Chances & Choices (15 page)

The others saw the look and following one after the other they began to leave.
  Now, the door was closed and there was only the two of them.

Julian turned, his hand still on the doorknob, his other hand moved upwards loosening his cravat and the confining button at his throat.
  As his hand left the doorknob and he walked towards her, Claire swallowed and picking up some glasses turned away from him towards the bar.  Placing the glasses on the marble top, she wondered what was the matter with her.

Moments earlier, while the others were still here, she signalled him an unmistakable message.
  Yet now here she was shying away from him like a nervous filly.  Why, bridal jitters?  She stifled a giggle, the incongruity of the phrase seeming to come from another century.

But some things are elemental and do not change with time.
  As she heard him behind her and his warm breath fanned the back of her neck, faint shivers of apprehension flowed through her.  She felt his fingers at her hair removing the gardenia, and a brief pause told her he had held it to inhale it's fragrance before laying it on the bar.  His fingers returned to her hair freeing it from its coil.  He buried his face in it and then pushed aside it's silken heaviness to trail feather light kisses on her exposed nape.  She felt his head lift and his breathing deepened becoming less regular.

With a swiftness that made her gasp, she was turned towards him and crushed in an embrace which threatened to force the very breath from her body.
  All feelings of apprehension were swept from her as she felt her passion ignite with his.  His hand gripped her hair at the back of her head and his lips plundered hers with a hunger that thrilled her.

Then, as quickly as it had come, his passion was replaced by a quiet tenderness.
  His kisses gentle and seductive, his hands caressing her body slowly and lightly.  Claire felt only a brief longing for the loss of his fierceness before she felt the dawning of the slow fire his gentleness always aroused.

Slowly, she undid the buttons of his shirt, running her fingers provocatively across his bare chest.
  His hands stopped their arousal and with his lips still teasing her own, he undid the bows of her dress, releasing both sides in unison.  They parted, allowing the fabric to fall, and then they were together, warm flesh against warm flesh, the gentle abrasiveness of his skin and the tickling of his chest hair bringing her nipples to a state of arousal.  Tenderly, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her towards the bedroom, as if she were as fragile as the single bloom that lay forgotten upon the bar.

The bedroom was illuminated with moonlight, casting shadows here and there around the room.
  Julian lowered her to the bed and his head darkened all sight, as he kissed her once more.  Then his hands dealt deftly with her dress and then his jacket and shirt.  He alternated with first one of her garments and then one of his own, until their clothes lay intermingled upon the floor, echoing their own intertwining upon the bed.

With lips and hands they explored one another, whispering endearments and professions of love.
 Claire knew Julian controlled their lovemaking as carefully as he had controlled their courtship, but for the moment, she rejoiced in his control, because she knew that in the end it brought them both to a sweet fulfilment.  Later, when she slept it was with the deep, easy sleep of the untroubled.

Julian lay beside her, his arms behind his head, a feeling of deep contentment washing over him.
  Claire murmured in her sleep and snuggled closer to him.  Removing one arm from its resting place, he encircled her and drew her close.  Turning slightly he gazed at her cool, pristine beauty, her hair almost silver in the moonlight.

A faint frown disturbed his features.
  He had been unprepared for that swift passion that almost overwhelmed him as they stood in the outer room.  But unexpected as it was, he managed to bank it; to thrust it back into the recesses of himself where he felt it belonged.  Why he felt it belonged there seemed immaterial.  Their love, his and Claire's, had been sweetly consummated, so he saw no reason to analyze further.

The frown disappeared.
  Julian was content.

His growing successful business, his familiar circle of friends, his love for Claire.
 These were all things he could understand and control, or so at this time it seemed to him.  Settling down in the bed, he joined Claire in her untroubled sleep.

The week that followed would always exist in Claire's memory as faintly dreamlike infused with almost magical qualities.
  Julian had planned for their wedding and he made sure that if his plans came to their present happy conclusion his business would survive without his presence for the week.

A few words with Stella the next morning and Claire was reassured that the magazine could spare her for the next five working days.
  Had anyone asked Claire how she spent her honeymoon, apart from the obvious; she would have been unable to tell them.  She knew she was in Las Vegas and she knew she was with Julian.

When they didn't order room service, they ate in quiet intimate restaurants and snuggled in the corners of darkened bars.
  They saw a couple of shows and spent an evening or two at the casino.  Julian had stood with Claire as she played the fast-moving game of craps, delighted by the sparkle in her eyes brought out by the excitement of the game.

Lounging against the table, a possessively indulgent light in his eyes, he watched her shake the dice in both hands and after a blow for luck send them hurtling down the green baize of the table to crash against the other end and roll perfectly into the hard-eight everyone had been calling for.
 He had stiffened once when someone placed the unpopular and often thought to be jinxed bet of 'Don't Pass', but had relaxed with a proud smile when her next roll revealed the five she had been waiting for, and not the seven which would have broken her winning streak.

The next night Claire had stood beside Julian at the baccarat table.
  Her stance, had she known it, was similar to that of the stunning redhead who stood beside him on the night of Claire's arrival.  But this night, it was not his companion Julian gazed at absently, but the card game.

Many an eye was turned towards the striking couple as they whispered endearments to one another, her golden head bent to his dark one.
  When Julian left the game, unperturbed that he had lost a small fortune, his arm encircling Claire's waist, few around them were able to suppress a knowing smile.

