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  "A businesslike arrangement ..." Claire echoed. She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry. He sounded as if he were coldly placing an order for a luxury automobile instead of listing what he would or would not put up with in a wife.

  "Yes. And why not? What's wrong with treating marriage as you would any other important contract?"

  Claire stared at him. He was serious. He really didn't see anything wrong with what he was proposing.

  "Now, I haven't gotten to this place in my life without knowing that any bargain, to be successful, must answer the needs of both parties."

  He smiled again, supremely confident, Claire thought, as she began to feel the first stirrings of anger.

  "You need someone to provide financial security for your mother. I can certainly do that, and more. I am willing to sign legal documents that will protect both you and your mother for the rest of your lives. You will never have to worry again. In addition, you will also have a beautiful home, a generous personal allowance, the freedom to pursue your own interests, as long as they are suitable, and as much help as you want." He looked very pleased with himself. "This arrangement should work out extremely well for both of us."

  "And love? What about love?"

  "Love fades. Respect and honesty don't. And in addition to my respect and honesty, I can offer you comfort, security, and children."

  "I see." How could he be so impersonal? So unemotional? So sure she'd go along with this ridiculous idea? Her face must have betrayed her growing anger because all at once he hesitated, and a flash of uncertainty appeared in his eyes.

  "I know you're probably shocked by what I've said," he said softly. "After all, I've had weeks to think about it and you've only had minutes."

  Weeks? Had he been thinking of making this offer even before she'd started work on the magazine article?

  "I don't want you to think that material things are all I'm offering you, Claire. Even though I don't believe in love, I admire you tremendously. You have strength and courage and character. You're also lovely and charming. I enjoy being with you. In fact, you have all the qualities any man would want in a wife and future mother of his children. If you agree to marry me, I promise you I will be a considerate, agreeable, and faithful husband." Then he smiled again, his darkly dangerous smile, the one that frightened her even as it fascinated her. "You won't be sorry. I promise you that."

  But what would happen if either one of them should happen to fall in love with someone else? Claire wondered. What happens if I fall in love with him! She hurriedly shook off the thought. She had no intention of marrying him, so the question was moot. "Tell me something, Nick," she said, "you mentioned that you'd had weeks to think about this. How could that be? You only told me about the magazine assignment a week ago."

  He hesitated, then said, "The magazine assignment was a device."

  "A device! What do you mean?"

  "I mean," he interrupted smoothly, "that I wanted to spend time with you and I didn't want to raise anyone's suspicions—not yours, and certainly not any of my other employees. I had to think of a way I could do that and the assignment was what I came up with."

  Claire jumped to her feet. "I don't believe this. I simply don't believe it! You lied to me! Not five minutes ago you were offering me honesty, and all this time you've been lying to me!" She knew her face was red, but she didn't care. She was suddenly so furious she felt like slapping him. She felt like a fool. Now everything made sense. No wonder she'd had misgivings from the very first. She'd been right to question his motives. But she'd never dreamed of anything like this.

  He stood, too. "I'm sorry you're angry. I really don't blame you, but you have to understand how difficult it is for someone in my position. If I so much as look at a woman, the gossip columnists have a field day. I didn't want that to happen, mainly for your sake. I couldn't be sure this would work out and if I dated you in the ordinary way, then suddenly stopped seeing you, I knew it would put you in an awkward position, both personally and professionally. I didn't think that would be fair to you."

  "Fair to me! You think lying was fair to me?"

  "It was the lesser of two evils."

  He refused to admit he was in the wrong. She couldn't believe it. The whole time she'd been diligently working and trying to come up with an original idea for the article, he'd been examining her much as he would a piece of horseflesh. Why, the whole thing was degrading. Disgusting. Not only had she been professionally duped, he now thought he could buy her. He had insulted every aspect of her as a woman and as a professional, and he didn't even realize he'd done anything wrong. The man was an insensitive clod.

  She gritted her teeth and glared at him. "Well, it's too bad you wasted so much time because I'm not the least bit interested in your proposition. I'm not for sale!"

  "Claire, please—"

  "Forget it, Mr. Callahan. You'll have to buy a wife somewhere else." She whirled around and stalked toward the door.

  "Think about it, Claire," he called after her. "After you've had a chance to calm down—"

  Furious, she yanked open the door and flung herself out, slamming it behind her, cutting off his sentence. She marched down the hall toward the elevators, seething inside. Oh. If she wasn't a lady she'd . . . she'd . . . she'd kick him!

  She punched the down button. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst right out of her chest. She was so furious. She felt so stupid, so gullible. What a conceited, arrogant . . . she couldn't think of enough names to call him.

  Her fury lasted until she reached the safety of her suite. Then suddenly, like air whooshing out of a balloon, it was gone, and she felt hurt and confused. Tears burned behind her eyelids—tears because for one, stupid moment she'd almost believed that Nick was as attracted to her as she was to him.

  Oh, you're such a fool. Too tired to fight her feelings any longer, she threw herself across the bed and gave way to her tears.

  * * *

  Nick stared out the sitting room window. His view was the intersection of two of the busiest streets in the Quarter, but he hardly noticed them.

