Part 2
Cove off the coast of Baja
Early Afternoon
January 11
No one has ever looked at me quite like Clay. I’m used to Harm’s looks of incredulity. I recognize every emotion and every righteous feeling he’s ever felt about truth, justice, and the American Way. I just have no idea what he thinks about me. And, I didn’t lie to Clay earlier. I no longer care about my partner’s opinion of me. This, right now, isn’t about Harm. And really, it isn’t about Clay, whose own look attests to his awareness and acceptance of that fact.
"Okay, Sarah. I’m going to shower." He looks a little disappointed, but he’ll get over it. Something else that I’m never sure about Harm doing. How strange, the spook doesn’t hold a grudge. Well, we really haven’t put it to the test. Of course, if he held a grudge, he would’ve stopped coming to JAG years ago.
I wait until he closes the door. Then, I stand and pull the remains of the two hundred dollar swimsuit off. It really is very nice, and I hope to hell I can salvage it. But now, I open the mirrored closet door to find something to cover me. Funny, I just now notice it. I always wanted to watch someone making love to me. Blew that one. I pull out a white cotton shirt and inhale the scent. Even clean, I think it smells like him. Maybe I just smell the aftereffects of the sex. I pull it on, and walk out into the galley. I should go shower but instead, I walk up into the afternoon sun.
We’re near the shore, the rocks are rugged, and I see no climbers there. A few boats are on the horizon, but we’re alone here. I walk to the bow and sit at the very edge. I’ve buttoned the shirt so, sitting cross-legged, I’m as demure as I’ve been all weekend.
Crossing my arms on the low railing, I rest my chin on them and stare out into my memories. Time to think. What the hell was I thinking yesterday? What was he thinking?
I spotted him immediately. I wasn’t sure why he was there, but I was too pissed at that married asshole to deal with spy games right away. As far as I knew, Clay was there on assignment. Then, he followed me onto the bus, and I decided to see what he was up to.
He said I had nice legs and the best ass he’d ever seen. But then, he said he’d worshipped me from afar, and that should’ve ruined it. I know he was lying. Wouldn’t I have known if he’d desired me? Or even liked me? But then, I fell for the asshole’s line, until his kid answered the cell phone, and then I got the pleasure of talking to Mrs. Asshole. Oh, God, I’m so clueless about interpersonal shit. Give me a good solid case to try, and I’m all over it. Try to figure out my love life, or lack there of, and I’m right back in high school. Maybe I’ve never matured beyond that. Terrific. Harm and I are meant for each other. Only, I don’t want Harm anymore. That Tomcat has crashed and burned.
Could I be so cursed to get pregnant after one round of unprotected sex? Of course, the way Clay pounded into me, his cock knocked right on the hatchery door. I ache – but in a wonderful way.
The zoo was great. But I’ve been in zoos all over the world. No, it was being with Clay that was great. He let me lead him up and down those canyons, in and out of every house and habitat, and he never once complained. Well, yes he did, but I could tell he was having a fun time. With me. He didn’t try and steer me away from anything, though I could tell he hated the smell in the small primate house. And, he didn’t tease me about fawning over the baby gorillas. It was fun just learning a little about him, and sharing myself.
I don’t know why I told him it was my birthday. Was it too much to think that Harm would remember? I wanted someone to wish me happy birthday. Damn, Clay has class. Doesn’t know when to stop. Jesus. I think I know what it must feel like to be a kept woman. I could get used to it – in small doses.
Why does this feel so different than Mic? I hated that Mic took control of my life, making decisions for US. Never telling me what was going on, until I was blindsided. Maybe because it was just me and Clay. He didn’t pull that possessive crap in front of my friends and colleagues. Whatever we do out here will not affect our working relationship! Will it? I could’ve said "no" at any time, and Clay would’ve stopped. I could’ve refused the suit, and bought my own damn shorts.
