An Unfinished Story(55)

Whitaker looked up to the ceiling, debating the possibility of a man fueling his words. “Nah, men don’t have the kind of words I like. Men are big ugly humorless brutes. They’re like airplane wine; they have no sense of place.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No, my muse is a tall brunette. She may carry a sword and shield. She rides a white horse. And when she speaks, the wind blows and the trees rustle. The birds sing back to her in collective song. The clouds spread, and the sun beams through the blue sky.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Your muse is Wonder Woman? Of course she is. You’re such a guy.”

Whitaker closed his eyes, clearly searching for an image. “Okay, yeah, basically Wonder Woman.” He put a finger to his chin. “But I like her in glasses like yours. A sword and shield and glasses.”

Claire dodged the compliment. “Now I know why you’re having a hard time getting into another relationship. I thought it was just the mustache. But it appears you’re perfectly satisfied hanging out with the Wonder Woman in your head. And instead of kisses, she gives you words.”

“I like words but . . .”

“But what?” Claire asked.

“I do have interests outside of my muse. There is someone.”

“Do tell.” Claire didn’t like how this admission felt.

“It’s complicated. Like really complicated.”

Claire scratched an itch on her arm. “Life’s always complicated. So who is the lucky lady?” She tried to act excited for him.

Whitaker smiled hesitantly. “I’m the lucky one.”

“Who is it?” she asked again, knowing it was jealousy she felt. She could dress it up any way she liked, but it was pure jealousy. She didn’t want him to like someone. He was hers. Her writer. Her friend. They were having so much fun together. She tilted her head.

“What’s holding you back?”

“Well, I’m finishing her husband’s book right now.”

Claire’s heart stalled, a car stopped at a green light.

He waited for her to say something.

Remaining silent, she looked at him and then away.

“I think you’re a very rare and special woman. Knowing I’m going to see you is what pulls me out of bed in the morning.”

Claire’s heart started back up.

He inched toward her. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, but I’ve been afraid. Afraid to cross the line.”

Claire had wanted to kiss him too. She looked at him, looked through him. Saw the caring being radiating from his soul.

He pushed her hair away from her face and touched her cheek. When she didn’t move away, he moved his face closer. Butterflies took flight in her stomach, and want took over. She became instantly aware of her lips and felt them opening, needing his kiss.

Their lips soon came together, and she felt light all over, as if she might float away. Oh, the nearness of him. To be touched again, to be desired.

Whitaker put his hand on the back of Claire’s head and pulled her closer. She let go of her inhibitions, her body tingling as she fell further into his embrace. Their lips touched for the first time, a kiss that should have happened much earlier. A sense of warmth and excitement rushed over her as her lips parted, letting their tongues touch.

He slipped his hand up the nape of her neck and, tilting her head slightly, kissed just below her ear. A shiver rose up her spine. Despite his whiskers, he was a good kisser, gentle but passionate. Was this how artists kissed? She’d never dated one. His lips knew their way around a woman just as his pen knew its way around paper.

When they pulled away from each other, their eyes linked. Smiles played at their lips. She nestled into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. Claire felt a tremendous sense of connection, and for the first time in forever, she didn’t feel alone. Actually, feeling alone felt like a distant memory.

“I thought I’d be waiting on you forever. And I would have. You know that?” He kissed her head again. “I’d wait a lifetime for you.”

She snuggled deeper into him, hearing his heartbeat. Her eyes had closed, and she was relishing his words and the feel of his arm around her. For the first time in years, she felt protected, as if she didn’t have to go it alone anymore. He was the kind of guy who could lift you up even in the dreariest of days.

Claire raised her hand to his chest and opened her eyes. Before she could say what she’d intended, the sight of her diamond ring and wedding band stopped her short. Memories of David splashed over her like she was standing at the base of a waterfall. His last words. “Infinity times infinity.” She became hyperaware that it wasn’t David’s arms around her. She felt like she’d done something wrong.

She pushed up and away—her words came out in a jumble. “I . . . I . . . We.” She shook her head as she stood and backed away. “We can’t do this.”

Whitaker frowned and his blank eyes expressed frustration but not confusion. She knew she didn’t need to explain further.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I need to go.”

A quick nod. “I understand.”

Claire turned to look for her purse. She wanted to say something else but had no idea how to explain what she felt inside. None of this was Whitaker’s fault. Her purse was hanging next to the binoculars on the coatrack in the foyer. She moved that way.