Behind His Eyes - Consequences (9 page)

Allowing his own grin to emerge, Tony asked, “Maybe we should go back into the water to cool off again?”

“That sounds nice,” she agreed, as she willingly placed her small hand in his, and followed him back into the pool.

By the time they’d returned to Claire’s suite and showered, Tony remembered his gift. The sight of her walking toward her side of the bed, wrapped in only a black silk robe almost pushed the conversation from his thoughts; however, he was interested in her reaction. He recognized that the best weapon in his arsenal that had worked to keep her compliant was her seclusion. Even with the vast expanse of his estate, she had limited personal interaction. Tony wasn’t sure if she had truly accepted her fate, or if she were just so lonely that she would settle for his presence. Either way, it was obvious that Claire craved interaction. Whenever he presented the opportunity, she could talk for hours. Sometimes she spoke about her family or her previous life, but mostly it was about books or movies or nothing at all. During those times, it was as if a day’s or a week’s worth of conversation had been backlogged and suddenly released. He didn’t mind. Actually, Tony learned a lot about Claire Nichols during those times.

As Claire was about to untie her robe, Tony pulled back the covers and patted the bed at his side. On most nights, Claire would lie down and silently wait for him to come to her. Her eyes darted to his, searching for the reason for his invitation. He smiled in response.

When she secured the silk, sat on the bed, and turned toward him, he purposely lowered his brow and shook his head. “No, Claire, the robe needs to go.” With as many times as he’d seen her nude, it amazed him that she still held an air of modesty. He liked to push her to the edge of her comfort zone. Oh, who was he kidding? He liked to take her
out
of that zone. Watching her silent battle of wills, as she fought with what he told her to do and what she wanted or felt was proper, was addicting. He could do it all day.

After removing the robe, she worked her way across the expanse of the large mattress. He reached out and brushed a damp lock of hair from her face. Even without makeup, her eyes were stunning. They spoke to him in ways her lips would not. He knew her question before she asked; nevertheless, he waited for her to speak. “Why do you want me over here?” He enjoyed her directness. God knew, his request could be anything.

“I wanted to talk.”

Her eyes lit as if someone had hit a switch. “Really?”

He smiled as he motioned for her to sit next to him. With her tucked against his shoulder, he allowed his fingertips to caress the softness of her shoulder.

Finally, she asked, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Your behavior.” Her muscles went rigid. Tony lowered his tenor and commanded, “Claire, look at me.” Her eyes slowly moved to his. Grinning at her obvious trepidation, he reassured. “Your behavior has been very good, and I believe you deserve a reward.”

“Tony, I—”

“I’m specifically referencing the University of Iowa’s Children’s Hospital event.”

Claire exhaled, her tension dissipated, and her body molded against the pillow. Tony marveled at how her warm, small frame fit perfectly under the crook of his arm. As she spoke, the sound of relief filled her voice. It seemed that as of late, she’d learned to control her words, especially when she was apprehensive or concerned; however, when she was comfortable, she spoke more freely. Surprisingly, he found that equally as rewarding. After all, with whom else did she have to talk? It was another of her needs that only he could fill. She rambled on. “I was so afraid. I was afraid that he’d get me to say something or misinterpret something that I said. I didn’t want to interrupt you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I—”

Shifting, she stopped talking and he felt the sensation of her warmth as their skin united. Nearing his lips toward hers, he reassured, “That was perfect.” Softness filled the emerald shining back at him. Though his tone was soft, a certain part of his body was becoming painfully hard. “I have rules, Claire. Sometimes I need to be assured of your dedication to your job. To do that, I’ve presented you with tests, and there will be more in the future. Sometimes you’ll pass those tests; sometimes you won’t. What happens if you don’t?”

“There will be consequences.”

He grinned. “And what happens if you pass?”

Her expression brightened. “There will be consequences—good ones.”

“Very good.” His fingertips slowly traced an invisible track from her ear, down her neck, over her shoulder, down the curve of her breast, to her stomach, and back up the other side. With each pass, the track dipped lower and lower. A hint of sultriness entered his authoritative tone. “When we’re out in public, your behavior is a reflection of me. How do I feel about public failure?”

Her hips lifted toward his touch, yet she obediently responded. “You … don’t like it.”

“I don’t.” He nibbled her neck. “If that would happen, I’d be disappointed.” He reached for her chin. “Claire, do you want to disappoint me?”

“No …” Her legs opened, accommodating, allowing, and inviting his actions.

Tony couldn’t continue this conversation much longer. “Open your eyes.” She obeyed. “You should know, that reporter wasn’t a planned test.” She nodded. “But if it had been, you would have passed. That’s why I believe you’ve earned the right to have more responsibilities and independence.” He had her full attention. “On your table is a wallet. Inside that wallet you’ll find your driver’s license and a credit card. They’re for you to use when I’m not around.”

The sudden shock at his gift was evident. “What do you mean, when you aren’t around?”

He chuckled. “No, Claire, I’m not setting you free; you have more debt to pay and you need my guidance. You’ve learned so much in this short time, and you have much more to learn. You won’t leave the grounds alone. If you aren’t with me, you’ll be with Eric, and even then, it’ll only be with my permission, but I need to travel to Europe for at least a week next month.” He grinned. “You’ve behaved well.” The track he’d been tracing suddenly extended over her buttocks and thigh. “Very well, and you’ve followed my instructions much better than I would’ve given you credit for a few months ago.” His hands roamed. Claire’s eyes closed and she willingly responded to his slightest inclination. “As a matter of fact …” His tone became playful. “… I believe that right now you would do as I say.”

