Almost Forever (10 page)

She'd forgotten them. Quickly she slipped pearl-drop earrings into her ears, and Max nodded, checking his watch. “We have just enough time to get there.”

Perhaps it was just a small cocktail party, but the driveway was already choked with cars when they arrived at her parents' house. Alma and Harmon were both popular and outgoing, drawing people to them with the magnetism of their personalities. Inevitably Claire felt herself tensing as she walked up to the door with Max close beside her.

The door opened before they reached it, and Martine stood laughing at them, resplendent in an emerald-green dress that showed off her beautiful figure and made her glow with color. “I knew you'd be here,” she said in triumph, hugging Claire. “Mom has been in a dither that you wouldn't come.”

“I told her that I would,” Claire said, reaching deep inside herself for the composure that she kept like a shield between herself and others, even her family.

“Oh, you know how she has to fret over something. Hello, Max, you're looking as beautiful as ever.”

He laughed, a deep sound of true amusement. “You really must work to get over that shyness.”

“That's what Steve tells me. Oh, here come the Waverlys.
I haven't seen Beth in ages.” She waved past them to the approaching couple.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Claire asked.

“I don't know. Ask Mom, if you can find her. She was in the den, but that was five minutes ago, so it's anyone's guess where she is now.”

Max put his hand on her waist as they walked into the crowded living room, and Claire immediately felt the impact of everyone's eyes as they turned to survey the new arrivals. She knew their thoughts, knew that everyone had heard the rumors and was looking them over, trying to decide if the rumors were true.

“You did make it!” Alma beamed, sailing across the room to kiss Claire's cheek. She turned that thousand-watt smile on Max, whose mobile lips twitched into a devilish grin. Before either Alma or Claire could guess what he was about, he took Alma in his arms and kissed her lips, then did it again. Alma laughed, but she was blushing when he released her.

“Max, what are you doing?” she exclaimed.

“Kissing a pretty woman,” he replied blandly, the tone of his voice belied by the wicked twinkle in his eyes. He reached out and brought Claire back into the circle of his arm. “Now Claire and I are going to find something to eat. I'm starving, and she didn't have time for dinner, either.”

Claire felt frozen as she walked beside him to the kitchen, feeling the eyes boring into her back like knife blades. He'd kissed Alma twice, which meant that he'd kissed her mother more than he'd kissed her. She had stood to the side, envying the brilliant, easy charm that both Max and Alma possessed, wishing that she had the gift of laughter. Martine could do it, too, have people eating out of her hand within moments of meeting them. All her life she'd been surrounded by beautiful, charming people, but none of that magical self-assurance had rubbed off on her.

The breakfast bar in the kitchen was crowded with hors d'oeuvres and finger sandwiches, and Max raided it shamelessly, but Claire only nibbled at a sandwich. Automatically she replenished the trays as Max depleted them and finished the condiment tray that Alma had been in the middle of preparing before she had rushed off to greet her guests. Alma rushed back into the kitchen, her glowing smile bursting over her face when she saw that Claire had completed the preparations. “Bless you, dear. I completely forgot what I was doing. You always did keep your common sense. I can't count the times Harmon has told me to slow down and think before I do something, but you know how deep an impression it's made.”

Claire smiled quietly at her mother, thinking that she did love her very much even though it had never been easy, growing up in the shadow of a beautiful mother and an equally beautiful sister. Both Alma and Martine were warm and outgoing people, without an ounce of maliciousness. It wasn't their fault that Claire had always felt overshadowed by them.

She picked up the heavy tray, and Max promptly relieved her of the burden. “Show me where you want it,” he said firmly when Claire turned to him with her brow raised in question. “You're not to try to carry these trays yourself.” He looked at Alma as she began to lift one of the trays, and the cool warning in his eyes made her drop her hands and step back.

“Masterful, isn't he?” Alma whispered to Claire as they followed Max's broad shoulders back into the living room.

