Sunday's Child(22)
Andor met her gaze, his expression grim. “I hope not. I’m wearing Scooby Doo boxers.” His expression never changed, even when Claire’s eyes widened, and she glanced automatically at his crotch.
“Seriously?”
He broke into a laugh and spun her so she faced him. “No.” He captured her right hand and settled his other hand on her lower back. “Dance with me, Claire.”
She stepped into his embrace, happy to hold onto his broad shoulders. “So you can dance.”
“I told you, if you invited me, you’d find out. How brave are you?”
“Not very, but if you step on my toes I won’t feel it. My feet have gone numb.”
They glided across the room, Andor guiding her unerringly over the floor and around other dancing couples. Claire felt like she was flying. Only this was better than flying, better than breathing even.
They danced straight through four more songs, stopping only when the quartet changed tempo to something less suitable for a waltz or simple box-step. Andor guided Claire to a semi-secluded alcove at the perimeter of the hall.
The heat pouring off him was matched only by the fire inside her. She caressed the side of his face, tracing the angles of his cheekbone and nose, the sharp line of his jaw. He turned his face into her hand, his lashes dark and thick on his cheeks as he closed his eyes and kissed her palm.
“Do you think anyone will notice if we make out right here?” Claire’s other hand busied itself wandering under Andor’s tux jacket to stroke his narrow waist and the contoured muscles of his back. She felt the curve of his smile against her palm before he raised his head.
“Probably. And if you didn’t like office gossip before...” He trailed off, his teasing expression sobering. He traced the line of her spine and curve of her hips, leaving trails of fire on Claire’s skin. “We can leave if you wish.”
She could hear it in his voice, that subtle coaxing that almost beguiled her into saying yes. “I’d love to but we can’t. We have to stay through the dinner.”
“And eat the cardboard chicken.” Andor drew invisible designs on her neck with a fingertip. Claire leaned into his touch with a sigh. “Let’s go back to our table. At least the conversation with others will distract me.”
Claire huffed and slid out of his embrace. “Speak for yourself.” She intended to learn the shape of his upper thigh under the shrouded protection of the tablecloth.
His low chuckle seduced her as much as his touch did.
The dinner lasted for years. At least it seemed that way to Claire who, if she were ever asked, couldn’t remember what was served on her plate. She ate a little, chatted with her co-workers, including Dee who often cast her and Andor knowing looks, and played with Andor’s thigh under the table.
When dinner ended, Andor rose, helped Claire out of her seat and wished everyone goodnight. The weight of a dozen curious stares followed them out of the hall. She didn’t care.
The return trip home was as quiet as the one to the gala. Andor took his turn learning the shape of Claire’s thigh through her dress, and Claire tried not to squirm in her seat at the electric sparks that shot through her body at his touch.
They stood close together at her door, Andor looming behind her. Claire turned to him, her heart pounding from a combination of anticipation and dread of his answer. “Will you stay the night with me?” Will you stay a lifetime with me?
He stared down at her for long seconds, his somber, handsome face dappled in shadow. “Yes,” he said in a tone that made Claire believe he not only answered the question she uttered, but also the one she did not.
She fumbled the key in the lock until Andor took it from her and unlocked the door. Elise’s surprise at their early return morphed into a sly grin. She gathered her purse and jacket as if racing to beat the ticking of a stopwatch. “Jake’s passed out in bed. I left his tablet charging on the table, so he can reach it in the morning if he wakes up before you do.” She waved as she sailed out the door. “Have fun!”
Claire locked the door behind her, tossing the key on the hall table along with her purse and her shawl. Andor stood in the middle of the living room, his gaze hot enough to scorch cement as he watched her.
“Do you want something to drink?” Her voice rasped like sandpaper, and she cleared her throat.
“No.”
She pointed to the hall leading to the bedrooms. “I want to check on Jake. I’ll be right back.”
Elise had left the closet light on for Jake and the door cracked to allow a sliver of illumination into the room. The boy lay still beneath his covers, and didn’t so much as twitch when Claire kissed his forehead and ran her fingers through his hair. “Goodnight, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She found Andor as she left him, a beautiful statue gracing the middle of her living room. Claire grasped her courage with one hand and his fingers with the other and led him to her bedroom.
Andor placed a hand on the door before she closed it. “Don’t you need to listen for Jake?”
She pointed to a monitor, one meant to listen to an infant, set on a nightstand by her bed. “Got it covered.”
He smiled and closed the door for her.
Claire raised her face to his. “Can I have that kiss now?”
Andor eased her into his arms. His lips brushed hers, the faintest touch. Once, twice. A little harder—a lot hotter—each time. He lifted his head, and Claire uttered a wordless protest. “That was two kisses.”