In From the Cold (12 page)

I nodded, and he followed me into the kitchen.

He pulled his champagne from under his arm as if he had forgotten he had it. “Do you like champagne, Miss Claire? We could have this instead.”

I really wasn’t all that sleepy, and I still wasn’t expecting Drake for a while, so I didn’t see the harm. “Sure, I guess.” I pulled out two champagne glasses, while he pulled a bottle opener from his pocket. “Weren’t you taking that somewhere else?”

“What? Oh. No. I was just heading back to the hotel. Thought I’d have a glass by myself.” He flashed another grin at me. “This is much nicer.”

He poured the champagne, then walked into the great room and stood before the fire.

I took a sip, the wine cold and crisp and bubbly. “This is excellent.”

He threw me a wide smile, then sipped his wine slowly, watching me over the rim of the glass. He was too intense and it made me nervous.

“Do you like champagne, Miss Claire?” He rolled my name over his lips as if it were a tactile object, and my discomfort rose. I fidgeted, and shoved a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Yes, I do.”

“And Drake? Does he like champagne?” He tracked my motions, his intensity all out of proportion to his words.

“I hardly know. He likes wine, so I suppose so.”

“He does. I know just about everything about Drake. We’re childhood friends. Did he tell you?” He put his glass on the mantel, then leaned against it, still watching me.

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you that we grew up together? We shared everything—toys, clothes, cars.” He stepped closer and fingered a lock of my hair between his finger and thumb. “Even girls.”

“He must have skipped that part.” I backed up a step, but he moved closer, erasing the distance between us.

“Our tastes were—are—so similar, you see.” He tucked the hair behind my ear, his breath on my cheek. “Whatever he liked, I liked, and vice versa.”

I had to get him out of here. I didn’t like him or his ex-wife, and I’d had enough of them both for one night. I put my champagne on the mantel and crossed my arms. “Is that why you took Wanda? Because you ‘shared’ everything?” I snapped.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, then smoothed his expression, much as Sharon had done earlier in the evening. I wondered idly who had taught whom.

“I didn’t take his wife,” he said slowly. “She gave herself to me, and neither Drake nor I ever looked gift horses in the mouth.”

“As I remember, that paradigm didn’t work well for the Trojans.”

“No,” he chuckled, and stepped closer. “It didn’t.”

“Or for us.” An angry male voice spoke.

Drake.
He stood in the kitchen in his evening clothes, fury etched on his face, with Sharon behind him in a red fleece bathrobe. Still half drunk and with no makeup, she looked unusually vulnerable.

“Drake, Sharon. Come join the party.” Miles shot a dazzling smile at them, grabbing the champagne bottle from the coffee table and holding it toward them. “Glasses are in the cupboard there.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Miles? Do you know what time it is?” Sharon hissed, her eyes darting back and forth between us.

“Is he bothering you, Claire?” Drake growled, and I shook my head.

“We’re just having a quiet nightcap, Drake.” Miles smiled, Mr. Affability. “I was out this way and thought to tuck Yvette in for the night.”

“So why are you still here?”

Miles raised his eyebrows, then glanced at me suggestively. “I was getting to know my daughter’s nanny, as any good father should. I’m sure you’ve done the same thing.” He smirked, his expression implying how he had
known
me.

Drake looked from Miles to me, then back at Miles. I hated the look of uncertainty and anger on his face. How could I have been so stupid? Proximity to Miles was a time bomb.

“It’s time for you to go, Mr. Lofton,” I said.

“Mr. Lofton? How did we revert to that?” Miles raised his eyebrows, then swigged the last of his champagne. Drake took another step into the room, his hands clenched by his sides.

Miles sighed and turned to me. “Well, love, all good things must come to an end. Thank you for sharing my champagne and making a father happy at Christmas.” Then he casually strolled toward Drake and Sharon, the hall leading to the front door behind them.

“You don’t honestly think anyone here believes you were here to see Yvette, do you?” Sharon glared at her ex-husband. “You’re such a cock-sucking ape, Miles. Get out. Have you forgotten the restraining order against you?”

