Chances & Choices (31 page)

"I told you the truth about that, because I was mad at you.  Maybe it was juvenile, but I'm glad I did it.  I think an evening in his company and then coming home to you, made me realise who I really loved.  You told me love could grow slowly.  You were right, but it doesn't stop growing.  It grows in stages, each stage deeper and more intense than the last."

Claire did not look at him, her experiences of deepening love engrossing her.
 She did not see the expression that crossed his features; if she had, she would have known she was not alone in her experiences.

"I was growing more and more sexually attracted to you and I think the incident acted as a catalyst, pushing me into a deeper stage of loving you.
 When I came home it was all I could do to keep my hands off you."

She sat up, the memory of that night fresh in her mind.
 "And while we're on the subject, I think you owe me an apology.  That was a rotten thing to do."

“I thought you enjoyed it."

Claire blushed,  "I did, but it was still rotten.  You had no right to manipulate me.  Once I realised what you were up to, I was furious."

"I remember.
 Come on, Claire, I couldn’t turn a blind eye to your behaviour over Blake – would you really have been happy if I let it go?"

Claire was too embarrassed to meet his eyes, but she had the grace to shake her head, remembering her disappointment at his seeming indifference in the elevator that afternoon.
 Another memory from her thoughts at that time made her realise, with a start, just how close to her fantasy his response turned out to be - even if it wasn’t her
own
name his passionate assault made her forget.

 
“Okay, fine.  I guess I was out of line,” she admitted grudgingly.  But then added reprovingly, “I really liked that nightgown!  It was vintage!”

He laughed, clearly devoid of any remorse.
 “You shouldn’t have used it to challenge me, then.  You know, honey, you do have a tendency towards tantrums.  It can be entertaining and I do admit, I indulged it as your friend, but I won’t as your husband – you ought to keep that in mind for the future.”  He leaned closer to her, his voice changing from teasing to a low seductive whisper. “Besides, you may have felt and acted indignant, but your body betrayed you – I could tell that my ‘strong arm tactics’ actually impressed you.”

Claire flushed hotly as much from desire as embarrassment.

He straightened and taking a deep breath, his voice became serious. “Look, Claire, I am not proud of it, but you need to know.  I’m naturally jealous, unreasonably so – it’s something I’ve always struggled with - the last thing I need is any encouragement from you.” 

Claire dropped her head and said nothing.
 He tipped up her chin and she met his eyes.  “No more games.  Agreed?”  She nodded and he sat back satisfied with her silent remorse.

He took a sip of his coffee and then his voice dropped to a low, gentle tone. “I wasn’t manipulating you, Claire.
  I did it to prove to you that I’m as capable of arousing your passion as much as any other man.”

The coffee in his mug appeared to hold a fascination for him once more.
 

"If it's any consolation, it backfired.
 Not so much at the time, but the next day when it dawned on me that your response was due to more than my sexual prowess."  There was a note of self-mockery in these last words, but his next words were spoken huskily.  "It made me aware of the depth of your feelings."

Claire drew in her breath.
 So that was what started him running.  That and the kiss the next morning.  Richard was just an excuse to withdraw.  An excuse to himself more than to her.

Sensing a slight tension in the air, she abandoned the subject.
 The admission was probably as far as he was prepared to go at present, and she had no desire to upset the gentle truce that was growing between them.  However, she did want to settle the subject of Richard.

"Julian, since then Richard has left me cold.
 I really feel nothing for him except perhaps repugnance.  When he tried to force himself on me last night..."

"What!"

She jumped as his mug was slammed down.  She didn't waste any time observing that now she had really seen him blazing mad, she was only grateful that the murder in his eyes was not directed at her.  As he sprang up, his words supported the look.

"I'll kill him!"

Claire blanched.  This was no figure of speech, at this precise moment, he really meant it.  Thank goodness he had no idea where Richard lived.  By the morning his fury should have abated.  A lot sooner than that, if she had anything to do with it.  Right now, he was still in the grip of it.

Striding over to the kitchen phone, he searched through the contacts menu.
 When it didn't provide what he was looking for, he searched again.  Successful this time, he punched in the code.  Concerned, Claire stood up.

"Who are you calling?"

"Mary-Jane, she'll tell me his address.  I didn't think there was much point in asking you.  You never have been interested in revenge."

"Julian, he could charge you with assault."

"He won't be able to do anything ever again when I'm through with him."

"Oh great, I've always wanted to be a jail-widow."

Thankfully; he was receiving no answer.  Hanging up the phone, he glared at it as if he wished it were human, so he could injure it.  Then he began searching through the menu again.  She watched as he made two more futile phone calls and then he leaned back against the counter, his hands resting on the edge, as he glowered at her.

Placing her hands on her hips, she challenged him.

"What are you going to do now?  Beat it out of me?"

"Don't tempt me!
 You've got it coming!  You should have told me last night, as soon as I got home!"

She ignored his last comment, answering his veiled threat.
 "Come on Julian.  I don't care how angry you are, you know you wouldn't harm a hair on my head."

"Your head is not the part o
f your anatomy I'm considering applying my hand to."

He pushed away from the counter and advanced towards her.
 Claire didn't back off.  His fury was gone and although he was attempting to look stern, she could see amusement quirking at his lips.  Still speaking as he closed the space between them, he ticked each item off on his fingers.

