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  Now, as he watched her with Natalie, he was struck by the difference between the two women, yet pleased that they had seemed to like one another instantly. Natalie, like him, was tall, thin, and dark. Her gleaming ebony hair held a hint of silver at the temples and she was deeply tanned. Unlike his eyes, which he'd inherited from their mother, she had the dark brown eyes of their father. Natalie fairly vibrated energy and enthusiasm. She was a non-stop talker and a chain-smoker, a habit Nick had tried to get her to give up. He knew her husband, a brilliant neurosurgeon, had tried equally hard, but Natalie resisted all their blandishments.

  "It's my body," she said stubbornly, dark eyes flashing.

  Tonight, she looked striking in a black and white taffeta dress with dramatic lines that emphasized her angular, model's figure. To look at her, no one would ever guess what her background was. She looked like a jaded, petted, rich woman who had never done anything harder than play a rousing game of tennis. Nick smiled, remembering how different their lives used to be, how much he owed his sister. How much he would always owe her.

  Now that he thought about it, she and Claire were alike in the important ways. Each had a fierce love of family and a strong sense of loyalty. And neither was afraid of hard work.

  Now Claire laughed at something Natalie was saying, and Nick watched the way she tipped her head up and slightly to the side. Nick's breathing quickened as his eyes swept down the long line of her throat and rested on the sweep of her rounded breasts. She looked so cool, so elegant, so classically pure.

  He smiled to himself. He had wondered if Claire, with her outward look of serenity, would be a responsive lover. He would have been able to live with it if she were passive, as long as she were willing. After all, the main reason he wanted a wife was to give him children. He didn't need passion as well.

  But from the first moment he'd kissed her, he'd known she would be not only satisfying, but exciting and enthusiastic. In fact, the kiss had shaken him. He hadn't expected to enjoy it as much as he had, and he hadn't wanted to stop with the kiss. She'd been so sweetly willing and desire had raged through him, but he'd called on all his willpower and self-control to keep that desire banked. He had no intention of bedding her unless and until she was his legal wife. Tim might think he was crazy, but Nick was nobody's fool.

  But soon she would be his wife. In three and one-half short months he would have the right to kiss her and touch her in all the hidden places, to take her mouth and her body and claim them for his own. To make slow love to her and watch her eyes as she flowered under his touch. To turn the cool, ladylike Claire into a trembling, eager lover.

  "Nick, you're not listening," Howard said peevishly.

  "What?" Nick looked at Howard, but his body felt taut with desire. The erotic images he'd conjured swirled in his mind and, suddenly, the months until his wedding day seemed like eternity.

  * * *

  "Well, Claire, when Nicky called me to tell me he was getting married, you could have knocked me over with a feather!"

  Claire smiled at Natalie Bernstein. She couldn't get over how much she liked Nick's older sister. She'd been so nervous about meeting her, picturing someone who would be coldly suspicious of the unknown woman who had managed what so many women had been unable to pull off—snagging Nick Callahan. Claire knew that Nick hadn't told Natalie of their bargain. In fact, that had been one of Claire's conditions when they'd discussed the terms of their bargain. And he readily agreed, saying the only person who would know was Tim Sutherland, his lawyer, who was drawing up the prenuptial contract.

  Natalie, although she fulfilled some of Claire's expectations—she was beautiful, sophisticated, intelligent, and charming—-was also earthy, funny, and warmly accepting of Claire. From her first greeting, "Now I know exactly why Nicky finally succumbed," to her latest admission, she had been friendly, candid, and unabashedly nosy.

  "But I'm tickled to death that he's getting married again," Natalie continued. "He should be married. He's the marrying kind."

  Claire wondered what Natalie would think if she knew the true story.

  "From the moment he and Jill were divorced, women have been chasing him. He's never been seriously interested in any of them." She grinned. "I call them the 'exes.' " Natalie opened her silk cigarette case and shook out a cigarette. She quickly lit it, took a long drag, and added, "His first marriage was a disaster, you know."

