Unsuitable (13 page)

He just held her for a long moment without speaking, and with her ear against his chest Carrie could feel the runaway beating of his heart. Then he set her at arm’s length and examined her face as if he were seeing it for the first time.

“Carrie,” he said softly, touching her cheek with gentle fingers. “I never expected to find you in my son’s fourth grade classroom.”

“Why not?” she whispered, mesmerized, not even hearing what she was saying.

“John’s teacher last year looked like a fullback for the Los Angeles Rams,” he answered, smiling slightly. “And had a personality to match. You can imagine my shock when I showed up for that first meeting this time and found myself talking to you.”

“Have you told Johnny that he’ll be getting a new tutor?” Carrie asked, concerned about the boy’s reaction.

Jason nodded. “He doesn’t mind as long as he can keep you as a card partner,” he said grinning.

“Would you like something, a snack?” Carrie asked, remembering her manners. “You must have had dinner early.”

“All I want is you,” he replied and bent to kiss her.

He began cautiously, as if holding himself in check. His mouth lingered on hers, tasting, nibbling, caressing with a feather touch until she was pressing forward, eager for more. When he felt her response he let go a little, tightening his grip and opening her lips with his tongue. Carrie’s head fell back and she answered him with abandon, meeting and matching his ardor with hers.

Jason saw that she was receptive and pressed his advantage, kissing her throat and the tops of her breasts above the neckline of her dress. Tired of bending over to reach her he made a sound of impatience deep in his throat and swept her up, dropping one arm to lift her legs off the floor. He continued to run his lips over her skin, ceaselessly, urgently, as if famished for its feel against his mouth. When his tongue dipped into the valley between her breasts, partially exposed by her clothing, she could feel him suddenly check his headlong flight. He closed his eyes and pressed his face to her bodice, his breathing loud and ragged in the silent room. She laid her cheek against his hair.

They remained in that position for several seconds, like Leander sheltering Hero from the waters of the Hellespont, and then Jason set Carrie on her feet again. He turned her to the side and reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. Carrie stood motionless before him as he slipped the dress off her shoulders and let it fall in a heap to the floor. She stepped out of her shoes and he gazed at her as she stood before him, barefoot, clad only in her stockings and lacy beige underwear.

“You look like a little doll,” he murmured. “Come here.”

He tossed his suit jacket on a chair and sat on the sofa, taking her hand and pulling her into his lap.

He embraced her, inhaling her fragrance and drawing his lips over the sensitive hollow of her throat. She gasped, and when he kissed her this time his control was less evident, his mouth impatient on hers. His hands moved up her arms and settled on her breasts, shielded by the thin scrap of material she wore. He reached back and undid the clasp of her bra expertly, removing it and putting it aside. Carrie moaned as he cupped her breast in his hand and stroked the sensitive nipple, which rose instantly at his touch.

“You are perfect,” he whispered. “Everything in miniature, like an Aztec figurine.”

He began to caress her more intimately, taking her breast in his mouth. She arched toward him, her body yielding to pleasure as he laved her with his tongue. His mouth moved across her midsection to her navel and he kissed it. His face was flushed and his lashes swept his cheeks, twin amber crescents tipped with gold.

“So long,” he moaned. “It’s been so long.”

He released her for a moment to remove his shirt and tie. When he enfolded her again Carrie knew the exquisite sensation of skin on skin for the first time in her life. His upper arms were muscular and smooth, and his chest was broad and firm with a central pattern of light brown hair. Carrie clung to him, naked to the waist, awash in a sea of feeling but still worried about what would happen in the next few minutes. Should she tell him that he would be the first? He was an experienced man, he would surely know, and she didn’t want to surprise or disappoint him.

Jason kissed her again, his mouth open and relentless, his breath coming in short bursts. She felt him pressed against her, fully ready as he reached for the waistband of her pants. She tensed immediately. He felt it and his hand stilled.

“Let me,” he groaned. “Please, Carrie, don’t stop me now.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her hips, her whole body trembling. It was several seconds before she realized that he hadn’t moved. She opened her eyes.

He was looking down at her, an expression of extreme unhappiness on his face. With a sigh that seemed wrenched from the depths of his soul he sat up, turning away from her.

“I’m pushing you,” he said miserably. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do that, and I am doing it right now.”

He put her aside gently and stood up, running shaking fingers through his thick hair.

“I’m sorry, Carrie,” he added, after a moment. “I hope you don’t think I’m a boor.”

“I don’t,” she said, sitting up and crossing her arms over her bare breasts. He saw what she was doing and handed her his shirt. She slipped it on gratefully. It fit her like a tent.

He knelt before her and framed her face with his hands. “Carrie, please try to understand. It’s been many years since I cared for anyone and I’m finding it difficult to go slow.”

Many years? Carrie thought confusedly. His wife had been dead for only two.

“I know that I’m older than you are,” he continued. “I don’t want to ask for too much and send you running in the other direction.” He smiled ruefully. “I promise I’ll do better.”

“You’ve done just fine,” she whispered, bending forward to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. He shut his eyes briefly, and then stood up.

“I think I’d better leave before I disgrace myself further,” he said, looking around for his discarded clothes. He found his jacket and tie and then surveyed her on the sofa, where she sat surrounded by the folds of his shirt like a Carthusian monk in an ordination robe.

“My shirt?” he said, raising one eyebrow.

“Just a second,” she replied, fleeing upstairs, where she changed into a bathrobe. She returned with his shirt in her hand and gave it to him.

“Thank you,” he said archly, putting it on. Then he paused and said, “It smells like you now.”

Their eyes met and Carrie swallowed, yearning toward him. But he was master of the situation again. He finished dressing briskly and said, “I’ll pick you up at eight on Saturday for the formal, all right?”

