Can't Get Enough (17 page)

And then she got it.

"Is he thinking of funding one of your expeditions?" she asked flatly. She watched her father's face
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closely, feeling that this moment was pivotal somehow. It was possible
she was wrong, that her father truly had found some smidgen of
sentiment in himself as the years rolled by and was genuinely
interested in his daughter's life.

"As a matter of fact, yes. It's a bit of a difficult situation,
actually. This Beck character was interested in getting involved right
from the get-go, but then we had a better offer from the Swiss side of
things. Now our Swiss guy has dropped his bundle, and I'm hoping to
talk Beck into renewing his offer." Harry was animated and enthusiastic
as he explained his situation to her, describing the details of the
assault, the makeup of the team, the differing experience levels, the
problems he'd had and overcome. And she sat there, watching his face
light up with passion for his subject, for the only thing he'd every
really loved, the bitter taste of disappointment in her mouth.

Who had she been kidding, really, when she thought that her father had suddenly become all Brady Bunch?

Harry seemed to sense her preoccupation, and he broke off his recital
to consider her. "Is something wrong, Claire? Don't you like the wine?"

She stared at him for a beat, tempted to just let things slide like she
always had. But suddenly she couldn't bear the thought of pushing her
own thoughts and feelings down again. Yesterday she'd admitted to Jack
that she was the disappointment of her father's life. But it didn't
have to be that way. She wasn't a bad person—she was just different
from what he'd wanted in a child. But did that mean she had to accept
the crumbs from his table for the rest of her life?

"You know, I thought you'd asked me here to spend time with
me,
because you wanted to see
me,
" she said.

"Yes, of course, and that's exactly what we're doing," her father said, the picture of surprise.

"No, it's not. We're having dinner because you want something from my
boss. You're not really interested in my magazine or my triathlon or
anything else in my life." She tried hard to keep the tears out of her
voice, but they were lurking there, giving her a husky vibrato. Her
father was pulling an exasperated face, and shaking his head.

"I don't know where you're getting all this from, Claire. I was in town, I asked you to dinner—it was as simple as that."

"Really? Fine, then tell me when my triathlon final is. I told you
earlier, when you asked, because you were so interested in my life, so
it shouldn't be any big stretch for you to remember what I said." She
held her father's eye, challenging him.

"I can't recall the exact details, but I know it's soon…" her father began, and Claire pushed her chair back and stood up.

"I am your daughter, and I love you, but I am not going to be the only
one participating in this relationship. I call you and e-mail you and
offer to fly to visit you for Christmas every year, and you can't even
remember a conversation we had five minutes ago."

Slinging her handbag over her shoulder, Claire turned to leave.

"You let me know if you're prepared to put a bit of effort in, because
I'm not going to make it easy for you anymore," she said over her
shoulder.

She walked straight out and didn't look back.

She was proud of herself all the way home in the car. Then reaction set
in. He would be so angry with her, she probably wouldn't hear from him
for months and months. She never, ever caused a fuss with him, because
she knew how he hated having to deal with emotional messes. She
understood, deep in her heart of hearts, that if she didn't keep up the
contact with her father, she would never hear from him. Whatever faint
connection that existed between them would fade and shrivel, and she'd
be utterly alone. It was a scary thought, but she refused to take it to
bed with her. She was a grown, adult woman. She had an exciting,
vibrant life of her own. She was about to launch a new magazine. She
had a real chance at winning the state triathlon finals. And she'd had
dirty, wild elevator sex with the office playboy not twenty-four hours
ago.

Never did she think that she would turn to those stolen, wanton moments
with Jack as a source of comfort, but the world was a strange and
amazing place. For some reason, thinking of him, going over their
argument today, and the discussions they'd had in the elevator, made
her feel a whole lot better. She had stuff going on in her life. She
didn't need her dad.

Inevitably her thoughts turned from what she and Jack had talked and
argued about in the elevator to what they'd done, and before long she
was imagining what might have happened in Jack's office today if he'd
kissed her again instead of stapling her shirt shut. What if he'd slid
her shirt off, and then her bra?

