Chances & Choices (12 page)

Claire shook her head; loosening the
blouse and undoing the top button to cool her throat.  "No, it's alright, I feel comfortable now."

Julian hid a smile and crossed over to sit in the armchair he had occupied during the morning, hitching up one pant leg at the knee, before bending the leg and resting it casually on his other knee.
 He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt, before placing his hands behind his head while he observed Claire cross to the desk, which faced him at an angle against the wall.  She cleared a space and sat down on top of it, crossing her legs at the ankle, swinging them backwards and forward slightly as they dangled a few inches above the floor.

"So, Ms. Fitzpatrick do you have any more grilling questions to ask me?"

She laughed.  "No, I set such a smart pace this morning we got through everything pretty quickly.  “She paused, humour directed inwards in her eyes.  I guess I did overdo it a bit.  Sorry."

"It's alright.
 What I mind is you were so worried about giving me preferential treatment, you went to the other extreme.  I'll bet you've flirted with other men you've interviewed to put them at ease."

Claire considered.
 "Yes, I must admit I haven't been above using that tactic," then she added, her eyes dancing.  "Mind you, I've never interviewed someone of your standing before.  I've only got the small fry in the past.  I guess I was just awed by your importance."

Julian met her eyes, his own dancing in return, fully enjoying the flirtatious attitude she had denied him earlier.
 "You're wearing that blouse wrong; it should be unbuttoned allowing the folds to fall."

Claire sighed exaggeratedly.
 "I know, that's the way I normally wear it.  Another one of my defences, I'm afraid.  I should have known your designer's eye would pick it up."  She touched her chignon.  "At least the hair must have worked.  My dowdiness in it must have shocked you."

He spoke softly.
 "Stunned would be a better description.  I never noticed till now what perfect bone structure you have.  You should wear it like that more often."

Claire stared at him, the unexpectedness of the compliment overwhelming her, she said the first thing that came into her head.
 "I thought you liked it down?"

"I do.
 In certain situations."

The tone in his voice left her in no doubt as to the situations to which he was referring, and she found she had to look away from the desire in his gaze.
 To cover her awkwardness, she sifted through the various papers on the desk and to her relief found a brochure that dispelled her slight tension.

"Are you going to this?"

What?"  Slipping from the desk she walked over to him handing the brochure into his outstretched hand.

"Concepts in Fashion Merchandising,” he read.
 "I hadn’t planned on it.  Why do you ask?"

"You should," she told him, perching on the arm of his chair, her awkwardness forgotten in her enthusiasm.
 "It’s in Las Vegas."

She imparted the information as if it explained a great mystery; which it did to Julian.
 He remembered her enthusiasm over the resort when she returned from a trip with her college friends in her final year, and her college reunion the next year had been a weekend there, mainly at her suggestion.

He teased her.
 "Are you suggesting we spend an illicit weekend there together under the guise of attending the convention?"

"No!" she scoffed at him as if the idea was ludicrous.
 Now that he thought about it, he decided it was a good idea, but he didn't tell her so, waiting for her to explain herself.

"The thing is, I think I'm already going; all expenses paid by the magazine."

Julian was confused,  "To cover the convention?"

She shook her head.
 "No, we're all going.  Greg got his eye on it and convinced Stella to request it.  She thinks we'll swing it because there's only the four of us, and John might feel we need a little encouragement."

"How?
 What has merchandising got to do with journalism?"

Looking at him as if he were being as thick as a post, she elaborated, “Nothing. It's only an excuse to party.
 All these conventions are.  You know Andrea always goes to everyone she can, and Stephen's involved in financing, which gives her rather a wide scope."

"Maybe I'd better go.
 It sounds like I'll be the only one who doesn't if I don't.  I have to see someone there in the near future and this is only two weeks away, so I can fly up a day early and take care of it at the same time."

He dropped the brochure on the coffee table and clasped his hands behind his head once more.
  "I think I'll stick to the fun part and give the meetings a pass.  Delia's doing a bit of that side of it now, so I'll let her come along with her husband.  Maybe it'll help her to get into the correct methods now.  I have my own system and anytime I've gone to anything like that I've discovered I've been doing all the wrong things for years.  It tends to make me feel inadequate."

Claire protested.
 “Not you, Julian, I can't imagine you ever feeling inadequate."

He raised his eyebrows.
 "No?"

"No.
 You always seem so...self-sufficient."

Removing his hands from behind his head, he placed them at her waist.
 "No one's self-sufficient," and then he pulled her down onto his lap, adding.  "Everyone needs someone," before he kissed her.

Vaguely, Claire registered she shouldn't really be permitting this; she was still on magazine time.
 She pushed her ethical doubts to the back of her mind and gave herself up to the sweetness of his kiss.  The tenderness of his lovemaking always amazed her.  It made her feel fragile, delicate and cherished.

His hands caressed her in a sensuous survey, and she was faintly surprised when she felt his fingers on her bare skin, she couldn't remember him unbuttoning her blouse.
 His thumb teased her nipples to a ripe fullness as his lips travelled down, his tongue flicking at first one and then the other aroused peak.  He lifted his head and looked down at her satisfied with the glazed expression in her eyes.

The lull in his gentle assault on her senses brought Claire back to the remembrance of exactly where they were.
 Closing her blouse, she told him, horrified.

"Someone could walk in!"

