Can't Get Enough (30 page)

By the time Claire emerged from the shower, her fingers and toes were
prunish and she felt well and truly waterlogged. She made herself a
bowl of muesli with skim milk and sat in her kitchen eating it like a
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zombie, her mind mulling over and over the problem of how to reassemble
her life and peace of mind. Work was the big thing. She was stuck with
Jack on the stupid Hillcrest project, and there was no way to get out
of it. So she was going to have to suck it up. She was going to have to
wear her best poker face and laugh at Jack's jokes and try not to claw
out his eyes when she heard he was dating someone else from the office.

Suddenly her muesli tasted like small pieces of cardboard, and she pushed the bowl away.

16

JACK WAITED FORMonday like a man in the desert thirsts for water. He
couldn't stop thinking about Claire. In fact, he picked up the phone at
least ten times to call her, but each time he put it back again when he
realized he had nothing to offer beyond "Hi." What was he going to say
to her, after all? "For some reason I can't stop thinking about you,
but please don't take that the wrong way as I'm scared to death of
commitment"? Yeah, that'd go over real well.

It had been a long time since he'd felt so confused and uncertain, and
he found his thoughts turning to Robbie. That was the thing about
having a twin—whenever he'd been down, he'd always known that Robbie
would understand. Jack had never had to wax poetic or dig deep to
explain himself—Robbie had just known. It had been reciprocal, of
course. He smiled as he remembered the times he'd found himself drawn
to Robbie's place on a Sunday night, a taste for beer in his mouth,
only to find his twin with a six-pack waiting and a problem to share.

Robbie would have liked Claire. In fact, Robbie probably would have
seen her for what she was the first time he met her, and Jack would
have had a fight on his hands to keep her for himself. Somehow, Jack
wound up in his garage, pulling the dust sheets off the Triumph Triple
R motorbikes that he and Robbie had bought each other for their last
shared birthday. They'd planned to tourAustraliaon them. But Robbie had
gotten sick before they'd had a chance to do more than a few week-long
runs up and down the coast.

Now Jack contemplated his bike, sorrow for Robbie and all the dreams
that had died with him welling up inside. Tears rolled down his face,
but he remembered their first day out on the bikes. Robbie had insisted
on wearing an open-faced helmet with old-fashioned motorcycle goggles,
despite the fact that Jack had told him over and over that he looked
like a mad-ass version of the Red Baron. They'd stopped at a country
general store to get drinks, and Robbie had smiled a big,
glad-to-be-alive smile at him—revealing the host of small insects that
he'd collected in his teeth as they rode. Even now the memory made him
laugh, and Jack wiped the last of his tears away with his shirtsleeve.
Decisive, he threw the dust sheet over his own bike. Wheeling Robbie's
out into the sun, he checked the gauges and the spark plugs, and
flicked the ignition on. The bike hummed to life with barely a hiccup.
Grabbing his leathers and his helmet, Jack climbed on.

The ride had cleared his head on many counts, but he was no closer to
solving the problem of Claire by Monday morning. Somehow, though, he
still found himself bounding out of bed, taking time over his clothes,
making sure he flossed as well as brushed. When he drove past her
sedate sedan in its usual spot
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in the car park, he even felt a smile curving his mouth.

And when she stuck her head into his office first thing, he found
himself studying every detail of her appearance, from her curly-topped
head to her high-heeled feet. His imagination efficiently whisked away
her neat suit and shirt and he enjoyed a full Technicolor image of her
naked and willing, panting for him like she had been last Friday night.
He dragged his chair closer to his desk to ensure the inevitable side
effect of thinking about Claire naked was well hidden beneath several
layers of timber and paperwork, and tried to concentrate on what she
was saying.

"…called to Sydney for an emergency meeting, so Hillcrest has asked to
bring the sign-off meeting forward to this afternoon. He'll be on his
way to the airport, so he's offered to swing by here again. How's your
schedule looking around two?"

Jack wrenched his fascinated gaze from her full-lipped mouth and tried to remember that English was his first language.

