Chapter 9: Fortune Inn - Losing Control
687 Words
Elliot Vance had underestimated Clara Hayes once again.
"I can give you that."
Between grown adults, love was never just about whispered sweet nothings. s*x was inevitable—Clara had considered this long before proposing their arrangement. "If you want me, I won’t say no."
A coy smile curled her lips. "You’re gorgeous, and your body is a damn masterpiece. Honestly, sleeping with you would be my win."
When his expression darkened with something resembling disappointment, she faltered. "Do you think I’m being… indecent?"
A beat. Then, sharper—"Or is there someone else?"
Her hands flew up in surrender. "If there is, forget I said anything. I don’t do affairs. However desperate I might be, I won’t touch another woman’s man."
Typical writer—always spinning narratives where none existed.
"Is it worth it?" Elliot’s voice was ice. "Using your body to forget another man?"
"Ah." Clara’s laugh was brittle. "So now I’m cheap?" She crossed her arms, the movement tightening her sweater over curves he’d spent too many nights imagining. "If I were truly reckless, do you think I’d have stayed single in a town built for hookups?"
The conversation had soured. She hated the judgment in his gaze—hated how it made her skin prickle with shame.
"Forget I said anything." Turning on her heel, she headed for the door. "Goodnight, Mr. Vance."
Morning arrived with brutal clarity.
Clara descended the stairs freshly scrubbed, her smile polished to a high gloss. When she spotted Elliot returning from his run, she waved with performative cheer. "Lovely morning, isn’t it?"
The brighter she smiled, the deeper Elliot’s scowl grew.
He knew damn well she hadn’t been drunk enough to forget last night.
Under the scalding shower spray, Elliot glared at his traitorous body. His c**k stood rigid against his abdomen, throbbing with every remembered hitch of Clara’s breath when she’d whispered "I can give you that."
He squeezed his eyes shut. f**k.
It was useless. The harder he fought her image, the more vivid she became—the sly arch of her brows, the way her teeth worried her lower lip when provoked.
This wasn’t new. The first time she’d teased him about "thickness," his body had reacted instantly. Six months of celibacy explained the initial response, but not the relentless pull he felt since.
Then came the night he’d fixed her laptop. Standing close enough to catch her scent—something warm and sweet beneath her citrus perfume—he’d grown hard enough to ache. That was the moment he’d known: this wasn’t just physical.
Which was why he’d warned her to stop the innuendos. He wasn’t a saint.
Past arrangements had been simple. He’d sought companionship, never love, and made his terms clear from the start: generous financial support, exclusivity for the duration, and no messy expectations. Every woman had left satisfied.
Clara’s proposal last night mirrored those very terms.
His refusal had nothing to do with virtue and everything to do with Shawn Rayne’s poorly hidden infatuation with her.
"Only touch what’s yours to take."
But the thought of Clara still pining for Daniel Shaw? It coiled something vicious in his gut.
His hand slid down, fisting his erection with rough strokes. The memory of her cheerful "Good morning!" fueled his frustration. That smile wasn’t for him—it was armor. Proof she could walk away unscathed.
And if another man offered what he’d refused? Someone equally powerful, equally willing to f**k her memories away?
His grip tightened.
The image of Clara arching beneath a stranger, moaning their name instead of his—
"f**k!"
Elliot slammed a palm against the shower wall. He’d never been this possessive. Never cared enough to imagine a woman with someone else.
Yet here he was, shaking with the urge to drag Clara upstairs and ruin her for anyone else.
Dripping and half-dressed, he stormed downstairs. Clara was polishing the front desk, her hair a sunlit cascade down her back. He was three steps away when she gasped—
"Shawn?!"
Elliot froze.
Shawn Rayne stood in the doorway, suitcase in hand, grinning like the universe’s worst punchline.
- Writer
