by Girard, Dara
Claudia didn’t move, feeling a searing pain as her hopes for an affair disappeared. She quickly brushed her feelings aside. He’d never been that casual with his emotions before. Perhaps he’d changed. By all appearances, whoever he was talking to was special to him and her traitorous heart was jealous. Who was the woman who had elicited such tender affection? What did she look like? Was she sophisticated and refined? What did she do? How long had they been together?
Claudia hated the questions but couldn’t stop them from coming. It helped everything make sense. She had been surprised when he’d returned to the villa alone that night after the club. She’d assumed it was because they had a full workday ahead. Now she knew he was in a serious relationship. He’d kissed her out of spite because he could and he knew what it would do to her. But his heart belonged to someone else.
“Did you want me?”
It took Claudia a moment to realize he had disconnected and was talking to her. “Uh…no.”
He put his cell phone away. “I guess a better question is do you want me?”
She swallowed. “No.”
Peter took a slow step toward her, his tone deepening into huskiness. “Don’t be coy, Claudia. I know you do.”
“Who was that on the phone?”
He hesitated then moved closer. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
He sighed then shook his head. “It’s not what you think and has nothing to do with us.”
“Us?”
His finger traced a stirring path down her neck. “Don’t fight what you feel.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her close. “Admit that you want me.”
Claudia licked her lips, but her gaze never wavered. “You want me more.”
His gaze dropped to her lips then returned to her face. “Maybe. What should we do about it?”
“Take a cold shower?”
“Together?”
She smiled. “No.”
“You have another suggestion?”
“We can see where it leads.”
“I like that idea.” He bent to kiss her but stopped when his cell phone rang. He swore. When he saw the number, he swore again.
Claudia stepped back with a wry grin. “I guess that’s our cold shower.”
Peter held up his hand. “No, just give me a minute.”
Claudia turned, knowing the mood was gone. “Good night,” she said then left.
Peter swore again as he watched Claudia go, then answered. “Hello?”
“I saw that postcard you sent Thomas,” his father, Lloyd Warren, said.
Peter groaned and walked back inside. “Do you know what time it is?”
“It’s later here than there. What have I told you about getting his hopes up?”
Peter went into the kitchen and opened the fridge then closed it. “He wanted to see a picture, Dad. That’s all.”
“He said you’d take him there one day.”
“Yes, maybe one day.”
“It wouldn’t be safe. He doesn’t travel well. Why don’t you find another hobby? You can do better than this.”
Peter tapped his fist against his forehead. “Dad, let’s not do this.”
“You come from a long line of success. Professors, mathematicians, surgeons, and you’ve made a career out of a running gag.”
Peter hung his head, knowing he couldn’t stop the often-repeated lecture. He sat at the dining table and waited.
Lloyd Warren didn’t disappoint him. “Your Bed or Mine?: Tips from the Ultimate Bachelor. What kind of title is that? When are you going to grow up and get a real job? Do something useful with that degree of yours. You certainly worked hard enough for it, but you haven’t put it to good use.”
“Let’s forget about me for a moment. I’m worried about Thomas.”
“He’s fine.”
“He wants more independence. Let him get a job or volunteer.”
“How do you know he’s unhappy?” Mr. Warren demanded.
“I spoke to him.”
“He’s doing okay. He probably was just in a bad mood.”
“I can afford—”
“I can afford a lot of things too, so don’t start throwing your money in my face.”
“I was only trying to—”
“I don’t care what you can afford. I’ve always taken care of him and I always will.”
“He’s not a kid anymore, and I think letting him move into the group home will build his confidence.”
“You know what can happen in those places.”
Peter kept his voice even. “I’ve been studying—”
“That’s a surprise, when you barely managed to complete your degree. Do you have one of your women read the books to you?”
Peter ignored the barb. “As I said, I’ve been studying and researching the field and learned—”
His father laughed with derision. “Your field is pseudoscience, sound bites and hot women. I deal in the real world. Your next stop is Bermuda, right?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Send us a postcard.” He hung up.
Peter gently set the phone down then pounded the table several times with his fist. He pounded out his rage, his frustration and his feeling of helplessness. He pounded the table until his hand ached, then he sat back and took a deep breath. His hand shook as the pain registered, but he didn’t move.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Claudia said in a quiet voice behind him. “But can I at least check to see if you’ve broken your hand?”
He sent her a look.
She sat down, unfazed. “You’ve done it before.”
He looked away, in no mood to argue. Soon he felt her long, smooth fingers gently touch his hand. He knew his hand wasn’t broken, but he didn’t mind her exploratory touch. With each gesture he felt his anger melting away. Soon his frustration followed, then his tension. He looked at her with wonder as she kneaded his entire hand.
This was what he’d missed most—her understanding. She read people well and understood him. It was why they had been so good together. She read his moods and left him alone when he needed to be. She wasn’t like other women who would ask him what was wrong or try to force him to talk and open up.
