Can't Get Enough (26 page)

He gave little thought to anything except congratulating her, but a
potbellied man laid a hand on his chest as he moved to duck under the
barrier separating the crowd from the finishing area.

"Sorry, buddy, officials and support crew only through here," he said.
He frowned, unprepared to accept this when Claire was just a few steps
away. He wanted to see her.

"I'm support crew. I'm with number twenty-three, Claire Marsden ," he
said. Mr. Potbelly looked him up and down, obviously skeptical. Jack
adopted his best man-to-man tone.

"Look, I'm actually her boyfriend, and she's not expecting me to be in town—I got held up at a conference," he lied.

Mr. Potbelly seemed to have a core of pure schmaltz because he bought
it and Jack found himself being eased through a gap in the barriers and
patted on the shoulder.

Claire's back was to him, and without thinking he stepped forward and
scooped her up in his arms, spinning her around with a whoop.

"You were fantastic! That was completely amazing!" he told her, looking
down into her surprised face. The surprise didn't last for long,
however. A moment of brief, gratifying illumination as she recognized
him, and then she stiffened and pushed away from him.

"Jack. What are you doing here?" she asked, and he noticed that her
eyes slid off him almost instantly, returning to their constant
scanning of the crowd.

Suddenly he was hit by a bolt from the blue—she was expecting someone
else. He felt as if he'd been poleaxed . Why hadn't he thought of that
before? Why had he always assumed that Claire was single? He felt like
the arrogant fool she was always accusing him of being. Why had he just
assumed that she was his for the taking—if he chose to take her?

"I was just…kind of in the area," he heard himself say. Wow, really snappy. And
soooo
convincing. He tried again:

"I actually wanted to apologize. For yesterday. With Beck. I figure that was kind of my fault…." he finished lamely.

He had her full attention now.

"You're sorry about what happened?" she asked, and he felt as though a lot hung in the balance.

"Of course I am," he said.

Her gaze was oddly intent, and he found himself wishing for the first
time in his life that he could read another person's mind. What was she
thinking?

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"Ms. Marsden ?"

They both turned to face the race official approaching behind them.

"This was delivered to our office earlier. I'm afraid we didn't get a chance to get it to you before the race," he said.

Claire accepted the folded note with a faint smile and an assurance
that all was okay. Jack watched her face closely as she flipped the
note open and read it quickly.

He almost missed the faint tightening of her mouth, the quick swallow
in her throat. She blinked quickly a few times, and then she smiled
brightly at him.

"Well, thanks for coming down. I really have to get to the showers. I
guess…I guess I'll see you at work next week," she said, nothing in her
demeanor indicating that something important had just happened. But he
knew it had. He could feel the hurt in her, and he found himself in the
unusual position of wanting to help.

"Claire—" He tried to speak, but she was already moving away. The truth
was, he had no idea what to say. Normally, he was the one trying to
ease his way out of these kinds of conversations, and he was far more
skilled at avoiding talking about feelings and whatnot than he was at
inviting confidences.

So he let her walk away and just stood there feeling like a big dummy.

13

HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL. It was a phrase that might have been coined to
describe Claire's relationship with her absentee father. When was she
going to learn that she didn't need him, and that what he thought, or
felt, didn't matter?

Claire closed her eyes and lifted her face so that the spray from the
shower hit her full-on, enduring the sting from the little needles of
water because it felt better than giving in to the urge to cry.

" Yo, Claire, congratulations!" one of the other competitors yelled out
to her as she passed the communal shower. Claire forced a smile and
responded to the rest of the lighthearted ribbing. She'd qualified for
the Hawaii Pro Series now, and she could feel the envy of some of the
other women as she toweled off and they discussed the field of likely
competitors. Truth was, at this moment, she wondered if she'd miss it
if she never competed again. She was aware that a dark cloud of
disappointment had settled over her with the delivery of her father's
belated note of apology, and she knew she was hardly reacting the way
she should be. She'd trained so hard for this win. She'd run her best
time, and equaled her best bike leg to date. She should be popping
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champagne and screaming the rafters down with joy. Instead, she was
busy manufacturing a party she was attending with friends as an excuse
to avoid celebrating with the other competitors. Yet another
disappointment awaited her when she opened her backpack—she'd been so
distracted this morning that she'd failed to pack a full change of
clothing for after the race, and she sat staring at the lone T-shirt
and bra in her kit bag.

