"I was initially, but now I think you're responsible."
It was his turn to respond with indignation. "Claire, why would I have someone break into your condo?"
"I don't know, but whoever it was took my laptop. The only secret information on there is about you." Claire continued to eat.
Tony sat his cup of coffee on the table. "Me?"
"Yes, I've been trying to reconstruct the information from the box I received. I've spent a lot of time looking up information about your grandfather and father. It's on my laptop." She spoke as though she'd just told him that she had recipes on her hard drive, not secrets he'd worked diligently to keep buried.
"I have nothing to do with this break-in," Tony said. "I do, however, think you should consider staying here. It is significantly safer."
"Well, Tony, I'm being honest with you. That laptop contains information regarding Nathaniel and Samuel Rawls. If you aren't the person responsible for its disappearance, then perhaps you'd like to learn who has it."
"I'll do my best. This is getting out of hand."
"Well, back to my original question: do you have a car I can take into town for coffee with Sue? I need to call her."
First, her damn detective work and now her brazen pursuit of a subject he didn't want to broach. Tony leaned forward. "Claire, are you asking? I'm having difficulty with your wording."
"Are we in the presence of others?" She dramatically turned from her right to her left and lowered her tone. "No, I'm not asking permission to go into town, only permission to use one of your cars. I would hate to be accused of stealing."
He pressed his lips together. "Claire, that's ridiculous, I'd never accuse you of stealing-"
"No, just attempted murder," she interrupted. "I'd rather avoid repeating that history."
The muscles in his neck tightened. "Claire..."
She didn't miss a beat. "Tony, it happened. I told you that I'm not going back. I'm not going to a time and place of unapproachable subjects or closed conversations. If you want this charade to continue, and if it has a snowball's chance in hell of being something more, you'll be open and honest."
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. "Please, by all means, take whichever car you'd like. If you plan on driving yourself, I recommend you avoid the limousine and the Lexus LFA." He watched as she slowly shook her head. "Not because of their price, I don't give a damn about that; however, they require a little more behind-the-wheel experience."
"Thank you, I hardly want to drive a limousine by myself or your Batmobile-a simple car will do."
"Batmobile?" His brows arched. Claire giggled and the tension eased from his shoulders. Giving her everything she rightfully deserved and desired wouldn't be easy. It would be a continued battle, but somehow they'd stopped this conversation from becoming a total disaster.
"That was what I thought it looked like when I first saw it."
"Hmmm," he mused. "If my memory serves me right, that would make you Catwoman, and if you're willing to try on the suit," he said slyly, raising his brow, "then I'll wear a cape?"
Claire shook her head. "I will take that as a yes, on borrowing a car?"
Tony shrugged. "Should I call my personal shopper for some pointed ears?"
Her expression turned quizzical. "Only if Batman wore pointed ears."
His laugh reverberated over the expanse of their back yard.
During Tony's unpleasant conversation with Mr. George, he glanced at the clock. The wedding wasn't until 5:30 PM and it wasn't even noon. Nevertheless, he had no idea when Claire would return. After he'd told Catherine where she'd gone, Catherine recommended sending Eric to watch her and be sure of her return. Tony refused. Obviously, Claire would recognize Eric and know who sent him. No. Tony decided he would do what they'd promised: he would trust in her return.
Mr. George's broken phrases came through Tony's phone. "I'm sorry." "She was supposed to let me know." "I've tried."
Tony was done with the conversation. "As you know, my original directive was two days ago. I wanted an answer yesterday. Your incompetence is..." Tony's speech stalled. A knock and simultaneous opening of his office door caused him to turn. He expected to see Catherine and glared at the interruption. That quickly changed to shock, when he saw that Claire was the one who'd entered. There was a time when she was not allowed to enter his office without his permission. Obviously, Claire was now playing by her own rules. He stifled the chuckle that threatened Mr. George's verbal lashing. Unable to contain the grin, Tony kept his gaze fixed on his ex-wife and continued his tirade. "It seems as though another pressing matter has come to my attention. We will postpone this conversation. Mr. George, I expect to hear from you Monday morning. Do not disappoint me." Tony disconnected the line.
