by Penny Jordan
As she listened to the conversation flowing around her, Claire could see what Celeste meant about John being a workaholic, but at least he did not, as many men did, presume that because they were female they could have no conceivable interest or worthwhile comments to add to the conversation, and she could see that he valued Celeste’s opinion.
It had been rather a shock to hear Celeste describing their marriage as ‘romantic’. Did she think that she and Jay were wildly in love, then? Obviously she must do. Even more disquieting, though, had been her innocent revelations about John’s views on men and marriage. Was it possible that Jay had married her not just for Heather’s benefit, but possibly for his own?
It was too late by a long time to start querying his motives now, she told herself, and anyway, what did it really matter? It mattered because, having discovered that she loved him, she found that it hurt to think that to him their marriage was just a sensible business manoeuvre. She had thought, before Christmas, that there was a closeness developing between them, a closeness which she had foolishly cherished.
‘I think I’ll take the girls upstairs now. It’s gone six o’clock and they’re both beginning to look tired.’
‘They’ll want something to eat …’ began Celeste, but Claire shook her head. ‘No, the sandwiches they’ve just eaten and the food they had on the plane will be enough. If they have another meal now, they won’t sleep.’
‘I’ll come and give you a hand.’ Jay smiled easily at John Goldberg. ‘I miss out so often on saying goodnight to them that I like to share their bedtime whenever I can.’
‘Yes, they grow up all too quickly,’ John Goldberg agreed. ‘I often regret that I didn’t have more time to spare for our two when they were kids.’
Claire was surprised by Jay’s behaviour. After all, this was essentially a business trip, even if the Goldbergs had specially wanted him to bring his family to meet them, and she had expected Jay to remain downstairs talking to John while she got the girls into bed.
She said as much as they went to their suite, careful to keep her voice down so that Lucy and Heather wouldn’t overheard her.
‘We’re here for four days,’ Jay pointed out. ‘Plenty of time to discuss business matters, and besides, John’s already told me that his advisers have finally agreed the contract. I’m not the sort of man who wants to sacrifice everything on the altar of material success, Claire. Oh, I enjoy my work: I like producing something that I know is good, and I like the success of selling it—but it isn’t the be-all and end-all of my existence. I don’t want either Lucy or Heather growing up thinking of me as a casual participant in their lives who can be relied on for expensive presents and not much else. Parenting is a dual role.’
They had reached the outer door to their suite. Claire hung back while the two girls rushed eagerly inside. Reluctantly she followed them.
‘Jay …’ she began.
‘Mmm?’
‘Celeste has only given us one room—with a double bed.’
His eyebrows lifted, and he asked in amusement, ‘For all four of us?’
Claire could feel the hot colour flooding betrayingly over her skin. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Suddenly for some reason his voice sounded clipped, angry almost. ‘If I know anything about American beds, it will be large enough for us and at least half a dozen bolsters.’
Claire felt her mouth compress. It irritated her that he should be able to treat the matter so casually, and yet, what had she expected? Horror at the thought of having to share the bed with her? Pleasure?
‘Mummy, come and look—this bath is big enough for Lucy and me!’
Distractedly Claire pushed aside her disturbing thoughts and went through to the girls’ bathroom.
‘NO, TRULY, I COULDN’T EAT another mouthful.’
In point of fact, she was totally exhausted, realised Claire, as she refused another helping of sweet. Jet-lag was obviously catching up with her. In contrast the other three, including Jay, all seemed unfairly wide awake.
Not even two cups of coffee in the white and gold drawing-room that overlooked the sweep of lawns at the front of the house could lighten her heavy eyelids and Jay, catching sight of her smothering yet another yawn, said quietly, ‘Why don’t you go up to bed? John and I still have one or two things to discuss, and I can see that you’re tired.’
‘Yes, please don’t stand on ceremony, honey,’ insisted Celeste, ‘and don’t worry about having a lie-in in the morning. We’ve all suffered from jet-lag at one time or another, and we all know what it’s like.’
Having been assured that her host and hostess wouldn’t think her rude, Claire went gratefully upstairs. She was so tired she could barely walk.
She almost fell asleep in the bath, a huge affair with an in-built jacuzzi effect that she was too exhausted to try.
It was sheer luxury to find that all their luggage had been unpacked and put away. After a couple of attempts she managed to locate her nightdress—in the same drawer as Jay’s silk pyjamas—and ridiculously, her last muddled thought as sleep claimed her was to wonder on which side of the bed Jay preferred to sleep. Well, it was too bad if she had chosen the wrong one, she thought grumpily; he would just have to wake her up.
He did, but only very briefly and only because she was an extremely light sleeper.
It was the bedroom door opening that brought her out of a strangely confused dream to the odd knowledge that she was feeling extremely cold. She said as much, very crossly, to Jay as he apologised for waking her, and heard him laugh.
‘It’s probably the air-conditioning—it’s still on, and the temperature does drop quite a lot at night.’
She was almost asleep by the time he came out of the bathroom, one small part of her registering the fact that he was sliding into bed beside her.
