Almost Forever by Linda Howard Page A

pleased her so much and if she wore that same look of contentment after lovemaking, when everything was quiet and dark and the frenzied heat had passed. Had she worn that look for her ex-husband or for another man? The sudden twist of jealousy in his gut was unwelcome and left a bitter taste in his mouth.
    He crossed the room and put his hand on her arm, determined to draw her away from those dreams and back to him. “All finished with the paperwork. Are you ready to go?”
    She blinked, and the dreams vanished from her eyes. “Yes. I was just enjoying the room.”
    He looked down at her bare feet. “Especially the carpet.”
    She smiled. “The colors, too. Everything blends together so nicely.”
    It was a mellow room, large and well lit, with the soothing gray carpet and pale-blue walls. The bed was covered with a thick comforter, and a large ceramic urn in the corner held an enormous philodendron. The bed was oversize, piled high with pillows. It was perfect for a tall man, and more than roomy enough for two people. He looked at the bed then at Claire as she bent down to slip on her shoes. He would have her in that bed before this was finished, he promised himself.
    She gave him the list she’d made of what he would need to buy. He read it briefly then folded it and put it in his pocket. “We’ve certainly made short work of this—we have most of the afternoon left. Would you like to have a late lunch or an early dinner?”
    She thought of inviting him home to eat dinner with her but hesitated; she had never before invited a man to eat at her apartment. The apartment was her place of privacy, and she had been reluctant to share it. But she didn’t want the day to end, and somehow she didn’t mind the thought of his presence in her home. “Why don’t we go back to my apartment?” she offered a bit nervously. “I’ll cook dinner. Do you like orange-glazed chicken?”
    â€œI like food,” he stated, glancing at her as they left the apartment and wondering at her obvious unease. Was cooking dinner for him such an ordeal? Both the invitation and the occasion were casual yet something about it bothered her. A woman with her social experience should be completely relaxed with such a simple evening, but nothing about Claire was as it should have been. He wondered if he would ever understand what went on in her mind.
    The telephone began ringing as they entered her apartment, and Claire excused herself to answer it.
    â€œClaire, guess what!” her mother said enthusiastically. Claire didn’t even attempt to guess, knowing from experience that her mother wouldn’t pause long enough to allow an interruption, and she was right. Alma rushed headlong into her next sentence. “Michael and Celia are being transferred to Arizona, and they’ve stopped to visit on the way through. They’ll only be here this one night, and we’re having a family cookout. How soon can you be here?”
    Michael was Claire’s cousin from Michigan, and Celia was his wife. Claire was fond of them both, but she hadalready invited Max to dinner, and she couldn’t just throw him out now, even though Alma took it for granted that Claire would drop everything and rush right over. “Mother, I was just about to cook dinner—”
    â€œThen I’ve called just in time! Martine and Steve are already here. I tried to call you earlier, but you were out.”
    Claire took a deep breath. She didn’t want to tell her mother that she was entertaining, because she never did so, and Alma would immediately attach far greater significance to it than it warranted, yet she didn’t see any way out of it. “I have company. I can’t just rush over—”
    â€œCompany? Anyone I know?”
    â€œNo. I’ve invited him to dinner—”
    Immediately Alma’s maternal curiosity switched on. “Who?”
    â€œA