Sinful Nights (53 page)

Almost without thinking she leaned forward, touching the side of his face with her fingers. ‘Oh, Jay, I just don’t know what to say!’

He turned his head, his fingers clasping her wrist, and she gasped as she felt the warm pressure of his mouth against the palm of her hand.

The moment she tensed he released her.

‘Sorry.’ His voice sounded gruff. ‘I’d forgotten.’

‘It … it doesn’t matter. I’ll go and make some coffee.’ Claire stood up shakily and hurried into the kitchen. How on earth could she have explained to him that her tension had come not from the warm contact of his mouth against her palm, but from her own totally unexpected reaction to it? She had liked it; she had enjoyed the totally pleasurable sensation that had shot through her body.

H
E WAS AT HOME FOR FIVE
days, just enough time to go shopping with the girls to buy advent calendars, and to keep them occupied while Claire sneaked their carefully
chosen presents into the house. And then he was gone. Back to Dallas to discuss the final details of the contract.

The American client was a builder, specialising in prestigious new houses, for which he wanted only the finest craftsmanship. Of a neo-Georgian design, their proportions lent themselves well to the reproduction plasterwork Jay’s company produced, but the American lawyers were finicking over every detail, and so Jay and his solicitor had to fly out once again.

It worried Claire how much she missed him. She oughtn’t to have done; after all, she had never wanted a husband—but Jay wasn’t just a husband, he was a person who made her laugh, who treated her as an equal, who filled out and warmed her life in a way she could never have believed possible.

She went with him to the airport, where he was meeting his solicitor, and was surprised by the sudden surge of desolation that struck her as he walked away. She wanted to cling on to him, to … Abruptly her body tensed as she watched his retreating back. Confusion and panic replaced desolation. What was happening to her? She mustn’t become emotionally dependent on Jay as well as financially dependent on him.

The days flew by, excitement mounting as the girls opened door after door on their advent calendars. They were both in the school play—nearly everyone in the school was involved in it in one way or another. Claire went to see them, and took Mrs Vickers with her because Jay was still away.

The last few days before Christmas trickled away far too fast. Jay rang three days before Christmas Eve to
warn her that he could only get home at the last minute. Claire, who had put off buying and dressing a tree in the hope that he would be home in time, took the girls to the local garden centre and they chose one together, but it wasn’t the same as it would have been if Jay had been with her.

After Christmas, work would start on the house, but until then she had warmed up the sitting-room with deep pink and blue satinised-cotton-covered cushions and a large, toning rug.

But without Jay in it the house lacked something Claire recognised; she missed his vibrantly masculine presence. A trickle of awareness ran down her spine, a sense of danger and unease. She didn’t want to miss Jay, to be so conscious of his absences. She dismissed her thoughts as foolish, but something lingered, some faint frisson of knowledge that she determinedly forced into the back of her mind to think about later—much, much later.

T
HE NIGHT BEFORE
Christmas Eve, they decorated the tree. Claire sat looking at it after the girls had gone to bed, watching the soft dazzle of the tiny pinpoints of light. Everything was ready: the presents were wrapped, including the appallingly expensive desk filing system she had bought for Jay, the turkey was keeping cold in the garage, all the shopping was done, and for once even the weather was in tune with the season. It had been cold all day, and now the night sky had a dull glow that presaged snow.

Everything was ready, but Jay was not here to share it with them. She told herself that she was disappointed for the girls, that it was because of them that that small ball of pain lodged deep inside her wouldn’t go away.

She stretched tiredly and got up to tidy away the debris from the tree decorations. Perhaps if she made some mince pies that might help relax her.

She went into the kitchen and was soon busily engaged in the ritual of making pastry. Through the window she saw the first flakes of snow fall, and was unable to resist the childish impulse to watch. Thick, fat snowflakes fell from a midnight blue sky, whirling
and dancing in a pattern that mesmerised her. A fine white blanket covered the ground before she managed to drag herself away.

Snow for Christmas. She finished making her mince pies and put them in the oven.

