laire felt as if her heart had simply stopped beating; everything inside her went still, waiting for that moment when time would begin again. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move. Then, with a little jolt, her heart resumed its function, freeing her from the temporary paralysis. "Marry?" she asked faintly.

"My mother will be in ecstasy if you make an honest man of me," he said, tracing her lower lip with his finger. "She's quite given up on me, you know. Marry me, and have my children. I find that I want that very much. When I saw you holding Jed tonight, I thought how perfect you look with a baby in your arms, and I want it to be my baby."

There was nothing about love in his proposal, but Claire found that there didn't have to be. She could accept the fact that he didn't love her; she would take whatever he offered her and do anything she could to make him happy with his decision. Perhaps she should have more pride than to settle for anything less than love, but pride wouldn't gain her anything except an empty bed and an empty life. Happily ever after was a fairytale, after all.

"All right," she whispered.

His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and he eased away from her to lie beside her, hugging her against him. His free hand absently stroked her satiny shoulder, and his handsome face was thoughtful. "Does this mean you've forgiven me?''

She wished he hadn't asked that; it touched on a wound that hadn't healed, reminded her of pain that still lingered. She didn't want to think of the past, not now, when she had just agreed to take a step into the future, a step that terrified her with its enormity. If Max were just an ordinary man perhaps she wouldn't feel so uncertain, but Max was extraordinary in every way, and she was filled with doubts that she would ever be able to satisfy him.

"It seems I have to, doesn't it?"

"I never intended to hurt you; I wanted only to get the business part of things over with, so I could concentrate on you. I've wanted you pretty desperately from the first," he admitted wryly. "You wreck my self-control, but that's obvious, isn't it?"

Her head found the hollow of his shoulder, nestling there comfortably. "Why is it obvious?"

He gave a short laugh. "Bloody hell, you can't believe I normally go about attacking women on a table in the foyer? You kissed me back, and I went mad. I couldn't think of anything but being inside you. It was like being picked up by a storm, unable to do anything but go along for the ride."

It had been like that for her, too, an explosion of the senses that obliterated everything else in the world except that moment, this man. The memory of that first lovemaking would make her blush for the rest of her life, because she hadn't known she was capable of such passion. Since then she had come to expect that inner burning whenever he touched her.

She sighed, suddenly so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open. Max kissed her then untangled himself from the bed and got up. Claire opened her eyes, watching him in bewilderment as he sorted out his clothing and got dressed.

"If you weren't half-asleep already, we'd make wedding plans," he said, bending over to tuck the sheet around her naked body. "But you're tired, we have to work tomorrow, and all my clothes are at my apartment, so it's best that I leave."

There would be a thousand-and-one problems to work out, some small and some not so small, but she couldn't think of them now. She was drowsy, her body satisfied, and though she was disappointed that he wouldn't be spending the night with her, she realized that it wasn't practical. He kissed her, his hand stroking over her body in blatant possessiveness.

"I hope you like big weddings," he murmured.

Her lashes fluttered. "Why?"

"Because I have hundreds of relatives who would die of terminal dudgeon if they weren't invited to my wedding."

She chuckled, snuggling deeper into the bed. Max kissed her again, so reluctant to leave her that he considered saying to hell with work and climbing back into bed with her. She was so warm and rosy and relaxed, and he knew it was from his lovemaking. There was nothing quite like the feeling of certainty that he had left her satisfied, and his emotions ran the gamut from pride to possessiveness to wonder. Under all that lay his own bone-deep satisfaction. Beneath her cool, self-possessed mask was a passionate nature; other people saw only the mask, but she burned for him with a sweet fire that left its scorch marks on his heart and branded him as hers.

She was asleep, her breathing soft and even. With one last look at her, Max quietly turned out the light and left the bedroom. Soon they would be sharing a bedroom and a name, and his ring would be oh her hand.

When she woke the next morning, Claire had the confused feeling that it had all been a dream, a wonderful, impossible dream. Had Max actually asked her to marry him, or had her imagination conjured up the fantasy? Then she moved, and the startled realization that she was naked brought back clear memories of the night before. He had made love to her; then he'd asked her to marry him, and she had agreed. Panic twisted her stomach. What if it didn't work out? What if they got married and he decided that she didn't suit him, after all? What if she failed to satisfy him, just as she had failed with Jeff? What if he already regretted asking her? Men sometimes said things in the heat of passion that they later wished had never been said.

