by Karen Booth
I blinked, still disbelieving this version of Claire. It was as if she’d bottled all of this up inside her and damn if Elise didn’t end up being on the wrong end of it.
“You don’t know anything about me. At all.” Elise’s voice was cold and steely.
“Believe me, I know enough.” Claire’s voice was just as steady and measured as Elise’s, perhaps more so. “All I ever needed to know was that you selfishly held Chris’s entire life and his heart hostage while you lived the life that you wanted.”
“I think you’d better shut your mouth about my marriage to Christopher. You don’t know a thing. You weren’t there.”
I wanted to rush to Claire’s defense, but she didn’t hesitate to do the same for me.
“No, I wasn’t and thank God for that. I don’t think I could’ve witnessed the emotional carnage. It would’ve made me sick.”
Elise rolled her eyes. “Give me a fucking break. Christopher, you really picked a gem this time. She’s lovely.” She sneered, bitter disgust in her eyes. “I’m trying to figure out what the appeal is. It certainly isn’t her charm or her beauty.”
“That’s enough—” I started.
Claire erupted. “You want to know what the appeal is? I’ll tell you what the fucking appeal is.” She stepped toe-to-toe with Elise. “I love him. I want him to be happy. I don’t lie to him. I’m giving him the child he always wanted.” Her body language—rigid shoulders and straight as a pin posture, told of her unfaltering determination, but her voice now wobbled with intensity. “If you want to know why he hasn’t been nice or gracious to you, it’s only because he has no reason to believe a word out of your mouth. The fact that he didn’t have you escorted from the building as soon as he saw you, is testament to what a good person he is.”
I reached for Claire’s hand to pull her back to safety, even though after that little speech, I was certain she could’ve taken down Elise in the first round with the first punch. TKO.
Elise glared at Claire. “I’m leaving. It’s clear this is going to have to happen some other time. Some time when she isn’t around.”
My hand was wrapped tightly around Claire’s. “That time’s not going to come.”
* * *
“Remind me to piss you off every now and then.” I followed Claire into our hotel room as she yanked on my arm. “If you’d told me that a pregnant cat fight was going to be so hot, I wouldn’t have believed you.” So hot. I wrestled my jacket from my arms. “I know Graham was turned on. He told me so.”
“You know what? Maybe it’s the hormones, but that felt really good.” She dropped her purse to the floor then bent over, picking up a pile of paper items in the entry. “What’s all this?”
Bugger. This was a familiar sight. “Oh, yeah. Some of the fans must’ve figured out this was my room and slipped some things under the door.”
She sifted through the notecards and pieces of paper. “I love you, Christopher. You’re so hot. Love, Debbie.” She rolled her eyes. “Is this normal? There must be a dozen of these things.” She held up a hotel key card in a paper sleeve. “A room key? Seriously?”
I plucked the pile of intrusive items from her hands and dropped them in the rubbish bin. “I’ve seen worse. Just ignore it. At least hotel security got rid of them before we got up to our room.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Not sure I like this.”
“Think of it this way, darling.” I pulled her into my arms and began kissing her neck. “All of those women and you’re the only one I want. The only one.”
“Good. Now stop talking.” She rose up on to her toes and kissed me while both of her hands zipped under my t-shirt. Her lips grazed my jaw and the spot below my ear, prompting an uncomfortable snugness in my leather pants. “I don’t want to think about groupies or pregnant cat fights. I want to think about you and me. Naked. In that bed.” She pushed my shirt over my head.
Naked. Yes, please. “I love this whole pregnant randy thing.” I kicked off my black leather shoes as Claire stepped out of her boots. Together, we hurried across the room, stopping next to the bed. My hands found her waist and I skimmed them north, gripping her ribcage. “It feels like I won the lottery.” The sex lottery.
“What did I just say about talking?” She popped the button on my leather pants then dispatched the zipper.
“Always with the talking.” I gathered her sweater in my hands and yanked it over her head as my pants dropped to the floor. Even with nothing more than moonlight in the room, the contrast of her creamy white skin against her lacy black bra showed that her remarkably full breasts could hardly be contained. Man, I love pregnancy. “Okay, sorry. I have to say one more thing.” I reached behind and unhooked the garment, pulling it over her shoulders. “Your breasts are unbelievable right now.” They begged to be touched and my palms were hungry for the opportunity, cupping them while I caressed her taut nipples with my thumbs. So incredible.
Claire rolled her head to the side as if she was a rag doll. “Oh, God, Chris. That feels so good.”
I loved having that response from her, utter pleasure and surrender. Dropping to my knees, I unbuttoned her jeans, shimmied them and her panties past her hips. That’s better. My fingers traced up and down the backs of her thighs as I kissed her stomach, reveling in the velvety touch of her skin against my lips and cheek. A breathy sigh escaped her as her fingers traced the contours of my shoulders.
I skimmed my mouth back up her torso and sought her breasts, but the angle with both of us standing was all wrong. In a movement sparked by the ferocity of my erection, I scooped her into my arms, dropped my knee onto the bed and laid her out below me. With no hesitation, I descended upon her, drawing a nipple into my mouth and swirling it with my tongue. Her skin was sweet and sticky. Perfect.
