Truth - Romig Aleatha - Страница 130

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With the recent turn of events, Tony’s estate seemed much safer than California, if only temporarily. Claire packed while Tony made calls. His efforts were rewarded as he learned: the flowers and plant came from two separate florists. One was ordered over the telephone, the other over the internet. The caller ordering the flowers claimed to be Mrs. Rawls and used a purchased credit card, the kind available at any retailer across the country. The internet order appeared to be made by Claire herself; all the information entered into the order form was hers. It was also purchased with the same type of credit card, but from a different retailer. Tony also had people working to track the origin of the credit cards and someone checking the fingerprint of the computer placing the internet order.

Claire didn’t understand it all, but if it led Tony to the person sending the threatening gifts, she was all for it.

Although Tony repeatedly told Claire she didn’t need any of her clothes or anything that wasn’t of emotional value, she packed as much as her luggage would hold. Her belongings were the things she’d accumulated on her own; everything from her lingerie to the flip-flops she wore on the beach with Courtney meant something. Securing her jewelry in a small velvet bag she fingered her new diamond stud earrings. Admittedly, they weren’t as large as the ones she sold. But, nevertheless, they were hers, bought by her. She didn’t want to part with them.

Claire struggled with her research. Even though her laptop was still missing, she had hard copies of everything. Did she want to take all of that to Tony’s? Claire decided she should. She didn’t know anymore who to believe or who to trust. What if someone used her information to hurt Tony? It was safer with her.

By the time Claire finished packing, it was late and she was tired.

Tony conceded, “We can spend the night in Palo Alto at my hotel. Tomorrow we’ll come back for your things and leave for Iowa.” Claire agreed. There was no need for debate. Every time she walked into the living room, in her mind, she saw Patrick Chester.

As she settled into the passenger seat of his rental car, exhaustion hit. By the time they arrived at the Marriott where he’d rented the Presidential Suite, Claire was sound asleep. Tony’s words woke her gently as he opened the door and kissed her cheek, “I’d gladly carry you to my suite, but I’m afraid we’d attract more attention than either of us wants.”

Despite the stress of the day and of the past few days, his sensitive smile and tender tone made her anxious expression morph into a smile. “I’m pretty sure I can walk.” She stood sorely and melted against his chest. “I could do this alone, but I’m so thankful I don’t have to.” She brushed her lips against his. “Thank you.”

When they reached the suite, Claire looked around at the modern furnishings and beautiful view. The living room had lovely glass doors leading to a balcony, an archway leading to a dining room, and a doorway she assumed lead to a bedroom.

Tony offered, “Perhaps we should order some food?”

“I just want a shower and some sleep,” Claire said as she walked toward the bedroom.

The warm water assaulted her bruised skin and at the same time felt wonderfully refreshing. She towel dried and combed her hair and brushed her teeth (if they could share a bed and a baby, why not a toothbrush?). She turned off the lights and settled into the large king sized bed wearing one of Tony’s t-shirts. She’d seen her reflection in the bathroom mirror and didn’t want Tony to see the large bruises on her ribs. Although sleep loomed, she yearned to feel his embrace. The last few days left her anxious and Tony’s presence reassured her. Closing her eyes, she realized how safe she felt near him. Thinking about the stories she’d recently recounted to Meredith, Claire knew that hadn’t always been the case, but now she longed for his presence.

As she was about to drift away, she heard a knock at the door. Claire assumed Tony must have ordered dinner. She rolled over, wincing from her sore ribs, cradled a pillow, and drifted away.

Sometime later, Claire woke with a start. She’d been dreaming, no, not dreaming – it was a nightmare: darkness, Chester, gun shots... She reached for Tony, but his side of the bed was cool.

His t-shirt fell to her thighs as she quietly walked toward the living room. Her bare feet silently made their way down the hall. In the near darkness she saw the back of Tony’s head, bobbing in silence. The sofa where he sat was made up like a bed, complete with sheets, blankets, and pillows.

Claire walked around the sofa and met his gaze, “Tony? Are you all right?”

She saw the amber liquid in his glass, his vacant expression, and smelled the bourbon in the air. After his dark eyes looked her up and down, he finally replied, “No.”

“What’s this?” She motioned toward the sofa. “Why aren’t you in bed with me?”

“I don’t trust myself.”

Claire tilted her head sideways, “I trust you...”

His stare looked through her, “I went in there and kissed you. You were sound asleep.” Claire smiled, he continued, “I watched you, saw your expression and your bruises.” Claire flinched; she didn’t like her appearance. He grasped her dangling hand. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“You’re beautiful!”

She pulled her hand away, “I’ve seen me. Beautiful isn’t a word I’d use.”

Tony leaned back and rubbed his face. With a new focus, he demanded, “Take off my t-shirt.”

Claire stood taller. Her chin rose indignantly. “Excuse me?”

He stood. His body towered over her as his voice hardened, “Take off my shirt.”

“Tony, I didn’t bring any night clothes... I didn’t think you’d ...”

“I don’t give a damn about the shirt. I want to see you.”

Claire stammered. It’d been a while since she’d experienced this domineering personality. “See me?”

“I can see your face and your legs... I want to see what that bastard did to you.”

She reached for his hand and kept her voice steady, “I’m fine, but I want you to come to bed...with me.”

His stoic expression remained, “I planned to call for dinner. Instead, I found the bar. It’s been a rather stressful few days.” Claire inched closer. His sudden grasp on her shoulders stopped her progress. “I should never have let you return to California.” Shaking his head, he released her, and stepped backward. In a tone she remembered, he commanded, “I believe I’ve said this more than once... take off the damn t-shirt.”

Her innate training prevailed; disobeying wasn’t an option. She reached for the hem. Trembling, she lifted the cotton above her head and exposed her battered body, covered only by a pair of flesh-colored lace panties.

His hardened expression continued in silence... until her trembling registered. Suddenly, he fell to his knees and gently clutched her hips. His lips gently brushed her stomach and tenderly caressed her battered mid-section. The domineering voice disappeared; his actions spoke of love and possession. Holding his head for support, her fingers wove through his hair. Claire whispered, “Please, Tony, please, can we go to bed?”

His lips continued to caress her bruised body. Each kiss electrified her skin, melting her insides until her legs turned to jelly. When her knees buckled, she knelt before him and their eyes met.

“You’re mine.” His words weren’t debatable. He wasn’t asking.

“Tony, bed... please?”

“I’m trying so hard. You have no idea the restraint I’m enlisting...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...”

Tony clutched her frame. His dark eyes burned with desire and despair. “I’m not talking about Chester.”

Claire froze. Her heart pounded in her chest. Somewhere deep, she knew the scene in the hospital went too well. She framed Tony’s face and watched as he searched her emerald eyes. With all her might, she tried to keep them subdued. “I wasn’t with you,” she whispered. “We weren’t together.”

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