Secret Desire(47)

“The usual.”

“I brought a bag of ground Starbucks. How about you make us some coffee while I dress? It’s in that bag over there. Can you bring it upstairs afterward?”

Fran walked over to the luggage, selected the two smaller cases, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

Claire’s own neck tightened as if a ratchet was being turned. She reminded herself to take a deep breath and to relax.



* * *



It took them all afternoon to go through the house. They put colored sticky notes on items using pink to designate items as keepers, blue for those to be donated, and yellow for anything to be tossed.

Claire’s phone vibrated. She read the text from Dustin. Can’t wait to wrap you in my arms and kiss you. ALL OVER. Call me.

She sent him one back. I miss you. With or without clothes? Give me two minutes and MEET ME OUTSIDE.

Fran sidled up to her. “Must be something good from the way you’re smiling.”

“Uh, I’ll be right back. We’ve only got the front hall closet. Can you start without me?”

“I think I’ll be just fine. There’s only a few jackets right?”

“Sounds good.” Claire hardly paid attention to her sister. She left her standing in the den and breezed out the front door wanting to sprint toward Dustin’s house.

He was seated on his front steps. A black T-shirt accentuated the muscles she’d touched last night. Dustin’s face broke into a smile and she couldn’t wait. She ran across his driveway, almost leaping into his open arms. She found his mouth with hers. She kissed him, hungry to taste him, and she pushed her tongue into his mouth. She smoothed her hands over his chest; the curves were hard under her fingers. He framed her face within his hands and held her while he caressed her tongue with his and took command of her mouth.

“God, you taste great. What are you up to?”

Claire relayed her day, focusing on the events, not on her sister. “And you? I came out and you were gone. How’s your day?” The slamming of the gate made them stop and pull apart.

“My, no wonder you weren’t here when I arrived.” Fran chuckled, her hands on her hips. “Just like old times.”

Fran moved as if she were on a catwalk. She’d changed into a jean skirt and tight white shirt. She moved slow and sure and kept her arms at her side. She looked up at something on Dustin’s house. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her breasts jiggled. By the time Fran reached them, her nipples were points pushing through her shirt.

Claire couldn’t bring herself to see if Dustin noticed. She pursed her lips, a zap of jealousy relayed through a closed circuit inside her body. For once she wanted to throttle her sister’s need for attention.

She couldn’t take a breath and froze. Is this how Dustin felt too? He had to feel something. Her throat was a tiny pathway filled with a huge lump growing bigger. Her sister’s gaze fell on Dustin, and her glossy lips curved provocatively. Her sister’s stare traced a line from his face downward and held a point below his waist. Fran’s smiled deepened and she laughed softly.

Claire’s neck and face flamed. She curled her fingers, and only Dustin’s hands on her, gently squeezing, kept her from doing something foolish. Everything was bubbling up inside her. The past hurts, her fears, and the things she’d never said aloud. In one moment she’d gone from heaven, being in Dustin’s arms, to a person who wanted to screech like a banshee and pull out her sister’s Brazilian soft-curl-permed hair.

“Hey, Dustin,” Fran sang out. She came at him with her arms open.

Dustin kept hold of Claire, his arm tightening around her waist, and his hips pushed into her. Fran frowned for a second before she tilted her body, angling her arms and chest against an open space of his torso. This was the worst hug in human history as far as Claire was concerned. It only got worse when Claire moved her hips and came into contact with Dustin’s erection. She moved, unable to comprehend if this was his reaction to being in Fran’s company for minutes, no seconds.

“Fran, I can’t breathe,” she snapped.

“Three’s always been a crowd,” Fran chortled.

Claire didn’t bother to inquire who the third wheel was. It sure as heck wasn’t Dustin and he hadn’t tried to disengage from Fran. Tears welled at the corner of Claire’s eyes. This was all too familiar. Fran’s hadn’t changed and it looked—or felt—as though Dustin hadn’t either.

This was the epitome of torture.

Being held against Dustin with his obvious adoration sprung to life.

She coughed and when his grasp lessened she extracted herself from his grasp. His eyes snapped together with hers. What was that in his expression? Guilt, regret…something potent enough to send another round of must leave here now thoughts skittering around her brain.