Claire smiled as he walked around his desk. With each step, he assessed the woman before him. Having her return-as she'd said she would-propelled his senses to an unexpected high.
"That should be your tagline." Claire said as he stopped mere inches away.
"Oh, but you are so right. I don't like being disappointed."
"I remember that about you." She hesitated. He said a silent prayer that Claire would lean forward-press toward him-and he'd feel her warmth against his chest. Maintaining their distance, Claire continued, "Your car has been returned in one piece, scarcely a scratch."
The tips of his lips twitched, and his eyebrow cocked. "A scratch?"
Claire's grin broadened. "Wasn't that your concern, that I might scratch it?"
Tony took the initiative and closed the gap. Was it her erratic heartbeat that he felt or his own? "I don't recall being concerned with a scratch. The whole damn car can be replaced. I believe my concern was with your safe return." His willpower was suddenly spent. Wanting Claire closer, he wrapped his arm around the small of her back and pulled her against him as he cupped her chin, maintaining his gaze of her sparkling emerald eyes.
Her words slowed with breathy expectation. "I have returned."
"You, my dear, are continually teaching me new things."
"What, pray tell, have I taught you?"
His lips tenderly brushed hers. "I believe I mentioned before that I liked the black panties. The other night, the light blue satin bra strap monopolized my thoughts. Every time I looked at you, I wondered if it was part of a matching set." Claire nodded, their noses brushing one another's with the movement. "And just now, I realized how much more satisfying it is to have you bring yourself home, freely, willingly, than to know you have been driven-perhaps reluctantly."
"It seems..." Claire giggled. "...you can teach an old dog new tricks."
His hearty laugh rumbled from his chest.
She went on, "And as I recall, you've taught me quite a few things, too."
"I had been thinking about the pool, but I'm up for review if you're willing?" By Claire's expression, she knew he was speaking literally. No other woman in the world could take him from angst on the phone to the edge of ecstasy in such a short time. Would she allow it?
Her hands reached up to his hair as her eyes opened wide. He pulled her closer, pressing his hips to hers and flattening her growing breasts. They fit together perfectly. When their lips connected, the room around them disappeared. Tony no longer cared about Mr. George or Sophia. Rawlings Industries could crash and his estate could burn. Tony didn't care. What he wanted was in his arms, after returning completely on her own. He needed more. When she parted her lips, his tongue plunged deeper, tasting her sweetness and feeling her warmth.
He bent down, touching his nose to hers and asked, "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure."
Tony didn't ask again as he bent slightly and scooped Claire into his arms. He carried her away from the office, past the grand staircase, and down the corridor to his room. With each step, he fantasized about the woman in his arms. Once they arrived, he laid Claire on his bed and slowly, reverently, began to remove her clothes. With each item, their eyes met. The sultry gaze he saw was one that he hoped he was mirroring. Today, she wore pink underwear, matching the color of her top. He slowly removed the lace bra, freeing her beautiful breasts. There was no doubt they were growing, and by the way her nipples hardened and her back arched, they were ultrasensitive to his touch. As he suckled the pink nubs and she called out his name, Tony's slacks grew uncomfortably tight. The small bow below her bellybutton again reminded him of a present-never had anything been wrapped so beautifully or presented so perfectly.
He wanted to reconnect in a way like never before. He longed to feel her hugging him, surrounding him, and responding to him, but before they made love, he needed to be confident that she was with him willingly. As he was about to ask again, Claire called out, removing all doubt and breaking all barriers. "Oh, please, Tony, I need you."
Midday turned to early afternoon as they reached new heights and took their reunification to the next level. With his sheet covering them and the sun streaming through the uncovered window, Claire nestled her head on his shoulder and asked, "Do you think we could have lunch at the pool and enjoy some of this day outside?"
He turned to her with a grin. Could her preoccupation with food also include an appetite for sex? Both seemed somewhat insatiable, not that he was complaining. With a sultry tone, he replied, "I'd like to stay here forever, but I like the idea of getting you more sun."
Her lips found his neck and began to roam, and between suckles, she said, "At this second, I wouldn't argue with staying here." A low growl rumbled from his throat as she continued, "But I'm hungry, and that sky looks beautiful."