As though he sensed her awareness of him, he said calmly, ‘Go back to sleep, Claire, there’s nothing to be afraid of …’
Nine-tenths asleep, she mumbled back, ‘I’m not afraid, I’m cold.’
He laughed again, and the sound held a faint hint of indulgent affection. ‘If you were the little girl you sound like I could cuddle you until you get warm, but …’
He caught her sharply indrawn breath.
‘Claire, what is it? You surely don’t think I …’
‘The last person to cuddle me was my father, and then he died, and …’ She was wide awake now, shivering with a mixture of cold and pain.
She heard the noise Jay made deep in his throat—somewhere between a growl and a groan—and she felt him move, but didn’t know why, until she felt her body being turned and held close to his own, one arm holding her gently, while his free hand stroked the nape of her neck comfortingly.
‘Part of you is still a frightened little girl, isn’t it? Poor little Claire!’
She wasn’t a little girl, and it was ridiculous for him to assume that she wanted him to treat her as such. She wanted to be strong and cool, and to push him away, to freeze him off, and make him regret that he had dared to trespass into her most private feelings, and yet the way he was holding her, comforting her, brought back memories so long suppressed. This was what she had craved and longed for after her parents’ death—someone to hold and comfort her—but there had been no one, no one at all, and then afterwards … after … him … the thought of anyone touching her had been so abhorrent that she had forgotten that she had ever felt like this.
Instinctively, without being aware of it, she snuggled closer to him, unaware of his sharp intake of breath, or the tension invading his body. He felt warm and safe, and he smelled … nice … she thought woollily, burying her face against his skin and breathing in the scent of it with the voluptuous innocence of a small child. He was only wearing pyjama bottoms, and she liked the sensation of his flesh beneath her hand, where it rested against his chest. She wriggled closer.
‘Claire …’ She froze as Jay moved away from her, his hands clamping roun
d her wrists. ‘I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have touched you.’ His voice was hard and remote.
What he meant was that he didn’t want her to touch him. Claire’s face burned as she realised what she had done. Instantly she retreated to the other side of the bed, feeling as bruised and rejected as only a woman in love can feel when the man she loves physically repulses her.
‘Claire … Look, let’s talk about this.’
She heard the tentative, gentle note of enquiry in his voice but ignored it. She wasn’t in the mood to have a reasoned discussion on what had happened.
The very fact that Jay thought it was something they could talk reasonably about was enough. If he had been here in bed with Susie … The instant the treacherous thought formed she tried to suppress it, but it was too late. Jealousy seared her, leaving her raw and vulnerable, prey to emotions she had never known existed. Despite her exhaustion it was hours before she finally fell asleep.
WHEN SHE WOKE UP, THE SUN was shining and she was alone. She glanced at her watch and blinked. Half past ten. She really had overslept.
She got up and padded through into the girls’ room. It was empty. They must all be downstairs. Putting clean clothes and underwear on the bed she went through into the bathroom, shedding both her nightdress and her robe. She was just about to step into the shower when she saw it. The most enormous spider she had ever seen! And it had seen her—she was convinced of it, convinced that it was staring at her with malevolent glee.
She opened her mouth and screamed in pure panic-reaction, totally unable to drag her attention away from the soft, pulsating body and horrid mass of hairy legs.
Her scream had been pure instinct, and the last thing she had expected was for the bathroom door to be flung open.
‘Claire? Ah … I see … It’s all right, come on.’
She was hardly conscious of Jay’s hand on her arm as he gently tugged her out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. It was only when he closed the door, firmly locking the spider inside that she actually dared to breathe again. Jay released her, but she clung to him, shaking.
‘It’s all right. I just want to get your robe for you.’
For the first time she became conscious that she was naked, and her whole body turned a delicate shade of pink as Jay stepped away from her and then turned to look at her.
There was something strangely driven, reluctant almost in the way he studied her naked body. No doubt compared to Susie she was very ordinary indeed, but there was nothing wrong with the smooth suppleness of her skin, she thought proudly and her waist was narrow enough for Jay to span with both his hands if he wanted to do so. Her breasts weren’t particularly large, but they were firm.
She forgot why they were here like this as Jay stared at her; a curious and very intense ache throbbed through her body. Her nipples swelled and hardened into deeply rosy nubs of flesh.
Jay was watching her with a darkly intense absorption. Her stomach muscles fluttered a nervous protest, and she touched startled fingertips to her skin.
‘Claire, for God’s sake!’
Jay’s harsh protest exploded into the silence engulfing them. She looked at him with innocent, hesitant eyes, caught up in a mass of conflicting sensations and emotions.
Her face was flushed, his eyes glittering between narrowed lashes. He swallowed, and she followed the movement of his throat, seeing the tiny beads of perspiration dampening his skin. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing a dark tangle of soft hair.
‘Claire …’ His voice was tight with anger; and rough with something else; a kind of raw, aching pain that caught at her heart strings and made her move towards him with the jerky, mechanical gait of a doll, without being aware that she had moved, only knowing that his pain was something she must soothe.