He stopped, his face hard and disdainful, nothing like the handsome
GQ
model of a few moments ago. He snarled at Sharon, “That restraining order was denied, you shit-faced bitch. Even the judge knew I’d never willingly touch you again.”

Sharon’s face contorted and she lunged at him, her nails like bloody claws aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch, you whoring, motherfucking—” Drake grabbed her, and she strained to hurl herself at Miles.

“Charming as always. I rest my case.” He looked her up and down, then snorted dismissively. “Still want to share, Drake? She’s all yours.” He turned toward me and saluted. “A pleasure, my dear. When you get tired of Drake, let me know.” Then he sauntered down the hall and down the stairs.

Drake didn’t release Sharon until we heard the door close.

“I’m going to kill him.
Kill
him!” Sharon raged, clawing at Drake’s arms to let her go. He shook her.

“Stop it, Sharon, calm down. You’ll wake the girls.”

“I don’t care. I’m gonna kill him.” Tears ran down her face. “That son of a bitch. That bastard. That—”

He shook her again. “Stop it! Get a grip on yourself.”

She tore at his hands a moment more, then all of a sudden she collapsed, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. She cried, not big gulping cries, but tiny heart-broken miserable ones that were even more awful. I felt paralyzed with guilt. I should never have let Miles in.

“I loved him, Drake. I loved him so much.” She sobbed softly now and sank to the floor, Drake sinking with her, still caging her in his arms.

“I know, Sharon, I know,” Drake soothed, stroking her hair.

I didn’t think I had ever pitied anyone more than I did Sharon at that moment, even as my jealousy flared anew to see Drake’s arms around her. Jim had knocked me down, knocked me out, knocked me into a hole so deep I thought I’d been buried alive. But Miles had destroyed her. Utterly and completely.

If this was love, it wasn’t worth it. Nothing was worth this much pain.

I walked over to Drake and bent down, reaching for Sharon, who hiccupped quietly as she lay draped over Drake’s arms. “Come on, Sharon. Let’s get you to bed,” I said. I gently pulled while Drake pushed, and between us, we managed to steer her down the stairs and into her bed. I wet a washcloth in her bathroom, then wiped her face and hands while Drake tucked her in. She curled into a fetal position and soon snored quietly.

Drake and I tiptoed back up the stairs without saying a word. I checked on the girls, afraid that Sharon had awakened them, but they still lay in the same position, sucking away on their fingers. Drake adjusted the covers, then left. I followed him out.

He went straight to the whiskey decanter on the sideboard, poured himself a drink, then threw it back in one gulp. I didn’t know what to say, so I waited, silent. I knew he was upset, but there were so many possible things he might be upset about, I didn’t know what to address first. So like the coward I was, I said nothing.

He moved to the fire, poked the flames as he stared into them, then pulled his bowtie loose and settled into the armchair. I stood behind the couch, waiting, afraid to even claim a seat. Finally, I could bear the tension no more.

“I’m sorry,” I said, the soft words blaring in the quiet like a bullhorn.

Drake tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling.

“Why? Why did you let him in?”

“He’s Yvette’s father.”

“Biologically, yes, but in no other way.”

I tried to remember what I’d been thinking, but even as I said the words, I knew how lame they sounded. “I thought it would help him. Or maybe Yvette. I could at least tell her in the morning that her father had stopped by when she was sleeping.”

“And what would that help?” His voice grew louder, his agitation more apparent. “The only thing you accomplished tonight is the wreck we just took downstairs. Did letting him in help her, Claire? Or me? Do I look happier to you? Or do I matter at all?”

“Of course you matter. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think, and look at the mess you made!” he shouted, and waved his hand toward Sharon’s room. I flinched, but my own anger raised its head. I made a mistake, yes, but I was not to blame for everything.

“Letting him in was a mistake, I admit that, but your reaction was not my fault. Whether you like it or not, he’s Yvette’s father, Sharon’s ex-husband, and your ex-friend. I can’t change your history.”

