Catching Claire

by Cindy Procter-King

  He glanced at her. “The second.”

  “Lacey lives two floors above your dad and stepmom. She uses the extra bedroom as her design studio.”

  “What does she design?”

  “Lingerie. She made my babydolls.” Which Claire had squeezed into last night with the sole intention of seducing the image in Ridge’s stripping ad—her lowest point since college. However, now she knew he was so much more than the six-pack-equipped hottie who’d gyrated down to an impressive leather G-string. He took care of his father’s snake, he maintained a relationship with a mother who’d abandoned him, and he attended medical school.

  Check, check, and check.

  “Lacey’s very talented,” Ridge said, rubbing her lower back. Her skin tingled beneath the robe.

  He opened the door to the snake room and flicked on a low-wattage light. A computer desk occupied the wall to the right, and a rack of stripping costumes banked the left. Claire spied a sailor suit and a pirate costume. Ahoy!

  She forced her gaze ahead. A snake tank about four feet wide and two deep sat on a bulky stand beneath the blind-drawn window.

  Clasping her hand, Ridge led her to the tank filled with wood shavings, a water dish and heat dome, plus various hiding and climbing structures. Claire hung back while he hunkered down and peered into the tank.

  “I see him.” He unlatched the lid and lifted a hiding cave. With one hand, he hoisted the snake out of the tank.

  Claire restrained a squeak. Ridge grasped the creature by its middle. The snake coiled into a ball. An empty depression marred its profile where one eye was missing. The healthy eye glistened.

  A moment later, the snake relaxed, curling around Ridge’s forearm. Balancing the python against his pecs, Ridge whispered, “Want to touch him?”

  Wary of startling the snake, Claire replied in a soft tone, “Do I have to?”

  “Balls have excellent dispositions. Far is pretty docile after living with my dad for several months.”

  Balls? She smiled.

  Ridge continued in a gentle voice, “If you’re scared, it’s probably best not to touch him. If he gets stressed, he might not eat tonight.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.” Sorry, fridge mouse, you’re already a goner.

  Ridge sat on the floor and looped the snake around his neck. As Claire watched the pair interact, her insides turned as gooey as toasted marshmallows. And as warm. Good Lord, was there anything sexier than a half-nude, chiseled man displaying such care with a cold-blooded reptile?

  Only if he handled her with such care.

  “I’m sorry I misjudged you, Ridge,” she murmured.

  “As long as you’re not judging me now.”

  “Actually, I am. I think you’re amazing.”

  He grinned. “What do you do?”

  “Work at Clemmons Consulting. It’s a venture capital investment group downtown that specializes in small businesses like Lacey’s. I’m executive assistant to one of the founders. When I showed him pictures of Lacey’s designs, he agreed to introduce her to his team.”

  “That was nice of you.”

  “She deserves the chance to follow her dreams.”

  He gazed at her. “What are your dreams, Claire?” He removed the snake from around his neck and allowed the creature to curl on his forearm again.

  Claire fiddled with the robe sleeve. She usually didn’t open up to men right away. However, Ridge had shared his feelings about his mother. If anyone would understand her desire for a normal family life, it would be him.

  Not quite ready to reply, she knelt beside him. The over-large robe pooled on the cool laminate. Rolling up the sleeves, she whispered, “I’d like to touch Fargone now.”

  “Brave girl,” Ridge whispered back. He secured the python with both hands.

  Holding her breath, Claire feathered a finger along Fargone’s scales. “He feels silky-smooth,” she murmured. Not slimy or sticky like she’d feared.

  She touched the snake again, and its head moved away.

  “I like my job,” she began in a quiet voice. “Work doesn’t drive me, though. I don’t have a calling, like Lacey does. Or like you must attending medical school. Or Alicia with her cupcake shop.” She met Ridge’s gaze. “I enjoy working. I wouldn’t feel right knowing someone else was supporting me. But the thing I want most is a family. You mentioned your mom leaving. I know how you feel.” She paused. “It seems we’ve both had a negligent parent.”

  Ridge’s brown eyes softened. “What happened?”

