Love Again: Love's Second Chance Series Read online

  She sent Martie a quick text asking her to lock up. When Claire received an affirmative answer, she shoved the contract into her briefcase and headed home.

  Claire parked in the garage, went inside, and greeted her silver Persian kitten. Charlie wasn’t even a year old. He’d been her gift to herself after the divorce was finalized. She picked him up, and hugging him to her, took him into the kitchen to feed. She pulled the top on a can of kitten food and stirred it into a saucer.

  Laughing at Charlie’s barely audible meow, she ruffled his hair and watched him lap up the food.

  She went upstairs, changed into her slim crop pants and a t-shirt. She went into her walk-in closet, keyed in the code to her wall safe, and took out a slim photo album.

  She carried the photo album back downstairs, opened a bottle of Dakota Shy Cabernet Sauvignon, poured a glass, and curled up on her sofa.

  Claire loved her house. She’s chosen everything from the basic design to the doorknobs. She loved her over-the-top walk-in closet with shelves and drawers. She loved her kitchen with its huge windows overlooking a wooded back yard. She loved her fireplace with the plasma TV hanging on the wall over it.

  She could open her iPad and close the shades on her windows, turn on her TV, and see if anyone was at the front door. All that technology blended seamlessly into a warm cozy environment. Her home was her haven – her safe place away from everyone where she didn’t have to worry about saying the right thing or dressing a certain way.

  Even when Danielle had friends over, she felt relaxed here. This was her space.

  Charlie sat next to her on the floor and stared at her. She picked him up in one hand and put him on the sofa beside her. He slapped at the fringe on a throw she’d tossed across the back of the sofa, then curled into a ball next to her and fell asleep purring.

  Claire sipped her wine, then taking a deep breath, opened the photo album. It had been a long time since she’d dared to open it up – probably fifteen years.

  It was a photo album she’d started when she was sixteen years old. There were lots of pink hearts drawn with a felt tipped pin. On only the first page, Grayson smiled back at her.

  Her heart skipped a little as she studied the picture of the two of them together. They looked so very happy with their arms wrapped around each other.

  Claire had given up long ago trying to figure out what went wrong.

  It had been so long – twenty years. Did it really matter anymore?

  Seeing him today had brought butterflies back to her stomach. Butterflies she thought had flown years ago.

  Danielle texted saying she was going out to dinner with her friends and would be home late.

  Perfect. Claire had the whole evening to herself.

  Claire flipped through the pages, allowing the memories to play through her mind. Some bringing a smile. Others bringing tears.

  When the clock chimed seven o’clock, she closed the album and set it aside.

  What were the odds that she’d run into Grayson Moore? Why today?

  It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past now.

  And Claire Worthington kept her eyes on the future.

  Chapter Two

  The event was going to be a huge success. Claire could feel it. And she had an instinct for these things. The wine was flowing freely and the artist was charming. Women would be falling over themselves to transfer money. Already, he’d sold three paintings. His artistic style was conservative. The kind an older woman would want displayed in her home. Not too trendy and not the kind that would have shock value.

  A few new people had come in that Claire needed to greet.

  As she watched, a group of four split, leaving one standing alone as she approached.

  Her heart tripped up a notch as she approached him. He stood staring at a painting with splashes of purple and red. Claire’s favorite out of the ones the artist had contributed. He stood with his hands behind his back, his legs a few inches apart. Dark hair curled at his collar.

  She stood next to him. Stared into his handsome face. How was it possible he had gotten more handsome than he was at eighteen? He was in his prime now, she admitted, her lips twitching up.

  “I wonder why he named it Fireworks,” he said.

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  He shrugged, shifted his attention to her. Studied her as though she, too, were a thing to admire. “It wasn’t hard.”

  “You like art?” she asked.

  “I admire anything with beauty. Where did you go, Claire?”

  “I didn’t go anywhere,” she said, feeling the lump in her throat. “Why did you disappear?”

  “I was in the Air Force. You knew where I was.”

  “Not even once,” she said. “You didn’t write. You didn’t call. Not even once.”

  The pain she felt saying those words out loud were reflected in his own features. “Of course I did.”

  “No,” she said. “I would have known. I was right here. Waiting.”

  “Claire,” he said. “I called you every chance I got. The calls were refused. Every time.”

  “No,” she said.

  “I called collect. I didn’t have any other way to call you.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond. Why would he say that? Grayson had never been one to lie.

  “Did you read my letters?” He asked. “I sent you information on how to contact me. But you didn’t.”

  “What letters?”

  “I wrote you letters and mailed them, mostly every week, at first anyway.”

  “Real letters?”

  He scoffed. “Real letters. With stamps.”

  “You must have had the wrong address.”

  He recited her parents’ home address. Claire felt a little light-headed. She needed to sit down, but instead, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. “I never got them,” she breathed.

