“Let me help you with your bags,” the driver said, starting to get out.
Marcus looked up from his paperwork. “We’d like another minute, if you don’t mind,” he told the driver.
“You got it,” the driver said.
Claudia looked across the long leather seat, to Marcus, who sat at the other window and stared back with his implacable gaze.
They hadn’t really spoken since...well, since she so foolishly let her temper get the best of her and walked out last night. Which meant that they’d endured awkward silences on the way to the airport in Jackson Hole, in the terminal while waiting for their plane and now on the ride to the city. They had, thankfully, had separate seats in first class this time, saving them from an awkward three-hour silence as they flew back to New York.
She had no idea what was next for the two of them. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. They’d work on Judah’s auction together and get it ready for the glittering event planned at Judah’s home in the Hamptons a couple months from now.
But personally...?
She had a terrible sinking feeling that she’d ruined everything.
The moment stretched, getting longer and tenser, until her nerves could no longer take the strain.
She opened her mouth, determined to be offhand and witty, like the sophisticated European woman she supposedly was.
“Well, then,” she began briskly, with no real idea what she was going to say.
Without a word, Marcus reached across the endless distance of the seat between them, put his hand on the back of her neck and massaged her nape with his skilled fingers.
Just like that, she melted. Her eyes drifted closed, her head fell back and her thoughts—some nonsense she was going to say about having a lovely time with him last night, but being far too busy for anything other than the occasional dinner or hookup—scattered like a handful of feathers released into the wind.
“Ah, Marcus,” she cooed.
“Come here.”
As always, when he beckoned, she went, slithering across the seat and into his open arms. When she would’ve kept coming and kissed him, he took her face between his unyielding palms and gave her a hard look that said he’d exceeded his game-playing quota with her for a while.
“We have to do better than this,” he said urgently.
“I know.”
“Do you? Have you cooled off?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on your side, you know. I’m not the enemy. I don’t have a horse in this race other than wanting to see you ecstatically happy. I hope you get that.”
“I’m trying to,” she admitted.
“Why is it so hard?”
She frowned, trying hard to explain things to him in a way that made sense. “I don’t mean to be so defensive about my brother.”
“No? One phone call from him ruined our beautiful night together. You wouldn’t even talk to me.”
“I’m so sorry. It’s like this terrible knee-jerk reaction I’ve developed over the years of being his second mother and looking out for him. It was like our little family against the world, and now Mum’s gone, and he and I are all we’ve got left. If I don’t help him, who will?”
“Is he helping himself?”
The honest answer killed her, but she gave it anyway. “No. I did some reading online about people with drinking problems and the people who have to deal with them. It was really eye-opening. And I thought about it all last night, when I wasn’t sleeping or missing you.”
“You could have been with me.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I should have been with you. My pride wasn’t very good company.”
After a long, searching pause, he pulled her the rest of the way in and kissed her breathless. It was as though he’d forgotten the taste of her and needed to suck, lick and nip at her lips until he remembered everything.
And then, abruptly, he pushed her away and roughly swiped his hand over his face. When she chased him, trying to recapture his mouth, he leaned toward his window and kept her at arm’s length.
“We’re not going to do this here.” His voice was raspy so he cleared his throat. “We need to talk and get a few things straight— Ah, screw it.”
He dove in again, kissing her senseless and running his restless hands under the bottom edge of her sweater. She had a faint, glimmering thought about how they weren’t alone, but she was getting over it and about to crawl into his lap when he reined himself in, hard.
“Talking,” he said, panting. “We’re talking.”
“Fine, then.” She was eager to get past the talking part so they could get to the lovemaking. “I’m sorry I pushed you away last night.”
“Great. Thanks. I’m sorry if I was too heavy-handed.”
“I’m sorry I walked out without trying to explain myself a little better.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come after you. I should have, because I didn’t close my eyes all night.”
“Neither did I, darling.”
The endearment earned her another quick kiss. “I know it’s really soon to be making plans about anything,” he said, hesitating for the first time since the apologies began, “but I’m thinking we need to spend more nights together than not.”
A dizzying wave of joy hit her, making her light-headed. “Marcus—”
“That’s a lie,” he amended. “I think we need to be together every night.” He paused. “Shit. That’s too much, isn’t it?”
“It’s not too much,” she quickly assured him. “Not at all.”
“No?” He started to smile, then snatched it back. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“What about tonight?”
She tipped her head toward her apartment. “Well, we’re here now, so—”
“Great.”
This time he gave her the whole smile, all bright eyes, dimples and white teeth, and she had the thought, for the very first time, that she might be in love with this man. To her utter astonishment, the idea didn’t terrify her. It felt more like an inevitable happening that she didn’t need to get too worked up about, like aging gracefully or having children one day.
That was progress, right?
