Counterpointe (9 page)

“Smell, but don’t touch, is that it?”

His look quizzed her.

“The roses. You stop, you smell, but you don’t touch.”

He continued to appear puzzled.

Okay, enough already
. Better to know than not know, and sooner was better than later. She lifted Mona off his lap and set the small dog, who whined in protest, on her pillow out of harm’s way. “I see a demonstration is in order.”

Frowning, Rob let her take his hand. His palm, soft and smooth, was obviously that of a man whose work involved brains, not brawn. She examined it. His head line indicated he was a logical thinker. No surprise. And it was parallel to his heart line, which was straight, although even without that confirmation, she knew he had excellent control of his emotions. Unless...he did see her as only a casual friend?

She linked her fingers with his. His hand was larger, his fingers longer than hers, but their hands fit comfortably together. “This, Professor Chapin, is called holding hands. A
Reader’s Digest
, and grandmother-approved activity.” She glanced at him to see the beginning of a smile. She ignored it and settled his hand in her lap, then she ran a fingertip up the inside of his forearm. The skin smooth, pale and soft, dimpled with gooseflesh.

Satisfied, she lifted her finger from his arm, to trace the curve of his cheek. He’d obviously shaved that morning but she could feel the faint rasp of beard beginning to emerge. “Now, this is a more advanced form of touching. It depends on location and intent as to what level of approval it attains.” Her finger traced his lips.

As she conducted her explorations, he sat without moving, but he had a dazed look.
Thank God
.

“And finally, there’s this.” She leaned in and pressed her lips briefly against his. “It’s called kissing. I’ve heard it’s quite popular. Men and women have been doing it for centuries.”

She sat back and he shuddered and blinked, as if he’d just awakened. A sleeping prince. Now that was an interesting thought.

“As a matter of fact.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I doubt kissing came into vogue until dental hygiene improved in the 1900s or so.”

She debated for a moment before deciding to play along. “A truly dedicated student does not sidetrack a lesson with irrelevant information.”

“Sorry.”

She pulled out a haughty expression and put it on. “You should be. Smart alecks rarely make good students. They tend not to pay attention, and their technique invariably fails to enchant as a result.”

“Really sorry. It won’t happen again, ma’am.” His eyes held a delighted glint. “Could we perhaps go over the bit with the lips again?”

“I do not repeat lessons for people who
ma’am
me.”

His lips moved into a grin. “Then allow me.” He pulled her close, bent his head, and kissed her. Thoroughly.

His mouth felt every bit as good as it looked, and Lord, the man knew how to kiss. After a time, dazed and dizzy, Clare leaned her head on his shoulder and buried her nose in his neck. His skin was sun-warm and smelled of aftershave and the exertions of the day. A smell as good as baking bread or apples and cinnamon. “You keep this up and you may turn out to be one of my better students.”

“That’s certainly my intention.” He bent his head, smiling at her. “It so happens there’s a comfortable bed downstairs, if you would care to conduct an advanced seminar?”

Uh-oh
. But after all, she was the one who opened the door to the possibility. “I need to make sure you’ve fully mastered this material first.” Although, no question he had.

He leaned further back and grinned at her. “Indeed, and would you perhaps give me a critique? So I can make the necessary corrections.”

She tried to appear stern, but it wasn’t easy. He had such a loopy look on his face, and she was feeling a swoop of giddiness herself. “Well...” But there was nothing to correct in his technique. Besides, it was time to stop teasing. Past time, actually, for them to share their real thoughts and feelings without the camouflage of humor.

She straightened, pulling away, because cuddling against him made thinking a definite no-go. “You seem to enjoy kissing me. So why didn’t you...before?”

“
Seem
to enjoy. My God, woman. There’s no seem-to about it.”

“So...why?”

He glanced at her, then away. “When you agreed to go out with me, I couldn’t believe my luck, and I didn’t want to do anything to mess it up.” When he spoke again, it was with his lips brushing against hers. “Ever since we met, I’ve wanted not only to kiss you, Clare, but to make love to you.”

“But you did nothing about it.”

“Of course I did. I’ve been doing my damndest to get you to fall in like with me.”

“Well, clearly I do. Like you, I mean.”

“What about that eye-shadow-under-the-eyes trick you pulled?”

She had to be blushing. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

“Never try to fool a guy who has a sister. You changed your mind, though.”

“I guess I decided you were harmless. And a tour of Boston on such a lovely morning was...appealing.”