"Damn it," she said under her breath, about to reach for her damp
swimming bottoms. She'd have to wear the T-shirt home with the towel
around her waist….

"What's up, Claire?"

It was Sally, one of the women who she trained with occasionally.

"Just me being stupid. Forgot to pack a change of clothes." She shrugged. Sally's face cleared.

"Easily fixed. Here, have this," Sally offered, tossing a black bundle toward her. "Give it back to me next week at the gym."

Claire smiled her gratitude, and even managed to keep the smile on her
lips as she unrolled the bundle and revealed a halter-neck black
cheesecloth sundress, all low back and short-looking flouncy skirt. It
was a no-bra kind of a dress, the kind she never, ever wore.

"It'll look great on you, with your dark hair," Sally enthused. Claire
shrugged—she was only going home, after all. She tugged the dress on
over her head and let her towel drop. Thankfully it fell to just above
her knees, and made her feel less decadent when she decided to forgo
the torture of rolling on her wet swimsuit bottoms. Who would ever
know, after all? Of course, if she got caught over one of those subway
vents à la Ms. Monroe…Or if she got hit by a car…Claire shook off her
anxieties, almost laughing at herself. Given that she'd sat through
part of an executive meeting sans underpants just yesterday, she could
survive a trip home no problems.

" Sall, you're a lifesaver," she thanked her friend, shoving the rest
of her gear into her backpack and padding out into the beach club. She
had to make her way through a crowd of folk intent on congratulating
her and inviting her to various parties as she headed outside to where
her bike was waiting, but she managed to keep smiling as she made her
by now well-rehearsed excuse about "another party." She'd just shaken
off the last of her well-wishers when she spotted Jack lounging by her
bike. Her step faltered. What was he still doing here? Suddenly she was
acutely conscious of the air circulating unhindered around her nethers
, and she felt her knees clench together as if they could somehow hold
that flimsy, flirty skirt down if a chance wind happened along. The
thought of just such a wind had her looking around nervously as she
crossed the distance between them.

"Jack."

"Claire."

His response mocked her, but his eyes were serious.

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"Did you forget something?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"Yeah. I forgot to ask what was wrong. Back there, when you got that note, something happened. So…here I am."

He said it as though he'd memorized it or rehearsed it a few times. She stared at him, baffled.

"Jack, are you feeling okay?" she asked.

He looked determined.

"I'm fine. But you're not. Let's talk about it."

She couldn't help herself. He sounded so earnest and looked so tortured
that the smile was curving her lips before she could stop it.

"What's so funny?"

She shook her head, trying to control her unruly mouth.

"Nothing. You just sounded very…Oprah. Or like one of those self-help books. 'I'm okay, you're okay.'

You know."

He looked exasperated. "Give me a break here, this is new territory for
me." She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering. What exactly was going
on? And then she realized. He felt sorry for her! Steel stiffened her
spine and she found herself talking coolly. "Well, you don't need to
worry yourself over me. I'm just fine, thanks."

She concentrated on unlocking her bike and adding her repair kit and water bottles to her backpack.

"Could have fooled me."

"I wish I
had
fooled you," she shot back, and she looked up to find a triumphant
smile on his face. She rolled her eyes, aware that she'd responded to
his baiting like a laboratory rat at the feeder bar.

"Look. I appreciate the gesture. Let's just leave it at that, okay?"
She shrugged her pack onto one shoulder and began wheeling her bike
toward the parking lot, hoping he would take the not-so-subtle hint and
let her go. Of course, she should have known better. She glanced at him
out of the corner of her eye as he kept pace with her. The man had the
hide of a rhino.

