by Helen Karol
He sat in the armchair and pulled her down onto his lap. The kiss continued and Claire began to trace his face with her fingers, exploring his features. She felt as if she were rediscovering him - the warmth of his skin; the roughness of his jaw. Her hands moved downwards to the strength of his shoulders. The muscles of his thighs were hard against the backs of her own thighs and she could feel the strength of his desire.
Abruptly, he stopped kissing her and moved out from under her, sliding her off his knees so she was left alone in the chair. His back was to her as he crossed the room and took a swallow from a drink on the table beside the couch. His shoulders were tense, strained and Claire knew he was struggling for control. If only he would give in, not withdraw from her
"Who did you go to the party with?"
He was making small-talk, filling in the silence to distract her while he composed himself. He didn't know he was on dangerous ground. But Claire knew.
Here was her chance for the fight she'd wanted; only she didn't want it anymore. She wanted his love not his anger. Or even worse, she feared his indifference. He may not even care she went with Richard. She tried to stall, attempting to inject a lightness into her tone.
"What makes you think I went with anyone?"
It had been the wrong thing to say. He looked over his shoulder at her and, sinkingly, she knew she had alerted his suspicion.
"You would have felt uncomfortable alone; it was that type of party.”
He faced her before continuing, his eyes narrowing.
"Who did you go with, Claire?"
For a brief moment, she was tempted to lie. No, it would be pointless; he might hear the truth from any number of people. She took a deep breath.
"Richard Blake."
She saw his eyes blaze, and then the shutter came down so quickly she thought she had imagined the intensity. Once more she was looking at the emotionless expression of the afternoon. She would have preferred his anger.
He put an even greater distance between them, walking over and placing his unfinished drink on the cabinet. The action was executed with such finality that Claire felt herself panic; she couldn't let him withdraw completely.
"Andrea suggested it."
He gave a short laugh as he faced her. It held none of its usual richness. There was a cynicism she had never heard before.
"You expect me to believe that Andrea suggested you take your ex-lover to a party you were invited to with your husband?"
Claire felt sick at heart; anything would have been preferable to his disdain. Somehow she had to make him understand why she'd done it. Why had she done it? She answered him and her own question at the same time.
"She didn't think I should miss the night out just because you had to work. She intended I bring someone innocuous. I brought Richard because I was mad at you."
She kept her eyes lowered while she spoke, but when he didn't speak, she raised them to his face. The disdain was gone, but it had not been replaced by the emotion for which she'd hoped. He seemed to be considering, and then there was a determined set to his jaw. He straightened, as if coming to a decision, and walked towards her, a definite purpose in mind.
Claire shrank back into the chair. There was hardness about him she couldn't equate with the gentleness he had always shown her.
His hand slid over her shoulder, easing her dress aside. He bent to the flesh he had exposed, placing kisses with deliberate eroticism. Each time his lips left her skin, he spoke.
"Don't you think,” his kisses were searing her neck now, “...that was just a bit ...," he moved back down to her shoulder, “... juvenile." His lips moved lower, grazing the tops of her breasts.
Claire could hardly concentrate on his words. He must have known this because he lifted his head, until he seemed to be towering above her. He reached out and caressed her cheek and then ran his hand slowly down the path his lips had just taken. He spoke in low soft tones, but Claire knew the words were not idly made.
"If you behave like a child there's always the danger I might treat you like one." Then his lips returned to their previous occupation. Despite the sensations he was arousing, his meaning was immediately apparent.
"You wouldn't."
His lips lingered at the niche behind her ear and then his face was above her own, as he rested either hand on the arms of her chair. A half smile lurked at the corners of his mouth, but it was not amusement she saw in his eyes.
"Oh, I would, if I wanted to."
He buried his lips in the hollow of her neck. Claire lay back allowing him access to her throat. His kisses were like wildfire along her sensitive skin. She heard his voice in her other ear.
"But I don't want to."
His face was above her again; the determination had never left him. He took her shoulders in a firm grasp, bringing her up out of the chair towards him.
"I'd rather treat you as a woman."
And then his lips took hers in a masterful kiss. She was crushed against his chest as he carried her into the bedroom. He stretched her out on the bed, continuing the domination of her senses. There was no gentleness in the manner he set about achieving his purpose; his movements were firm and deliberate. He laid her on the bed, methodically stripping her of her clothing before joining her.
Insistent and forceful, he took his time roaming his hands, lips, teeth and tongue penetratingly into her every curve and crevice. His masculine body moulded to her, repeatedly hard and thrusting as she arched to meet him, every inch of her responding, mindlessly, to his intrusive possession and captivating assault on her body and senses.
She was aflame to his every touch, enthralled and opened to his unremitting mastery. Determined to demonstrate that his ability to arouse her was as powerful and persistent as any other man’s passion, he ruthlessly and repetitively took her body and soul; tenaciously laying claim to her in a myriad array of places and positions.
