Chapter Twelve
“How long are you staying?” Claire was carrying in the fourth piece of Fran’s luggage.
“Did you get the travel bag? I think it was in the back seat. I’ve got to check my messages.” Fran rubbed her forehead.
For a second Claire thought she was going to start to cry again. Then Fran pulled a cell phone from her pocket as if dismissing her. Claire’s eyes stung and she turned away. She didn’t have the energy to start a conversation that was bound to push both of them. This wasn’t the right time to set her sister straight. After Fran had time to change and rest, perhaps after dinner they could have a heart-to-heart.
Once outside, Claire scanned Dustin’s yard. His Jeep was gone. He must have left just minutes ago. A twinge of sadness slipped through her chest.
She pulled Fran’s Louie Vuitton satchel from the seat. She ran her fingers along the embossed leather. She reviewed enough magazine publications to know this was the latest trendy set of luggage. Nothing about Fran had changed.
Her sister glowed from a tanning bed and looked as though she didn’t suffer from being stuck at a desk with her trim, toned figure. The modern cut of her hair, her manicure, and her clothes and accessories gave Fran a polished appearance Claire could never possess.
It was hard not to feel dowdy next to Fran’s glittery persona. This was nothing new except the degree and the stakes. How would Dustin react when he had two variations of the same woman? One in shimmering detail and the other a vintage model.
He had to know Fran was hooked up and doing well. Only a fool would hang his dreams on thinking Fran would be available with open arms considering her Manhattan lifestyle. It made sense that he would settle for the sister who was free.
She shook her head. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t let seeing Fran for less than an hour shred her confidence. She marched up the steps and flung open the door. She dropped the case onto the floor with a thud. “We need to talk.”
Fran held up a hand. “Yes, I appreciate your help. Claire’s done a remarkable job but I’m here now. Thanks, Bob. You too. We’ll see you then.”
“We need to talk,” Claire repeated.
“All right. What’s going on? You dropped my luggage.”
Claire came over to the sofa and slunk down. She twisted her fingers. “Look, Fran, I think we need to discuss some things.”
“Yes, I just spoke to Bob. He’s so funny.” Fran’s gaze moved around her face. “Claire, do me a favor. My neck and shoulders are tight as a drum. We can talk while you give me one of those massages you used to do. Please, sis.” Fran’s voice was nearly a whine.
Claire blew out a breath. “Fine, turn around.”
Her sister smiled brilliant white teeth. She lifted her hair and presented her back to Claire. Claire rubbed her hands across her jeans to warm her fingers. She massaged her sister’s neck and shoulders.
“Hold on, your necklace is getting in the way.” She unclasped the chain, and Fran set the necklace on the table.
She pulled her collar down. “Fran when did you get a tattoo?”
Fran laughed. “Well, you said you were getting one, so I thought, why not?”
“But I didn’t end up getting it.”
“No, you chickened out. Didn’t mean I should. Do you like?
“It’s very unusual.” The tattoo was an intricate graphic design, the size of a half-dollar and situated where Fran’s neck and shoulder met. She touched it, and her sister giggled.
“It’s on a spot that when kissed, I swear it sends me over the edge. Better than a road sign. Trust me, it works wonders.”
“Doesn’t your fiancé already know where your soft spots are?” Claire stopped massaging her sister’s back.
“He may, but now I don’t have to tell anyone else either.” Her sister’s deep, throaty laugh sent a chill careening down Claire’s spine.
“Fran, I thought you guys were getting married. When did that change?”
“It hasn’t.” She glanced over her shoulder at Claire. “Don’t sound so high and mighty. He travels. I travel. It gets lonely sometimes and—” Her sister inhaled. “Sex takes the edge off. Helps me relax so I can concentrate. Jesus Christ, don’t be so provincial. I thought you, being on the West Coast, would understand.”