It was still snowing half an hour later when the pies were cooling on a rack and she had finished cleaning the kitchen. It was too early to go to bed, but she felt too keyed up to sit down and watch television or read a book.

She was just about to make herself a cup of hot chocolate when the back door suddenly opened.

‘Jay!’ She said his name unsteadily, unable to believe it was him. The snow must have muted the sound of his car. Snowflakes clung to his hair and jacket.

Somehow, without knowing how it had happened, she had crossed the kitchen floor, her face alight with pleasure.

She touched his arm and grimaced. ‘You’re all cold and wet!’ She was standing so close to him that when she looked up she could see the dark irises of his eyes. As she looked his expression changed and she felt a strange tension grip her.

‘You’re … you’re back early …’

Her voice sounded rusty, and she seemed to be having difficulty breathing.

‘I managed to get an earlier flight; Christmas is no time to be away from home. Girls in bed?’

‘Yes. Over an hour ago.’

For some reason she felt oddly flat. She moved away from him, checking as he laid his hand on her arm.

‘Claire.’

She turned towards him, her eyes widening as he bent his head and she felt the warm brush of his mouth against her own. It was an odd sensation, that soft touch of warm lips. It made her quiver inside, and realise on a searing wave of pain that never once in her life had she been kissed properly.

The sudden shocking hiss of boiling milk spilling on to the cooker jolted her back to reality, her body stiffening with rejection and fear. Immediately Jay released her.

‘I’m sorry.’ He sounded weary. ‘For a moment I forgot ….’

What had he forgotten? That he wasn’t coming home to Susie? ‘It doesn’t matter …’

She just caught the expression of grimness tightening his mouth before he turned away.

‘I was just making myself a cup of chocolate. Would you like one … or something to eat?’ she asked hurriedly.

‘These smell good.’

He had obviously recognised her conciliatory offer and was trying to respond to it, Claire realised as he picked up one of her mince pies and ate it.

‘Chocolate will be fine, and then an early night, I think. I ate on the plane.’

‘Shall we drink it in the sitting-room?’

Those few moments of strained intimacy might never have occurred. On the surface all was as it had always been, but beneath the surface Claire was just beginning to realise that there lurked some very treacherous waters indeed.

What would have happened if the milk hadn’t boiled over? Would he have gone on kissing her? Would she
have let him …? It was too uncomfortable an avenue of thought for her to pursue.

‘You go through; I’ll bring the chocolate in a minute.’

The faintly sardonic look he gave her made her face burn. Did he realise how odd his proximity was making her feel? She felt that she needed to be alone to get herself back to normal. That brief pressure of his mouth against hers had unleashed a series of sensations she was till having difficulty coming to terms with.

It hadn’t been dislike or fear she had felt in those few seconds before reality had intruded, far from it. So, what had she felt? Shock, grief for all that was missing from her life, and also a frisson of pleasure so delicate and new to her that even now she wasn’t sure if she had experienced it or merely imagined it. But surely it was impossible to imagine something like that—something she had never known before in her life, or dreamed of knowing? Now she had known it.

Shaking herself free of her confusing thoughts, she put the two mugs of chocolate on a tray and added a plate of mince pies, quickly making some sandwiches from the ham she had roasted that morning.

Jay was sitting on the settee when she walked in, his head relaxed against the cushions. ‘I like the tree,’ he commented, getting up to pull up one of the small coffee-tables for her to put the tray on.

The room had an open fireplace with an immense cream marble surround, part of the original Victorian architecture. Susie had had the fireplace blocked off, and one of the first things Claire had done was to have it re-opened and an attractive coal effect gas fire installed.
She switched it on, and paused for a moment to watch the flickering flames.

‘Mmm … very cosy.’ An expression of sadness seemed to cloud Jay’s eyes.

‘The girls wanted to wait until you came home to decorate it, but I thought you might be too late.’

‘There’s nothing on the top.’

‘I couldn’t reach,’ Claire confessed. ‘There’s a fairy in the box that the girls chose.’

