Heart's Reward (6 page)

“Can I fix your plate?”

The question jolted her from her sensual meandering. She looked up and he was staring at her and she could make out the hint of a curious
smile. Her throat was dry and couldn't put the pieces of a sentence together for a moment. She cleared her throat and her naughty thoughts. “Hum, sure. I'll have what you're having,” she said, her wit returning just in time.

Claude picked up a plate and began placing the food on it. He handed it to Melanie before filling his own. They walked together to the window and sat on the padded bench, watching nature have its way as they ate.

“It's really quite humbling to watch this display,” he said thoughtfully, as the waves crashed against the shore, their fury spewing out in rabid foam.

“It reminds us of what a small part we play in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes, as much as we may want to rail against ‘the forces,' all we can do is stand back and let things happen the way that they should,” Melanie replied.

He cut part of his chop and chewed slowly. His dark eyes picked up the flickering lights of the candles and reflected back as he observed her. “You surprise me.”

“How is that?”

“I don't know if I would have expected such a philosophical statement from you. I imagined you to be more pragmatic, rational, straightforward.”

“Because I run a business?” she asked, curious as to his reasoning.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“True this is a business, but it's about people and feelings. Beyond all the high-tech stuff that we do, we have to be sensitive, see beyond all the analytical profiles. What we do is about happiness. There's nothing rational about that.”

“You're absolutely right.” His gaze settled on her for a moment. She shifted in her seat. “How long have you been involved in the business?”

She told him of her indoctrination by her grandmother and mother a decade ago. “I started this thing never thinking that I would stay or that I would love it as much as I do. There's nothing compared to seeing the joy on the faces of the couples we match up.”

“What about you?”

She reached for her glass of wine. Her hand shook ever so slightly and she was grateful for the low light.

“I'm sorry—that's really none of my business.”

“No. It's fine. It's not the first time someone has asked—indirectly—how I can run a matchmaking service and not have a love life of my own.” She drew in a breath to settle herself inside.

“I was married once,” she began. “His name was Steven. We had three glorious years together before he died. Heart attack at thirty-five.” She shook her head in the same manner of disbelief she felt ten
years ago. “Perfectly healthy. Went for a run…and…” She looked away as the memories rushed toward her on the crests of the waves, unstoppable. Her chest concaved, hit by the force of the memory of that day.

Claude took the vibrating glass from her hand and set it on the sill. “I'm sorry. I had no idea,” he said softly. His hand covered hers and gently squeezed it.

She blinked several times and willed the air to move through her lungs. All of her emotions seemed to have risen to the surface these past few days. It left her feeling vulnerable and not in control of her life, a place that she didn't want to be in. After losing Steven she'd vowed that she wouldn't allow herself to ever be the victim of anything she didn't have a hand in. So far she'd won. Until recently. Her outlook when it came to the couples they matched was one thing—her personal life was different. At least that's what she told herself.

“No need to apologize,” she said, finding her voice. She forced a smile. “We didn't get much of a chance to talk after your interview,” she said, switching the topic from her to him. “I hope it wasn't too awful.”

He laughed and she enjoyed the sound.

“It was definitely thorough. I think that they found out things about me that I didn't know myself.”

“What did you discover?”

He leaned back against the frame of the window and angled his head slightly to the side. “Hmm, well for all the public work that I do and interacting with countless people, I'm really a bit of a homebody.” He chuckled. “Seems like my perfect evening is a night at home in front of some roaring fire, with my soul mate resting across my lap while I read to her from her favorite novel.”

Melanie saw her head resting on his lap as he stroked her hair and his deep, smooth voice brought the pages of Hemingway's
The Sun Also Rises
to life.
Dream on girl.
“I think that's a great image.”

“Do you?”

His gaze was so personal that it took the simple question to that place in her soul she didn't want to address. Especially not with him.

“Aunt Mel.”

Vincent's approach saved her from making a fool of herself. She turned toward him.

“I checked out the generator. Looks like a bad fuse. We won't be getting any power from it any time soon.”

