Chapter Seventeen
They cuddled on the couch, munching on popcorn. Claire sat on his lap, the perfect armful and occasionally sighed as she wiggled her ass.
“Sore, honey?” he asked tossing a piece of popcorn into the air and watching her try to catch it with her mouth. It bounced off her chin and he picked it up and ate it.
“A little,” she answered. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything you can’t handle,” he praised. “You’ve changed so much.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked, tipping her head and looking at him curiously.
“God yes. If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have taken George up on his offer,” he laughed.
“What offer?”
“He asked me to marry you. At the time I thought he was crazy. Now I can’t wait to slip a ring on your finger, if you’ll have me. Funny how life turns out, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Claire replied, turning to look at the TV and accepting Travis’s hug and kiss on the cheek. She had a piece of popcorn in her mouth and could barely swallow it. Sliding off his lap she went toward the kitchen. “Gotta get a drink.”
“Bring me a beer, will you?” he called.
She didn’t turn to answer him; the tears were already falling. So now she had the full story. Not only had George appointed Travis her trustee, he’d pretty much given her to him. How nice to have the dead husband’s approval before you spanked, fucked and pretty much took control of the widow’s life.
She wasn’t his woman; she was his cross to bear, his obligation forever and ever amen. What choice did Travis have? What choice had George left her with? They’d be connected in some way until one of them was dead. Travis might as well take advantage of the adventurous little widow.
She hadn’t exactly been hard to get, hell she about fell into his arms and his bed. And the things they’d done, he’d done, my god, she thought she was going to throw up. Sobbing into a dish towel, she turned on the water to muffle the sound. She’d called him daddy, for Christ’s sake, let him discipline her, fuck her in the ass and she’d loved every minute of it. How Travis must be crowing. Not only had he fulfilled a dead man’s last request but he’d turned the woman who threw him over, the woman he’d resented for twenty years into his own little subbie. How much better could it get for him? He had everything. Control of her money, control of her, and she’d given it to him, dammit!
She had to get out of here, she realized, but not tonight. He’d never let her go. No, she had to wait until morning, after he left for work if she could stand it that long.
She couldn’t. Claire splashed water on her face, patted it off slightly and got a beer out of the refrigerator. Taking it to him she explained she was feeling slightly nauseous and thought she’d go to bed early.
Travis was full of concern but she finally managed to convince him it would be best if she slept in her own room, after all she might be up half the night vomiting and he had to work the next day, she didn’t. He finally agreed providing she kept her door open in case she needed him in the night.
It was all she could do to let him help her into an over-sized tee-shirt and tuck her in with a cool cloth for her head and a bucket beside the bed. He checked on her several time before he went to bed and each time she pretended to be sleeping. Finally, he kissed her forehead and went to bed. She was gone before the first rays of dawn broke the night sky.
***
The sounds of the renovations were deafening. Travis picked his way carefully though the stacks of wood, sheet rock and buckets of compound. Huge rolls of carpet wrapped in thick plastic blocked the stairs and he stopped one of the many workers moving through the maze of men and tools.
“Mrs. Wellington?” he shouted
“Who?” the man asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Mrs. Wellington,” Travis repeated, holding his hand about chest high, “the owner”.
“Oh, Claire. What do you want her for?”
Travis waited for a break in the sawing, annoyed at being questioned and looked over.
“I need to see her. Where is she?”
“Upstairs,” the worker replied, smiling as Travis looked at the amount of material blocking his way. “But I don’t think she wants to see anyone today. The boss lady is in a bad mood and doesn’t want to be disturbed except in an emergency.”
“She’ll see me,” Travis stated grimly as he began navigating the mess.
He found her in the kitchen standing at a natural granite island in shades of brown. Dozens of paint samples were spread out in front of her.
“A lot of people go with neutral colors,” the man with her said. “Resale value is better.”
“I have no intention of selling, Havre,” she replied. “I went with the matching brown tiles for behind the counter right?”
“Yes the ones shot with streaks of copper.”
“The let’s go with this,” she suggested, holding up a sample of light creamy mocha. “I can always change it later if I don’t like it. When is the flooring going down?”
“I thought we’d do that last or close to it,” Havre replied. “We were lucky to get those copper colored appliances. We’re still going with the hardwood floor right?”
“Yes.”
“Claire?”
“I’ll be with you in a moment, Travis. I want a warm feel, Havre. Go with this teal for the living room and I’ll accent with shades of brown and mocha. I think it will all blend together.”
“Right. I’ll order the paint today.”
“Oh and I love the lighting. It’s just what I wanted.”
Havre nodded and walked away, giving Travis the once over.
“I’ll be right in the bathroom if you need me,” he said pointedly. “The plumbers are here now installing the shower.”
“Thanks. What is it, Travis?” Sighing, Claire brushed the hair from her forehead and tightened her pony tail.
“I found your note.”
“That’s good, wouldn’t want you to think I skipped out on you,” she replied.
“But that’s exactly what you did, isn’t it?”
