"All right, I guess I can manage that. Go ahead, make your call. And while you're at it," she added just as he began to leave, "squeeze in a shower and change your clothes."
She was being gracious again. Evan looked down. Accustomed to always being impeccably dressed, he knew he should feel self-conscious, but for some reason, he didn't. Not around her. He wondered what that meant. "I guess I do look pretty awful."
Claire smiled. "Not awful, just wrinkled and stained." She smoothed out his shirt collar, but it was hopeless at this point. The whole shirt needed to be cleaned and pressed. "I'll see if I can get some of this out for you."
He placed his hand over hers to stop her fingers from fluttering and from causing his breakfast to churn in a stomach suddenly gone tight. He was going to tell her that she didn't have to, then stopped himself when he realized that he wanted her to.
"I'd appreciate that." The words dripped from his lips, his eyes on hers.
He wasn't finished; she could tell by the way he left the end hanging. "And?" she prodded, waiting.
Something had been bothering him all the time she'd been sitting across from him. All the time he'd been looking at her. Unfinished business.
"And, I'd like to kiss you again. This time, not by accident."
Claire felt her pulse jump. It always did when she was asking for trouble. And this was probably a double helping. The smart thing would be just to walk away. Quickly.
It was a hard thing to admit about herself, but she wasn't always smart.
"All right." Her hand brushed against his collar, threading along the back of his neck. "Will that be with or without starch?"
"Without," he answered as he lowered his mouth to hers.
Chapter Seven
It wouldn't have been easy for Evan to put what he was experiencing into words. It didn't matter. Whatever words he would have used wouldn't have been sufficient. Wouldn't have begun to describe what was really happening.
Except, perhaps, the word more.
For kissing Claire was more than anything he'd ever experienced. Sweeter, sexier, more exciting, more seductive.
More.
So much more that it left Evan in awe. How could something as simple as a kiss make him momentarily forget everything else? His surroundings, his dilemma, the fact that the last thing in the world he needed right now was to become entangled with another woman. After all, if that little bundle from heaven really did turn out to be his, there would be her mother to deal with. There was a moral responsibility Evan meant to face up to. One that any lawyer he might have engaged would have cringed at. But Evan didn't believe in shunning his obligations. If Rachel was his, he meant to take care of her and her mother financially.
That didn't change what was going on now.
He was entangled. From that moment on, whether he liked it or not, Evan Quartermain knew that he had come face-to-face with his undoing and it stood about fíve foot three. He sensed it the way a parachutist sensed the thrill of his first jump a moment before he leaped from the airplane.
Evan jumped. There really was little else he could do. He wound his arms around Claire, pressing her to him, and he jumped. Right into the heart of the kiss. Right into no- man's-land.
And lost himself in her.
He deepened the kiss, savoring her taste, her scent, the feel of her body against his, and embraced his undoing.
The room was spinning around Claire. Shaking? San Francisco had never fully breathed a sigh of relief since the last earthquake and always slept with one eye opened. Was this another earthquake? she wondered.
It surely felt like one. If not one of the land, then of the soul. Rather than run for a door frame for shelter, Claire clung to the only thing that gave her stability.
The origin of the quake itself.
Like a blind person trying to see, Claire slipped her hands along Evan's face, committing everything to memory within her mind's eye. She wound her fingers into his thick dark hair and gloried in the way his body pressed against hers.
This was what that faint brush of lips had hinted at. Passion and fire, comfort and disquietude. In short, a one-stop haven for everything.
Somewhere, from a galaxy far, far away, a small voice called to her. "Mama, Rachel's hungry."
Rachel wasn't the only one, Evan thought, dazed. Libby's urgent call succeeded in peeling them apart. Shaken, stunned, Evan drew back, too numbed to say any thing at first. All he could do was look at Claire in abject wonder. She was attractive—he'd been aware of that from the beginning—with straight, long blond hair, a tidy, athletic body that would have set any man's mind wandering and legs that would make his mouth water. But there was no way he would have thought she packed such a wallop.
His stomach still felt as if it was quaking.
All systems were not go. Claire could have sworn she felt her blood scrambling in her veins, running for high ground against the flood of feelings Evan's kiss had let loose. Feelings she had to rein in before they threatened to make a complete mess of the life she had so carefully constructed for herself and Libby.
She didn't want to pull at the reins; she wanted to feel, and that was the very real problem.
"Maybe I'd better go feed her," Claire mumbled. She backed away from him and out of the room with as much grace as she could muster, given the circumstances.
He nodded as feeling returned to his limbs. "Maybe you'd better."
And maybe, Evan thought as he watched her walk quickly into the next room, he had better take another shower. A much colder one than the one he'd taken earlier.
Hands wrapped around the doorjamb, her feet pressed tightly to one side against the corner, Libby swung to and fro, watching her mother work. Impatience was written all over her fair face.
"Isn't it time yet, Mama?" She'd been popping into Claire's office, asking the same question every few minutes for the past two hours.