She would have reached for his jeans, because she'd been thinking about
having him inside her ever since he'd withdrawn from her. Maybe she
would have sunk to her knees and taken him in her mouth, loving the
look on his face as she laved him with her tongue. And maybe he
wouldn't have been able to stand it for long, and he'd have pushed her
onto that stupid, squishy couch in the corner and reached down between
her legs to push her panties aside—too impatient to remove them
entirely—then he'd be inside her again and—

Claire was panting into her pillow. Very resolute,
she got out of bed and rummaged through her drawers until she found a
pair of pajamas. She always slept naked, but these were desperate
times. Pulling on underwear, and then the pajamas, she slid back into
bed.

No more fantasies about Jack Brook,she warned herself.

Armored in cotton and determination, she finally drifted off to sleep.

THE NEXT MORNINGshe was feeling distinctly jittery about having cut off
communication with her father and about seeing Jack again. First, there
was that irritating thing her heart did whenever Jack was in the
room—it was almost as though it missed a beat now and then, lurching
around inside her chest like a drunken sailor. Then there was the
powerful physical awareness she seemed to have developed for him ever
since they'd gotten down and dirty. You'd think that jumping on each
other would have put an end to any sexual tension, but, if anything, it
was worse. Now when she looked at his strong thighs and long fingers
and broad shoulders she knew exactly how devastating they could be.
And, to her shame, she wanted to be devastated. Badly. Hence the fact
that he suddenly had top billing in all her sexual fantasies. Slowly
but surely, he was driving her crazy.

Combine that with the fact that she was almost one hundred percent
certain that he wouldn't be happy about her gift tie, and she had
plenty of justification for the butterflies winging their way around
her midsection.

Then there was her father. Why had she laid down the gaunt-let like
that? Why couldn't she have just eaten her dinner like a good girl and
maintained the status quo? Really, it was getting to the point where
she shouldn't be allowed out without a keeper.

She spent the time before her first meeting with Jack and Hillcrest
Hardware looking up whenever anyone walked near her office, and jumping
every time her phone rang. She felt like a sitting duck, waiting to be
ambushed by Jack from one side, or her father on the other. By aquarter
to ten, she had talked herself around to a reasonable state of calm. If
her father was going to make contact with her, it wouldn't be for some
time. He'd want to leave a nice long buffer between her angry words and
any future conversation to ensure she was calm and over whatever
madness had had her in its grip. As for Jack— Well, she had no choice
but to be ready to face him, tie or no tie. Except he didn't come. As
the time drew closer to10:00and her appointment with Hillcrest, she had
to use stronger and stronger arguments for not reaching for the phone
to confirm Jack's presence. She had to trust him; he was a successful,
experienced executive; he wouldn't bail on her. On the last count she
couldn't be so confident, however. They'd fought almost every time
they'd been alone together for more than five minutes. There was a
chance he'd see this as an extension of their battle of wills.
At10:00on the dot her assistant Tom told her that the Hillcrest
executives were in the foyer. Caving at last, she reached for the phone
and called Jack's office. The moment Linda picked up the call she knew
Jack had hung her out to dry.

"Jack, is that you?" Linda demanded anxiously.

Claire took a moment to remind herself not to shoot the messenger. "No,
Linda, this is Claire Marsden . I have aten o'clockwith Jack and
Hillcrest Hardware, but I'm guessing that I'm going to be handling this
alone…?"

There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone, then, "I'm
sorry, Claire, but your appointment isn't in Jack's diary. I guess you
made it with him directly. Otherwise I would have called you earlier to
let you know…he seems to be running a little late today…."

The usually competent and professional Linda sounded extremely rattled,
but Claire didn't have time to deal with the other woman's concern for
her no-good, lazy, sneaky boss. The big rat was probably relaxing
somewhere, lazing around enjoying his self-appointed long weekend.
Ending the call as nicely as possible, she headed in to take on
Hillcrest and his honchos. It wasn't a pleasant meeting, mostly because
Hank Hillcrest managed to convey his deep skepticism about the
appointment of Jack Brook to the magazine. The old man's repeated
references to the

"so-called Jack Brook," as though she and Morgan had made him up,
became almost more than she could bear during the one-hour torture
session. Somehow she managed to placate her client, spinning a yarn
about Jack flying back in from a big-game safari inAfricaand his flight
being delayed. By the time she'd
finished, Hank Hillcrest was so intrigued she began to suspect she'd
have to cough up a genuine lion's head trophy just to shut the man up.