“Thank for checking, sweetie. We'll have to call the company in the morning.”

“I already called. Left a message, so hopefully we'll get a call back first thing in the morning.”

“Nothing we can do about it until then except get comfortable for the night. Thanks,” she said again.
Vincent nodded and returned to the buffet. She blew out a breath of frustration before turning to Claude. “Looks like you'll be spending the night.”

“It's getting to be a better idea every minute.”

A flutter like butterfly wings stirred her deep and low. Her ears burned. “Whenever you're ready I can…get someone to show you your room. It will be at the top of the stairs to your left. And—”

“What do you like to read?” he asked, effectively throwing her off balance.

“What?”

“There are books everywhere in the house, at least the parts that I've seen. So, what are your favorites?”

She lowered her head and laughed lightly before daring to look back at him. “I have quite a few actually, depending on my mood. I helped my mother and grandmother build the library, so the collection is quite eclectic.”

“I can tell that from what I've seen. But you didn't really answer my question.”

“Hmm, well, I love the pace of a good mystery. James Patterson and Patricia Cornwell. I've finally been able to get my head wrapped around Toni Morrison and I will always love work from the masters, Hemingway, Baldwin, Marquez, Ellison, Dumas.” She shrugged lightly. “And of course, being
a provocateur of romance, a steamy romance novel is always nearby.”

“Of course. Can I refill your drink?”

“I should be asking you that. I'm being a terrible hostess.” She hopped down from the sill. “What are you drinking?”

“Wine is fine.”

“Sure you don't want something stronger?”

His eyes ran down her body for a hot second. “I don't think that would be a good idea.”

She didn't dare respond, at least not to that statement. “I'll be right back.”

“You two seem to be getting along rather well,” Alan commented under his breath, sidling up to her next to the bar. He refilled his drink.

Her head jerked up. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He held up his hand in defense. “It's not supposed to mean anything. Just an observation. Relax, sis.”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry. This whole blackout thing has me off balance.”

He draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “You off balance? Come on, be for real. You always have everything under control.”

“Yeah, I do, don't I?” she said with little conviction. It certainly didn't feel like it.

E
van came into the room and began removing the dishes and dinner trays.

“Let me help with that,” Melanie said, putting down the bottle of wine to stack some of the dishes on the rolling cart.

“You're not going to try to get home tonight, are you Evan?” Alan stated more than asked.

“No, I'm going to stay.”

“Good.” Melanie patted his shoulder. “And don't even think about trying to clean up the kitchen in the dark. I know how you are.”

“I guess it can wait, but you know how I hate a messy kitchen.”

“Tonight is an exception.”

He blew out a breath of resignation. “Just this one time.” He pushed the loaded cart out of the door to the kitchen.

Melanie finished fixing the two glasses of wine and was about to return to her spot by the window.

“I think he likes you.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?”

She glanced a look in Claude's direction. His body was silhouetted in stark relief against the pane of the window. “Don't be ridiculous. He's a client and I'm being hospitable. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Okay,” Alan said and she could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

Did she give off a vibe that she wasn't aware of? Or was her brother doing to her what he'd been doing since they were kids—messing with her head? That had to be it.

She returned with the drinks and handed Claude his.

“Thanks.” He took a sip. “I've been sitting here watching this storm, the power and shape that it takes, the things that it does to the horizon. It's incredible to look at.”

She sat back down and stared out into the turbulent night. The only thing to be seen was the white suds of the waves as they pummeled the shore and the
outlines of homes and rocks when lightning took their instant picture.

“It is pretty awesome.” She took a sip of her drink.

“What about you? Tell me something that isn't in your bio and profile.”

He chuckled. “What could they have missed? Oh, I got a B in spelling in second grade.”

Melanie's laughter floated back and forth between them. “Yeah, I have a feeling we didn't go back quite that far.” She paused a moment, knowing that she was treading on shaky ground, but she appeased herself with the notion that she was doing this as part of getting to know her client. It was in everyone's best interest. “Let me put it this way. Since I haven't gone over all the information, why don't you tell me what you think you want me to know?”