She nodded, hugging herself tightly.

“Don’t scrunch up like that,” he said, noting her posture. “I’m leaving; I’m not going to attack you.”

Carrie didn’t answer. He couldn’t know that she feared, not him, but her own response to him.

They walked together to the door, and he said, “Good night, Barbie doll. Sleep well.”

He started to go, and then glanced back at her. She was following his departure with huge eyes, wanting to ask him to stay, hoping that he would go and obviate her decision. He saw her expression and opened his arms. Without hesitation she ran into them.

“Soon, Carrie,” he whispered, his cheek against hers. “When you’re ready.”

He released her and went through the door.

Chapter 7

During the following week Jason arranged for a new tutor to take over Carrie’s duties. He sent a glowing report on her handling of the case to Mr. Dunphy, lest the principal think he requested the change out of dissatisfaction with Carrie’s performance. He merely said that he wanted Johnny to be tutored during the day, since he was often tired by the time Carrie was able to get to the house after work. Everyone seemed to accept this explanation, except Lois Bonner, who had witnessed Jason’s dramatic arrival the day he came to the school to see Carrie. Lois’ curiosity remained unsatisfied, however, because Carrie would tell her nothing. To do so would have been the equivalent of taking out an ad in the classified section of the local newspaper.

Gloria called from Bridgeport, where her troupe had a three evening engagement. She was disappointed that she hadn’t met Jason, but pleased that Carrie had used her tickets to good advantage. She promised to return before Thanksgiving and catch up on the romance report.

A few days before the formal Carrie searched out her only evening dress, encased in plastic and stashed at the back of her closet with the odds and ends she rarely wore. She wanted to make sure that it hadn’t grown moss, gone out of style, or otherwise become unsuitable. It was a simple Grecian style crepe in pale peach with a high neck, but backless. Most of the fancy clothes designed for petites made her look and feel like Miss Muffet, so she had been ecstatic to find this one and had kept it for several years. She tried it on with the high-heeled shoes she planned to wear to check the length and all was well. She made a mental note to take it to the cleaners and hung it on the closet door so she wouldn’t forget.

The rest of the week passed in a flurry of counseling forms and mid-term progress reports. The night of the formal arrived and she was ready for it, fifteen minutes early, in fact. She had swept her hair into what she hoped was a sophisticated chignon and wore the only real jewelry she owned. It was a necklace and earrings in coral inlaid with tiny diamond chips, left to her by her mother. She fastened the clasp of the necklace at her nape and stepped over to the wall mirror in her bedroom. She was satisfied. Not much by comparison with the celebrated Louise, perhaps, but pretty good for Carrie Maxwell.

Her confidence in her appearance was justified by the look on Jason’s face when she opened her door to admit him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, surveying her thirstily from her piled dark hair to her dainty leather pumps.

“Thank you,” Carrie replied, reacting to the sight of him in formal clothes. He was wearing a charcoal gray tuxedo with an off-white pleated shirt and a bow tie. A navy topcoat sat carelessly on his shoulders. He watched her as she went to the hall closet and took out a heavy, handknit wool shawl.

“Won’t you be cold,” he asked, “wearing just this?” He held it for her and she wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I don’t have a cape,” Carrie replied, looking up at him as his hands fell away from her.

“The car’s warmed up,” he said, smiling as he opened the door and led her outside. She tucked her shawl more closely about her as she realized that he was right; it was indeed a cold night.

The drive to the country club was short, and Carrie was surprised by the lavishness of the grounds as Jason guided the car down the incline toward the main entrance. She had driven past the gates many times but had never been inside them. The atmosphere on this occasion was more like that of a Hollywood premiere than a seasonal affair for the local ranching community. A string of taxis waited at a stand by the curb, and uniformed attendants took over the cars of the guests as they arrived. The two-story stone colonial was ablaze with light, and a hostess dressed in a tailored suit with the club crest affixed to the breast pocket greeted them just inside the door.

“Jason McClain and guest,” Jason said, presenting his invitation. The woman took it and crossed his name off a list on her bookstand. Then she signaled for them to follow her.

They passed through a wide entry hall, where Jason checked their coats. On the floor of the hall was a carpet in wine with a small gray pattern, complemented by deeply sashed gray satin drapes at the full length windows on either side of the room. Double doors opened into a large reception area, featuring a raised bandstand at one end and a wall-to-wall bar at the other. In between, small round tables seating four or six were strategically placed around a central dance floor. Carrie estimated that about three hundred people were expected. Waiters circulated through the milling crowd with trays of prepared drinks while other guests ordered for themselves at the bar. The hostess led them to a table in the middle of the room. It was set for four. Place cards at the other two seats indicated that their dinner companions had not arrived yet.

“Relax,” Jason said in her ear. “You look nervous.”

“I guess I didn’t expect it to be quite such a big deal,” she confessed as he pulled out her chair.

“You fit right in,” he said reassuringly, smiling. Carrie smiled back but reserved judgment on that topic. While she could see that she was dressed appropriately, she was very aware that many of these people had known Louise, some by sight, others more intimately. She couldn’t help wondering what they would think of Jason’s new friend.

“Is it always this big?” she asked as he sat next to her.

“Looks like it’s grown since the last time I was here,” he replied, glancing around at the crush. He leaned forward. “Would you like a drink?”

“If you’re having something,” Carrie answered.

He stood again to go to the bar, and on the way Carrie saw him stop and speak to several people. He looked at ease, enjoying the conversations, and she was relieved that his return to Fairfield County Society seemed to be going well. He came back with the couple sharing their table, a Mr. and Mrs. Dunne, who greeted Carrie cheerfully and made no mention of Jason’s late wife. Mrs. Dunne was a simple soul who regaled Carrie with stories of her two teenagers while her husband talked horses with Jason.