“Claire …” I hear him say like he’s in the far-off distance. I lean in and run the tip of my tongue up the side of his neck. “CLAIRE!” he practically yells, causing me to jump back.
“What?” I sound as bewildered as I feel.
“We need to stop or I’m not going to be able to.” He sounds like he’s in pain.
“Why do we have to stop? I thought we were going to enjoy each other while we could.” I have never said anything like this in my life, which just goes to show the effect this man is having on me.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He sounds shocked, like I just propositioned him in Japanese or something.
“Of course I know what I’m saying. I thought you wanted the same thing.”
“I want nothing more than to drag you upstairs to my bedroom and keep you there for the next week.”
Longing flows through my limbs like thick molasses melting on hot cornbread. It leaves an aching trail as it spreads. “Let’s go.” I jump to my feet, ready to throw caution to the wind. I’ve been careful my whole life and it’s gotten me nowhere. I want to live in the moment for once, and damn it, I’m gonna do it!
“Claire …” Geoffrey sounds like he’s in agony. “Can we slow down a little bit?”
“Why?” I demand, totally confused by his reticence.
“Because I like you too much to treat you like a plaything. I want to get to know everything about you. I want to know about your hopes, your dreams … your middle name.”
“Margaret,” I tell him. “My middle name is Margaret. The rest really is none of your business.”
“None of my business?”
“You were the one who drew the boundaries for what we’re going to be to each other. You can’t just change them.”
“Why not?” he wants to know as he buttons up his shirt.
“Because you can’t, that’s why.” I’m so confused right now. My brain hurts like an entire native tribe from the Amazon jungle just blew darts at my head.
I stare at Geoffrey with what I’m sure is a lost puppy dog expression when I get a vision of my internal angel ripping off her gag. She screams, and I repeat, “You can’t just yank me this way, and that. I’m a person and I don’t appreciate being toyed with!”
He stands up and silences me with a slow, hot kiss. The room begins to feel like an anti-gravity chamber as I lose all sense of direction. “I don’t want to toy with you, which is why I think we should slow things down a little,” he says as he pulls away.
I’m so twisted up I don’t know if I’m on foot or horseback. “But I want you,” I hear myself confess.
“I want you too. So much,” he groans. “Which is why I’m going to go into the kitchen and get our fondue.”
What one thing has to do with another, I do not know. I watch as he walks away, feeling like a tumbleweed in a windstorm. I’ve lost all sense of direction and the truly scary part is, I don’t care anymore. I’m starting to think that being in control all the time is highly overrated.
I’m ready to be out of control. I want to experience everything I can with Geoffrey, even if that means a broken heart.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Queen
“You do realize that we broke the royal rules by falling in love with each other,” Charlotte tells her husband while nestled under his arm in bed.
“What are you talking about? What rules did we break?”
“I was your mother’s florist. Future kings don’t marry florists.”
Alfred snorts. “They do when the future king falls in love with them. Also, your mother was of noble birth, so there was no real rule breaking going on.”
“I’m just saying that I think we may need to relax some of our policies regarding our children,” Charlotte says.
“We have! We let Geoffrey leave the country for years on end and then there’s Chéri. We do nothing but bend the rules for her.”
“Don’t you think our other children would like the same treatment?”
“Why? They’ve never asked for it.”
“Maybe they’re afraid to.”
Alfred grumbles, “Do you think we should let them run wild doing whatever they want without worrying about the effect their behavior might have on the crown?”
“We’ve raised our children well, dear. I’m just suggesting we give them a little leeway in deciding their own lives.”
“Are you saying we should let Chéri have her child without the benefit of marriage?” Alfred’s tone suggests how agitated he really is.
“No, I think Chéri should get married.”
“Then what is this all about?”
“This is about Geoffrey. Chéri says he likes a woman in Oregon, but he won’t get involved with her because he’s coming home in a couple of months.”
“If he’s not involved with her yet, what’s the problem?”
The queen counters by asking, “What if you’d listened to your parents when they suggested you not get involved with me?”
Alfred pulls his wife closer to his side. “It’s not the same.”
“Why? Because you say so?” Charlotte demands.
“Yes.” His tone is stern, but Charlotte knows she’s planted a seed in her husband’s mind. Now, to set the next part of her plan in motion while she waits to see if it takes root.
Geoffrey
Holy hell! I never expected Claire to embrace the terms of our agreement with such gusto. Truth be told, I had no intention of sleeping with her before I left Oregon. Don’t get me wrong. I planned on doing a lot of other fun stuff, but I was going to draw the line at consummating our friendship in quite that way.
Now she’s sitting in my living room all hurt that I won’t have my wicked way with her. What in the world do I do now? I light the flame under the fondue pot before cutting up chunks of French bread to dip into it. I’m tempted to go outside and stand in the freezing rain in hopes it will clear my head. But if I did that, I’d have to change my clothes and I think it’s for the best if all of my clothes stay on right now.
