"Meeting someone?"
"Yes. Could I just look around?''
He would have preferred to help, but she slid past, as elegantly as a woman who was four months pregnant could slide. She scanned the crowd, tables of lovers, of families, of friends, on the lookout for two furtive heads. One dark blond, the other brunette. Two people leaning in toward each other, possibly holding hands…
She would pour their wine over their heads, then throw Janice into the fountain. She would—
There was Kirk. She'd know those broad shoulders anywhere. A pillar hid the rest of the party from her view.
Claire moved forward. Now she saw the party in full. Two men were sitting with her husband. And he'd just noticed her.
In less than a second his eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed with anger. She knew that set to his mouth, even though she saw it rarely.
Suddenly, she felt absurd, conspicuous. He wasn't with Janice; her suspicions had been unfounded. What on earth was she going to do now? Turn and drive back to the cottage?
Kirk had risen, and his companions were looking her way. Somehow Claire propelled herself forward. Kirk was smiling now, all genial charm.
"You made it, Claire. Better late than never. This is my wife, gentlemen. I asked her to join us if she could."
His hand on her arm was gentle as he guided her to the chair on his right. The two men across the table did not seem upset by the interruption. Both slightly older than Kirk, both dressed in similar business attire as her husband, they smiled politely and held out their hands in turn.
"Claire, Martin Mclntyre and Barry Stracker. They've come from New York to consider investment opportunities in some of our newer high-tech ventures."
Claire smiled at Barry, who sat across from her.
He had a round face, balancing keen eyes with a warm smile. Martin, sitting across from Kirk, was both taller and better looking, and his expression was decidedly more aloof.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," she said. "When Kirk told me about the dinner, I thought I couldn't come, but at the last minute I found a sitter."
"I'm glad." Kirk smiled at her, and for a moment she almost believed that he was pleased to see her. Then she remembered whom they were with, and the need to present a pleasant facade.
"We were just about to order our main course," Barry said. "Would you like to see the menu?"
He handed her the leather-bound booklet, and she smiled her thanks. Eating was the last thing on her mind, but of course she'd have to order now that she was here.
"The server told us about a pasta special you'd probably like," Kirk said. "A mixture of ricotta and spinach in homemade ravioli, served with a creamy tomato sauce."
"That does sound good."
The server had just returned and was gathering menus. Claire added hers to the pile.
"And a salad on the side?" Kirk asked. "Claire's pregnant," he announced to the group, putting an arm around her shoulders.
"Congratulations!" Wineglasses were raised, then the orders were given.
Claire asked for a nonalcoholic cocktail, then sat back in her chair. The suspicion and anger that had fueled her during the long drive had completely fizzled, and now she felt an odd mixture of contentment and pleasure. Kirk hadn't removed his arm, and its warmth felt inclusive, as if he were shepherding her into the group, assuring her of her welcome.
Barry was charming and gregarious, and she soon found that Martin had a dry wit, which he used sparingly but effectively.
"Your husband is a persuasive man," Barry said, breaking a piece of bread in his hands. "But what does his wife say? Should we hand him the six hundred thousand dollars he's asking for?"
"Only if you can't afford seven," Claire said.
Kirk laughed and squeezed her shoulder. "As you can see, we make quite a team."
Briefly, Claire allowed her gaze to meet his, and was surprised at the warmth and affection she saw. Balling her napkin in one fist, she willed herself to hold back quick tears.
"And do you already have children?" Barry asked, jumping topics with ease.
"Three girls," Kirk said proudly.
"Maybe a son this time?" Barry glanced at Claire, then back to Kirk.
"Or perhaps they'll stick to the house specialty," Martin said. "My wife says once you get the recipe figured out, don't bother experimenting. We have two boys."
Their meals arrived then, and Claire was surprised to find she felt famished. The ravioli were so tender they melted like shortbread in her mouth, and the seasonings were exquisite. The salad was tossed with a light raspberry vinaigrette and served with a handful of berries and some freshly roasted pecans in the center.
"Oh, my Lord," Claire said after her first few bites. "No wonder you like this restaurant so much."
"It is good, isn't it?" Kirk said. He'd ordered a pistachio chicken dish, served with oven-roasted vegetables.
"Just give me ten minutes with that chef…" She was thinking of gathering new recipes for her cooking column, but Martin chose to misinterpret her intent.
"I'm not so sure that would be wise." He glanced up from his osso buco Milanese. "The man was quite handsome—I saw him as I passed by the kitchen on the way to the washrooms. Thin as a rake, with dark Italian eyes. Pregnant or not, I wouldn't trust my wife alone with bun. Besides, aren't those Italians partial to blondes?"
Kirk returned his arm to her shoulders. "I won't let her go alone, then."
The banter was flattering, even though she knew she wasn't looking her best. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the opposite wall, and was amazed to see she looked okay. Her hair fell in pale yellow waves around her face, and the warm atmosphere and camaraderie at the table had brought color to her cheeks and lips.
The meal ended too quickly. Kirk picked up the tab for the group, then the four of them rose from the table and walked single file to the front door, with Claire leading the way.
