Tame the Beast

Chapter 11

Drunken murmurs were left in Adam's wake as he marched into the fraternity's kitchen. If his rage wasn't enough to send the few partiers in the room packing, the violent swing of the door did.

"You didn't have to do that," Clara's soft voice called behind him.

His whole body spun in her direction. Still fuming, he asked, "What? You think you could've handled them yourself?"

"No. Although I doubt they would have tried—"

"Don't be so naïve."

Clara's body went rigid. "Don't be such an ass. I'm trying to say that you didn't have to. But ..." Taking a deep breath, she continued, "I'm glad you did. Thank you."

One look at her worried face and his anger vanished.

When Luke messaged him earlier, Adam expected to show up and casually bump into Clara. There was a greater chance she would be more receptive after a few drinks. He never thought he would walk in and find her being harassed by a bunch of drunken fools. The moment one of them put his hands on her, Adam saw red.

"You're welcome," he said before letting his bruised body fall to the nearest chair. He sat in silence, watching Clara rummage through the dirty white cupboards. "What are you looking for?"

"A plastic baggie," she replied with a tone that implied the obvious. She dove into another drawer. "I need it for— Ah! Here we go." She shuffled to the freezer and filled the gallon-sized bag with ice before handing it to him with a small smile. "Sorry. It's the smallest they have."

"What's it for?"

She looked at him as if he asked the color of the sky. "For your eye."

"It's nothing."

"It's bleeding."

Adam grazed his hand over his right brow. A warm liquid stained his fingers. "Assholes," he muttered before shrugging it off like last week's news. "It's fine. I've had worse."

"Still."

It was obvious she wasn't accepting his he-man answer. Lifting the bag, Clara pressed the ice to his wound. The bitter cold was like a thousand tiny daggers. Adam jerked away, releasing something that resembled a caveman grunt.

"Hold still," she demanded.

The sharp sting of the ice against the open cut caused more pain than fighting ten drunken losers. "Damn it, woman! That hurts."

Clara adjusted the ice pack, applying more pressure than needed and sent him a stern glare. "You wouldn't be in any pain if you didn't get in a fight."

"I wouldn't have been in a fight if you wore something more appropriate to the party."

"So this is my fault?"

Adam wanted to run his head into the wall. Of course she wasn't to blame. That fault went to the drunken idiots. Adam released a heavy breath and said, "No. I didn't mean it like that. Those idiots would have gone after anyone."

Another flash of irritation filled her eyes. "Yeah, that makes me feel better. Don't worry, Clara, you're nothing special."

"Oh my god, stop," he said, groaning. Reasoning with her was useless. "I'm just saying it wasn't your fault. Although, next time I suggest you dress less ... like this."

"What's wrong with it?" Clara's voice rose with concern. "This is far from the shortest skirt here. And the shirt is—"

"The shirt ..." Adam fingers slowly reached for the gold chain around her neck before continuing, "is just revealing enough."

His fingers played with the gold necklace. He'd noticed the chain during their tutoring sessions, but it was always hidden away. Adam followed the delicate links, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under his fingers. Tonight her light blouse exposed enough of her beautiful skin. A few more undone buttons and Adam could stop imagining what lay underneath the loose cotton of her shirt. He hoped something black and lacy.

Carefully pulling out the locket nestled between her breasts, Adam distracted himself by asking, "What this?"

"What's what?" Her words seemed distant. "Oh, you mean my necklace. My—uh ... my mother gave it to me. It was my grandmother's. Well, one of. She had two. An old pocket watch that my sister has and this one. Pretty, right?"

"Very." Adam restrained his smile. If her babbling were a sign that he was affecting her, then he would listen to it all night. He kept his gaze on the faded picture of the miniature globe. His thumb swept over the ancient piece. The letters CPL were engraved on the back.

"Clara Paige Leprince," Clara answered in anticipation. "She died the year before I was born."

"And your parents named you after her."

"Sort of. My father fought for Clarabelle, but my mother insisted on keeping Paige." An unfamiliar warmth pulled at Adam as he watched Clara smile wide. "He said after he met my mom, there wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't do to make her happy."

"Tell me more about them."

For a moment, she looked confused. "My parents?"

"Yes."

Leaning back in his chair, Adam listened to her voice fill with the joy of distant memories. He was captivated by the affection in her words. She spoke as if it were her own love story.

Adam's thoughts drifted to his parents. On the surface, it would appear Clara and him were cut from the same family cloth, but deep down she was romance and board games. He was board meetings and family duty. How could two stories be as different as night and day?

"Which is why you and I can only be friends," Clara almost whispered.

Adam's attention snapped back to her. Either she'd read his thoughts or he'd missed a vital part of her story. How did her parent's happy marriage lead to that conclusion? Not letting his annoyance speak for him, he said, "I don't follow."

"Look, it's obvious there's something here, but I don't do flings." She averted her gaze from the heat of his eyes. "I want love. And passion—"

"I can do passion." Adam inched closer, pulling her beautiful eyes back to him. "In fact, I'm very good at passion."

Clara drew in a long breath and a smile stretched across her lips. "Oh, I've heard. Everything from teaching assistants to twins."

Adam leaned back and his deep laugh filled the room. She could go from sweet to brash in one breath. "So I'm no saint."

"Far from it."

Adam took another chance and leaned forward again. "But that doesn't mean I can't change."

Clara's swift movements reflected his own. "I'm not trying to change you, Adam. And I wouldn't."

"You don't think I can?"

"I didn't say that. But you don't change for people. You change for yourself."

"I disagree. So what are you afraid of?"

Clara gently bit down on her lips. It was an unconscious effort to keep her mouth shut, but it drew Adam's thoughts toward a much more carnal impulse.

"Honestly? Heartbreak."

The color in her suddenly rosy cheeks enticed him further. If it weren't for the hum of the party vibrating the kitchen walls, Adam would have slowly taunted and teased her until she was convinced he was worth the risk. He didn't believe a broken heart was her biggest fear. There had to be more. After his talk with Luke and Deacon, it was obvious he would have to step up or step aside.

Adam leaned closer, pushing her soft cheek until hergaze saw nothing but him. His voice filled with desire as he whispered, "I canchange that." 

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