by Helen Karol
The other woman made the introductions. He only nodded, unable yet to meet her eyes, too entranced to remember to stand. Susanna moved behind him, leaning over to view the preparatory sketch he was working on. Through the material of his shirt, he felt her breasts brush against his back. Her warm breath above his nape grew hot like his own. She touched his cheek softly and when he turned to look at her what he saw in her eyes filled him with wonder.
As Claire stated, they were married in less than a month. Susanna ignoring her friends warnings, Andrea's the most voluble, saying life was too short to worry about such things. And she’d been right. But then, she’d known something he hadn't. She was forty-nine when she died, forty-eight when she began to fade away in front of his eyes.
And now there was Claire.
She was so different from Susanna and he’d come to love her differently as well. He had a quick searing attraction at their first meeting, but apart from that, he thought of her as just a kid. When she turned out not to be the giggling teenager he expected when Andrea practically bullied him into escorting her to the charity ball, he was glad at that time to know someone he could take as an uncomplicated, undemanding escort to the functions his business required he attend.
When their acquaintance grew into friendship, it never occurred to him that he might come to be anything more than fond of her. He was never quite sure when his feelings began to change. It must have happened subconsciously, before the day she came running out of the water to flop beside him on the beach in front of his house. Lying down, she tossed away her long mane of hair, handed him some suntan lotion and asked him to put it on her back. Then, without so much as a trace of self-consciousness or coquetry, she un-hooked the back of her bikini to avoid strap marks. The sexuality of the moment thrust him back three years to when he took the stairs two at a time to scold a young girl and was stopped in his tracks by the primal beauty of a virgin goddess with cascading, golden locks who was all woman. The woman had retreated into the blushes of the girl who became his friend. Only now, she was emerging full force. He was thankful she kept her eyes closed throughout the procedure and afterwards he went for a swim to counteract the effect she was having on him. At the time, he told himself it was simply a natural reaction to a beautiful woman and didn't mean anything other than Claire had matured. But as weeks passed, he knew it was more than that. He was in love with her.
It wasn't the intense emotion Susanna had elicited, but it was love.
After a number of months, the strain of guarding his emotions began to tell. For once, Andrea's frankness was welcome. Alone with her among the crowds who frequented her parties, she was congratulating him on a particularly good review of his latest collection. He, on the other hand, was watching Claire who was in a group further away.
"You're in love with her, aren't you?"
He didn't even bother to pretend. "Is it so obvious?"
"To me, yes. Others, I don't know, but certainly not to her and that’s all you care about."
She broke off to greet some latecomers and after they moved away, asked him. "Why don't you want her to know?"
He took a sip of his drink while he thought of a suitable excuse. "She's too young."
Andrea was not convinced. "She's a year older than you were when you married Susanna."
He didn't answer. He wasn't prepared to admit his true reasons even to himself.
Andrea pursed her lips then, surprisingly, changed the subject. "I was in New York, last week."
"Oh, how was it?"
"Pleasant. I met John Banks. Do you remember him?"
"Yes. He's a few years older than me, but we went to college together."
Andrea took a sip of her drink, and Julian got the distinct impression there was more to this than discussing mutual acquaintances. "He's looking for a junior addition to his staff at Choices. Someone mentioned Claire's name. He asked my opinion."
Julian breathed deeply. Choices was the latest success story in lifestyle magazines. It was the dream of every young feature writer, Claire included, to be recruited by them. He tried to keep his voice unconcerned. "What did you tell him?"
"That I was unfamiliar with her professional capabilities, but knew her in other respects to be a pleasant and capable young woman. He said he would contact her."
Julian swallowed and put his half-empty glass down. Suddenly it didn't taste very good. "I suppose it would be as good a solution as any."
"You'd let her go?"
"I hardly have much say in the matter."
Andrea abandoned her unusual attempts at subtly and returned to her normal outspokenness, although she kept her voice low. "I suppose you imagine you're being gallant. Well you're not. Look at her. At the risk of sounding crude, she's ripe for the plucking. If you don't take her some other man will."
The idea of Claire with another man was so unwelcome, Julian did something rare for him. He was rude. "Shut up and mind your own business, Andrea."
She was equally rude. "You're a fool!"
Remembering, over three years later, and in the light of Claire's confidences, he couldn't help but agree with her. Leaving the deck, he walked through the house to his bedroom. Jutting out past the living room, it possessed a west-facing window allowing a view of the ocean. Despite the king-size bed there was still a great deal of room, more than enough for two people to move around. The rest of the south wall where he’d entered was taken up by a roomy, double closet that, despite his large wardrobe, his clothes did not begin to fill. In each adjacent wall, there was a door.
He entered the one closest to him and looked around the room. It was filled with various, personal articles telling of its masculine occupant. The other bathroom was empty. Despite the fact that it was clean, he could detect a faint musty smell. The smell of disuse. He opened the window and re-entered the main room. Lying down on one side of the bed, he folded his arms, resting them behind his head. He looked across at the empty space beside him and thought of Claire asleep in the next room.
