by Francis Ray
Claire’s eyes widened at the prices. “There’s definitely a difference between living and living well.”
Gray chuckled. “Tonight let’s go for living well. What tickles your fancy?”
She chose Chilean Sea Bass. She glanced around as Gray gave the waiter their order, then selected their wine from the steward. She couldn’t help but notice two women who were following the maitre’d abruptly stop when they saw them, and begin whispering.
“What’s the matter?”
Her gaze went back to Gray. He always read her so well. “Two women were staring at us, but they’re gone now.”
“Probably trying to figure out if they’d look as great as you do in that dress. The answer would be no,” he said. The wine steward appeared and showed Gray the label. At Gray’s nod, he poured. Gray picked up his glass. “To a wonderful evening.”
Claire picked up her glass and thrust the women out of her mind. “A wonderful evening.”
And it was. Gray was a charming and attentive, the food wonderful, and the service impeccable. Claire thoroughly enjoyed herself.
“You want dessert?” Gray asked, setting his coffee cup down. “Their coconut cake is six layers perched atop a swirl of crème anglaise.”
Claire smiled. “Not if I don’t want to pop out of this dress. This was wonderful, Gray.”
A shadow crossed his face. “I’m sorry we haven’t gone—”
“Please, don’t say anymore.” She reached across the table and this time his hand captured hers. “We needed the time with just the two of us. Now, on order from Brooke, I need to go scope out the ladies room to see if they have hand cream.”
“And if they don’t?”
She grinned across at him. “Send management a few jars of our products and see if we can’t get him or her to stock them.”
“Spoken like a true entrepreneur.” Getting up, Gray went to her chair.
Rising, she touched him lightly on the shoulder when his arm curved around her waist. “I can handle it, but if you hear a crash come running.”
He kissed her lips. “Always.”
Warmth coursing through Claire, she started toward the bathroom. Either she was finally getting used to the high heels or the wine was mellowing her, but she didn’t feel shaky anymore.
Pushing open the door she stepped into luxury: Chinese paintings in heavy gold frames, lush padded benches, gold faucets and silk-covered walls in the palest shade of blue. In between each of the five round sinks was an arrangement of birds-of-paradise in cylindrical crystal vases. Cloth towels rested neatly in square sweetgrass baskets with a larger basket underneath for the used towels.
But there was no lotion. Deciding to test the soap, Claire pumped a couple of squirts into her hand, then rubbed it with her fingertips. The white liquid didn’t feel as luxurious as hers. Sticking her hand beneath the automatic faucet, she washed and dried her hands. Whatever they were using was good, but theirs was better. Brooke and Lorraine would be delighted. She turned to leave just as the door opened and the two women she had seen earlier came in.
Both wore expensive dresses and jewelry that glittered and sparkled at their throats, wrists and their ears. From the way their gaze went directly to her, Claire suspected they had followed her. Deciding to test her theory, she turned back to the mirror and checked her lipstick. In the mirror Claire saw them move further into the restroom, whispering, their eyes on her.
Claire faced them. “Is there something I can help you with?”
The two appeared startled that she had spoken to them. “You were whispering and staring earlier and now you followed me in here. Why?”
“You won’t be able to keep him,” one of the women blurted. Lines radiated from her narrowed eyes.
Despite the chill that went through Claire, she casually folded her arms. “Could you be more specific?”
The woman who had spoken jutted her pointed chin. “Gray. Jana wants him back, and she always gets what she wants.”
Claire didn’t even blink. “Not a chance in hell.”
The women’s eyes widened at the venom in Claire’s voice. Jana wouldn’t get a chance to hurt Gray again.
“And if Jana’s your friend you must be hard up for a friend, and between men.”
They flushed and Claire knew she had guessed correctly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Gray doesn’t like me to be away from him too long and neither do I.”
The two moved aside. Head high, breasts thrust forward, Claire left the bathroom and went to the table.
Gray rose when he saw her. The smile on his face disappeared when his gaze went beyond her. He quickly went to her. He glanced at the two women as they hurried past them.
“Are you all right?”
Claire smoothed the frown from his face. “I’m always better in your arms.”
His arm curved around her waist, they stopped to get her purse then went outside. He handed the valet his ticket and pulled her aside.
“What happened? Kathy and Shiloh are friends of Jana’s. They haven’t caught on yet that she keeps them around because they’re less attractive and insecure. They stay because men gravitate to her and neither has been able to keep a man.”
Claire’s arms twined around his neck. “I’m not going to let them ruin our evening.”
“What happened?” he asked, his voice curt.
She saw no way around making him even angrier. “One of them said Jana wanted you back and she always gets what she wants.”
Gray swore softly.
“I told her there wasn’t a chance in hell.”
Gray’s hands tenderly palmed her face. “You’re incredible.”
“You are pretty incredible yourself.” Her hands covered his. “Now, please take me home. These shoes are killing me.”
“Shall I carry you?”
“Why don’t we wait until we get to my place?”