  "Yes, well, he told me a little bit about it," Claire said.

  "Jill's a nice woman, actually, but she was terribly possessive. Men need a little space."

  Claire smiled, thinking, if you only knew.

  "I have a feeling you're going to be good for him, though," Natalie continued. "Maybe now I can quit worrying about him." Then she glanced up. "Oh, no," she said out of the side of her mouth, "here comes one of the 'exes' now—Heather Ripley."

  Claire recognized the beautiful redhead she'd met at the country club the night of the reception for the British consul-general. Heather looked very beautiful again tonight, in a sculpted gold tissue dress that showed off her lush curves.

  "Hello, Natalie," Heather said. "It's good to see you again."

  "Heather."

  The two women touched cheeks. Then Heather's tawny eyes settled on Claire, and she smiled. "I guess congratulations are in order."

  Before Claire could answer, Natalie said with mock reproof, "You're never supposed to congratulate the bride, Heather. It's the man who's considered the lucky one." She took a final drag on her cigarette, then stubbed it out in a large crystal ashtray.

  "That may be," Heather said dryly, "but we all know that any woman who could land Nick Callahan deserves to be congratulated. It's quite a feat."

  "Thank you," Claire said. "I do consider myself lucky."

  "You definitely should. What we're all wondering is how you managed it . . . and so quickly, too."

  Claire felt sorry for Heather—she knew the woman was in love with Nick—but she realized she would have to let Heather know she wasn't going to stand for insults or innuendos or anything else. So she gave Heather her sweetest smile and said, "You know how Nick is. When he sees something he wants, he goes after it."

  Heather's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I certainly do know how Nick is. I know that he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. But I also know that he gets bored very quickly, too, once he's achieved his objective. So don't get too complacent."

  Then she walked off, head high.

  "Poor Heather," Natalie murmured. "She's eaten up with jealousy."

  "Yes." But Claire was disturbed. How many people here tonight felt as Heather did? She hated the idea that there were people just hoping she'd fail, just waiting for something to happen and Nick to dump her. Some of this must have shown on her face, for Natalie spoke quietly.

  "Claire, don't let what she said bother you. She really thought Nick was going to ask her to marry him, and she's very disappointed and envious."

  But Claire's happiness in the evening had waned. She already knew Tim Sutherland disapproved of her. The suspicion she'd sensed the first day she'd met him in Nick's office had been evident again tonight. And now Heather.

  "Come on, Claire," Natalie urged. "Smile. Don't give her the satisfaction of knowing she got to you. That's what she wants, to put doubts in your mind." Natalie poked her arm. "Besides, here comes Nicky."

  And then Nick was at her side, smiling down at her, and the approval she saw in his eyes made her forget Heather Ripley and her snide comments, and relief washed over her. I don't have to worry anymore. And I'll make him happy, she vowed. I'll never give him any reason to regret marrying me. She gave him an answering smile.

  "Good girl," Natalie whispered. Then she looked at Nick. "I'm really looking forward to the wedding. And I'll make sure David comes if I have to drag him here."

  Impulsively, Claire said, "Natalie, would you like to be my matron of honor?"

  Natalie's smile was dazzling. "I'd love it. Are you sure?"

  Even though
Claire had just thought of the idea, she was very sure. She nodded.

  Natalie hugged her, and Claire glanced up at Nick. His blue eyes were shining, and she felt a warm glow at the thought that she'd pleased him.

  "Who else is going to be in the wedding?" Natalie asked.

  "My best friend, Peachey Hall, is going to be my maid of honor. I'm not planning to have any other attendants."

  "Is your friend here tonight? I'd love to meet her."

  "No," Claire said regretfully. "She's a model and she had a shoot scheduled in St. Thomas this week. She wanted to be here, but she couldn't—the agency booked her months ago."

  "Well, I'm excited about this," Natalie said. "And I can't wait." She laughed. "And from the look on your fiance's face, he can't wait, either."

