Memories he’d long kept buried resurrected themselves now. He recalled the way she’d looked during their hasty Las Vegas wedding—small, delicate, her dark hair twisted into a clever knot at the back of her head that kept it away from her face. Her gold-flecked brown eyes had been luminous.
She hadn’t worn the traditional bridal gown, but a simple suit whose pencil skirt tapered to the knee. It had been white, a fitting color he’d discovered later when they’d been alone in their hotel room, consummating the vows they’d just spoken. For a brief time, he’d counted himself the luckiest man in the world and he’d looked forward to building a future together.
…Till death us do part.
The words rang in Ethan’s head and snapped him back to the present. He scrubbed a hand over his face. A fool, that was what he’d been. Played from beginning to end by someone who might have been innocent but had been no novice at getting what she’d wanted.
He’d let himself be taken in by her slow smile and wide eyes. But Claire hadn’t loved him. She hadn’t planned to stay married to him, he’d learned soon enough. Ethan had been a means to an end, a payback, according to her father, who had arrived at their hotel suite late the following day.
Sumner Mayfield had come to take her home. He’d pulled her aside. Words had been spoken. Ethan had thought he heard Claire’s mother mentioned. Then Claire had turned, smiled sadly.
“I have to go.”
“Don’t leave, Claire.” Something had told Ethan that if she went now, she wouldn’t be back.
“Think about your mother,” her father said. Ethan watched her swallow and stifle a sob. Then she fled to the bedroom where the sheets were still warm from their lovemaking.
In the sitting area Sumner Mayfield explained his daughter’s “rash” behavior to a thunderstruck Ethan.
“I’m afraid she’s not happy with her fiancé right now.”
“Fiancé?” The word had all but choked Ethan when he uttered it. No. The man was mistaken. He had to be. “She’s not engaged.”
“I’m sorry, son,” Sumner said. “His name is Ashton Beaumont. They’ve known each other for years. Our families have always been close.”
“Ashton Beaumont,” he mumbled.
“Yes. Perhaps you’ve heard of his father. Rolland Beaumont owns a few dozen television and radio stations around the country. Ashton is being primed to take over after his father’s retirement in a few years.”
“I’ve heard of the Beaumonts.” And, while Ethan had always considered himself any man’s equal, he knew a paralyzing moment of self-doubt and insecurity. Later, as much as for her lies, he’d resented Claire for that. “So, when were they supposed to marry?”
“Well, that’s the problem. Ashton wants to wait till she graduates from college in a couple of years. Sensible man.” Sumner nodded thoughtfully. “You know, she needs to grow up a little more and enjoy some independence before settling down.”
“She seems ready enough,” he countered. But the statement had been made with more bravado than confidence.
“Yes, she thinks so,” Sumner agreed. He sighed wearily. “Her heart’s been set on being a June bride. This June. It looks like she got her wish.”
“That’s right. She’s my wife now.” Ethan crossed his arms, braced his legs. The last stand of a doomed man.
“I know.” Sumner nodded. “But for how long, son? Do you really think she plans to stay married to you? Your backgrounds, your lifestyles, they’re simply incompatible.”
Ethan’s arms dropped to his sides, although his hands remained fisted.
“Claire can be surprisingly impulsive,” Sumner continued. “She’s regretting this hasty marriage already, believe me. She wanted to make Ashton see reason. She never intended for things to get this far.”
Ethan said nothing. Instead, he fingered the simple and inexpensive band of gold on his left hand. Claire was wearing its twin.
“I know my daughter.” Sumner’s tone and his expression were appallingly sympathetic as he stepped for-ward to rest one hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “That’s why I’m here.”
While Ethan stood there—stupefied and numb—Sumner wrote out a check.
“For your trouble,” he said, tucking it into Ethan’s hand.
When he turned, Claire was standing in the bedroom doorway. Her hair was loose, partially obscuring her face. Still, he saw the truth clearly enough in the flush of color that stained her cheeks.
Words were exchanged, although exactly what had been said, he could no longer remember. Only that he had ached after he’d watched her follow her father out the door.
They hadn’t spoken again, although when he’d returned to Chicago he’d had a visit from her family’s attorney. Ethan’s employment with the company that provided security for Mayfield was terminated—dereliction of duty cited as the reason. He could have protested it, but why bother? Just as he could have objected when he’d been asked to sign divorce papers. He hadn’t. In short order Claire Seaver had become Claire Mayfield once again. Ethan had moved to Detroit, where he’d worked like a dog to start his own business.
He’d been trying his damnedest to forget the woman ever since, and he’d been doing a fair job of it…until today.
CHAPTER TWO
SUMNER MAYFIELD WAS average height and a little on the heavy side. He carried his weight well, though, thanks to broad shoulders and cleverly tailored clothes that helped hide his widening girth. To Claire, her father had always been larger than life, someone she had feared as much as she had revered. Today, as she sat across from him in his office in the Mayfield headquarters building, she noted the deep lines that fanned from his eyes and the thinning hair. He’d grown older, she realized. And she’d finally grown up.
“Your mother was wondering if you’d be by for dinner this evening,” he said.
“I have plans.” She didn’t, but neither did she intend to subject herself to an evening of badgering and emotional blackmail. “Sorry.”
“You disappoint me, Claire. Aren’t you even going to ask how she is?”
“Has she recovered from her migraine?”
“Thankfully, yes. She’s been in bed for days, you know. Even the prescription the doctor gave her failed to take the edge off for more than a day.” His tone held accusation.
“Why is that my fault, Dad?” He always did this, both of her parents did. They tried to make her feel guilty and responsible, as if her mother’s very survival depended on Claire toeing the line.
“Well, your current behavior certainly isn’t helping matters. You know how delicate her health is.”
Claire sucked in a breath, held it a moment before exhaling slowly through her teeth.
“I’m not here to talk about Mother. I’m here to discuss business. I want you to reconsider my application for vice president of new product development for our North American market.”
“Kitten, we’ve been over this,” he said condescendingly. “Before you left for the Himalayas I explained why I passed you over. You’re just not ready.”
“Clive thinks I am,” she said, invoking the name of the department’s executive head. He was set to retire by the end of the year, at which time the current vice president would take his place,