The heavy silver links probably left a purpling tattoo on the back of my neck. Tears threaten as I finger the engraved heart through the buttoned shirt. How hokey. I’ll only be able to wear it with my alphas. My khakis are open at the neck, and there are regs.
I wonder what he bought after shooing me out of the store. Idiot. If it was really something for him to wear, then I know he’d have asked my opinion, or at least been perfunctory about it. Of course, he’s probably afraid to give it to me now.
A pelican soars passed me, eyeing me sourly. "Fergetabodit. Nothing here for beggars." I flop back on the deck, and stare up into the incredible blue sky. He’s rich. Too rich for the likes of me. I’m not… No! Damn it! Why aren’t I good enough for him? Maybe I ought to start believing my own press. I beat Juanita Ressler fair and square. I wonder if he even saw that issue of People. I’ve faced down Harmon Rabb! No, I’m good enough for him, but would we get along day-to-day? Hell, would we even see each other day-to-day?
I wonder what kind of father he’d make. If I’m pregnant, then I know my baby would have everything that money can buy. But it’d be more than that. Webb would accept responsibility. Oh, Jesus, listen to me. How many weeks has it been? Well hell, by next this time next week we’ll know. I’m never late. Even during my murder trial, I got my period. Stress? Ha! I laugh at stress.
He’s been so much fun. Who would’ve thought that Clayton Webb would know how to have fun? Oh, the boy can spend the money. But he has it. And like he said, what else does he have to spend it on? It must be as lonely being Clayton Webb as it is to be Sarah MacKenzie.
The boat sways back and forth, and I know that he’s up top. I have to face him. Decision time. What the hell do I want? I thought I figured that out last night right before I went to sleep. I thought all I wanted was a fling and fun. Why did having sex with him change that? I AM NOT PREGNANT! Maybe I should have him take me back and see the base doctor right away. No. If my luck is as lousy as it always is, and one time did it, then this might be my last best chance. At least it isn’t a cold and impersonal turkey baster. Oh, God, I can’t believe I actually checked that place out. God, I want a baby. I want to hold her, and worry about her, and send her off to school. I want to know all of her friends and, please God, I want to be a better mother than the pathetic excuse I had for a mom. Would Clay be better than my old man? DUH.
But! What if I’m not? I’m probably not. It’s late in my cycle. I’m probably not. What do I want after this weekend? I know I’m just imagining it. The boat is steady again and he isn’t coming toward me, but I catch a whiff of his scent. And, I want him again. I want to ride his cock. I want him. Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT! What the hell do you want afterwards? Can you face Harm? Can Clay stand up to him? To the Admiral? No one at JAG really likes Webb. Oh, AJ wanted his killer found. And I know that something happened between the two of them, years ago. Could I turn my back on the only family I have anymore?
I know I’m overreacting. I know that if I WANT Clay, then they’ll be happy for me. And, if Harm isn’t? What? Transfer? Why? Is Clayton Webb worth it? And, of course, I know he is. He may be a spy. He may be the best liar I know, but even he’s not that good. He’s had a good time and I want to see what else makes him happy. I want to explore this.
Now, does he? The self-doubt that’s my constant companion, and my fiercest enemy, comes and sits right on my stomach. Slut! Whore! You’re worthless. Funny how I can hear my father; how I feel eighteen again. Why would Clay want to continue this? Forget what he said. If I were pregnant, would he try and take my baby from me? Lord knows that he and his mother would… No! I sit up. I will not allow ME to ruin this. There is only one way to handle this.
Standing, I turn to face him, and find that he’s staring up at the rocks, giving me privacy, even while so near. "Clay?"
"Yes, Sarah?"
"Can we talk?"
He turns and I see the fear in his eyes, in his very stance. I could read any number of scenarios into it. However, if there’s one thing that I’ve learned from my partner, I’m no mind reader. I cannot, will not, project any feelings onto the man before me. If he won’t talk about this and about what he wants, then we turn the boat around right now, and head back to San Diego. Not because I want that magic pill, but because I won’t do this again.
