“Oh, I don’t think so,” Alma chuckled. “Thank you, dear. We’ll see you both tonight.”
Claire hung up, biting her lip in consternation. What a way to begin the morning! Alma’s call had come mere seconds before Claire’s alarm clock had gone off. Well, her mother might be certain that Max didn’t have a date, but Claire wasn’t. Max was too much of a man not to have a love life, and since he didn’t have that sort of relationship with Claire, nor did he seem interested in developing one, it followed that he would be seeing other women. If not tonight, then soon. A rest from strenuous pursuit was one thing, but a healthy man wouldn’t let it go on too long. Max had a man’s needs, and Claire had seen how women followed him with their eyes.
He couldn’t have made it more obvious that he wasn’t physically attracted to her. He hadn’t kissed her again after that brief kiss on Monday night. As light as it had been, it had sent tingles of electricity shooting all through her body, and she had had to force herself to step away from him, to keep him from seeing how it had affected her. That one small touch and she had been ready to throw herself at him, just like all those other women. She had cried herself to sleep that night, certain she’d made a fool of herself and that he would never come near her again, but he’d called her the next day as promised and didn’t seem to have noticed what had happened. Perhaps she had covered it well enough that he didn’t suspect.
It didn’t seem possible that it had been only a week since she’d met him. She had seen him every day, usually twice a day, when he met her for lunch, and after work, too. She sometimes felt as if she knew him better than she’d ever known anyone before, even Jeff, but at times Max was like a stranger. If she looked up quickly…she would occasionally catch him watching her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. If crossed, he could be a hard man, but he always kept himself under strict control, and it was that control that made her trust him.
She thought of not even asking him to go to her mother’s party. She could go by herself, stay long enough to be polite then plead tiredness and go home early. That would satisfy Alma. But it would also mean that Claire wouldn’t see Max that day, and emptiness filled her at the thought. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed herself up on the pillows and punched out his number on the telephone.
It rang only once before he answered it, his voice deep and a little husky with sleep. As always, Claire’s heart gave a tiny leap at hearing him speak.
“It’s Claire. I’m sorry to wake you,” she apologized.
“I’m not sorry you woke me,” he said and yawned. “I had planned to call you as soon as I woke, anyway. Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing like that. Mother just called. She’s giving a cocktail party tonight and insists that I be there.”
“Am I invited?” he asked with that smooth, cool self-confidence that often amazed and disconcerted her. Max was always so certain of what he was about. It was as if he knew Alma had insisted that Claire invite him and as if he was equally aware that Claire, being herself, would find it difficult to ask him. The more he seemed to see inside her mind, the more Claire tried to keep him from doing just that. She was in love with him; he wasn’t in love with her. If he knew that…he would pity her, and he would also stop seeing her.
“You don’t mind?”
“I like your family. Why should I mind?”
“People are talking about us.”
“I don’t give a bloody damn what people say,” he said calmly then yawned again. “What time is the party?”
“Seven.”
“Of course. Everything starts at seven. I’m going to be a bit tight on time, darling. I have to go out of town today, and I’ll be shaving it down to a whisker if I drive all the way to my apartment, then to your apartment, then to your parents’ house. Would it inconvenience you terribly if I simply got ready at your apartment? It would save almost forty-five minutes in driving time.”
Her heart gave that stupid little leap again at the thought of his using her bathroom to shower in and then dressing in her bedroom. “No, it wouldn’t be a bother,” she managed to say. “It’s a good idea. What time will you be here?”
“About six. Will that give you time?”
“Yes, of course.” She would have to hurry, but she thought she could make it. It usually didn’t take her long to get ready, and she had time to wash her hair before going to work. That would help.
“I’ll see you tonight, then.”
It was a horribly busy day; Alma’s phone call had set the tone for the entire day. No matter how she hurried, Claire seemed to be a step behind all day long—even routine tasks developed aggravating complications. Part of her job was to shield Sam from unnecessary interruptions, which meant that she had to handle them herself, and there were some things that simply couldn’t be put off to the next day. She worked through lunch, trying not to wonder where Max was and wishing that she were with him, wherever he was.
It was midafternoon when the emergency reappraisals arrived by special delivery, and a slow smile moved across Sam’s face when he read them. With a gesture of supreme satisfaction he tossed the reports on his desk and leaned back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head. “Even better than I’d hoped,” he told Claire. “The real estate values have quadrupled in the past year. We’re safe, and I was really beginning to sweat it. Trading has picked up in our stock, though no pattern has developed yet. Someone’s definitely after this company, but they’re not going to get it. Take a look at that reappraisal.”
Claire read through the documents, amazed at the way the value of the land had skyrocketed. Once again Sam’s instincts had been right. It was really uncanny, the way his long shots all seemed to pan out. He had bought that land as a hedge against inflation, and now the land would probably be what saved the company from an unfriendly takeover attempt, and Sam wou
ldn’t have to entangle himself in government regulations before he was finished with his research.
Of all days, she was almost twenty minutes late leaving work. It was fifteen to six when she let herself into her apartment, and she pulled off her clothes as she dashed to the bedroom. She jumped in and out of the shower, and had just dried off and pulled on her robe when the doorbell rang. She pressed her hands to her clean face, wishing that she had at least had time to put on her makeup, but there was nothing she could do about that now.
“I had to work late,” she stammered in explanation when she opened the door to Max. “Let me get fresh towels and the bathroom is yours.”
He carried a fresh suit and shirt and a small traveling kit. A shadow of beard darkened his jaw, but his smile was relaxed. “Don’t worry, we’ll be on time,” he assured her, following her into the bedroom. He placed his clothing on the bed and carried the kit into the bathroom while she got fresh towels for him. Coming back out of the bathroom, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it across the bed, then began tugging at his tie. Her breath caught in her chest, and she turned away to sit down at her dresser, picking up a brush and pulling it through her hair without having any realization of what she was doing. She tried not to watch him, but the edge of her mirror caught him, and there was no way she could look away. He pulled his shirt free of his pants then unbuttoned it and pulled it off. For all his leanness he was unexpectedly muscular, his torso roped with long, smooth muscles that rippled when he moved. Dark brown curls grew across his chest, fascinating her with the discovery that his body hair was dark instead of blond, though she should have guessed, because his brows and lashes were dark brown, creating a striking contrast with his golden hair and framing his brilliant eyes.
To her relief he didn’t take his pants off, though she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had. Max was probably very comfortable with being nude in front of a woman, and he had no reason to be ashamed of his body. He was beautiful, even more beautiful than she’d dreamed, his body rippling with fluid strength that was usually hidden by his clothing.
He took his fresh pants off the hanger and took them into the bathroom with him. It wasn’t until she heard the shower start that Claire recalled the need to hurry. She forced herself to begin applying her makeup, but her hands were shaking and she botched her eye makeup twice before she got it right. The shower stopped, and her mind immediately supplied a picture of Max standing there naked, drying himself on her towels. Hot color surged into her cheeks. She had to stop thinking about him! She was making a nervous wreck out of herself, when she should be concentrating on getting ready.
“Bloody hell!” he muttered clearly, then raised his voice. “Claire, I forgot my razor. Do you mind if I borrow yours?”