“No, I’m working.” Gathering up the samples, she ran her fingers along the granite.
“Bullshit. It’s barely seven o’clock in the morning. Since when do you leave that early?”
“Since we got so close to finishing,” she informed him coolly. “There are hundreds of tiny details to be dealt with. Was there something you wanted?”
“You know damn well what I want.”
Claire stuffed her hands into her jeans pockets and shrugged her shoulders as she moved to the window and looked out.
“It’s going to be a great play yard,” she stated, watching the workers assemble a huge section of equipment complete with a fort, tunnels and a slide.
“Yes,” he replied coming to stand beside her. “Claire, what’s all this about? I asked you to marry me last night. This morning I get up and you’re gone.”
“Look, Travis, I think you’re carrying this best friend thing a little too far. I know George asked you to look after me, but you’ve more than fulfilled any obligation you think you had to him. I’m fine now. Oh I admit for a while I sort of went off the deep end, went a little wild, but I’m back on track now. I know what I’m going to do with my life.”
“So that’s it, you’re done with me, with us? You don’t need me anymore?” Staring down at her, it was all he could do to keep from shaking her.
“Of course we’ll always be friends, Travis, and I imagine I’ll need to come to you now and then for advice, but yes I guess you could say we’re done.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t realize I was more of a duty than anything else. Really, I had no idea George was picking out my next husband.”
“It wasn’t like that, Claire,” he growled in frustration.
“Did George ask you to marry me?” she demanded. “That’s what you said last night.”
> “Last night I was joking. I just found it funny that he knew all along we should be together,” he hedged, staring out the window.
“Did he ask you to marry me, Travis?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But he wasn’t serious; he was sick, under a tremendous amount of stress and worried about you.”
“I see. Well, I guess on some level he had reason to worry. It was thoughtful of him, but completely unnecessary,” she said squaring her shoulders. “You are under no further obligation to me, Travis. I think you’ve comforted the grieving widow sufficiently.”
“This isn’t about you, Claire, and it’s not about George or anything he may have asked me to do. It’s about us,” Travis ground out.
“There is no us, Travis, at least not anymore. I know in the beginning you felt you needed to step up and maybe you did,” she admitted. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, but I also know you didn’t like me very much. It must have been difficult to hide your disdain for me.”
“Claire, I never hid my disdain, I blistered your ass,” he snapped. “You were selfish and self-destructive. I couldn’t let it go on.”
“Of course you couldn’t. You owed it to George to um… straighten me out.”
“It may have started out like that, but that’s not how it is now. I love you, Claire. I always have. You’re not the same women you were a few months ago. I hardly ever have to spank you now.”
“That must be disappointing.”
“Oh for god sake, there’s no talking to you is there? I ought to turn you over my knee right now and spank some sense into you. How dare you reduce what we’ve shared to some sort of misguided debt.”
“I wouldn’t advise that, Travis,” she replied softly, nodding toward the doorway where two big men were waiting to speak with her. “You can show yourself out I’m sure.”
Travis followed her gaze and straightened to his full height.
“I can see this isn’t getting us anywhere and I have to go to work. I have an important meeting this morning. I’ll see you tonight, at home.”
“I won’t be there.”
“And just where will you be?” he inquired through tightly clenched teeth.
“I’ve taken a room at the Saint Regis. I’ll be staying there until this apartment is finished. As I said I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but…”
“Yeah I know, I know, my obligation to your dead husband is over. Well think what you like, Mrs. Wellington, but we both know the truth. I love you, Claire, and have for twenty years, and what’s more, you love me. When you’re ready to stop pouting about something your husband said before he died, call me and we’ll talk. George was my best friend. I loved him, but I certainly wouldn’t marry you out of some fucked up sense of duty. Apparently you’re not quite as grown up as you claim if you’re going to insist on throwing a hissy fit. I guess I didn’t spank you often enough,” he snapped clearly.
Claire gasped. She heard one of the workers chuckle and hoped it wasn’t Havre. She’d hate like hell to have to get rid of him. When she turned back around, Travis was gone and only Havre was standing there.
“Being a little hard on the guy aren’t you?” the older man asked.
“Just paint the fucking apartment,” she snapped, shoving past him.
Havre shook his head. Claire was never foul-mouthed and for a moment his own hand itched. Picking up her yellow hard hat from the counter he followed her and plopped it on her head.
“Boss or not, you will wear your hat in a construction area,” he ordered.
Claire nodded, a blush still staining her cheeks.
Giving her ponytail a tug to let her know they were back on good terms, Havre returned to work.
***
Travis went to work and accomplished exactly nothing. He’d zoned out through most of his meeting, thankful his assistant was on top of things. Returning to his apartment, he could smell her perfume as soon as he opened the door and smiled. She’d come to her senses.
She hadn’t. Nearly all of her things were gone. Claire was gone. The only thing that remained behind was her toy box sitting on his dresser. Picking it up, he walked to her room and placed it on the shelf in her closet.
Her closet! No dammit, it was his closet, his room, his apartment. He’d lived there alone for years and he could do it again. To hell with her!