When I walk back into the living room with our supper, Claire is on the couch, looking like a schoolgirl who’s just gotten in trouble for passing notes in class. A fault line starts to form in my heart. While the fracture is small, it could turn into a chasm if I don’t make things right.
Forcing a lightness I don’t feel, I say, “Your dinner is served, madam.”
Claire smiles shyly. “What are we having?”
“Swiss cheese fondue,” I tell her. I’d originally thought it would be a sexy meal to get her in the mood for romance. I didn’t expect she’d already be in the mood before we ate. And dear God, we’re having chocolate fondue for dessert! No good can come from that.
“Geoffrey, are you sure you want me here?” Claire asks after I sit down next to her.
“Of course, I’m sure.” I can’t fault her for wondering though.
“I thought you might be reconsidering our arrangement. There wouldn’t be any hard feelings if you changed your mind.”
My mind is changing for sure, but not in the way Claire thinks. Instead of enjoying a bit of fun before I go home, I no longer think that will be enough. “Tell me how your parents met,” I say, changing the subject.
“My parents?” When I nod my head, she answers, “They met in college. My dad was a teacher’s aide in my mom’s technical writing class. Dad was getting his master’s degree and Mom was a sophomore.”
“I can’t see your mom taking a technical writing class,” I tell her.
She giggles. “She thought it would be an easy A. What she didn’t realize was that her love of flowery descriptions did not translate into technical writing. In fact, she was so bad at it she had to seek extra help which is how she and my dad wound up spending so much time together.”
“Did they start dating right away?” I ask, not only because I’m curious but talking about something other than us is a
good distraction.
“Not even close. Mom thought Dad was a total bore and she couldn’t wait for the end of the semester so she could switch out of the class.” Noting my confused expression, she explains, “When my mom was a junior, she had a little too much to drink one night and started to entertain a bar full of students by standing on a table and belting out Dolly Parton songs.”
I have no trouble envisioning Sharon doing such a thing. “And then what?” I prompt.
“My dad came into the bar and recognized her. Having had her as a student, he felt a sense of responsibility for her, so he stuck by her side and made sure she got home safely.”
“That’s very gallant,” I say. “Did they start dating after that?”
Claire shakes her heads. “No. My mom was so embarrassed that my dad saw her drunk, she made sure to avoid him at all costs. It wasn’t until her senior year, when dad was already working at an architecture firm, that they got together.”
I’m drawn into her story like I’m watching a good movie. I can see it all unfolding in my mind’s eye. “Don’t keep me hanging,” I tell her. “What happened?”
“Mom was on a date at a local Italian restaurant, and my dad was sitting a couple of tables over with some friends. According to my dad, Mom kept looking at him. When she got up to use the bathroom, he followed her.”
“And?”
“Again, this is my dad’s version,” she prefaces. “He says my mom came out of the bathroom, saw him waiting, and then threw herself at him.”
I start laughing. Nothing about this story surprises me, and I’m starting to think Claire may have inherited some of her mom’s impulsive nature. “What does your mom say happened?”
“She says my dad asked her out for months before she finally broke down and accepted one date out of pity.”
“Who do you believe?”
“My dad, for sure. He’s not a fabricator by nature. And as you know, my mom writes country western songs. The crazier the better.”
“I’d like to meet your dad sometime,” I tell her. When I see the startled look on her face, I add, “He sounds like a great guy.”
“How did your parents meet?”
“My mom’s family owned a floral shop that my grandmother used to patronize. My dad went with his mother once and saw my mom. I’m pretty sure it was love at first sight.”
While I’m telling her this, I wonder at the difference in my parents’ social standings. I know my mom’s family had some connection with my maternal grandmother’s side, but her father was in trade. How did my parents sell their match to my grandparents?
Then I think about Chéri and how she’s breaking the rules. For the first time ever, I seriously consider what would happen if I didn’t go home when I turned thirty like I said I would.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sharon
Sharon: I’m pretty sure Claire and the man from Malquar have started dating.
Tooty: Woot! That’s great news.
Sharon: Not if he’s still planning on going home.
Tooty: Maybe Claire is just enjoying a little slap and tickle.
Sharon: Yuck. I hate that saying.
Tooty: How about hot beef injection?
Sharon: That’s worse.
Tooty: Bumping uglies?
Sharon: This is why I’m the songwriter and you aren’t. You’ve got to use a little finesse.
Tooty: Okay, Yoda, what would you call it?
Sharon: Knockin’ boots, makin’ bacon, parallel parking, praying with your knees apart.
Tooty: LOL! You’re the master. But whatever you call it, do you think Claire knows what she’s doing?
Sharon: Not a chance. She’s a goody-goody to the core.
Tooty: I’m coming out in two weeks to see what’s going on for myself. I know we were hoping to go to Malquar, but I think Claire might need us more.