"Here?" He motions to the ocean. "Or do you want to go to the little town around the bend and have dinner?"
Here would be more private. But perhaps a little company wouldn’t hurt. I don’t want to lose sight of the talk, and I’m afraid that the feeling in my gut will betray me. God, I want this man.
"Dinner it is. I’m going shower and change."
He bites his lip and nods his agreement, even as he goes to pull up the anchor.
I let the water caress my skin. The head isn’t very big, but I’m glad for it. The shampoo I brought with me chases away his smell. Gingerly, I touch my swollen labia, and twitch at the spark of desire that washes across me. Should I relieve the tension before going ashore? Would it help?
I open the door to step out into the stateroom to dry off. It’s spread out on the bed, beautiful, simple cotton jersey; a pale barely-there floral print. There’s a note resting on top of it. "This was my present to me. I don’t know how you’re feeling right now. I know that I’ve overwhelmed you, but… well, Mother just wouldn’t look good in it, and it was on sale."
He’s lying again. I remember seeing this dress. I’d been afraid to touch it for fear that he’d insist upon buying it. It wasn’t on the sale rack. I should leave it and put on shorts. What the hell am I going to do with him?
It hugs my body in all the right places, and as I look in the mirror, I try and see me the way he does. The way people tell me men do. I’ve kept in shape; I know my stats are in the range of desirability. I don’t have zits, and I won’t pretend I’m ugly. But so what? It’s still me. Still the drunk. Still the woman who slept with her CO. Still the woman who never divorced her husband. Still the woman who… God. Why can’t I forgive myself? Even the things that I’ve done for others are always colored by my need. I followed Harm into Russia because if I did, surely he would love me. I helped Chloe because of my need to feel like I was doing something good for a child. I fought my way to my rank to prove to everyone that I wasn’t any of the worthless things my father hammered into me. Intellectually, I know that it’s all bullshit. Why can’t I let it go?
I almost pull the dress off, but his quiet knock on the stateroom door stops my hand on the strap. "What?"
"You about ready? We’re docked." He makes no move to open the door, but I can almost feel his need, his want. Is he as needy as I am? Is that what this is all about? Showtime.
"I’ll meet you up top." I fully intend to take the dress off.
"Sarah?" He’s so hesitant now. I wonder what he’s feeling. I hope we can talk. Fine. I’ll leave the damn dress on.
Hunger and fear. Desire and awe. It’s all there. The man who, for eight years, had two expressions, exasperated anger and smirking arrogance, is trying so hard to stay in control, as if he knows he’s one step away from ending up in the drink with me sailing back to San Diego on my own. I could do it. I could do it. And then it hits me, hard in the stomach. I don’t want to leave. I need to know. I need to understand one man in my life. I need to know if this man really is in my life.
"I’m ready."
He’s nervous about helping me onto the dock. But I reach out my hand and let him pull me up. He lets go immediately. Staying by my side, he keeps glancing at me. Finally, good manners win out over fear. "You look really great in that dress. I knew you would."
"You did, huh? When’s your birthday?"
"Mine? In two months, why?"
"Because I’m going to have to spring for a cruise to even approach quid pro quo."
"If that’s what you want," he snaps. "If you prefer, I can send you the credit card statement and you can pay for it." Ouch. He’s no push over.
"We’ll see," I snap right back.
The cantina is post card perfect. It’s small, adobe, with brightly woven blankets and incredible flowers as the only decorations. There’s not a single neon beer sign anywhere. There’s maybe three other ‘gringos’ in the bar. The rest of the patrons are locals. The owner’s wife comes up to us. Clay asks, in Spanish, for the small alcove near the back of the bar. We’re in full view of the room, but the closest people are well out of hearing range – if we don’t start snapping at each other.
"Your Spanish is getting better," I say after we’re situated.
"It had to. Colombia was a long time ago, Sarah." He takes a deep breath. "What would you like to drink?"
