The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [85]
“Do you miss him?”
Claire laughed. “My driver, terribly. My husband, hell no.” She pulled the tangle off the wall. A plow harness, the leather cracked from age. She examined it. The thread had rotted and once-tight seams split open in her hands. “I don’t understand this place. This was good leather and well made. It would have been too valuable to leave behind, if they’d had a choice.”
Grey walked over next to Claire. “Who are you? Who are you really?”
She stared, swallowed by his gaze. “A bloody Yankee princess.”
“No. That is what you show, but underneath.” He shook his head, forehead wrinkled as if he didn’t understand. “I’d heard of the courage you showed in Paris. I saw it. But here, you’ve shown heart, grace.” He reached out and stroked the back of her hand. “Who are you?”
Claire felt herself falling into his eyes; she stepped back from the precipice. A deep breath, something ripped free inside her chest. “A plow horse, then, who dreamt of champagne and diamonds. And did what it took to have it.”
Grey tugged the harness from her hands, dropped it onto the packed dirt floor and reached for her. Claire met his hands with hers, softly pushed them away.
“I was born Clara May Wagner on a dried-up farm in Greenville, Oklahoma, population 317. My family were sharecroppers, worth less than our plow horse. Dirt poor. After my mama died, I got a chance to leave and I took it.”
“To New York?”
She nodded. “I taught myself how to dress and how to talk. To drink and lie, to make a man feel important. I became Claire Harris, with a pedigree I’d stolen from a dead woman in an obituary.”
“Your husband?”
“He didn’t know. We had an arrangement. He needed a blue-blooded wife to become respectable. I needed money. I had certain abilities he put to use.”
“Albrecht von Richter?” The anger was clear in Grey’s voice.
Claire shrugged. “Among others. The drinks flowed and I made certain businessmen feel very important.”
“He made you—”
“Not that. Hinted, but no, sex wasn’t part of the deal.” The thing inside burst free, left her throat aching but her mind crystal clear. No matter the cost, she needed Grey to see her as she really was. “I’m Clara May Wagner, runaway daughter of a dirt farmer.”
He caught one hand. With a callused thumb, he wiped at a smudge of dirt on her knuckles. His warmth sparked her skin. “You are so much more, you have no idea. There is a fire banked deep inside you. I’m sorry I was so wrong about you.”
His eyes were the color of slate and drilled deep inside her. Heat flooded her core; her lips sought his; her free hand slid behind his neck. He pressed her backward against the wall, cupping the back of her neck with one hand, his mouth tasting hers. He smelled of sun, oil and tobacco. She melted into the hardness of his body. The heat from his breath woke the skin on her face, then her neck as his lips tasted lower. His hand slid to her hip, then under the hem of her dress.
Anna’s laughter drifted from the house.
“Not here,” Claire said, her voice breathy.
“The hayloft.” Grey held out his hand, palm up, his expression serious. “Join me?”
A hundred responses flashed and died on her lips. The truth was this life was uncertain, darkness was always too close, and she could be sure of nothing.
Except for this.
She took his hand. His grip was tight. He followed her up the ladder.
Lines of sunlight illuminated the loft floor through warped boards overhead. They faced each other. He watched her pull her dress over her head and slither out of her panties. She slid her fingers over the muscles in his stomach and up to his chest then slowly freed each button until his shirt fell open. She peeled it from his shoulders.
Their breath was loud in the hot liquid air. He ran his fingers over her lips, over the curves of her breasts, his palms flat against her waist, her hips. He pressed her backward against the wall. She gripped his belt buckle and pulled, fumbled with his zipper, then was rewarded with a low moan.
Her hands rested on his shoulders. With the wall at her back, his hands lifting and guiding