Spencer-Nyle had been buying stock in Bronson Alloys, but very quietly, in small amounts. Anson wasn’t quite ready to make his move, but if Bronson had also heard the rumor that foreign interests were backing a covert takeover, that gave the speculation a certain credence and Spencer-Nyle might have to step in sooner than Anson had planned. The danger was that now Bronson would be on the alert for any movement of his stock, and Claire had confirmed that Bronson worked best on his own. He wouldn’t welcome a takeover by Spencer-Nyle any more than he would by a foreign interest. The company, though publicly held, was his baby, and Sam Bronson was known as a tough, gritty fighter. Max made a mental note to call Anson after taking Claire home.
He eased Claire down on the couch, stretching her out full-length on her stomach. “What’re you doing?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“Just rubbing your back,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. He used the strength of his hands to find the kinks left by tension, and silence fell between them, except for the gentle sound of Claire’s sighs. Max noticed her eyelids drooping again, and a smile tugged at his chiseled lips. She was actually going to go to sleep on him. That had never happened to him before, at least not this early in the evening. Women had gone to sleep in his arms, after the loving, but Claire seemed totally unaware of his sexuality. Even when their bodies had brushed in the kitchen, while they were cleaning up, she’d given no sign that she noticed it; it was as if she didn’t even know sex existed.
He looked down at her, her honey-blond hair spread out across the couch, her lips soft and relaxed, those enormous, velvet-brown eyes closed. His hands looked big against her slender back; if he put his thumbs together on her spine, his spread fingers would reach around to the sides of her breasts. He could feel the fragile cage of her ribs beneath the soft fabric of her sweater and the even softer silk of her skin. She was asleep, in more ways than one—he wanted to wake her up and take her to bed, then wake her up sexually. He wanted to make her aware of him, so that she never again looked at him with that maddening distance in her eyes. But not yet. Not quite yet. He couldn’t take the chance of frightening her off until he had found out all he needed to know for that bloody damned takeover. But then…then he would move, and Claire Westbrook would find out what it was like to be a woman in his bed.
His hands trembled as he looked down at her, and for the first time he wondered what she would say when she discovered his true identity. She would be angry, of course—he couldn’t imagine her not being angry—but he thought he could handle her anger. It was the thought that she might be hurt that disturbed him. He didn’t want to hurt her in any way. He wanted to hold her, make love to her, cherish her, damn it! It was insupportable that he might lose the trust he had so slowly earned from her, that she would no longer give him any of her slow smiles or quiet company. He’d met no other woman like Claire, no one so gentle or remote. He never knew what she was thinking, what dreams went on behind those dark eyes. Max was extraordinarily acute where women were concerned. Only Claire eluded him, and every smile, every thought, she gave him was like a treasure, because it allowed him closer to the secret woman behind her aloof facade.
Tenderness filled him as he watched her. She really was exhausted; if he couldn’t take her to his bed, then she needed to be in her own. Gently he woke her, enjoying the way she blinked her dark eyes at him in confusion. Then she realized where she was, and a blush of mortification spread over her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, scrambling to her feet. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Don’t worry about it—you were tired. What are friends for? I’d have let you sleep on the couch, but I thought you’d be more comfortable in your own bed.” They walked to the foyer, and he held her jacket for her. He was quiet on the drive back to her apartment, and Claire was still too sleepy to be interested in talking, either. It was raining again, a slow drizzle that kept the streets wet, and the chill made her huddle deeper into her jacket.
He checked her apartment while she watched, knowing that he would get that arrogant look if she suggeste
d that he didn’t need to do it. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, coming back to her and cupping her chin in his hand.
“Yes,” she agreed softly, feeling that each hour until she saw him again would seem a year long. “Max?”
He lifted a brow at her hesitant tone, waiting.
“What I said about the alloy…”
“I know. I promise, I won’t say a word about it. I understand how sensitive that information can be.” It was a promise he felt safe in giving, since he had no need to discuss the alloy with anyone. Anson already knew about it. Their problem now was the possibility—no, the probability—that a foreign interest, almost certainly unfriendly, was working behind the scenes to gain that technology through a takeover using a domestic company as a front. Bronson would move swiftly to protect his company from such a threat, and in doing so also protect it from other takeover attempts.
She looked so incredibly soft and sleepy, her defenses down. He tilted her chin up and bent to kiss her lightly, his mouth closing over hers before she realized he wasn’t going to give her another brotherly peck on the cheek. He kept the contact light and swift, but almost immediately she stiffened and backed away from him, that damned blank look coming over her face. He dropped his hand and stepped away from her, as if he hadn’t noticed anything, but a primal rage burned in his gut. Damn her, someday soon he’d make her see him as a man!
“I’ll call tomorrow,” he said again. “I have to investigate a few details, so I’ll be busy until early afternoon, but I’ll call you before you leave work.” Without waiting for her agreement, he let himself out and walked away.
CHAPTER 5
“Claire, dear, I don’t see why you’re being so stubborn about this,” Alma argued gently. “It’s just a small party to repay some social favors, and I’d like for you to come. Your father and I would both like you to come. We don’t see enough of you. Martine and Steve will be there.”
Knowing it was useless, because when Alma used that gentle voice it meant that she’d dug in her heels and wasn’t budging an inch, Claire tried again. “Mother, I don’t like going to parties.”
“Well, I don’t like giving them. They’re too much trouble, but I do it because it’s expected and helps your father.”
Which meant that Alma was doing her duty, Martine and Steve were doing their duty by showing up as the supporting cast, and Claire, as usual, was failing to come up to par, by refusing to do her part. Claire winced inside.
“You can leave early, I know you have to work tomorrow,” Alma soothed, reading her victory in Claire’s silence. “And bring Max Benedict with you—from the rumor flying around town, Harmon and I think we should be better acquainted with him.”
“What rumor?” Claire asked, horrified.
“That things look pretty serious between you. Really, you could at least have warned me, so I wouldn’t have to act as if I knew what everyone was talking about.”
“But we aren’t serious! We’re just friends.” Claire had repeated that statement so often that she was beginning to feel like a parrot who knew only one phrase.
“You haven’t been seeing him regularly?”
Only every day, but how could she tell Alma that without it sounding as if there was a passionate romance going, when it wasn’t a romance? It was…well, it was almost like a partnership. They provided each other with companionship, simple, undemanding companionship. “I’ve seen him, yes.”
“Leigh Adkinson saw you having lunch with him on Monday, Bev Michaels saw you having dinner with him on Tuesday, Charlie Tuttle saw you with him last night in a mall, shopping. Every day! That’s pretty regular, dear. Now, I’m not pushing you—let the relationship develop at its own pace. But, really, it would be so much more comfortable if Harmon and I were better acquainted with him.”
“I’ll be at the party,” Claire said quietly. She might as well capitulate and get it over with, because Alma wasn’t about to give up.
“With Max.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him about today. He may have a date.”