Sunday's Child Read online

  It was everything she was and everything he wanted. The craving for her and the life he imagined with her left him reeling. He needed to get away, to think.

  He grasped her elbows and tugged her closer to him. Her arms stayed crossed, a barrier between them. Light from the living room spilled from the open back door. He and Claire stood in the wedge of luminescence it cast across the patio.

  “It was everything you said.” Andor stroked her stiff shoulder. “It was how you looked, the way your house felt, the way Jake smiles.”

  She jerked in his grasp. Her eyes rounded. “Jake smiled at you?”

  He caressed her other shoulder. “While you were in the kitchen.” He didn’t mention it happened when Jake called him an elf. “I want to spend the day with you tomorrow. Both of you.”

  Claire blinked. “But...”

  “I’m leaving for the night, Claire. I’m not running away. There’s a difference.” Her shoulders loosened a tiny bit under his hands, though her arms remained crossed. “Besides, despite what you may think or how spineless Lucas might act, you and Jake just aren’t that scary.”

  That made her laugh and drop her arms to her sides. “Oh well then, that’s a game changer. And we worked really hard at being terrifying.” She reached up to flatten her hands over his where they rested on her shoulders. “Sounds like fun. We’re yours for tomorrow.”

  Her words sent a hot shiver of anticipation down his spine. Andor wanted to enfold her in his arms, kiss the soft mouth that smiled at him now. But he held back. One goodnight kiss wouldn’t be enough, not for him.

  They made plans to visit Hermann Park and the grassy hill above Miller Outdoor Theatre. Jake could enjoy the outdoors and open space where the noise was distant and people spread farther apart.

  Before Andor left, Jake came out, and at his mother’s coaxing, told him goodbye. Claire missed it, but Andor caught the flicker of the boy’s gaze on him and the small upturn of one corner of his mouth, as if to remind Andor of the secret they shared between them.

  Claire followed Andor out to the front porch. While he refrained from kissing her mouth, he did avail himself of her slender hands, raising both to his lips in a courtly gesture. “Thank you for dinner, Claire.”

  “You brought the food. I just provided the table and the microwave. I should be thanking you.”

  She kept her hands in his, and her eyelids dropped to half-mast over her eyes. The tip of her tongue peeked between her teeth to swipe at her lower lip. Andor inhaled sharply at her unconscious invitation. He leaned toward her. Such a sweet mouth, shaped to fit perfectly against his.

  He pulled away and dropped her hands. Claire backed up a step, the sleepy look gone; her usual guarded expression in place. Andor bowed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Claire. Goodnight.”

  Her gaze on his back burned hot on his skin, but he didn’t turn around as he strode down her walkway and slid into his car. She waved once and disappeared back into the house. Andor leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. The memory of a long ago conversation he’d had with Nicholas came back to him.

  “I wouldn’t want to be human. Such short lives in which to try and do something.”

  Nicholas tucked his pipe stem into the corner of his mouth. Wisps of smoke curled out of the pipe bowl, shaping themselves into stars and horses, sailing ships and planets. “Don’t be so quick to judge, son. Forever is a notion. You can live it across centuries or in a single hour. It’s how you choose to spend the time given.”

  At the time, Andor hadn’t understood Nicholas’s cryptic remark. He did now. A thousand-year exile of nomadic existence. One evening with Claire Summerlad. He had just glimpsed Forever.

  7

  Claire paused in logging information into the database that held the files on Dee’s upcoming illuminated manuscript exhibit. “Dee, come look at this. Did you get documentation on this latest manuscript lot?”

  The curator rolled her chair into Claire’s cube and peered at the screen. A scanned copy of a manuscript filled Claire’s monitor—An angel with black wings holding an unconscious or dead woman in his arms. An illuminated border of gold leaf and red pigment surrounded the illustration. Below it, flowing black script executed in a steady hand told a moral lesson on incurring the wrath of a vengeful God.

  Dee frowned at the screen. “Damn, that’s grim. I don’t recognize the manuscript. It isn’t from the Matenadaran lot.”

