Nicholas’s eyes glistened with tears. “Andor.”
Andor didn’t share the saint’s sadness or the queen’s melancholy. The smothering dread that had draped itself on his shoulders the moment he crossed into Ljósálfheimr was gone, replaced by euphoria and a restless need to fly from here and return to the world and the woman he’d grown to love. He grinned at the saint. “Forever is a notion, Nicholas. You said so yourself.”
9
Claire checked her appearance in the mirror one last time and pronounced herself ready. Andor was on his way to escort her to the Carmichael’s benefit gala. The program in her purse had promised an enchanted evening of holiday fantasy among the Christmas exhibit in the Ainsley exhibit hall. Dinner, dancing, an open bar and most importantly, a silent auction. The last garnered a lot of money every year from the wealthy museum patrons who attended the gala and bid on luxury items from first-class trips to rare antiques.
She presented herself to Elise and Jake who sat at the dining table gluing pieces of felt to construction paper for an art project. Jake kept licking glue off his fingers, and what he missed, he rubbed in his hair. Elise patted him on the back. “Dude, it’s bath time after this, or I’ll be able to stick you to the wall.”
She whistled when she saw Claire. “Damn, you are seriously hot in that dress.”
Claire pivoted slowly, hoping she didn’t wobble too much in the heels. “Look okay? No panty lines? Pulled threads?”
Elise wiped a smear of glue off Jake’s cheek. The boy flashed a glance at his mother. “Hot,” he said.
The two women laughed. Elise gave her another once-over. “You’re good. Better than good. You look great.” She covered Jake’s ears with her hands. “Mr. Andor sex-on-a-stick is gonna be sporting a boner all night.”
“Elise!” Claire laughed, secretly admitting to herself how much she hoped that was exactly what would happen.
The dress she wore was a classic formal black sheath. Long-sleeved, with nude netting stitched in black lace across the collarbones, it hugged her body in sleek lines that ended in a short train. Both modest and sensual, it had appealed to Claire’s sense of style and contrasted attractively with her hair and skin.
Her shoes were the work of Satan’s minions. Created and engineered to cripple the wearer in the most painful manner, they made any pair of legs look fabulous and every dress look haute couture. Claire had promptly succumbed to temptation and sold her soul, as well as her arches, to the demon posing as a sales clerk in the shoe store.
When the doorbell rang, Elise rose from her seat and pointed at Claire. “You just stand there and look—” She lowered her voice. “Fuckable. I’ll get the door.”
Claire shook her head. She adored Jake’s babysitter, even if Elise’s word choices took her aback sometimes.
Andor’s comments when he saw Claire mirrored Elise’s admiration if not the vulgarity. His gaze slid over her, slow as honey, hot as a bonfire. “I don’t think there are enough of the right words in any language to describe how you look.”
Claire blushed. “Good or bad will do fine.”
“Sublime,” he said simply.
“Thank you. I can say the same for you.”
She could say a lot of things if she wasn’t virtually tongue-tied with awe. A tuxedo worked like her Satan shoes. It made just about anyone look good. Andor, however, went beyond good, beyond striking or sublime to jaw-droppingly beautiful. His features were too hard to be called angelic, unless one compared him to an archangel—that celestial warrior who engaged demons in battle. Preferably those like the one who designed the shoes she wore.
He wore his hair in its usual ponytail, and the casual look somehow gave the formal tux more pizzazz and interest. It was positively criminal to look that lickable in a bowtie.
“Are you two going to stand there all night staring at each other, or are you going to your party?”
Elise broke the spell that held them in place. Claire grabbed her purse and shawl, kissed a sticky Jake on the forehead and listed off instructions and phone numbers to Elise for the fourth time.
The babysitter scowled at her. “Go away, Claire. Jake and I got this. We’re going to decorate that height-challenged Christmas tree you bought, eat junk food and watch cartoons. I’ll see you later.”