She paused in the foyer, suddenly guilty about having interrupted. "But did you get to discuss all your business issues?"
"Madam—" Barry took her hand and bowed slightly "—meeting an associate's wife is as important as reviewing the financial statements."
"Often more so," Martin said dryly.
"We discussed the project over drinks before dinner," Kirk assured her. "These gentlemen have to get back to their hotel. They have an early flight home tomorrow morning. If you have questions," he said, turning to them and shaking hands, "you have my cell phone number, as well as the number at work."
Out on the street he hailed them a cab, and Claire smiled as they made their final goodbyes.
"You must come to New York and we'll return the hospitality," Barry said.
"Yes," Martin added over his shoulder. "The food might not taste any better, but it'll be twice as expensive."
The cab door shut and they were off. Claire was still smiling as she watched the red tail lights disappear down the street. She was about to tell Kirk how much she'd enjoyed the evening, when she noticed he was staring at her. And the angry expression she'd glimpsed at the restaurant had returned.
"What are you doing here, Claire?" he asked. "You were checking up on me, weren't you?"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"AND if I was checking up on you?" Claire squared off against her husband. "Would you blame me?"
All the goodwill she'd been feeling vanished into the warm, humid night air. She forgot about the pleasure of the past hour and a half and remembered, instead, the anger that had fueled her trip in the first place.
"Janice was back in the office this week, wasn't she?"
"So what if she was?" Kirk's hands were in his trouser pockets. He took a step closer, lowered his voice a notch.
"Claire, I'm going to counseling with you. I'm spending every spare moment I have with you and the kids. If that isn't enough to convince you I'm serious about making this marriage work, then maybe you should tell me what it is that you want?"
Kirk's shoulders heaved on a sigh, men he shook his head in a gesture of hopelessness. "Oh, Claire."
She stepped back, knowing the question had been a mistake. "I'm going ho—"
"No. You're not leaving." Suddenly, Kirk was in front of her, his hand on her arm. "We need to talk, but not here. Come back to the house, Claire."
She jerked away from him. "Don't tell me what to do."
He covered the side of his face with his hand, shooting a glance heavenward, then at her again. "I'm sorry, Claire. I just couldn't stand it if you left now. Please, let's have a calm, civilized talk."
Claire considered. He was right on one point. They couldn't remain here on the street, arguing about something this important. "I suppose."
Kirk walked her to the van and held the door as she climbed inside.
"My car's just down the block. I'll meet you at home."
Home. What was home anymore? Claire felt oddly disoriented as she drove the familiar streets. The freeway took her quickly to their neighborhood in Richmond Hill. Here the houses were large, most of them brick, with generous lots and mature trees and landscaping.
She pulled into her driveway, noting that Kirk had been keeping the lawn in good condition. The garage door was already open; Kirk's Volvo nosed into the right-hand side as usual.
Just as she got out of the van, Kirk opened the door that led from the garage to the house. "Come in, Claire."
"Thanks for the invitation. Last I checked, I owned this place, too."
Kirk's jaw tightened. "I'm going to ignore that."
For a second, Claire was ashamed of her little temper, but then she decided she was entitled to feel angry. Maybe not about his opening the door but about other, more important, things.
She swept through the hallway and into the kitchen, aware that everything was neat and clean—not so much as a dirty glass by the sink. In the family room she paced the length of the fireplace. The house was so quiet she could hear the hum of the air-conditioning.
"Want a drink?"
"No, I don't want a drink."
She watched Kirk lower himself onto their well-worn leather sofa. After a few uncomfortable moments she propped herself against the arm at the opposite side, and he twisted to face her.
"When you asked if I was over Janice, I didn't mean to avoid the question."
"Really?" Claire picked at the polish on one fingernail, wondering if she was ready to hear this. He was taking so long to reply the news had to be bad. Maybe he didn't know how to tell her. After a long silence, she couldn't bear it anymore. "You aren't over her, are you?"
"No, I'm not," he agreed.
Paui knifed a line from her throat to her gut. Her mouth opened automatically for air, just as she realized he was still speaking.
"Because there was nothing to get over. Not really. It was just an infatuation. I see it quite clearly now. I never loved her at all. Not the way I love you. The way I've loved you our entire twelve years together."
He took her hands and clasped them, and he looked so sincere she was tempted to believe him. The fight went out of her then, and she realized that what she'd really felt all along was fear.
"Are you sure, Kirk? Or are you just saying so because of the baby?"
He glanced at her waist. The small mound that was their child was barely visible behind her full dress. He tugged on her hands until she was leaning close enough that he could wrap one arm around her neck.
"The baby matters. Just as all three of our other children matter. But that doesn't change the fact that I love you."
Was she a fool to believe him? But she did. Or maybe she just wanted to. With a whimper she let him draw her near, until her face was securely on his shoulder, her body tucked hi next to his. She felt him trace the outline of her mouth with a finger and allowed her lips to part slightly, her tongue to flick against his skin ever so briefly.
