Lying on the seat between them was a newspaper, folded open to the ads for apartments for rent, and several of them had been circled. Max pointed to the first one. “This seems suitable. Are you familiar with the area?”
Claire picked up the newspaper and glanced at his choices. “Are you certain you want to look at these?” she asked doubtfully. “They’re terribly expensive.”
He gave her an amused glance, and Claire looked up in time to see it. She flushed suddenly; if she’d thought about it, she would have realized that he had no need to worry about money. He wasn’t flashy, but the signs were there for anyone to read. He dressed well; his clothing was tailored instead of bought off the rack. All the trappings of wealth were there, from his Italian shoes to his impossibly thin Swiss wristwatch, as well as being evident in his speech and manner. Perhaps he wasn’t rich, but he was certainly comfortable; companies would pay dearly for his services. She’d made a fool of herself by fretting about what he could afford to pay for an apartment.
“If I must travel so much, the people who pay me must be prepared to keep me in comfort,” he said with a chuckle in his voice. “I need privacy, but enough space to entertain when it’s necessary, and the apartment must be furnished, as I refuse to cart my furniture about the country.”
She gave him stilted directions to the first apartment he’d circled, her cheeks still warm. He began to tell her amusing tales of the pitfalls he’d encountered when he first came to the United States, laughing at himself, and gradually Claire began to relax. She had a horror of making social gaffes, a fear that had been born in the early days of her marriage when it had seemed as if everyone was pressuring her to “live up” to her newly acquired position as Jeff Halsey’s wife. As one of the Halseys, even by marriage, she’d been expected to be socially perfect; even the smallest mistakes had been so terribly public that every social function had become an exercise in endurance for Claire.
But Max didn’t let her retreat into her shell. He talked to her easily, without letting awkward silences fall between them. He sprinkled small questions through his conversation, compelling her to answer them and in that way contribute, until the last traces of embarrassment had faded and she was smiling naturally again. He watched her carefully, gauging her reactions. He’d be damned if he would let her draw back behind those cool, blank barriers of hers. He had to teach her to trust him, to relax in his company, or he would never be able to get any information from her. This damned takeover irritated him. He wanted it out of the way so he could concentrate on Claire and discover more about the woman behind the defenses. He was becoming obsessed with her, and that knowledge irritated him, too, but he couldn’t simply shrug it away. Her cool, distant manner attracted him even while it drove him mad with frustration. She had a habit of drifting away in her thoughts, those deep brown eyes revealing secrets that he couldn’t read and she wouldn’t share with him. His reaction to her confused him; he wanted to make love to her until all the shadows in her eyes were gone, until she burned for him, until she lay warm and helpless beneath him, her skin dewy from the heat and violence of his possession … and he wanted to protect her, from everything and everyone except himself.
She didn’t want him in either capacity, as lover or protector. She wanted him only for companionship, which was almost as exciting as warm milk.
The first address he’d marked was a group of condominiums, turning their bland identical faces to the street. They were new and expensive, but they were nothing more than brick growths on the Texas soil. Claire glanced at Max, unable to imagine him living there. He surveyed the condos; then his aristocratic brows climbed upward. “I think not,” he said mildly and put the car in reverse.
Absurdly pleased that she had been right in her estimation of him, Claire picked up the paper and studied the addresses of the other apartments he’d marked, trying to place them. Houston had grown so rapidly that she wasn’t certain where two of the apartments were, but one address she did recognize. “I think you’ll like the next one better. It’s an older building, but the apartments are very exclusive.”
Once again, she was right. Max looked pleased when he saw the mellowed building with the wrought-iron gate at the entrance and the brick-paved courtyard. There was private underground parking for the tenants. Max stopped the car before the office and came around to open the door for Claire. His fingers were warm on her elbow as he helped her from the car; then his hand moved to the small of her back. Claire didn’t even try to move away; she was becoming used to his touch, to his more formal European manners.
Even in his casual clothing, Max had an air of authority that commanded the attention of the apartment manager. The man bubbled over with enthusiasm, showing them about the vacant apartment, pointing out the old-fashioned charm of the oak parquet floors and the high, arched ceilings. The windows were wide and tall, flooding the apartment with light, but the rooms were rather small, and Max politely thanked the man for his time.
When they were in the car, Claire said casually, “You do believe in being comfortable, don’t you?”
He laughed aloud. “I’m fond of the creature comforts, yes. Being cramped is one of the things I hate most about hotels. Does that make me horribly spoiled?”
She looked at him. The bright sun was caught in the golden cap of his hair, framing his head in a gilt halo. He was relaxed, smiling, his vivid eyes sparkling, but still there was something about him, perhaps a natural sense of arrogance bred into him by the same aristocratic ancestors who had given him that hard, lean, graceful body and sun-god face. She had no doubt that he was spoiled; probably from the day of his birth, women had been dashing about to satisfy his smallest whim. What truly surprised her was that he had the ability to laugh at himself, as if he accepted his looks and the attention they brought him but didn’t take them too seriously.
He reached out and took her hand. “What are you thinking? You’re looking at me, but you’ve drifted away.”
“That you are incredibly spoiled but rather nice in spite of it.”
He threw back his head on a shout of laughter. “Aren’t you worried that such lavish compliments will go to my head?”
“No,” she said serenely. A warm sense of happiness was filling her again, making the bright spring day take on an incandescent glow. She let her hand lie in his, content with the touch.
“Direct me to the next apartment on the list while I still have a healthy ego.”
The third apartment was being sublet by an artist who was taking a sabbatical on a Greek island. The decor was understated and sophisticated, from the black slate tiles in the entry to the peach-colored walls and the tracks of indirect lighting overhead. The rooms were large; Claire’s entire apartment would have fit easily into the enormous living room. Max wandered into the bedroom to inspect the bed, and Claire knew that he was pleased. His tastes were sophisticated, but never avant-garde. The almost spare luxury of this apartment would appeal to him.
“I’ll take it,” he said easily, interrupting the manager’s spiel. “Are the papers ready to sign now?”
They were, but there was the matter of references; Max squeezed Claire’s shoulder, smiling warmly at her. “While I take care of this, will you look about the place and decide what extras I’ll need to buy, other than linens?”
“Of course,” she agreed, wryly aware that now she was spoiling him, too. He had been polite and logical in his request, but the simple fact was that he’d expected her to agree to do that chore for him. If she hadn’t been there, he would have done it himself, but she was there, and therefore available to do his bidding. Max went with the manager down to the office, and Claire took inventory of the apartment, making note of what he would need.
She was bemused by the luxury that he took for granted. Her background was in no way deprived. She