The phone rang beside her, startling her, and she almost dropped the receiver as she grabbed it. "Yes? Hello?"

"Good morning, love," Max said, his voice warm and intimate. "I wanted to make certain you didn't oversleep. I forgot to turn on your alarm when I left last night."

Even though he couldn't see her, a deep blush covered her body, and she pulled the sheet up high under her chin. "Thank you," she said, not hearing the uncertainty in her voice.,

Max paused. "We'll go tonight to pick out the rings, shall we? Are you going to call your parents today, or wait until the weekend when you visit them?"

Claire closed her eyes on an almost painful surge of relief; he hadn't changed his mind. "I'll call them. Mother wouldn't forgive me if I kept it a secret until the weekend."

He chuckled. "It's the same with my mother. I'll call her in a moment, and she'll be on the phone for the rest of the day calling everyone in the far-flung family. How soon do you think we can manage the deed? Poor Theo. He's just gotten you, and now he'll have to find another secretary."

"Another secretary?" Claire echoed in surprise.

"Of course. You can't continue to be his secretary after we're married. We'll decide tonight on a date for the wedding, and you'll know when to turn in your notice. I'll see you at work, love; take care."

"Yes, of course," she said, still holding the receiver after he'd hung up and the dial tone was buzzing in her ear. Slowly she hung up, a frown pulling at her brow. She was expected to give up her job when they were married?

She fretted about it while she showered; on the one hand, she could see that it wouldn't work for both of them to be employed by Spencer-Nyle, and as his salary was far more than hers, it was logical that she should be the one to quit. On the other hand, she had struggled for years to establish her own independence, and it was important to her own sense of self-worth that she continue to support herself, or at least feel as if she were making a contribution to their lives. It wasn't just that Max expected her to quit Spencer-Nyle; Claire had the feeling that he expected her to quit working completely, and the thought made shivers of alarm race down her spine,

What sort of life would they have together? She didn't even know if she could expect him to be faithful. Women melted around him; how could a man not be tempted when he was surrounded by constant opportunities to wander? Given that, she would be incredibly foolish to stop being self-supporting. She only hoped he would be sensible about it.

She didn't have time to call Alma that morning, but found a pay phone at lunch and sat chewing her lip, listening to the ringing on the other end of the line. At last she hung up, both relieved and disappointed that Alma wasn't at home. She didn't know how she felt about marrying Max, either; part of her was ecstatic because she loved him so much. Another part was plain terrified. What if she couldn't make him happy? He was so intelligent and sophisticated and supremely self-confident; he made Jeff look like a lightweight, and Jeff had turned from her to someone more poised and polished.

Max was waiting in the office for her when she returned from lunch, and a warm, intimate smile touched his chiseled mouth when he saw her. "There you are, darling. I'd hoped to take you to lunch, but I couldn't get clear in time. Was your mother pleased?''

Claire glanced at Theo's office, relieved to see that he hadn't returned from lunch. "I just tried to call her, but she wasn't at home. I'll call her tonight."

He put his hands on her waist and drew her to him for a quick kiss. "My mother was all but dancing on the table," he said in amusement. "By now half of England knows."

He was in a good mood, his eyes sparkling like sunlight on the ocean, and she felt her heart give that little jolt again. Uneasily she watched the door, trying to draw back from him. "Should you be in here?" she asked, worried. "What if someone saw you kiss me?"

He actually laughed. "Is it supposed to be a secret that we're getting married? I told Rome this morning, and he's already called Sarah to let her know. Then I told Anson, who asked if I couldn't have proposed to you in Houston, rather than rearranging the entire office to empty a position for you. So you see, it's already common knowledge. The news will have gone around the office at the speed of sound."

Claire flushed, staring at him in mortification. "You made this job me?" And did the entire office know that he'd brought her to Dallas for himself?

"No, love, the job is a legitimate one. I simply made it available by promoting and shifting some people who, incidentally, are all thrilled with their new positions." Gently he touched her pink cheek. "You don't have any reason to feel embarrassed."