  “My father took off when I was one. My mom raised my sister and me alone for a few years.”

  “I’m sorry, Claire. That sucks. Did he ever return?”

  She shook her head. For years, like many kids in similar situations, she’d blamed herself. She must have done something wrong. She must have made him leave.

  Finally, thanks to numerous talks with her strong, loving mother, she’d realized her father’s disappearance from her life was his failing, not hers.

  She drew in a breath. “For all we know, he fell off a cliff somewhere. Support payments stopped two years after he left. By then my mom had met her second husband, so she was just as happy not to keep tracking our bio-father down. Neil—the man she married—adopted my sister and me. I wasn’t born a Merriweather.”

  “Who were you born as?”

  “Claire Smith. I know, boring. But I don’t remember my biological father at all. Neil’s my dad.”

  “Still, it must be rough, not knowing where your bio-dad is.” Fargone’s neck and head wove between Ridge’s strong, splayed fingers.

  “It is. Single parent families are practically the norm these days, and it’s common knowledge that most marriages don’t work out. It hurts that he dropped out of our lives that way. For a long time, I felt majorly insecure.”

  “To hell with him,” Ridge said.

  She smiled. “To hell and back ten times. In the end, his leaving made me stronger. My sister and I have a little brother from Neil and my mom, and he’s great. Blended or not, they’re my family. I want that feeling of security for my own children someday.”

  Ridge nodded. “Family is more about how a group of people treats each other than being related by blood. Ruth taught me that.”

  “You’re smart for someone so young.”

  “And you’re old?”

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “Ah, a cougar.” He nudged her arm. “I bet you could teach me a few things.”

  “Maybe I already have.” Her heart beat against her ribs. “You’re sure we didn’t kiss last night?”

  “I wish. Like I said then, I don’t take advantage of drunk women.” Getting up, he gently unwound the snake from his arm and placed it carefully on top of the hiding cave in its tank. As Ridge secured the lid on the tank, the snake slipped back into its cave.

  Claire stood up, too. “I’m not drunk now.”

  “You’re half-dressed.”

  “Look who’s talking.” Stepping forward, she glided her palms over his washboard abs. “If you can restrain yourself from taking it beyond a kiss, so can I.” Jumping his bones while her hangover lurked was not in her plans.

  “God, Claire.” He folded her into a snug embrace. She curved her arms around his warm waist and looked up. Eyes as dark as French roast coffee beans gazed down at her. His arousal made itself known against the bathrobe covering her belly. “Ignore that,” he whispered.

  As if she could.

  He lowered his lips to hers. The kiss began slow and sweet. Her skin hummed and her nipples tightened as he skimmed his tongue along her lips. The kiss deepened, and her heart fluttered. How had this happened to her? The girl the kids in high school had called Mousey Claire wanted to throw caution aside, forget what her friends might think about her hooking up with the hot guy from the bachelorette party, and go for it.

  Physically, emotionally, in every way.

  With one last tender sweeping of lips, Ridge broke the kiss. Brushing her hair ba
ck from her face, he said in a gruff voice, “You have somewhere to go.”

  Claire cleared her throat. “The dress fitting.” She was the maid of honor. She couldn’t crap out on Tanya. “Alicia’s waiting.” And probably growing more worried by the second, despite Claire’s door note.

  Or more likely because of it.

  “Forget Alicia. I’ll drive you. We can have lunch afterward.”

  She’d love that. “I need my clothes.” She’d left a change of panties as well as a clean top and socks at Alicia’s. Then there were her jeans and everyday shoes.

  “Take a shower if you want,” Ridge said. “I’ll dress and grab your stuff. I need to throw my wash into the laundry, anyway.”

  “Your basket’s still downstairs?” What if someone had stolen it because of her antics? She’d never drink again.

  He grinned as if he’d read her thoughts. “I’ll never regret meeting you, Claire.”

  “I’ll never regret throwing myself at you.”

  “I’ll never regret catching you.”

  “I’ll never regret what will happen later tonight.”

  “Will?”

  “Definitely.” If she had her way.

  He kissed her. “No regrets.”

