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Almost without thinking she leaned forward, touching the side of his face with her fingers. ‘Oh, Jay, I just don’t know what to say!’
He turned his head, his fingers clasping her wrist, and she gasped as she felt the warm pressure of his mouth against the palm of her hand.
The moment she tensed he released her.
‘Sorry.’ His voice sounded gruff. ‘I’d forgotten.’
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sp; ‘It … it doesn’t matter. I’ll go and make some coffee.’ Claire stood up shakily and hurried into the kitchen. How on earth could she have explained to him that her tension had come not from the warm contact of his mouth against her palm, but from her own totally unexpected reaction to it? She had liked it; she had enjoyed the totally pleasurable sensation that had shot through her body.
HE WAS AT HOME FOR FIVE days, just enough time to go shopping with the girls to buy advent calendars, and to keep them occupied while Claire sneaked their carefully chosen presents into the house. And then he was gone. Back to Dallas to discuss the final details of the contract.
The American client was a builder, specialising in prestigious new houses, for which he wanted only the finest craftsmanship. Of a neo-Georgian design, their proportions lent themselves well to the reproduction plasterwork Jay’s company produced, but the American lawyers were finicking over every detail, and so Jay and his solicitor had to fly out once again.
It worried Claire how much she missed him. She oughtn’t to have done; after all, she had never wanted a husband—but Jay wasn’t just a husband, he was a person who made her laugh, who treated her as an equal, who filled out and warmed her life in a way she could never have believed possible.
She went with him to the airport, where he was meeting his solicitor, and was surprised by the sudden surge of desolation that struck her as he walked away. She wanted to cling on to him, to … Abruptly her body tensed as she watched his retreating back. Confusion and panic replaced desolation. What was happening to her? She mustn’t become emotionally dependent on Jay as well as financially dependent on him.
The days flew by, excitement mounting as the girls opened door after door on their advent calendars. They were both in the school play—nearly everyone in the school was involved in it in one way or another. Claire went to see them, and took Mrs Vickers with her because Jay was still away.
The last few days before Christmas trickled away far too fast. Jay rang three days before Christmas Eve to warn her that he could only get home at the last minute. Claire, who had put off buying and dressing a tree in the hope that he would be home in time, took the girls to the local garden centre and they chose one together, but it wasn’t the same as it would have been if Jay had been with her.
After Christmas, work would start on the house, but until then she had warmed up the sitting-room with deep pink and blue satinised-cotton-covered cushions and a large, toning rug.
But without Jay in it the house lacked something Claire recognised; she missed his vibrantly masculine presence. A trickle of awareness ran down her spine, a sense of danger and unease. She didn’t want to miss Jay, to be so conscious of his absences. She dismissed her thoughts as foolish, but something lingered, some faint frisson of knowledge that she determinedly forced into the back of her mind to think about later—much, much later.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NIGHT BEFORE Christmas Eve, they decorated the tree. Claire sat looking at it after the girls had gone to bed, watching the soft dazzle of the tiny pinpoints of light. Everything was ready: the presents were wrapped, including the appallingly expensive desk filing system she had bought for Jay, the turkey was keeping cold in the garage, all the shopping was done, and for once even the weather was in tune with the season. It had been cold all day, and now the night sky had a dull glow that presaged snow.
Everything was ready, but Jay was not here to share it with them. She told herself that she was disappointed for the girls, that it was because of them that that small ball of pain lodged deep inside her wouldn’t go away.
She stretched tiredly and got up to tidy away the debris from the tree decorations. Perhaps if she made some mince pies that might help relax her.
She went into the kitchen and was soon busily engaged in the ritual of making pastry. Through the window she saw the first flakes of snow fall, and was unable to resist the childish impulse to watch. Thick, fat snowflakes fell from a midnight blue sky, whirling and dancing in a pattern that mesmerised her. A fine white blanket covered the ground before she managed to drag herself away.
Snow for Christmas. She finished making her mince pies and put them in the oven.
It was still snowing half an hour later when the pies were cooling on a rack and she had finished cleaning the kitchen. It was too early to go to bed, but she felt too keyed up to sit down and watch television or read a book.
She was just about to make herself a cup of hot chocolate when the back door suddenly opened.
‘Jay!’ She said his name unsteadily, unable to believe it was him. The snow must have muted the sound of his car. Snowflakes clung to his hair and jacket.
Somehow, without knowing how it had happened, she had crossed the kitchen floor, her face alight with pleasure.
She touched his arm and grimaced. ‘You’re all cold and wet!’ She was standing so close to him that when she looked up she could see the dark irises of his eyes. As she looked his expression changed and she felt a strange tension grip her.
‘You’re … you’re back early …’
Her voice sounded rusty, and she seemed to be having difficulty breathing.
‘I managed to get an earlier flight; Christmas is no time to be away from home. Girls in bed?’
‘Yes. Over an hour ago.’
For some reason she felt oddly flat. She moved away from him, checking as he laid his hand on her arm.