‘I’ll put it on for them tomorrow. Mmm, these are good.’

He was eating one of the sandwiches she had made. Without his suit jacket and his shirt open at the throat he looked less formidable. He was tired, she realised.

‘How did it go in Dallas?’ she asked.

‘Come and sit down here beside me and I’ll tell you.’

She sat next to him on the sofa.

‘What an excellent wife you are, Claire: caring, obedient …’

At first she thought he was mocking her and she flushed painfully and started to move away, his hand on her arm stopping her.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I know … I’m not Susie,’ she said painfully. ‘It can’t be much … fun for you coming home to me, Jay …’

‘Fun?’ His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Is that what you think Susie and I had, Claire? There’s nothing fun about coming home to find your wife’s out enjoying her

self with another man, while your child is left all alone. There’s nothing fun about knowing she’s being unfaithful, about knowing she doesn’t give a damn. I never caught an early flight to come home to Susie,
Claire, because I never knew what I was coming home to. If you want the truth, I dreaded coming home.’

His mouth compressed, his eyes focusing on the leaping flames of the fire, as he looked back into the past.

‘Don’t ever thing I’m comparing you with Susie—there is no comparison.’

No, there wasn’t, Claire realised. He had loved and desired Susie, while she was just someone whom he had chosen to marry because of Heather.

‘I have to go back to Dallas after the New Year, and I want you and the girls to come too. John and his wife want to meet you.’

‘Me—but …?’

‘It’s the American way,’ he told her laconically. ‘They’re throwing a big party to celebrate the signing of the contract and we’re invited to be their house guests. It will be during the school holidays, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.’

Jay moved to pick up his mug of chocolate, the muscles down his back and arm tautening. His skin where it was exposed by the collar and cuff of his shirt was brown and firm, his wrist very sinewy in comparison to hers.

‘This will be Heather’s first real Christmas; Susie always preferred to go away somewhere.’ He put down his empty mug and relaxed back against the cushions. Somehow he seemed to have moved closer to her, but she felt no compulsion to move away.

‘You look tired.’

He turned his head and she saw the small darker flecks in his eyes. ‘I am,’ he admitted. He closed his
eyes and sighed. ‘It was quite a shock to come home and find snow.’

‘My first white Christmas.’

He made a sound in his throat that might have meant anything and Claire turned to look at him. His eyes were closed and she sensed that he was on the verge of falling asleep.

She got up to take their cups to the kitchen, and when she came back he was fast asleep, sprawled out against the sofa. She leaned over him shaking him gently.

‘Jay …’

‘Mmm.’

The shock of his arms coming round her and pulling her down against the relaxed warmth of his body was totally unexpected. Her knees had caught against the edge of the sofa so that she had collapsed on to him, and how he was burrowing his face into the curve of her neck, his breath triggering off tiny convulsive waves of sensation where it touched her skin.

After her initial moment of panic, what she felt was nothing like the terror and disgust she had experienced before. Being held in Jay’s arms was so totally different from that. She felt at once both safe and yet deliciously trembly, her body fitting softly against the hard planes of his.

He was cuddling up to her in much the same way that Heather held on to her teddy, she thought with shaky amusement, and she had no doubt that he was totally oblivious to what he was doing. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to wake him up and break out of his hold of her, but for some reason she felt no compulsion to do so. Instead she raised her hand tentatively
and touched the stubbly line of his jaw, held deep in thrall to a curious need to know more of the alien maleness of him. He muttered something in his sleep, releasing her momentarily as he raised his hand to cover hers, his head turning so that he could caress the soft skin of her palm with his mouth. The sensation that shot through her was so totally unexpected, so thoroughly unnerving, that she jerked back instinctively.

Instantly Jay was awake, his eyelids lifting, although he didn’t move. His cheekbone pressed hard against her shoulder, and she was acutely conscious of him in a thousand previously unknown ways. As though some deep inner part of her was waking from a long sleep, she felt the first stirrings of what she sensed instinctively was her suppressed sexuality.