At last she shook hands with the now-cheerful Hillcrest executives and
saw them out into the foyer amid assurances that she would bring Jack
out to meet them at their head office next week. No sooner had the
elevator doors closed on them than she let her smile drop. She couldn't
remember ever being so furious with anyone. She was so angry, in fact,
that she was a little scared of herself, and she deliberately took the
stairs to Jack's floor in order to give herself some time to calm down.
Her shirt was already clinging to her thanks to the tense meeting, and
she slung her jacket over her arm as she exited the stairwell and made
her way purposefully to Linda's desk. Linda was looking harried, and
she glanced up at Claire distractedly. Almost as though she was talking
to herself, Linda explained that she'd managed to reschedule all but
one of Jack's meetings, but she still hadn't heard from him.

"Probably too scared to turn up now," Claire suggested coolly. Linda gave her an impatient look.

"You don't understand. Jack has never ever done anything like this
before. I know he looks casual and laid-back, but he's always punctual,
he always meets his deadlines and he always lets me know what's going
on. I've worked for him for two years now, and this has never happened,
ever. I'm worried." Which made two of them, because as Linda spoke an
awful image of Jack's stupid red sports car wrapped around a tree
popped into Claire's brain.

"I take it he's not answering his home line or his cell phone?" she ventured reluctantly.

"His home line just rings out, and his cell phone goes straight through
to his voice mail." She saw the worry in Linda's eyes and patted the
other woman's arm reassuringly.

"Have you checked his office? Maybe he left a note or something in there and forgot to put it on your desk."

"I had a quick scout around, but nothing struck me," Linda said
doubtfully. As one they turned toward Jack's closed office door, and,
at Linda's nod, Claire stepped forward and pushed it open. Jack's desk
was a mess, which didn't seem too unusual, but she couldn't fail to see
the tie she'd sent him strewn on the floor like an old sock.

She automatically bent to pick it up, smoothing the silk through her
fingers as she continued surveying Jack's desk. Linda frowned at the
tie, curious.

"What's a tie doing in Jack's office? He never wears a tie. I wonder
if…?" Linda's startled eyes connected with Claire's, and Claire could
see the other woman was busy constructing an Agatha Christie plot.

"It's okay. I bought it for him," she explained.

Linda's eyes went round with surprise, then her hand snuck up to cover her mouth. She was laughing, Claire realized.

"I'm sorry. I was imagining his face. It's just…Jack never wears a tie. I don't think he even owns one."

"I know. That's why I bought him one. For the Hillcrest meeting." Linda
shot her a speculative look, and Claire guessed what the other woman
was thinking. "Oh, no—it's nothing like that. I was just trying to
annoy him," she hastily explained. Linda looked unconvinced. "Right."

"No, really. I wanted him to wear a tie to the Hillcrest meeting, he said he didn't have one…It was just a joke, really."

Linda nodded, but Claire got the distinct impression that the other
woman didn't believe her. Unwilling to dig a bigger hole for herself,
she began surveying the desk again. Linda joined in straight away, but
Claire was aware of her lingering scrutiny and she kept her face
carefully blank.

"I don't see anything, do you?" Linda said after a futile few minutes.
Claire was shaking her head, about to agree with Linda, when she
spotted the discarded birthday card. Frowning, she plucked it from
amongst the mess and flipped it open. Dearest Jack, thinking of you on
this special day. Please be kind to yourself—our love is with you.
Don't feel as though you have to go it alone. Lots of love, Mom and
Dad. She turned to Linda, urgent now. "Did this come yesterday?" Linda
shrugged. "How could I know? He may have had it for weeks. Except—Hang
on a minute." Linda scuffled through the papers until she found the
torn lavender envelope. Matching it to the card, she nodded once. "Yes.
This definitely came yesterday, because I remember the purple envelope.
It was in the mail I collected from Jack's personal mailbox. Claire,
what's going on? What's this about?" Claire closed her eyes briefly.
This had to be it. Jack's birthday was Robbie's birthday. She opened
her eyes, even more worried now than she was before.