  Had he made a mistake in being so blunt with Claire? Should he have eased into his proposition gently, given her more time, pretended a romantic involvement? Why did women, no matter how sensible they seemed, always want romance? Didn't they realize that romance belonged in books and movies and songs, but not in real life?

  No, he'd been right to be honest. It was bad enough he'd lied to her about the magazine article. He'd always intended to be straight with her about his marriage proposition. Knowing where they both stood was the only way a marriage between them could work anyway, because he meant every word he'd said about the kind he wanted. It would have been stupid to lead Claire to believe he was in love with her because he wasn't, and he would never allow himself to be. Falling in love would negate his edge. And if there was anything he'd learned in the past twenty-odd years, it was the cardinal rule of business: You never allowed your edge to be weakened by personal emotions. His one failure in life—his marriage—had been directly attributable to his forgetting that rule.

  So, he had done the right thing by telling Claire the truth. Still ... he wished she hadn't been so upset when she'd left the suite. He hated thinking he was the cause of adding more stress to her life. Surely, after she calmed down, she'd begin to see the sound reasoning of his proposal, the benefits to both of them. He hoped by tomorrow morning, when they were scheduled to leave for Houston, she'd be ready to talk to him again.

  But the next morning, when they met downstairs as arranged, he knew his hope was in vain.

  "Good morning," he said. "The limousine is here. Are your bags on the way down?"

  She nodded, her green eyes frosty.

  He studied her. She looked beautiful, as always, but she also looked as if she hadn't slept well the previous night. Once again, there were shadows under her eyes, and Nick felt a twinge of conscience. She also looked remote. She'd twisted her hair into a severe
chignon and her mouth was set in a determined line.

  During the ride from the hotel to the airport, she kept her eyes straight ahead or she looked out her window. Not once did she glance his way, and Nick, although he still felt guilty about adding to her worries, began to be amused. It wasn't often that anyone ignored him. He wondered how long she'd keep it up.

  When they were on board the company plane and she was settled into her seat, he said, "Would you like some coffee?"

  She unbuckled her seatbelt.

  "I'll get it," he said.

  "Thank you." Her eyes were green ice. "I prefer to get my own."

  Nick's amusement grew as she studiously ignored him throughout the entire trip. Even her body language was aloof. She sat upright in her seat, with her chin raised and her face turned away from him. He felt a surge of admiration for her. She was a woman of principle and she was not afraid of him. He was even more convinced he'd made the right choice with her.

  But how was he going to convince her?

  * * *

  Claire knew he was watching her. A couple of times she was tempted to look at him, but she forced herself not to. Finally, though, she couldn't resist taking one peek. As luck would have it, he was looking at her but the look in his eyes confused her. She had expected to see that same confidence he'd displayed the night before, or perhaps even irritation or anger. Instead, his blue eyes had been filled with an uncomfortable warmth and unmistakable admiration. Claire hurriedly looked away. But her awareness of him intensified and she couldn't wait for the flight to be over.

  Finally, they reached Houston. Gordon and the limousine were waiting, and now all Claire had to endure was the twenty-minute ride to the office. She was acutely aware of Nick seated beside her in the back seat of the limo. But, thank goodness, he didn't make any attempt at conversation. Claire knew she couldn't refuse to answer him if he talked to her, not if she hoped to keep her job, anyway. So, she was reluctantly grateful to him for his consideration of her feelings.

  When the limousine pulled up in front of their building, Gordon was the one to help her out and she smiled warmly at him.

  "You want me to put your bag in your car, Miss Kendrick?" Gordon asked.

  "Thank you, Gordon. That would be a big help." She dug into her purse and fished out her keys, handing them to him. Then she walked toward the building.

  "Claire, wait a minute."

  She stopped but she didn't turn around. In a moment, Nick was at her side. She looked straight ahead. Several pedestrians cut a swath around them.

  "Let's move off the sidewalk," Nick said. He took her elbow and she allowed him to lead her up the stone steps. They stopped at the top.

  Claire couldn't keep staring over his shoulder. She finally looked up. He smiled and her heart flip-flopped.

  "Did you think about what I said?" His voice was low, intimate. His eyes were sparkling ocean-blue in the bright sunlight.

  "Yes, I thought about it. My answer is still no." She raised her chin. "And no matter how many times you ask me, it won't change."

  He smiled again and his eyes danced with amusement. "There's nothing I like better than a challenge, you know."

  Claire swallowed. Something was jumping around in her stomach.

  "The more stubborn an adversary, the more determined I am to win," he continued softly.

  "You're very sure of yourself, aren't you? You really think I'm going to jump just because you whistled."

  Their eyes locked.

  "I'm sure of myself when I know I'm right."

  "You're not right about this."

  "We'll see."

  Oh, he was infuriating. Claire wished she could think of something really snappy to say. A perfect put-down. Unfortunately, everything she thought of would make her sound juvenile. Knowing it was inadequate, she said, "Don't hold your breath." Then she brushed past him, pushed herself through the revolving door, and walked to her bank of elevators without looking back.