“Being unfaithful isn’t part of some no-fly-morality zone once you enter Pacific Standard Time.” Claire clamped her mouth shut. Unless anyone considered her own erotica imaginings. She had written that one novella about the heroine who enjoyed threesomes. But that was fantasy, far different from an engaged woman having a fling. Her cheeks flamed. Crud, just wait until Fran heard about the erotica she had written and was about to have published. That would be so rich.
“There, that’s all I can offer right now. I’m tired. We still need to decide on what to do with all the stuff in the house. What did Bob say?”
“We’ll meet with him this week. Regarding the house, I’ve a punch list of what I believe is our best course of action. Let’s go from room to room and make notes.”
“Okay. I’ve a list too.”
Fran patted her hand. “Right. Let me change and then we’ll begin. Is there any coffee worth drinking here?”
“The usual.”
“I brought a bag of ground Starbucks. How about you make us some coffee while I dress? It’s in that bag over there. Can you bring it upstairs afterward?”
Fran walked over to the luggage, selected the two smaller cases, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
Claire’s own neck tightened as if a ratchet was being turned. She reminded herself to take a deep breath and to relax.
* * *
It took them all afternoon to go through the house. They put colored sticky notes on items using pink to designate items as keepers, blue for those to be donated, and yellow for anything to be tossed.
Claire’s phone vibrated. She read the text from Dustin. Can’t wait to wrap you in my arms and kiss you. ALL OVER. Call me.
She sent him one back. I miss you. With or without clothes? Give me two minutes and MEET ME OUTSIDE.
Fran sidled up to her. “Must be something good from the way you’re smiling.”
“Uh, I’ll be right back. We’ve only got the front hall closet. Can you start without me?”
“I think I’ll be just fine. There’s only a few jackets right?”
“Sounds good.” Claire hardly paid attention to her sister. She left her standing in the den and breezed out the front door wanting to sprint toward Dustin’s house.
He was seated on his front steps. A black T-shirt accentuated the muscles she’d touched last night. Dustin’s face broke into a smile and she couldn’t wait. She ran across his driveway, almost leaping into his open arms. She found his mouth with hers. She kissed him, hungry to taste him, and she pushed her tongue into his mouth. She smoothed her hands over his chest; the curves were hard under her fingers. He framed her face within his hands and held her while he caressed her tongue with his and took command of her mouth.
“God, you taste great. What are you up to?”
Claire relayed her day, focusing on the events, not on her sister. “And you? I came out and you were gone. How’s your day?” The slamming of the gate made them stop and pull apart.
“My, no wonder you weren’t here when I arrived.” Fran chuckled, her hands on her hips. “Just like old times.”
Fran moved as if she were on a catwalk. She’d changed into a jean skirt and tight white shirt. She moved slow and sure and kept her arms at her side. She looked up at something on Dustin’s house. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her breasts jiggled. By the time Fran reached them, her nipples were points pushing through her shirt.
Claire couldn’t bring herself to see if Dustin noticed. She pursed her lips, a zap of jealousy relayed through a closed circuit inside her body. For once she wanted to throttle her sister’s need for attention.
She couldn’t take a breath and froze. Is this how Dustin felt too? He had to feel
something. Her throat was a tiny pathway filled with a huge lump growing bigger. Her sister’s gaze fell on Dustin, and her glossy lips curved provocatively. Her sister’s stare traced a line from his face downward and held a point below his waist. Fran’s smiled deepened and she laughed softly.
Claire’s neck and face flamed. She curled her fingers, and only Dustin’s hands on her, gently squeezing, kept her from doing something foolish. Everything was bubbling up inside her. The past hurts, her fears, and the things she’d never said aloud. In one moment she’d gone from heaven, being in Dustin’s arms, to a person who wanted to screech like a banshee and pull out her sister’s Brazilian soft-curl-permed hair.
“Hey, Dustin,” Fran sang out. She came at him with her arms open.
