He contemplated telling her how none of this would’ve happened if she’d just stayed in Iowa. The words were right there, wanting to come out; instead, he tenderly wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his embrace. Nearing his lips to her ear, he whispered, “Thank you for letting me.”
She didn’t respond verbally; the squeezing of his hand as she molded against his side was enough. Tony scanned each corner of the quiet garage as they walked toward the elevator. Until they recovered Claire’s laptop, there was no guarantee of safety. Tony was certain that Chester’s accomplice was the one sending the flowers. They’d accessed Claire’s information on her computer and now this person was setting them up. The question was what did he want? Was it money to keep the past buried? Would he try to finish what Chester started? Tony didn’t know, and that uncertainty was hell.
When the elevator doors opened to an empty lift, Tony let out his breath. Every face and every person was suspect. Tony refused to trust anyone until he had Claire home. Silence prevailed until they entered the presidential suite and Tony scanned the empty living room. Dark sky filled the large windows with lights from below. The view reminded him of the late hour. “Perhaps we should order some food?” he asked.
“I just want a shower and some sleep,” Claire replied, as she walked toward the bedroom.
Tony secured the locks on the suite door and watched Claire disappear into the bedroom. Although he’d love to help her with that shower, an overwhelming sense of relief caused him to stagger forward. It was the first time since Roach’s call that Tony had felt a semblance of control. Whether it was the helplessness of the thousands of miles of distance, the inability to visit her hospital room and know her condition, or the dead ends regarding the sender of the threatening flowers, the sense of impotence was stifling. For days and nights, every muscle and fiber of his being had been wound tight. No wonder he hadn’t been able to sleep.
Entering the bedroom, Tony heard the shower running and saw the light stream from the bathroom across the darkened carpet. Nearing the slightly ajar door, he fought the urge to open it wider when his shoes encountered something on the floor. It was Claire’s jeans—no, not just her jeans. On the floor near the bed were all of Claire’s clothes, lying in a pile, left behind, as if she’d evaporated into thin air. His heart clenched at the thought; he wouldn’t lose her again.
The warm steam infiltrated the coolness of the air-conditioned room as he reached for her jeans. Nestled within the denim was a pair of lace panties. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more a reflex; nonetheless, without thinking, Tony fingered the small bow and inhaled her scent.
The relief, which moments earlier had filled his tired body, vanished, and memories of the last terrible week came crashing down, buckling his knees, and forcing him to sit on the edge of the king-sized bed. His mind swirled with questions: What if Chester had succeeded? What if Claire had died? Roach was supposed to keep her safe! Tony swore he’d never entrust that job to anyone else, ever again. Why hadn’t Claire listened? He told her he wanted her with him in Iowa—only there could he ensure her safety. Relentlessly gripping the lace, his mind relived the phone calls: first with Roach and then with Baldwin.
Baldwin. Harrison Baldwin. Harry.
Tony looked down at the twisted lace in his hands and threw it to the ground with a sigh. If he’d held it any longer, he probably would have torn the panties to shreds. Pacing about the dark room, he listened to the repetitive beat of the water from the nearby shower as the floral scent of shampoo penetrated the air around him. If he went into the bathroom now he’d most definitely scare Claire away. Hell, the rage rushing through his veins frightened him; he couldn’t let her see it.
The cause of this bubbling fury wasn’t only Chester. It wasn’t just the threat of someone else, some accomplice. Those were beyond Claire’s control. After all, Chester went after Claire because of him. Just like the accident, the attack was his fault. They would find this accomplice, and in the meantime, Claire would be safe in Iowa.
What accelerated Tony’s heartbeat and dyed the room a sickening shade of crimson was in Claire’s control. It had been. Tony acknowledged that she didn’t ask to be Chester’s target; however, she had willingly accepted Harrison Baldwin’s advances.
