nd her fingers loved the soft, lush feel of the velvet. All her senses seemed to be more alert, and she was achingly aware of her own body in its casings of silk and velvet. When she opened the door to Max, his pupils expanded until the black almost swallowed the sea-colored irises, and the skin seemed to become taut across his cheekbones. Tension hummed from his body.
But if he thought of reaching for her, he controlled the impulse. “You’re lovely,” he said, his eyes never leaving her, and she felt lovely.
Claire enjoyed the dinner party more than she had expected, even though her pleasure was dimmed by the presence of Virginia Easley. It would be a long time before she’d forget Virginia’s maliciousness in inviting Claire and Jeff to the same party. Max felt Claire’s slight stiffness and glanced at her in question. Then he saw Virginia, too, and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t let her bother you. She isn’t worth the effort.”
Leigh Adkinson sailed up to greet them and hug Claire, exclaiming how glad she was to see Claire again. Max stood close to Claire, a little behind her, his presence like a solid wall of strength in case she needed him. He had met several of the other guests at Virginia’s party, so people drifted over to speak to him and Claire, but most of the guests were strangers to him. For a time he and Claire merely stood still, like royalty holding court, surrounded by people who hugged and kissed Claire and told her how much they had missed her. The women would glance slyly at him, waiting for an introduction, but there was no hint of flirtation in his manner. As he had before, he made it perfectly clear that he was with Claire and had no intention of straying from her side.
Virginia came up, all smiles and dripping sweetness. “Rumors about you two are all over town,” she cooed. “Why, I hear you’re practically living together! I’m so proud that you met at my party!”
Claire’s smile went brittle, and Max stepped forward, his hand touching her arm. He pinned Virginia with a narrowed, deadly look that made her smile fade, and a waiting silence descended over the guests nearest them. “Rumors have a way of turning on those who repeat them,” he said in a tone laced with contempt. He was furious, and he had no compunction about letting others see it. “Especially jealous bitches who lack both breeding and manners.”
Virginia went pale, then beet red. Leigh, sensing a budding scandal, came up to hook her arms through both Max’s and Claire’s. “There’s someone you just have to meet,” she chattered gaily as she led them away. Her quick action defused the situation, and the party resumed its normal buzz of conversation. After dutifully introducing them to someone, she darted away to make certain Virginia wasn’t seated close to them at the table.
Except for that one scene, it was an enjoyable dinner. Claire found that she wasn’t as upset as she would have expected. She was with Max, and that was the most important thing. When she remembered how difficult she had found dinners like this when she was married to Jeff, she wondered at the difference. She had proved to herself that she was capable of managing her own life, and somehow it no longer seemed so important if she accidentally picked up the wrong fork.
The woman on Max’s other side leaned across to get Claire’s attention. “Do you still play tennis? We miss you at the club, you know.”
“I haven’t played in years. I was never any good at it, anyway. I didn’t keep my mind on the game.”
“Dreaming?” Max teased.
“Exactly. My mind wanders,” she admitted, laughing at herself.
“I concentrate as hard as I can, and I’m still not any good,” the other woman admitted with a chuckle. Claire couldn’t remember her name but had often seen her at the country club where the Halseys had belonged. The woman sipped her wine then set the glass down, but it caught the edge of her bread plate and toppled over, sending her wine splashing over Max’s white jacket.
The woman blushed crimson. “Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry. Now you see why I’m not any good at tennis. I’m too clumsy!” She grabbed her napkin and began trying to blot the wine from his jacket.
“It’s only a jacket,” he soothed, his face calm. “And you’re drinking white wine, so it won’t stain. Please, don’t let it upset you.”
“But it’s all over you!”
He took the woman’s hand and kissed it. “It isn’t important. Claire and I will stop by my apartment on the way to the hotel and I’ll change.”
His manner was so unruffled that it reassured the woman, and the meal continued without further mishap. When dinner was finished, he quietly made his excuses to Leigh, and he and Claire left.
“I always had a horror of spilling my wine on someone,” she mused in the car. “It never happened, but I was always terrified that it would.”