He rolled her onto her back. As her long, brown hair fanned the pillow, he studied her glowing pink cheeks and swollen red lips. "Not as beautiful as you look this moment." He nuzzled her collar bone and moved south.
"Mr. Rawlings, I believe we were discussing lunch?"
It amused him how she continually worked food into the conversation. With a sigh, he stopped his descent, allowing her to sit up. It was then she stammered, "T-Tony, h-how long have you had that there?"
He followed her astonished gaze. It was her wedding portrait. He hadn't even considered its presence when he brought her to his room. Sheepishly, he replied, "Ever since you left."
"But why?"
Tony took her hands and cupped them in his own. "You said no more closed conversations. I'm not closing it, but understand, I can't answer you-I don't know. Despite being angry with you, I do know that I've spent the last year and a half staring at you every night before I went to sleep." Before she could respond, Tony gently kissed her lips and added, "For now, will you please let that be enough of an answer?"
With tears glistening in her stunning eyes, Claire nodded.
Where we love is home-home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
-Oliver Wendell Holmes Tony was pleased that Courtney had facilitated the get-together at Sue and Tim's house. It truly helped to ease Claire's anxiety at being with everyone. The atmosphere at the wedding and reception was festive and friendly. It seemed as though all of the discomfort of Thursday night was a distant memory. From the ceremony, where Claire held tightly to his hand, to the reception where they moved fluidly as one across the dance floor, Tony enjoyed every minute.
Tony had promised Courtney increased security and delivered. No one advertently singled Tony and Claire out of the crowd, yet from time to time from the corner of his eye, Tony saw a cell phone or two pointed their direction. He didn't mind-the way he saw it, maybe Baldwin would see the pictures and realize that what he and Claire were experiencing wasn't purely for show. Even Claire admitted as much while they danced.
As the guests began to thin out, Tony suggested they head back to the estate. Although she looked disappointed to leave their friends, Claire didn't argue. She truly had the reticent and genteel in the presence of others down pat. Tony hoped that they'd all be together again soon. The day-no, the entire weekend-had exceeded his expectations. The only flaw that ate away at him was the break-in at Claire's condominium.
During the reception, Tony had received an email: To: Anthony Rawlings From: Phillip Roach Subject: Ms. Nichols Date: June 8, 2013 I've confirmed with security at Ms. Nichols' condominium: her unit was indeed breached. It wasn't until the perpetrator was leaving her unit that security devices indicated a violation. Until Ms. Nichols can confirm that the only item taken was her laptop, it is safe to assume, since her room was the only one disturbed, she was the intended target.
According to the records of my indicators, the front door to her condo was opened Friday, June 7, at 20:15. The violation was noted when the door once again opened at 20:27. Security cameras did not show a clear picture of the person in question. It appears to be a man who's bald or balding. I will increase my surveillance and report any suspicious activity.
Please confirm the time and place of Ms. Nichols' arrival. I know her reservations have been changed. I will look for the new times and places.
Thank you.
Tony didn't mention it during the festivities, but once they were alone in the car, he wanted to know more about the contents of her computer. "Have you spoken to anyone from Palo Alto lately?"
"I haven't even looked at my phone since we left for the wedding. Why? Has something else happened?"
"Not to my knowledge; however, my source tells me that the intruder to your unit was not interrupted. His only intention was to access your room and take your laptop."
Tony watched from his peripheral vision as Claire contemplated his words. Finally, she asked, "Why would anyone want my laptop?"
"What was on it?"
"I don't know... my bank accounts, my travel itinerary..."
Tony was immediately glad he'd cancelled her flight. He didn't want this intruder knowing Claire's plans. He refocused as she continued. "...information about your past, and a rough draft from Meredith about her boo-articles."
He gripped the steering wheel trying to temper his tone. "I thought this stupid Meredith Banks thing was over?"
"It is," she replied. "With the money you gave me to give her, she'll keep it quiet, unless, as you and I agreed, something happens to me or someone I care about."
He tried to process the contents. "What do you have regarding my past?"
Fidgeting against the leather seat, she answered, "Seriously, I've spent so much time on this; it's hard to condense it into an elevator pitch."