“Hmm. I'll skip over to all the good stuff,” he said, making her laugh, and she realized he made her laugh often and easily.

He talked a little bit about his job, what he liked and disliked about being chief of staff for the senator. He told her about his love of fishing, which he rarely got to do, and his motorcycle, which he rode whenever he could.

“I can see you on a bike,” she said with renewed appreciation for this man's man.

“Yeah, it's pretty cool,” he said, bobbing his head. He looked across the room and zeroed in on the piano.
“Come on.” He took her hand and walked her over to the piano. He sat down on the bench and invited her to join him. Once she was settled, he drifted into a rendition of “Ordinary People,” then segued to “A House is Not a Home,” then a medley of some jazz pieces and R&B favorites. Everyone from their spot in the room either hummed or sung along, and for a time lost themselves in the moment and the music.

“That was amazing,” Melanie enthused when he brought his one-man show to an end. “If you ever leave government, you can always get a night club gig.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

When they looked up, they realized that they were alone. The others had drifted off.

“Well,” Melanie said on a breath, “I should show you to your room.”

“Sure.”

They pushed back from the bench. Claude's arm braced her back when she stumbled over the leg of the bench. She turned halfway and found herself in an almost embrace.

Her cheeks heated and again she was thankful for the darkness.

“Good catch. Thanks.” She righted herself and moved out of his arms and realized how good they felt around her, even better than they did the night they met.

She went to the other side of the room and took one of the lamps and a flashlight from the table. She handed the lamp to Claude and led the way upstairs with the flashlight.

When they reached the top of the landing Melanie turned left down the hallway, adorned on either side by abstract art from a local female artist from the Harbor who'd captured Melanie's attention.

“Your room is right here.” She opened a door and, even in the dim light, Claude could see it was a stunning layout. King-sized bed, bay windows overlooking the surf, flat-screen television mounted on the wall, lush carpet cushioned any footfall. An armoire and an eight-drawer dresser provided the additional furnishings, along with a deep, overstuffed lounge chair near the window.

“This is some spread for a guest,” he said.

Melanie laughed lightly. “We never know who might wind up staying with us and we want to make sure that everyone is as comfortable as possible. During the summer months we have guests that stay for a couple of weeks at a time. It's quite beautiful here in the summer.”

“Yes, it is.” He drew in a long breath and slowly exhaled.

The awkward moment introduced itself and stood between them. Waiting.

Claude cleared his throat.

Melanie lightly ran her tongue across her bottom lip. “Um, the bath is through that door,” she managed to say.

He nodded but didn't speak, his gazed fixed on her, taking her in.

If anyone would have asked her what in the world she was thinking at that moment, she would not have been able to explain. It was like watching a movie. That fateful moment when the two actors realize that they can't deny their attraction any longer and the woman finds herself tightly woven in the embrace of the man she's desired but couldn't have.

Their kiss was surreal and electric, inevitable yet stunning in its suddenness. Warmth became a physical thing touching and stroking her curves, stoking what before was smoldering until her skin was on fire and the pool of heat settled in her center.

His mouth was more than she'd imagined when she memorized the dip and thickness of his lips. It was firm and soft and full and gentle and teasing and commanding—all at once. She couldn't keep up with the sensations so she let herself become one with them.

“I've thought about this from the day that I met you,” he said against the hollow of her neck.

The feathering of his lips along the lines of her throat vibrated through her body. She moaned softly, sinking further into his embrace, tracing the sinewy
lines of his broad back with the balls of her fingers. He eased her closer to the hard contours of his body until they were molded together as perfect as an artist's sculpture.

They seemed to think and feel the same thing simultaneously as they moved in unison toward the bed that beckoned them. Sitting on the edge, Claude eased back and looked closely at Melanie. He caressed her cheek and cupped her chin in his hand when she placed her lips there. He stroked her shoulder, moving slowly down her arm. “Is this what you want?”

Her eyes fluttered open. She focused on the sincerity in his gaze that struggled with the passion that hovered there.

