Almost Forever (20 page)

“I know you're tired, but I'm not a noble, self-sacrificing gentleman,” he said harshly, lifting his head to look at her. “If you don't stop me now, I won't be leaving tonight at all.”

She couldn't deny it, even to herself. He was giving her one last chance to reconsider. For a moment she almost pulled his head back down to her. Then common sense asserted itself, and she pushed at his arms until they fell away from her. Her fingers trembled, and she couldn't look at him as she fumbled with the buttons of her shirt until at last she was covered again.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. She felt exposed and vulnerable, because only his self-control had given her the chance to reconsider—she had had none at all, and he knew it.

He had offered, but that didn't help the frustration raging through his body. He glared down at her. “Don't thank me for being a bloody stupid fool,” he said, his tone savage with temper. “I have to get out of here before I change my mind. Be ready at six-thirty tomorrow night. I'm taking you out to dinner.”

“No, I don't think—”

“That's right,” he interrupted, catching her chin in his hand. “Don't think, and above all, don't argue with me right now. I want you so much that I'm hurting. I'll be here at six-thirty. If you want to go out, be dressed. If not, we'll stay here. The choice is yours.”

She shut her mouth. His mood was dangerous, his eyes glittering. He kissed her again, hard, then stalked out of the house.

When he was gone the house echoed strangely. She locked
the doors and checked all the windows to make certain they were secure, then showered and got ready for bed. The furnishings were all familiar, and the bed was the one she had slept in for five years, yet she lay awake staring into the darkness. It wasn't the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, but her thoughts that prevented her from sleeping. Why had he given her the chance to stop? He'd said that he wasn't noble or self-sacrificing, but then he had made a self-sacrificing offer. He could have taken her to bed, and they both knew it. He had wanted her; there hadn't been any secret in the way he had pushed against her, letting her feel his arousal. So why had he given her that last opportunity to stop?

Pain squeezed her chest. Who was the biggest fool? Him for giving her the chance to stop, or herself for taking it? He had hurt her, and he had made her so angry that she had wanted to throw things at him, but none of that had stopped her from loving him. She wanted to cling to her anger, to use it as both a weapon and a defense against him, but she could feel it ebbing away from her and leaving her vulnerable to the truth. She loved him. No matter what happened, even if he wanted her only for a brief affair, she loved him. With that acknowledgment she felt her last defenses crumble inside her.

Nothing was working out the way she had planned. She hadn't intended to go out with Max again; she had intended to do her job and ignore him, but he hadn't given her a choice about that. He was taking over again, and with her defenses down she was helpless to do anything about it. All her intentions had gone down the drain with her anger. She could no longer make any plans or form any intentions. All she could do was face the fact that she loved him, and take each day as it came.

 

Claire was so nervous that she kept dropping the pins she was using to put up her hair. It was her first day on a new job,
and Max was taking her out to dinner. She needed to concentrate on the job, but she kept thinking of Max. He simply wouldn't leave her head.

A pin flew from her trembling fingers again, and she muttered an impatient “damn!” as she leaned down to retrieve it. She had to calm down, or the day would be a disaster.

Finally she got her hair securely pinned, and with a frantic glance at the clock she put on the jacket that matched her gray skirt, grabbed her purse and left the house at a run. She wasn't certain how long it would take her to drive to the Spencer-Nyle building in the early morning traffic, so she had cautiously allowed an extra fifteen minutes, then used most of that picking up hair pins. What an impression it would make to be late on her first day!

But she made it with five minutes to spare, and a smiling receptionist directed her to Theo Caulfield's office on the fifth floor. A tall, dark man with a face like granite paused in passing, his dark eyes on Claire. She felt his gaze and glanced at him then quickly looked away. He was vaguely familiar, but she was certain she'd never met him. There was an almost visible force about him, and the receptionist became obviously nervous when she realized that the man was listening.

“Are you Claire Westbrook?” he asked abruptly, moving to Claire's side.