A chuckle made his chest vibrate against her hand. “Oh, that works. It’s every man’s dream to be told he seems harmless by the woman he wants to take to bed.”

“You shouldn’t knock it. Why do you think I keep going out with you?”

“Because I’m safe?”

“You don’t exactly seem safe at the moment.”

“You brought that on yourself. So about the bed?”

“I don’t have casual sex.”

“It wouldn’t be casual. And it wouldn’t just be sex.” He pulled her back into his arms and for a time the only sound was the slapping of waves along the sailboat’s hull, the creak of rigging, the call of seabirds carried away by a sudden breeze.

She pulled away. “Please. Can’t we just...go on this way for a while? I like kissing you. A lot. And being with you. We can take our time...see how it goes.”

He leaned his forehead against hers and rubbed her nose with his. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s wonderful to see Rob so happy,” Lynne told Clare on Labor Day. They were at Lynne and Jim’s preparing for a picnic. Rob’s parents were the other invitees, and Clare was shredding lettuce because she was too nervous to be trusted with a knife.

The house, a large colonial in Wellesley, had a kitchen that would make a professional chef drool, although Lynne had softened the industrial look of stainless steel appliances, large gas cooktop, and solid countertops by painting the walls apple-green. Although this was the first time Clare had been at the Galts’ home, the four of them had gone sailing together during the summer.

“Sometimes he’s real hard to figure.” Lynne paused from peeling the hard-boiled eggs for the potato salad and looked out the window to the backyard where her husband and Rob were firing up the grill.

“How’s that?”

“Rob’s one of the smartest men I know. Not to mention sweet, even if he is my brother, but he’s never dated much. In fact, you’re the first woman he’s brought to meet our folks since high school.”

“Absolutely no pressure, I see.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you nervous. I’m just so pleased he’s finally realizing there’s more to life than living in that dreary apartment at the Prudential Center and spending every waking hour at Northeastern.” She sighed. “We’ve all worried about him a bit. That’s why we’re so glad he has you.”

Except, he didn’t “have” her in at least one important sense of the word. It’s not likely that was what Lynne meant, of course.

“Mom used to worry Rob was gay and not telling her. You’ll find Mom can be not terribly subtle at times.”

Or perhaps it was precisely what Lynne meant.

So what am I trying to prove by not sleeping with him?
That she could hold onto a man without sex? Indeed, maybe that was exactly what she was trying to prove. For sure, she’d failed to hang onto one with sex.

She glanced at Lynne to find an odd expression on her face. “What is it?”

“Oh.” Lynne shook herself and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s...damn it. I wish...”

Seeing the pain in Lynne’s eyes, Clare spoke gently. “What do you wish?”

“My period. It started this morning. It’s...it was late, and we were really hoping this time... Sorry.” The words trailed off, and she turned her head away.

Clare waited for Lynne to regain her composure, thinking how impossible it was to know all the pain another person carried inside them.

“Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet Clare Eliason,” Rob said.

Mrs. Chapin gripped her hand. “Lynne told us you were coming, of course. We are so thrilled to meet you.” The accent was pure nasal Bostonian and, thank God, Rob had shed his accent. Boston royalty, Justin had dubbed Lynne’s family, and Clare, greeting the two formally dressed senior Chapins, could see what he meant.

After the flurry of arrival, the men repaired to the backyard leaving the women to return to the kitchen.

“Good. I was hoping we’d have a chance to chat.” Mrs. Chapin helped herself to an apron. It made her appear a bit more everyday, although the stiff hairstyle and careful makeup were difficult for a mere apron to overcome.

“Now, I want to know everything about you and my son, Clare, starting with how you met.”

Lynne raised eyebrows at Clare.
See what I mean
? the look conveyed.

Clare smiled back.
Indeed I do
.

“We met at the donor reception at the end of the ballet season this spring.”

That clearly caught Mrs. Chapin by surprise, and Clare had to bite her lip to hold in a laugh.

“Clare’s a principal dancer with Danse Classique, Mom. As a matter of fact, I’m responsible for them meeting. I talked Rob into taking me when Jim was out of town.”

The obvious relief was almost as comical as the startlement had been. “Well, of course, I know Rob wouldn’t go to the ballet unless someone dragged him. Don’t you remember when we took you children to
The Nutcracker
, and afterward he asked if we were going again next Christmas. I said, of course, would he like that? He said, ‘no.’ Very emphatically, I might add.”

“Rob was ten, I was five.” Lynne directed the comment with a smile at Clare. “I don’t remember the actual event but I’ve heard the story enough times I feel like I do.”