Chances & Choices (11 page)

She told him curtly.
 "It records our conversation, not my observations or thoughts."

Despite the curtness of her reply Julian smiled, his irritation disappearing.
 He shifted in the chair, his pose relaxed, his body turned slightly to the side, one arm along the back of the chair, his foot resting on the table between them.  Claire sat up straighter as if to compensate for his pose, set off balance by the light in his eyes and the smile on his lips, which seemed to suggest that there was something intimate about her writing her thoughts and observations about him on a notepad he couldn't see.  Fixing him with a cool glance, she continued in a professional manner.

Her attitude had little effect on Julian, he continued to eye her seductively and when she carried the interview into his methods of business, commenting on the fact that he still did all of the designing and most of the merchandising himself without relying on assistants, he answered.

"Yes, I always have.  At the time the business expanded, I was glad of the extra work involved and now, I guess it's become a habit.  There's really no reason for me to work less." He paused.  "If I were to marry again it might be different.  My wife might prefer me to work shorter hours and spend more time with her.  Don't you think?"

He posed the question in a matter of fact tone as if she were indeed the stranger she was pretending to be, but his eyes were dancing, offering an unmistakable invitation to flirt.
 Claire refused to rise to his bait.  Not deigning to favour him with an answer, she scribbled something unintelligible on her pad.  Then, standing smartly, she slipped the strap of the recorder over her shoulder and moved into the main studio area, asking him to explain his designing procedure.

Julian moved more leisurely, enjoying the view afforded him by her movements ahead of him.
 The shining chignon at the back of her head enticed him like a ball of golden thread he longed to unwind.  From behind, the suit was less businesslike, the flattering cut shaping the curve of her back, tapering to her waist.  The skirt flowed over her hips, the soft curves of her bottom gently spreading the pleats as she walked.  She turned, catching him admiring her and her eyes softened to pewter before returning to slate grey.

Claire mastered her reaction to his admiring gaze, resisting the urge to soften to him.
 She was here to do a job, not make eyes at him.  To make up for her lapse, and with the intention of dispersing his intimate attitude, she strove for a more impersonal attitude of her own.  She found this a difficult task.  As they moved through the different areas of the studio, she became increasingly aware of his masculine body beside her

At the drafting table, he brushed against her as he turned on the fluorescent light attached to it so she could view the sketches which ranged from conception of a garment to the finished design.
 The slight contact made her feel a little light-headed and she moved back, setting a distance between them.  His eyes questioned slightly, but he didn't comment, merely answering her inquiries about the sketches.

At the mannequin, he explained how he preferred to use the draping method of pattern making and Claire tried to ignore the casual way his hands touched the replica of the female form.

At the work table, where the rolls of fabric lay, she asked why he used these instead of sample swatches, and he told her he preferred to see a quantity of material so he could observe how it fell, demonstrating by draping the fabric in what seemed to Claire a sensuous action.

Sensuous?

Yes, he was.  In the way he held himself, in the way he moved, in the deep timbre of his voice and most of all, in the rich tones of his laughter.  Claire felt a longing to hear the sound of it and she had to struggle to avoid making a comment which would amuse him.

Her eyes travelled over the chocolate brown two-piece suit he wore.
  It was impeccably cut and of the best style, covering his form just closely enough to suggest the muscled strength beneath and she was aware once more of the latent virility expressed by his business clothes.

His shirt was a soft peach, contrasting with the thin tie of the same colour and material as the suit. She liked to see men wear shirts in soft colours like peach and pink, the delicacy of shade somehow managing to emphasize their masculinity.

She noticed he was due a haircut and idly wished he would choose a less restrictive style so the rebellious waves, which were kept clipped as close as possible, could be allowed to curl over his ears and around his nape as they did now.

Her observation of his hair reminded her that less than forty-eight hours ago she had been entwining her fingers in those self-same curls, and she took her eyes from him, placing them on the fabrics they were discussing.

Just as she had for her previous lapse, she compensated by becoming more impersonal and efficient.  She thought she was succeeding quite well, and Julian had accepted her setting of the mood, because he maintained a distance between them and kept his answers as short and as professional as her questions.

But later, as they were observing the model some distance in front of them who was displaying one of Julian's prototypes, he broke off his explanations of how this was the final test of his garment, as Claire favoured him with a particularly cool look.
 Moving around to stand behind her, he switched off her recorder and at the same time kissed her ear, employing his tongue in a particularly erotic manner that turned Claire quite red.  She heard his low chuckle, the sound of it disturbing her composure even more.  When he spoke, satisfaction was evident in his voice.

"Now that's much better.
 Come on, Claire, we're hardly strangers, so why act like it?"

Recovering her composure, she fixed him with what she hoped was a frosty glare, and said.
 "I'm aware of that, but I'm here in a professional capacity, kindly remember that."

The irritation in his eyes was very slight, mixed as it was with amusement.
 "I know you are, but you're overdoing it and it's quite dangerous."

She attempted to straighten further, but found it impossible she was already ramrod stiff, so she had to be content with increasing the frostiness of her gaze and tone.

"Dangerous?"

"Yes, dangerous.
 I'm tempted to take steps to shatter your image completely."

He walked away from her, not giving her the chance to reply, an action for which Claire was quite grateful, considering she was speechless.
 Julian picked up where he had left off in his explanations as if the incident had never taken place.  Claire followed his cue, switching her recorder back on, but she ignored his warning, carrying her act so far that in the next few minutes she called him Mr. West.

