For Services Rendered by Patricia Kay Read Free Book Online Page B

her. His only reaction was the widening of his smile. His voice, which Claire was sure would be full of biting sarcasm, was suspiciously husky, even tender, as he said, "It was probably just a momentary loss of efficiency. I wouldn't worry about it." Then he leaned over and kissed the redhead's cheek, saying affectionately. "You look absolutely gorgeous tonight, Heather. Armand is a lucky man."
    Claire saw the flush of surprise, then pleasure, then something akin to pain, that flashed through Heather's golden-brown eyes in rapid succession. Her own must be full of admiration, she thought, as she realized just how nice—no,
chivalrous
—his gesture and answer really were.
    He turned then, and introduced Claire, saying, "Heather, Armand, I'd like you to meet Claire Kendrick.
    Claire, these are two old friends—Heather Ripley and Armand Fontayne."
    Heather had regained control of her emotions, Claire saw, and as the woman inclined her head, her expression was neutral, but Claire could see the question in her eyes as she studied Claire. Claire willed herself not to color under the redhead's scrutiny.
I'm not your rival,
she wanted to say.
I'm only an employee
—
no competition at all.
    "As usual, impeccable taste," Armand Fontayne said to Nick as he took Claire's hand. Then he bent and kissed it. Claire wanted to correct his assumption that she was Nick's date, but knew she would only call more attention to herself. Better to just let it pass.
    After a few minutes the couple wandered off, and Tim turned to Nick. "I don't know how you do it," he said admiringly.
    "Do what?" Nick said. He smiled at Claire and her heart gave a tiny leap of pleasure.
    "Okay, play dumb." Tim pushed his hair out of his face and accepted an hors d'oeuvre from a passing waiter. "See if I care." Then he winked conspiratorially at Claire. "He thinks he's fooling us. He wants us to believe he has no heart at all—that he's completely ruthless and unfeeling."
    "I
am
ruthless and unfeeling," Nick said, a crooked smile twisting his mouth. "Ask anyone."
    "I give up," Tim said. "I'm going over there and talk to Beverly James. Let me know when you're ready to leave."
    Later that night, as Claire thought over the evening, she acknowledged that Nick Callahan was a more complex man than she'd first imagined. More complex and devastatingly attractive. Unfortunately for her, she liked him a lot more than she'd thought she would. A lot more than was healthy or even wise. She'd feel much better about her situation if she'd never discovered he could be sensitive and generous in his dealings with people, that there was a warm inner person she might really enjoy knowing.
    She remembered how she'd felt sitting beside him in the back seat of the limousine on the way to her apartment after the reception. The cocoon-like intimacy of the limousine, closed off from the driver, Beethoven's "Appassionata" floating around them, stirred feelings and desires Claire rarely acknowledged. Because she knew her needs would probably never be met, Claire had tried to bury her sensual nature, but there was some quality in Nick Callahan that brought all those feelings to the forefront of her mind as well as her body.
    A deep shudder of longing shook her as she turned over restlessly in her bed and relived those long minutes when the two of them were enclosed in the warm darkness of the Lincoln, touching but not touching. Just like their lives. Touching, but not touching.
    All day Sunday, Claire fought against thoughts of Nick. By the time she reached Pinehaven on Sunday night, she had finally managed to put him out of her mind. The visit with her mother depressed her, though. Tonight Claire was filled with a sense of futility and torn by her conflicting emotions: love, pity, sadness. She felt so impotent. She wanted so much for her mother and she was so powerless to give it to her.
    She couldn't wait to leave, to get home to her apartment. No matter how small it was, she always felt a