Love on Lexington Avenue(39)

Date. Here she was, stupidly wondering if he was here because of her, when all the time he’d brought a date.

It hurt. It hurt, and she didn’t have a clue why.

“Claire,” he said softly.

She held up a palm to stop his words but didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she walked off the dance floor, chin held high.





Chapter Thirteen


SATURDAY, AUGUST 24

There weren’t many venues in Manhattan that had a proper outdoor space, but the American Museum of Natural History was one of them. And even though the late summer night was muggy, and probably wreaking havoc on her hair, Claire was grateful for the space. She needed a moment of solitude to properly chastise herself for thinking, even for a moment, that Scott Turner had been interested in her as a woman.

After all, the extent of his compliment had been, “You look good.” Not beautiful. Not gorgeous. Not you take my breath away.

She’d never taken anyone’s breath away. Even Brayden, in their early dating days, had always told her that what he liked most about her was that she was “easy to be around.” She’d thought it a compliment at the time. Now she wasn’t nearly so sure.

Even more galling than her mistaken assumption that Scott was interested in her romantically was that for a minute, for a silly, irrational minute, she’d wanted him to be. Being in his arms during that dance had been the most right thing she’d felt in a long time, and it had had nothing to do with his startling transformation from gruff contractor into tuxedo-wearing prince of the whole damn gala. It had been him. His reluctant smiles that were all the more rewarding because they were hard-earned. His subtle, wry humor. The way she suspected he felt far more deeply than he ever revealed to the world.

And while she’d been discovering that, he’d been killing time while waiting for his supermodel girlfriend to return from the ladies’ room.

With a huff, she sat on a bench, not particularly caring if she got her boring dress dirty before she went back inside. If she went back inside. What she really wanted was to go home. She’d only come for Audrey’s sake, and now that she knew the night had all been good-intentioned maneuvering by her girlfriends, she didn’t feel the least bit bad about ditching.

“You all right?”

Claire’s head swung around in surprise at the interruption. She’d been prepared for one of her friends to seek her out to check on her, but she was a little surprised to see which friend.

Clarke West slowly closed the distance between them. Looking down at her, he flicked his wrists toward himself, pointing both fingers at his tux jacket. “You want this?”

She laughed. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to pawn that thing off under the guise of being a gentleman, because it’s eighty-something degrees.”

He sighed. “Damn. See, this is why I like winter events better. We men get to be the heroes when we hand off our jackets that were damn uncomfortable in the first place, and don’t have to sweat our asses off.” Clarke gestured with his chin at the bench. “Can I sit?”

“Depends,” she said, even as she scooted over to make room. “Are you already sweating your ass off? Actually, don’t answer that.”

“I thought it’d be cooler out here,” he grumbled, tugging off his tuxedo jacket. “I think it’s actually worse.”

“You can flee back to the AC. I’m fine, I promise. Just getting some fresh, if slightly swampy, air.”

Instead of going back inside, Clarke sat beside her, draping his jacket over his knee and tilting his head back to look at the sky. She turned to look at him more fully, taking in the long eyelashes, thick hair, Superman-perfect jaw . . .

“You’re insanely beautiful,” she accused him.

“I know, right?” He gave a faint grin, but she sensed he was on autopilot, well accustomed to his good looks, to people commenting on them. And maybe even a little bored with the whole thing.

He looked down at her, and though he still smiled, his gold eyes were more serious than usual. “What’s your story, Hayes? Why are we out here getting sweaty?”

She sighed and plucked at the skirt of her dress, wishing for the hundredth time that night that she’d gone not only with something prettier, but lighter.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Rumor has it, you decided to decorate your house like strawberry lemonade?”

“Heard about that, did you?” she asked with a laugh.

“I caught the gist.”

“I’ll have you know that I just ordered mauve chairs for my new sitting room, and I have zero regrets.”

“What’s Scott have to say about that?”

“Scott will be long gone before the last coat of paint is dry, so he doesn’t get a say.”

“Yeah. That is his MO. I think he’s out of the city more often than he’s in it,” Clarke agreed. He studied her. “That bother you?”

“No!” The word was too emphatic, and she realized she doth protested too much. She lowered her voice to a bored tone. “He’s just my contractor.”

“You always sexy slow dance with your contractors?”

“Careful,” she said lightly. “If we start attaching meaning to a slow dance, I’ll have to ask about you and Audrey.”