For Services Rendered (14 page)

* * *

From Pinehaven, it was only a twenty-five minute ride to Nick's house, where their luggage was ready and waiting for them.

By seven, Claire was ready, dressed in comfortable violet silk loose-fitting pants and matching jacket over a white shell top. Nick, too, wore casually elegant clothes: gray slacks, open-necked pale blue shirt, and lightweight gray wool sports coat. Their matched luggage was already loaded into the limousine, and Nick was waiting for her.

As they rode to the airport, with her left hand Claire fingered the pearls at her throat—Nick's wedding gift to her—and with her right hand she absorbed the heat from his hand, which was once again holding hers firmly. His thumb absently rubbed the back of her hand, sending a frisson of awareness up her arm. Her mind throbbed with the realization of her true feelings for him.

"We'll be there soon," he murmured close to her hair, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Are you tired?"

Claire
was
tired, but she was also tense as a bow string. "A little." .

"You can nap on the plane. Then, when we arrive in San Francisco, you'll be rested." He kissed her temple. "If I didn't tell you before, you looked beautiful today."

At his words, and the husky warmth in his voice when he said them, Claire felt as if someone had poured warm honey over her. She turned her head toward him, and they were so close, all she saw was the vivid blue of his eyes. When his moist mouth moved to cover hers, something hot and liquid curled into her stomach.

"I can't wait until tonight," he whispered against her slightly open mouth. The hand that wasn't holding hers slid under her silk jacket, stroking her rib cage, then moving up to cover her breast. His thumb rubbed against the tightened nub, and a piercingly sweet pain knifed through her. She arched against his hand and he kissed her again. Her head spun and she felt weak with wanting him.

He finally withdrew his hand, stroking her cheek instead, and Claire's breast ached from his touch. She closed her eyes and he kissed her eyelids, then dropped back down to her mouth, soothing her as his lips grazed hers. They finally drew apart, and his eyes were filled with promise as they studied her upturned face.

When he looked at her like that, she knew she'd give him anything he asked for. Anything. Anytime. Anywhere.

* * *

The company plane landed at San Francisco International Airport at nine o'clock that evening, San Francisco time. Claire, who had thought she'd be too nervous to sleep on the flight, had fallen asleep almost immediately after they were airborne. Nick woke her about thirty minutes before landing, and she'd had time to wash her face, freshen her makeup, and drink a cup of tea. She'd also been able to see the beauty of San Francisco at night as the plane circled over the city. Through the evening fog, a ribbon of tiny lights delineated the sweeping magnificence of the Golden Gate Bridge, and Claire felt her heart skitter with anticipation.

Callahan, International had an office in the Bay Area, Nick explained, as they were met by a limousine. Within moments, their baggage had been transferred to the sleek automobile and they were heading toward the city, cushioned in plush seats.

"For the first three or four nights, we'll stay at the St. Maurice," Nick said. "Then we'll go to the Monterey Peninsula, where I've rented a house. If you want to, we can even stay up in Napa for a couple of days." His hand rested lightly, but possessively, on her thigh.

Claire gave him a smile. Her head was whirling. For someone who'd hardly been anywhere, the prospect of staying in places she'd only read about or seen in the movies was exhilarating. And Nick's touch, with its promise of things to come, had her pulses racing.

The St. Maurice was everything she'd ever expected it to be. Old. Ornate. Elegant. And from the moment they stepped out of their limousine on Nob Hill onto the sidewalk in front of their hotel, they were given the red-carpet treatment. Claire had spent enough time with Nick to know this preferential treatment was the rule rather than the exception whenever he went anywhere, but she wasn't jaded enough not to appreciate it and bask in it.

Their suite was magnificent, she thought—on the top floor of the hotel, giving them a panoramic view of the city with the bay in the distance—with a private terrace complete with table and chairs for dining, chaise lounges for napping or sunning, and flower filled boxes and tubs.

Sitting on the sideboard was a basket of fruit and a platter of pate and assorted cheeses and crackers. A bottle of wine was chilling in an ice bucket. Flowers were everywhere: roses, gardenias, camellias, and tiny baby orchids. The terrace doors stood open, and a fresh, cool breeze blew in, causing the sheer curtains to billow.