“Why don’t I get some dinner and bring it back?” he asked. “There’s great Chinese right around the corner. Wait—do you like Chinese?”
“I love Chinese.”
“What should I get you?”
“Something spicy.”
“You got it.”
They watched each other for a moment, aglow with their new peace accord and the night’s potential. Marcus rubbed his thumb over her cheek in the sweetest caress she’d ever felt, and her skin felt shimmery and light, like spun gold.
“Have I told you you’re beautiful?” he asked.
“So are you,” she said, kissing his thumb.
“About your brother,” he began carefully.
She started to tense, caught herself and worked on taking calming breaths. “Yes?”
“He’s important to you, so that makes him important to me. I look forward to introducing you to everyone in my family—”
Another thrilling first! She nearly swooned.
“—and I look forward to meeting him. I want to like him. But the main thing is, I’m here for you. If you need a sounding board...if you need a devil’s advocate, or a shoulder to cry on, I’m your man. If you’ll let me be your man. Anyway—” he looked away and swiped under his nose “—that’s quite a speech. I’d better get our dinner before you starve—”
“Are you trying to make me lose my head over you?”
Taking her hand, he flipped it over and pressed a lingering kiss into her palm. When he raised his head again, his smile was gentle. Enigmatic.
“G
o inside. Unwind a little. I’ll be right back.”
“You will hurry, won’t you?”
“To get back to you? I’ll always hurry.”
Chapter 15
Claudia floated upstairs and into her new apartment, where she’d already spent several nights before the trip to Jackson Hole. Labeled moving boxes were stacked in the corners, waiting for her to get to them, but she’d had a chance to unpack most of her essentials already. She took a deep, satisfied breath, because she really liked it here and was beginning to feel at home. The place was soothingly neutral, with a few exposed brick walls, a tiny but modern galley kitchen, pops of black and rust here and there and dazzling modern prints on the walls. Down the hall were two bedrooms, one of which she’d use as an office.
Tossing her purse on the nearest chair and stowing her luggage in the corner by the coatrack, she headed to the galley to wash her hands, find plates and— Oh, what was that?
A towering gift basket, with an ornate gold satin bow and exquisite rattan basket that probably cost two hundred dollars without any contents, sat on the dining table. The doorman, who she’d given a copy of her key to, had probably dropped it off earlier.
Bemused, Claudia crept closer and discovered that it was overflowing with Western items: a woolen Native American blanket, tubes of buffalo sausage, sticks of elk jerky, several bottles of wine from a Wyoming winery, huckleberry chocolate bonbons—what in God’s name were huckleberries?—smoked salmon and...yes, a bottle of beautiful amber honey.
Judah, then. What a delightful character he was! Was there a card? Oh, yes.
To my darling Claudia, it read in scrawling green ink.
Just a few items to tide you over until you can come back again. I hope it’ll be soon, and maybe next time you can bring your brother and stay longer.
My home is your home.
Judah
P.S. Hope you like the dragon.
Hang on. Dragon? What dragon—
Oh, there was more! Buried underneath the huckleberry bonbons—seriously, what on earth was a huckleberry?—was a jeweler’s box tied with the same gold satin ribbon, and inside was—
“Oh,” she breathed.
It was a necklace! With a delicate white-gold chain and a curved and lunging Chinese dragon pendant made of dozens of yellow stones—citrines, probably—and breathing fire that looked as if it was made of garnets.
How amazingly thoughtful of him! The necklace clashed spectacularly with the only other jewelry she wore on a regular basis, her jade pendant, but who cared? She hung it around her neck and patted it happily. She’d have to write Judah a lovely thank-you.
There was a sharp knock on the door.
Marcus with dinner already? He was quick, she thought, hurrying to the door and checking the peephole.
Oh, no. Her stomach dropped sickeningly.
Not him. Not yet.
Swinging the door open and taking a deep breath, she tried to keep her face upbeat even though she hadn’t planned on having this particular conversation just yet. But, on the other hand, the conversation was long past due, wasn’t it?
“Charles,” she said, more reserved than usual. “Hello.”
“Where’s your kiss for your beloved younger brother?” Breezing inside, Charles caught her by the waist, lifted her off her feet and swung her around, ignoring her surprised yelp. With a smacking kiss on her cheek, he set her back down again and turned her loose. “That’s better, then, isn’t it?”
“I’m far too old and dignified to be swung around like a child,” she said tartly. But, as always, she had to smile. It’d been a few weeks since she’d seen him, and she’d missed him. Plus, he was, if nothing else, handsome and charming, and he had been their small family’s darling since the day of his birth. Tapping him on the arm, she tried to look stern. “And what are you doing here, may I ask?”
Grinning and inexplicably exuberant, he leaned down in her face. “Just wanted to say hello and—”
Her smile died.
“What?” he asked.