"Oh, Claire." He bent his mouth to hers, his lips firm and warm. For several seconds she and he were still, then her mouth parted wider and his lips became more demanding. Stroking, brushing, nibbling.
"Claire," he said again, pulling back for a moment. "When I kiss you, I kiss only you. Always."
She knew what he was telling her, and couldn't stop a tear from slipping out the corner of her eye. She saw his concern when he tasted its saltiness and edged away to read her expression.
"Happy this time," she said, running her hand along the corded muscle that stretched across the breadth of his shoulder.
"Are you sure?" He kissed her eyelids gently, while his hands teased the strands of her hair. "I want to make love to you, Claire. But if you cry again, God help me, I think I'll want to die."
No longer angry, or even jealous, Claire traced the outline of her husband's strong face, stopping briefly at the velvet softness of his earlobe, then continuing along the curve of his ear to the tangle of curls falling over his broad forehead.
"I can't promise not to cry," she said. "But this time I won't run away." recorded jazz music, played by her favorite saxophonist, awoke Claire the next morning, the music like a long, lazy caress. She opened her eyes in time to see Kirk walk in the door with a tray.
He wore only his white cotton boxers, and she admired the sculpted muscles of his chest, the tapering of his hips, the long line of his legs.
"Bagels and juice?" He set the tray on the bed, then scrambled under the covers with her. He'd turned off the air-conditioning and opened the windows to sunshine and the faintest of breezes.
"You're spoiling me." She stretched with a purr, then leaned back against the headboard. "Although truth is, I am starving."
"Must be that small dinner you had last night," he teased, spreading strawberry jam over cream cheese. "Want this?"
"Mmm." The bagel was still warm, toasted to just the right crispness, and the tang of the cream cheese beautifully offset the sweetness of the jam.
She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes until she opened them and saw Kirk observing her.
"Watching you eat is always such a pleasure. You turn food into a sensual experience."
"Isn't it for everyone?" She offered him some bagel and he took a bite. "Come on. Tell me that isn't the second best thing to sex."
"What about chocolate?" he asked, nibbling the fingers holding the bagel. "Researchers say some women prefer chocolate to sex."
"A close second," she admitted, catching her breath as his nibbling turned to kisses traveling the length of her arm. She set the bagel on the tray and shut her eyes. "Mmm, yes. That feels nice." He stopped at her shoulder and eased down the spaghetti strap of her nightgown to expose a full breast. Cupping it with one hand, he lowered his mouth to the butterscotch-colored nipple and, after a gentle, teasing tug, looked back at her. "Better than chocolate?"
"If only there were a way to combine the two." "I can think of a few…"
"I'll bet you can." She chuckled, then sank lower into the pillows. "But then sex would become fattening. Something I definitely don't need."
Kirk was at her tummy now, nuzzling his face against her skin. He rested one cheek on her for a moment, and his expression grew serious. "You're always talking as if you have some sort of weight problem, but you know that you don't, right?"
Claire squirmed. "I know I'm not supposed to do anything crazy like try to lose weight when I'm pregnant."
"Pregnant or not, you're perfect as you are. Did you notice the men watching you in the restaurant last night? Not just the guys at our table but several others, as well. You're incredibly pretty. I felt so lucky it was me you were with."
Claire remembered the protective arm over her shoulders and smiled a little. No way was she as gorgeous as he was making her sound. She'd been in a sundress and flat sandals, after all. But she felt he meant what he was saying
. And maybe she was that pretty to him.
They made love between bites of bagel and swallows of juice. It turned into a game. Just when Claire thought desire was going to sweep them over the edge, Kirk would make them stop and take another mouthful.
"But I don't want to eat!" she protested against his shoulder, her body coiled tightly with desire. "Be patient."
So she bit and chewed and swallowed. And was rewarded as Kirk's hard, sleek body rose up above her, then entered smoothly. By this point they were so turned on there was no stopping either of them. Ten minutes later, they were breathless in each other's arms, sated in every possible sense of the word. The breakfast tray was empty, the CD had finished playing and their lovemaking was most satisfyingly concluded.
"I love you, Claire."
Kirk squeezed her tight, and she closed her eyes on tears of pleasure.
"This has been the most wonderful morning of my life."
"I'm glad. Me, too." He kissed her softly, then stretched out his legs. "How long is Mallory able to watch the kids?"
"The kids!" Claire sat up straight, unable to believe she'd all but forgotten about them. "Poor Mallory. I never did tell her what time I'd be back."
"Relax," Kirk said, but he sat up, also. "We can call her on the cell phone on the drive up. Let's grab a quick shower so we can hit the road."
"Okay." Claire swung her legs over the side of the bed, then stood, naked. Her nightgown was somewhere in the pile of bedding tangled on the floor. Aware of Kirk's gaze, she automatically lifted her hands to her belly, then she forced them down. If he thought she was so perfect the way she was, then let him see.
She was rewarded by his grin. "Beautiful," he confirmed.
She smiled all the way to the bathroom. Quickly, she brushed her teeth. As soon as she shut off the faucet she caught the sound of Kirk's voice from around the corner.
He was talking to someone.
The Fourth Child Page 12