He was philosophical about it, and there was a slight smile on his lips. “I poured my wine in a lady’s lap on one occasion. Her dress became transparent when wet, so it was truly memorable. Then, too, I’ve dandled my nieces and nephews when they were babies, and everyone knows what complete barbarians babies are, no shame or manners at all, so in comparison wine is definitely preferable.”
At his apartment, he went into the bedroom to change while Claire checked her appearance in the gilded mirror in the foyer, reapplying her lipstick and tucking a strand of hair away from her face. Max took only a moment, reappearing in a stark black evening jacket that intensified his golden beauty. Looking at him, Claire caught her breath. Dressed all in black, except for the snowy expanse of his tucked dress shirt, he was overpoweringly male. His eyes drifted over her as she returned the tube of lipstick to her tiny evening bag. “We’re a matched pair,” he said.
Claire glanced down at her black gown as she preceded him to the door. “Yes, we are. Perhaps it was a happy accident at that.”
He paused with his hand on the door handle, giving her another appreciative look. Releasing the handle, he turned to face her, tilting her chin up with his hand. His lips brushed lightly over hers. Then he lifted his head and their eyes met, hers wide and dark, his brilliant, narrowed. He kissed her again, molding her lips with gentle pressure. She responded, returning the kiss, standing quietly before him. As if he were cupping a fragile flower, he put both hands on her face, his thumbs meeting under her chin, and continued to kiss her with long, slow, leisurely kisses, their tongues meeting in play. His taste filled her mouth, and with a sigh of pleasure Claire put her hands on his shoulders.
He murmured something unintelligible, moving his hands from her face and putting his arm around her to pull her closer. With that utter assurance of his, he put his free hand on her breast, the warmth of his fingers heating her through the velvet of her gown.
She trembled, and shivery desire began to grow inside her. Lifting herself up on her toes, she pressed against him, needing to feel his hard body and the strength of his arms enfolding her. Their mouths clung together, the contact hungry, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. His hand delved inside her bodice and cupped her naked breast, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive nipple and sending heated sparks racing along her nerves. She whimpered a little, unprepared for the sudden flood of passion that swept over her flesh. Her body arched against him, and she felt his hardness, and suddenly they both exploded with need, fierce and uncontrolled.
His mouth ground into hers, his lips hot and firm, his arms straining her to him so tightly that she couldn’t take a breath. Her senses spun wildly, overwhelmed by the sudden excess of pleasurable messages that were ricocheting along her nerves. She could feel his steely strength in the muscles of his shoulders, taut under her clenched fingers. He was boldly, obviously, aroused, his flesh pushing against her. An insidious weakness began to creep through her bones and muscles, and deep inside her there was heat and a burning, writhing need.
She hadn’t expected this wild hunger in him, or in herself, and she was helpless to stop it. She hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of his touch, or the way in which she was responding to him, as if her body had taken charge, and she could no longer control it. He moved his hands down to cup her buttocks and b
ring her against him in a movement so blatantly sexual that she couldn’t stop the moan of pleasure that broke from her throat. She loved him, she wanted him, and nothing else mattered.
“Claire,” he muttered, his breath rasping as it left his chest. The thin strap had drooped off her right shoulder, letting her bodice slip, and he brushed the strap completely down until her breast was exposed. He stared down at her naked flesh, and she felt seared by his gaze. His face was hard, taut, like that of a man on the verge of agony. She was a doll in his grasp, completely helpless against his strength, as he bent her back over his arm and arched her breast up for his mouth. He wasn’t gentle now; his mouth closed hotly over her nipple, suckling at her and making her cry out.
His hand was under her skirt, smoothing over her thighs, her bottom, between her legs. A thin, wordless cry broke from her lips, but it wasn’t a cry of protest. She was beyond protesting. His touch intensified the torrent of sensation inside her. She felt afire, literally molten with need, and he was wild with the need to get at her. His hard fingers closed on her panties and garter belt and jerked them down with one movement, tugging them off. Then she felt the hard edge of the table behind her, and he lifted her onto it. His hand was there now, touching her intimately, stroking and rubbing and probing, doing things to her that pushed her intolerably close to the edge. She cried out again, clutching at him, so empty and aching that she couldn’t stand it any longer and tears seeped out from under tightly closed lids.