She faltered, hesitant to lob the first grenade so quickly. But, on the other hand, it wasn’t as if this was going to be an easy conversation anyway.
“You’ve been drinking. Quite a bit.” She paused, then spoke more to herself than to him. “No surprise there, really.”
But it was a surprise. It was always a surprise when he drank again after the last hangover, vomiting jag or vow of abstinence. Or maybe she’d just been too naive to realize that some things didn’t change.
Charles immediately went into his outraged innocent routine, a masterpiece of wide eyes and hurt feelings. “I had a drink with dinner! Is that illegal for a grown man now? Has America changed her laws, then?”
Why, Claudia wondered sadly, seeing him clearly for the first time in ages, did he never get that when one drank to excess, the alcohol leached through one’s pores, suffusing the surrounding air with a yeasty smell—as though some poor bakery had gone to seed? Why did he always, always think that a mint or a stick of chewing gum was a clever and impenetrable cover for several hours—days, weeks, years—of hard drinking?
Sudden exhaustion set in. Preparing herself, she slumped to the sofa and got settled for what was sure to be an ugly conversation. There was no point arguing with him about his drinking habits. There never was.
“You don’t look good.” She watched him sit on the other end of the sofa and scowl at her. “You haven’t been eating.”
“Yeah, I have,” he snapped. “Weren’t you listening when I told you I just had dinner?”
“You mean you drank your dinner, don’t you?” she asked quietly, trying to keep the reproach out of her voice. As far as she was concerned, they were light years past that point. “You’re way too thin.”
Unblinking, she met his glare and tried to find what was left of her brother inside the alcoholic. Alcoholic. Wow. She was actually using the word, to herself, at least, and the world hadn’t spun off its axis. In fact, it felt good to name it, because he was an alcoholic, and she’d known it, on some level, for a long time. Years, probably. Oh, she’d ignored it, willfully misunderstood it and, when worse came to worst, denied it outright, just like Marcus had said last night.
But now...
Now, the alcoholic before her was all she could see. The disease had finally swallowed the last of her brother.
Charles’s frame, once so tall and athletic, was passing lean and headed for skeletal, as though he’d been fighting a losing battle with cancer or some other dreadful disease. Lines grooved around his mouth and across his forehead, accentuating the harsh angles of his cheeks and chin. His brown eyes were prominent and overbright in their sockets, and his color was off, with a little too much yellow in the caramel skin. So that meant something bad was going on with his liver, which was only to be expected. He was only twenty-seven, and he looked forty-five. A hard-living forty-five. His jeans and plaid shirt looked clean, though, and she was grateful for that.
“Are you spoiling for a fight, sis?” he demanded. “Is that what’s going on here?”
“Not at all.” It was true. In this moment, which was so long coming, there was no anger and no desire to inflict guilt. Just a deep sadness and a clear understanding, finally, of what she herself would and wouldn’t do. “I’m just expressing my concern for you.”
“Well, save it.”
There was a pause while she clasped her hands in her lap and he angrily adjusted the pillow behind his back.
“So what brings you here?” she asked softly.
There he went again, looking affronted. “Can’t I just pop by to see my sister when we’re both in the States? You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”
“You’re not in the habit of popping by just to say hello.”
He’d never in his life
popped by just to say hello, and they both knew it. She and Mum were the ones who’d popped by to make sure he was still alive and well when he disappeared off the grid for too long and didn’t return their calls.
Still, he clung to the pretense, looking as though he might cry. “I’m not welcome? You’re not glad to see me?”
“Save yourself.” This show of emotion, she was surprised to discover, didn’t move her in the slightest. Perhaps, after all the emotional highs and lows he’d embroiled her in over the years, she’d finally developed an immunity to them. “So you didn’t pop by to ask me for money, then? That’s all I’m trying to determine.”
“No,” he said lightly, his gaze shifting away.
She kept her face expressionless as she watched him, waiting.
A beat passed.
“I mean,” he amended, dimpling at her, “money’s very tight at the moment, obviously, because I haven’t found a job yet.”
“It takes more than a couple days to find a job in this economy,” she noted. “Especially when you haven’t finished university and you’re out of your own country and have no work visa.”
“Right, well, that’s the thing. I’ve been giving it some thought. I don’t have a flat and I can’t afford the Gansevoort for any longer, because it’s quite expensive...”
He trailed off delicately, giving her the chance to cotton on and help him out.
For the first time in her life, she chose not to.
She kept her steady gaze on him, waiting.
Clearing his throat, he widened his smile, as though an extra dose of charm might help her catch on. “Well, it’s difficult for me to ask, because you’ve already given me so much—”
“And yet you called me a bitch the last time we talked.”
“I didn’t mean it! And you were goading me—”
“What do you want, Charles?”
Sinful Attraction Page 13
