Almost Forever (21 page)

Rome shrugged lazily, smiling as he looked at his wife.
Claire wondered what Max had said about her, and why he would talk about her, anyway. She glanced at him and blushed when she found him watching her intently.

It was late when Max drove her home, and Claire was sleepily curled in the corner of the seat. “I really liked them,” she murmured. “I can't believe he's the same man who terrified me so this morning!”

“Sarah tames him. She's so incredibly serene.”

“They're very happy together, aren't they?”

Max's voice roughened a little. “Yes. They've gone through some rough times. If they hadn't loved each other so much, they wouldn't have made it. Rome was married before and had two children, but his wife and sons were killed in an automobile accident. He was terribly scarred by it.”

“I can imagine,” Claire said, pain grabbing at her. She had never even held her child—it had been gone almost before she had been able to do more than dream of its existence. What would it have been like to have had two children taken from her in such a tragic way? She thought of the way Jed had nestled against her, and tears burned her eyes. “I miscarried. Right before my divorce,” she whispered. “And losing the baby nearly killed me. I wanted it so badly!”

Max's head jerked around, and he stared at her in the dim, flickering glow of the streetlights they passed. An almost violent jealousy filled him because she had been pregnant, and it hadn't been with his child. He wanted her to have his baby; he wanted his children to be
her
children. She was a natural mother, so loving with children that they instinctively clung to her.

When they reached her house, he went inside with her and quietly locked the door behind him. Claire watched him, her dark eyes becoming enormous as he came to her and caught her hands in his.

“Max?” she whispered, her voice shaking.

His face was both tender and wild, and his eyes glittered. He put her hands around his neck, then drew her close to lie full against him.

“I'm going to take you to bed, love,” he said gently, and a hot tide of pleasure surged through her body at his words. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, the time for protests gone. She loved him, and now she realized exactly what that meant; she loved him too much to preserve any distance between them.

He carried her to her bed, and this time he was slow, gentle, taking his time to kiss her and caress her, arousing her to fever pitch while he kept tight control over his own body. Then he eased inside her, and Claire cried out as he filled her. Her nails dug into his back; her hips arched wildly toward him. Max's control broke, and he gave a hoarse cry as he grasped her hips and began driving into her. That same wild, ungovernable need exploded between them, just as it had the first time. They couldn't get enough of each other, couldn't get close enough. Their joining was as elemental as a storm, and as violent.

In the silent aftermath Max held her close, his hand on her stomach. It had happened again, and he couldn't regret it. This woman was his; he could never let her go. She was tender and loving, sensitive and vulnerable and easily hurt. He would gladly spend the rest of his life protecting her from those hurts, if she would only stay with him.

Claire watched with wide, unfathomable eyes as he rose on his elbow and leaned over her. He was very male, and never more so than when he was nude, the power of his body exposed. She put her hand on the brown tangle of hair that covered his chest, stroking gently. What was he thinking? He was serious, almost stern, his sea-colored eyes narrowed to brilliant slits, and he was so beautiful that he took her breath away.

“I may have made you pregnant tonight,” he said, his fingers sliding over her stomach. Claire inhaled slightly, her eyes widening. His hand slid down even farther to touch her intimately and explore her in a way that shot rockets along her nerves, making her arch and twist against his fingers. He leaned even closer, his mouth finding hers. “I want to make you pregnant,” he groaned, the thought so erotic that his body was hardening again. “Claire, will you have my baby?”

Tears streaked silvery trails down her cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered, reaching up to hold him with both hands as he rolled onto her. He thrust deeply into her, and they stared into each other's eyes as they made love, moving together and finding incredible magic. If she could have his child, she would never ask anything more of life. She moved under him. She felt; she loved; she experienced; and she cried.

He lay on her, still deep within her, and kissed away her tears. Incredible contentment filled him. “Claire,” he said, holding her face still in his hands, “I don't think anything but marriage will do.”

C
laire felt as if her heart had simply stopped beating. Everything inside her went still, waiting for that moment when time would begin again. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move. Then, with a little jolt, her heart resumed its function, freeing her from the temporary paralysis. “Marry?” she asked faintly.

“My mother will be in ecstasy if you make an honest man of me,” he said, tracing her lower lip with his finger. “She's quite given up on me, you know. Marry me, and have my children. I find that I want that very much. When I saw you holding Jed tonight, I thought how perfect you look with a baby in your arms, and I want it to be my baby.”

There was nothing about love in his proposal, but Claire found that there didn't have to be. She could accept the fact that he didn't love her. She would take whatever he offered her and do anything she could to make him happy with his decision. Perhaps she should have more pride than to settle
for anything less than love, but pride wouldn't gain her anything except an empty bed and an empty life. Happily ever after was a fairy tale, after all.

“All right,” she whispered.

His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and he eased away from her to lie beside her, hugging her against him. His free hand absently stroked her satiny shoulder, and his handsome face was thoughtful. “Does this mean you've forgiven me?”