Rising, he walked back out to the deck and stood listening to the ocean, a vague feeling of self-recrimination washing over him. He resented the intensity of his own nature. His tendency for all or nothing abandon. An intensity he’d spent seven years learning to repress. His emotions were no longer as intense or as passionate as those that devastated him at Susanna’s loss. Every day since her death, he’d practiced restraint. He’d distanced himself from emotion - schooled his features and habits to provide a guard against such vulnerability.
Claire in her innocence and childlike nature had fooled him, managed to sneak in under his guard. But he knew better now. Now, he could temper his feelings, be in command. Only allow a manageable depth of quiet, safe emotion. A carefully planned design. He smiled, satisfied with his reasoning. In the very early hours of the morning, it dawned on Julian that fate had dealt him a second chance. Only this time, he’d play his hand differently.
Chapter Five
Claire stirred and then woke, uncertain why. The clock on the bedside table said eight-fifteen, but she knew it wasn’t its alarm that wakened her. A night owl, she always found it difficult to wake up and on Saturdays indulged herself by sleeping late. So what was different about this Saturday? Turning from the clock, she discovered the culprit as it streamed through the window, causing her to cover her eyes.
Cursing Julian's predilection for sunlight that resulted in a total disregard for the intended function of blinds, she threw off the covers and headed for the window. Fully intending to let down the blind and return to bed, she was stopped by the sight that greeted her through the window. Maybe Julian’s respect for sunlight wasn't so eccentric. It was the warm sunshine, combined with the excellent irrigation system supplied to California via the Columbia River Dam that allowed the glorious garden in front of her to flourish practically year round.
Petunias of almost every shade imaginable coupled with nasturtiums growing in the shaded areas, allowing their colors to reach a greater viv
idness than in the sun. Beautiful, but poisonous oleander shrubs grew beside jacarandas not yet in full bloom. Opening the window, she inhaled the delightful scent of lilacs, their purple and white flowers perfect foils for the vibrant red and orange of the bougainvillea climbing the trellised garden seats that flanked either side of the window.
Winter indeed!
The direction of her thoughts reminded Claire she wanted to go for a swim and all thoughts of returning to bed left her. Julian might think her crazy to venture into the cold waters at this time of year, but they wouldn't be much colder than the Atlantic of New England in summer and the idea of an early morning swim appealed to her.
Searching her suitcase, she found her bikini. Towel in hand, she moved quietly through the house, not wishing to disturb Julian's sleep. Reaching the shore, she lay down allowing the waves to wash over her, acclimatizing her to the temperature of the water.
Phew, it was certainly refreshing.
As her body temperature lowered, she ran diving into the waves then stood allowing them to batter her around. Catching one large wave, she rode it back to shore. Lying face down she let the calming effect of the ocean wash over her. She’d missed the surf. She contemplated future fun with a boogie board, maybe she’d even take up surfing again.
"Come in and have some coffee before you turn blue."
Julian's voice startled her and she discovered she was becoming chilled. Draping the towel around her, she followed his figure across the beach through the glass doors leading into the kitchen from the deck. The mug felt warm to her cold hands and she took a sip before appraising her benefactor.
He was dressed casually in a red, open-necked, knit shirt and jeans that seemed molded to his lower half. Assessing him, she tried to decide whether she liked him better dressed this way or in the more formal manner of the night before. Both had their merits.
This way she’d a better view of his attractions. The form-fitting shirt showed off the muscles of his well-developed upper body; no doubt from playing tennis and racquetball and, of course, swimming. She’d participated in those sports with him often in the past and had come a cropper against his powerful backhand many times. Idly, she wondered who partnered him now, hoping it was another man.
Collecting her thoughts before they digressed too much, she continued her mental debate over his dressing habits. Viewing him as he turned to refill his coffee mug, she decided the jeans definitely flattered his back view better than formal pants. But dressed formally, he was also attractive. He’d excellent taste and his suits were classy rather than stuffy. Somehow they spoke of a latent virility that was really quite exciting now that she thought about it. Taking one final inspection, she decided he was just plain sexy no matter how he dressed. Her decision must have shown in her face because Julian spoke to her in dryly-amused tones.
"If you've finished your appraisal and I’ve finally met with your approval, perhaps you could go and change."
Claire smiled saucily and climbed up on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "Why? Don't I meet with your approval in my present mode of dress?"
Obviously deciding to play her at her own game, he reached across the wood that separated them and brushed the back of his hand across her bikini top. "It's wet. You could catch cold."
Claire inhaled her breath, mentally conceding him a point. But in her eyes, the game was far from over. She bent her elbow on the counter, cupping her chin in her hand. "I thought you didn't want me warmed up."
Laughing, he rested his arms on his side of the bar. "Don't you think it's time we called a truce?"
"Okay," she agreed deceptively before sliding her arms around his neck. "How do you suggest we seal it?"
