Secret Desire(33)

Standing wrapped in a towel, she stood over her suitcase filled with dark colors. She’d already worn her only summer dress. She pulled out clothing that was black, somber, and conservative. Not a piece of clothing that whispered provocative. She walked to her old closet. Her mother hadn’t gotten rid of one item. She fingered the hangers and stopped to look at her riding pants, worn-out jeans, and even a tiny pink tutu.

She rapidly crossed over hangers until she came to a light, aquamarine blue dress. She removed the hanger and ripped off the plastic from the drycleaners. This was the dress she’d given her salutatorian speech in for graduation. It wasn’t exactly sexy but without the short jacket, it was strapless, somewhat feminine, and elegant.

Claire pushed boxes back on the shelf, pulling out one particular shoe box. She opened the top, and inside were strappy high-heeled sandals. She’d always had a fascination with pretty shoes. These were made from lizard skin. She tried each shoe on, wrapping the long laces up her legs.

She dropped her towel, turned and peered over her shoulder into the mirror, dressed in nothing but a thong and high heels. This was so not her style. But she imagined this was what one of her characters would wear, and she took a breath. It was time she stopped feeling out of place in her own story. Tonight she wanted to look sexy. She stepped into the dress and worked at the back zipper. She peered into the mirror. A little tight across the chest but the rest of the dress fit as if she’d just bought it recently. It was five-thirty and she still needed to do something with her hair.

She took out her blow dryer and crossed to Fran’s closet. Somewhere she’d seen…there they were. Hot curlers. Ready in five minutes. She finished blowing her hair dry. She wanted to do her hair like she’d seen other women wearing—long, soft curls. She didn’t have time to practice and did what she imagined was required. She opened her makeup bag and sighed at the limited assortment of goods.

She went to her mother’s room and scouted around the vanity. Her mother didn’t have many cosmetic items but she did have foundation and powder. Claire felt a pang of sadness coming into her parents’ room. She tried to put aside those feelings but tears were impossible to stop. She sniffed and wiped away the tears, not wanting to appear with eyes puffy from crying one more time. She’d definitely need Fran to help with this room. There was no way she could begin to throw anything from here away. That simply didn’t seem possible.

At six on the dot, she heard a knock at the front door. The man was punctual. She needed a wrap and grabbed a gauzy crème-colored wrap she’d used as a teenager. After a spritz of hairspray and a dab of perfume, she took one last look in the mirror and nervously made it to the door without tripping.

Claire swung open the door and smiled. “Please come in.” From his expression, she thought he liked what he saw. He held out a bouquet of flowers. “They’re gorgeous. I love sunflowers.”

“I remember you planted them every spring. They populated the field.”

“That’s right.” Dustin stood before her in a white dress shirt and dark trousers. He wore loafers without socks, quite a change from the man in grease-covered jeans and boots. His gaze went straight to hers, and something in his eyes seemed to glitter when their gazes met. She inhaled, then stopped breathing, drinking in the heat from his eyes.

He was clean-shaven and his square jaw appeared even more pronounced. The fire in his eyes flashed when she caught him looking down at her legs. Were the shoes overboard?

“You’re the most beautiful woman.” His voice was low. His body loomed over her and seemed to fill the small kitchen. Her stomach lurched and she fumbled with the vase. He steadied her by holding onto her elbow.

“I’m not used to high heels.” She wasn’t used to him.

As soon as she turned, the wall of his body blocked her. He feathered his fingers across her cheeks, took hold of her and kissed. Not hard and demanding but sure and possessive. He lightly caressed her jaw with his thumb. A growl of pleasure grew in his chest. He stepped back and inhaled, seeming to observe all parts of her at once.

She wanted to ask him why he wasn’t attached to some woman. He was an absolute hunk standing there with the late sunshine catching and framing his face. He smiled and the light reflected jade-green from his eyes outward. His dark hair was combed back. His ear was pierced, and he wore a small hoop. There was nothing ordinary about him.

If she didn’t say something, they’d kiss again and it wouldn’t take Anaïs Nin to foresee how it might end. “You said you were taking some time off. So you’ve done well in business?”