  "I'm counting the days," Nick said. He slipped his arm around her, resting it just under her breast. Claire was acutely aware of the heat of his hand through the thin dress, and suddenly her mouth went dry. He'd sounded as if he meant it. She slowly looked up, meeting his electric-blue gaze.

  What she saw there totally unnerved her.

  He might not be in love with her.

  But his eyes said he wanted her.

  Chapter 8

  Claire stood in the back of the church waiting for the first notes of Clarke’s "Trumpet Voluntary." Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, bathing the assembled guests in jeweled rays of emerald, ruby, and sapphire. Claire took measured breaths, willing herself to relax, and stood motionless as the wedding coordinator adjusted her heavy train.

  She couldn't see Nick from where she stood, but she knew he was up there by the altar, waiting for her. She closed her eyes for a moment. The heady fragrance of roses drifted around her.

  Nick. Just thinking about him and the way he looked at her frightened her. She wasn't sure why. All his actions had been kind and considerate—just as he'd promised her they would be—but there was some secret part of himself he kept closed off from her. She wished she understood him better.

  He wanted her physically. She knew that. She could see it in his eyes and in the way his body reacted whenever he kissed her. But even then, he was always in control. Claire knew their lives would follow this same pattern.

  Nick would always be in charge. He would set the pace and she would follow. Each phase of their lives would be assessed, and he would then make an informed decision. Nothing would be spontaneous.

  She sighed. This was her wedding day. Soon the ceremony uniting her to Nick would begin. It was too late for doubts. Finally Peachey, looking glamorous and sultry in her ice-blue watered silk dress, reached the altar and stopped, turning toward the center aisle.

  For a moment there was a hush, then the minister raised his hands and the guests stood, amid rustling and expectant in-drawn breaths. The sunlight danced over their heads and then the full, rich tones of the organ filled the church.

  Claire, head held high, right arm resting upon the sleeve of her Uncle David's arm, began her slow descent down the aisle toward her future.

  * * *

  Nick sucked in his breath when he saw her. She looked indescribably beautiful. Her dress was lush ivory satin with a sweeping train, elegant and simple with clean lines that emphasized her slender figure. She'd piled her golden hair on top of her head, and the headpiece of her veil was studded with sequins and pearls that shimmered in the filtered sunlight dappling the church.

  A tremor passed through him as she came closer and he saw the luminous glow in her eyes, the sweetly vulnerable curve of her mouth, the delicate rose shading her cheekbones, and the soft rise and fall of her rounded breasts gilded by satin.

  Mine, he thought. Mine. Pure and beautiful and malleable. At that moment, her soft green eyes met his and Nick smiled, seeing the way her eyes glowed in return. Claire, he thought. Beautiful Claire. He moved toward her and then the minister began to speak.

  * * *

  "This is quite a party, Claire," Betty O'Neil said.

  Claire smiled at her former boss. "Yes. Nick said he felt obligated to have this type of reception. I'd have preferred something much smaller."

  Betty smiled. "It's still hard for me to believe that you and Nick Callahan ..."

  Claire forced herself to smile. She was so tired of the speculative looks, the same old comments repeated over and over again. She knew Betty meant her no ill will, but each time someone expressed surprise or amazement over her marriage to Nick, Claire felt just a bit more uncertain, just a bit more apprehensive of the future. And she didn't like the feeling.

  She wished the reception was over. The country club was lovely, the food magnificent, the champagne and wine costly and plentiful, the music and service top-notch, and she knew the guests were having a marvelous time—if the noise level and speed in which the food and drinks were disappearing were any indication—but Claire was too tense to enjoy herself.

  Even Nick, who was solicitous and attentive to a fault, couldn't distract Claire's thoughts from her fear of the future, and the more immediate fear of tonight.

  She swallowed. Tonight she and Nick would be alone, together, as man and wife. Tonight he would claim her. Suddenly she was terribly afraid. What if she didn't measure up? What if he didn't enjoy making love to her? What if he were sorry he'd married her?

