The Russian's Acquistion(75)

                Clair doubled forward, glad she could hear the rumble of Aleksy’s voice behind closed doors and knew he wasn’t likely to see her like this.

                “When do I leave?” she asked tightly.

                “To return to London? After the interview today, the worst of the media storm should be over. Everything is in place for when you’re ready.”

                By “everything” she supposed he meant a flat, a job and fifty thousand pounds. Blood returned to her cheeks with hot pressure, sharp with the sting of degradation. Of not even being Aleksy’s mistress anymore.

                “Ms. Daniels? Did you have a comment?”

                “None,” she choked.

                “A perfect response.”





                                      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

                ALEKSY EMERGED FROM his office with a hole in his belly and an even deeper hunger to see Clair. Her quiet, thoughtful nature had been his salvation through this week of scrutiny, painful questions and trial by public opinion. Each time his mind had been drained of his last wit and his defenses battered to nothing, she’d rescued him by simply being here with fresh-baked cookies, humming to old rock tunes or napping in front of the fire.

                He’d offered to bring someone in to cook and clean, but Clair had said she didn’t mind doing it and he’d been grateful. He didn’t want anyone around. He’d been prepared to send her away, had requested Lazlo to put everything in place for her return to London. He’d thought he wanted to be alone to lick his wounds, but since he didn’t have to hide anything from Clair—

                That thought brought him up short halfway into the kitchen.

                Clair knew his worst secret and she was still here. Through the course of this week, everyone else’s reaction had ceased to matter because this one woman, in her tough little way, had skipped the platitudes and supported him with her steady, warm presence in his home.

                His soul, locked in a paroxysm of agony for so long, began to unbend, sighing at the release, burning with the return of feeling. It made him wince as he looked at the table set for two. Another stunning realization struck: he was taking her for granted.

                “What’s wrong?” she asked, turning to catch his scowl.

                “Nothing.” He shook off his dismay, thinking, I might ask you the same.

                Clair’s hair was loose and she was doing her best to hide behind it as she fussed with putting out salad and hot sandwiches. The little he could see of her face was pale, her lip caught between her teeth, her tension visible in the way she moved.

                “You must be bored stiff, locked away like this,” he surmised. “Would you like to go into the city for dinner?”

                It was an impulsive offer, something he didn’t think through, and it surprised her. A sleek decorative bottle full of oil and vinegar dropped from her hand, shattering on the tiled floor. Clair muttered a word her prim lips didn’t usually form.

                “Stand back,” he said, noting her socked feet. “I’ll do it.”

                A few minutes later they sat down to eat. She’d mixed fresh dressing into a measuring cup but was still out of sorts. “I liked that bottle,” she groused.

                “It can be replaced, Clair.” He didn’t understand why that made her jaw set and her eyes grow bright. “Look, I appreciate all you’ve done this week,” he tried. “When I brought you here, it wasn’t with the intention you’d housekeep for me. I just wanted you out of the line of fire.”