Tenaciously hanging on to her train of thought, Claire looked up from the screen. For the first time since Evan Quartermain and the baby he refused to refer to as his daughter had entered her life a week ago, she was actually making headway on the presentation she was supposed to have been working on since the beginning of the month. The deadline was next week. Appropriately enough, she was to hand it in just before Thanksgiving. If Aesthetic Athletics, a company that manufactured everything from running shoes to major gym equipment, liked what she put together for them, they were going to put her on their payroll. That would be something to really be thankful for.
Claire liked freelancing, but there was something to be said for steady money and Aesthetic Athletics had a great deal of it. It would mean a lot to her and Libby as far as stability went
So she really wasn't in the mood for interruptions, especially when those interruptions had anything to do with Evan Quartermain.
Damn it she couldn't even think of his name without feeling a tiny tremor rippling through her. Which was just the trouble. She didn't need or want tremors, tiny or oth-erwise, rippling through her. Ever since he'd shaken up her life, she'd done her best to maintain a polite, helpful but definite distance from him.
It hadn't been easy, especially since for the first few days of his "forced vacation"—as he referred to the time off he'd taken—he had been on the telephone to her on the average of once every seventy minutes, asking for advice, asking for help or just plain asking. It was a matter, she understood, of trying to keep his sanity when confronted with a completely unfamiliar set of circumstances. Just because he'd made it through one night didn't make him a veteran, or even ensure that he could get through another night intact
She sympathized, but she left her barriers up.
True to her word, Claire had responded to each and every call, giving him advice, support and assurance. Most of the time, she wound up coming over to help in person rather than coaching over the phone. It was easier that way, at least as far as helping to care for Rachel went. Claire had the consolation of knowing that even if she was unc
om-fortable, Libby loved it.
And, she had to admit, caring for Rachel was a joy. She loved holding a sweet, cuddly baby in her arms. But it was also a problem. The problem was that she knew she was getting much too close to a child she had no business having feelings for.
At the very best, this was all just temporary. Once Evan's brother located Rachel's mother, one of any number of things could happen. And Claire didn't figure into any of the solutions. She would be left on the outside, missing a baby who wasn't hers.
But it was hard not melting at the sight of a smile that lit up a room. And by now, Rachel recognized her; Claire was sure of it. The baby extended her arms to her whenever Claire entered the room. Once or twice would have been a coincidence. Several times was not. Rachel knew her, responded to her. It would have taken an iron heart to remain under wraps.
And Claire's heart was definitely not made of iron.
Being around Evan proved that to her. Despite her best intentions, Claire could feel herself tingle whenever he entered a room, her body bracing for what she knew she shouldn't want, shouldn't have.
For what she desperately desired.
She wanted him to kiss her again. To have him hold her as if she were something precious.
Looking back, Claire knew that she had merely fooled herself into thinking she no longer wanted that kind of affection. The funny thing was, she had actually believed she didn't need it. Until she had come face-to-face with it again. Now she knew that she'd only been trying to sell herself a tissue of lies.
Though she adored Libby and loved her work, there was still a part of Claire that was empty, a part of her that felt needy. That same part that had never really been filled. She'd once thought that she'd found her answer in Jack—she'd believed that his love would make up for the emptiness she had endured all her young life.
But what she'd thought was love had turned out to be something less, something as disposable as the diapers she'd once used for Libby. It wasn't meant to endure, or to fulfill.
And neither, she upbraided herself now, was what she felt, or thought she felt, when Evan kissed her. It was a fluke, nothing more. She'd overreacted because she hadn't been with a man in any sort of intimate fashion since Jack had walked out on her. Hell, she hadn't been with a man without her graphic-arts portfolio between them in years. But that was her choice, and intellectually, it was a good one.
Her body had other ideas, but her body, Claire thought ruefully, had been her undoing before. She didn't want to be undone again. This time, she knew, she might not be able to glue back the pieces into any sort of working order.
Besides, Evan obviously wasn't interested in her in any other capacity than that of an impromptu nanny for his baby, or whatever it was he preferred to think of Rachel as being. If he were the least bit interested, he would have tried to kiss her again. Would have at least picked up on the fact that she wanted to be kissed again. Men were sup-posed to have radar about things like that.
But Evan Quartermain, damn him, had made no moves whatsoever in that direction.
Which was, she told herself, actually a very good thing, given the nature of her vulnerability. Getting involved with him wouldn't be a smart thing to do. The situation was far too complicated for her to just walk into. Evan had a baby and a responsibility to that baby's mother, wherever and whoever she was. There was no place for Claire in that kind of equation. Whatever else she might be, she knew she wasn't the other-woman type.
It was better this way for her. A lot better.
Claire punched a key on the keyboard. If it was so much better, why did she feel so damn restless?
"Mama, are you listening to me?"
No longer in the doorway, her daughter was now hanging off the back of her swivel chair. Very carefully, Claire pried off ten little fingers.
"All the time, honey."
Libby fisted her hands at her waist and fixed her with a look Claire knew the little girl had been on the receiving end of more than once. It wasn't easy to keep from laughing, but somehow, she managed.
"Then what did I say?" Libby demanded. It was obvious she had her doubts about her mother's statement.