“He has set ideas on what's proper,” Claire said in understatement.

Max carried all the trays in, then became immersed in a conversation with Harmon, Steve and several other men. Periodically his eyes sought out Claire, wherever she was in the room, as if reassuring himself that she wasn't in need of him.

Claire sipped on a margarita and surreptitiously checked
the time, wondering when they would be able to leave. The cocktail party wasn't as bad as she'd feared, but she was tired. The pressure of the hectic day, the hectic
week
, was telling on her. Bracing herself, she tried to concentrate on the conversation around her.

Someone turned on the stereo, but since Harmon was an ardent blues fan, the selection was limited. The smoky, mournful wail of a saxophone lured several people into dancing. Claire danced with Martine's law partner, then with her father's best friend, then with an old friend from school. She was on her second margarita when it was taken from her hand, placed on the table, and Max turned her into his arms.

“You're tired, aren't you?” he asked as they swayed to the low music.

“Exhausted. If tomorrow weren't Friday, I don't think I could make it.”

“Are you ready to leave?”

“More than ready. Have you seen Mother lately?”

“She's back in the kitchen, I think. The nation's dairy farmers would be in ecstasy if they could see the amount of cheese that has been consumed tonight,” he said dryly.

“You ate your share, I noticed.”

His mouth quirked. “I burn off the calories.”

Sighing, she stepped back from his embrace. “Let's find Mother. I think we've stayed long enough to be polite.”

Alma was indeed in the kitchen, dicing cheese into another heap of small squares. She looked up when they entered, and a mixture of dismay and resignation crossed her features. “Claire, you can't be leaving!” she protested. “It's still early.”

“I know, but tomorrow's a working day.” Claire leaned forward to kiss her mother's cheek. “I've enjoyed myself. Really.”

Alma looked at Max for reinforcement. “Can't you get her
to stay a little longer? She has that stubborn look, and I know she won't listen to me.”

Max's arm went around Claire's waist, and he, too, bent to kiss Alma's cheek. “That isn't a stubborn look—it's a tired look,” he explained easily, employing his charm as he smiled at Alma, pacifying her. “It's my fault. I've had her out every night this week, and the lack of sleep is catching up with her.”

It worked, but then, Claire had never doubted him. Alma was beaming at him. “Oh, all right, take her home. You must come back—we haven't really had a chance to get to know you.”

“Soon,” he promised.

It was a silent drive back to Claire's apartment, but when she offered him coffee he came inside with her. After making the coffee and carrying the cups into the living room, they sat on the couch and sipped quietly. Claire kicked off her shoes, sighing in relief and wiggling her toes.

Max's gaze was on her slender feet, but his mind was on other matters. “What happened that you had to work late today?”

“Everything. It was just one of those days, and it didn't help that Sam was so edgy. He's almost certain there's going to be a takeover attempt, and soon—there's been increasing trading in our stock. Even though he has an ace in the hole, the waiting and wondering are nerve-racking.”

“What's his ace in the hole?” Max asked, his voice sleepy, almost disinterested.

It was a new situation for Claire, actually being able to sit down and discuss her day at work with someone. She had never talked about her day before—she couldn't remember if anyone had ever asked. Small talk was a subtle sort of intimacy, letting someone into her mind by sharing the details of her life with them, and she had always instinctively kept to herself. But it was so easy to talk to Max. He listened, but he didn't make a big deal of it.

“Real estate,” she said, smiling a little. His lashes lifted to reveal a lazy gleam of interest. “I thought that might interest you.”

“Ummm,” he said, an indistinct sound of agreement.

“Sam invested in some property that has quadrupled in value. The reappraisal came in today, and it was even better than he'd hoped.”

“Land values can do that. They go up and down like a roller-coaster. The trick is to buy just before the price bottoms out, and sell just before it goes over the top. The value must really be astronomical to be enough to protect him against a takeover.” He sat up more alertly and finished his coffee.