"I’ll play it safe." I saw the cooler full of bottled water.
He orders two, but then changes his mind. "Scotch."
I don’t react. If he needs a drink, or even wants one, so be it. I’d like to see how Clayton Webb handles his liquor. However, I would be willing to bet a month’s pay that this will be the only one he orders.
The food is excellent, and by tacit agreement we don’t talk of anything but the small town. He’s been here several times with his friend, and I can see that he enjoys the company of other people. I don’t know why that surprises me. I was right; he doesn’t order another drink, requesting instead his own bottle of water.
Finally, the owner brings him the check, but Clay just points to me. The owner looks shocked when I take it and place two twenties on the table. Standing, Clay takes my hand, thanks the owner and his wife, and leads me outside. "Walk along the beach?" It’s definitely a question, and if I say no, he’ll wait for my suggestion.
"The beach is fine." When we reach the waterline, I slip off my sandals and Clay toes off his boat shoes. The sand between my toes feels good. When Clay bends over to roll his pant legs up, I unabashedly admire his ass. It really is a very nice ass. I’ll have to tell him. But not now.
We walk awhile, neither quite ready to start the talk. I’m just starting to have visions of all the chances Harm and I missed, when he says so softly I almost don’t hear him. "It’s really nice out here." For an opening gambit, it’s lame. But he’s right. Back home, it’s thirty degrees and slushy. This was a plum assignment and I’m not sure how Rabb finagled it, but I was grateful when he told me. I’m more so now – I think.
We reach a rock jutting out into the ocean. The tide is still going out, and the water just kisses it before hurrying back out to sea. He hoists himself up and reaches down for me. As he pulls me up, my face is momentarily level with his crotch, and I can see that he’s aroused, even in his fear. I know he’s afraid. I just need to know about what. When we’re face to face this time, he makes no move to let me go. Our hips bump, and my own desire grows. "Please, Clay." And he knows why I’m pleading. Sighing, he steps back and, taking off the jacket, he gallantly spreads it out for me.
We sit side by side, and it’s easier to talk to the moon. "What happens when we return to DC? When will you be returning to DC?"
"I guess it depends on whether or not you’re…"
"No." I don’t let him finish. "Forget that. We’re going to go under the assumption that we dodged the bullet. I’m not. What happens?"
He’s quiet for a long time as if he’s formulating his argument for the jury. I guess, in a way, he is. "Well, then. I guess it depends on what you’re willing to put up with."
"What’s that supposed to mean? Plain talk, Clay."
"Sarah. I’m out of the country less now than before. But that doesn’t mean I’m home a lot. I work hard and there are a lot of nights that I’m home at midnight, and back at the office at six the next morning. Sometimes, now anyway, I sleep on my couch. It’s my job."
I rest my head against his shoulder. "Well, it’s not like I’m Carol Brady and home a lot myself."
"But more than I."
"But more than you. And?"
"And? And it’s a shitty thing to do to a wife and… to a girlfriend."
"But?"
He turns to look at me. "But if I thought we had a snowball’s chance in hell of making it, I’d do everything in my power to make it work. Yesterday was quite possibly the most perfect day that I can remember since college. If you want to try it back in DC, I’m willing to do whatever you want, at whatever pace you set."
"Damn it, Clay, tell me what you want!"
"What! What do I want? I want to get back on that boat and sail around the world with you. I want to stop at every port that we find and explore every single nook and cranny. I’ve spent my entire adult life serving my country in one form or the other. Before that, I was mother’s good son. Well, damn it. Why can’t I want you? Why can’t I have a chance at one tiny piece of happiness that’s just for me?"
"You can’t mean that. You don’t know me. You don’t know the things I’ve…"
He grips me by the shoulders, turning me to face him, daring me to look away or interrupt. "Let it go. Let it all go. You’ve paid whatever dues you’ve ever owed, or will ever owe. What do I know about you? I know you’re brave and smart, and ache from wanting what you think you don’t deserve. But you’re wrong. You’re so very wrong about that. "
Tears form in my eyes, and I’m really glad that I didn’t bother with makeup. "So? You want to chuck it all and run away with me?"