"So, you're in the finals now?" he ventured after they'd been dodging through people for a few minutes.

"Yep." She wasn't going to encourage him. For starters, she was
somewhat lacking in the underwear department, and when Jack Brook was
around, she figured she needed all the protection she could get from
her own baser instincts. Last time she'd been pantyless with this man,
she'd lost all self-respect and self-control.

"Pretty cool. Big party tonight? Guess you triathlete guys must all hang together?"
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"There are a few parties on," she replied evasively, aware that she
wasn't the best liar in the world where Jack was concerned.

But, as usual, he managed to hone in on her weakness.

"And you're going to one?" he pushed.

She resisted the urge to sigh out her frustration.

"I have other plans," she prevaricated.

They'd reached her car now, and she started to bend down to fix her
pedals for the drive home, remembering in the nick of time that she
should probably crouch—very carefully—rather than tempt fate. Knees
clenched together, she did just that, concentrating on pinning her
pedals into a stationary position.

"Do those other plans involve anyone else? Like a boyfriend, for
example?" She looked up at him, confused again about why he was here.
"I'm not seeing anyone at the moment," she admitted grudgingly.

He looked smug. The bastard.

"So you're just going home to mope?" Jack asked shrewdly. She shot to her feet.

"Do I look like a moper ?" she asked him defiantly, hands on hips. She
was aware of his gaze flickering up and down her body, and she fought
the desire to cross her arms over her braless chest.

"Frankly—yes. You look like you just want to go home and crawl under a
rock," he said brutally. She gasped, staring at him openmouthed for a
moment. How did he know? How on earth could he know that was exactly
how she felt?

"Takes one to know one," he answered her unspoken question.

"Well, then, from one moper to another, how about a little respect?" she suggested. "How about you let me get on with it."

Jack looked as though he might be considering her suggestion, but then he shook his head.

"Can't do that. Look where my moping got me." He reached out and
touched the faded bruise that still marked her cheek. "Or, more
correctly, look where it got us. So, no moping."

"Fine. I promise to go home and dance a jig and giggle myself silly.
Happy?" she demanded, beginning to feel well and truly cornered.

"Or…you could let me take you out to celebrate. Hell, you just won the
state final. One of the guys at the beach club said you almost equaled
the record for the running leg. I say that deserves a little
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champagne, an expensive dinner and a lot of attention."

It was so close to what she'd imagined doing with her father that she
had to duck her head to hide the ridiculous tears in her eyes. A strong
hand grasped her chin and tipped her face up. She found herself staring
into Jack's very blue eyes.

"You don't want to talk, fine. I'm the master of not talking, remember? But at least let me treat you to a nice meal."

She stalled for time, finding his eyes very compelling, aware that her
body was clamoring once more for his touch and that that was a very bad
and dangerous thing.

"Not a fancy restaurant. Just something nearby," she negotiated.

"Your choice, absolutely."

"And then you let me go home, no questions asked."

He shrugged, oozing confidence now. "Sure. If that's what you want."
His tone suggested she might feel otherwise, and she shot him a wary
look. What was really going on here? Was Jack laying a line on her? He
stared back at her, apparently guileless.

"I need to take my bike home," she added, hoping that all of her conditions would wear out his good intentions.

"Fine. I'll follow you home."

No such luck.

14

CLAIRE KEPTone eye on his red monstrosity in her rearview mirror all
the way back to her apartment. It lurked behind her, stalking her
through every turn and traffic light. Just like its owner. Why on earth
had she agreed to have dinner with Jack?

It was an unanswerable question, but all of her speculation made her
nervous and she could barely meet his eyes when she approached him in
front of her place.

"I'll just duck in and change. I'll be down in a tick," she said
lightly, already turning toward the entrance. His hand on her arm
stopped her.