He kissed her again then reluctantly let her go. "Have you been thinking about the type of ring you would like?"

She hadn't, and surprise was plain on her face. "No, not really. I think I'd like a plain wedding band, though." The rings Jeff had given her had been encrusted with yellow diamonds, and she had never really cared for them. The stones had been so large, almost ostentatious, as if they were only what was expected of the Halseys. She had returned them to him after the divorce and never missed them.

He watched her, wondering what memories had caused the brief sadness that darkened the soft brown of her eyes. "Whatever you want," he promised, wishing that he would never see sadness on her face again. For a brief moment she had drifted away in her thoughts, leaving him behind, and he resented even a minute when she wasn't with him.

Max was at her house that night when she finally got Alma on the phone, and he lounged across from her, smiling as he listened to the conversation. Alma laughed, then she cried. Then she had to speak to Max, who assured her with quiet sincerity that he would take care of Claire. When he gave the phone back to Claire, she gave him a look of gratitude for being so understanding with Alma.

"Have you set a date?" Alma asked excitedly.

"No, we haven't had time to talk about it. How long will it take to arrange a church wedding?" Claire listened then turned to Max. "How many of your family do you think will attend?"

He shrugged. "At an offhand guess—seven hundred, give or take a hundred."

"Seven hundred?" Claire gasped, and on the other end of the line Alma gave a small shriek.

"I've mentioned that I have a large family. That also includes friends; Mother will be able to give us a list in a week or so." He motioned for the telephone, and Claire gave it to him again. "Don't panic," he said soothingly to Alma. "Perhaps it would be easier if we were married in England. How many people would we have to transport?"

Claire tried to think of how many people would be invited to her wedding; her family was small, but there were friends of the family who would have to be included. But if they were married in England, how many of them would be able to attend? And if they were married in Texas, how many of his family and friends wouldn't be able to make a transatlantic trip? Suddenly the wedding was assuming horrendous proportions.

"Accommodations aren't a problem," Max was saying soothingly, so Claire guessed that Alma was having hysterics at the thought of moving the family, lock, stock and barrel, to England. "There are plenty of spare bedrooms scattered around the family. The church? Yes, the church is large enough to handle a wedding of that size. It's an enormous old rock pile." He listened a moment, then laughed. "No, I don't care where we're married. England or Texas doesn't matter to me, so long as I get Claire and it doesn't take an eternity to do it. How long? Six weeks is my limit."

Even sitting across from him, Claire heard the loud protest that Alma was making. Max merely said patiently, "Six weeks. I'm not waiting any longer than that. Claire and I will visit this weekend, and we'll make our plans."

Claire stared at him in horror as he hung up with an air of patent satisfaction. "Six weeks?" she echoed. "It's impossible to put on a wedding for more than seven hundred people in six weeks! That takes months of planning!"

"Six weeks, or I'll carry you before a judge and do the deed. I'm being generous, at that. My inclination is to marry you this weekend, and it's damned tempting. The only thing is, a lot of people would never forgive us."

He flashed her a brilliant smile, standing and holding his hand out to her. Claire put her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet and into his arms, kissing her long and hard. "Don't worry. Between your mother and mine, this wedding will be perfect. Nothing would dare go wrong."

To Claire's consternation, he didn't take her to one of the small jewelry stores she'd anticipated. Instead she found herself seated in a luxurious salon while the manager brought trays of glittering jewels for her inspection. What on earth was Max thinking about? Surely he didn't think he had to compete with Jeff Halsey in the material things he could give her? Claire knew that Max was certainly not poor; his salary was far more than comfortable, but it didn't make him a millionaire. He didn't have to compete with Jeff in anything, because he had Jeff outclassed in everything.

But there the rings were, waiting for her to make a selection. "What I really want is a plain simple old-fashioned wedding band," she said, frowning slightly.

"Certainly," the manager said politely, starting to take away the tray of diamonds and emeralds and rubies.

"No, leave that," Max instructed. "We'll look these over again while you're bringing the tray of wedding bands."

Claire waited until the manager was out of hearing then turned to Max. "I prefer a wedding band, truly."