He quickly led her to his waiting Porsche. As they drove off, several people watched them. One of the women from the restroom pulled her cell phone out of her Prada bag. “Jana, I think you better plan on coming down to Charleston sooner than you planned.”
* * *
John had heard The Loft was the hottest club in the city. It certainly had to be the most crowded. Seeing the line wrapped around the building, he thought his plans to go dancing wouldn’t pan out either. They’d had hot dogs for dinner in honor of Mark trying out for the softball team.
“Maybe it will move fast,” he said, although he didn’t hold out much hope. It had been close to nine-thirty when they’d left his parents’ house. Mark was excited because he had struck his father out. John had to admit it wasn’t too difficult to fake it. By the time he’d gone home to shower and change, then drop by Brooke’s place to pick her up, it was a little after ten-thirty.
“Yancy is on the door; he’ll let us in.”
John’s head whipped around, but the valet was already opening Brooke’s door. As usual, when Brooke was within five feet of a male, they fell all over themselves to please her. She greeted the teenager by name.
“How do you know everyone?” John asked more abruptly than he meant.
Her eyebrow arched. “I’m the commercial rep for Bliss and this is one of our first clients. In fact, I got the idea from The Loft.” Her head twisted to one side. “You still want to go in? I know several people inside, too.”
“Men, you mean.”
Brooke’s eyes glittered. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
It was, but John didn’t think it wise to point it out. “Let’s go inside.”
As she’d promised, she had no trouble getting them in. Loud music and cigarette haze greeted them. It was Brooke who snagged them a table when another couple got up to leave. Against overwhelming odds, she got the attention of a passing waitress who took their drink orders.
John simply stared at her. She seemed to go through life effortlessly. She made things happen and attracted men like a homing device.
“You want to dance?
” asked a young man with a diamond earring and twenty pounds of gold chains hanging around his neck.
“Perhaps later,” Brooke said. The man left and she glanced around the crowded club, trying to recall what had attracted her to such places in the past.
“Why didn’t you just tell him no?”
She looked at John, his shoulders stiff beneath his sports coat, his jaw tight. “It never hurts to be nice. What is the matter with you? It was your idea to come here.”
He shoved his hands impatiently over his hair. “I thought you’d enjoy going out.”
“You want to dance?” another man asked Brooke.
“No, she doesn’t,” John snapped.
The man abruptly straightened and walked away.
Brooke stared across the table at John. Her natural instinct was to snap, but something about the droop of his shoulders, his troubled expression, wouldn’t let her. “Do you want to talk about what’s upsetting you?”
John’s mouth pursed.
“When the waitress gets back, we can leave.” She glanced around the crowded, smoke-filled room again. “Frankly, I recall enjoying this better.”
“Would you be having a better time if you weren’t with me?”
Brooke’s head snapped back around. She was stunned for all of two seconds. “What a stupid thing to say. If I wanted to be with someone else, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you.”
“You can’t go two feet without some guy coming on to you,” John grumbled.
“Have you looked around to see how many women are sizing you up?”
Surprise flickered across his face. “They’re not.”
Her mouth tightened. “There are two at the far corner of the bar and the Hoochie Mama in the red dress a couple of tables back for a start.”
John didn’t look at them; he looked at Brooke. She was steamed. The night took a sudden turn for the better. “You’re jealous.”
She stuck up her nose. “You wish.”
He scooted his chair next to hers, then curved his arm around her stiff shoulders. “I’ll admit I am if you’ll admit you are.”
She snuggled closer. “Maybe just a little.”
“Try a lot.” His hand threaded through her hair. “I think I’d throw a bag on your head if I could.”
She might have laughed at the idea if she hadn’t sensed he was half serious. Sitting up, she gazed at him. “This won’t work if you can’t trust me. I can’t change the way I look or avoid men. I wouldn’t if I could. Some of my best friends are men.”
“Here are your drinks.” The waitress sat the drinks on the table.
John leaned over to pull his wallet from the hip pocket of his slacks when the first man who has asked Brooke to dance returned. “How about that dance now?”
“Sure,” she said and placed her hand in the man’s. Grinning, the man popped his fingers and sashayed all the way to the crowded dance floor. Brooke winked at John over her shoulder.
“Would you like to dance?”
John looked around to see a slim young woman half-wearing a red dress. So much skin was showing he almost felt the urge to offer his coat. “Someone might get the table if I leave, too.”
“Sure.” Shrugging, she melted into the crowd.
Picking up his draft beer, John leaned back into the chair. So Brooke had been right. He hadn’t paid any attention to other women because he only saw Brooke. Sam’s words came back to him and he realized that it was the same way for her. He sipped his drink and leaned back in the chair. He didn’t have to worry about some guy beating his time. If she didn’t want to be with him, she wouldn’t be.
The bottle was near his mouth again when he saw Brooke push her way through the crowd. Her eyes were narrowed and she was no longer smiling. John had seen that look before. “Should I expect the police?” he asked when she reached their table.
“No, but I bet it will be a long time before he tries to grope another woman.”