"Fine. Great. Whatever."

She gave him a look that clearly questioned his sanity. As it was a
concern he also shared, he tried to focus his attention on something
other than the need to kiss her.

"Right. I've booked the meeting room on my floor. I'll see you down
there at two, then." He snapped out of his self-induced stupor as he
realized she was about to leave. And that he didn't want that.

"Claire!"

She turned toward him, her face carefully blank and professional. He
stared at her, trying to think of something to say, something that
would mean she would stay in his office and he could keep looking at
her and smelling her and being with her.

"Um…how was your weekend?" he finally offered.

She flushed, then focused on the wall behind his head as she delivered
a little speech that she'd obviously put quite a bit of thought into.

"Look, Jack, I know that things are bound to be awkward after Friday
night…but we're both professionals and grown-ups. It happened, let's
move on. I'm sure you agree." No, he didn't. He wasn't sure why he
didn't agree, but he didn't. And she was heading for the door again.
And this time he couldn't think of a single thing to say to stop her.
He just sat and blinked and breathed for a while after she'd gone. What
the hell was going on? Why was his heart still pounding out of control,
and why was he battling the desire to either throw Claire Marsden to
the ground and lick her until she screamed the building down, or cradle
her in his arms and assure her that everything in the world had purpose
and meaning?

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IT TOOK FIVE MINUTEScloseted in a cubicle in the ladies' room before
she felt able to face the office again. God, she loved him. Seeing him
again, sitting opposite her, within reach—it was a new form of torture.

How was she going to get through this? The future seemed to stretch out ahead of her, bleak and comfortless.

She dragged herself back to her desk. She couldn't focus on work, so
she spent an hour playing a numbing game of solitaire on her computer,
just so she'd look busy if anyone passed by. Tom kept shooting her
concerned looks, and he eventually ventured into her office.

"Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly.

She blinked up at him.
No, Tom, I'm not okay,
she wanted to say.
I've fallen for a man who is afraid
of love, and, even if he wasn't, would never pick me to love anyway. I'm boring and square and
not sexy enough. I annoy him, I know I do. The only reason he spent the night with me was
because he felt sorry for me. And, Tom, here's the worst bit—I can't stop thinking about him. I
honestly don't know how I'm going to get through our meeting this afternoon without throwing
myself at his feet or just plain throwing up.

"I'm fine, Tom. But thanks for asking."

He nodded and retreated to his desk, but she could see he wasn't happy. That made two of them.

JACK ENTEREDthe meeting room on Claire's floor with a certain degree of
trepidation. She was alone in there, waiting for the Hillcrest people
to arrive. And, sure enough, his heart went into overdrive the moment
he saw her. Before he could give it much more thought, Hillcrest and
his cronies arrived. It wasn't until the meeting was well under way
that it hit him. Claire was handling the cranky old baboon with
consummate skill, and he was so closely attuned to her she had only to
glance his way and Jack knew exactly what she wanted him to do and say.
But, really, apart from the occasional reference to giraffes and
rhinos, precious little was expected of him because Claire was so
damned good. She knew her stuff, and she was funny, and she was
flexible, and she knew when to be a bit cheeky and when to give in. She
was amazing. Really, truly amazing.

And then he had his revelation. He was watching Claire talk to Hank,
her lips curving into a smile and then a laugh as she responded to
something the old guy said. It felt as if something tight and
controlled had snapped in Jack's chest and then he felt a warm,
unfolding sensation as he stared at her. He loved her. He loved Claire
Marsden . It was like being hit by a tsunami, and he actually reached
for the table to steady himself.

Everything slotted into place, and the world froze in its orbit as he examined this new knowledge from every angle.
He loved her.