The sound of silence overtook the room. Claire had turned off the shower. The sudden stillness pulled Tony from his internal tirade. Somewhere within his senses he acknowledged that his anger toward her wasn’t fair. After all, he divorced her. Nevertheless, as he stood silently in the dark bedroom waiting for the bathroom door to open, his mind filled with thoughts of her with him. His back straightened and muscles tensed as he prepared for the confrontation. If she entered the room now, it was meant to happen.
Claire didn’t emerge. The sound of water running in the sink came to his ears. Closing his eyes, images of her with Baldwin ran loops through his mind. Tony knew what it was like to be with Claire. In these new images, he replaced himself with Baldwin. The temperature of the room continued to rise.
How could she?
The realization hit him. What was he thinking? Was he seriously going to confront Claire in her condition? Not only was she healing from an assault, she was pregnant with his child. His child! Their child!
Abruptly, he turned toward the hall, exited the bedroom, and closed the door. In his heart of hearts, Tony knew the confrontation should never occur. It would not end well. If he wanted Claire in Iowa—willingly—he’d have to accept the past and move on. That was much more difficult to do than say. His whole life had been about the past. What had that given him? Nothing. An empty envelope. Now they had hope of a future—if he didn’t ruin it.
The cool air of the living room peeled back the layers of the red. Peering about the room, Tony’s gaze settled upon the wet bar. By his standards, it wasn’t impressive; nonetheless, it was present. He scanned the bottles and poured a small bottle of Maker’s Mark into a tumbler. After swallowing the contents in one gulp, he called room service for more.
How much did he drink? Tony wasn’t sure. How much time had passed? He didn’t know that either. He did know that he’d made himself a bed on the sofa, and sooner or later he’d willingly lie down or unwillingly pass out. Either way, he was prepared. Food would’ve been a good idea, but somewhere between thoughts of Chester and those of Baldwin, Tony’s appetite disappeared.
At one point he went back into the bedroom and found Claire sound asleep. She looked so peaceful. Her swollen cheek didn’t detract from her beauty. He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—wake her. What would he say if he did? Tony was pretty sure he’d used all his forgiveness credits. He didn’t want to risk saying or doing anything that would push her away forever.
With sleep creeping closer, the sound of footsteps shattered the stillness of the suite. Closing his eyes, Tony clenched his jaw and exhaled. Why did she have to wake? Didn’t Claire know the precarious situation she was about to enter? Didn’t she understand how dangerous he could be?
Her voice echoed through the quiet suite, momentarily stilling his internal monologue. “Tony? Are you all right?”
Praying that she was a figment of his imagination, maybe one of his daydreams, he stared toward the voice. Perhaps if he tried, he could make her image disappear. After all, she always disappeared in his dreams just before he reached her. If she weren’t real, Claire could sleep contently and never know the depths of his anguish. He scanned her frame. In their rush to leave her condominium, they hadn’t brought any of her packed things; she was wearing one of his t-shirts. It swallowed her petite body and hung to her knees, yet he could still see her curves and her nipples as they reacted to the cool air. Damn, he’d never again look at one of his shirts the same.
“No,” he finally answered.
“What’s this?” She motioned toward the sofa. “Why aren’t you in bed with me?”
All sense of inhibition disappeared with the last few fingers of bourbon. Claire was the one who started th
is conversation; she’d better be prepared to finish it. Throwing caution to the wind, Tony answered honestly, “I don’t trust myself.”
“I trust you—”
Interrupting, he explained, “I went in there and kissed you. You were sound asleep.” Her warm smile melted the ice that over the past few hours had begun to build within his chest. He went on, “I watched you, saw your expression and your bruises.” Her smile disappeared. With his impaired thinking he tried to remember what he’d just said. Oh, the bruises. Grasping her dangling hand, Tony scolded, “Stop that.”
“What?”
“You’re beautiful!”
She pulled her hand away. “I’ve seen me. Beautiful isn’t a word I’d use.”