  “Claire,” he said. He almost reached for her, but instead, put his hands in his pockets.

  “I have to… um…” She glanced around. “I have to see to my guests.”

  She had to think. And she couldn’t think with him staring at her that way. Like he wanted to pull her to him and kiss all the years away.

  She turned and walked across the room, keeping her head high. Her imagination was a thing to keep a tight leash on. At least where Grayson Moore was concerned. She put a smile on her face as she approached two middle-aged women standing in front of a very expensive painting.

  Weekly etiquette classes for the last years of high school had taught her nothing if not how to hide her emotions. Miss Baker’s voice still resonated in Claire’s head. Never let them see you sweat. Or cry. Or have uncontrollable laughter. In fact, always be in control.

  Emotional control was so ingrained in Claire’s psyche, she wasn’t sure she could be any other way.

  By the time the evening was winding down, only one painting was left unsold. It was Claire’s favorite – the purple and red one. The one the artist had named Fireworks.

  The artist, Maine D’Court, was ecstatic. They had agreed that he would receive a small percentage of sales, but mostly he was trying to establish a name for himself. If tonight was any indication, he was well on his way to success.

  The members of the Enrich American Minds Foundation were also elated. With the money earned tonight, they would be able to pick five high school students, mentor them through graduation, guide them into college, and provide tuition support.

  Now the hard work started. Claire had to hire ten new mentors, two of whom would follow each student who was chosen.

  Because of tonight, five students who never would have set foot on a college campus would now have the opportunity to become college educated, productive members of society.

  Claire walked around the gallery, reminding her committee members about their meeting Monday afternoon. She stopped in front of the Fireworks painting and wondered why it hadn’t sold.

  “Is this the only one left?” Grayson�
��s voice was like a familiar balm settling over her soul.

  “Yes,” she said without turning around.

  “I like it.”

  She turned then and looked into those blue eyes that had haunted her dreams for years. “It’s curious that no one bought it.”

  “How much?”

  She lifted an eyebrow.

  “How much for the painting?”

  “You don’t want to buy it,” she said turning back toward the painting, though her heart was racing and every cell was tuned towards Grayson’s presence.

  “How much?” he asked again.

  “You can’t afford it.”

  She counted to ten before turning back to him.

  “I’m not eighteen anymore,” he said.

  She smiled. That was an understatement. Very well. She’d play along. She quoted him a figure.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a checkbook.

  She was pleased that she managed to keep her jaw from dropping.

  Grayson prided himself on not flinching. There went two months’ salary. This was retirement money, but still…

  He’d heard Claire tell three different people that this was her favorite painting by this artist. She hadn’t said that about any of the others, so he felt confident that it was the truth.

  As he wrote out the check, he wondered if that was why no one had bought it. Perhaps no one had the heart to buy it out from under her.

  Grayson wasn’t buying it out from under her. He was giving her a one hundred percent success rate tonight.

  And he planned to give the painting to her when the time was right.

  “Is this where you work?” he asked as he handed her the check. Surely he’d earned a bit of information by donating.

  “Yes,” she said. “My office is upstairs.”

  “Nice,” he said, sweeping his gaze around the spacious, modern, gallery. A wide staircase led upstairs to an open area. Offices, he assumed and meeting space. It was impressive.

  “Thank you,” she said, a smile settling over her features. He liked the smile better than her consternation.

  “Does Danielle still live at home?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  She was making him ask. “Do you have other children?”

  “No, just Danielle.”

  There was no one else within earshot. He had so many questions but he couldn’t tell if he was making her uncomfortable or not. But she was still standing there, so he could only assume she was willing to talk with him. Claire had always been good at keeping her emotions in check. He knew she’d been schooled to do that. She was the rich girl. The one with every possible door of opportunity in front of her. He had been just a regular guy. Joining the Air Force to serve his country.

  He’d often wondered if she was part of what drove him to keep bettering himself. He knew she was the reason he never married. He’d had girlfriends, sure, even lived with one of them, but none of them had ever been marriage material for Grayson. Claire had ruined that for him. She had been the only one.

  “Do you have children?” She asked, running her fingers along his check.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Really? You wanted four.”

  I wanted four with you. “Things change,” he said, the smile dropping from his lips. It was definitely better to talk about her. “And you wanted two.”

  “Things change,” she said. Perhaps telling her about the letters, though she apparently hadn’t gotten them, was helping to keep her here talking to him.

  Maine D’Court approached, “Claire,” he said, his voice silky.

  “Maine,” Claire said, shifting to include him in their conversation. “We just sold the last of your paintings,” she nodded toward Grayson.

  Grayson scowled. Had he really just given this man money? This slim man with a ponytail of all things. The military man in him cringed.

  “Is that so?” Maine said. “Well, I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Grayson said, stretching to his full height of six feet. Maine was at least four inches shorter.