Claire folded her hands in her lap and did her best to look contrite. "You asked if it was time yet."
The little face unclouded. Mama was listening after all. "Okay." The word absolved her mother of any blame. "So, is it?"
Claire sighed. The last thing she wanted was to go over there now. She didn't need him distracting her, and for once, the phone calls hadn't been coming with the regularity of a pendulum marking time.
"No, it's not."
Libby refused to give in so easily this time. "But maybe he needs us."
"Then he'll call," Claire assured her. She returned to the logo she was creating. "He's been calling all the time."
Libby pushed herself into her mother's line of vision. "But not today. Maybe something's wrong." She chewed on her lip, concerned. It wasn't so much Mr. Q. she was thinking of, but Rachel. "She's awfully little, Mama," she declared as if it were news. "What if he did something to her, something wrong, and doesn't know how to undo it now?"
The child had much too much imagination. That, Claire knew, was something she'd inherited from her.
"Nothing's wrong, Libby," Claire told her soothingly. "He's just getting better at taking care of Rachel, that's all. Even monkeys learn if you train them."
Or maybe he was celebrating his pending return to Work, she added silently. Evan had lined up a nanny who was to begin on Monday, which, Claire knew, he was looking upon as his independence day. He was returning to work, and life was returning to normal.
There would be no need for her shortly. Maybe even now, she thought ruefully. Just as well. Claire stabbed at another key, almost breaking a nail.
Libby tugged on the chair, bringing it around to face her. Huge blue eyes plaintively looked up at her mother. "Please, Mama? For me? Can we go over and check?"
Claire sighed. A few keystrokes shut down the computer, and she rose, pushing back her chair. She really had to get better at saying no to Libby.
Maybe tomorrow.
She wondered if Libby knew the kind of power she wielded over her. Probably. "Okay, just this once."
Libby was out of the room before she finished. Claire heard the front door opening.
"Libby, wait for me," she called, even though she knew it was useless. The girl was like a bullet when presented with a target
Making sure she had her keys, Claire hurried after her daughter. She reached Evan's front door a full minute after Libby. Standing on her toes for added leverage, Libby was leaning on the doorbell.
If Rachel was sleeping, she was awake now, Claire thought guiltily as she removed Libby's finger from the bell. Just as she did, the front door opened.
Claire avoided his eyes. "I'm sorry," she apologized, struggling not to flush like a teenager urged on by her girlfriends to ring the school hunk's doorbell. "This was Libby's idea," she hurried to explain, looking down at her daughter. She was holding on to Libby to keep her from dashing inside. "She got worried when you didn't call today and thought you might need help. I told her you were probably just getting better at taking care of Rachel."
Claire finally had enough courage to look at him, afraid of seeing amusement in his face. There was no amusement. There was sweat, and flushed cheeks that conflicted with the rest of his pasty pallor. His eyes were one step away from glassy.
It took her a minute to find her tongue. "You look awful."
Though he knew he did, Evan's first thought was to deny it. Masculine pride prevented him from admitting that he felt as weak as a kitten being blown around in a gale.
"Are you all right?" Claire asked before he could force the denial out of his mouth. She touched his forehead. "No," she answered her own question, "you are definitely not all right. Evan, you're burning up." Not waiting for an invitation, she came in, instantly taking charge. "Why didn't you call me?"
Claire loo
ked around for Rachel. The baby wasn't anywhere in the living room.
He'd been battling this feeling since late last night, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus his mind or his eyes. Both were becoming watery. "I didn't want to seem like a wimp."
The answer stunned her. "Because you're sick? That's stupid."
The word penetrated the fog that was closing in on his brain. Stupid. That was him, all right. Not like Devin. Devin was smart. Devin had it all. Admiration, time to breathe. Everything.
"I didn't want to look stupid, either," he mumbled into his chin.
He really was out of it, she thought. "Well, you failed. You need to get into bed."
It took him a minute to absorb what she was telling him. Then he shook his head and nearly keeled over. He steadied himself by grabbing on to her shoulder.
"Can't. I've got a baby to take care of. Rachel, remember?"
She braced her legs to keep from falling. Evan was leaning more than a little of his weight on her. "I've been here most of the time—it's a little hard to forget."
If she lived forever, she was never going to understand the way a man's mind worked. He'd called her for everything from what temperature a bottle should be to whether or not it was all right to use packing tape to hold a diaper together if the tabs broke, which they seemed to do for him with a fair amount of regularity. He called her with questions she knew he knew the answers to. And yet when he really should have called her, asking for help, he didn't Why?
Libby stared in fascination at the way perspiration was beading along Evan's forehead. There was triumph in her face. "See, Mama, see? I told you something was wrong."
"Yes, you did, Libby."
He was going to fall flat on his face any minute, Claire thought in horror. In an effort to steady him, she took his arm and laid it across her shoulders. She didn't want Libby underfoot right now.
"Go check on Rachel for me, honey." Just as she thought, he was beginning to sink. Claire did her best to keep him upright. "I'm going to get Mr. Quartermain to bed."
The Baby Came C.O.D. Page 9