Closing his eyes, Tony leaned back and rubbed his face. This wasn’t going the way he wanted. Blinking his eyes, he focused on Claire. She wasn’t a figment of his imagination; he’d just touched her hand. She was real and the bruises were real. Seeing them was like that damn knife again. It was being plunged deep into his heart. If only he’d made her stay in Iowa. This was entirely his fault. Like the ripping of a Band-Aid from his skin, Tony decided he needed to see the extent of her injuries. It would be better to just twist the damn knife and get it over with. “Take off my t-shirt.”
“Excuse me?”
Although indignation rippled from her tone, Tony’s focus was on her injuries. He stood and repeated, “Take off my shirt.”
“Tony, I didn’t bring any night clothes… I didn’t think you’d—”
He should’ve heard her impending concern, but he didn’t. “I don’t give a damn about the shirt. I want to see you.”
“See me?”
“I can see your face and your legs. I want to see what that bastard did to you.”
The touch of her hands blurred his objective. She sounded so strong. “I’m fine, but I want you to come to bed—with me.”
Tony tried to make her understand. “I planned to call for dinner; instead, I found the bar. It’s been a rather stressful few days.” When she moved toward him, he grasped her shoulders. “I should never have let you return to California.” Shaking his head, he released her, and stepped backward. No, he needed to do this, needed to see. Straightening his stance, he commanded, “I believe I’ve said this more than once. Take off the damn t-shirt.”
Claire reached for the hem and lifted the white shirt over her head. It was worse than he’d imagined. Her side was a purplish blue, and it extended from below her breast to her pelvic bone. She was wearing the panties he’d found with her clothes. Of course, she didn’t carry an extra pair in her purse. As his eyes scanned her form, it finally registered. This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about seeing what Chester had done. It was about Claire. At this moment she was trembling. Was it the air conditioning or was it—?
Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Tony suddenly felt ill. It was him! She was trembling because of him. He fell to his knees and gently clutched Claire’s hips. Beyond the bruises was the woman he’d hurt too many times. Beyond the bruises was his child. Wanting to make the trembling stop, he kissed her stomach and inhaled her clean warm scent. Tenderly, he brushed his lips over her wounds as his hands tightly held to her firm behind. While he continued to caress her skin, she reached for his head and wove her fingers through his hair. Beyond the sounds of their breathing, he heard her pleading voice, “Please, Tony, please, can we go to bed?”
He didn’t stop—he couldn’t. He couldn’t take away her pain, but he could try to make it better. Her grip of his hair tightened just before her knees buckled and she knelt before him. As he fought to focus, the vision before him filled with emerald green. The knife no longer twisted. Hell, the world no longer turned. Tony could die as long as the last thing he saw was her eyes.
“You’re mine.” He hadn’t planned on staking his claim, but once the words were out, he didn’t try to retract them.
“Tony, bed… please?”
“I’m trying so hard. You have no idea of the restraint I’m enlisting.” His thoughts went back to Baldwin. Had the two of them ever been like this? He clenched his teeth, closed his eyes, and fought to keep the red at bay. “Yet all I can think about are his hands on you.”
“Tony, I’m fine. I’m all right. I’m with you.”
“But you weren’t. You were with him.”
“He just wanted your money—”
Pulling her closer, his voice hardened, and he bathed her cheeks in warm, whiskey-scented breath. “I’m not talking about Chester!”
There, he’d said it. The truth was out. Without doubt, he was a selfish bastard, and the idea of Claire being with anyone else filled him with palpable anguish. Before Tony could look away, Claire’s hands framed his face.
Her voice was a melody, contrasting the tirade in his head. “I wasn’t with you. We weren’t together.”
The sound that came from his throat was unintentional. Truthfully, he’d tried to remain silent, yet Claire’s words didn’t make sense. They’d always been together.
She continued, “But now…” Her lips touched his. “Now, I want to be. Please, Tony.”
