Claire hadn’t made love so many times in one night since her honeymoon. But they were making up for lost time. They began as soon as they stepped through the front door, right in the living room. After that, it was the bedroom, then the shower. By the time they were too exhausted to move, they were lying in bed with the sun coming up.
“Seriously?” Claire scowled at the intruding light as she rested her chin on his chest. “Where are your blinds?”
He pushed her hair away from her face. “What?”
“You have nothing covering the windows.”
“We could put up some sheets. If we had the energy,” he added with a chuckle.
“That light is really annoying.” Trying to shut it out, she buried her face between his arm and chest. “How’s a girl supposed to sleep? I have to work in two hours.”
She wasn’t sure he’d understand her muffled words, but he must’ve been able to make them out because he answered. “Oddly enough, the light’s never bothered me before.”
She raised her head. “Haven’t any of your bed partners complained?”
“What bed partners?” he said on a yawn.
“Yeah, right.”
He didn’t respond, and she was sort of glad. She didn’t want to hear about his other lovers.
“This has been incredible,” he said after several seconds of silence.
That statement sounded like a serious one but, afraid she might read too much into it, she laid her head on his chest and tried to laugh it off. “You haven’t lost a thing. Is that what you want me to say?”
His eyes drifted closed. “Only if you feel so compelled.”
“I’ll leave that to the others.” She regretted mentioning his love life for a second time, but she needed to keep his casual attitude toward sex in mind. Maybe caution would help her retain some perspective so she wouldn’t get emotionally entangled. Loving him was one thing; knowing he didn’t or couldn’t love her back the way she wanted, the way she needed, was another.
Fortunately, he didn’t complain or accuse her of the jealousy that lurked beneath her reference. “What about your other lovers?”
She rubbed a hand over the contours of his taut stomach. “You know I don’t have any. Not anymore.”
His lips brushed her forehead with a quick kiss. “How do I know that?”
“Because my husband is dead and there’s never been anyone besides the two of you.”
The tone of her voice probably told him he’d struck a nerve. She felt his chest lift as he drew a deep breath. “So this was your first time since David.”
“You thought otherwise?”
“I know you’re still in love with him. But a year’s a long time to sleep alone when you’re used to having someone in your bed. And I’ve been gone so much. For all I know, there could’ve been some other man.”
“There’s been no one else,” she insisted.
He played with her hair. He’d always said how much he liked it. “Are you actually going to your salon after being up all night?”
“I have to.”
“What would happen if you didn’t? Can’t you cancel?”
“No, I’ve already missed one day this week. And it’s Saturday, my busiest day.” She refused to give anyone a reason to question why she had to cancel, or to delve into where she’d been. The attack at her mother’s studio had been sensational enough. If she was going to screw up her life, she’d rather do it privately. “Fortunately, I have tomorrow and Monday off. I can recover then.”
“We’ll get into bed early tonight.”
She almost said yes, then remembered she had a commitment. “I can’t see you this evening.”
“Why not?”
“I have a date.”
There was another silence. She was hoping he’d leave it at that, but he didn’t. “Who with?”
“Some guy Laurel’s been wanting to introduce me to. I haven’t met him yet.”
“What’s his name?”
“Owen Rodriguez. He’s from Libby.”
“What’s he do?”
Did it matter? She covered a yawn. “He’s an accountant.”
“Sounds steady.”
She couldn’t tell if he was bothered by the fact that she’d be seeing someone else. She couldn’t imagine he was. “He’s supposed to be a real stand-up guy.”
“Just your type.”
“Yeah.” It beat having her heart torn to shreds…?.
“So why were you crying last night?” Although his voice was gentle and his hand slid reassuringly back and forth on her shoulder, she couldn’t talk about her meeting with April. What she’d learned formed a morass of dark emotion swirling somewhere in her brain, but that morass didn’t have a hold on her at this particular moment. Being in Isaac’s arms somehow protected her—as long as they didn’t venture too close to the subjects she needed to avoid, at least for now. “I don’t want to go into it.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t face it.”
“But you’ll have to face it sometime.”
“Morning will be soon enough.”
He moved the hand that had been rubbing her back to gesture at the light pouring into the room. “Didn’t you just point out that it is morning?”
“After I sleep for a bit.”
“Okay. I guess you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” They shifted until she was on her side and he was spooning her. “But will you do me a favor?”
Had she dreamed that he’d just asked for a favor? It was becoming difficult to talk. She was too languid, too warm, too comfortable and content, if not actually safe. She clung to that sense of peace, couldn’t give it up quite yet. “Hmm?”
“Promise me you’ll eat better.”
“I thought we hated each other,” she mumbled.
He nipped at her shoulder. “Nah, we’re friends, remember?”
Friends with benefits. She’d done it. She’d put herself right back where she’d been ten years ago. But she couldn’t think about that, either, or all the rest—what April had said and what it meant—would come back, too. It was all part of the same reality.
After Claire left, Isaac pulled on a pair of sweatpants and wandered into his office. There, he unlocked the safe in which he stored the flash drives that contained originals of all his work and took a manila folder from the bottom shelf. Inside were two pages—all the private investigators had been able to dig up on his mother.