Her lids opened, veiling her eyes with her lashes. “I would,” she purred.

Tony wondered if Claire knew how totally erotic her accommodating tone was to him. Was it real, or was she performing for her job? He didn’t know. He did know that he had needs and desires, and if she was in this accommodating of a mood, the instructions were on the tip of his tongue. Grinning, he said, “I think we should continue to test that theory, but first, I believe you’ve earned the ability to do some shopping for yourself.”

For a moment she seemed lost in thought.

“Claire?” Her gaze focused. “Let’s see how well you can do with instructions tonight.”

Everyone can be manipulated. It’s most successful by people who’re closest to you.

—Aleatha Romig,
Convicted

Tony looked up from his tablet and peered toward Claire as the car in which they rode wound around the twists and turns of the country roads near his estate. She was staring out the window, quieter than normal. Tony figured that the reason was his preoccupation with his work. Since they’d touched down from New York, he’d been busy with the onslaught of emails, and she knew better than to interrupt him when he was working. Sneaking another glance, he tried unsuccessfully to read her thoughts or decipher her mood. It was something that he didn’t particularly like; he owned her—all of her, including her thoughts. Most of the time, his acquisition was an open book. The fact that she could, at times, successfully hide or mask her true emotions irritated him. Usually, he could look at her and intuitively know exactly what she wanted or needed. Her eyes were the key. Sometimes they held a fire of confrontation even when her lips spoke obediently. It was quite the sight to witness, her battling with herself. Tony found her internal struggle very entertaining; however, what he currently witnessed was a newer phenomenon. Claire’s expression, including her eyes, was of complete contentment—no, perhaps, indifference. There was something about her body language that didn’t match.

Maybe he’d pushed too far during his celebration yesterday?
He remembered going back to his New York apartment and finding her asleep on his bed. He hadn’t intended for the afternoon and evening to go as it had, but one thing led to another. Besides, it didn’t matter. He had the right to push as hard and as far as he wanted. Claire had a job to do, a role to play, and her satisfaction with her job was inconsequential. She would do what was required of her, or she’d face the consequences. Perhaps that was what she was thinking about as they approached his estate—how her life was truly out of her hands, in every way. Oh, if only he could confirm that. It would please him to no end, to know that she had finally succumbed completely to his obvious authority.

Exhaling, he realized he’d lost interest in the information on the screen of his iPad. Closing his eyes, he defined the woman next to him. She was his acquisition,
his
prisoner
—a sacrificial lamb for the sins of her forefathers. She was his; he needn’t concern himself with worries over her emotional well-being. After all, her physical needs were more than being met. He’d spent a fortune to rid her of debt. She lived on a multi-million-dollar estate, and her clothes, as well as food, were amply supplied. She also had an active sex life. While pleasing her wasn’t his top concern, she obviously enjoyed herself quite a bit of the time.

Tony worked to push his thoughts away. He had a lot to accomplish before he left for Europe, and truly, Claire Nichols’ happiness, or lack thereof, needn’t clutter his radar. As they neared the estate, he remembered his last conversation with Catherine. He knew that she didn’t mean her comments the other morning. After all, she’d apologized for them. Glancing again at Claire, he questioned if his behavior yesterday afternoon and night was incited by that conversation. He tried to deny it, but Catherine’s concerns ate at him. Even now he was thinking about that conversation:

At a little after 3:30 AM, there was no need for formalities. Catherine didn’t knock or address him with any sort of conventionality as she opened the door to his office, secured her bathrobe, and began speaking, “Just because you can’t sleep, doesn’t mean that I don’t. Tell me why on earth you summoned me here at this ungodly hour. Besides, don’t you need to leave for New York this morning?”

“Good morning, to you, too. I will be leaving in a few hours, and I woke you because I’m taking Claire. You need to pack her things.”

Catherine shook her head. “You’re what? Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m taking Claire with me to New York, and I believe that perhaps it’s you who’s delusional. This early hour has taken your candidness to the extreme. Do you have a problem with my decision?”

Catherine sat on one of the chairs by his desk and shook her head from side to side. “First, you start sleeping in her suite. Then, you take her out on public appearances. Now, you’re going to take her to New York? They’re already speculating about the two of you in the press. Are you trying to put her in the spotlight?”

Tony shrugged his shoulders as a faint grin emerged.

Catherine cocked a brow. “Explain yourself. Tell me, are you falling for her?”

“No. How about you? Is she fulfilling some unmet motherly need?”

Catherine suddenly stood and the chair where she’d been sitting pushed against the wall. Her gray eyes glared in response. “Anton, that isn’t even possible. You know I don’t want to discuss that.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “I won’t make assumptions about your motives, if you don’t make assumptions about mine.”

“My motives. My motives!” Her volume increased. “I’ll tell you my motives. They’re to keep the two of us out of jail. I mean, seriously, if you’d stayed with the plan, the one we’ve had for a long time—if you’d stuck to that, there would be no witnesses, no connections, and we’d be safe. This—” she waved her hands toward the ceiling, “—was not our plan, and now you want to make her even more publicly visible?”

“My dear Catherine Marie …” he said, using her middle name was his way of calming her. She no longer used the name Marie, yet it reminded them both of his grandfather and, therefore, usually helped to soothe her temper. “… it’s all about appearances. I’ll admit that I’ve been spending most of my nights in her bed.” He leaned forward. “If you were in my shoes, or out of them, I believe you’d do the same. It has more benefits than sleeping alone. Besides, technically, it’s my bed, in my house, on my estate, and I can sleep anywhere I damn well please.”

“I believe you’re putting too much emphasis on those benefits. They’re affecting your thinking.”