He looked amused. "Darling, we'll have our wedding bands, and don't look so surprised. Of course I intend to wear a ring. I've waited long enough to be married; I'm not going to waffle about it. But this is for your engagement ring."

"But I don't need an engagement ring."

''Strictly speaking, no one needs any sort of jewelry. An engagement ring is just as old-fashioned and traditional as a wedding band, a symbolic warning to other primitive and marauding males that you aren't available."

Despite her misgivings Claire couldn't keep herself from smiling in answer to the twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, is that what you're doing, warning off other primitives?"

"One never knows what caveman instincts lurk beneath a silk shirt."

Claire knew. She looked at him, and her breath caught as she remembered the wild sensuality behind his calm mask. Most people would never realize just how primitive he really was, because he disguised it so well with his lazy, good-humored manner. He was tolerant, so long as he could get his way with charm and reason, but she sensed the danger in him.

"That was supposed to be a joke," he said lightly, touching her cheek to dispel the look she was giving him. "Take another look at these rings, won't you, before the poor man gets back with that other tray."

She did look at them then shook her head. "They're too expensive."

He laughed; he actually laughed. "Love, I'm not a pauper. Far from it. I promise you that I won't have to go in debt for any of these rings. If you won't choose, I'll do it for you."

He bent over the tray, eyeing each ring carefully. "I really don't care for diamonds," Claire tried, seeing that he was determined.

"Of course not," he agreed. "They wouldn't suit you, not even with that sexy black velvet gown of yours. Pearls are for you. Try this ring." He plucked a ring from its velvet bed and slipped it on her finger.

Claire looked down at it, and a feeling of helplessness came over her. Why couldn't it have been a truly hideous ring that she would have hated on sight? Instead it was a creamy pearl, surrounded by glittering baguettes, and it looked just right on her slender hand.

"I thought so," he said in satisfaction as the manager returned with a tray of wedding bands.

Claire was silent as they left, still trying to come to terms with the changes this wedding would bring in her life, had already brought even though they weren't married yet. Max put his arm around her and held her close, as if trying to shield her from the worries that darkened her eyes.

"What is it, love?" he asked, following her into the tiny house that she liked so much, but which had turned out to be only a temporary stopping place in her life.

"There are so many problems, and I'm not certain how to deal with them.''

"What sort of problems?"

"The wedding for one thing. It seems impossible, with so much to be done and the distance involved, the problems of transportation and housing and getting everything coordinated. The cake; the dresses; the tuxedos; the flowers; the receptions. Not only that, I've been divorced, and a white wedding is out of the question, if we can even have a church wedding at all."

He held up his hand, halting her tense litany. "What did you just say?" he asked politely.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "You know very well what I said."

"Then let me reassure you on two points, at least. One, we will be married in my family church, and no one will think anything of the fact that you've been married before. Two, you will definitely wear white."

''That's totally unsuitable.''

"Let's talk it over with your mother, shall we? I think she'll agree with me."

"Of course you think that! Has any female ever not agreed with you?" she said with a groan,

"You, love," he teased. "Is there anything else bothering you?"

It was obvious that she wasn't getting anywhere with him. She sat down and twined her fingers together, watching him with somber dark eyes. "I've been thinking about my job. I realize that it's only reasonable that I leave the company after we're married, and I certainly haven't been there long enough to get attached to the job, but I do want to continue working somewhere."

He watched her in silence for a moment, as if trying to read her thoughts. "If that will make you happy," he finally said in a gentle tone. "I want you to be happy with our marriage, not trapped in a gilded cage."

She was wordless; he'd never suffered from self-doubt, so how could she tell him that she wasn't worried about herself being happy but rather that he wouldn't be happy with her? He sat down beside her and eased her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder. "Don't worry about any of that, love. Let our mothers worry about the wedding, and we'll just enjoy watching them run about. I expect we'll have our share of problems after we're married, but let's not anticipate them, hmmm? They may never materialize."

Whenever he had her in his arms, Claire felt reassured. Her hand drifted across his chest, absently stroking the hard muscles she found there. Beneath her ear his heartbeat picked up a beat in speed.

"I believe we've found another subject that needs discussing," he muttered as he tightened his arms around her. "How likely is it that you're pregnant after last night?"