  What if, as Heather Ripley had so convincingly pointed out, he became bored with her?

  Just as her thoughts took this dismal turn, her Aunt Lily approached. Claire's spirits immediately lifted. Her mother's sister was one of her favorite people in the entire world. Today she looked lovely, Claire thought, in her pink silk suit and matching hat. Her silver hair, which had once been midnight dark, set off her green eyes, a family trademark.

  "Claire, honey, you look so beautiful today," she murmured as they hugged for at least the tenth time that afternoon. "I was so proud when I saw you walking down the aisle. And I know your father and mother would have been, too."

  Claire's eyes misted. She had so wanted Kitty to be there, but her doctors had adamantly refused, saying Kitty would be confused and get over-excited and make herself sick. Claire knew they were right, but still, something in her rebelled at the idea that her own mother didn't know she had gotten married today.

  "Be happy, Claire," her aunt continued, holding her hands tightly and smiling at her with tear-filled eyes. "Be very, very happy. You deserve to be."

  And I want to be. But I'm so afraid. Of course, she didn't say the words aloud. But they were there, lurking in the shadows of her mind, waiting to pounce.

  Just then, Nick walked up to them. He smiled slowly, and Claire's heart turned over. He looked magnificent in his black tuxedo, as if he'd been born to wear it. He turned his smile on her aunt, saying, "Lily, do you mind if I steal my wife away for a dance?"

  My wife. Claire's heart lifted with pride as the words washed over her. My wife. She allowed herself to be led to the dance floor, and as Nick drew her close and they began to move to the music, she glanced over at her aunt and smiled.

  Lily smiled back. Then she nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if she were assuring Claire that everything would be okay.

  Nick's arms tightened around her, and Claire nestled her head under his chin and closed her eyes. For better or for worse, she thought, I'm Nick's wife.

  * * *

  Later, Nick said, "Would you like to leave the reception early and go to see your mother?"

  "Do you mean it?" Claire said.

  His eyes softened. "Of course."

  Heart full, she smiled up at him. She thought it was a hopeful sign for their future that he had been perceptive enough to know how she was feeling. So they said their good-byes, and when Claire turned to say good-bye to Lily, her aunt whispered, "He'll be good to you. He has kind eyes."

  Ten minutes later, after being pelted by rice and good wishes, they were on their way, Claire's hand clasped warmly in Nick's, and Claire thought about her aunt's words as they sat in the back of the limo and Gordon drove them
to Pinehaven.

  They caused a stir when they entered the nursing home. The elderly patients oohed and aahed over Claire's wedding finery, and Claire was very grateful to Nick for his patience when the women clucked over him.

  They found her playing with a doll's house in the rec room. Kitty's eyed widened when she saw them.

  Her mouth curved in a delighted smile. "Pretty," she said, touching Claire's veil.

  Claire's eyes filled with tears, and Nick put his arm around her shoulders. "Hi, Mom," she said. "This is Nick."

  "Nick," Kitty said, her green eyes shining. She lowered her eyelashes in a coy gesture. "Nick."

  "Hello, Kitty." Nick took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. "Now I see why Claire is so beautiful. She looks like her mother."

  How kind he could be, Claire thought.

  Kitty loved his attention, but her eyes kept returning to Claire's veil. Finally, she said, "Kitty wants the pretty hat."

  Claire looked at Nick. He smiled, and the brilliance of his eyes dazzled her. "If it makes her happy, let her have it," he murmured.

  So, with his help, Claire removed the delicate veil, and he helped her pin it to Kitty's hair. Their eyes met over Kitty's head, and in that moment, Claire knew Peachey hadn't been quite right. Claire wasn't half in love with her husband. She was all the way in love with him.

  * * *

  From Pinehaven, it was only a twenty-five minute ride to Nick's house, where their luggage was ready and waiting for them.