Andor guided Claire out the door with a wink at Elise. Once inside the car, they fell into a comfortable silence. Andor drove smoothly through the snarl of traffic, steering with one hand while he sought Claire’s hand with the other and entwined his fingers with hers.
Since Thanksgiving, they’d grown ever closer, touching constantly when they could capture a moment of privacy. A brief caress down her back, the glide of her hand along his shoulders. Claire didn’t ask him to kiss her, though the delicious anticipation of knowing he would soon—and wouldn’t stop there—sometimes made her break out in a sweat.
Over the course of weeks and numerous dates, he slowly revealed bits and pieces of himself, telling her of his family, a mother and father with whom he wasn’t close, a friend with whom he was. His travels had taken him all over the world, giving him a unique insight into people in general.
He was funny and affectionate but always respectful to her as if he sensed the wariness she was fast tossing to the curb. After her divorce, Claire had guarded her heart and her son against all comers. Except for one awkward, disastrous date six months after she’d reclaimed her maiden name, she had turned down every offer. Until Andor. She hadn’t abandoned her caution entirely, but he’d found a way through her armor, worn her down like river water over stone, only so much faster. When he suggested they see each other exclusively, Claire had wanted to shout her joy from the rooftop of her house.
She lifted their joined hands to her mouth and kissed his knuckles before setting his hand on her thigh. They still said nothing to each other, but the tension in the car jumped, and Andor’s eyes had gone the gaslight blue Claire now recognized as his desire for her manifested.
At the gala, they joined co-workers at one of the tables set up in the Ainsley hall. Thousands of fairy lights woven into the tall trees and strung through the garland that wrapped around columns and was pinned to stair banisters cast the room in golden light.
Servers passed out champagne and offered hors d’oeuvres to the guests. A string quartet played from an upper balcony, a mix of Christmas and dance music. Claire looped her arm through Andor’s as they left the table to circulate among the crowd. “I think you’ve been stripped naked at least a dozen times since we walked through the door.” She would have to be blind not to catch the admiring stares Andor received when they arrived, and even now as they navigated through clusters of guests. She was guilty of doing it multiple times herself.
Andor met her gaze, his expression grim. “I hope not. I’m wearing Scooby Doo boxers.” His expression never changed, even when Claire’s eyes widened, and she glanced automatically at his crotch.
“Seriously?”
He broke into a laugh and spun her so she faced him. “No.” He captured her right hand and settled his other hand on her lower back. “Dance with me, Claire.”
She stepped into his embrace, happy to hold onto his broad shoulders. “So you can dance.”
“I told you, if you invited me, you’d find out. How brave are you?”
“Not very, but if you step on my toes I won’t feel it. My feet have gone numb.”
They glided across the room, Andor guiding her unerringly over the floor and around other dancing couples. Claire felt like she was flying. Only this was better than flying, better than breathing even.
They danced straight through four more songs, stopping only when the quartet changed tempo to something less suitable for a waltz or simple box-step. Andor guided Claire to a semi-secluded alcove at the perimeter of the hall.
The heat pouring off him was matched only by the fire inside her. She caressed the side of his face, tracing the angles of his cheekbone and nose, the sharp line of his jaw. He t
urned his face into her hand, his lashes dark and thick on his cheeks as he closed his eyes and kissed her palm.
“Do you think anyone will notice if we make out right here?” Claire’s other hand busied itself wandering under Andor’s tux jacket to stroke his narrow waist and the contoured muscles of his back. She felt the curve of his smile against her palm before he raised his head.
“Probably. And if you didn’t like office gossip before...” He trailed off, his teasing expression sobering. He traced the line of her spine and curve of her hips, leaving trails of fire on Claire’s skin. “We can leave if you wish.”
She could hear it in his voice, that subtle coaxing that almost beguiled her into saying yes. “I’d love to but we can’t. We have to stay through the dinner.”
“And eat the cardboard chicken.” Andor drew invisible designs on her neck with a fingertip. Claire leaned into his touch with a sigh. “Let’s go back to our table. At least the conversation with others will distract me.”