Sharon: I think you’re right, sister of mine.
Claire
Geoffrey is treating me like I’m a nun and he’s an altar boy. It’s been two weeks since we decided to have some fun together and all we’ve done is bowl, go to the movies, play miniature golf in the rain, and shoot skeet at a local gun club.
Not that we didn’t have fun. It’s just that every time I tried to snuggle up to him, he found some reason to pull away. The only concession he’s made to this puritanical behavior is our good night kiss. And boy howdy, what a kiss it is. Every time we engage in one, it lasts longer and gets more and more heated. If only I had another two months with him, I might just get what I’ve been after since our first date.
I startle out of my fog when my doorbell rings. Hurrying to the entryway, I check my reflection in the mirror before opening the door.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Geoffrey greets. “Are you ready for work?” We’ve been carpooling in the morning so my mom can have my car and Geoffrey and I can spend more time together.
“Just let me grab my purse.” I pick it up off the entry table and follow him outside.
By some unspoken agreement, neither one of us talks about how our time together is dwindling away. But every day that passes is like a death knell in my heart. Maybe Geoffrey was right about not letting our fun and games progress. As it is, I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to let him go.
Once we get into the car, I announce, “That big party is this weekend.”
“I can’t believe they’ve increased the size and changed the date to the same weekend of our next dating event.”
“You worried?” I tease.
“A little,” he confesses. “I don’t know who these people are, and I want to make sure to represent the lodge in the best possible light.”
“Their party planner is a little intense, but she’s a straight-shooter,” I tell him. She calls me every other day and while that would normally annoy me, I feel like we’ve developed a decent camaraderie. “She says her clients are lovely people.”
Geoffrey changes the subject. “Are you participating in the next dating event?”
“Would it matter if I was?” I’ve been a little prickly with Geoffrey on the subject of my future, his future, and our lack of future together.
“Are you or are you not planning on doing more than running it?” he demands before turning on the radio like he doesn’t want to hear the answer.
I turn the radio down. “If I do, I won’t accept any dates before you leave.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“I don’t really care how it makes you feel,” I snap. “I’m not the one leaving.”
“Claire …”
I don’t let him finish his sentence. “As you know, I’ve postponed my last two firemen dates. What more do you want from me?”
“I don’t want you to date anyone other than me,” he says with an edge to his voice.
“I’m not going to date anyone other than you until after you leave. You are leaving, right?”
Geoffrey inhales and exhales like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders before answering, “Yes, I’m leaving.”
“Well then, quit asking me about my dating life.” I sound as crabby as I feel.
Wisely changing topics again, Geoffrey asks, “Now that the party has asked for the ballroom, where are you going to put the mixer?”
“In the great room, by the fireplace,” I tell him. “We’ll set up family game night in the conference room for that night.”
“You want to meet later this afternoon to go over the final menus for the party? According to my notes, we’re serving them seven meals total.”
“Okay.” The energy in the car is intense right now and it has nothing to do with lodge business.
“I’m sorry,” Geoffrey announces.
“About what?”
“I’m sorry I’ve been acting territorial. You can date whomever you want, whenever you want.”
Ouch. I don’t say that though. In f
act, I don’t say anything. What did I think was going to happen? Did I think that Geoffrey would fall in love with me and let his family down by staying in Oregon?
I don’t know why he has to go home, but I’m afraid to ask. He’s clearly made up his mind about it. Also, I’m afraid the scenario I’ve concocted in my brain might not be the truth. I have an image of his parents as struggling farmers who can no longer work the family farm.
But what if that isn’t the case at all, and Geoffrey’s really moving home because he’d rather be there than here? The whole subject makes my heart ache.
When we get to the parking lot at the lodge, Geoffrey jumps out of the car as per normal and hurries around to open the door for me. This time he doesn’t take my hand and walk toward the entrance. Instead, once he helps me out, he stands still, blocking my path.
I try to push past him, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me with so much passion and promise, it’s like he’s a soldier going off to battle and he’s afraid he’ll never see me again.
My traitorous heart opens up to him and lets him kiss me for way too long before I pull back. “Why did you do that?”
“I want to do that every time we’re together, the whole time we’re together.”
“Then why don’t you?” I ask breathlessly, while leaning my forehead against his chin. I don’t have the courage it takes to look him in the eye.
“You know why.” His voice is mournful. He sounds sad, but I don’t feel sorry for him.
Instead, I push out of his embrace and say, “I’ll meet you in the dining room at two to go over menus.” Then I practically sprint toward the lodge without waiting for him.
“Claire Choate,” I tell myself, “you’ve really stepped in it this time, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”
My devil taps me on the shoulder and says, “It’s not over ’til it’s over, girl. Buck up and fight for what you want.”
It's My Party: A Royal Romantic Comedy (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 3) Page 19
