He took her hand in his and his smile turned knowing. Last night and until late that morning he’d touched her all over with those big warm hands. After the first time on the couch, they’d taken a short break to eat a pizza before starting over in the bedroom and ending up around two-thirty in her shower, soaping their bodies and sliding their mouths across their clean wet skin. “Merry Christmas, Clare.” His thumb brushed hers and the tone of his voice suggested he was reading her mind.
Clare suppressed the urge to flip her hair or fiddle with the neckline of her black satin halter. She hadn’t dressed in anything new or different this year. She wore the ankle-length red velvet skirt and fringy belt she always wore on Christmas with knee-high black leather boots. Nothing special to attract extra attention. At least that’s what she told herself, but she didn’t bother believing it. She looked good and she knew it.
“What would you gentlemen like to drink?” Joyce asked. Sebastian dropped her hand and turned his attention to her mother. He and Leo had Glenlivet on the rocks, and while Joyce poured, she said she thought scotch sounded like such an excellent choice that she’d join them. Clare stuck with wine.
After a half hour’s discussions of the weather and the latest world events, they moved to the formal dining room. There, among the holly and tapered candles, they feasted on the Wingate traditional dinner of glazed ham, potatoes grandmere, candied sweet potatoes, and green beans with cashews and tarragon. In Clare’s great-great-grandmother’s individual crystal compotes, Roman punch was served next to each plate.
As the oldest male, Leo had been given the chair at the head of the table, with Sebastian to his right and Joyce on the left. Ever the etiquette stickler, Joyce had insisted that Clare sit next to Sebastian. It would not be right to have both females on the same side of the table. Normally it would not have been a problem and Clare would have exerted herself to engage the guests in conversation. But tonight she couldn’t think of anything to say to the man who’d given her three orgasms the night before, nor to Leo, who had always been a father figure to her. She felt sure she had a big neon Had Crazy Hot Sex Last Night sign above her head, and was afraid that if she did or said the wrong thing, everyone would notice.
She was so new at sex without commitment-or at least without a nice dinner and a movie date first. She wasn’t exactly embarrassed-or not as much as she probably should be, especially given the oral aspect of their shower-but just didn’t know what to say or do. She felt completely out of her element. Thank God no one seemed to notice.
Sebastian didn’t appear to labor under such uncertainty. He relaxed in the chair beside her, charming her mother with little stories about all the places he’d traveled and asking questions about her various clubs and charities. He was used to no-strings sex, and Clare had to admit that she was somewhat irritated by his composure. It seemed only right that he be as rattled as she was.
“I’ve been trying for years to convince Claresta that she needs to become involved in my Ladies of Le Bois club,” Joyce said as she tipped back her Glenlivet. “Through various benefits, we raised more than thirteen thousand dollars this year. We were especially excited to have Galvin Armstrong and his orchestra play for us at the Grove. I know Clare would enjoy herself if she’d just get involved.”
Galvin Armstrong was older than Laurence Welk, and Clare needed to change the subject before she suddenly found herself involved in next year’s benefit. “Sebastian ate a monkey.” Leo and Joyce abruptly turned their attention to Sebastian, who stared at her with the fork halfway to his mouth. “And a horse,” she added for good measure.
“Really, son?”
“Oh.” Joyce set her glass on the table. “I don’t think I could manage a horse. I had a pony as a child. Her name was Lady Clip Clop.”
Slowly, Sebastian turned his head and looked at Clare. “I’ve eaten a lot of different things. Some were good. Some not so good.” He smiled. “Some I wouldn’t mind trying again.”
The memory of him feathering her navel with warm kisses popped into her head. I think you’re going to like this, he’d said last night as he worked his way south. It’s a little something I learned from a French lady in Costa Rica. And she had liked it. A lot.
“But at the moment I’m hungry for Christmas ham.” Sebastian turned his gaze across the table as he placed his hand on Clare’s thigh. “This is wonderful, Mrs. Wingate.”
Clare glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as he slowly pulled up her skirt.
“Please call me Joyce.”
“Thank you for inviting me tonight, Joyce,” he said, the poster child of choirboy politeness as his fingers gathered her skirt.
Clare wasn’t wearing nylons, and she reached beneath the table before he could touch bare skin. She carefully grabbed his wrist and removed his hand.
“I received a Christmas card from your father’s sister,” Joyce announced, looking across the table at Clare.
“How is Eleanor?” Clare sank her spoon into her punch. As she placed the rum slush in her mouth, Sebastian flipped her skirt above her knees and replaced his hand on her now bare thigh. Startled by the warm contact, she jumped a little.
“You okay?” Sebastian asked, as if inquiring about the weather.
Clare pasted a strained smile on her face. “Fine.”
Oblivious, Joyce continued, “Apparently, Eleanor has discovered religion.”
“’Tis the season.” She placed her hand over Sebastian’s, but his grasp tightened. Short of wrestling his hand off her and drawing attention to what was taking place under the table, there was nothing she could do.
“Eleanor always was a trial,” her mother continued. “She was somewhat of an embarrassment, which is quite an accomplishment in that family.”
“How old is Eleanor?” Sebastian asked, his tone polite and curious as his hand crept higher. Skin on skin, heat spread warmth up Clare’s thigh, his touch calling forth physical memories of the night before. In her bed and shower, and of course on the antique sofa.
“I believe she is seventy-eight.” Joyce paused to spear her remaining green beans. “She’s been married and divorced eight times.”
“Once was enough for me,” Leo added with a shake of his head. “Some people never learn.”
“That’s the truth. My great-great-uncle Alton was wounded in a marital dispute,” Joyce confessed, uncharacteristically forthcoming regarding Wingate skeletons, thanks to her third glass of Glenlivet. “Unfortunately, he had a fondness for other men’s wives. Neglected his own, though. Typical.”
“Where was he wounded?” Sebastian slid his fingers to the front of Clare’s panties. Her gaze got a little fuzzy and she about melted off her chair.
“Bullet in the left buttock. He was running away with his pants down.”
Sebastian chuckled and his fingers brushed her through the spandex cotton blend. She squeezed her thighs and stifled a moan as the conversation continued without her. Leo made a comment about…something, and Joyce responded with…something, and Sebastian tugged at the elastic around the top of her leg and asked something…
“Isn’t that right, Clare?” Joyce asked.
Her eyes refocused on her mother. “Yes. Absolutely!” She shoved his hand from her crotch and stood, careful to make sure her skirt stayed down. “Dessert?”
“I don’t think so right now.” Her mother placed her linen napkin on the table.
“Leo?” Clare asked as she gathered her plate and flatware.
“None for me. Give me half an hour.”
“Can I take your plate, Sebastian?”
He stood. “I’ll take it.”
“That’s okay.” The last thing she needed was for him to follow and finish what he’d started. “You just sit and relax with my mother and Leo.”