Claire arched and I grabbed on to her, flipping to my back and taking her along with me. She planted her hands on the bed next to my shoulders, straddling me and grinding, which caused my hips to buck off the bed. My hands roved to her ass, squeezing the extra flesh that had appeared once her body began nurturing new life. She likely had no idea that I now took every chance imaginable to look at her luscious rear end. Bloody spectacular.
Every part of her was ripe and full—a twenty-four/seven invitation to lock the door, take off her clothes and send her over the edge again and again. I could’ve spent the entire night exploring every exquisite peak and valley, every sumptuous curve, with my hands and mouth, knowing she would love every minute of it.
She dropped against my chest and dug her hands into my hair, kissing me intensely as her hips continued to ride forward and back, building heat with the aid of the slickness between our bodies. Her lips wandered to my jaw, then my neck, and continued, quicker now, down the length of chest and past my waist. She settled herself between my legs, her knees wedged against my inner thighs. Anticipation brewed in my belly.
Without use of her hands, she took me into her warm and supple mouth. I groaned, relief and need warring inside me. Sinking into the bed, I caressed her scalp with one hand, tucking the other behind my head. Her lips gripped. Her tongue played. Silky hair brushed my stomach and thighs. Oh God. Pleasurable hums delivered in her lilt, floated through the air. The notion that she enjoyed giving something so impossibly good flooded me with warmth. My shoulders rose, pleasure building, rising to the surface of my skin.
She slowed her motions and lazily looped her tongue in dizzying fashion. Slowly, she released me and kissed my stomach. “Mmm,” she hummed. She rose and collapsed her weight on me, pressing her breasts to my chest, her lips to mine.
“I love it when you do that,” I muttered between our mouths. Although I was breaking my code of silence, that performance demanded praise.
“Good.” I felt her smile as her lips came away from mine. “Because I love doing it to you.”
“And I love doing this to you.” I rolled her to her back.
She spread her legs wider and wiggled her hips from side to side. I
did my damndest to employ patience with the first stroke. My eyes clamped shut as her impossibly hot body molded around me, welcoming, holding me firmly in her clutches.
She wrapped her legs loosely around me. Our hips rocked in opposition. Every time my legs met the inside of her thighs I felt as if I was about to explode. Hold on. I extended my arm, raising my torso, slipping my other hand between our bodies. I knew I’d hit the mark when she gasped. Quick, tiny circles and her breaths became short. Torn. Ragged.
She put more force behind each rock of her hips. I matched her, pulling out as far as I could with every stroke, before sinking back into her. My mind grappled with the onslaught of heady sensations, but it was too much to think about. Just hold on.
I focused on her reactions, pressing harder with my thumb when her moans became more insistent. If I’d concentrated on my own, I’d have given in long ago. Her body squeezed mine, telling me she was close to the brink, which only made it that much more difficult to contain the pressure inside me. Come on, darling.
“I’m so close,” she said with desperation.
I lowered myself, leaving my body weight to steel the efforts of my thumb. I kissed her breast, licking the tight peak. My pelvis gave everything it had, and then she cried out. Her hips slammed into mine and I finally allowed the damn to break. Waves of pure ecstasy coursed through me. Her body grabbed on to mine and let go, time and time again. Her breasts rubbed against my chest. Her lips found mine.
We both struggled to catch a breath. I rolled to my side, not wanting to crush her and knowing my arms had had all they could take. Claire hitched her leg over mine and pressed her forehead into the center of my chest. I pulled her closer, stroked her hair.
“Wow,” I said, certainly not poetry.
“I know. My word exactly.”
I grinned and kissed her cheek. “I love you, my darling.”
“I love you, too. So much.” She groaned. “And I have to pee.”
“There goes the romance.”
“Sorry, honey. Price of pregnancy.” She scooted to the edge of the bed, tiptoeing into the bathroom.
I collapsed on to my back and sighed. What a night. I’ll probably sleep for twelve hours after all of that excitement.
The rush of water in the sink came. Claire was back seconds later.
She laid out flat on her back next to me and I sat up, settling the side of my face on her smooth belly. There still wasn’t a pronounced baby bump, although Claire insisted it was most definitely there. “I’m envious. I want to feel the baby move.”
She raked her fingers into my hair. “It might be a few more weeks. The baby’s still so small. There were a lot of gymnastics going on in there tonight. It must’ve been the music. Sam used to do that.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I think it has to be fairly loud to elicit a response. She had a particular love for David Bowie from a young age. Especially Scary Monsters.”
I kissed her stomach then spoke to it. “We’ve got a lot of music to go over, you and your mum and me, but I’m glad your first gig was a Banks show. It makes your old man happy.” One more kiss and I flopped my head down onto the pillow next to Claire. “Don’t mind me. I just like talking to the nipper. Makes it feel more real.”
A bubbly laugh came out of her. “It’s sweet.” She curled into me and I pulled the covers up around us. “I’m sorry about everything tonight. I don’t know what got into me. I blame hormones.”