Claire saw the enormous sitting room with a marble fireplace, in front of which a small table was set for dining, and several doors leading to what she supposed were bedrooms, bathrooms, and dressing areas. Nick instructed the bellboy where to put their luggage, and Claire wandered to the open terrace doors. She walked outside and leaned against the railing. San Francisco, like a beautiful jewel, was spread before her. Lights twinkled below, and the muffled sounds of cars and a bustling city floated up on the night air. She shivered in her thin silk outfit; it was really too chilly to stand outside.

Just as she turned to go in, strong arms slipped around her, and Claire's heart lurched. She leaned back, into the embrace, and his arms tightened, spreading warmth and a delicious tingle through her as they crossed in front of her and rubbed her arms. His mouth was right next to her ear and when he spoke, his breath feathered her hair and caused her stomach to tighten.

"You're cold," he said softly. "Come inside."

His mouth slipped to her neck, and Claire shivered again, but this time the shiver wasn't caused by cold but by the heat filling her body as his lips nuzzled her neck then moved up to take her earlobe between his teeth and gently nip it.

"Come," he said again, taking her hand and leading her indoors. As if she had no will of her own, Claire followed him through the sitting room and into an enormous bedroom dominated by a king-size four poster bed draped in creamy lace and covered with an ornate lace spread that had been turned down invitingly. Claire's face felt hot as she stared at the bed. Hurriedly, she looked away.

Here in the bedroom the green satin drapes were drawn against the night and soft lamps glowed on the bedside tables. There was also a fireplace—a smaller version of the one in the sitting room area.

"I thought tonight, since it's late and it's been a long day, we'd have dinner here in our suite," he said.

Their eyes met, and Claire swallowed. "That sounds nice." She looked around. "I think I'll bathe and change then."

"Take your time," he said. "I'll use the other bathroom."

After he left her alone, she filled the huge tub with steaming, hot water and liberally laced it with scented bath salts. Then she slowly lowered herself into the water, luxuriating in the feel of it as it lapped over her. She fondly remembered the last time she'd soaked in a bath. For years, quick showers had been the norm—a necessity borne of too much to do in too little time. She laid her head back and closed her eyes. She felt pampered. She felt wonderful.

Later, refreshed and relaxed, she toweled herself dry with one of the thick green bath towels, warm from the warming rack, then used scented body lotion, rubbing it into her skin. Finally, scented and creamed, she drew on wispy yellow lace and satin panties, then a matching nightgown and peignoir. Finally, she slipped her feet into yellow satin slippers. Then she carefully brushed her hair and applied light makeup—just a touch of blush and lip gloss and a tiny bit of eye shadow and mascara.

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. What she saw was a beautiful woman with uncertain eyes and a nervous smile—a woman who was getting ready to go out and meet her husband—a woman who prayed she wouldn't disappoint him.

* * *

Nick couldn't take his eyes off her. Although he'd taken great pains to order the most delicious, tempting dinner he could think of, the only thing he wanted to taste was Claire. If anything, she looked even more beautiful than she'd looked in her wedding dress. The satin and lace gown and peignoir she wore clung to her body, outlining every curve, every hollow, every delectable inch. When she walked toward him, his heart lunged somewhere up in the vicinity of his throat as he saw the way the satin whispered over her skin and how the pale yellow color shimmered in the soft lights.

While she'd been bathing and changing, Nick, too, had prepared himself for the coming night. First, he turned on the gas fire in the sitting room fireplace, then he did the same in the bedroom, smiling to himself as he heard Claire singing in the bathroom. Tiptoeing out, he went into the other bathroom and took a hot shower, toweled himself dry, splashed on a little cologne, then wrapped himself in a thick navy blue velour robe.

When their dinner arrived, he tipped the waiter generously and told him he'd take care of serving everything himself. He lit the candles on the small table near the fireplace, then uncorked the champagne, put in a compact disc of a Rachmaninoff concerto, and turned off most of the lights. Then he settled himself in front of the fire to wait.

And now his waiting was over.

