Truth (27 page)

After the waiter left, Tony turned to Claire
and continuing in French and said, “I see you have broadened your
language portfolio.”

Also in French, she replied, “Yes, I decided
to capitalize on my gift of time.”

He grinned and shook his head ever so
slightly. Now in English, “Claire, how is your headache?”

“
I believe the wine is
helping.”

“
That’s good. Tell me
about San Antonio.”

Momentarily, she savored the robust thick
liquid that contained a hint of sweet floral flavor, and
contemplated her response. If his obvious knowledge of her
whereabouts was supposed to threaten or alarm her, she disappointed
him again. Meeting his gaze she smiled, “It was lovely. I’ve always
enjoyed sunshine and warmth.”

“
Yes, I can see your
lovely tan.”

Maybe, he could make her smile. Yes, there
was a twinge of concern about upsetting him. But even empty, they
were in a public place. She knew he wouldn’t do or say anything
harmful while in the sight of others. Truthfully, she felt a new
sense of empowerment. If it had been present before, she’d been too
close to see it. But now, Claire sensed her ability to affect him.
She could upset him and she could calm him. Few people held that
power. Perhaps, others did, but were not brave, or stupid, enough
to try.

Claire chose to use the
word
brave
.

When Claire entered her condo she heard
unexpected noises resonating from the den. Making her way down the
hall, she found Harry lounging on the small loveseat watching a
baseball game. The way his long legs hung off the end of the sofa
added to the comedy of the scene. Especially considering the large
comfortable couch and five times larger television in his condo.
“Is your television broken?”

He turned to speak. Her appearance
momentarily muted him. Eventually he managed to answer, “No, it’s
fine. I just thought you might need some moral support.”

“
Tell me you aren’t here
to be sure I came home.”

Harry stood and approached one of the most
beautiful women he’d ever seen. “Not like you may think. I really
wanted to be sure you were all right. I know I haven’t asked
directly. And I don’t need to know anything you don’t want to say,
but I get the feeling there were times in your past, your
ex-husband didn’t treat you well.” He tried to read her eyes; they
were changing into that stoic noncommittal stare. “Claire, stop the
pretense.”

She backed away from his sudden harsh tone.
“Excuse me? I haven’t said a word.”

“
No, you haven’t. But
you’re doing what you always do. You’re hiding behind some mask of
indifference.”

The night was
overwhelming. Her head
did
hurt. She’d just left dinner with Tony and was
suddenly in another confrontation. Claire honestly wasn’t up for
more conflict. Plus, his word:
mask.
That’s what she used to tell
herself to wear with Tony. Did she really wear one with Harry
too?

“
My head
is
aching. I’m sorry if
you find my expression unappealing. I appreciate your concern. I’m
home safe and sound. And, I did learn some valuable information.
Perhaps, I can share it with you tomorrow.”

He stepped closer and placed his hands on
her waist. She didn’t back away. Yet, she filled with guilt as her
thoughts centered on the man at the restaurant, not the one before
her.

When Harry touched her waist, his fingertips
landed on her warm skin. He hadn’t realized the back of her dress
was open. He leaned around her shoulder and took in the stunning
view. “You look lovely. I’m sure this will be on every magazine in
a day or two.”

“
No, it won’t.”

Surprised by the finality of her statement,
Harry asked, “How can you say that? We go to Starbucks and make the
internet. You looking this gorgeous will warrant the cover of every
national gossip magazine!” He continued to hold her gently around
the waist. Claire shook her head back and forth. Then half-jokingly
he whispered, “Apparently, I’ve not warranted such an amazing
dress.”

Her neck stiffened, “It’s
not new. I wore it in Texas. And I can assure you, you won’t see my
picture in this outfit or any other with Anthony Rawlings, at least
not until
he
is
ready to have it out there.”

“
What happened to your
plan for visibility?”

“
I was trumped. I should
have seen it coming, but I didn’t.”

“
What
happened?”