“I'll get you a refill,” Claire said, getting up and going into the kitchen before he could refuse. She reappeared almost immediately with the pot, and Max watched her walk toward him, her slender body moving gracefully. She looked so quiet and restrained, but he knew what was beneath that ladylike dress. He'd seen the satin panties, the shockingly sexy garter belt and filmy hosiery. A garter belt, for God's sake! His body jolted with response now just as it had then, and he clenched his teeth. He'd had a difficult time keeping his mind off her underwear and his hands off her body. He kept seeing her with that dress over her head, baring her slender hips and legs to his view. The need to take her to bed was growing out of control, fed by frustration that she was so unaware of him as a man and by anger that she would freeze up on him if he tried to change the situation. He wasn't accustomed to abstinence, and he didn't like it one damned bit.

Claire picked up the conversation where they had left off, sitting down beside him again. “I wouldn't call the land value astronomical, but we're a small enough company that it doesn't have to be. Anyone making a bid for the company is going to come short by several million dollars.”

He jerked his thoughts back to what she was saying. Damn it, she was practically handing him the information he needed on a silver platter, and he couldn't keep his mind on the conversation. He wanted very much to stretch her out on the couch and lift that dress over her head again, to run his hands over her and feel the softness of her skin, but that would have to come later.

“How much was the appraisal?” he asked. He watched her closely, wondering if she would answer him. It was a bold move, asking outright for the information he needed, but she had already given him the major part of it, and the actual appraisal would only fill in the details. He kept his face carefully blank, hiding his intense interest in her answer.

“In the millions.”

Damn, that
would
make a difference! “What did they do? Find oil on it?” he muttered.

She laughed. “Close.”

Mingled satisfaction and relief filled him; the job was done. It hadn't taken long, and had been relatively easy. The difficult part had been restraining himself from making a move on Claire and scaring her off, but now the job was out of the way and he could concentrate on her. She could try hiding behind that shell of hers, but he was free to pursue his own interests now, and Claire was his interest. He wanted her. He had no doubt that he would have her. He was a master at seduction, and no woman had ever resisted him for long when he made the effort to charm her into his bed. But with Claire, he'd been handicapped by his professional concerns, forced to restrain himself. She was already accustomed to his company, and she had come to accept his casual touches. It wouldn't be long before she was also accepting the most intimate touches between a man and a woman.

His hunger, his
need
, for her were becoming more urgent.
It wasn't just the physical need for release, though that was strong enough—he wasn't accustomed to celibacy. No, his strongest need was the primitive urge to bind her to him
now
, before she found out the truth, but he found himself uncharacteristically hesitant, his usual self-assurance fading. What if this wasn't the right time? What if she rebuffed him? What if she retreated completely? He would have lost even her friendship, and to his surprise he wanted her friendship very much, as much as he wanted her physically. He wanted all of her, her mind as well as her body.

She smothered a yawn, and he laughed, reaching out to massage her shoulder, the light touch filling him with pleasure. “You need to be asleep. Why haven't you told me to leave?”

Claire curled up on the couch, tucking her feet under her, and sipped her coffee contentedly. It was so peaceful, sitting there together and drinking their coffee, making desultory conversation. Her heart was beating in that slow, heavy way it did whenever she was with him, and in that moment she was happy. “I'm comfortable with you,” she replied, and knew that she was lying. Her nerves were alive and acutely tuned to him, her senses assailed by his nearness. She could smell him, feel his warmth, look at him, and her flesh ached to be even closer to him. How foolish she was to love too fast, too much, but it was out of her control and perhaps had been from the very beginning.

He reached out and took her hand, folding her fingers in his and rubbing his thumb over her silky skin. “Claire,” he said in a quiet voice, drawing her gaze to him. Her eyes were dark pools, soft and velvety. “I want to kiss you.”

He felt the way her hand jerked in his, and he tightened his grip just enough to hold her. “Do I frighten you?” he asked, amused.