Wish Upon a Star

Michael brought her to climax first with his tongue and then his fingers. Claire couldn’t breathe. This was a wonderful experience. She had never had any of this with Bob. Claire had no idea how much time had passed when he finally slipped inside her for the first time. He was such a powerhouse that she was entranced just watching his body moving over hers. His concentration, control and coordination were astounding.

At last, they both collapsed in sweaty exhaustion and he fell asleep with Claire still engulfed in his embrace. After a few moments of reveling in it all, she drifted off into a slumber deeper than Sleeping Beauty’s.

In the morning, without an awakening kiss, Claire startled herself out of sleep. In the semi-darkness she had one of those moments of dislocation. Where was she? It wasn’t her ceiling. Then she turned her head and saw Michael, still sleeping. The events of the night before flooded back. Claire smiled and felt herself blush.

While Michael slept, she simply looked at him; at his long arm lying on the sheet, his chest moving under the covers and how the light from the street was shining on his face. She felt safe, comfortable, happy. It was a feeling she wasn’t accustomed to.

Claire sighed deeply soaking in the satisfaction of the feeling. Happiness this deep was something you could not hold onto, especially with Michael, and at least she was wise enough to realize it. She wasn’t thinking about the sex, though it had been exquisite. It was simply looking at Michael, feeling the warmth, comfort and protectiveness that staring at him brought her. It was pure joy.

Slowly, so as not to wake him, she lifted her head to gaze at his sleeping face. Even without animation, his features had a beauty and liveliness that made Claire wonder. From their conversation the previous night she felt Michael Wainwright was not just another pretty face. After all, in his own way, Bob had been very handsome. But unlike Bob, to Claire’s complete surprise, Michael seemed to have a depth of feeling, a sense of compassion and understanding that had been blocked in Bob.

As if feeling himself observed, Michael opened his eyes. ‘Hello,’ he said, his voice dipping somehow in the middle of the word, making it sound like a self-assured greeting. Claire felt herself blush again and this time it did embarrass her. She fell back on her pillow. Michael raised himself on one elbow, bent over her and kissed her. He lifted his head. ‘Go back to sleep, angel,’ he told Claire and tucked the sheet in on either side of her.

SEVENTEEN

When Claire opened her eyes again Michael was already dressed, his back to her as he loaded his pockets from the top of the bureau. He picked up the last two objects: the comb he tucked in the breast pocket of his jacket and the watch he strapped onto his left wrist. He was ready to leave!

She sat up suddenly and he must have seen her reflection in the mirror before him. She couldn’t see herself but she could see his face, and the way it changed from concentration on his task to an open smile. ‘Good morning,’ he said. Surely he likes me, Claire thought. His smile was so warm. He didn’t have to smile, she told herself.

Michael turned away from the mirror. As he came toward the bed he reached out for her hand, then kissed it quickly. ‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ he said. ‘I thought if I couldn’t sleep until noon, at least one of us could.’ He pushed some stray hair off his forehead. ‘As they say over here, “I’m knackered.”’

‘What’s that?’

‘Tired. Exhausted.’ He grinned.

Claire glanced at the clock beside the bed. ‘Oh, I won’t sleep very long,’ she told him.

He turned to go, giving her advice over his shoulder. ‘Well, change your plan. Sleep in. Then call down for breakfast, eat it in bed and then get your hair done.’ Claire was about to ask him if he thought she needed ‘doing’ when he turned back, but just to grab his raincoat and walk back to the door. ‘Gotta go or I’ll be late,’ he said. ‘I should be back before seven.’

She jumped out of bed, ran to the door and managed to get there before he was out. ‘Bye-bye,’ she said and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He smiled at her but she saw that he was already distracted, thinking of work.

‘Bye,’ he said and closed the door behind him.

She stood against the door and caught sight of herself in the mirror. From this distance she looked like a woman in a movie, or on TV. For a moment she wondered why the prepositions were different: you’re in one and on the other. She smiled at the irrelevance. Michael had been both on and in her. That was obvious. Her hair was disheveled but in a sensual, luxurious way. And behind her the set was equally sensual and luxurious. The beautiful woodwork, the fabric on the wall, the soft carpet, the chair in the corner; it all looked like a scene from someone else’s life, the kind of life she had not even imagined. But it is happening, Claire thought. It is happening to me. Because of him. Then, with a start she ran to the French doors and peeked out. If she opened them and stood just slightly outside, on the balcony but hidden by the curtain, she would be able to see Michael leave the hotel.

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