Thoughts weren’t forming with any kind of reasoning. The only thing Tony knew, with one hundred percent certainty, was that he wanted her. He wanted her more than he wanted air. If she wanted that too, all walls were down. Could she handle it? Could she handle him—the real him? It was now or never. No more pretenses, no holding back. This would be the real him, raw and uncensored. Claire would either run for her life or be his for eternity. It was too late to turn back.
As Tony’s fingers seized her loose, damp hair, his mind told him to be gentle; however, gentle fell off of Tony’s radar many shots ago. He couldn’t turn down his desire if he wanted, and at this moment, he didn’t want to. Pulling her head back, he exposed her slender neck. With little concern for his ferocity, his lips attacked the soft skin as a shocked moan escaped her lips. She’d asked for this, but was she ready? He needed to know. “Are you sure?”
He didn’t pause or wait for her answer; instead, with one hand still entangled in her long, dark hair and the other pulling her closer, he continued to claim the woman before him.
Finally, her words rose above the internal mayhem. “I am.”
All indecision was gone. The world was no longer red, yet it wasn’t clear. Tony wasn’t thinking anything through… everything was visceral and primal. Claire belonged to him.
Yes, she could be her own woman. It was true: Tony liked her independent spirit. However, in the grand scheme, that was irrelevant. All that mattered was that she was his—wholly and completely. As Tony gave in to his desires, he knew one of two things would occur. When the night was done, Claire would either be his like never before, or she’d leave him behind and life would cease to exist. Stopping now wasn’t an option. Continuing his unrelenting claim, he held her tighter pulling her against his chest. Their hearts beat together as he wildly repossessed everything before him. His words come out like a growl, “You are mine.”
When he released her hair, Claire’s lips touched his neck and her hands caressed his shoulders. He couldn’t contain the rumble from the back of his throat as he tried to think, tried to reason. Claire wasn’t fighting—she was responding. Hell, she wasn’t just responding. She was seducing him. Did she truly know what he was offering?
It was love and it was forever.
Tony loved Claire more than he could articulate; however, they both knew, his love wasn’t all wine and roses. He was damaged. Chalk it up to a screwed-up childhood, blame it on tragedies—the cause was irrelevant. Tony was a sick son-of-a-bitch who had certain requirements. Claire needed to decide if she was willing to submit to his requirements and follow his rules. This was her last out, the last chance. If she didn’t run now, he would never let her go.
Tugging once again on her hair, she gasped as he tipped her head until their eyes met. The gaze before him was stunning. In those eyes, he’d seen fear and love. Tonight, he saw passion
, a heat that threatened any remnants of restraint he might still possess.
Laying it all on the table, he demanded, “Say it!”
Behind the passion and fire, her confusion surfaced. Tony explained, “Say you’re mine and nobody else’s.”
Claire’s confusion melted into green pools of desire. Her voice resonated above the sound of their breathing and the frantic beating of their hearts. “Yes, Tony, you are mine and nobody else’s.”
He stared. What did she just say? You are mine and nobody else’s.
Tony tried to focus. It wasn’t what he wanted; it wasn’t what he expected, yet it was perfect. Claire was more than he deserved and a hell of a lot stronger than he’d ever known. No other woman could or would accept him. No one ever had. Not that he’d tried. The realization struck him with a tremendous force. Claire Nichols not only knew what she was getting herself into, but she wanted it. She wanted him.
Claire’s acceptance fueled Tony’s new strength and sobered his thoughts. His words began as a whisper and rose in volume. “Yes… mighty fine and sexy as hell.” Claiming her lips, he added, “And mine!”
He stood, seized Claire’s wrist, and pulled her up toward the bedroom. If they were taking this re-acquisition to the next level, they weren’t doing it on a hotel room floor. They were doing it right. He laid her upon the bed, pausing only for a moment to take in her nearly naked form. The bruises no longer registered. Within seconds, his shirt was gone and his body covered hers. The weight of his chest flattened her breasts, as he relished the warmth of her soft skin. She wasn’t protesting and he was beyond the ability to stop. Securing her hands above her head, he forcibly seized her mouth as their tongues united.