Sunday's Child(21)
She whistled when she saw Claire. “Damn, you are seriously hot in that dress.”
Claire pivoted slowly, hoping she didn’t wobble too much in the heels. “Look okay? No panty lines? Pulled threads?”
Elise wiped a smear of glue off Jake’s cheek. The boy flashed a glance at his mother. “Hot,” he said.
The two women laughed. Elise gave her another once-over. “You’re good. Better than good. You look great.” She covered Jake’s ears with her hands. “Mr. Andor sex-on-a-stick is gonna be sporting a boner all night.”
“Elise!” Claire laughed, secretly admitting to herself how much she hoped that was exactly what would happen.
The dress she wore was a classic formal black sheath. Long-sleeved, with nude netting stitched in black lace across the collarbones, it hugged her body in sleek lines that ended in a short train. Both modest and sensual, it had appealed to Claire’s sense of style and contrasted attractively with her hair and skin.
Her shoes were the work of Satan’s minions. Created and engineered to cripple the wearer in the most painful manner, they made any pair of legs look fabulous and every dress look haute couture. Claire had promptly succumbed to temptation and sold her soul, as well as her arches, to the demon posing as a sales clerk in the shoe store.
When the doorbell rang, Elise rose from her seat and pointed at Claire. “You just stand there and look—” She lowered her voice. “Fuckable. I’ll get the door.”
Claire shook her head. She adored Jake’s babysitter, even if Elise’s word choices took her aback sometimes.
Andor’s comments when he saw Claire mirrored Elise’s admiration if not the vulgarity. His gaze slid over her, slow as honey, hot as a bonfire. “I don’t think there are enough of the right words in any language to describe how you look.”
Claire blushed. “Good or bad will do fine.”
“Sublime,” he said simply.
“Thank you. I can say the same for you.”
She could say a lot of things if she wasn’t virtually tongue-tied with awe. A tuxedo worked like her Satan shoes. It made just about anyone look good. Andor, however, went beyond good, beyond striking or sublime to jaw-droppingly beautiful. His features were too hard to be called angelic, unless one compared him to an archangel—that celestial warrior who engaged demons in battle. Preferably those like the one who designed the shoes she wore.
He wore his hair in its usual ponytail, and the casual look somehow gave the formal tux more pizzazz and interest. It was positively criminal to look that lickable in a bowtie.
“Are you two going to stand there all night staring at each other, or are you going to your party?”
Elise broke the spell that held them in place. Claire grabbed her purse and shawl, kissed a sticky Jake on the forehead and listed off instructions and phone numbers to Elise for the fourth time.
The babysitter scowled at her. “Go away, Claire. Jake and I got this. We’re going to decorate that height-challenged Christmas tree you bought, eat junk food and watch cartoons. I’ll see you later.”
Andor guided Claire out the door with a wink at Elise. Once inside the car, they fell into a comfortable silence. Andor drove smoothly through the snarl of traffic, steering with one hand while he sought Claire’s hand with the other and entwined his fingers with hers.
Since Thanksgiving, they’d grown ever closer, touching constantly when they could capture a moment of privacy. A brief caress down her back, the glide of her hand along his shoulders. Claire didn’t ask him to kiss her, though the delicious anticipation of knowing he would soon—and wouldn’t stop there—sometimes made her break out in a sweat.
Over the course of weeks and numerous dates, he slowly revealed bits and pieces of himself, telling her of his family, a mother and father with whom he wasn’t close, a friend with whom he was. His travels had taken him all over the world, giving him a unique insight into people in general.
He was funny and affectionate but always respectful to her as if he sensed the wariness she was fast tossing to the curb. After her divorce, Claire had guarded her heart and her son against all comers. Except for one awkward, disastrous date six months after she’d reclaimed her maiden name, she had turned down every offer. Until Andor. She hadn’t abandoned her caution entirely, but he’d found a way through her armor, worn her down like river water over stone, only so much faster. When he suggested they see each other exclusively, Claire had wanted to shout her joy from the rooftop of her house.
She lifted their joined hands to her mouth and kissed his knuckles before setting his hand on her thigh. They still said nothing to each other, but the tension in the car jumped, and Andor’s eyes had gone the gaslight blue Claire now recognized as his desire for her manifested.
At the gala, they joined co-workers at one of the tables set up in the Ainsley hall. Thousands of fairy lights woven into the tall trees and strung through the garland that wrapped around columns and was pinned to stair banisters cast the room in golden light.
Servers passed out champagne and offered hors d’oeuvres to the guests. A string quartet played from an upper balcony, a mix of Christmas and dance music. Claire looped her arm through Andor’s as they left the table to circulate among the crowd. “I think you’ve been stripped naked at least a dozen times since we walked through the door.” She would have to be blind not to catch the admiring stares Andor received when they arrived, and even now as they navigated through clusters of guests. She was guilty of doing it multiple times herself.