Dustin kept hold of Claire, his arm tightening around her waist, and his hips pushed into her. Fran frowned for a second before she tilted her body, angling her arms and chest against an open space of his torso. This was the worst hug in human history as far as Claire was concerned. It only got worse when Claire moved her hips and came into contact with Dustin’s erection. She moved, unable to comprehend if this was his reaction to being in Fran’s company for minutes, no seconds.
“Fran, I can’t breathe,” she snapped.
“Three’s always been a crowd,” Fran chortled.
Claire didn’t bother to inquire who the third wheel was. It sure as heck wasn’t Dustin and he hadn’t tried to disengage from Fran. Tears welled at the corner of Claire’s eyes. This was all too familiar. Fran’s hadn’t changed and it looked—or felt—as though Dustin hadn’t either.
This was the epitome of torture.
Being held against Dustin with his obvious adoration sprung to life.
She coughed and when his grasp lessened she extracted herself from his grasp. His eyes snapped together with hers. What was that in his expression? Guilt, regret…something potent enough to send another round of must leave here now thoughts skittering around her brain.
“It’s not as bad as I imagined.” Fran glanced around.
Dustin and she remained silent for seconds, and then Claire spoke up “What?”
“Coming back here?” Fran traced her lip with a pink nail. “Looks like you’ve made some changes to the place. How are your parents doing, Dustin?” Even the way her sister said his name brought back a rash of unwelcomed memories. She didn’t just say his name. She acted as if she tasted each letter.
Claire realized Dustin hadn’t spoken a word. Not one. He’d been asked a direct question. Her ears pricked. Was he in shock, awe, or wishing so hard she’d disappear he couldn’t muster a thought?
“They’re fine.” His voice was hoarse and forced, and it reminded her of the way he spoke to her last night in the park.
She’d had enough and her temper flared. “Are you ready to finish? I don’t want to continue working all night.”
“Why, do you have a hot date?” Fran’s gaze flicked, if not licked, up and down Dustin and ended with single winged brow. It was her smirk that was too much.
The gloves were about to come off. Claire stepped closer to her sister and she lowered her voice. “Let’s go finish what we started. Okay?”
Dustin grazed Claire’s neck with his fingers and trailed them down her back.
Fran’s eyes narrowed and she shifted on her high-heeled feet. “Fine. How about we invite Dustin to dinner. Catch up on old times. Make some new memories. Wish we still had that porch swing. I see you’ve still got yours.”
Dustin moved against Claire, his hands turned her body. “What are your plans tonight?”
“Not much else to do. Dinner and then I’ve no idea.”
“Call me when you’re through. I’ll be here or in the barn.” He smiled his cocked-head-heated-stare-grin and the metal band around her chest eased. She inhaled and smiled even though her lips trembled. Dustin raised his gaze. “Thanks but you both need to catch up. Sorry about your parents. I’ll see you around Fran.”
His body tensed under Claire’s hands. She didn’t understand what was going on, and the space was filled with enough tension to cut and serve like a glazed Bundt cake.
“Remember, I know where you live.” He brushed his mouth against her cheek, tracing a line directly to her mouth. “I will find you.”
Chapter Thirteen
After dinner, Claire’s phone buzzed. She was a tangled mess of nerves. She’d promised herself that tonight she’d not dissolve into a shrieking fit. She’d never lost her cool with Fran and wasn’t about to give her sister the upper hand that easily.
Fran and she skirted around discussing anything important. They’d decided to begin upstairs and were inside their old bedroom, Fran sitting on the floor in a pile of memorabilia from her closet, her hair caught up in a ponytail, holding out their senior yearbook. “Do you want—”
As Claire’s phone rang, Fran’s face changed from a smile into a concentrated stare. Her tingle of anticipation stopped when Claire noticed it wasn’t Dustin calling.
“Hold on, it’s my boss. Excuse me.”
She didn’t want to share this conversation if it included more demands on her new writing. Mike had already sent her several emails acting as negotiator between upstairs and her.
“Hey, Claire Bear, how’s it going? You okay considering?”