“
I promise to tell you all
about it, tomorrow. Right now, I want out of this dress and these
shoes.” Harry moved ever so slightly toward her warmth, until her
next words changed his plans. “If you’d please lock the door on
your way out, I’m going to bed.” She pulled away from his embrace
and turned toward her room.

Before she passed the door frame she heard
Harry’s voice. “I would really like the chance to understand you
better, the real you.”

Softly she said, “Good
night, Harry,” and proceeded to her room. Truthfully, his comment
regarding a
mask
caught her by surprise. She didn’t mean to hide her feelings,
well not usually. Nevertheless, tonight she couldn’t possibly look
into his soft blue eyes or feel his gentle touch and not think
about the man that challenged her sanity. It wasn’t fair to Harry,
be with him and think about Tony.

It wasn’t fair to Claire to have to make
decisions about her true feelings. She needed time; time to sort
out the mayhem that continued to be her life. Luckily, the medicine
cabinet in her attached bath contained a big bottle of
acetaminophen. Finally, she settled into her welcomingly cool and
pleasantly lonely, comfortable bed.

Ideologies separate us.
Dreams and anguish bring us together.
-
Eugene Ionesco

Chapter
17

Claire’s body dripped with perspiration; her
breasts pushed toward his solid muscular chest. She craved the
sensation of his tight muscles and soft chest hair against her
sensitive nipples. Inhaling deeply, the fragrance of cologne
reached the depth of her lungs, filling her senses and intensifying
her irrepressible desire. The tips of her fingers gripped the soft
Egyptian threaded sheets; her manicured fingernails threatening to
gouge the luxurious linens, potentially returning them to fibers,
in the heat of passion. Arching her back, Claire’s lips sought to
taste the stubbled neck, which with each exaggerated pulse of his
carotid artery, provided the amazing scent. It was so close.

Yet, as much as she tried,
as much as she pushed toward the warmth, she couldn’t reach her
target. Claire’s body ached to feel him, to have him, to take him
or more accurately, to be taken by him. It’d been so long, and she
could no longer suppress her desires. No one else’s opinion
mattered. Willingly and without regret she submitted to the
mounting passion. The train she rode couldn’t be stopped, even if
she wanted. But, she didn’t want to stop. Every fiber of her body
was in agreement. She wanted what only
he
could give. She
wanted...

Her eyes opened to darkness. It wasn’t the
darkness in her dream – not the dark eyes, which unpardonably
consumed her heart and soul. It was the darkness of night, of her
room, of her lonely, empty bed.

Claire looked at the clock
on the nearby table. Damn, it was only a little after two. Being
the third time she’d awoken since leaving Harry down the hall. She
decided it was the night that
never
ends
.
Lamb
Comps
sang in her head, a G rated
childhood memory running in loops, kindly drowning out the echoes
of XXX rated passion.

Freeing her bound legs from the tangled mess
of sheets and blankets, Claire relished in the cool fresh breeze
from her open window, detecting the slightest scent of the impeding
summer. She inhaled the promise of warmth, chlorine, and freshly
cut grass.

The night had been a never ending ride upon
a carrousel, up and down, around and around, the same scenes over
and over. One minute feeling cold, she’d ensconce her body with a
soft cocoon and drift to sleep. What seemed like moments later --
she’d awake, violently thrashing to free herself from the
sweltering coverings. Thank god, Amber was out of town. Claire
believed a few times, she’d actually cried-out audibly. She wasn’t
sure if her screams were from the ecstasy of her dreams or the pain
of her reality.

These weren’t mysterious nightmares which
left her wondering their meaning. No, these were vivid, lifelike
dreams that caused her to gasp with disappointment each time her
eyes opened to the cold reality. Although, the visions were no more
real than her memories of an Iowa summer or her lake shore, she
still laid panting for breath and clutching the helpless, innocent
pillow.