He kissed her gently on the lips and then straightened, obviously intending to go no further. Claire didn't push him, removing her arms from around his neck, sensing he’d become serious. He didn't look directly at her when he spoke.
"Look, Claire, it's not that I'm averse to a change in our relationship. It's just that I think it's too soon after..."
He paused and Claire supplied rather wryly. "My lusty experiences in New York?"
He looked at her then with reproachful amusement. "I’ve a feeling you're not going to let me forget that remark."
Claire didn't reply, merely taking a sip from her coffee, but her eyes supported his comment, promising future reprisals.
"You're right though, that is what I mean. I'd rather not be used as rebound material."
Claire protested, “Julian, that’s not the reason. Do you find it so hard to believe I'm attracted to you?"
"No, but you're confused right now."
Claire became exasperated. "I'm old enough to know my own feelings. I don’t need you to explain them to me,” conveniently forgetting that she’d relied on his judgment only the night before.
Julian didn't remind her, his answer only slightly impatient. "I don't care how old you are. No one can completely assess their emotions under pressure, and you've been in a stressful situation for a number of weeks. All I'm suggesting is you take a breathing space."
"And then?"
"'We'll see," but his eyes were full of promise.
Claire considered. His suggestion made sense. She nodded. "Alright. Should we lay down the ground rules?" A little of her earlier sauciness returned, drawing a chuckle from him.
"No. I don't think that'll be necessary."
"Well, I don't know. Is kissing allowed?"
Julian answered her through action, his lips lingering longer than before. "Yes. As long as they don't go much further than that. And they shouldn't be too frequent, either," he added, backing away from her advancing mouth.
Claire stole another kiss anyway, before she slid off the stool and left to change.
Showering quickly, she pulled on casual clothes similar to his. She towel-dried her hair and prepared to return it to the topknot she'd worn for her swim. Changing her mind, she used the blow dryer until it surrounded her head like a golden veil, curling around her shoulders in soft waves to frame her face.
Julian was still at the breakfast bar when she returned, although he’d moved round to sit at one of the stools, gazing out at the ocean, lost in his thoughts. Hearing her enter, he turned his head. As he caught sight of her, a startled expression crossed his face.
"You cut your hair!"
"Yes, I forgot you hadn't seen it. It's easier to care for this way. I got fed up with it last month and did the evil deed. It's alright. It didn't hurt a bit," she reassured him, surprised at his reaction. He looked positively bereft. However, he recovered quickly and like the perfect gentlemen he was, complimented her on the change, adding, "It gives you an air of sophistication."
Inwardly Julian shrugged. It did suit her and at shoulder length, it was still long enough and thick enough to... "How about an omelet for breakfast?"
Claire nodded, following him into the kitchen, wondering what his secret smile was about. She discontinued her speculation when he separated some articles from the ones he’d taken from the fridge and dropped them in front of her on the counter.
"How come I always get the onions?"
"Cook's helper always gets the dirty jobs."
She eyed him resentfully. Nevertheless, she began peeling and cutting. Together they prepared the omelet. Claire had forgotten how easily they moved around in this kitchen. It’d been three years since they prepared a meal together. They’d always eaten out when Julian was in New York. But when he placed the onions in front of her with such a familiar gesture those years fell away as if they’d never been. When he asked her to pass him the skillet, she instinctively opened a cupboard and passed it to him, voicing her thoughts.
"Everything's in the same place, it's almost as if I never left."
Pouring the beaten eggs into the pan, adding the onions and mushrooms, he said. "Yes, I’m a creature of habit, I'm afraid"
"Habits can be fun to break," and she let her fingers walk up his back. "Sorry, I forgot," remo
ving her fingers when he looked reprovingly over his shoulder, but she wasn't the least bit remorseful. "You’d better give me something else to do with my hands."
Laughing, he told her to set the table. She completed the task quickly and then looked around. The house was built in California style; open plan with varying levels. The table where she sat was nestled in a large bay window, making it a cozy nook looking over the ocean. The working kitchen was separated from her in part by the breakfast bar that followed round in a semi-u. To her left were the glass doors leading to the deck and further away the three steps led down into the living room. The east wall was taken up with a high tech media center coupled with shelves of books from floor to ceiling ranging from gold embossed leather to well-worn paperbacks.
From there, and at the other end of the wooden railing that divided the living room from the rest of the house, the two steps Claire posed at the top of the night before led up to the bedrooms and across to the dining room. This room adjoined the kitchen, although it was one step lower and also led to the entrance to the double garage at the side of the house. The house possessed four bedrooms, one of which Claire knew Julian had converted to a workroom so he could work at home if he wanted. The decor was predominantly Spanish, although it was stylish and comfortable rather than overpowering. In fact, it was a lot like the man who lived in it.
Claire sighed contentedly. "I love your house, Julian."
He placed a plate filled with omelet in front of her and one in front of him, asking as he sat down. "Enough to live in it, some day?"
Claire stared at him. "Now who’s breaking the rules?"
He didn't apologize as she had. Instead he began to eat.