How had he guessed, unless he was Theo Caulfied? She looked up at him, feeling dwarfed by his powerful build despite the three-inch heels she wore, and hoped that he wasn't her new boss. He couldn't be a comfortable man to work with. Because he made her nervous, too, she reacted by hiding behind her usual mask of composure.

“Yes, I am.”

“I'm Rome Matthews. I'll show you to your office and in
troduce you to Caulfield. Good morning, Angie,” he said to the receptionist as he led Claire away.

“Good morning, Mr. Matthews,” the receptionist said faintly to his back.

His name was familiar, too. Claire darted another look up at that hard, almost brutally carved face and remembrance shot through her. His picture had been beside Max's in that article she'd read, when she had discovered Max's true identity. He was executive vice president and Anson Edwards's right-hand man, his chosen successor. How did he know her name, and why was he personally escorting her to her office?

Whatever his reason, he wasn't inclined to make explanations. He asked polite questions, whether she liked Dallas, had she gotten settled yet, but she could feel him watching her. His hand was on her elbow, and she was surprised by the gentleness of his touch.

“Here it is,” he said, drawing her to a halt and reaching out to open a door. “You'll have your hands full, you know. Your predecessor had to be on her new job today, so you'll be training yourself.”

Claire thought of running while she still could, but a man came out of the inner office on hearing their voices, and she was trapped. To her relief Theo Caulfield was an ordinary man, middle-aged and thin, without the intimidating force of Rome Matthews. He, too, seemed nervous at the other man's presence and visibly relaxed when the short introductions were performed and the executive vice president took himself off to his own office.

To her relief her duties were fairly routine, and she settled in quickly. Theo Caulfield was quiet and meticulous, but not fussy. She missed Sam, but he was far happier in his laboratory than he had ever been in an office. Perhaps the takeover had been best for him, as well as for the company.

 

Max called her just before the day was over—the only time she had heard from him—to tell her to dress casually for dinner. Claire hurried home to her little house, afraid that he would take it as a signal that she wanted to stay in if she weren't ready when he arrived. How casual was casual? She opted to play it safe with a plain skirt and blouse and flat heels, and was waiting to open the door before he could knock.

“Where are we going?” she asked, eyeing his slacks and open-neck silk shirt.

“We're having dinner with some friends of mine,” he said, drawing her to him for a quick kiss. “How did it go today? Any trouble settling in?”

“No, it wasn't difficult. It's mostly the routine work of an assistant.”

Max asked her several questions about her day, distracting her. She was still unfamiliar with the city, so she wasn't concerned with where they were going until she noticed they were in a residential section. “Where are we?” she asked.

“We're almost there.”

“Almost
where?
”

“At Rome's house. We're having dinner with him and his wife, Sarah.”

“What?” Claire asked faintly. “Max, you can't just take me to someone's house when they haven't invited me!” And Rome Matthews's house, of all people! She wasn't comfortable with him; he was the most overpowering man she'd ever seen.

He looked amused. “They
have
invited you. Sarah told me that if I didn't have you with me tonight, not to come myself.” There was an unmistakable note of affection in his voice. He turned into the driveway of a sprawling, Spanish-style house, and Claire tensed.

He put his hand on her back as they walked up the brick
walk to the front door, and if it hadn't been for that pressure at her back, Claire would have turned around and left. He rang the bell, and in a moment Rome Matthews opened the door himself.

Claire stared, almost not recognizing the high-powered executive in the man who stood there, clad in tight-fitting jeans that molded his powerful hips and legs, and a red polo shirt. His face was infinitely more relaxed, and there was amusement in his dark eyes. Even more amazingly, he held a chubby toddler in one strong arm and a tiny elfin girl in the other. Somehow Claire hadn't imagined him as a family man, especially one with young children. Then her eyes were drawn to the two children, and she gasped. “They're beautiful,” she whispered, automatically reaching out her hands. The children both had their father's black hair and eyes and olive complexion, with the gorgeous rosy cheeks that only young children have. Two pairs of wide inquisitive dark eyes stared at her. Then the baby gave a chuckle and launched himself out of his father's arms, straight into hers, his fat hands outstretched.

