Catching Claire (4 page)

Ridge’s brown eyes softened. “What happened?”

“My father took off when I was one. My mom raised my
sister and me alone for a few years.”

“I’m sorry, Claire. That sucks. Did he ever
return?”

She shook her head. For years, like many kids in
similar situations, she’d blamed herself. She must have done
something wrong. She must have
made
him leave.

Finally, thanks to numerous talks with her strong,
loving mother, she’d realized her father’s disappearance from her
life was
his
failing, not hers.

She drew in a breath. “For all we know, he fell off
a cliff somewhere. Support payments stopped two years after he
left. By then my mom had met her second husband, so she was just as
happy not to keep tracking our bio-father down. Neil—the man she
married—adopted my sister and me. I wasn’t born a
Merriweather.”

“Who were you born as?”

“Claire Smith. I know, boring. But I don’t remember
my biological father at all. Neil’s my dad.”

“Still, it must be rough, not knowing where your
bio-dad is.” Fargone’s neck and head wove between Ridge’s strong,
splayed fingers.

“It is. Single parent families are practically the
norm these days, and it’s common knowledge that most marriages
don’t work out. It hurts that he dropped out of our lives that way.
For a long time, I felt majorly insecure.”

“To hell with him,” Ridge said.

She smiled. “To hell and back
ten
times. In
the end, his leaving made me stronger. My sister and I have a
little brother from Neil and my mom, and he’s great. Blended or
not, they’re my family. I want that feeling of security for my own
children someday.”

Ridge nodded. “Family is more about how a group of
people treats each other than being related by blood. Ruth taught
me that.”

“You’re smart for someone so young.”

“And you’re old?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

“Ah, a cougar.” He nudged her arm. “I bet you could
teach me a few things.”

“Maybe I already have.” Her heart beat against her
ribs. “You’re sure we didn’t kiss last night?”

“I wish. Like I said then, I don’t take advantage of
drunk women.” Getting up, he gently unwound the snake from his arm
and placed it carefully on top of the hiding cave in its tank. As
Ridge secured the lid on the tank, the snake slipped back into its
cave.

Claire stood up, too. “I’m not drunk now.”

“You’re half-dressed.”

“Look who’s talking.” Stepping forward, she glided
her palms over his washboard abs. “If you can restrain yourself
from taking it beyond a kiss, so can I.” Jumping his bones while
her hangover lurked was not in her plans.

“God, Claire.” He folded her into a snug embrace.
She curved her arms around his warm waist and looked up. Eyes as
dark as French roast coffee beans gazed down at her. His arousal
made itself known against the bathrobe covering her belly. “Ignore
that,” he whispered.

As if she could.

He lowered his lips to hers. The kiss began slow and
sweet. Her skin hummed and her nipples tightened as he skimmed his
tongue along her lips. The kiss deepened, and her heart fluttered.
How had this happened to her? The girl the kids in high school had
called Mousey Claire wanted to throw caution aside, forget what her
friends might think about her hooking up with the hot guy from the
bachelorette party, and go for it.

Physically, emotionally, in every way.

With one last tender sweeping of lips, Ridge broke
the kiss. Brushing her hair back from her face, he said in a gruff
voice, “You have somewhere to go.”

Claire cleared her throat. “The dress fitting.” She
was the maid of honor. She couldn’t crap out on Tanya. “Alicia’s
waiting.” And probably growing more worried by the second, despite
Claire’s door note.

Or more likely because of it.

“Forget Alicia. I’ll drive you. We can have lunch
afterward.”

She’d love that. “I need my clothes.” She’d left a
change of panties as well as a clean top and socks at Alicia’s.
Then there were her jeans and everyday shoes.

“Take a shower if you want,” Ridge said. “I’ll dress
and grab your stuff. I need to throw my wash into the laundry,
anyway.”

“Your basket’s still downstairs?” What if someone
had stolen it because of
her
antics? She’d never drink
again.

He grinned as if he’d read her thoughts. “I’ll never
regret meeting you, Claire.”

“I’ll never regret throwing myself at you.”

“I’ll never regret catching you.”

“
I’ll
never regret what will happen later
tonight.”

“Will?”

“Definitely.” If she had her way.

He kissed her. “No regrets.”