I grinned, my eyes closed as I stroked her bare back. “It was wonderful to see you assert yourself like that.”
“You have to admit, she had it coming from the minute she called me cute.”
I laughed and pulled her even closer. “It was great to know you have my back.”
She trailed her fingers in a dizzying circle in the center of my chest. “Of course I do. We’re a team.”
A team. “Indeed we are.”
Neither of us said a thing for several minutes. It was apparent that the gears were turning for both of us and how could they not be? It’d been a crazy night.
“Did it bother you to see Elise like that?” she asked. “You know. Pregnant.”
This was a difficult question. I still hadn’t sorted my feelings. Part of me thought I might never, most of me thought it best not to devote the time or energy to it. “At first it did. I guess only because of everything that happened. Obviously, that was a very unhappy time in my life and it brought a lot of that back.”
“Of course. I’m sure that was hard.”
“In some ways, yeah. In other ways, it was good to finally deal with her and end that chapter of my life.” Perhaps it was the high of the show or post-sex bliss, but through what had once been fog, I could see the silver lining in the black cloud called Elise. “In the end, the main thing I am is happy.”
“Happy? For her? That’s awfully big of you.”
“No, darling. Happy for us.” I kissed the top of her head, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair. “If those terrible things hadn’t happened, I never would’ve found you.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dressed for dinner in a warm sweater and the one pair of nice jeans I could still squeeze into, I rushed down the hall, hair still damp from my shower, only to be stopped by the sound of music from Sam’s room. My shoulders dropped out of frustration. Seriously?
I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. “Sam? Honey? Are you going to set the table?”
The music stopped and there were heavy footfalls. She opened the door. “What?”
“The dinner table? I asked you to set it?”
She cast her eyes away. “I sorta hoped Grandpa would just decide to do it since he’s such a busy body.”
Take a breath. “He and Chris are watching TV. Come on. We can talk while I finish dinner.” It was a miracle I hadn’t snapped at her. I’d stopped just shy of it. It’s Thanksgiving. And this is what you wanted.
She stormed past me and down the stairs. By the time I arrived in the kitchen, she’d put the four chocolate brown linen placemats into position atop the ivory tablecloth I’d ironed that morning.
I straightened one of the placemats and smiled. She didn’t return the gesture. “Silverware next?”
She purposefully set down each piece of cutlery with a thud. First, the knives, around the table she plodded, head hung low. Then the forks in another skulking rotation, during which there was copious grumbling. Lastly, the spoons made their trip. “Am I done yet?”
She wants me to argue with her so she can be mad at me about Bryce. No way was I going to take the bait. “Water glasses and dinner plates, please.”
She groaned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Sam continued with her task, while I placed my mother’s favorite candlesticks on the table. They weren’t the most attractive things in the world—brown ceramic with splashes of brick orange and cobalt blue, from a vacation to Mexico she and my dad had taken when Julie and I were kids. My mother had always put out those candlesticks at Thanksgiving and I’d nearly come to blows with Julie to get them after Mom died. The whole thing was stupid sibling rivalry. Julie was a cut crystal kind of person.
Glasses and plates in place, Sam stood before me. Hand on hip, she glared.
I sighed. “Is this really how you’re going to be all night? Because it’s going to make Thanksgiving significantly less fun.”
“I don’t see any way I can have fun.”
“Honey, we’ve been over this a dozen times.” I set down a half-peeled potato and took a peek at the turkey, a perfect golden brown except for one frustrating pale area due to the cold spot in my decrepit old oven. “It’s our first Thanksgiving with Chris. It’s our last one in this house. We’re moving in a week and you’ve spent every Thanksgiving of your entire life in this house. I wasn’t willing to give up this holiday so you could spend it with your boyfriend.”
She shot me an indignant stare. “His name is Bryce and I only wanted to spend it with him because his mom invited me. She likes me
. A lot. She wants me to hang around at their house whenever possible.”
I choked back a groan. “Of course I know his name. And I like him too. He’s welcome anytime he wants to come over.”
“Except on Thanksgiving.”
“Well, don’t you think his family wants him there? Just like I want you here?” Was it unforgivably selfish to want Sam all to myself on Thanksgiving? Perhaps, but it still seemed like the way it should be.
“I don’t know. I never had a chance to ask him since you shot down the idea without even listening to me.” She folded her arms across her chest, telling me that nothing I’d said had made any difference.
“Why don’t you call Bryce and ask him if he wants to come over for pie later tonight? We can all watch a movie or play cards.”
Her eyes softened, but I knew that stubborn streak of hers, the one she’d inherited from me, would never let me off the hook that easily. “I can call and ask. It might be too late.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “They’re eating dinner right now. I’ll have to try in a little bit.”
Chris wandered into the kitchen from the living room, where he’d been indulging my dad’s penchant for American football. “That was some good male bonding until he fell asleep. I can’t imagine what he’ll do after dinner. Probably slip into a coma.”
Dad seemed to be sleeping a lot, although he often told us that he was simply “resting his eyes”. He’d certainly been working hard at the studio, but perhaps it was time for me to admit that he was getting old.