Claire huffed and slid out of his embrace. “Speak for yourself.” She intended to learn the shape of his upper thigh under the shrouded protection of the tablecloth.
His low chuckle seduced her as much as his touch did.
The dinner lasted for years. At least it seemed that way to Claire who, if she were ever asked, couldn’t remember what was served on her plate. She ate a little, chatted with her co-workers, including Dee who often cast her and Andor knowing looks, and played with Andor’s thigh under the table.
When dinner ended, Andor rose, helped Claire out of her seat and wished everyone goodnight. The weight of a dozen curious stares followed them out of the hall. She didn’t care.
The return trip home was as quiet as the one to the gala. Andor took his turn learning the shape of Claire’s thigh through her dress, and Claire tried not to squirm in her seat at the electric sparks that shot through her body at his touch.
They stood close together at her door, Andor looming behind her. Claire turned to him, her heart pounding from a combination of anticipation and dread of his answer. “Will you stay the night with me?” Will you stay a lifetime with me?
He stared down at her for long seconds, his somber, handsome face dappled in shadow. “Yes,” he said in a tone that made Claire believe he not only answered the question she uttered, but also the one she did not.
She fumbled the key in the lock until Andor took it from her and unlocked the door. Elise’s surprise at their early return morphed into a sly grin. She gathered her purse and jacket as if racing to beat the ticking of a stopwatch. “Jake’s passed out in bed. I left his tablet charging on the table, so he can reach it in the morning if he wakes up before you do.” She waved as she sailed out the door. “Have fun!”
Claire locked the door behind her, tossing the key on the hall table along with her purse and her shawl. Andor stood in the middle of the living room, his gaze hot enough to scorch cement as he watched her.
“Do you want something to drink?” Her voice rasped like sandpaper, and she cleared her throat.
“No.”
She pointed to the hall leading to the bedrooms. “I want to check on Jake. I’ll be right back.”
Elise had left the closet light on for Jake and the door cracked to allow a sliver of illumination into the room. The boy lay still beneath his covers, and didn’t so much as twitch when Claire kissed his forehead and ran her fingers through his hair. “Goodnight, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She found Andor as she left him, a beautiful statue gracing the middle of her living room. Claire grasped her courage with one hand and his fingers with the other and led him to her bedroom.
Andor placed a hand on the door before she closed it. “Don’t you need to listen for Jake?”
She pointed to a monitor, one meant to listen to an infant, set on a nightstand by her bed. “Got it covered.”
He smiled and closed the door for her.
Claire raised her face to his. “Can I have that kiss now?”
Andor eased her into his arms. His lips brushed hers, the faintest touch. Once, twice. A little harder—a lot hotter—each time. He lifted his head, and Claire uttered a wordless protest. “That was two kisses.”
She grasped his coat lapels and dragged him down to her. “You promised me a thousand,” she said and nibbled at his lower lip, gratified by the deep groan her caress elicited. “Don’t be stingy.”
The memory of intimacy had dulled over time. Claire hadn’t slept with anyone since her divorce from Lucas. Grief over her failed marriage, fear of being a single parent to a special needs child, moving to a different house, all the other smaller, but equally stressful details that had nearly overwhelmed her, pretty much killed her interest in pursuing a relationship, casual or otherwise.
Andor had changed all that, and the desire coursing through her now made her quick, clumsy and eager. He was as enthusiastic as she. Clothes were pulled away, regardless of snapped buttons or stretched seams, and thrown into the corner.
Andor kept his promise, kissing Claire until her head spun, his tongue slick and hot in her mouth; his teeth gentle as he nipped a path from her neck and across the top of her shoulder. His hands skimmed her body, cupping her breasts, learning the curves and slopes revealed when he’d peeled the dress off her, his eyes darkening at every inch of skin revealed until they were nearly black.
Claire returned his passion, muttering words of admiration between soft moans as she mapped him with her touch, beguiled by all that he was—sleek muscle and winter pine scent, his obvious affection for her and acceptance of Jake. She wished she’d met him sooner; she was profoundly grateful she knew him now.