“Yes, I want this,” she said in whispered conviction.

He took her mouth then, melding it with his before removing her top and tossing it aside. Her full breasts rose to greet the heat of his lips, which brushed tantalizingly across the butter-soft crests.

Melanie shuddered as the raw thrill shot through her. He reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, then eased the straps over her shoulders. In the play of shadow and light he tried to memorize how perfect she was. He took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet. He unfastened the one button of her slacks and slid them down over her hips.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt so beautiful through the eyes of someone else. He grazed the pad of his thumbs lightly across the hard ridges of her nipples and her inner thighs trembled, the hot silky dew slid along her insides, readying her body for him.

With sure fingers she began unbuttoning his shirt. He tugged it off and tossed it next to her clothing on the floor. He didn't give her a chance to undress him further—he did it all.

Melanie's soft inhale at the sight of him fueled his own desires. They stretched out on the bed, exploring each other, slow and deliberate then with more urgency as their needs blossomed. His lips, his tongue, his fingertips acted as a conductor, a maestro stirring her flesh, her mind, the very blood that coursed through her body setting it all on fire.

She found herself beneath him, his weight like a comforting quilt that she wanted to wrap herself up and around in.

The thickness and heat of his erection pressed against her and instinctively she parted her thighs to give him what they both longed for.

He was so incredibly hard, she thought in an instant of clarity, which only intensified the warm liquid that slipped out to meet him.

Claude pushed just the head against her opening
and his head spun. She whimpered ever so softly as he slid his arms beneath her to lift her flush against him.

She spread her thighs wider and bent her knees as he pushed past her throbbing opening. They both moaned at the exquisite rush of pleasure that shot through them as he moved deep and slow within her.

Claude groaned almost in a kind of agony, the feeling so intense that it shook him down to the balls of his feet and all he wanted to do was be still and let it wash through him. But need overrode all else and he moved in and out of her, hoping to touch and claim every inch within her.

He wasn't just inside of her, his mouth and hands made love to her, as well. He kissed, he nibbled, he touched, he suckled, every act, driving her to a near frenzy.

Melanie longed for the magnificent release that she knew was close at hand, but she didn't want the ecstasy to stop. It was too sweet, too perfect. But she could feel herself on the brink of coming. It began in the back of her legs, the heat, the tingling, moved up her thighs and taunted her undulating behind, settled in her center and grew like a firestorm, building, uncontrolled.

He was moving faster now, deeper, stronger.

She tightened her knees along the sides of his body. Her heart was racing out of control, her breath coming in short escalating pants as her fingers dug into his back, her face buried in his neck to stifle her cries of release that slammed into her like the waves that crashed against the bluffs below the window.

Her body was electrified as jolt after jolt rocketed through her, shaking her like a rag doll with its power. But he wasn't done. Even as her insides continued to grip and release him, he moved steadily in and out of her, his erection even harder and more full if that was even possible.

Claude slid his arm under her hips, his other behind her back pulling her tight until they were sealed together from their lips to their toes and he exploded within her, setting her off on another body-rocking climax.

“Oh my God,” she whispered against his damp neck.

Their hearts banged and slammed against one another even as the last drops of his essence jerked out of him.

By degrees their breathing slowed, their limbs loosened and their pulses moved toward normal.

Claude kissed her tenderly as if for the first time. So sweet that it brought tears to her eyes.

Cocooned in the security of darkness, they drifted off to a satiated sleep, tucked in each other's arms.

 

She wasn't sure how long she'd slept or what woke her. She tried to focus in the dark. Her stomach lurched when it hit her where she was and what she had done. She felt sick. She turned her head slightly. Claude was stretched out next to her. His arm was draped possessively across her waist. Gently and quietly, she lifted his arm and slipped out of bed. In the darkness she located her clothes and got dressed the best she could. With her shoes in her hand she eased toward the door and prayed that she wouldn't run into anyone in the hallway en route to her room.

She closed the door as softly as she could and hurried to her room, where she spent the rest of the night in misery.