Claire was oblivious to his distanced determination. She was too caught up in the passion he was igniting, the intensity of her emotions finding expression. She thrilled to the way he took that love from her. Plundering, possessing, raising a frenzied passion that crested and exploded over and over again. She was in a world where only he existed. Finally, she lay exhausted and spent beside him.
He was propped up on one elbow as he pushed away the damp tendrils of her hair from her face. She was on her stomach, her face turned towards him, her grey eyes glowing, distantly, satiated. He bent and kissed her cheek.
"I think I'll run you a bath. It could save you some aches and pains in the morning."
She blushed as recent memories began to invade her lethargy. She had no idea he could be so athletic or inventive. Watching him pull on his jeans, as he sat on the edge of the bed, she wanted to stretch out and run her fingers down his rippling back. Unfortunately, her limbs refused to oblige. She did manage to turn her head and follow his figure to the door of the bathroom. He looked back before entering and she met his eyes and their triumphant gleam.
It was only then that another memory crowded in on her. His voice at the height of her arousal. "Tell me now, who did you take to the party?" She had mumbled. "What party?" her mind hardly registering the question as she was caught up in the mindless things he was doing to her body. Claire felt a coursing anger fill her, replacing the lethargic mood. The heaviness was gone from her limbs, and she sprang from the bed.
How dare he!
What right did he have to manipulate her? She pulled on her short silk robe, tightening the sash furiously, furious because she had been a willing participant in her own sexual surrender. She stormed into the bathroom her voice raised in anger and to be heard above the rush of the taps.
"Richard Blake! I went to the party with Richard Blake!"
He turned off the taps before straightening to face her. His stance was relaxed, confident; there was no question of him losing control now. Despite her anger, she felt herself responding to the sight of his bare chest and the tightness of his jea
ns low slung on his lean hips. Her response only increased her anger as did the slow drawl with which he answered her.
"So I understand."
"Yes, and I enjoyed myself immensely! He was a very entertaining companion!"
His smile was sardonic as he moved unhurriedly past her. He paused, his hand on the door, lazily turning back before leaving. "I'm sure you also enjoyed the entertainment I managed to provide."
Her mouth dropped open in astonished outrage. She grabbed the sponge that was floating in the bathtub and threw it at his grinning face. He was too quick for her; it only made sopping contact with the closed door, his laughter mocking her from the other side.
She lingered in the bathtub, hoping he would fall asleep. But when she entered the bedroom, dried and dressed in her robe, he was awake, his arms propped behind his head. She flashed him a look calculated to deflate his confidence, but he only smiled.
She could feel his amused gaze as she rifled through her drawers and returned to the bathroom once she found what she was looking for. She was treated to his unrestrained laughter when she re-entered. The object of his amusement was a thick, flannel, vintage nightgown she had purchased to keep out the cold of the New York winters, although she meant it for a different purpose now. It clothed her from neck to toe and even had a Victorian ruffle.
She ignored him and stomped to the bed, throwing back the covers, lying down, presenting him with her resistant, curled back. He turned out the lamp and slid down, slowly, into the bed. His earlier amusement and deceptively casual movements left her unprepared for his swift, tearing action that effectively separated her from the offending garment, leaving her suddenly and unexpectedly naked.
She was mortified at how exposed she felt, the feeling only enhanced by the fact that he was semi-clothed in silk pyjama bottoms. Even more mortifying was her response. Despite her indignation, her body was flushed and pulsing with desire as she found herself outrageously aroused by his caveman behaviour.
His hands seized her shoulders and she was turned into his arms, her face buried in his chest, his embrace unyieldingly possessive. She struggled against him and her own desires, pummelling with her fists. He merely tightened his hold and issued a warning.
"Careful, Claire, you're being juvenile again."
Her hands froze in mid-blow and she stopped struggling, conceding defeat.
Julian held her close in his embrace while he ran his hand over her in a sensuous appraisal, lingering in the peaked and moist places that revealed her arousal. With a seductive murmur of satisfaction, he proceeded to exercise his rights over her with his lips, tongue and teeth. This time, he was slower and sweeter in his claiming of her, but it was not his usual tenderness - every nibble, lick, kiss and suckle was a searing brand of possession.
Still indignant and now acutely aware of his intent, Claire tried to defy her response to his calculated artistry, but his skill, coupled with the strength and depth of her feelings for him, laid her emotions as bare as her body and her surrender was inevitable. He used only his hands and mouth and focussed only on her pleasure, taking her to the edge and over – endlessly - until she once more lay damp, limp and exhausted beside him. After, when he gathered her towards him to nestle her against his chest for sleep, she was too awed by the aftermath of the ardour he aroused in her to offer any resistance.
For the present.
She had no intention of allowing him to take completely without giving as much in return. She had too much self-respect. She loved him too much to settle for anything less. But for now, she lay tranquil in his arms.
It was, after all, where she wanted to be.
The next morning, she eyed him warily over the breakfast table. He seemed completely unperturbed by her regard as he ate. Alright, if he could be calm so could she. She searched around for an innocuous topic of conversation.
"I'm finishing up my profile on Cecile Johnson."
"Oh. Have you found it interesting?"