In the living room he poured a drink and walked out onto the terrace. His poor ficus was dead, surround by a ring of cigarette butts. The glass jar on the floor beside it was full to the brim. So much for quitting, he sneered tossing back his drink. He left the door open when he went back inside. The noise of the city overrode the silence of the apartment.
Suddenly he laughed; a bitter, ironic sound that had nothing to do with joy. George had won again. Even from the grave, his words were more powerful than Travis’s own.
“Did George ask you to marry me?”
“Yes.”
He’d been fooling himself, in his arrogant way, that she needed him. She didn’t. He needed her. Even when she was annoying the hell out of him, he felt alive. His well-ordered world turned on its head. What a concept!
Her touch, her laughter, her submission were a gift to him, filling the cracks and crevasses in his life he hadn’t been aware existed. Her tears soothed something in his soul. There was a reason he’d never married, never been able to maintain a lasting relationship, he admitted to himself.
He’d been hard on Claire for years, telling himself it was because she was such a shit. Had he really been holding a grudge? Could it be something as juvenile as that?
She’d chosen George, easy-going, accommodating, George. If she’d chosen Travis back then, it never would have worked. Twenty-something Claire would have run crying to George within a week begging for help getting a divorce. She would have called her new husband a brute for spanking her when she got out of hand, a pervert for wanting every part of her body for his own. He knew he frightened her, had tried to keep the intensity out of his eyes when he looked at her, but she’d sensed it anyway.
Today’s Claire wasn’t frightened. On the contrary, she gave as good as she got. Living with her was exciting, risky. He never knew what she was up to, what she’d pull next. Did he still want to spank her? Hell yes! Sometimes even when she needed it. All grown up, she got off on playing his little girl, giving up control to him. Women like that were rare, women who could step in and out of that world at will even rarer.
Claire was tough and strong, fragile and childlike depending on what she needed to be, what he needed her to be. She was a chameleon, ever changing, ever growing, open to new experiences with him because she trusted him. But did she love him? Damned if he knew.
In any case, he’d lost her. Once again he’d let her slip through his fingers. She was hot as hell, he thought remembering the sight of her on her knees, his cock buried in her red ass. She’d probably be fucking Jackson before the week was out. Walking back out to the terrace, Travis picked up the jar of cigarette butts and dumped the entire thing onto his neighbor’s balcony below.
***
Entering her suite, Claire walked straight through to the bathroom where she stripped off her dirty, plaster covered clothes and turned on the shower. She’d gone to get her things as soon as Travis left her building that morning. He said he had a meeting. It was the perfect time to get in and out without a scene.
It amazed her how little she actually had in his apartment. Apart from her clothes and cosmetics, everything was Travis’s, yet she’d never felt deprived, never felt out of place. She left the toy box. It was another reminder of what brought them together, yet kept them apart. Apparently George would always be between them.
After soaping her hair, she stood under the shower, not knowing many of the streaks running down her cheeks were tears. She’d loved George, loved him dearly and had he not up and died on her, she probably would have stayed married to him for the rest of her days.
They would have had lovely, vanilla sex with
a little twist thrown in now and then and she would have been satisfied. Not now. Not ever again.
The things Travis had done to her should be a crime. In reality, they were probably illegal in several states. He should be arrested, she thought turning off the water. He was a thief, stealing her heart the way he had; a handsome devil masquerading as a man.
The passion he’d pulled from her, the raw need he inspired was like an open wound. How was she to know that pain and pleasure were first cousins? How was she to know that once tasted, his brand of love making would become a deep and abiding addiction, a craving that gnawed at her nearly every waking minute? Where would she find another man like that? Why did it have to turn out she’d been a gift from George?
He might as well have put it in his fucking will!
“Oh yeah, and Travis gets Claire!”
It was total bullshit. She was no man’s gift, no man’s obligation. She’d take care of herself or fall flat on her face, whatever.
Walking from the bathroom naked, she went into the living room and dug a cigarette out of her purse. It was a no smoking suite. So sue me, the thought. Lighting it she took a long drag and held it. She should buy some pot. Maybe that would help.
She wondered if Travis felt vindicated somehow. Many years ago she’d hurt him, badly. Were they even now? She hardly thought so. Yes, she’d broken his heart, but he’d broken her, all of her. She’d forever be stuck in a sexual wasteland, never really satisfied, never really loved.
What a fucking prick! She hoped he was proud of himself, she hoped George was.
Claire tossed her butt into the toilet, flushed and crawled onto the bed. She felt hungry and wondered if she’d eaten that day. She couldn’t remember and closed her eyes. There were all sorts of hunger and she would survive them all.
Chapter Eighteen
Three Months Later
Claire woke up smiling. It was going to be a good day. She could feel it. Today was her grand opening, a sort of open house. “Reach for the Stars” would be on display for the neighborhood families to come and visit. Kids would get to check out all the fun things to do and the parents could scope out the staff and educational activities.
Widow on the Loose Page 16