~*~

Ridge dressed in jeans and a clean T-shirt before
visiting the laundry. He dumped detergent onto his stripping
costumes in the washing machine closest to where he’d met
Claire.

After, he rode the elevator to the fourth floor, a
grin splitting his face. He couldn’t believe he’d volunteered to
take a woman to a bridesmaid dress fitting. Not his usual Saturday
agenda. However, Claire wasn’t just any woman. She intrigued him on
more levels than he’d experienced in months. He didn’t care if her
promise of “later tonight” materialized or not. Well, he
cared
. After all, he was a guy. But he wanted to enjoy more
than sex with Claire. Despite only knowing her a few hours, he felt
a strange connection to her. It electrified and excited him.

The elevator dinged his arrival. Leaving the
compartment, he strolled toward Alicia Maxwell’s apartment. A new
message on the small whiteboard announced: “Cupcake emergency!
Sorry, C. Meet you at the salon. Lacey has your stuff.”

Ridge stepped across the hall and knocked. The
blonde who’d brought a man to last night’s bachelorette party
answered. A yawning dachshund stretched behind her bare feet.

“Hey.” Ridge waved. “Lacey, is it? Ridge Pederson.
The dancer from the party.”

She blinked, and tiny lines of tiredness feathered
around her eyes. Apparently, Claire wasn’t the only partygoer who’d
enjoyed a late night.

“Oh, right.” Lacey’s gaze lit up. “Claire’s friend.
I didn’t recognize you without your, um, costume.” The dog nosed
between the legs of her jeans. She blocked the canine with her
shins. “Back off, Spazz,” she admonished the animal. To Ridge, she
said, “I’m watching him for Alicia.” To the dog again, “And he’d
better not
steal my lingerie samples this time.”

Ridge wiped his hands on his butt. “There’s a note
on Alicia’s door that you have Claire’s stuff.”

Lacey nodded. “Just a minute.” Tugging the dog
inside, she closed the door. When the door opened again, the dog’s
barking carried from another room. “Everything’s in here,” she said
as she handed Ridge two big bags. “Claire’s clothes from the party,
a change for today, her purse, jacket, and shoes. Alicia said to
remind her not to forget the purple sandals for the fitting. They
match her dress.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“Also, Claire should check her phone. I didn’t want
to snoop in her purse, but her cell has rung ten times in the last
hour. It’s driving me nuts.”

“Gotcha.”

Lacey closed the door an inch. Her gaze narrowed.
“You treat her right,” she warned.

Ridge stepped back. “I intend to.”

“Don’t let your hot dancing turn her head. She
deserves the best.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her. I
haven’t.
”

Lacey’s chin tipped up. “What about last night?”

“I’m not a barbarian. She slept it off at my place,
that’s all.”

“In the babydolls I made for her, I hope. Unless she
slept it off nude.”

“
Yes
, in the babydolls.”

“Good. Because, well, you had some sexy moves at the
party.”

“I’m a dancer. We’re supposed to have moves.” He
didn’t owe her further explanation.

Lacey grinned. “Excellent. Have a great day!” The
door shut.

Ridge shook his head. A woman no older than Claire
had just ripped into him like a mother toting a shotgun. However,
considering Claire’s offbeat behavior in the laundry room, he
couldn’t blame her friend for acting protective.

He rode the elevator to his dad’s apartment. As he
entered, Claire exited the bathroom with her hair wrapped in a
towel and Ridge’s robe tied around her lush curves. Her shower had
rinsed the makeup off her face, and faint shadows dusted the
delicate skin beneath her eyes.

She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He gave
her the bags.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “Did Alicia hassle you?”

“She wasn’t home. Something about cupcakes. You’re
to meet her at the salon.”

“I hope nothing’s wrong at her shop. How’d you get
my stuff?”

“Lacey had it. She said your cell’s been
ringing.”

Claire carried the bags to the couch. She dug into
the fullest one, produced her purse, and retrieved her phone.
“Yikes, text city. I’ll check those first.” Before she could access
her texts, the cell rang. She shot him a look. “It’s Tanya.”

Claire answered, and an agitated female voice echoed
over the phone. Claire’s face paled.

“What?” Ridge mouthed.

Lowering the phone to her hip, Claire murmured, “I’m
late. Tanya’s mother changed the time of the fitting.” The turban
towel tilted on her head.