“You don’t have to rub our faces in it, either!” He ran his fingers through his hair, then stomped farther away, as if he couldn’t bear to be near me. “God dammit, Claire. Do you have any idea how painful that was for me? For Sharon? Walking in and seeing you in front of a fire, alone with Miles—drinking champagne, for Christ’s sake!” He shook his head, his eyes haunted. “I guess I should be grateful you had your clothes on.”

I felt like he’d slapped me, and the blood drained from my face. He made me sound like a whore, like I had tried to seduce Miles. And nothing had happened. Nothing.

Part of me wanted to punch him and the other part wanted to run, to rush out of there and never see him again, like I had with Jim. But I was stronger now, able to defend myself. Somehow, I fought my emotions down, my voice surprisingly calm when I spoke again.

“You have no right, Drake Driscoll. I am your daughter’s nanny. That’s it. I’m not your wife or your girlfriend or—or anything. You have no claim on me, and no say about who I see or what I do. If I want to dance naked in the snow, swinging a rubber chicken around my head, I will. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!”

His eyebrows arched in surprise and he opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. I spun to leave the room. “Claire, wait,” he said to my back, but I kept moving. Then he captured my arm and flipped me back into his chest. His arms came around me, holding my arms pinned as I struggled.

“Let me go!” I spat, pushing away with my hands as I tried to wriggle loose.

“Claire, stop. Calm down. We’ve had enough cats spitting in here tonight.”

I pushed again, determined to get loose, but he hauled me even closer.

“Stop,” he demanded.

“Let me g—” I started to say, but his mouth swallowed my words. I struggled, but he pressed harder, his lips insisting that I submit. Mentally, I was determined to resist him, but slowly, I felt myself soften under his touch. Who was I kidding? Despite the fears I had fought all day, I knew it was too late. I loved him, knew I would always love him. He traced my lips with his tongue, sensing my capitulation, and swept in with an urgency that showed me with more than words his regret and pain and fear. He sought comfort and connection, and I yearned for that too.

Finally, the storm passed. Like an emotional gullywasher, his kiss had washed away the pain and tension of a miserable day. We held on to one another as our breathing calmed, his forehead resting on mine.

“Oh Claire.” He sighed. “What a mess.” He nuzzled my forehead with his nose, then kissed it tenderly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in my ear, squeezing me tight. “So sorry.”

“Me too,” I whispered back and clutched him tighter, as if the sincerity of my regret could brand him. “So sorry.”

I was suddenly exhausted, my legs like rubber, and I knew I had nothing left in me tonight. I leaned back and looked up at him, his eyes weary too. “Let’s go to bed.”

He leaned farther back. “Together?”

“Together.”

We held each other up as we walked down the hall into his room. We stripped our clothes and fell onto the mattress, too tired to think or talk. In a few moments, though, I heard him shift closer to my ear.

“Dancing naked with a rubber chicken? Really?” he whispered, and I could feel his smile in the dark.

I snuggled into his heat, and a small smile tugged at my lips. I had stood my ground, and I hadn’t run. And neither had he.

We were still together.

Chapter Twelve

Drake

I had meetings all the next day and another business meeting/party that night, but I couldn’t wait to get home. Claire’s face had looked a little uncertain this morning, last night’s fight still to be discussed. There was so much I didn’t know or understand about her. And after the fight, that I didn’t understand about myself.

I thought I had put Miles and Wanda behind me, and while I knew that I wanted Claire, it scared me shitless that I needed her. Seeing Claire and Miles together hadn’t smacked of betrayal as much as it had felt like a wound, as if Miles were carving my heart out.

Yesterday had been wonderful, full of jokes and teasing and fun. The excitement of the girls, the magic of the reindeer/elk, the Christmas shopping, holding Claire’s hand or playing with her hair, all these things made me feel whole and happy. But she had seemed distant and remote, and that scared me too. I didn’t want her to retreat from me. I wanted to know everything she was feeling. But she didn’t seem to know that, and I wasn’t sure what it would take to convince her.

