“I suspect it isn’t nonsense, but you just hate for anyone to tell you what you have to do, bureaucrat or not.”
He scowled at her, a look that Claire met with complete serenity, and a moment later the scowl faded into wry acceptance. That was one of the things she liked most about Sam. He had the ability to see the truth and accept it, even when it was something he didn’t like. Whatever blows life had dealt him, he’d learned from every one of them. He was a genius, locked into his creative dreams, but he was also a cautious, scrappy street fighter. Sam would never be a nine-to-five button-down executive; paperwork and corporate decisions, as important as they were, didn’t interest him, and he did them only out of duty. His ambition, his life, was in his laboratory.
Despite the distractions of the morning, Claire was always aware of the passage of time, bringing her closer and closer to lunch, when she would see Max again. At last it was time to leave, and she grabbed her purse and darted out of the office. Her flesh was burning and her heart was pounding as she crossed the street, and she took several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. This would never do. This was a simple lunch date between friends, nothing more. She didn’t dare let it appear to be anything else.
Max stood up as she wove her way through the maze of crowded tables. She was flushed from hurrying, and his eyes dropped momentarily to her mouth, parted because of her rapid breathing. Her lips were wide and soft, and his senses jolted. He wanted to taste her, not restrict himself to those chaste, monumentally unsatisfying pecks on her cheek or forehead. He wanted to strip off her clothes and taste her, from her head all the way down to her pink toes, with a hungry urgency that threatened to shred his self-control. Damn her, he couldn’t get her out of his mind, but he didn’t dare make a move on her. She was so skittish that she would retreat from him again, and he wouldn’t be able to get any information from her at all. He didn’t have a lot of time, anyway, and he was hampered by not knowing exactly what he was looking for, but Anson was certain that Bronson would have hidden assets, and Anson Edwards’s hunches were never wrong.
The trouble was that when he looked at Claire, it was difficult to remember that business was supposed to be his primary reason for being in Houston. The entire thing was beginning to leave a bad taste in his mouth. Corporate maneuvering was one thing, but he didn’t like the idea of involving Claire, of using her. Only his loyalty to Anson Edwards kept him on this particular job, and for the first time Max felt that loyalty wavering. He didn’t want to waste his time searching for information; he wanted to fold Claire in his arms and hold her so tightly that there could never be any distance between them again. A sharp longing knotted his insides as she finally reached his table and he stood to welcome her, but he schooled his features to reflect only the light, casual friendliness she seemed to prefer.
“Busy morning?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her cheek before seating her. His gesture was smooth and casual. He probably kissed every woman he met, Claire told herself painfully, but that didn’t stop the surge of warmth that suffused her body.
“It’s a typical Monday. Everything was in perfect order when I left Friday afternoon, but over the weekend it somehow turned into chaos.”
A waitress appeared with the menus, and they were silent while they made their selections. They ordered, and Max turned his attention back to her. “I moved into the apartment this morning.”
“That was fast!”
“All I had to relocate was my clothing,” Max pointed out, amused. “I’ve stocked the pantry and bought new sheets and towels—”
The waitress whisked up with their coffee, sliding the cups and saucers in front of them with practiced ease. Riley’s was famous for fast service, and today the waitress was outdoing herself. They tried several times to begin a conversation, but each time they were interrupted as their coffee cups or water glasses were refilled. The restaurant was crowded and noisy, and the clatter of plates and glasses was incessant, forcing them to raise their voices in an attempt to be heard.
“Claire! And Mr. Benedict! I’m so glad to run into you here!”
Max politely got to his feet, and Claire turned to see who had addressed them. The pretty brunette beaming at them was Leigh Adkinson, a member of the Houston social stratosphere to which Claire had belonged when she’d been Mrs. Halsey. Leigh was cheerful and lacking in malice, but they had been acquaintances rather than friends, and after Claire’s divorce she’d almost completely lost contact with all of the old crowd. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d talked with Leigh in the years since her divorce, but there Leigh was, smiling at her as if they were the best of friends. And how did Leigh know Max? she wondered.
“Do you remember me, Mr. Benedict? We met at Virginia’s party Friday night,” Leigh chattered.
“Of course I remember. Won’t you join us?” He indicated an empty chair, but Leigh shook her head.
“Thank you, but I have to run. I know it’s short notice, but I wanted to invite you to a dinner party I’m giving Saturday night. Actually, it begins as a dinner party at my house then we’re moving it to the Wiltshire Hotel for dancing in the ballroom. Tony’s kicking off his candidacy for the governorship. Please say you’ll come, both of you. I noticed at Virginia’s party how well you dance together!”
Max glanced at Claire, his eyebrows uplifted. “Claire?”
She didn’t know what to say. Leigh had somehow assumed that they were a couple, but that wasn’t the situation at all. Perhaps Max would prefer taking someone else to the dinner party, if he wanted to attend at all.
“It isn’t a fund-raising dinner,” Leigh said, laughing. “It’s a party for friends. You’ve been hiding yourself away for far too long, Claire.”
Claire hated it when anyone made it sound as if she’d buried herself in deep mourning after her divorce, which wasn’t what had happened at all. She stiffened, withdrawing from them, and a refusal began forming on her lips.
Max put his hand on hers, stalling her. “Thank you, we’d love to attend.”
“Oh, good. We’re having an early dinner, at seven. Claire knows where we live
. I’ll see you Saturday, then. Bye!”
Max resumed his seat, and silence fell briefly between them. “Are you angry that I accepted for both of us?” he asked, forcing her to look at him.
“I’m embarrassed. Leigh assumed that we’re an item, and you were too polite to tell her the truth.”
His eyebrows arched, and suddenly the languid, cosmopolitan gentleman was gone, and in his place was a man with cool, almost ruthless eyes. “Do you really think I’d care about being polite if I didn’t want to attend? I can be a bloody bastard on occasion.”
Claire felt mesmerized, staring into his turquoise eyes and suddenly seeing someone else, but abruptly the ruthlessness was gone, and in its place was the familiar calm control, making her feel as if her mind and eyes were playing tricks on her.
“Why don’t you want to go?” he probed.
“I don’t belong to that social set any longer.”
“Are you afraid you’ll see your ex-husband again?”