She caught her breath then concentrated and counted in her mind. "It isn't likely, not right now."

His mouth nuzzled under her ear, finding the soft little hollow there and filling it with kisses. Claire caught her breath again, her eyes closing as pleasure began heating her blood. Her breasts tautened, aching for his touch, and his uncanny sense of timing told him exactly when to cup his palm over her.

"I'll be more cautious until after we're married, then, but I damned well refuse to do without you for six weeks." His mouth was at the corner of hers, his breathing mingling with hers. Blindly Claire turned her head until the contact was complete, her arms sliding around his neck.

Much later he swore softly as he got out of bed. "I'm not fond of this business of leaving you in the middle of the night," he said in sharp displeasure. "Why don't you move in with me? "

Claire drew the sheet up to cover her, a little alarmed by the thought of living with him. Of course they would live together after they were married, but she would have six weeks to get used to the idea. She had lived alone and liked it for quite some time now. The loss of privacy wouldn't be an easy thing to handle. "Where would I put my furniture?"

"Don't be logical," he said in frustration, buttoning his shirt. "Bloody hell, we do have some details to work out, don't we? Would you prefer to live in my apartment, or should we go house hunting?"

"I've never seen your apartment," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "I suppose we should begin looking for a house, as we'll need one eventually.''

For the children he planned, she thought. She lay on the bed watching him dress, her body nude and still throbbing from the power of his lovemaking, and she thought of being pregnant with his children, of nursing them and watching them grow. "How many children do you want?" she whispered.

He looked down at her, seeing her soft, slim body outlined by the sheet, and the dark wells of her eyes. His hands stilled on the buttons. "Two, I think. Perhaps three. How many do you want?"

"That doesn't matter. I would be content with one, or half a dozen." No, the number wasn't important at all.

Slowly he began undoing his buttons and stripped off his shirt again. Tossing it aside, he unzipped his pants and stepped out of them. "You make me react like a teenager," he said, his eyes narrow and bright. Lowering himself onto the bed with her again, he forgot the irritation of living apart, and Claire forgot to worry. When he was making love to her, nothing else was real.

Instead of making the long drive to Houston, they flew down that Friday afternoon, and Max rented a car at the airport. It was already night, but the humid heat enveloped them like a wet blanket, and Claire sighed tiredly. It had been a hectic week, though they hadn't really done anything. But, rather than wait for the weekend, Alma had called every night about some detail that had to be discussed immediately.

She closed her eyes, wanting to rest on the drive to her parents' house. As excited as Alma was, Claire had no hope of getting to bed before midnight; there would be endless discussions about subjects they had already discussed endlessly.

"We're here, love," Max said, touching her arm to wake her.

Claire sat up, startled that she had dozed so quickly. She started to get out of the car, then sank back against the seat. "We aren't at Mother's."

"No, we aren't," he agreed, taking her hand and urging her from the car.

"You kept the apartment?"

"It seemed reasonable. I knew I would have to be coming here on business several times a year, and we'll be visiting your parents. Until the original tenant returns, I see no reason to give it up."

Claire was oddly reluctant as they went up in the elevator; she hadn't been in his apartment since the night they had first made love. Her face was burning as he opened the door and she stepped into the elegant black-tiled foyer, with the gilt-framed mirror over the lovely Queen Anne table. She had a vivid memory of her underwear lying discarded on the black tile.

Max dropped their overnighters where he stood and locked the door. His eyes were hot. "We'll go to your parents' house tomorrow."

By now Claire was intimately familiar with that look. She retreated, her heart pounding, and stopped abruptly when she came up against the table.

"Perfect," he crooned, his strong hands closing on her waist and lifting her up.

She buried her hot face against his shoulder. "Here?"

"It's my favorite memory, darling. You were so beautiful…so wild…so ready for me. I've never wanted any woman the way I want you."

"I hated myself for being so shameless," she confessed softly.

"Shameless? You were so beautiful, you took my breath."

Beautiful wasn't a word that Claire was accustomed to hearing in connection with herself, but that night, in Max's arms, she felt beautiful. She would always blush when she remembered that foyer, but thereafter it was with excitement and remembered pleasure, never again with embarrassment.