  ~*~

  Ridge dressed in jeans and a clean T-shirt before visiting the laundry. He dumped detergent onto his stripping costumes in the washing machine closest to where he’d met Claire.

  After, he rode the elevator to the fourth floor, a grin splitting his face. He couldn’t believe he’d volunteered to take a woman to a bridesmaid dress fitting. Not his usual Saturday agenda. However, Claire wasn’t just any woman. She intrigued him on more levels than he’d experienced in months. He didn’t care if her promise of “later tonight” materialized or not. Well, he cared. After all, he was a guy. But he wanted to enjoy more than sex with Claire. Despite only knowing her a few hours, he felt a strange connection to her. It electrified and excited him.

  The elevator dinged his arrival. Leaving the compartment, he strolled toward Alicia Maxwell’s apartment. A new message on the small whiteboard announced: “Cupcake emergency! Sorry, C. Meet you at the salon. Lacey has your stuff.”

  Ridge stepped across the hall and knocked. The blonde who’d brought a man to last night’s bachelorette party answered. A yawning dachshund stretched behind her bare feet.

  “Hey.” Ridge waved. “Lacey, is it? Ridge Pederson. The dancer from the party.”

  She blinked, and tiny lines of tiredness feathered around her eyes. Apparently, Claire wasn’t the only partygoer who’d enjoyed a late night.

  “Oh, right.” Lacey’s gaze lit up. “Claire’s friend. I didn’t recognize you without your, um, costume.” The dog nosed between the legs of her jeans. She blocked the canine with her shins. “Back off, Spazz,” she admonished the animal. To Ridge, she said, “I’m watching him for Alicia.” To the dog again, “And he’d better not steal my lingerie samples this time.”

  Ridge wiped his hands on his butt. “There’s a note on Alicia’s door that you have Claire’s stuff.”

  Lacey nodded. “Just a minute.” Tugging the dog inside, she closed the door. When the door opened again, the dog’s barking carried from another room. “Everything’s in here,” she said as she handed Ridge two big bags. “Claire’s clothes from the party, a change for today, her purse, jacket, and shoes. Alicia said to remind her not to forget the purple sandals for the fitting. They match her dress.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  “Also, Claire should check her phone. I didn’t want to snoop in her purse, but her cell has rung ten times in the last hour. It’s driving me nuts.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Lacey closed the door an inch. Her gaze narrowed. “You treat her right,” she warned.

  Ridge stepped back. “I intend to.”

  “Don’t let your hot dancing turn her head. She deserves the best.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt her. I haven’t.”

  Lacey’s chin tipped up. “What about last night?”

  “I’m not a barbarian. She slept it off at my place, that’s all.”

  “In the babydolls I made for her, I hope. Unless she slept it off nude.”

  “Yes, in the babydolls.”

  “Good. Because, well, you had some sexy moves at the party.”

  “I’m a dancer. We’re supposed to have moves.” He didn’t owe her further explanation.

  Lacey grinned. “Excellent. Have a great day!” The door shut.

  Ridge shook his head. A woman no older than Claire had just ripped into him like a mother toting a shotgun. However, considering Claire’s offbeat behavior in the laundry room, he couldn’t blame her friend for acting protective.

  He rode the elevator to his dad’s apartment. As he entered, Claire exited the bathroom with her hair wrapped in a towel and Ridge’s robe tied around her lush curves. Her shower had rinsed the makeup off her face, and faint shadows dusted the delicate skin beneath her eyes.

  She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He gave her the bags.

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “Did Alicia hassle you?”

  “She wasn’t home. Something about cupcakes. You’re to meet her at the salon.”

  “I hope nothing’s wrong at her shop. How’d you get my stuff?”

  “Lacey had it. She said your cell’s been ringing.”

  Claire carried the bags to the couch. She dug into the fullest one, produced her purse, and retrieved her phone. “Yikes, text city. I’ll check those first.” Before she could access her texts, the cell rang. She shot him a look. “It’s Tanya.”

  Claire answered, and an agitated female voice echoed over the phone. Claire’s face paled.

  “What?” Ridge mouthed.