She wished he hadn't asked that; it touched on a wound that hadn't healed, reminded her of pain that still lingered. She didn't want to think of the past, not now, when she had just agreed to take a step into the future, a step that terrified her with its enormity. If Max were just an ordinary man perhaps she wouldn't feel so uncertain, but Max was extraordinary in every way, and she was filled with doubts that she would ever be able to satisfy him.

“It seems I have to, doesn't it?”

“I never intended to hurt you. I wanted only to get the business part of things over with, so I could concentrate on you. I've wanted you pretty desperately from the first,” he admitted wryly. “You wreck my self-control, but that's obvious, isn't it?”

Her head found the hollow of his shoulder, nestling there comfortably. “Why is it obvious?”

He gave a short laugh. “Bloody hell, you can't believe I normally go about attacking women on a table in the foyer? You kissed me back, and I went mad. I couldn't think of anything but being inside you. It was like being picked up by a storm, unable to do anything but go along for the ride.”

It had been like that for her, too, an explosion of the senses that obliterated everything else in the world except that moment, this man. The memory of that first lovemaking would
make her blush for the rest of her life, because she hadn't known she was capable of such passion. Since then she had come to expect that inner burning whenever he touched her.

She sighed, suddenly so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open. Max kissed her then untangled himself from the bed and got up. Claire opened her eyes, watching him in bewilderment as he sorted out his clothing and got dressed.

“If you weren't half-asleep already, we'd make wedding plans,” he said, bending over to tuck the sheet around her naked body. “But you're tired, we have to work tomorrow, and all my clothes are at my apartment, so it's best that I leave.”

There would be a thousand-and-one problems to work out, some small and some not so small, but she couldn't think of them now. She was drowsy, her body satisfied, and though she was disappointed that he wouldn't be spending the night with her, she realized that it wasn't practical. He kissed her, his hand stroking over her body in blatant possessiveness.

“I hope you like big weddings,” he murmured.

Her lashes fluttered. “Why?”

“Because I have hundreds of relatives who would die of terminal dudgeon if they weren't invited to my wedding.”

She chuckled, snuggling deeper into the bed. Max kissed her again, so reluctant to leave her that he considered saying to hell with work and climbing back into bed with her. She was so warm and rosy and relaxed, and he knew it was from his lovemaking. There was nothing quite like the feeling of certainty that he had left her satisfied, and his emotions ran the gamut from pride to possessiveness to wonder. Under all that lay his own bone-deep satisfaction. Beneath her cool, self-possessed mask was a passionate nature. Other people saw only the mask, but she burned for him with a sweet fire that left its scorch marks on his heart and branded him as hers.

She was asleep, her breathing soft and even. With one last
look at her, Max quietly turned out the light and left the bedroom. Soon they would be sharing a bedroom and a name, and his ring would be on her hand.

When she woke the next morning, Claire had the confused feeling that it had all been a dream, a wonderful, impossible dream. Had Max actually asked her to marry him, or had her imagination conjured up the fantasy? Then she moved, and the startled realization that she was naked brought back clear memories of the night before. He had made love to her; then he'd asked her to marry him, and she had agreed. Panic twisted her stomach. What if it didn't work out? What if they got married and he decided that she didn't suit him, after all? What if she failed to satisfy him, just as she had failed with Jeff? What if he already regretted asking her? Men sometimes said things in the heat of passion that they later wished had never been said.

The phone rang beside her, startling her, and she almost dropped the receiver as she grabbed it. “Yes? Hello?”

“Good morning, love,” Max said, his voice warm and intimate. “I wanted to make certain you didn't oversleep. I forgot to turn on your alarm when I left last night.”

Even though he couldn't see her, a deep blush covered her body, and she pulled the sheet up high under her chin. “Thank you,” she said, not hearing the uncertainty in her voice.

Max paused. “We'll go tonight to pick out the rings, shall we? Are you going to call your parents today, or wait until the weekend when you visit them?”

Claire closed her eyes on an almost painful surge of relief—he hadn't changed his mind. “I'll call them. Mother wouldn't forgive me if I kept it a secret until the weekend.”

He chuckled. “It's the same with my mother. I'll call her in a moment, and she'll be on the phone for the rest of the day calling everyone in the far-flung family. How soon do you
think we can manage the deed? Poor Theo. He's just gotten you, and now he'll have to find another assistant.”

“Another assistant?” Claire echoed in surprise.

“Of course. You can't continue to be his assistant after we're married. We'll decide tonight on a date for the wedding, and you'll know when to turn in your notice. I'll see you at work, love. Take care.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, still holding the receiver after he'd hung up and the dial tone was buzzing in her ear. Slowly she hung up, a frown pulling at her brow. She was expected to give up her job when they were married?

She fretted about it while she showered. On the one hand, she could see that it wouldn't work for both of them to be employed by Spencer-Nyle, and as his salary was far more than hers, it was logical that she should be the one to quit. On the other hand, she had struggled for years to establish her own independence, and it was important to her own sense of self-worth that she continue to support herself, or at least feel as if she were making a contribution to their lives. It wasn't just that Max expected her to quit Spencer-Nyle; Claire had the feeling that he expected her to quit working completely, and the thought made shivers of alarm race down her spine.