Neither one of them ate very much. The lobster bisque, Ceasar salad, flaky croissants, grilled sole in lemon butter, new potatoes, and fresh asparagus might have been sawdust for all the attention they gave to the food.

They did drink the Moet Chandon, and Nick deliberately sipped at his slowly. Even though his body was tight with suppressed desire, even though he could hardly wait to take her in his arms, even though he wanted to make love to her more than he'd wanted anything in a long time—he also wanted to savor each moment, drawing out the anticipation so that his enjoyment, when it finally came, would be even greater.

He just liked looking at Claire. The firelight played over her face and hair, and Nick thought she resembled a young goddess sitting there in her beautiful gown and robe. He noticed that her face was delicately flushed and that she was also having trouble meeting his eyes, and he smiled. She was nervous.

Finally the champagne was gone. Nick sighed deeply and rose from his chair. He walked slowly around the table and reached for her hand. It felt warm and small and fragile. He closed his fingers around it and helped her stand. When he drew her into his arms, he felt a tremor pass through her body.

"Don't be afraid, Claire," he whispered.

"I'm not afraid."

He smiled into her eyes. Then he kissed her—a soft, coaxing kiss, and she slipped her arms around him, her mouth opening under his. Heat rushed through him, but he told himself to go slow, so he broke the kiss. He wanted this first time to be good for both of them and that meant he needed to stay in control. Taking her hand once more he led her into the bedroom.

Still holding her hand, he turned off the lamps until the only light in the room came from the leaping flames in the fireplace. Smiling down into her eyes, he began to untie the ribbons on her peignoir.

His body was already hard with desire, and as he helped her slip the peignoir off, his breathing quickened. The satin nightgown she wore was cut in a deep vee in the back, so that the line of her spine was clearly visible. With the firelight behind her, he could see the outline of her body through the gown.

She stood very still, waiting. Nick drew her into his arms, and with no hesitation, she lifted her face for his kiss.

This time the kiss was less gentle. This time he couldn't stop himself from driving his tongue into her mouth, and she accepted him fully. Soon his heart was thundering in his chest and he dragged his mouth from her lips. He wanted to kiss all of her. He started with her neck, tasting her as he went. His hands stroked her back, then dropped to her tight little bottom, and her skin felt like satin fire under his touch. When his mouth lowered to her breasts, and she shuddered, his own body throbbed in answer. He slid the thin straps of her gown off her shoulders, and the gown slithered down her body, pooling in a shimmery pile at her feet.

He looked at her. Her body was perfect. Long and slim and curved in all the right places, with a fiat stomach and small, high breasts. He smiled. Her breasts had tightened, and he brushed his fingertips lightly over them, delighting in her sharply indrawn breath.

Then he lowered his head and took one hard nub into his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and when she gasped, Nick's blood pounded through his veins. After a long time, he backed up, drawing her with him, until he could sit on the bed. He spread his legs and pulled her closer, in between his thighs. Holding her bottom firmly, he kissed her stomach, above the line of her bikini panties. Then his hands slowly worked her panties down until he could see all of her. Only then did he untie his own robe, letting it fall away. Then he grasped her waist and lifted her, placing her beside him on the bed. The firelight danced over her body, and he bent over her. She touched his chest, raking her fingernails lightly over his nipples, and it was Nick's turn to gasp.

He took her hands and pulled them around his back, whispering, "Not yet." Then he began to kiss her again—kiss her and touch her—until she was almost whimpering with need. But each time she tried to do the same for him, he would say, "Not yet." He was determined he would not lose control, and he knew if he allowed her to do to him what he was doing to her, he would not be able to give her the pleasure he wanted to give her.

Finally, when she was slick and hot and ready, he guided her hand to him, and when her palm closed around him, he shuddered. But he only allowed himself a brief moment of pleasure before he opened her legs and slowly entered her, pushing as deep and hard as he could. When her welcoming warmth circled him, he could feel himself growing harder, and he began to move.

Soon she matched her movements to his, and her nails were digging into his back, and she was saying his name over and over again. Then, suddenly, her body began to convulse, and he could feel the spasms tearing through her body, and her cries mingled with his as his own release came quickly and fiercely and with a shuddering force that tore through him.