The bottle of beer hit the table with a thud. John came to his feet. Brooke caught the tail of his jacket and tugged until he sat back down next to her, then whispered in his ear. “Would you rather spend the night in jail or putting a smile on my face?”
He was torn. “That’s not fair.”
She blew into his ear and smiled when he shuddered. “You ever see hand-painted lingerie, John?”
He was out of his chair in an instant. His eyes blazed. “Let’s go.
Laughing, she allowed him to pull her from the club.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Half-asleep, Claire’s head pillowed on his chest, her leg thrown over his, Gray groped for the ringing phone. “Hello,” he said, his eyes remaining closed as he absently stroked her back. Her skin was so soft, he’d never tire of touching her.
“You bastard! What the hell are you doing there?” Derek asked.
Gray tensed and came fully awake. Claire’s head came up and she stared at him.
“I guess I know the answer at eight in the morning,” Derek snapped. “Let me speak to my sister. Now!”
Claire stiffened against Gray. Sitting up, she clutched the sheet to her naked breasts. Gray would have given anything to take away the stricken look on her face. “I’m sorry. I answered it on instinct.”
Nodding, she swept her hair back from her face and took the phone he extended. “Yes, Derek?”
“You didn’t listen, did you? I might not have known if Red hadn’t called me this morning to tell me you were with Livingston last night.”
Her gaze flickered to Gray who watched her closely. “Red?”
“Your waiter!” Derek snapped. “You probably didn’t notice him since you were with Livingston. How could you be so gullible?”
From the sudden narrowing of Gray’s eyes, he’d heard her brother. “My life is my own. I’ve never interfered in what you do.”
“That’s because no woman is going to use me like Gray is using you.”
She flinched. Her grip on the phone tightened. “I’m going to hang up the phone if you persist in attacking me and Gray.”
“You’d pick him over me? Over your brother?”
“I’m not making that decision; you are.” Her hand raked through her hair again causing the sheet to slip. She quickly grabbed it.
“I can’t believe you’d turn your back on me. That hurts, Claire. Hurts bad.”
“Der—”
The line went dead.
Closing her eyes, she clutched the phone.
Gently Gray removed the phone from her hand and pulled her into his arms. “If he wasn’t your brother…”
His voice trailed off, but from the tone Claire didn’t need him to finish. “He means well.”
“If we don’t want to argue I won’t comment on that. Instead, why don’t I cook us breakfast?” He wanted to take the shattered look from her face.
Her eyes rounded with pleasure. “You can cook?”
“Yes, and I’ll show you … in about thirty minutes or so.”
He drew her down into the bed, kissed her gently, then began to build the passion, the need that, no matter how many times sated, would come again. Claire was with him and nothing or no one was going to change that or hurt her.
* * *
Claire and Gray returned from a walk on the beach to a ringing phone. Her hand flexed in his.
“Let it ring,” he said. His mouth, which had been smiling moments ago, settled into a tight, disapproving line.
“It’s all right,” Claire said. She went to the phone on the end table by the sofa. “Derek has to learn that my life is my own.” She picked up the phone dreading the confrontation. “Hello.”
“Claire, I’m sorry if this is a bad time to call,” Gray’s grandmother said.
Claire’s head whipped around to Gray. “No, Mrs. Livingston. It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it to be you.”
The frown on Gray’s face changed to one of puzzlement. He crossed the room to stand beside Claire.
“It’s a shame th
e way solicitors bother people even on Sunday,” she commented.
“Yes, ma’am?” Claire said and moistened her lips. She almost felt embarrassed by the call. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that his grandmother knew they were sleeping together.
“But I didn’t call to talk about those worrisome solicitors; I called to invite you to the Business Professionals of Charleston’s monthly luncheon a week from Wednesday. I hope you don’t have other plans. A lot of important people will be there and it pays to have contacts,” she said. “You need a sponsor to attend and join, and I’d be so very pleased if you’d let me have that honor.”
Claire couldn’t believe it. “Mrs. Livingston, I don’t know what to say. I’m the one that’s honored. I’ve admired you for so very long.”
“What is it?” Gray asked.
Claire put her hand over the receiver. “She’s invited me to the Business Professionals of Charleston’s luncheon next Wednesday. She wants to sponsor me.”
Instead of the pleased smile she expected, he frowned. “I can sponsor you. You’re my protégée.”
Claire was loathe to point out that he was also her lover.
“Claire, is there a problem?” Mrs. Livingston asked.
She removed her hand from the mouthpiece. “Gray wants to sponsor me.”
“I’m sure he does, but please remind Gray that he hasn’t attended one of the meetings in months, plus you’ll need the support of the women and men in the organization. Since some of those women might have a history with Gray or simply wanted one, they might not warm up to his protégée whereas they have no reason to be less than friendly if I sponsor you. And if they are, I shall take care of them as well they know,” Mrs. Livingston said, her soft voice overlaid with steel.
“I trust your instincts and gratefully accept your sponsorship.”
“I like a woman who can make up her own mind,” Mrs. Livingston said, warmth in her voice.