He felt her begin to draw away, but he clasped her hand before she could leave. His grip wasn’t strong, just enough to restrain her. He didn’t look at her. He wanted her to stay, but he didn’t want to talk. She understood the silent request and squeezed his hand. Once he knew she wouldn’t go, he leaned back in his chair and stared out the window, trying to gain control of his conflicting thoughts.
She’d been there for him another time when he’d argued with his father and ended up in the hospital after smashing his hand through a wall. He hadn’t told her what the call was about then, either. He’d wanted to keep her away from the ugliness of his family. He felt the same way now. Peter looked over at Claudia to see if she was as lost in thought as he was. She was asleep with her head resting on her folded arms.
He brushed her hair away from her cheek. “Claudia?”
She opened her eyes and smiled. “Guess what?”
He couldn’t help smiling back. “What?”
“Your hand isn’t broken.”
His smile grew. “I never would have guessed.”
Her expression grew serious. “How many bones did you break last time?”
“Three.”
“Only three?”
He nodded.
She lifted his hand. “I bet it was this one.” She kissed his index finger. “This one.” She kissed his ring finger. “And this one.” She kissed his thumb.
“I also broke my wrist.”
She placed her lips on his inner wrist.
“And I once shattered my shoulder.”
She raised an eyebrow then placed a kiss there.
“It was my right shoulder.”
“Oh.” She kissed his other shoulder.
“And my nose.”
She shook her head. “You nev
er broke your nose. Your face is too symmetrical.”
“Some people wanted to.”
“But they didn’t.”
“I have a scar on my thigh.”
Claudia raised both eyebrows in feigned innocence. “Inner or outer?”
“Inner. On my right leg.”
She lowered herself to the ground then pushed up one leg of his shorts. “I can hardly see anything.”
“It’s really faint.”
She stifled a grin then kissed him there. “Is it this?”
“It’s a little higher.”
She kissed him again.
“A bit more.”
And again.
“Higher.”
She looked up at him with amusement. “If I go any higher, I won’t be kissing your thigh.”
“And you wouldn’t hear me complaining.”
She rested her hand on his front. “Funny, it doesn’t feel broken. Have you been having trouble with it?”
It was a bold move, and for a moment he didn’t speak. Then he said, “Yes.”
Claudia glanced up, surprised. “Really?”
Peter pulled her into his arms. “Yes, it keeps leading me to you.” His mouth covered hers in a wild, hungry assault.
When they pulled away for breath, she whispered, “Bedroom?”
“It’s too far.”
“It’s only a few feet away.”
“Right, but I want you now.” He lifted her onto the dining table.
“This brings back memories.”
He unzipped his shorts and put on protection, which he’d had in his back pocket. “Let’s make some new ones.”
They made enough memories to last the rest of their lives. Clothes lay discarded around them and Claudia welcomed his hard body against hers, her skin tingling at the touch of his hot flesh. They were passionate and reckless, not caring if they got caught—the possibility only heightening the thrill. The movements were hot, quick and primal.
“You’re going to leave scars,” Peter said as her nails dragged down his back. They’d left the dining table and continued on the bare floor.
“Something to remember me by,” Claudia said, wrapping her legs around him, inviting him deeper inside her. Both experienced a pure and explosive pleasure that left them weak when it was over.
Peter rolled away then stared up at the ceiling. “Amazing.”
“Thank you.”
He laughed. “You’re going to take all the credit?”
Claudia turned on her side and rested her hand on his chest. “I suppose I could give you some.”
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it with mock humility. “Thank you.”
Claudia sat up. “I bought you something.”
He stilled.
“Don’t worry,” she said in a light tone. “I know tonight doesn’t mean anything. I just thought you would like it. I—”
Peter kissed her to keep her from talking. He couldn’t let this night mean more than playful recreation. “What you just gave me was good enough.”
“Aren’t you even curious?”
“No.” When she began to smile with knowing, he sighed, resigned. “What did you get me?”
She adjusted her clothing and left the room then returned and handed him a medium-size shopping bag. He reached inside and pulled out an extraordinary piece of artwork. It was a small box, made out of acacia wood. He knew just where to put it—next to a similar box he’d gotten in Brazil after his parents’ divorce.
Damn. He was touched. He didn’t want to be, but he was. He ran his hand over the decorated inlay. She knew him too well.
Claudia folded her arms. “You don’t like it?”
He opened the box then closed it. “Why do you say that?”
She rubbed the muscle at his jawline with her thumb. “This tells me when something’s upset you.”
He stood. “It’s nothing. I like it. Thanks.” He cleared his throat. He knew he sounded abrupt and cold, but he couldn’t help it. “We’d better get to bed. We have a long flight tomorrow.”
“Right.” Claudia hesitated then looked away. “Good night.”
“Night,” Peter said in a quiet tone, knowing she didn’t hear him as she headed for her bedroom. Peter watched her go, a part of him wishing she would stay.