On the last night, they planned to see another show.
  Julian was idly feeding silver dollars into one of the slot machines, while he waited for Claire, who was collecting a piece of jewellery from their hotel safety deposit box.  Upon her return, she crept up to his seated figure and placed a kiss on his unsuspecting nape.

Slowly swivelling round in his stool, he had taken her in his arms, oblivious to the money the slot machine was spewing forth.
  They returned to the suite, the show they planned to see unimportant and forgotten.

Finally and reluctantly, they boarded the plane that carried them back to Los Angeles.
  They took a cab to Claire's apartment, collected some of her things and drove to the beach-house in her car.  Despite the warm night, Julian lit a fire and they sat cuddled in front of it sipping liqueurs and listening to the crash of the surf against the rocks.  Later they went to bed, making love once more, before falling asleep in each other's arms.

The next morning, they showered and dressed with an efficiency increased by the use of separate bathrooms.
  They made breakfast, and ate with a methodical swiftness.  After a brief kiss of parting, they drove off to their respective places of business in their respective cars.  The honeymoon was over.

"Tut-tut, Mrs. West, you're late."

Greg clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock reproof.  Claire grimaced at him and flopped into her chair behind her desk.

"The traffic was awful.
  I didn't realise how far it was from the beach-house to here."  She looked at her watch.  "Not bad, though, only ten minutes.  I'll just have to leave earlier in future."

Greg gave an exaggerated sigh.
  "Ah, yes, the banes of married life.  But..." he added with a cheeky grin.  "…no doubt you'll find it has it's compensations."

Claire threw him a dampening look, but his grin only widened.

"Ignore him, Claire."  Mary-Jane looked up from her desk, adding her own disapproval to Claire's.

"Yes, ignore me, I'm just jealous," he offered, sending a look over to Mary-Jane that was meant to impart soulful meaning, but which only succeeded in making him look like a lost puppy.
  He looked so ridiculous that, with one look at each other, Claire and Mary-Jane burst out laughing.  Things were definitely back to normal thought Claire.  The time she had spent in Las Vegas with Julian seemed a million miles away.

Greg's use of her married name had seemed strange.
 She had been called Mrs. West all last week by the hotel staff, so it wasn't as if she were hearing it for the first time.  It was just that here in the office, and coming from Greg, it seemed somehow out of place.  Claire shrugged; she was being silly and Greg would go back to calling her Claire, as usual, once he had exhausted the teasing mileage from her marriage.

"Did my article go in Thursday's issue?"

"Naturally, Stella would never let a chance like that slip past."  Mary-Jane answered drily.

Claire looked at her blankly.
  "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Claire.
  How often can someone read a profile with a romantic slant, written by the woman the guy just happens to be spending his honeymoon with?  We had to go into second
and
third print and the website crashed regularly all week!"

Claire turned white and then mumbled.
  "Well, I'm glad it did well."  A romantic slant, she hadn't realised.  She'd have to read it again.

"You bet it did well.
  Let me tell you, it's a hard act to follow."  Greg considered before adding outrageously.  "Hey, do you think if I went all out, I could persuade Jenni Roberts to marry me before the next issue?"

The two women looked at each other, nodded in silent agreement, and threw their pencils at him.

"Hey, no fair," he claimed as he ducked, the pencils flying by him.  "Two against one."

"I'll tell you what's not fair."
  Claire laughed.  "Us having to put up with you, that's what.  Can't you find something to do in the darkroom?"

Greg and Mary-Jane looked puzzled and then Mary-Jane said.
  "That's right.  You don't know.  We graduated to our own staff photographer last week.  We don't have to put up with Greg's amateurish efforts anymore."

"Amateurish!
 How dare you."  Greg attempted to look offended without much success.  He would be the first to admit that he was a much better writer than photographer.

"Good.
  It's about time.  Who is it, somebody local?"

"No, another import, like us."
  Mary-Jane answered.  "Actually, he claims to know you quite well."

"Really, I wonder who ...”
   Claire's stomach somersaulted and her pulse began to beat a tattoo.  It couldn't be; it had to be.  There was only one photographer from head office who could make that claim.  But how could it be, he always vowed he'd never leave New York.  Seemingly from a distance, she heard Greg's voice.

"Yeh, you know anybody called Richard Blake?"

"Did I hear my name mentioned?"

Claire's eyes swung to the door from where the familiar New York twang had come.
  Everything went out of focus, Richard's figure swimming in front of her.  Why?  Why now the word echoed in her brain.  Why now, when it was too 1...  Claire refused to finish the thought.  She shook her head and thankfully the room righted itself and she saw Richard walking towards her desk.

He hadn't changed.
  Why should he have, it's only been eleven weeks.  Was that all - it seemed like a lifetime ago.  He was just as tall as she remembered, and he moved with the same animal stealth she had always found so exciting.  There was still that thick thatch of blond hair, those sensual features and the full sensual mouth.  And looking at her, with a purpose which made her swallow convulsively, were those eyes.  Those eyes, which had always been the bluest she had ever seen.

"Hello, Claire.
  Surprised to see me?  You shouldn't be."  He bent over, leaning either hand on her desk and brought his lips down on hers in a kiss, which to the startled eyes of the other two, lasted a little too long and was a little too passionate.  And then for her ears only, he whispered.  "You didn't really think I'd let you get away from me, did you?"

Didn't he know she was married!
 Twisting her rings, she informed him of the fact.  He stared down at the gems on her fingers with disdain.  Perching on her desk, he played with her paperweight.

"Yeh, I heard.
  I guess I could congratulate you, but I don't think I'll bother."