I tugged off my bowtie as I walked up the stairs, then looked in on the girls, both peaceful in their bed. They still preferred to cuddle together, and I knew the feeling. I hated sleeping alone too, hated being alone. I’d been edgy and unsatisfied for a while, and this time with Claire and the girls was making me realize just how tired I was of my life. After Wanda, I had buried myself in work, away from Suzie, away from possible pain or disappointment, but I had never stopped wanting a special bond with a woman, to build a family. After Wanda, I’d lost trust in my instincts and judgment, but when I looked at Claire, felt her in my arms, something inside clicked, like a key puzzle piece that, once discovered, shows you the way to the rest.

Last night was a setback. She was mine. I knew it, but I had to rebuild her trust in me. Tonight, I had some catch-up work to do. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and if I played my cards right, I might get what I wanted for Christmas. Another shot with Claire.

I walked to my room, hoping Claire would be asleep in my bed, but it sat painfully empty in the moonlight. I tugged on some PJ bottoms and padded quietly back to Claire’s room. There was no way I was going to waste another night away from her.

I slipped through her door and studied her sleeping form. She lay curled on her side, her knees drawn up, one hand under her pillow. Her breathing was deep and even, her chest barely rising and falling. A fierce craving came over me to protect her, to keep all assholes away who might ever hurt her.

Slowly, I pulled the covers back and slid in beside her. I spooned into her, nestling my face in her hair, my arm draped around her waist. I was aroused, but oddly, I didn’t want to make love to her. I just wanted to hold her, to breathe her air. I wanted her to feel how I needed her, and with a final kiss in her hair, I fell deeply asleep.

I was dreaming of Claire, rocking into her, her passion mounting with mine in perfect harmony. I was riding and riding her, feeling every smooth thrust slipping into her gripping wet tightness, her swollen folds stroking my cock, dragging moans from deep in my chest. I was building, my balls clenching, my floodtide rising, my teeth gritting, holding, when a painful thud hit my back.

“Daddy! What are you doing in here? Why’re you in Miss Claire’s bed?”

Goddddd.

I opened one eye slowly, then closed it again. Claire was gone, and Suzie was sprawled on my back, her hand sticky on my cheek. Vaguely, I heard water running in the bathroom and assumed Claire must be in there. I tried to ignore my throbbing erection.

“Wow. Am I in Miss Claire’s room?” I mumbled, playing stupid. “I must have gotten lost.”

Someone cleared her throat and I opened one eye again. Claire leaned against the bathroom doorway, her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, one side of her mouth curled into a grin.

“Silly Daddy. Your room’s the other way.”

“You’re right, Birdie. Maybe we should put signs on the doors.”

“Okay.” Suzie jumped off my back, then scooched up to look at me one inch away. I went cross-eyed, and Suzie giggled. I heard Claire giggle across the room too. I loved hearing my girls giggle.
My
girls.

“Guess what today is, Daddy?”

“Ummm, I give up. What is it?” I rolled onto my back and Suzie climbed on my chest, her knees hard grinding little knobs. Yvette climbed up beside her, and I stroked her hair.

“It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Really? No way.”

“Daddy, we need your big socks.”

“Why?”

“For stockings.”

“Oh, that’s right. I guess mine would be big enough. Or we could use your boots.”

“Really?” Suzie sounded doubtful, and looked at Yvette. Yvette shrugged, and Suzie turned back to me.

“In some countries, children use their shoes or boots instead of stockings. They leave them at the foot of their bed, and Santa fills them.”

“Okay.” She was still unconvinced. “But will Santa know to look?”

“Of course.” I winked at Claire, who masked her smile with her fingers. “Santa knows everything.”

Suzie cocked an eyebrow, thought a moment, then shook her head. “I still want socks.” Then she and Yvette hopped down from the bed and ran out of the room.

I smiled, feeling happy, downright lighthearted. Claire stood there watching me, her infectious grin on her face. If I woke up without her now, the day would feel empty, and I would feel more alone than I could ever stand to feel again.