  Claire clicked several screens back and scrolled through a typed list. “No, private owner—anonymous. This is that lot Dr. Vecchio brokered for us. Remember? Thing is, I have nothing more on it or the other six manuscripts that came in with it. Just a lot numbers and dates. No provenance, no point of origin, nothing.”

  “That’s weird. Giovanni Vecchio is very meticulous. He’s brokered stuff for us before, and we always get a mountain of information with the lots. Are you sure it wasn’t scanned to another database?”

  Claire tapped her keyboard. “Positive. I’ve checked and double-checked.” She clicked back to the manuscript with the black-winged angel and then through subsequent files depicting more angels, some wielding swords, others on their knees begging for mercy. “These are markedly different from the Matenadaran group. Same style but the content is...it looks almost Enochian. When was the last time you saw an illumination depicting an angel embracing a woman like that?”

  “Never.” Dee’s voice sounded thin and strained. Claire glanced up and caught an odd look on her friend’s face. Terror, sadness, a strange yearning. The expression faded as quickly as it appeared, but for some reason, the fine hairs on Claire’s nape stood on end. “You all right?”

  Dee, still pale around the mouth, nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Just wondering how I could have missed that gap. I’ll e-mail Vecchio to see what’s up. Probably won’t hear from him until after the holidays. I think he’s visiting family in Italy.”

  Claire gave an appreciative whistle. “Must be nice.”

  Dee’s voice had lost its strain, returning to the teasing tones with which Claire was familiar. “Which one? Family or Italy?

  “ Italy of course.” Family was nice too. Claire’s was very small. Just her and Jake. But the holidays in Italy? Maybe one day—when she won the lottery.

  “Invitation still stands if you want to come to my parents’ place for Thanksgiving.” Dee wheeled her chair back to her cube. “Mom promised she wouldn’t serve the turkey raw this year.”

  Claire laughed. Dee’s mom was notorious for her epic culinary failures. “Thanks, but Jake couldn’t handle a combination of strange place, strange people and noise for several hours. Besides, I have company that day.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before Dee zipped back into her cube. “I’m not much of a betting person, but I’d lay money down company is the hot preparator you’re attached to at the hip these days.”

  Ignoring the suggestive eyebrow wiggle Dee gave her, Claire sniffed. “Maybe.”

  Dee disappeared behind her cube wall once more. “I’ll want details.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “You always want details.”

  Andor had accepted her invitation to Thanksgiving dinner two days earlier. Claire had set herself up not to be disappointed, fully expecting him to decline for any number of reasons—family out of town, another commitment with friends. She didn’t even want to imagine he might spend the holiday with another woman. Claire had no claim to him. She had lunch with him almost every day, and he visited her house for dinner several times a week. They’d even made it to the symphony once and a play, with Elise threatening to kill her if she called the house twenty times to check on Jake.

  “Don’t even think about it,” the babysitter warned. “I know my job. You know I know my job. Jake and I will have fun eating all the toppings off the pizza and watching Total Drama Island. Have a good time. Stay out late. You won’t be missed.”

  She closed the front door on Claire and Andor and turned off the porch light. Claire had glanced at
Andor. “Elise is a little blunt.”

  “And obviously very capable,” he said. “I like her, especially her eyebrow piercings.”

  While Claire couldn’t imagine how Andor might be seeing someone else when he spent so much time with her, she was far too fearful of engaging her heart more than it already was by assuming they were now a couple. He hadn’t mentioned it; neither had she. Hell, they hadn’t even kissed yet, something she hoped to remedy very soon.

  When lunchtime rolled around, she left the office space she shared with Dee and sought out Andor. She found him in one of the lower-level workrooms. The screeching blast of multiple power saws cutting wood made her clap her hands to her ears. She spotted him in one corner of the room, ripping boards on a table saw. He wore a long-sleeved sweater that hugged his torso, delineating muscle and the width of his shoulders. His hair was tied back in its usual ponytail, and he’d donned safety lenses and ear muffs while he worked.