  * * *

  "Claire, if you're going to apply to State, you'd better get your application in. There's a waiting list," Amy warned.

  It was two days after Claire's return to Houston—a Friday night—and she was standing outside the door to her mother's room while she talked with Amy Provost about her problem. "I just can't let my mother go to State, Amy."

  "But what else can you do?"

  Claire leaned her head against the wall. "I don't know," she said hopelessly. The trouble was, she had no choices. Nothing had changed. She still couldn't see any way out of her dilemma. There's a way out. You just don't want to take it, her inner voice chided. She shook the thought out of her mind. She would not marry Nick Callahan simply to insure her mother's future. She couldn't.

  All the way home, her thoughts churned. She didn't sleep well that night. The next morning, in an effort to forget her problems for at least a little while, she decided to take a long walk. The weather looked beautiful—another clear, cold day. She put on a pair of sweats and her Reeboks, tied her hair back in a pony-tail, and found her earmuffs. Just as she was about to leave the apartment, the telephone rang.

  Claire didn't own an answering machine. It wasn't a necessity, so she couldn't justify spending the money. She thought about ignoring the insistent ring, but couldn't. What if it were something important?

  "Hello?" she said.

  "Claire?"

  She'd have recognized his voice anywhere. "Hello, Nick," she said coolly. She ignored the thump, thump, thump of her foolish heart.

  "Is this a bad time to call?"

  "Yes, it is. I was just on my way out the door."

  "Well, in that case, I won't keep you long. I just wondered if you'd like to accompany me to the symphony tonight. It's an all-Mozart program called 'Mostly Mozart.' Do you like Mozart?"

  Claire loved Mozart. And symphony tickets weren't necessities either. "Thank you, but I don't think so," she said.

  "That's too bad. I thought after the symphony we might have a late supper at Harry's Kenya. But if you can't—"

  "I didn't say I couldn't. I said I didn't think so."

  He chuckled. "Still mad, I see."

  "I'm not mad," she said, getting madder by the minute. He certainly could use knocking down a peg or two. But the warm, resonant sound of the chuckle sent quicksilver through her veins and caused her pulse rate to accelerate.

  "Well, maybe another time."

  "Look, Nick—"

  "I guess I'll see you Monday, then. Good-bye, Claire."

  For a long time after he'd hung up, Claire stood looking at the receiver in her hand. Nick had obviously meant it when he'd told her he loved a challenge. He hadn't seemed the least bit perturbed by her refusal today. If anything, he'd seemed amused. And, darn it, she'd wanted to go.

  As she let herself out of the apartment and ran lightly down the steps, she had a feeling she was going to need all her willpower and self-control in the days ahead.

  * * *

  On Sunday, Kitty's television set went haywire. The duty nurse called Claire at noon.

  "Your mother is having a tantrum because her TV set isn't working."

  Claire sighed wearily. "Can't she watch the one in the recreation room?"

  "Yes, but she doesn't want to. She wants to watch her own set. When I tried to take her to the rec room, she kicked me. You're going to have to get hers fixed, Ms. Kendrick."

  A sharp pain pierced Claire's temple. Repairing TV sets cost money. Money she didn't have.

  "Don't worry, Mrs. Kenny. I'll bring my set in. Just give me an hour, okay?"

  An hour and a half later, Claire hefted her portable TV set from the trunk of her car and lugged it into the nursing home. She fully expected to hear Kitty complaining and carrying on, but when she reached her mother's room, Kitty was happily ensconced in a big armchair, raptly watching figure skating on a new-looking color set.

  Bewildered, Claire said, "Mom?"

  Kitty turned and grinned, her green eyes filled with excitement. "See m
y new TV?" She pointed to the set.

  "Where did it come from?"

  But Kitty had turned back to the program.

  The duty nurse shrugged when Claire quizzed her. "I have no idea. All I know is about fifteen minutes ago, this set was delivered."

  "Who delivered it?"

  "I don't know."

  "Didn't they say anything?"

  Mrs. Kenny frowned. "No. I thought you ordered it."

  Claire suddenly knew the set had come from Nick. How he'd known about her mother's set breaking down, she had no idea.

  "Well, she can't keep it."

  The nurse looked at Claire as if she thought Claire were crazy, but she didn't say anything.

  Later, after substituting her own portable for the new set—over Kitty's protests—Claire struggled to carry it out to her car.

  But the next morning, when she called Nick's office and Wanda put him on the line, he denied all knowledge of the set.

  "Fine," she snapped. "I'll just bring it into work and deposit it on your desk, then."

  But of course she knew she wouldn't. She certainly didn't want anyone at work to know what was happening.

  Two days later, her car wouldn't start. Claire felt like sitting down in the parking lot and crying. Please, God. Don't do this to me. Shoulders slumping, she climbed the stairs back to her apartment and called the corner service station.

  Fifteen minutes later the mechanic from the station pulled into the parking lot. He tinkered with the car for a few minutes, then wiped his hand across his forehead. "Ms. Kendrick, I'm sorry, but it looks to me like it's your alternator."

  "How much?"