“I guess I’m not as convincing as I’d like to think,” I said. “Did you sleep well, Miss Claire?”

“Very well, thank you.” She smiled, and flames licked my groin.

I propped myself on one elbow and lifted a corner of the covers, invitingly, my erection still throbbing. “Wouldn’t you like to come back to bed? You don’t look quite finished to me.”

“Tempting, but I think we’re both
quite
finished for now.” She shot a significant look toward the laughter from the great room. “Suzie has plans for you.”

I collapsed back onto my side and grumbled. “Santa’s not listening to me.”

Claire sat down on the edge of the bed and lightly smacked my cheek.

“Maybe Santa only rewards good little boys.”

I grabbed her hand and pulled her in for a kiss.

“Oh, I’ve been good, Miss Claire. Very, very good.”

“Hmmm.” She placed her hand on my chest, stopping me. Whatever hobgoblins had bothered Claire hovered, but her eyes looked warm again.
Thank God.
I was ready to move forward.

I broke into a wide grin. “Come on, then. It’s Christmas Eve.”

Claire and I cooked a huge breakfast—animal-shaped pancakes and sausage, grapefruit, coffee and hot chocolate. Suzie and Yvette made some homemade ornaments with beads, pinecones and glue, while Claire supervised. I sat in front of the fire, pretending to read
The Wall Street Journal
, but I spent most of my time watching them over the rim of my coffee cup. Claire was so good with them, warm and attentive, so tuned into them that she seemed to know what they were going to do or say before they did. Suzie obviously loved her, and I could hardly recognize Yvette as the same little girl I’d met a week ago. She was still quiet, but the wariness was largely gone. She smiled and giggled and laughed, still following Suzie’s lead, but as a partner, not an onlooker.

But Claire was such a pleasure to watch. Every now and then some of her silky hair would fall loose from her headband, and she’d pull off the band, run her fingers through her hair, then pull the band back on, totally unselfconscious. Every other woman I knew would have stopped, found a mirror and adjusted every strand for maximum effect. But Claire had no idea how much her insouciance intrigued me. I had known lots of beautiful women in my life, but that’s all they’d had—beauty. Claire had beauty
and
character. She was interesting. Intriguing. Bewitching. Watching her bend over the table made me feel like a starving wolf eyeing its first meal in a month.

We were interrupted by the doorbell.

“I’ll get it,” I said, and hurried down the stairs. I had a good idea who it might be.

The delivery boy handed me the packages, and after I tipped him, I clomped back up to the bedrooms. I arranged the girls’ packages on their beds and Claire’s on hers, then walked nonchalantly back into the great room.

“Who was that?” Claire asked.

“A surprise.”

“Oh?”

“It is Christmas Eve, you know—surprises are part of the ‘whole genie gig’.”

“What kind of surprise, Daddy?” Suzie ran to me, jumping up and down. I scooped her into my arms, letting her swing backward, upside down. She squealed with delight, and I felt happy and expectant—like a kid at Christmas.

“It’s for the party tonight.”

“A party!” Suzie buzzed.

“A party?” Claire echoed.

“Yup. At the Fritzes’ this evening. And we’re all invited.”

Suzie clapped her hands and ran to Yvette, who looked a little uncertain. Claire looked even more so. I couldn’t let her keep that look on her face, so I put my arms around her.

“It’s just a Christmas Eve get-together,” I whispered. “The gaiety of the season, jollity of the occasion, the whole spiel.” I nuzzled her neck. She smelled like Claire, pinecones and glue. I stole a quick kiss on her hair.

“I don’t know…” She sounded really nervous.

“I’ll stay with you. Okay?”

“You can’t. You need to schmooze.” She shook her head and tried to pull away from me, but I dragged her back into my arms even tighter. I forced her to look at me. She bit her lip and tried to look away, and I wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt.

“Even I take a break on Christmas Eve. And I want you there with me.” I rubbed my thumb along her lower lip. “It won’t feel right without you.” To hell with it. I tipped up her chin and kissed her, slow and sweet. I could feel the girls watching us and pulled my lips away.