  Claire waited by the door until he finished ripping a board. She didn’t want to wave and distract either him or the two other preparators working at the saws. He glanced up, saw her and shut the saw down. Claire motioned she’d wait for him in the hallway.

  The hall was silent as a crypt compared to the noise in the workroom. Andor emerged, sans ear muffs and lenses. His slow smile warmed her down to her bones. “Hello, Claire.”

  She liked that he didn’t address her as “babe” or “beautiful” or the numerous terms of affection so many people used. Claire didn’t have a problem with them per se. While she and Lucas were still married, she often called him “babe.” But Andor had a way of uttering her name as if he savored something sweet, letting it glide slowly off his tongue to breathe across his lips. Never had she been so glad to bear that simple, one-syllable name.

  The chilly hallway had suddenly grown stifling. She plucked at her sweater and returned Andor’s smile. “Working through lunch today?”

  He glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. “That time already?” Regret darkened his eyes to cobalt. “I’m afraid so. We’re building the display bases for the gala decorations so we can just snap them together and move them when the designer says it’s time.”

  “The Ainsley Hall is gorgeous already. I can’t imagine how much more you can add for the gala.”

  She’d stood in awe along with the rest of the employees and gawked at the miracle the preparator and design teams had wrought. The Carmichael always created a holiday exhibit of huge trees decorated with ornaments from cultures around the world as well as themes based on movies, history and literature. Preparators and designers worked through the day and night to complete the exhibit, unveiling it first in the early morning hours to the rest of the staff. Andor had given her a bow at her applause, the only hint of fatigue from a laborious all-nighter, the faint shadows under his eyes.

  “Are you going to the gala?” His gaze searched her face.

  Claire sighed. “Not if I could help it, but it’s mandatory that staff goes. So I have a too-expensive dress that I’ll wear once hanging in my closet, along with a pair of heels guaranteed to cripple me by the end of the evening. I just hope the caterer doesn’t serve cardboard chicken and cold asparagus.” Bad food never bothered her before now. Andor was turning her into a picky gastronome.

  “What about you?” she asked. “You’re on loan to us, so I’m guessing you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping he would go. Hoping he’d go with her.

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  His slow smile could have melted glass. “If I’m invited.”

  Claire’s heartbeat jumped. She could feel her pulse thrum in her neck. “You haven’t gotten an invitation yet? A handsome guy like you?” Please say no. Please say no.

  Surely it was illegal for a smile to have that much power over someone. “Not one. At least not the one I want.”

  “Maybe I’ll invite you.”

  They were suddenly no more than inches apart from each other. Andor’s breath ghosted across her forehead and hairline. “I’d be very interested in that invitation,” he said softly.

  She touched his arm, the hard bicep flexing against her fingers. “Do you dance?”

  “Invite me and find out.”

  Claire was cautious; she wasn’t stupid. “Would you like to go to the benefit gala with me next month?”

  Andor leaned down, and Claire’s eyes closed at the sensation of body heat, the smell of sawn wood, and the cool winter scent clinging to the sexiest shirt she’d ever seen on a man. “Ah Claire, I thought you’d never ask.”

  Thanksgiving dawned overcast and cold with the threat of rain. Claire had risen when it was still dark outside to start dinner preparations. She was an adequate cook, but for four years, she’d only had to cook for herself and Jake. Chicken tenders and fish sticks for him, spaghetti, salad in a bag, or the occasional pan-grilled steak for her didn’t exactly expand her culinary skills. She prayed her efforts today wouldn’t see Andor driving them to a 24-hour greasy spoon just to get an edible meal.

  Andor arrived at noon. Claire met him at the door holding a chef’s knife in one hand. He backed up a step and held up a bottle of wine. “Surely, an Old Vine Zin can garner me some mercy.”

  Claire huffed a strand of hair out of her face and waved him inside. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He eased passed her, gaze steady on the knife. “I can see that.”

  She chuckled and gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen. Andor paused when he saw Jake sitting at the table winding and unwinding a skein of yarn around his hand. “Hi, Jake. Enjoying time off from school?”

