15. Remy
Fuck.
She doesn’t look ‘under the weather’ at all.
In fact, other than the night I met her shimmying out of her dress, she’s never looked better.
Her blonde hair has been swept off her shoulders, leaving her neck bare. The tops of her breasts are on display, held together by a tight red top, lacy and vintage looking—it showcases the light pink scar running between them, still healing but far less severe than her other injury on the top of one. It follows the curve of her breast perfectly, and I have the strangest desire to run my finger over it, to press kisses along that scar, to soothe it with my tongue.
More than the bright dress that hugs her every curve and betrays a hint of her thigh behind the slit, she looks amazing. The dark circles are gone—maybe just covered by makeup, but not so much that it covers the freckles dusting her nose. Her eyes pierce through me even though she’s not looking at me, the blue made brighter by the dark fringe of her lashes. I knew Claire was naturally beautiful, but seeing her all done up like this, I realize that’s not all she is. She’s dangerously sexy, and something in the way she walks toward us tells me she knows it— maybe not always, but definitely right now.
“You sexy bitch.” Rhea says, her jaw hanging open. “How do you look better in my clothes than I do?”
Claire laughs, slinking into the seat right next to Rhea—directly across from Wes. I’ve practically forgotten he’s there, I’m so enamored with her, but the reminder smacks me right in the face when she looks him square in the eye and bats her eyelashes. “Wes.”
“You’ll have to keep that dress.” Rhea says, oblivious to everyone around her holding their breath, tense with the possibilities of what this dinner will entail. “I can’t bear to put it on again knowing I won’t do justice to it.”
“It’s some dress,” Wes concedes, allowing himself an appreciative look at her. “You’re a vision, Claire.”
Claire smiles at him knowingly, not looking the least bit uncomfortable. They’re watching each other like they want to devour one another, a notion that doesn’t sit well with me. She can’t seriously be attracted to him after what he did to her. Can she?
Elaine rushes back in, placing empty plates in front of our ‘unexpected’ guests and setting one for herself on Rhea’s other side. “Red or white wine?” She asks, glancing around the table. “I just opened a bottle of each.”
“Actually, Elaine,” Claire smiles when my housekeeper turns to her. “I’d love to pop that bottle of prosecco.”
“Champagne?” Elaine sounds surprised.
“We’re celebrating.” Caire nods. “And as the toast giver, I’d like to pop the cork, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Elaine waves a hand, dismissing Claire’s concern, and promptly leaves the room.
“What are we celebrating?” Rhea asks, her eyes bright as she leans into her best friend.
“You’ll see.” Claire promises.
We don’t have to wait long, because Elaine comes around the corner in the next instant with the bottle in one hand, four long-stemmed flutes in the other. She sets them down, preparing for another trip to gather the rest. Claire wastes no time tearing the foil off the neck of the bottle, unbothered by all the eyes on her as she works.
Rhea tenses when she presses deftly against the cork, and a moment later it flies across the table with a resounding pop!
She had to have been aiming, though I didn’t realize until after the cork hits Wes square in the nose and he yelps, cupping his face in his hands. “Oops,” Claire giggles, pressing her red-stained lips together. At the same time, Rhea slams her hand over her own mouth in shock.
“You fucking bi—”
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he was going to say, but it’s stifled when Dimitri shoves a napkin against Wes’ nose. His yell is deeper this time, and when he shifts, I see the blood that’s dripping steadily over his fingers.
“Oh my,” Claire says, her voice sickly sweet. “I’m so sorry, Wes. Are you okay?”
Elaine’s mouth falls open when she returns with the rest of the glasses. Claire takes them and pours a small measure in each glass, just enough to toast with, and hands them around the table. When she passes the last one to Wes, he drops the napkin, showing that the blood has stopped. He’s obviously attempting to look unbothered.
Claire leans across the table, and for a minute, I want to be where Wes is. I’m sure he has an eyeful as she leans into him and wipes blood from his lip like a concerned friend, smearing it just a little. “That’s perfect, Wes. You’re a natural at this.” She says, so softly that it’s clear the words are only meant for him. Combined with her touch, it looks like some sort of foreplay, an intimacy that has Elaine looking quickly away. “So fucking sexy.”
Her voice is dripping with sex, and for a moment, I’m pissed. Rage laces my spine, making me tense. The words echo in the base of my skull, and my anger grows— until I recognize where I’ve heard them before. When I do, I have to take a sip of my champagne to stifle my laughter. She’s throwing his own words back at him. The context might not be exactly the same, but Claire is making no effort to hide her intentions from him.
She’s fucking brilliant.
“Well,” Rhea chuckles. “I’d say get a room, but you’ll have to wait ‘til after dinner because I promise you don’t want to miss this. Elaine’s been slaving all day over this.”
“Slaving?” Claire blinks innocently. “How sweet of you, Elaine.”
Despite her words, she doesn’t exactly look charmed. Maybe she’s having a hard time differentiating right now between her cutting attitude toward Wes and everyone else. It’s worth whatever casualties we have to endure just to see her put Wes through his paces… hell, it’s worth it to just see her like this. She looks like a new woman.
“It’s my pleasure.” Elaine says, slipping into her seat. “So, what are we toasting?”
For the first time since she came downstairs, Claire turns to me. Just her attention on me is enough to send a static shock through me. It’s primal. Raw. I want her—now more than ever. It’s all I can do to not throw her on the table in front of all of them and take whatever she’ll let me have.
The absurdity of that idea washes away with the smile on Claire’s lips. She lifts her glass first to me, before turning to Elaine, quickly glancing at Rhea before swiveling on Wes.
His face is sour as he raises his glass, his jaw set in anger. “To good health.” Claire says, smiling wide enough that she flashes her brilliant white smile. “And good fortune.”
It’s a simple toast, but it’s full of implication for those who are aware enough to hear it. She may be acting right now, but if she is, she’s putting on a show worthy of the academy awards. Claire won’t let Wes think he broke her.
Honestly, I’m not sure he did.