  “I’ll have your check for you early next week,” Claire said, turning away slightly. Grayson gave her points for gracefully dismissing the man.

  “Great,” Maine said. “Let me know when you’re ready to get out of here.”

  “Get out?” she echoed.

  “Yeah. You owe me a drink, remember?”

  Grayson saw the flash of panic shoot through her eyes. She didn’t want to go with him.

  She looked directly at him, a smile on her lips. “Not tonight, Maine.”

  “You promised.”

  She shook her head. “I already have plans,” she said.

  Grayson felt his muscles tense. It had been a few years since he’d been in a fight. Might feel good.

  “You promised,” he said, shoving a finger at her.

  “Hey,” Grayson said, stepping in front of Claire. “The lady said no. When a lady says no, she means no.”

  “We had plans,” Maine said, trying to reach behind Grayson for Claire’s hand. She stepped back before he could touch her.

  “No,” Grayson said, stepping front of Claire. “The lady is with me.”

  Maine glared at him, then at Claire, before, muttering, he walked away.

  “He sure knows how to win friends,” Grayson said.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning her gaze to Grayson.

  “He has some nerve, doesn’t he?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Claire said. “But I think he’s harmless.”

  Maine, however, didn’t leave. He said on the stairs leading up to Claire’s office. And watched them, his expression surly.

  “I hope you’re right,” Grayson said. The gallery was nearly empty now. “If you don’t mind, I’ll hang around until you get to your car.”

  “I don’t mind. I have to go up to my office for a few minutes before I leave.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Grayson said. He was relieved that she wasn’t one of those women who didn’t want protection from men. Grayson never understood that. What those women didn’t understand was that they may be smarter than most men, but they would never have the testosterone to match. It was like a man who thought he could go up bare handed against a lion. The lion would always win.

  Claire was smart though. The smartest woman Grayson had ever known.

  Maine watched them, said nothing as they went upstairs to her office. Grayson stood outside her door, bodyguard style while she gathered up what she needed to take with her.

  Claire tossed papers into her briefcase. She planned to work from home this weekend, but she was having trouble thinking about what she need to take with her.

  She was having trouble thinking about anything other than Grayson Moore standing outside her office door ready to protect her from an ardent admirer with an inflated self-esteem.

  Had she been too friendly with Maine D’Court? She had promised to have a drink with him after the showing, but she hadn’t meant right after on the same night. It had been intended as discouragement. Like sure, we’ll get together sometime and catch up when both people knew that would never happen.

  Claire tapped her fingers on the desk as she considered how she was going to get Maine D’Court out of her gallery without making a scene. It was because of him that tonight had been so successful. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. But it had been a business arrangement. He’d made a lot of money. Sold paintings he never would have sold. It was a win-win.

  She was mostly cross with him because he was disrupting her thought process about Grayson. Grayson was the one she wanted to be thinking about. Not a narcissistic artist.

  She gathered up her handbag and drew it over her shoulders. She was thankful Grayson was here tonight. She wasn’t sure what she would have done about Maine D’Court. His persistence bordered on stalking.

  Would she have to be afraid now? And afraid for Danielle?

  As they walked b
ack downstairs, side by side, Claire was struck by the familiarity of walking next to Grayson. He was a full head taller than she was. And, she readily admitted, she felt safe with him at her side.

  Maine D’Court, however, was nowhere in sight. They did a quick search, but the building was empty.

  Claire locked up with Grayson keeping watch. Their cars were the only two cars left in the parking lot. Maine D’Court, it seemed, had decided to go his own way.

  Nonetheless, Grayson walked around her BMW and peeked through the glass into the backseat.

  “Were you deployed?” she asked.

  “You could say that. All in all, I spent about ten years overseas.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot.”

  “I went to college here, though, at Stanford.”

  “Impressive.”

  “That’s where you went, right?”

  “I didn’t go,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “I got married and started my business.”

  He gazed around, then pinned those blue eyes to hers. He was standing close now. So close, she could see the little lines around his eyes. Little lines that weren’t there twenty years ago. “You never married?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, dreading the answer.

  “Nope. Hard to meet anyone when you’re rarely home.”

  “Well, you were living overseas, right? And then college. Sounds like ample opportunity. A lot of soldiers get married while they’re on tour of duty.”

  “I’m only interested in American girls. And college students were babies by the time I got there.”

  “Do you still see them that way?” she asked.

  “Even more.”

  “That’s probably a good thing since you’re surrounded by college students all day long.”

  “Children,” he said. “Are you going straight home?”

  “I usually do.”

  “I’d ask if you wanted to get a dinner, but you already shot one guy down tonight.”

  She glanced at her watch. “It’s a little late for dinner, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so,” he said, never taking his eyes off hers. “I hadn’t noticed. I’m surely not going to ask you for drink.”

  She laughed. “Too bad,” she said. “I would have gone.” She slipped into her car and he closed the door.