"I don't see why you shouldn't wear white," Alma said, making a note in a thick notebook she'd already half-filled with reminders, "this isn't the fifties, after all. Not white-white, of course, that's not your color, but you've always looked beautiful in a creamy golden-white."

Alma and Martine had a full head of steam going, making plans enthusiastically. It was her wedding, but Claire was the only calm one. Since she'd arrived that morning, she had listened to the constant chatter, letting them discuss every detail to death before they remembered to ask either her or Max's opinion. Occasionally she looked at Max, and the amusement in his eyes helped her to remain rational.

"The wedding will have to be in England," Alma pronounced, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "I checked, and it's impossible to reserve a church here that's large enough to hold that many people on such short notice. Max, are you certain there won't be any problem in getting your church?"

"I'm positive."

"Then it's England, and let your mother know. Better yet, give me her number and I'll call her; This schedule is going to be murder. Claire, you have to have your dress made here; there won't be time after we get to England. And we'll have to find one of those big garment boxes for shipping the dress over, but I suppose the dressmaker can help with that."

"I could buy a ready-made dress in England," Claire suggested.

"And take the chance of not being able to find what you want? No, that would be awful. Let's see, we'll need to be there at least three days early. Make that a week. Will that inconvenience your family, Max?"

"Not at all. There are so many of us, a few dozen more won't even be noticed. If you don't mind, I'll handle the plane reservations for the group. Do you have a list of everyone?''

Alma scurried around for her list of guests and wrote out another copy of it for Max. He glanced at it, then folded it and put it away in his pocket, not at all dismayed by the prospect of organizing the transportation of so many people to another country. Knowing what she did about executives, Claire thought that his secretary would probably inherit the burden.

"I have a few names to add to the list, but they'll be flying out from Dallas. I'll arrange for everyone to connect in New York."

Rome and Sarah would probably be attending, Claire realized. She had seen the length of the list and was surprised that so many people would travel so far to see a wedding. Even Michael and Celia were going, and she would have thought they would never want to travel again after moving from Michigan to Arizona in a station wagon.

She scarcely had time to wave at Max before she was whisked away to the fabric store to pore over pattern catalogs and bolts of cloth. From there they went to the dressmaker's, and Claire was measured for what seemed like hours. Then Alma insisted that they find the shoes to go with the gown, since it was almost June and that led to a tooth-and-nail battle over anything connected with weddings.

By the time they returned home, Claire was exhausted. Alma and Martine were still going strong, high on adrenaline, and she wondered what kept them from collapsing. Max was waiting for her, and he looped a sheltering arm over her shoulders to hug her to him.

"Shall we leave?" he asked quietly.

She closed her eyes. "Please. I'm so tired I can't think."

Alma started to protest that Claire could spend the night with them then glanced at Max and swallowed the comment. Claire belonged with him now; he had made that plain, though there were still five weeks until the wedding. For all his golden beauty there was a strength in Max that wouldn't permit any interference between him and the woman he'd chosen.

"This is so exhausting," Claire sighed as he drove them back to the apartment. She slipped off her shoes and wiggled her toes, wondering if they would ever feel normal again. "I think digging ditches wouldn't be as tiring as shopping. I can work all day and do chores at night without feeling half as wiped out as I am now. The terrible thing is, I'll have to come back every weekend for fittings!"

"But I'll be with you," Max said. "If it gets to be too much for you, we'll leave it and go back to Dallas."

''Then everything won't get done.''

"I would rather have something left undone than to have my wife collapsing of exhaustion."

His wife. More and more Claire was coming to believe that it was really so, that it was really going to happen. She looked at the pearl-and-diamond ring on her left hand then at Max. She loved him so much that it swelled within her like a tide, relentless and eternal.

When they were in bed, she curled her arm around his neck and pressed against him, sighing as her tired muscles relaxed.

Max cuddled her, loving the feel of her body in his arms, right where she belonged. As usual when he was near her or thought about her, he wanted to make love, but she was too tired. He kissed her forehead and held her until she was asleep.

"Just five more weeks, love," he whispered into the darkness. She would be his wife, and he would no longer have this unreasoning fear that she was going to slip through his fingers like mist melting away before the sun.