“Please?” I whispered.

She studied my face for several moments, then finally sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

“Good girl,” I said and kissed her on the forehead.

“Daddy?” Suzie asked, a puzzled look on her face.

“Yes, sugar?” I knew what was coming.

“Why’d you kiss Miss Claire?”

Claire was scowling at me, but I held her close. Suzie reminded me of Little Cindy Lou Who, and like the Grinch, I thought up a lie, and I thought it up quick.

“Miss Claire had a boo-boo, and I was kissing it better.” Suzie looked solemnly at me and then at Claire. I didn’t think my baby was as gullible as Cindy Lou.

“You feel better now, don’t you, Miss Claire?” I asked, squeezing her.

“Oh yes. Boo-boo’s all gone.” Claire rolled her eyes at me, and Suzie still didn’t look convinced. Time for plan B.

“Now come see your surprises.” I pulled Claire by the hand and waved to the girls to come too. We stopped at their room first.

“Look on your beds.”

There were two identical black velvet dresses with sapphire-blue satin trim, white stockings and black patent-leather shoes. Beside each was an American Girl doll dressed in a matching outfit, one with hair like Suzie’s and one like Yvette’s.

“I gave you the ones that look like yourselves, but you can switch if you want.” I was surprisingly nervous. I didn’t think to buy gifts very often, and I wanted this to be special, but I knew next to nothing about buying things for little girls. I doubted they would care much about the dresses, but the dolls I thought they’d like. But were they old enough for such grown-up dolls? I had no idea.

“Do you like them?” I was growing worried by their silence.

“Pretty,” Suzie sighed. She tentatively reached out and stroked the velvet. Yvette stood beside her and slowly petted her dress too. Then they picked up the dolls, fingering their hair, their clothes, their tiny shoes.

Claire sidled up next to me, and I pulled her into my side.

“Do you think they like them? The dolls aren’t too old for them, are they?” I whispered, still uncertain. I had expected squeals, not this reverence.

“Maybe a little old, but I think they’re more overwhelmed, Yvette especially.” She kissed me on the cheek. “It’s a lovely gift, and they’ll look adorable in the dresses.”

I relaxed a little and squeezed her. “There’s something on your bed too,” I whispered.

“Really?”

“Really. Go see.”

I heard her walk into the bedroom. She was gone for a minute, but soon came back, holding her black velvet sheath dress in front of her. I hadn’t seen her in a dress, but I trusted the personal shopper when I asked for simple and classic.

“What do you think?”

“That depends.” She smiled. “If you’re going for adorable, the girls have that covered.”

“I asked for simple and classic.” I kissed her on the neck and murmured, “But got very, very sexy. We’ll let the girls have adorable, although to me, you’re that too.” I nipped her earlobe. “I can’t wait to see you in it—and out of it.” I felt her smile.

“The dress is beautiful.” She kissed me on the lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

She turned to the girls, still mesmerized by the dolls. I felt a bit mesmerized too, by my own living doll.

“What do you say, girls?” Claire prompted.

Suzie finally turned, her mouth curling into a wide smile. “They’re really ours, Daddy?”

“Yup.”

“All ours?”

“Yup.”

She looked at Yvette, who answered Suzie’s smile with one of her own.

“Yayyyyyyyy!” And so the squeals began. Both girls leapt on me and covered me with kisses. “Thank you, Daddy! Thank you, Uncle Drake!”

“I think you’re a hit.” Claire pecked me on the cheek, and I felt my heart grow three sizes.

Yeah.

We spent the time until the party decorating a small tree with their handmade ornaments, then baking Christmas cookies. Even “slice and bake” seemed to thrill the girls, and I curled up with them in a nest in front of the fire, eating cookies, drinking cocoa and reading aloud the Christmas books Claire had picked up the day before. The snow fell outside, the fire crackled within, the girls snuggled close, including Claire, who sat beside me with Yvette on her lap. All seemed right with the world.