Unknown by Unknown Page A

Clay,' Dawn said huskily, in that very careful diction she had, always wanting to make a desired impression. Dawn was a sleek, blonde woman, plumply feminine, big-breasted, who dressed in designer clothes that suited her position as the personal assistant to the chief of surgery.
    'I was hoping I could see you,' she added, careful to keep any hint of demand out of her voice, as she liked a man to think that really he was taking the initiative, whereas she manipulated situations and people with admirable expertise to get what she wanted. Except in the case of Jerry Claibourne, of course... She had made a play for him and hadn't succeeded, knowing full well that he adored his wife and his four children, that he was 'very married', as the saying went.
    With good grace, Jerry had kept her on in her job, partly because she was a good personal assistant and partly because he knew that she wouldn't have the slightest effect on him personally. He had been that confident in his own feelings, and Clay admired him for it tremendously. Because she had made a play for Jerry, Clay felt for Dawn, beneath his superficial sexual attraction to her, a cold, unbending core of reserve which he hadn't been able to shake. Was he being hypocritical? He didn't think so, because they both knew exactly where they stood with each other. Or, at least, he thought he did.
    In Dawn, too, there was a hard core. He knew that she wouldn't settle for anything less than she had set her heart on. At the moment she wanted something from him. Hers was a studied femininity that didn't seem to reach all her responses. Clay didn't delude himself that what they had together would lead to anything really comfortable for now, they suited each other.
    'Sure,' he said, trying not to make the hesitation obvious. 'Would you like to come here? You could eat with me. There's something good in the oven that I haven't investigated yet... Hang on a second.' He opened the oven door and looked at the casserole there. 'Looks like chicken. Mmm, coq au vin. I've got wine in the fridge.'
    'I'd love to,' she said. 'I'll be there in about twenty minutes.'
    While waiting for her he went for a shower, even though he'd had one at the hospital. They would make love, he felt sure. Funnily enough, he considered as he stood under the water jet, he'd never had Dawn in his bed. Usually they ended up on the sofa in the sitting room, or they met at her place. There was a reluctance in him to offer her the intimacy of his bed, a place where he retreated for ultimate privacy. Odd, that. Maybe it was a measure of his reluctance to get really involved with her, or with any woman.
    Generally he didn't mind a woman taking the initiative—it was frequently a turn-on—but if there was obvious calculation or manipulation about it he felt in himself an instant steely withdrawal. Sometimes Dawn was borderline. She'd been quite upfront about what she wanted from life in general, from a lover, from a husband. With him her ambition was tempered by the fact that she genuinely found him attractive, a strong turn-on...so she said. But beyond that he didn't have any illusions—the man she wanted was Jerry. That much was obvious by the way she lit up when she was in the same room with Jerry, the way her eyes followed him.
    She came alive with him, too, Clay considered without vanity as he dried himself...but he'd made it clear that he wasn't available for anything permanent. Right now his career was all he could cope with, and that wasn't about to change if he were to take over Jerry's job. At least he was honest with her, and she seemed to accept that. He didn't want her to feel that she was being used in some way. Sometimes he felt it was the other way round—her appetite for him seemed insatiable.
    Absently he splashed himself liberally with a delicate, musky cologne which he knew Dawn liked, then plugged in his electric shaver. He hoped that she knew the score as well as he usually assumed she did. Still, he