Chapter 11
Peter went into his bedroom, placed Claudia’s gift on the dresser then picked up his pillow and threw it across the room. He threw it with such force it hit the wall with a bang. What was wrong with him? He had her. He’d won. He could walk away from her now and let her feel the pain of it. Why didn’t he feel better about it? Where was his sense of triumph and satisfaction? Victory? Why did his bed suddenly seem so large and empty without her? Why did he want to be where she was? Could he still have feelings for her like before?
Peter picked up another pillow and threw it on the ground. No, that wasn’t it. He was just strained about the upcoming show and his family, and she helped him take his mind off things. If he hadn’t had that talk with his father, he wouldn’t be this vulnerable.
How much of his conversation had she overheard? Could she tell that it was him? Did she think he’d handled his father well? Peter briefly shut his eyes and swore. That was the problem. He still cared about her opinion.
He walked over to the window and stared out at the view. He took a deep, steadying breath. He had to focus on the goal. He had to ignore how one look from her took him back to when everything about her mattered to him.
He was older now. Wiser. But he didn’t feel wise. Something wasn’t right. She’d come to him too eagerly and let him go with the same compliance. He’d expected some protest, some anger. But just like on the beach, it was as if she expected him to hurt her, and it didn’t make sense. Did she really feel guilty? She’d been eavesdropping on his first call and he’d seen the questions in her eyes, but she hadn’t asked him anything. Part of him was glad, because he didn’t want to answer questions right now.
He still wanted her. He wanted to fall asleep with her in his arms, to inhale the scent of her lotion, to feel her hair against his face. Peter groaned. Oh, God. He was falling in love with her again. He turned from the window. He didn’t care. He wanted her too much to care. He’d have her again tonight and deal with the consequences later. He kicked a pillow out of his way as he walked to the door. He opened it then jumped back when he saw Claudia getting ready to knock. She let her hand fall.
He gripped the door frame to keep himself from grabbing her. She looked soft and cuddly in a short cotton nightdress. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
“No.” She hugged herself, her eyes unsure. “My bed’s cold.”
He drew her into his room and kicked the door closed. “Mine’s not.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Are you ready to sleep?”
“No.”
They stripped down then fell on the bed, their actions less frenzied this time but no less intense. Afterward they lay in each other’s arms but didn’t speak.
Claudia lazily stroked his thigh then wrapped her hand around him, teasing the head with her forefinger. “How come Little Peter won’t go down?”
“If you keep doing that he won’t,” Peter said in a husky voice.
She drew her hand away. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I didn’t say he didn’t like it.”
She rested her chin on his chest. “No one can know about us.”
“Why not? People have affairs all the time.”
“We’re different.”
He shrugged. “All right.” But he sensed something else bothered her. Like him, she could be quiet and patient when she wanted to draw out a secret from some one. He stroked her hair. “What else is on your mind?”
“I’m just thinking.”
“There’s no one else, Claudia.”
“Hmm?”
He glanced away then sighed. “That first phone call…I was talking to my brother, Thomas.”
&
nbsp; “Oh, I see.”
“I doubt it.”
“You never talk about him.”
“It’s a painful subject.”
“At first I thought he was dead.”
“In my family, he is in a way.” Peter hesitated. “He’s developmentally delayed.”
“So what was that second phone call about?”
Peter rested a hand behind his head. “My father and I don’t agree on how to take care of him.” He released a weary sigh this time. “Before his accident, Thomas was the smart one. He was an honors student. He had the most innovative ideas, and my parents were certain he’d create something that would change the world. Then I came along—the black sheep of the family—barely scraping by in school. I was a star athlete, but that didn’t count. Any gorilla could throw a football—it took skill to solve an equation. I didn’t mind the comparison much, because I was proud of my brother. He was heading places, and then in one moment all that ended.” Peter swallowed.
Claudia touched his shoulder, sensing the memory was painful.
“And it was my fault. He wouldn’t have gone there if it hadn’t been for me.”
“Where did he go?”
“The basement. I know it sounds stupid. I mean, what could be so dangerous about a basement. But it was for him, and I knew better. See, it had been raining for days, and I was getting antsy because I hated being stuck indoors. My brother was fine with his books and video games, but I wanted an adventure. So I decided to explore the basement. We weren’t allowed to go down there, because it was damp and Mom was worried about mold, but I wanted to go some place forbidden. I was ten and didn’t fear the consequences of getting caught. I’d gotten in trouble before, so I didn’t care.
“Thomas was fourteen and didn’t want to go. He didn’t like to upset our parents. I called him a name or something—I don’t remember—and said I’d go by myself and told him to keep watch. When I went down there, I found some boxes and trunks that I started going through. I didn’t hear Thomas call out to tell me that my father was coming. Because he didn’t want me to get into trouble, he ran down the stairs to come and get me. It took a while for him to find me. I was all the way in the back room.”