What sort of life would they have together? She didn't even know if she could expect him to be faithful. Women melted around him—how could a man not be tempted when he was surrounded by constant opportunities to wander? Given that, she would be incredibly foolish to stop being self-supporting. She only hoped he would be sensible about it.

She didn't have time to call Alma that morning, but found time at lunch and sat chewing her lip, listening to the ringing on the other end of the line. At last she hung up, both relieved and disappointed that Alma wasn't at home. She didn't know how she felt about marrying Max, either. Part of her was
ecstatic because she loved him so much. Another part was plain terrified. What if she couldn't make him happy? He was so intelligent and sophisticated and supremely self-confident. He made Jeff look like a lightweight, and Jeff had turned from her to someone more poised and polished.

Max was waiting in the office for her when she returned from lunch, and a warm, intimate smile touched his chiseled mouth when he saw her. “There you are, darling. I'd hoped to take you to lunch, but I couldn't get clear in time. Was your mother pleased?”

Claire glanced at Theo's office, relieved to see that he hadn't returned from lunch. “I just tried to call her, but she wasn't at home. I'll call her tonight.”

He put his hands on her waist and drew her to him for a quick kiss. “
My
mother was all but dancing on the table,” he said in amusement. “By now half of England knows.”

He was in a good mood, his eyes sparkling like sunlight on the ocean, and she felt her heart give that little jolt again. Uneasily she watched the door, trying to draw back from him. “Should you be in here?” she asked, worried. “What if someone saw you kiss me?”

He actually laughed. “Is it supposed to be a secret that we're getting married? I told Rome this morning, and he's already called Sarah to let her know. Then I told Anson, who asked if I couldn't have proposed to you in Houston, rather than rearranging the entire office to empty a position for you. So you see, it's already common knowledge. The news will have gone around the office at the speed of sound.”

Claire flushed, staring at him in mortification. “You
made
this job me?” And did the entire office know that he'd brought her to Dallas for himself?

“No, love, the job is a legitimate one. I simply made it available by promoting and shifting some people who, inci
dentally, are all thrilled with their new positions.” Gently he touched her pink cheek. “You don't have any reason to feel embarrassed.”

He kissed her again then reluctantly let her go. “Have you been thinking about the type of ring you would like?”

She hadn't, and surprise was plain on her face. “No, not really. I think I'd like a plain wedding band, though.” The rings Jeff had given her had been encrusted with yellow diamonds, and she had never really cared for them. The stones had been so large, almost ostentatious, as if they were only what was expected of the Halseys. She had returned them to him after the divorce and never missed them.

He watched her, wondering what memories had caused the brief sadness that darkened the soft brown of her eyes. “Whatever you want,” he promised, wishing that he would never see sadness on her face again. For a brief moment she had drifted away in her thoughts, leaving him behind, and he resented even a minute when she wasn't with him.

Max was at her house that night when she finally got Alma on the phone, and he lounged across from her, smiling as he listened to the conversation. Alma laughed, then she cried. Then she had to speak to Max, who assured her with quiet sincerity that he would take care of Claire. When he gave the phone back to Claire, she gave him a look of gratitude for being so understanding with Alma.

“Have you set a date?” Alma asked excitedly.

“No, we haven't had time to talk about it. How long will it take to arrange a church wedding?” Claire listened then turned to Max. “How many of your family do you think will attend?”

He shrugged. “At an offhand guess—seven hundred, give or take a hundred.”

“Seven hundred?” Claire gasped, and on the other end of the line Alma gave a small shriek.

“I've mentioned that I have a large family. That also includes friends—Mother will be able to give us a list in a week or so.” He motioned for the telephone, and Claire gave it to him again. “Don't panic,” he said soothingly to Alma. “Perhaps it would be easier if we were married in England. How many people would we have to transport?”

Claire tried to think of how many people would be invited to her wedding. Her family was small, but there were friends of the family who would have to be included. But if they were married in England, how many of them would be able to attend? And if they were married in Texas, how many of his family and friends wouldn't be able to make a transatlantic trip? Suddenly the wedding was assuming horrendous proportions.

“Accommodations aren't a problem,” Max was saying soothingly, so Claire guessed that Alma was having hysterics at the thought of moving the family, lock, stock and barrel, to England. “There are plenty of spare bedrooms scattered around the family. The church? Yes, the church is large enough to handle a wedding of that size. It's an enormous old rock pile.” He listened a moment, then laughed. “No, I don't care where we're married. England or Texas doesn't matter to me, so long as I get Claire and it doesn't take an eternity to do it. How long? Six weeks is my limit.”

Even sitting across from him, Claire heard the loud protest that Alma was making. Max merely said patiently, “Six weeks. I'm not waiting any longer than that. Claire and I will visit this weekend, and we'll make our plans.”

Claire stared at him in horror as he hung up with an air of patent satisfaction. “Six weeks?” she echoed. “It's impossible to put on a wedding for more than seven hundred people in six weeks! That takes months of planning!”

“Six weeks, or I'll carry you before a judge and do the deed. I'm being generous, at that. My inclination is to marry
you this weekend, and it's damned tempting. The only thing is, a lot of people would never forgive us.”