"You didn't tell me you were working with him.
 You went out with him. You encouraged me to believe there was still something between you.  And you let me storm off last night under the misconception that an attempted sexual assault was a lover's tryst.  Your sins are adding up, lady."

Claire's only reply was an unladylike gesture.
 She stuck out her tongue.  Her ploy worked and he laughed.  Then, growing serious, he drew her close.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No.  Julian, please don't feel you have to defend my virtue."  Looking up at him with an earnest expression she continued.  "I defended myself quite ably.  He didn't get very far, he was the one who got hurt, not me."

"Good for you!"

His tone was full of savage satisfaction, which alarmed Claire.  She pulled away from him.

"You will drop it, won't you?
 I do have to work with him."

The look that crossed his face left her in no doubt as to what he thought of that particular fact, but he shrugged and said resignedly.

"Alright, if that's the way you want it."  But then he grinned.  "You women, you know just how to spoil a man's fun."

"Oh really," picking up their mugs with the intention of refilling them, she tossed over her shoulder, "and here I thought we provided most of it."
 And then she agilely dodged the playful swat he aimed at her provocatively, swaying behind.

Watching as he righted his chair, which had fallen over when he sprang up in anger, she basked in the return of his good-humour, which she had not had the pleasure of experiencing in well over two weeks.
 Encouraged, she broached the subject of his work.

"You're having trouble with your new line, aren't you?"

He accepted the second cup of coffee, and answered her as she sat across from him, a slight frown on his face.  "Yes, but the designs are finished.  They have to be.  If I don't release within the next few weeks, I'll have to wait for the spring showings in November and that means more changes and more cost."

Claire knew his trip had included a meeting with his backers.
 He was rich, but not rich enough to finance a new venture on his own.  They must have insisted he go ahead with what he had.  But Claire could sense he wasn't happy with the situation.

"You're not pleased with them, are you?"

He ran a hand through his hair.  "No.  I don't know what it is.  Granted, I don't have much personal contact with women in their teens and early twenties, but I know fabrics and most of the models I use are in that age group."  He shook his head.  "I don't know.  Maybe I'm just losing my touch."

Concerned, she reached across the table and took his hand in hers, turning it palm upwards, tracing his long sensitive fingers.
  Artist’s hands, hands which could bring her such pleasure.

"No, Julian.
 You're an artist.  You are," she insisted at his sceptical smile.  She looked into his eyes, losing herself in their haunting depths.  "I always knew your eyes were special.  They're the eyes of the artist...and the lover."  She brought his hand to her lips and kissed the palm, whispering.  "Love me, Julian."

He drew his hand away.
 "I can't give you what you want, Claire, not yet."

Not yet, so she had reason to hope for the future.
 Until then, some of his love was better than none of it.  She placed her hands palms downward on the table and met his gaze.

"I won't pretend I don't want all your love.
  But right now, I'm prepared to accept whatever you have to give.  I won't let you withdraw from me again, Julian.  That, I can't accept."

He stood and drew her to her feet.
 Leading her into the bedroom, he made love to her.  He was tender and gentle, bringing her satisfaction.  But for the first time, Claire found his lovemaking bittersweet.

The next few days were infused with the same bittersweet quality.
 Julian still worked late, the impending release of his new line requiring it, but when he came home he did not withdraw to his workroom like before, spending the time with Claire instead.  On the Thursday he came home early with tickets to the theatre, delighting Claire with the impromptu treat.  They went for a late supper afterwards, discussing the play in a manner very close to their easy familiarity of the past.

It was not quite the same.
 They would never be able to return to that uncomplicated relationship; too much had passed between them, and Claire had no desire to do so, not when she knew they could have so much more.  But she made no demands, spoken or otherwise, understanding that their present balance was fragile and could be easily destroyed.  As they drove home later, she felt almost content.

Leaving work the next day, she was surprised to see Andrea's figure bearing down on her.
 "Oh good, this is the right building.  I'm so glad."

Laughing, Claire said.
 "I take it from that remark that this meeting is no accident."

"Well, not exactly.
 I was downtown and when I noticed the time, I thought I might come and meet you.  How are things?"

She placed an emphasis on the last words and arched her eyebrows, making Claire laugh again.
 Andrea attempting to be subtle was an unusual occurrence.

"Oh, not too bad.
 Better."

"Good.
 But let's not stand around here, I'm dying for a cup of coffee."

Other than her first inquiry, Andrea pressed Claire no further on the subject, for which Claire was grateful.
 Spilling confessions at the drop of a hat was not a trait in her character.  Last Saturday's confidences had been induced by the conversation she had overheard and a build-up of tension.  Now that the situation seemed less desperate, she preferred not to discuss it.  Thankfully, Andrea was perceptive enough to realise this and their conversation remained on a general level.

During a lull in their discussions, Claire looked at her watch, amazed to discover that well over an hour had passed.
 Andrea noticed the gesture and asked.

"Do you think you should call Julian?"

Claire considered.  "No, he's probably still working.  The pressures really on now Cecile Johnson's having her showing on Sunday."

She began to feel depressed at the thought of going home to the empty house.
 "Andrea, why don't you come home and have dinner with me?"

"Why, what a pleasant suggestion.
 Just let me call Stephen."

"He won't mind?"