Claire knew her unconscious, carnal yearning
had once again forsaken her. It wasn’t the first time. Last time,
she gave in to its perfidious pleas. Last time, the object of her
desire was close, too close to fight. She hadn’t had the strength,
not to fight him and her rebellious longings.

Allowing her eyes to adjust to her
surroundings, she concentrated on the stucco ceiling illuminated
only by the light of the clock. The stupid, red numbers refused to
change, giving her more time to do nothing but think. Claire
focused on her breathing, willing her pulse to slow and her skin to
cool. She argued with her traitorous body. Surely with enough
reasoning, she could make it cooperate.

Claire reminded herself that her memory
banks held a litany of scenes involving Anthony Rawlings. She had
plenty to supersede the erotic episodes she was currently viewing
-- no, reliving. She knew the other memories existed. It’s just
she’d worked to compartmentalize them away. So when her eyes closed
and she remembered sharing a table with him, only hours before, the
lock on the negative part of their past remained secure.

Then again, during that dinner she had
plans. And once again, he thwarted her plans, utilizing his
unlimited resources and cunning psyche to conquer her desired
consequence. Appearing suave and debonair he’d managed to reduce
her well laid idea to rubble, while maintaining the perfect
smile.

That wasn’t completely
true. His veneer definitely cracked when she referred to him
as
Anton
. That
bombshell unquestionably permeated his facade. Claire still
couldn’t wrap her mind around this new revelation. Of course, she’d
assumed the box was from him. She was certain of the writing,
although the note wasn’t signed. Claire wished she still had the
note. But, she had the pictures. The writing on the back of those,
she was certain was his.

Again, thankful Amber wasn’t home, Claire
chose to forgo another all-consuming dream and get-up. She wanted
to review and work on their research.

With a warm cup of coffee in tow, Claire
made her way to one of the spare bedrooms. Turning on the light she
marveled at the magnitude of papers. Slowly, she was taking over
more and more of Amber’s space. Although she mentioned finding a
place of her own, she admittedly liked the company. And thus far,
Amber had been more than accommodating. It was Claire who suggested
moving the mountains of findings to the small bedroom. She felt bad
burying the dining room table with her stacks of research.

The queen-sized bed created the perfect
palate for Claire’s unique filing system. There were piles from one
end to the other. In a paperless world, she’d managed to personally
decimate a tree or two. The information was also saved on her
laptop. Nonetheless, holding the pages in her hands, gave Claire a
sense of reality. She knew from experience the internet could
contain false truths. However, when she held a story, a blurb from
an article, dates from public record, and pictures, in her hand –
it gave them validity. The small desk contained her laptop while a
dresser held the printer.

Claire moved toward the
bed and stacks of information. She wondered, could there be
something in their accumulated data she’d missed? She wasn’t the
only one gathering information. Harry pulled strings to get police
information containing invaluable reports unavailable to the
general public. Amber willingly spent hours surfing the
net
, back-dooring
company websites. She understood the business side of their
research much more than Claire.

That being said, the depth of Claire’s
business knowledge surprised them all. Apparently, the days she’d
spent in Tony’s office weren’t wasted. She remembered sitting hour
after hour while Tony worked, required to be at the ready, in case
her services were demanded. At the time she saw it as his display
of power and control over her time and body. Today, she grinned at
the new perspective: those wasted days were actually
educational.

How many people receive the opportunity, to
watch and listen to one of the country’s most successful
entrepreneurs at work? Although she usually spent those days
reading, she subconsciously listened. Perhaps, he felt she didn’t
care, or couldn’t understand. Claire opted for the answer: he
didn’t even consider eavesdropping. He was busy displaying his
power over her schedule, the rest of the world be damned.

She shuttered at the estimation of hours
spent in that office during the nearly two years on his estate.
After they were married, most of the time was voluntary.
Nevertheless, she’d listened to web-conferences, webinars, and
unnumbered telephone conversations. Hell, she listened to those in
cars and even on his plane. Her presence never inhibited his words.
Actually, she got good at recognizing the subtle changes in body
language as his words remained amicable.