“Yes. My sister’s here. What’s up?”
“I’m sending you a contract. Nothing unusual. I need your signature.”
“You don’t mind if I take my time and read this one carefully?”
He snorted. “Take all the time you need through tomorrow. It’s standard in the business. Off the record, you should think about an agent. I’ve known you for a couple of years and you more than likely will need someone to protect your interests.”
“You don’t think I can stand up for myself?” Even Mike thought she didn’t have a spine. What type of reputation did she have?
“No… You’re just, I don’t know. A pleaser. It’s not a bad thing. Far from it. Being kind and generous is nice.”
“Nice? Why doesn’t that sound like a compliment?”
“It’s not the point and just an idea. I’ve got a list of names. I’ll email them to you. I want to set up an interview as well. From this point on, Kevin James’s office will be your contact for your fiction. You’ve been assigned an editorial assistant. I’m still your editor as long as you still want to remain in your position at Ethos. Any thoughts on a change?”
“Might be. How soon do you need to know?”
“I’ve got some interns that might be interested. They’re here now but come fall, I’d rather snag one than have to start interviewing.”
“Good to know I’m irreplaceable.” Why did she say that to him? She didn’t want him to think she was hung up by a one-night mistake with him. “I’ll let you know by the end of the week or sooner.”
* * *
“Here.” Claire held out a neat stack of paper. “I want you to read this. Right now.”
Fran gazed up from the floor. “More legal documents from Bob?”
“No. This is a sample of what I write.”
“You don’t need to feel like we’re in some competition.” Fran gestured to her box of trophies and awards.
“Stop. This has nothing to do with us. This is my personal writing, and it’s about to be published. A book. This is an excerpt. I just received the contract. There’s fresh coffee downstairs. This isn’t the whole manuscript.”
“Am I going to need to Google terms and references? Your writing has always been a little out there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Those essays in high school and college?”
“You read those?”
Fran shrugged. “Some. Most I didn’t understand. I majored in finance and business not obscure literature. Don’t look shocked. I can’t imagine you’d do well with the reports I deal in.”
“I’m not shocked that we operate in different worlds.” She was taken back that her s
ister would admit she didn’t understand. Or was she just making an excuse for not trying to understand? She rolled her eyes and then noticed her sister was reading the first page.
Fran’s eyes were rapidly moving from one side of the paper before returning again and again. The theme wasn’t a mystery to either of them. Hot vibrant sex. Gorgeous hero, sexy heroine. If Fran was confused about her writing, she’d not be after tonight.
“This is your writing or you’re editing this?” Her sister’s cheeks were bright pink.
“I wrote every word.”
“And this is going to be published?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe you. Have you thought this through? I mean, my God. You’ve always acted so holier than thou and then to think this is what rolls around your head. Do you do things like this in Seattle?”
“Do you think a horror fiction writer goes around killing people? It’s called an imagination.”
“Well, I just don’t know.” Fran pulled the neck of her shirt upward. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and sat up. All of a sudden, her sister looked very much as though she were holier than thou even with her tattoo peeking over her shoulder.
Fran finished reading, and this time her face was crimson. “Who do you base the woman on? Is it me?”
Claire’s hands shot to her forehead without thinking. She pressed her eyebrows, smoothing the skin. She laughed one short exhalation. “No. Of course not.”
“I think the story reminds me of Dustin as well. The build of the man, the things he says…especially the things he does.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I hope you’re happy. I don’t know if anyone reads things like this. I thought you were interested in a literary career. Highbrow literary salons sipping espresso. You and your nerdy friends at Pike Place Market. Are you doing this because of Mom and Dad?”
“I’m doing this because it’s my dream. I love to write romance that’s hot and steamy and passionate. This type of writing is popular and is expanding. I’m proud of these stories. This is who I am. I’m making changes, moving back. We can keep living the same way we have, separated, but it won’t be by geographic miles, it’ll be because you can’t accept me for who I am.”
Secret Desire Page 13