CHAPTER 7
But could it? After hurriedly taking her home, Max had left, and Claire hadn’t heard from him since. She hadn’t really been surprised when Sunday passed without a call; his business in Dallas must have been urgent to require him on a Sunday, but she had expected to hear from him on Monday. In such a short length of time he had insinuated himself so deeply into her life and her heart that now things didn’
t feel right without him. She hurried home after work on Monday, afraid that she might miss his call, but her telephone sat in silence, and the longer the silence stretched, the more she became convinced that something was wrong. She didn’t know what it might be, but there was a sense of unease growing inside her. What was it that he had wanted to talk about? She knew it had to be important; his expression had been too serious, even a little grim. But it had all gone unsaid, and it shouldn’t have—whatever it was, that had been the time for it, and now that time had passed.
She slept badly, too worried to rest, her awakened body reminding her of the pleasure he had given her, the things he had taught her. It was amazing that she had been married to Jeff for years without learning that she could go mad with desire, that a man’s touch could turn her into pure molten need. No, not just a man. One man. Max.
Why didn’t he call?
Lack of sleep left shadows under her eyes the next day, and when she looked in the mirror, the sense of impending doom intensified. She stared at the fathomless dark pools of her eyes, trying to see beyond them into the woman she was, deep into herself where she sensed these things without really knowing what they were. Had he found her lacking somehow? Had she been clumsy? Had he been appalled to find that she was just like all the others, easy to bed and easy to forget? Had he done just that, forgotten her?
But he had been wild to have her, so wild that he hadn’t even taken her to the bedroom, hadn’t even removed their clothing. A hot blush colored her cheeks at the memory. In the foyer, of all places, like savages in evening clothes. Her reserve had been shattered, his control destroyed, and they had merged together with primitive force. It had to mean something to him.
But he was so sophisticated, while in many ways she was not. Had that night been normal for him? Was it nothing to him but more of the same?
There were no answers in the mirror.
It was after lunch when the call came at work, and Sam spent a long time in his office. When he came out, he was pale.
“I’ve just been notified of a takeover attempt,” he said quietly.
Claire looked up at him, waiting.
“It’s Spencer-Nyle, in Dallas.”
It was an enormous corporation, spreading out into diverse fields, and the chairman of the board was legendary for his crafty moves. Sam and Claire looked at each other, knowing that it was really only a matter of time. Had the takeover attempt been by anyone closer to Bronson Alloys in size, they would have had a good chance to fight, but Spencer-Nyle could swallow them whole and never even strain. Sam might win the first round, because of the real estate values, but the war would go to Spencer-Nyle.
“They can’t be foreign-backed,” Claire said, shocked and puzzled.
“No. It seems we were being threatened on two fronts, but I didn’t see it. I was too worried about keeping my research secure.”
“When will they make their offer?”
“That’s up to them, but I’d better use however much time we have left to strengthen our position.”
“Can we possibly win?”
“Anything is possible.” He grinned suddenly. “If we put up such a fight that the takeover would be more trouble than we’re worth, they might pull out of it.”
“Or you could find a white knight.”
“White knight or hostile takeover, the end result would be the same—the company would belong to someone else. I suppose I could give in gracefully, but hell, I’ve always liked a good fight. Let Anson Edwards and his team of hatchetmen work to get us.”
Now that the moment was actually there, Sam seemed to relish the thought of a fight. Claire wondered a moment at his mentality—he actually enjoyed conflict. But there were people who thrived on challenge; Martine was one of them. Put a mountain in front of her and she climbed it, it was as simple as that. Claire preferred to go around it. She approached a challenge head-on only when the other paths were blocked.
There was a lot to be done. The board of directors had to be notified, and proper action had to be discussed. Until a firm offer was received, they had little to go on. As the principal stockholder and chairman of the board, Sam’s opinion carried a lot of weight, but he was still answerable to the board.
The phone rang off the hook. Claire worked late and was even grateful that the pressure kept her mind off Max, at least a little. She was almost afraid to go home, afraid that he wouldn’t call and she would have to spend another night with that silent telephone. At least this way she didn’t know.
But eventually she had had to go home, so she put on some music to fill the apartment with noise. Odd, but the silence had never bothered her before; she had welcomed it, enjoying the peace and solitude after the hectic pace of her job. Max had changed that, had turned her interests outward, and now the silence grated on her nerves. The music abolished the quiet outside but couldn’t touch the stillness inside.
He wasn’t going to call. She knew it, sensed it.
Had she been only the last warm body in a long line of warm bodies in his bed? Was that all she had been to him, a challenge, so that once she capitulated the challenge was gone? She didn’t want to think that; she wanted to trust Max completely, but more and more she remembered those tiny jarring moments when she had seen the hardness beneath his perfect manners, as if the cosmopolitan gentleman were only a veneer. If that were so, then the image he projected was just that, an image, and she didn’t really know him at all. Several times she had thought that, but now she was terrified that it was true.
* * *
Max brooded in his office, wishing that he could call Claire, but things were in motion now, and it would be in the best interests of both sides if he had no more contact with her until the takeover was settled. To see her now would put her in an awkward position, possibly subject her to undeserved hostility. Damn Anson for calling him back so soon, before he had a chance to talk to her and explain things! He wasn’t worried about making her see reason; he was very experienced, and he knew the power of the weapon he had over her, the power of sensuality. Beneath that aloof, ladylike exterior was a woman who burned for his touch, whose own sensuality exploded out of control during his lovemaking. No, he could handle Claire’s anger. What worried him was the pain and confusion she must be feeling because he had seemingly walked out of her life after that unbelievable night they had shared. He didn’t want anything or anyone to hurt her, but he was very much afraid that he had, and that thought caused a tightening in his chest. Damn this bloody takeover to hell and back! It wasn’t worth hurting Claire.