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He had discarded his suit jacket and his shirt. The latter lay on the floor, a puddle of white cloth. She stared at it for what seemed like a long time, as she fought to control the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
She couldn’t look at him again. One brief glance at that tough, muscle-hardened torso with its rough shadowing of hair had been enough to freeze her where she stood.
Obliquely she was somehow aware of her own body as though she had stepped outside it. She could feel the rapid pulse of her blood along her veins; she could hear the frightened thud of her heart. She knew that her eyes had dilated with the shock and that her breathing sounded raspy and painful.
The room was warm, and yet somehow she could feel the soft movement of air against her skin like an icy embrace, as Jay moved.
‘It’s all right, Claire, it’s all right …’ She knew that he was aware of what had happened to her and that logically there was nothing for her to fear, but while her mind could comprehend it, her body could not. She saw him reach past her for his shirt and tug it on. All the time he was talking soothingly to her, but she barely heard him. She couldn’t comprehend anything other than the maleness of his body; that blocked everything else out. She shuddered as he fastened the buttons, remembering that dark arrowing of hair disappearing beneath his belt.
‘Claire, it’s all right.’
He stepped towards her, taking the towels from her numb arms and putting them down on the bed. ‘It’s all right.’ His hands gripped her arms, and felt their clenched muscles. He started to massage them, easing the frozen tension out of her.
‘I …’ Somehow she managed to unlock her tongue, a tide of fierce heat enveloping her as she realised how stupidly she had behaved. She was shaking violently now, perspiration breaking out all over her skin. Where she had been cold, now she was hot.
‘It’s all right … don’t try to say anything. Come and sit down for a moment.’
Numbly she let him lead her to the bed, and gently push her down on to it. Now, with the raw evidence of his maleness concealed from her, she was able to get herself back under control.
‘Is it always like this …?’
‘Always?’ She looked blankly at him.
‘Mine can’t be the first naked male chest you’ve seen, Claire,’ he reasoned, catching the train of her thoughts.
That was true, but the others had been sanitised by their surroundings: on television, on the beach … Never, ever in the intimate confines of a bedroom; never, ever so close to her that she had seen the faint stickiness of sweat dampening the silky chest hair, or been aware of the musky male scent of a man’s body.
‘I …’
‘Mummy, I’m hungry … when are we going to eat …?’
‘I’m hungry too.’
Lucy and Heather stood in the open doorway.
‘Will you and Daddy both be sleeping in here when you’re married?’ H
eather enquired innocently.
Above her Claire heard Jay catch his breath. ‘No,’ he said roughly.
‘You and Mummy didn’t sleep in the same bed either, did you?’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Claire’s like your mother. She wants her own bedroom.’
‘Why do you want your own room?’ Heather asked her.
Claire got up and walked towards the door.
‘Because she likes her privacy,’ Jay answered for her. His voice sounded unfamiliarly harsh, as though something had hurt his throat. It couldn’t be anything to do with her. A reaction perhaps to the memories Heather had unwittingly stirred up by mentioning her mother?
IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING, supper was a convivially relaxed meal, any conversation gaps left by the two adults more than compensated for by the excited chatter of the two girls.
‘Can we tell everyone at school about you and Mummy getting married?’ Lucy asked Jay.
‘If you think they’d be interested.’
An announcement like that was bound to cause more gossip than it squashed, at least until they were actually married, Claire reflected as she cleared away their plates and got out the pie.