Claire pretended to consider for a moment. "Yes, I have."
She didn't add, but not as interesting as the one I did on you. It was the truth, but this particular morning, she didn't feel like giving him the satisfaction.
"Her methods are a little different from yours."
"Yes, I believe she likes to run a team relying quite a bit on her assistant designers."
Figures, thought Claire. Despite his answer to her question on that subject when she interviewed him, he hadn't hired an assistant since their marriage. Of course not, he'd always have to be in complete control. She checked her thoughts, realising she was being uncharitable. They had been married only a little over a month and it took time to find a good assistant.
"What do you think of her work, Julian?"
He leaned forward, relaxing as he discussed the craft he was so good at himself.
"She's good and she's certainly popular. When she first started she was really creative, innovative, but now..." He shrugged, "... she seems to have become a bit stale, too predictable. Maybe she just needs something new, more challenging. Her new line might be just the thing."
Claire picked up on his last comment. Maybe this could be useful for her article.
"You don't seem worried about the possible competition?"
Julian shrugged. "I'm not. Competition is always good, makes things more interesting." He looked rueful and added. "Besides, if things keep up I won't be ready to release for the August showings. I don't think you realise how much of a distraction you've become."
Claire sat back, surprised at how suddenly the conversation had reached a personal level. A distraction, is that how he thought of her?
"How ill-mannered of me. I'll try to keep out of your way in future."
As she stood up, she could see the corners of his mouth begin to lift. She felt her temper from her Irish heritage flare as she felt her fury against him from the previous day – and night - resurface, fuelled by the memory of her surrender.
“I swear if you laugh at me one more time, Julian West, I'll black your eye!" He opened his mouth to speak, but she forestalled him. "And if you tell me I'm being juvenile again, I'll black both your eyes!"
He didn't answer her and he turned his face away so his expression was hidden, but as she scraped her plate and loaded it in the dishwasher, she was sure she could see his shoulders shaking slightly. Resisting the urge to hit him over the head with the frying pan, she left him to finish, walking to the bedroom with as much dignity as she could muster.
They were empty threats, of course. She was taller and stronger than the average woman, but she was no match for him, and even if she did catch him with his guard down, she could never hurt him. Especially not those gorgeous green eyes.
He was leaving the kitchen as she came out of the bedroom. Quickening her step, she ducked into the dining room before he passed her in the hallway. She was just beginning to think she would make it out the house, when she felt his detaining grip on her arm.
"Claire."
She turned on him, her eyes flashing. "Don't try your strong arm tactics on me! They didn't impress me last night and they don't impress me now!"
They had impressed her quite considerably at the time. It wasn't until she realised the true purpose behind them that she had objected to his methods, but she wasn't prepared to admit to that. His hand dropped from her arm and slipped around her waist in a clasp that was a gentle caress. His gentleness disarmed her and he was able to bring her unresisting body towards his own.
The kiss was feather light, filled with tenderness. Claire melted against him. This was Julian at his most irresistible. It was at moments like these she knew she was closest to his heart. Last night, her own passion had found an outlet, but it had been a solitary occupation. He had been at his most distant, concerned only with achieving his purpose. Now he was giving, sharing what love he was prepared to offer.
Claire drew closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, losing her fingers in his hair and herself in him. She w
as pouring all her love into the kiss, but she was also taking, hoping to draw from him that which was not yet hers. A thrill of exultation filled her as she felt him open to her. It seemed they teetered together on the edge of a precipice. She tried to pull him over, and for a brief, tantalising moment it seemed he would come. But then he stood away from her. His lips and arms left her and she was once more alone. He slipped his hands into his pockets, and his voice was uneven, husky.
"I have to get ready for work."
She nodded, her disappointment robbing her of speech. She raised her eyes to his to take her farewell. They were glazed, but behind that she saw something else, something she couldn't identify.
She drove faster than ever on the freeway. She would win his love - all of it. No matter how hard she had to fight - even if it meant fighting a ghost.
She strode into work, past Richard, without even noticing his presence. She was so fired with her determination, it translated itself into an energy which amazed her co-workers. By the time they were having their coffee break, she had completed almost a full day's work in only half the morning.
Suddenly she sat upright, a look on her face that drew a concerned exclamation from Mary-Jane. Claire didn't hear her; she was too amazed by her discovery. The identity of the emotion she had seen at the back of Julian's eyes revealed to her.
Fear!
Chapter Eleven
"Thank goodness, another profile bites the dust." Claire flopped on her desk, in an exaggerated pose. "Thank God it's Friday!"
"I get the impression there's more than relief over a finished job in that remark."
Claire raised her head from her elbows and looked at Mary-Jane. "How perceptive of you. The fact is, if I had to put up with anymore of Cecile Johnson's veiled inquiries about Julian, I would have screamed. You'd think she was interviewing me instead of the other way around."
Mary-Jane shrugged. "You can hardly blame her for trying to pump you, he is her direct competition in her new line. Not that you told her anything."
"That's because I don't know anything. He's always working, even at home, but I daren't disturb him for fear of getting my head bitten off."