Cautiously, he tested the bounds of this new discovery. How would he
feel about Claire moving into his house, for example? He remembered all
the discarded clothes on her bedroom floor. She was messy—they'd have
to deal with that. But she could have her own room for her clothes,
like a big walk-in closet. His smile widened into a grin as he realized
he actually liked the idea of waking up beside
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her every day, that he didn't mind if she left her stuff everywhere, as
long as he got to laugh with her and hold her and make love to her
every day for the rest of his life. Man, did he have it bad, or what?
All these years of being the artful dodger when it came to affairs of
the heart, and the one woman who'd always steered clear of him had him
in the palm of her hand without even trying.

Vaguely he became aware of Hillcrest saying something: the old guy's
lips were moving, but Jack had no idea what was coming out. He must
have responded appropriately, however, because Hillcrest smiled and
clapped him heartily on the back and shuffled toward the door. Jack
couldn't take his eyes off Claire.

His mom was going to be over the moon. He imagined introducing Claire
to his family, and felt a warm glow of pride in his belly. She was so
clever and brave and funny. Prickly, of course, and there'd always be
arguments. But then there'd always be the mind-blowing sex to make up
with, too. They were good for each other. The way he saw it, they
completed each other—she'd made him realize he had to open up and let
himself care again, and he'd helped her to relax and live a little.
Remembering the hurt in her eyes as she discussed her father's no-show,
he made a fierce commitment to himself: he'd make it his life's mission
to ensure she never felt unimportant or overlooked again. He felt as if
a load had been lifted from his shoulders and he turned to Claire once
the Hillcrest people were gone, ready to spill his guts and offer
himself up to her.

"Claire," he said, and she paused in the act of shuffling her paperwork
together. He loved the little frown line that appeared between her
eyebrows as she tried to work out what he wanted. He loved the fact
that she looked at her watch, her mind obviously elsewhere. It was so
Claire.
He crossed to the door and closed it to ensure privacy, then turned to face her.

"We need to talk," he said firmly, feeling his way forward into the
darkness of this brand-new territory. She was facing him, her face
carefully polite, but he could tell by the set of her shoulders that
she was tense, cautious.

He couldn't just come right out with it, could he? No, that would scare
her off. He had to be subtle, build up to it. Explain himself.

"I love you."

Of course, straight to the point was also an effective strategy. He
held his breath, his eyes intent on her face as she registered what
he'd said. He noted the way her eyes dilated briefly, the way her mouth
formed a tiny little shocked O, and the slight flush that washed up her
neck and face.

"What did you just say?"

He moved toward her, but Claire put her hand out like a cop stopping traffic.
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Okay. Give her time. Let her adjust.

"I love you. I have fallen in love with you," he enunciated carefully. She still looked shocked. Maybe even scared.

"I don't understand," she stammered.

She'd dropped her papers onto the table now, and was wrapping her arms protectively around her torso.

"What's to understand? I think you're amazing. I know now that all that snapping and sniping between us was just because of
this,
" he said, gesturing back and forth between them to indicate their connection. "
This
is very strong, and I'm sick of fighting it, I don't know about you."

"Jack, you don't mean it," she said in a small, distant voice. He
blinked. She didn't sound overjoyed. She didn't sound even slightly
joyed .

"Claire—"

"No, Jack. Wait."

Suddenly she was scrambling to collect all her paperwork, scooping it
toward herself in a frenzy. She stood with papers bristling out in
every direction and confronted him.

"This was all a mistake. We should never have done the sex thing. It
messed everything up. I want you to understand that I totally
appreciate what you're trying to do right now, but it's not necessary.
Okay. So let's just leave it."

She was making no sense, and he didn't believe a word of it, anyway.
There was no way she could feel nothing after the night they'd shared
together.

"Claire, just stay and talk for a minute," he said, stepping to block
her path to the door. But she was determined, and she dodged to one
side and ducked around him.

"It was a mistake, Jack, believe me. You don't love me. You'll realize
that and you'll be glad in a few days. And don't worry, it'll be like
this conversation never happened. I promise." He considered stopping
her as she flung the door open and shot out into the corridor, but she
was determined, and a sudden leaden feeling had stolen into his limbs.
Maybe he'd gotten it all wrong. Was it possible that all the magic he'd
been feeling had been one-sided?