She felt like biting her tongue as soon as it was out, Julian's look telling her she had gone too far.
 She swallowed as he immediately dismissed the model, escorting the young woman to the studio door.  Allowing her to make her own way across the hall to the storage and dressing room on the other side, he closed and quite deliberately locked the door after her.

To her dismay, Claire found it impossible to stand her ground as he advanced, purposefully, towards her.
 He made no move to stop her as she backed away from him, but he moved steadily closer until they were only inches apart, Claire's retreat cut off by the drafting table pressed against her back.  His hand reached up and she couldn't stop the whispered exclamation which passed from her lips.

"Julian, you can't!"

Instead of touching her, he reached behind her and flicked off the fluorescent light, his voice holding the impersonal tone she had struggled to maintain throughout the past few hours.

"Can't what?
 Take you for an early lunch.  Why not?  We can avoid the rush that way."

Claire tried unsuccessfully not to glare at him, furious that she had been so ably fooled.
 Julian rubbed it in mercilessly by asking her.

"What else did you think I had in mind?"

She tossed her head and smoothed her skirt.  "Nothing, of course."

His smile was sardonic as he moved to the side, extending his hand in a gesture that indicated she should precede him.
 "Of course.  Shall we go, Ms. Fitzpatrick?"

Claire nodded curtly, before walking quickly across the room to collect her purse; trying not to flounce, fully conscious of him only a few steps behind her.
 She reached the door the model had left through, yanking at it, cursing herself for forgetting it was locked when it wouldn't budge.  She heard Julian stifle a laugh behind her before she clicked the lock open and exited without so much as a backward glance.

The door passed only inches from his face before it slammed in front of him separating him from Claire.
 She was surprised when he didn't follow her out, hearing instead the click of the lock.  When he didn't appear in the next few minutes, she began to wonder if she had angered him.  She hadn't even looked to see if he was close to the door or not; she supposed she could have hurt him.

Her guilt disappeared when he came out of the reception office and it was brought home to her how easily he had duped her back in the studio.
  If he really intended carrying out his threat he would have locked the door leading to the office as well.  Silently fuming, she stabbed at the elevator button as he joined her.  Lounging with one shoulder against the wall, he eyed her, quietly, while they waited for the elevator.  Claire stabbed at it again, when it didn't arrive at once, refusing to meet his gaze.

"You know your trouble, Claire, you can't take your own medicine."
 His voice was still amused holding no reproach.

She looked at him quickly.
 “What do you mean?"

"If you had come here today determined to flirt, you would have expected me to play along, but because I'm the one who initiated it, you're annoyed."

Claire refused to accept his assessment of the situation.  "That's not why.  It's because I'm here to work, not play.  Besides, why should you bother to flirt with me when you're pretty, little secretary is so good at it?"

The comment slipped out before Claire could stop it and she was grateful the elevator arrived at that moment, so she could step in to avoid his deep, knowing amusement.
 He followed her in, leaning against one wall, pulling her towards him, telling her.

"Honey, she's not even in your league when you put your mind to it," and then his lips came down on her own.

His comment and his slow, drugging kiss dispelled her annoyance and she participated equally in the embrace.  The hand that did not hold her purse moved up to his shoulder and then to his hair, her fingers encurling the waves she had wanted to touch in the studio.  She was so immersed in the kiss, she didn't hear the doors open, and she didn't part from him until she heard an embarrassed cough.

Blushing furiously, she walked between the two men who had observed the kiss, Julian following.
 They were out on the street, the heat of the day hitting them, before she looked up to find him completely unperturbed.

"You're not the least bit embarrassed, are you?"

"Why should I be?  It was only a kiss.”

"You really don't mind being caught in a clinch like a couple of teenagers?"

He stopped and looked down at her face from which the flush was only now beginning to recede.  "Foolishness is acceptable in others as well as the young.  It's forgiven in three categories.  Youth, fools...and lovers."

Claire drew her eyes away from his intent gaze, mumbling, as they began walking again.
 "We're not really lovers, not in the complete sense."

"The term encompasses a lot more than just sex," was his rather dry answer.

They didn't speak again until they were in the entrance of the restaurant and Claire asked him softly.

"Are we lovers, Julian?
 You've never actually told me you love me, only intimated it.

"Maybe that's because I'd like to be sure I'll hear you say it back when I do," he said, neatly landing the ball back in her court.

She was saved from replying as the hostess arrived at that moment and once seated, their conversation turned to other matters.  Claire was not to forget his challenge, however, and in the end it was to prove unnecessary.  Because, when the time came, it was she who would be the first to say the words.

When they returned to the office after a leisurely lunch, Delia was bent over papers.
 She hardly looked up when they entered and Julian sent her only the most perfunctory of glances.  Claire felt just a little silly.

Over lunch they had conversed amiably and their mood was familiar, lacking tension or coolness.
 Walking into the middle of the studio, she didn't notice he clicked the lock softly behind him.  Stretching elegantly to dispel the lethargy created by the delicious and large meal she had eaten, she undid the buttons of her jacket.

"Phew, it's hot in here.
 Don't you have air-conditioning?"

Removing his jacket and draping it over one of the straight-backed chairs, he answered her inquiry.
 "Yes, but it's on low.  It's old and if I turn it up higher the noise tends to get on my nerves.  I'll turn it up if you want," unbuttoning his cuffs and turning them up over his forearms as he made the offer.