Tanya’s voice whined over the cell, “Claire, my
dress is awful! It hangs on me! Why aren’t you here when I need
you? I depend on—” Her voice cut off. “Mom!”

An older female voice commandeered the speaker.
“Claire Merriweather, where
are
you? Tardiness does not
befit a maid of honor. My dear, you are
unreliable
.”

Claire gasped. She returned the phone to her ear.
The towel sagged. “The fitting was at twelve, Mrs. Helms. Tanya
confirmed it last night.” The towel unraveled and fell to the
floor. Groaning, Claire stooped to retrieve it, and the cell popped
off her ear.

The voice of Tanya’s mother hissed into the
apartment, “Thanks to you and those monster drinks, Tanya was
intoxicated
. She confirmed the
wrong
time. You should
have checked with me. How many times have I told you?”

Leaving the towel, Claire lifted the phone to her
ear again. “I’m sorry for the mix-up, Mrs. H. I’ll be there as soon
as I can.” Worry carving her face, she hung up.

Ridge placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just how deep
is the do-do?”

“Grand Canyon deep,” she wailed.

“Aw, Claire.” Heart squeezing, he pulled her into
his arms and stroked her wet hair.

~*~

Thirty minutes later, the roar of the old motorcycle
rumbling through her body, Claire relaxed her hold around Ridge’s
waist as he maneuvered the noisy machine into the last unclaimed
parking spot near Bettina’s Bridal Couture. Letting out a breath,
she peeled her fingertips off the soft leather vest he’d donned
while she’d ducked into the bathroom to toss on the clothes he’d
brought and drag a comb through her soggy hair. When she’d emerged
wearing her green jacket and jeans, Ridge had presented her with a
motorcycle helmet. The blood had drained from her face on the spot.
Now, however, the shot of adrenaline she’d experienced during the
ride from Rosewood morphed into a strong surge of pride. Not only
had she survived the thrill of her first motorcycle ride, they’d
made decent time.

“Can I take off my helmet?” she asked as he planted
a boot on the pavement and silenced the motorcycle.

Flipping up his visor, he glanced back. “Wait until
you climb off. I’ll keep the bike steady.” He gripped the front
handles.

“Okey-doke.” Claire remained in her seat. “Uh,
how
do I get off?”

“Balance your left foot on the peg.” He pressed both
boots firmly on the ground. “Swing your other leg over the seat and
dismount. Watch out for traffic—and the hot exhaust pipe.”

Claire followed his instructions. The motorcycle
barely wobbled.

Moving onto the sidewalk of the busy Belltown
street, she tugged off the helmet. Ridge set the kickstand and
dismounted the bike. His amused glance slid her way.

“What?” Claire peeked into the motorcycle’s side
mirror. “Crap!” At the apartment, she hadn’t thought to ask to
borrow a blow-dryer. Tanya’s mother’s righteous ire had wiped all
but the most basic of grooming needs from her mind. Ever since
Claire and Tanya had met in kindergarten, Mrs. H.’s steely gaze and
firm mouth had unsettled Claire. The woman didn’t know how to
relax. In her presence, neither did Claire.

“You look cute,” Ridge said, still wearing his
helmet. “Just run a comb through it.”

Cute?
Stringy waves plastered her skull. She
looked like a swamp rat.

She thrust her helmet at him, rushed to the carrier
at the rear of the motorcycle, and yanked free the bungee cord
holding her purse. As Ridge slung her helmet over a front handle,
she pawed through the purse. Her throat tightened.

No comb! No brush! No freaking hair pick!

He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll go in with you.”

“You don’t want to do that.” Really, he was too
much. Too kind, too sweet, too hot and handsome.

She plunked her purse on the motorcycle seat.
Hunching in front of the mirror, she combed her tangled mop with
her fingers. Not her best look, but it would have to do.

“It’s my fault you’re late.” Ridge yanked off his
helmet and raked a hand through his hair. It stood up in sexy
spikes. “Now we both have helmet head.”

Claire laughed. She liked him so much. Just
twenty-four hours ago, she hadn’t imagined they’d spend the
afternoon together.

What other delights would the weekend hold in
store?

“Isn’t there someplace else you’d rather be?” Most
men would rather chew sawdust than attend a bridal fitting.