They stumbled to the bed, unwilling to let each other go for a second. Andor made love to her amidst a tangle of sheets and the caress of shadows. Claire’s soft moan echoed his deeper groan when he slid inside her. The thrust of hips, the bite of a harsher kiss, the grip of her knees on his sides as he rode her deep and hard: Claire reveled in all of it. Her climax skated the edge of her senses, sparking every nerve ending until she bucked against Andor and cried out his name in a carnal prayer. He followed her, his hands clenching the sheets on either side of her head as he groaned his pleasure into her neck.
Their post-coital torpor didn’t last long, and this time it was Claire who clenched the sheets in white-knuckled hands.
They lay entwined afterwards, sweaty and replete. The sheets had been kicked to the end of the bed, the comforter shoved to the floor. Claire outlined the slopes and valleys of Andor’s face with a fingertip, tripping lightly over the high bridge of his nose before tracing the arch of his eyebrows. His beautiful mouth was swollen from her enthusiastic kisses, and he nipped at her when she ran her thumb across his lower lip.
She was tired and wonderfully achy, as if caught in a kind of carnal hangover. For all practical purposes, she should be ready to pass out. Her emotions had other ideas. Claire considered herself a woman possessed of a healthy sexual appetite, but she’d never been able to separate her emotions from physical intimacy. Sex never was, and never would be, casual for her. She gave her heart and her affection as well her body to her lover, and with this lover, she feared she’d just given her soul. The thought terrified her, and she batted it back to the corner of her mind. She refused to regret this night, or any other that might come after it. If it all ended in a broken heart, she would consider it worth the tears shed. Comfortably numb was no way to live.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, Andor slid a hand down the curve of her waist and swell of her hip, returning to her waist to repeat the same stroke over and over. His eyes were heavy-lidded and still more black than blue. “What do you want for Christmas?”
His question, asked while she struggled with her darker musings, made Claire stumble a moment. “Christmas?”
“Yes. Christmas. You know, that day of gift giving and such? It’s a week away.”
Except for the gift cards she exchanged with Dee each year, Claire didn??
?t receive Christmas gifts. She bought a few for Jake—toys with textures that might appeal to his sense of touch, puzzles to help him remember colors and letters, an app for his tablet that made funny noises he’d listen to over and over and laugh at with every repetition.
You in my home; you in our lives. She wanted to say it but opted instead for the safer, more lighthearted answer. She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Didn’t I just get it?”
Andor didn’t share her amusement. His face darkened, turned pensive. Claire reared back a little, suddenly frightened. She hadn’t answered the way he hoped. That was obvious, but she didn’t know what answer he wanted from her. She asked a question of her own. “What do you want for Christmas?”
He stared at her for so long, she wondered if he planned to ignore the question altogether. “I want you to love me, Claire. To share your life, and Jake’s, with me. Not just this Christmas, but for every Christmas afterwards. For a lifetime.”
The fact that she didn’t physically shatter into a million tiny pieces at his words made Claire an instant believer in miracles. She blinked away the sudden burn in her eyes easily enough, but it took three tries to clear the tightness from her throat so she could speak.
She twirled a lock of his hair around her finger. “Is that it? I thought you were going to ask for something a lot more difficult to give—like a real shrunken head from the Aguaruna tribe or El Cid’s Tizona sword.”
She squeaked when his arms tightened around her hard enough to thin her breathing. Andor loosened his hold only a little. “I’m serious, Claire.”
Claire’s teasing grin faded. She cupped Andor’s face in her hands and stared into a pair of eyes as blue as an ocean, and oddly enough, almost as ancient. “So am I.” She kissed him, savoring his return kiss. “I will love you for a million lifetimes, Andor. Even into forever.”
His expression changed, turned beatific as if he’d been lit from within. He rolled them across the bed until Claire lay beneath him. “Forever is a long time,” he said after several drugging kisses.