"Give it a try," his tone dripped with sarcasm. "I'm sure you can do it."
Claire inhaled. "Fine. I confirmed Nathaniel and Sharron Rawls had a son named Samuel. He married a woman named Amanda; they had a son named Anton, born February 12, 1965-the same day as you. That, plus a picture in Newsweek showing your grandfather's home confirmed to me that you were indeed Anton."
"Well, you know that's true. Why are you continuing this research?"
"I really don't want to discuss this... please?"
"Despite your suspicions, I had nothing to do with the break-in. I need to know what the perpetrator now knows."
"My computer is password-protected. No one besides me can access it."
He didn't speak, but looked at her, questioning her secure laptop. He assumed it was password protected with PASSWORD123 or her birthdate-some fail-safe, impenetrable barrier.
Eventually, she said, "Obviously you disagree. If someone is able to access my information, they'd see documents and reports from your parents' death."
No longer was peripheral vision enough; Tony turned to stare incredulously at his ex-wife. "What possible business of yours is my parents' death?"
"I suppose that before, it was morbid curiosity. I wanted to know if you were truly capable of hurting your own parents. Now, however..." She hesitated and sat straighter, defiantly. "...now, it is very much my business. I need to know about my child's family history."
He exhaled, releasing some of the stress upon the leather wheel. "I suppose that's true." He paused. "I didn't harm my parents."
Claire reached out and covered Tony's hand, a simple touch that reassured him more than words. "I know that now. I've known for a while. It wasn't you-it was the woman in a blue Honda."
His newfound calm disappeared. Before he could process, Claire continued. "Whoever that woman is, you've been protecting her for years."
"Protecting her?"
"Yes, whoever she is, you've kept her secret secure."
Tony struggled with Claire's knowledge. How could she have learned about Catherine's car? That information, as well as eyewitness accounts, had been disposed of years ago. Could he now tell her the truth? After all, Catherine had opened his secret world when she mailed that damn box. Should he return the favor? First and foremost, he needed to get her laptop back and discover who took it. "So all of this is on your laptop?"
Claire nodded. "Yes."
He contemplated her return flight. No doubt she'd be upset that he'd cancelled her flight; perhaps he could make her think it was her idea. "I want you to seriously reconsider your return to California. The estate is much safer and more secure than a condominium that has already been broken into."
Her petite hand once again made contact. Reaching for his knee, she explained, "I've had a wonderful time. Please don't ruin it. Let's just take all of this one day at a time? I'd like to think about tonight now and tomorrow later."
Tony didn't argue. It wouldn't matter; she no longer had a seat on the commercial flight. When they reached the estate, Tony opened Claire's door and took her hand. She'd said she wanted to concentrate on tonight. So did he. Even without the airline ticket, Tony doubted he'd be able to convince her to stay an extra night, week, or month-that left tonight. Gazing into her emerald eyes, he touched his lips to the top of the hand resting within his. Silently, they walked hand in hand into the house. At the base of the grand staircase, Tony whispered, "I suppose this is good-night?"
She stretched her toes allowing her lips to linger on his. When she pulled away, she suckled his neck, just above his perfectly starched collar. Tony's grasp of her small waist tightened as he pulled her hips toward his and a low groan escaped his clenched teeth. "That's up to you," Claire purred. "I don't plan on using that lock."
With their fingers entwined, they made their way toward her suite. He wanted what was beyond that door, what they'd done in that room hundreds of times. However, if he didn't tell her about the ticket, was that lying? He began to confess, "There's more for us to discuss-"
Claire's finger reached out and covered his mouth. He pressed his lips together and watched as desire and determination swirled before him, creating a beautiful, blazing emerald fire. It wasn't sparked by anger, but yearning. He'd seen it before and knew it was being reciprocated in his gaze. Slowly, below her touch, the tips of his lips moved upward. She whispered, "Tonight is about us, noncharade, nonperformance. If you want something different, go downstairs."
She wanted control; he'd allow some. They wouldn't discuss her return flight, her computer, or his history. Instead, they'd continue their reunification within the walls of their shared history. It was a room that contained memories-both good and bad-of domination and consent, and of lust and love.