“Thank you,” Rome said, his amusement deepening, and Claire flushed. She cuddled the little boy to her, loving the feel of his sturdy, wriggling little body. He smelled of baby powder, and she wanted to bury her face in his fat little neck.

“Here you go sweetheart,” Max said, holding out his hands to the little girl, and with a giggle she, too, abandoned her father. She hugged Max around the neck and kissed his cheek. Max settled her comfortably on his arm and carried her into the house, keeping his other hand at Claire's back.

“The little tank you're holding is Jed,” Rome said, reaching out to tickle his son. “The flirt around Max's neck is Missy. She's three, and Jed is almost one.”

Claire was gently rubbing the baby's back, and he had nestled down against her as if he'd known her all his life. He
was incredibly heavy, but his weight felt good in her arms. “You darling,” she crooned to him, kissing his soft black hair.

Max looked up from the game he was playing with Missy, and his eyes flickered as he watched Claire playing with the baby.

A low laugh reached them, and Claire turned as a slim, delicate woman with white-blond hair came into the room. “I'm Sarah Matthews,” the woman said warmly, and Claire looked into the most serene face she'd ever seen. Sarah Matthews was lovely and fragile, and when her husband looked at her it was with an expression in his dark eyes that made Claire want to turn away, as if she had witnessed something terribly intimate.

“Sarah, this is Claire Westbrook,” Max said, his hand warm on Claire's arm.

“You have beautiful children,” Claire said sincerely, and Sarah beamed with pride.

“Thank you. They're quite a handful. Your arrival has given Rome a rest,” Sarah replied, slanting a teasing look at her husband. “They're always wild when he first gets home, especially Jed.”

At that moment Jed was lying adoringly against Claire, and Rome laughed at his son. “He can't resist a pretty woman. He's the biggest flirt ever born, except for Missy.”

Missy was perfectly content in Max's arms, and Claire noticed the tenderness with which he handled her, and the calm capability. She had noticed his skill with children before, soon after they had met. It had been while he was playing with Martine's children at the cookout that she had fallen in love with him. It had been that simple, that easy and that irrevocable.

“Enjoy the peace,” Sarah advised, breaking into Claire's thoughts, and Jed chose that moment to lift his head from Claire's shoulder and look down at the scattered toys on the floor. With a grunt he pushed himself out of her arms. Claire
gave a gasping cry and grabbed for him, and Rome did the same, leaping to snag his son out of the air. Sighing, he placed the baby on the floor. His attention completely on his toys, Jed toddled over to the red plastic truck he'd selected.

“He has no respect for gravity, and no fear of heights,” Rome said wryly. “He's also as strong as a mule. There's no holding him when he decides he wants down.”

“He scared me to death,” Claire gasped.

“He's been scaring me since he learned to crawl,” Sarah said with a chuckle. “Then he started walking when he was eight months old, and it's been even worse since. All you can do is chase after him.”

It was impossible to believe that such a delicate woman had given birth to such a sturdy little boy who showed every sign of inheriting his father's size. The children resembled Sarah very little, except for Missy's delicate stature, and something in the shape of her soft mouth.

It was such a relaxed household, filled with the high-pitched giggles of happy children, that Claire forgot to be intimidated by Rome. Here he was a husband and a father, not an executive. It was evident that Max was a close friend who visited often, because the children climbed over him as enthusiastically as they did over their father, and he not only tolerated it, he seemed to enjoy it.

The children were fed and put to bed, then the adults sat down to dinner. Claire couldn't think when she had enjoyed an evening more; she didn't even shrink when Rome teased her. “I had to check you out this morning,” he said, his hard mouth quirked in amusement. “Sarah was dying of curiosity.”

“I was not! Max had already told me all about you,” Sarah told Claire. “It was his own male curiosity Rome wanted to satisfy.”