  Jake didn’t look up from his task, but he smiled a little and without any encouragement from Claire said “Hi, Dor.”

  Claire almost dropped the knife. She choked back an excited yelp and glanced at Andor. He set the wine on the table and crouched near the boy but not so close as to crowd him. “Have you been helping your mom with Thanksgiving dinner?” This time only silence met his question, and Claire answered.

  “He cleaned off the table and helped me set it.”

  Instead of ruffling Jake’s hair or patting him on the shoulder, Andor knocked gently on the table. “Good job, Jake. That’s a nice thing to do for your mom.”

  He stood and gave her a smile. “How can I help?”

  She led him into the tiny kitchen, fragrant with the scent of herbs and roasted vegetables. All the counters except one were covered with an assortment of grocery supplies and pans. A turkey breast, still in its wrapping, rested in one pan near a cutting board layered with chopped vegetables.

  Andor sniffed. “It smells good.”

  Claire scraped the vegetables into a waiting roasting pan. “Thanks. It’s the stock for the gravy and a pan of dressing.”

  “Dressing?”

  She mentally backed up. “Stuffing. This part of the country, we call it dressing.” She paused. “Is this your first Thanksgiving?” She sort of hoped it might be. He couldn’t compare her food to someone else’s then.

  He snagged one of the aprons hanging on a hook attached to the pantry door and tied it around his narrow waist. “No. It’s my third. I’m still trying to decide if the bird they served at the last Thanksgiving I went to was actually a turkey or an ostrich. It was enormous.” He cracked his knuckles. “Now, how may I act as sous chef?”

  Trying not to gawk too much at how a man could look that sexy in an apron, she passed him a boning knife from her knife block. “I don’t suppose you can de-bone a turkey breast?”

  Much to Claire’s lack of surprise, he could, and he was scarily efficient. “You were a butcher once, weren’t you?”

  Andor grinned as he tossed the bones into the trash. “For a little while.”

  Not only did he de-bone the turkey, he butterflied it on her instructions, stuffed it with the roasted red pepper and goat cheese filling she’d prepared, rolled and tied it into a roulade, slathe
red it in duck fat and slid the pan into the oven. Fast, efficient, capable, and sexy beyond belief.

  They worked together, teasing each other about Andor’s jack-of-all-trades skills and Claire’s assurances that the poultry in the oven was definitely turkey and not emu. She left him alone in the kitchen a few times, whipping egg whites or stirring cranberries in a saucepan, while she checked on Jake, took him for bathroom breaks and fed him snacks.

  When the cooking was done and the table groaning with food, Claire surveyed their handiwork, propped her hands on her hips and grinned at Andor. “We make a good team.”

  His smile wasn’t as wide but far more intense. “Yes, we do.”

  That euphoric tide that always rushed through her every time he complimented her or even stood near her, struck her again. Stronger this time. Harder. It left her tongue-tied for a moment. She tried for a lighthearted response instead of the one she really wanted to give. “I still have a hard time believing you’re not married or in a relationship.”

  As quickly as that rush of joy struck, it abandoned her at Andor’s suddenly grim expression. What had she said?

  “I’m not married, Claire,” he said softly. “I do consider myself in a relationship.” Those blue eyes burned like gas flames. “With you.”

  Claire crushed her apron in her fingers. Her “You do?” came out as an incoherent squeak. She tried again. “You do?” He nodded. “But you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

  The hard angles of his face softened. The faint smile returned. Claire’s “Ohhh niiicce” made him chuckle into her hair as he slid his arms around her and pulled her tightly against his body.

  He bent his head and Claire inhaled sharply as he nuzzled her neck just below her ear. Powerful shoulders flexed under her hands. “Patience, Claire,” he whispered. “I will kiss you, and when I do, I won’t stop with a kiss.” Deep laughter tickled her ear. “Or maybe I will, but it will be the first of a thousand, along with all the caresses that will accompany them.”

  Her knees gave out, and she sagged in his arms. Andor caught her up, one hand sliding down to cup her butt. “Don’t faint,” he teased.