"Don’t tempt me, lady." He turns back to the sea and the moon. "You know, I almost could. When do you know that you’ve given enough?"
"I guess when there’s nothing else to be done. Can we really turn our back on duty? That isn’t who we are. That is who we know and feel… this… affection… oh, hell."
"What do you want, Sarah? Can you even see me as anything other than a side trip on your journey toward… who do you want? Is it still Harm? If he walked down the beach right now and said, ‘Sarah, come away with me on that boat out there,’ would you go with him?"
When I don’t answer, he sighs and starts to stir. But I grip his hand. "You ask the hard questions, but I try not to lie about the important things in my life. Do I love Harmon Rabb? I don’t even know anymore. I’m not sure what romantic love is. Can someone who never had love as a kid, know how to love? But I know this. While I feel a deep commitment to him, there are times when I don’t like him very much. I invested so much of my happiness in him instead of accepting who I am and what I want."
"What is it you really want?"
"I want security, Clay. Not the kind of security that comes with a Platinum Card, or a big house, or a Mercedes Benz. I could get all three, or as close as I really want without a man. If I left the Marines tomorrow, I could support myself – and a baby, if I needed to. But the Marines have been the only security I’ve ever known. I want to know that the man I give up so much for will realize exactly what I’m doing. I want respect. I want friendship. I want a home."
"And you’ve decided you can’t have it all? Can’t stay in the Marines and have a relationship?"
"A relationship? With a man? With you? Sure I could. I’m not talking about that now. It all boils down to this. I want a baby so bad, I can taste it. I was jealous of a gorilla in captivity!" What I’ve been unable to admit to myself, I find I can tell this man. That has to count for something, doesn’t it? "Do I want to go back to DC, give up my lease and move in with you? No. But I don’t want to waste another eight years waiting for us to figure it out. I want to know that you at least want to try this, to work at it. To be willing to make the sacrifice if it comes down to it. Because, that’s what it’s all about. Giving and taking. And talking. I want to be part of another person’s life, not his date for embassy functions, not his trophy wife."
We sit there, holding hands for a long time. I’ve worked hard for everything in my life, and I can’t expect whatever this is between us to be easy. I can’t call it love, can I? But whatever it is, I want to try and make it grow and be what we both seem to so desperately need. I’ve lost track of the time, which tells me I’m in a bigger state of turmoil than I suspected. Clay jumps down from the rock and holds out his arms to me. I allow him the gesture, and fall into his embrace. However, the kiss is chaste and brief. Throwing his arm around my waist, he leads me back to the boat. This time, I jump down on my own and he follows me. Instead of casting off, he checks the moorings, then locks down the engine and motions me to head below. Following me down, he secures the hatch.
We stand in the galley each awaiting the other’s decision. We make it silently, each taking a step together, until our lips fuse. We’re embracing more than our bodies. We’re agreeing to try. Together, we move to his bed. We undress each other with a gentleness missing from our first coupling.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lower us to the bed until his body covers mine. His cock rests between my legs, warm and safe. His lips bury in my neck, and the overwhelming feelings start again. Before, we’d been frantic and almost savage in our coupling. Now, he takes his time, mapping my body. When his lips reach my nipples, I arch off the bed, holding him to me, like the child I want there more than anything, including him. He lingers there for a long time, and yearning turns back to lust, and all thoughts except the tightening in my stomach, the clinching in my womb leave. This time, after he has me screaming his name, he pauses and stares into my eyes. Sadly, we both reach for the drawer. I rip open the pack, and I roll the condom down his cock. It’s truly best not to temp fate. Our eyes hold each other as he enters me. I see the love in his eyes, and I know that he can teach me, if I let him.
"Please, Clay."