  Lowering the phone to her hip, Claire murmured, “I’m late. Tanya’s mother changed the time of the fitting.” The turban towel tilted on her head.

  Tanya’s voice whined over the cell, “Claire, my dress is awful! It hangs on me! Why aren’t you here when I need you? I depend on—” Her voice cut off. “Mom!”

  An older female voice commandeered the speaker. “Claire Merriweather, where are you? Tardiness does not befit a maid of honor. My dear, you are unreliable.”

  Claire gasped. She returned the phone to her ear. The towel sagged. “The fitting was at twelve, Mrs. Helms. Tanya confirmed it last night.” The towel unraveled and fell to the floor. Groaning, Claire stooped to retrieve it, and the cell popped off her ear.

  The voice of Tanya’s mother hissed into the apartment, “Thanks to you and those monster drinks, Tanya was intoxicated. She confirmed the wrong time. You should have checked with me. How many times have I told you?”

  Leaving the towel, Claire lifted the phone to her ear again. “I’m sorry for the mix-up, Mrs. H. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Worry carving her face, she hung up.

  Ridge placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just how deep is the do-do?”

  “Grand Canyon deep,” she wailed.

  “Aw, Claire.” Heart squeezing, he pulled her into his arms and stroked her wet hair.

  ~*~

  Thirty minutes later, the roar of the old motorcycle rumbling through her body, Claire relaxed her hold around Ridge’s waist as he maneuvered the noisy machine into the last unclaimed parking spot near Bettina’s Bridal Couture. Letting out a breath, she peeled her fingertips off the soft leather vest he’d donned while she’d ducked into the bathroom to toss on the clothes he’d brought and drag a comb through her soggy hair. When she’d emerged wearing her green jacket and jeans, Ridge had presented her with a motorcycle helmet. The blood had drained from her face on the spot. Now, however, the shot of adrenaline she’d experienced during the ride from Rosewood morphed into a strong surge of pride. Not only had she survived the thrill of her first motorcycle ride, they’d made decent time.

  “Can I take off my helmet?” she asked as he planted a boot on the pavement and silenced the motorcycle.

  Flipping up his visor, he g
lanced back. “Wait until you climb off. I’ll keep the bike steady.” He gripped the front handles.

  “Okey-doke.” Claire remained in her seat. “Uh, how do I get off?”

  “Balance your left foot on the peg.” He pressed both boots firmly on the ground. “Swing your other leg over the seat and dismount. Watch out for traffic—and the hot exhaust pipe.”

  Claire followed his instructions. The motorcycle barely wobbled.

  Moving onto the sidewalk of the busy Belltown street, she tugged off the helmet. Ridge set the kickstand and dismounted the bike. His amused glance slid her way.

  “What?” Claire peeked into the motorcycle’s side mirror. “Crap!” At the apartment, she hadn’t thought to ask to borrow a blow-dryer. Tanya’s mother’s righteous ire had wiped all but the most basic of grooming needs from her mind. Ever since Claire and Tanya had met in kindergarten, Mrs. H.’s steely gaze and firm mouth had unsettled Claire. The woman didn’t know how to relax. In her presence, neither did Claire.

  “You look cute,” Ridge said, still wearing his helmet. “Just run a comb through it.”

  Cute? Stringy waves plastered her skull. She looked like a swamp rat.

  She thrust her helmet at him, rushed to the carrier at the rear of the motorcycle, and yanked free the bungee cord holding her purse. As Ridge slung her helmet over a front handle, she pawed through the purse. Her throat tightened.

  No comb! No brush! No freaking hair pick!

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll go in with you.”

  “You don’t want to do that.” Really, he was too much. Too kind, too sweet, too hot and handsome.

  She plunked her purse on the motorcycle seat. Hunching in front of the mirror, she combed her tangled mop with her fingers. Not her best look, but it would have to do.

  “It’s my fault you’re late.” Ridge yanked off his helmet and raked a hand through his hair. It stood up in sexy spikes. “Now we both have helmet head.”

  Claire laughed. She liked him so much. Just twenty-four hours ago, she hadn’t imagined they’d spend the afternoon together.