Nudging open her blouse with his teeth, he took gentle little nibbles at her breasts, melting Claire's good intentions.  Turning his attention to her ear, he informed her, "Both doors are locked...” and bringing his hand out from under her skirt, where it had been engaged in caressing her bottom, lingering over her thighs in the process, he looked at his watch and told her “and Greg won’t be here for another half hour."

Claire looked at him askance.
 "Julian West, you deliberately seduced me."

He chuckled, not bothering to deny it.
 "Well, don't you think it's about time I got the chance?  It's usually the other way around."

"It is not!" she protested.

"Yes it is.  You’re a wanton hussy."

"I am not!"

He chuckled again, enjoying her petulant outrage enough to arouse it further.  "Yes, you are.  Look at you.  Lying across my lap, your clothes dishevelled, allowing me to take intimacies when you're supposed to be interviewing me."

"Oh you!" she punched his chest and attempted to scramble up, but he held her firmly in place.

"Oh no you don't.  If you can flirt with the small fry, I think someone of my importance deserves more."

Suddenly deciding to enter wholeheartedly into the joke, Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.
 When she had finished she eyed him, challenging him to comment on her performance. which he did, nuzzling her neck at the same time.

"Mmm.
 Your enthusiasm for your work is commendable."

"I aim to please," was the last comment either made before their lovemaking took on a more serious note.

Julian's hand had returned to its previous occupation, and now it moved to caress her more intimately.  Claire sighed, anticipating the pleasure she knew he could bring her.  As they kissed he removed the pins from her hair, parting from her to place them in his breast pocket before fluffing her hair around her face and shoulders.  He buried his lips in its golden softness, whispering against her.  "This is when I like to see it down, when your eyes are darkened with desire."

He held her away from him, gazing into her eyes, and she saw her own desire mirrored in the green depths of his.
 He took her lips again and their lovemaking had just reached a rather interesting moment when Delia’s voice coming from the intercom interrupted them.

"Greg Roberts is here."

They cursed in unison, adding also in unison.  "He's early!"

Slipping out from under her Julian walked over and flicked the switch.
 "Ask him to wait, Delia."

Assuming he had made the request to allow her to set herself to rights, she stood up beginning to button her blouse.
 But he walked over quickly, swinging her up in his arms and sitting back in the chair, settling her once more in his lap.

"Julian, we can't, he'll wonder what's keeping us."

"Let him," he said, kissing her thoroughly and caressing her intimately.

Claire put up a token struggle before relenting, telling herself any woman would forget her responsibilities because of his drugging kisses, or perhaps she really was wanton.
 She didn't care either way.  Accepting her fate she entered into the spirit of things, so much so, that it was Julian who finally parted them.

"I think we've probably kept him waiting long enough."

She stood reluctantly.  "I guess."

"You'd better go into the washroom, your make-up needs repairs."

No doubt, she thought and then she grinned at him.

"You could use a quick going over yourself."

He stood up and walked past her into the small private washroom attached to the studio.  He grinned at his reflection in the mirror.  She was right.  He ran a brush through his dishevelled hair, wiped her lipstick from his cheek and buttoned his shirt.

Claire entered at this point, her make-up case in her hand and he walked out leaving her to her repairs, tightening his tie as he left.
 He stopped outside the door, putting his hand to his breast pocket.  Then he smiled, looking back at Claire unobserved.  His hand dropped and he walked back out to the studio.

She came back out only a few minutes later, her make-up repaired, a couple of her blouse buttons still undone, her jacket open.
 Walking over to the seating area she looked around the chair they had occupied, then she moved across to where he stood at the desk, his jacket on, his back to her, seemingly engrossed in some papers.

"Julian, do you have the pins for my hair?"

At first she thought he hadn't heard, but then he answered without looking up from the papers.

"Yes."

Relieved, Claire stretched out her hand, expecting him to give them to her.  When he did no such thing she asked, faintly disturbed.

"May I have them please."

"No."

"No!
 What do you mean, no!"

He turned around and sat on the desk, placing one foot on the chair in front of him, still not looking at her, his interest held by the papers in his hand.

"I should have thought it was self-explanatory."

"But I can't put my hair up without them."

He looked up and his expression was close to wicked.  "I know."

Before she could reply, he flicked the intercom and told Delia to send Greg in.
 Still not believing he meant it, she held out her hand again.

"Julian!
 Give them to me!"

He did not relent.
 She saw the doorknob turn and the door begin to open, realizing he must have unlocked it when she was repairing her make-up.  She didn't urge any further, dashing for the washroom before Greg entered the studio.

Hearing their voices as they discussed the photographs, Claire buttoned her blouse and jacket.
 Brushing her hair, she tried to make it look demure and sedate without much success.

Just wait till she got him alone again.

Accepting the humour in the situation, she shrugged.  At least it was only Greg; he would be amused, not disgusted by her behaviour.  Which was why Julian did it, no doubt; she couldn't imagine him placing her in this situation with someone of a less casual nature than Greg's.  Besides, Greg might just think she had found the bun too restrictive and had decided to loosen it.  Unlikely, but possible.

Who do you think you're kidding, she told herself, surveying her reflection.
 Her grey eyes were darkened - almost smudged, her cheeks were flushed and her lips were ripe and swelling.  She bit them only increasing the sensual effect.  Gazing lower she noticed how her breasts rose and fell from the exertion of the short dash and from Julian’s attentions. You look exactly what you are – a woman who has spent the last half-hour kissing and cuddling nestled in the lap of a sexy, attractive man.  So what, she was human!