. The urge to have her, lock her down, and make her submit to my wishes was almost overwhelming. I’d always been that way. As soon as I realized how terribly I wanted something, I couldn’t wait to focus all my energy on obtaining it. And Clara was no possession I wanted to buy, she had to be won, and I intended on doing just that.

“Where are we going?” She asked, coming willingly to her feet, as I started back toward the car.

“My place,” I told her, with all the authority that I naturally owned.

“For…” she started, but there was a blush in her cheeks that betrayed her thoughts. She wanted us to be alone as much as I did.

“A different kind of game.”