She reached him and wondered at the expression in his eyes, and while she was assimilating it, he reached for her with a tortured, smothered sound, dragging her into his arms, and imprisoning her against his body, so that she felt its heat and its maleness as his mouth moved hotly over her face, communicating a blind, frantic urgency that seemed to echo the fierce throb of her flesh.
No one had ever held her like this before, ever kissed her like this before, and it was like being cast adrift in an alien sea which swelled and roared as it threatened to drown her. There was only Jay to cling to for safety, her nails biting into his skin, as she trembled and shook with a kaleidoscope of new sensations.
Jay’s mouth covered hers, hot with urgency. Her eyes widened in shock and she felt him check, and then his hand was in her hair, his fingers spreading against her scalp, his tongue pressing against the closed line of her mouth, until with a suppressed sound of frustration he nipped sharply at her bottom lip.
Her sharp cry of pain surprised them both. Claire almost felt him do a double-take as the glittering heat died out of his eyes and tension invaded his body.
His face was still flushed, but this time with anger.
‘Hell, Claire, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’ He released her as carefully as though she was made of precious crystal, and then stepped back from her.
He turned round looking for her robe, and she heard him say in a muffled voice, ‘For a moment I forgot that …’
‘That I wasn’t Susie?’ She felt as though her blood had turned to ice. No, not ice—if she was frozen she wouldn’t be feeling this appalling, unendurable pain. In one brief, illuminating moment she had known all that Jay could have given her if he loved her, but he didn’t love her. She was merely his wife. His second wife.
She took her robe from him and pulled it on, turning her back on him so that he wouldn’t see the agony in her eyes.
‘I’ll dispose of the spider and then I’ll leave you to get dressed. We’re all down by the pool.’
It took her almost an hour to get ready to face everyone. She knew that from now on whenever she looked at her naked body she would be imagining Jay’s hands on it, Jay’s mouth. She shuddered deeply, aware for the first time in her life of the depth and intensity of her own feelings.
The terror of coming face to face with that horrendous spider—she had always feared and loathed them—seemed to have broken loose the chains that had held her in captivity to her sexual fears. She couldn’t really explain to herself why it was one minute she loathed anything to do with sex and the next she ached for Jay to be her lover—or had it really happened as quickly as that? Hadn’t she slowly been drifting towards this for quite some time, since the start of their marriage, in fact, like a leaf borne unknowingly towards the brink of a weir it didn’t know existed?
She couldn’t stay here all day, she reminded herself. Sooner or later she would have to face Jay.
‘I LIKED IT VERY MUCH in Dallas, Mummy, but I’m glad we’re going home now, are you?’
They were circling Heathrow, and soon their jet would land. Absently responding to Heather’s question, Claire glanced at Jay. He was sitting on the opposite side of the aisle, looking out of the window. Since that dreadful episode in their room, he seemed to have withdrawn from her almost completely. He was so cold towards her, so meticulously polite, chilly and indifferent, that she ached sometimes to elicit some response from him, even if that response was only anger.
She had been glad that the Goldbergs had organised so many social events for them, otherwise she didn’t know how she would have got through the visit. It had been torture sharing that enormous bed with Jay each night, knowing he was there so close to her, and yet knowing that he did not want her.
Claire had learned a lot about herself in the last few days. She had learned, for instance, that she was a woman who liked to touch. She ached to touch Jay. To run her fingertips over his body, to find out if that dark tangle of body hair felt as silky as it looked. She found herself looking at his mouth sometimes, and wishing she could feel its hard warmth against her own, against … against all of her, she admitted, shuddering faintly as she felt the molten heat run through her body.
She had learned something else. She had learned that she was a masochist; she must be, otherwise she would not torture herself with these haunting images of what could never be. Jay did not even desire her, never mind love her, she knew that—and she also knew that what had happened in the past had made it impossible for her to give herself to a man without mutual love. She wanted Jay’s love; she wanted it emotionally, mentally and physically. She wanted the moon. She looked down at Heather who was sitting next to her, and saw trusting eyes looking back at her from the little round face. A wave of love cramped through her: Jay’s child. How she would love to give Jay another child. She bent down and gently kissed Heather’s dark head. The little girl hugged her back in wordless communication.
‘Why are you looking so sad, Mummy?’
Trust sharp-eyed Lucy to notice!
‘Oh, I’m not sad,’ she lied, ‘I’m just thinking.’
‘We’ll have to go back to school next week, won’t we?’ Lucy chattered on, and Claire forced herself to listen, glad of the diversion and yet resenting the way Lucy turned confidingly to Jay, confident of his interest and his care. She was actually jealous of her own child! Bitterness rose in her throat and she had to look away.
The last thing she had expected when she married Jay was that she would fall in love with him. Fate had played a very cruel trick on her indeed.
CHAPTER TEN
‘CLAIRE, AFTER DINNER tonight, when the children are in bed, I’d like to talk to you.’
Over the last two weeks she had barely seen Jay. Ever since their return from Dallas, there had been a kind of armed and guarded tension between them, an atmosphere unlike anything she had experienced before, but which set her nerves on edge so much that she was steadily losing weight.
