Behind His Eyes: Truth
Page 44
“No, Claire, I haven’t forgotten your abilities. I just need confirmation that we’re on the same page as we enter the Bronsons’ home.”
“Tell me the number, and I’ll turn right to it.”
With the car now stopped along the shoulder of the country road, Tony reached for Claire’s chin and turned her glaring green eyes toward him. In the split second before he spoke, he remembered the envelope. Clenching his jaw, he searched desperately for his calmest tone. The end result slowed his words. “I believe I’m tiring of the sexy, bold, and cheeky.”
“Then stop this charade.”
He maintained his hold and reminded himself again. Exhaling, he asked, “May I please have reticent and genteel while in the presence of others?”
The green fire ebbed. With a faux Georgia accent, she responded, “Why, Mr. Rawlings, your wish is my command.”
As she mocked him with her fluttering lashes, his heart raced, and the temperature inside the car rose exponentially, gluing Tony’s hand to her chin. He couldn’t let go and release that green stare if he tried. Unconsciously, he leaned toward her and commanded, “Kiss me.”
He hadn’t meant to say it with such need, but it was true. He needed a release, and lashing out wouldn’t get him the results he desired. Thankfully, she didn’t protest. Obediently, her eyes closed, lips parted, and their mouths united. Fire ignited as their hands sought what only the other possessed. If it weren’t for the damn seatbelts, Tony would have forgotten that they were on the side of the road, only a mile from his vice president’s home. When reality struck, he leaned back and confessed, “If we weren’t expected at the Bronsons’ any minute, I’d like to put more effort into exploring the wish-and-command possibilities.”
To his surprise, Claire leaned her head against the seat and laughed. Seeing her genuine smile, the threat of red, the tension, and the nervous energy slipped away. It wasn’t until she said, “I’m nervous to see all of them again,” that he realized how truly difficult this was on her. He’d tried to pave the way, but he’d also been the one to set up the roadblocks.
One more time, he reached for her chin, but without the earlier tension. Tony wanted nothing more than to help. “There may be questions—personal questions. This isn’t the press. They’re people who know me—know us—and they’re going to want to know what happened.”
Claire nodded.
“I’ve given this scenario a lot of thought. We both know that we can’t be one hundred percent truthful.”
“Obviously,” Claire murmured.
Tony cleared his throat. “Like I said, we need to be on the same page. I contacted you while you were in prison—”
“You did no such—”
His darkening gaze stopped her protest, as his baritone voice dropped an octave, slowing his words. “We must be together on this. No one’s going to believe that this just happened. We have to let them think that it’s been in the works for a while. Besides, that’s what the press release said. We need to create a believable history.”
Claire sucked in her cheeks, pursed her lips, and lowered her chin. Turning toward him, she said, “Fine, you’re the master of deception, what’s our believable history?”
“I contacted you at the prison—first by letter, and eventually, I began to visit.” He waited for her rebuttal. When none came, he went on, “Initially, we were both upset—and hurt. After all, I believed you tried to kill me, and you believed I abandoned you.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she agreed. “All right, abandoned is appropriate.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, “Communication—we began talking. I realized that it was all a misunderstanding. Despite the evidence, you convinced me that you weren’t responsible.”
“Then who?”
“We may never know. There had been some deliveries and some new groundskeepers had been hired. Perhaps it was a business rival—we’ll probably never know. The clues are long gone and the police concentrated on the wrong person.”
With each comment, Claire’s gaze mellowed.
Tony continued, “I personally went to Governor Bosley. He attended our wedding, and in the past, I’d done him some favors. He agreed to your petition for pardon. Since then…” Tony continued weaving a history that his friends would accept. Slowly, he saw Claire’s stance relax and her gaze become more accepting. It seemed that Claire, too, wanted this evening to go well. Was it because there was a small part of her that wanted it to be real, or was it because she was afraid of the consequences if she didn’t? Tony prayed it was the former.
Upon opening Claire’s door, Tony looked into her nervous expression. “I’m not leading you into the den of lions,” he whispered.
“No,” she sighed. “You’ve already done that.”
“This time I won’t leave you,” he promised. “I’ll stay by your side, and you won’t be alone.”
Nodding, Claire grasped his extended hand. Their fingers intertwined as they approached the stately home. He leaned down. “I’d hoped seeing everyone here first would be easier than seeing them for the first time in a crowd.”
“It probably will be; nevertheless, I think I’m going to be ill.”
He pulled her to a stop and searched her face under the darkening sky. “Your color looks good. You look amazing. I promise,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’m right here.” His grin broadened. “A man of my word.”
“Tell me the number, and I’ll turn right to it.”
With the car now stopped along the shoulder of the country road, Tony reached for Claire’s chin and turned her glaring green eyes toward him. In the split second before he spoke, he remembered the envelope. Clenching his jaw, he searched desperately for his calmest tone. The end result slowed his words. “I believe I’m tiring of the sexy, bold, and cheeky.”
“Then stop this charade.”
He maintained his hold and reminded himself again. Exhaling, he asked, “May I please have reticent and genteel while in the presence of others?”
The green fire ebbed. With a faux Georgia accent, she responded, “Why, Mr. Rawlings, your wish is my command.”
As she mocked him with her fluttering lashes, his heart raced, and the temperature inside the car rose exponentially, gluing Tony’s hand to her chin. He couldn’t let go and release that green stare if he tried. Unconsciously, he leaned toward her and commanded, “Kiss me.”
He hadn’t meant to say it with such need, but it was true. He needed a release, and lashing out wouldn’t get him the results he desired. Thankfully, she didn’t protest. Obediently, her eyes closed, lips parted, and their mouths united. Fire ignited as their hands sought what only the other possessed. If it weren’t for the damn seatbelts, Tony would have forgotten that they were on the side of the road, only a mile from his vice president’s home. When reality struck, he leaned back and confessed, “If we weren’t expected at the Bronsons’ any minute, I’d like to put more effort into exploring the wish-and-command possibilities.”
To his surprise, Claire leaned her head against the seat and laughed. Seeing her genuine smile, the threat of red, the tension, and the nervous energy slipped away. It wasn’t until she said, “I’m nervous to see all of them again,” that he realized how truly difficult this was on her. He’d tried to pave the way, but he’d also been the one to set up the roadblocks.
One more time, he reached for her chin, but without the earlier tension. Tony wanted nothing more than to help. “There may be questions—personal questions. This isn’t the press. They’re people who know me—know us—and they’re going to want to know what happened.”
Claire nodded.
“I’ve given this scenario a lot of thought. We both know that we can’t be one hundred percent truthful.”
“Obviously,” Claire murmured.
Tony cleared his throat. “Like I said, we need to be on the same page. I contacted you while you were in prison—”
“You did no such—”
His darkening gaze stopped her protest, as his baritone voice dropped an octave, slowing his words. “We must be together on this. No one’s going to believe that this just happened. We have to let them think that it’s been in the works for a while. Besides, that’s what the press release said. We need to create a believable history.”
Claire sucked in her cheeks, pursed her lips, and lowered her chin. Turning toward him, she said, “Fine, you’re the master of deception, what’s our believable history?”
“I contacted you at the prison—first by letter, and eventually, I began to visit.” He waited for her rebuttal. When none came, he went on, “Initially, we were both upset—and hurt. After all, I believed you tried to kill me, and you believed I abandoned you.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she agreed. “All right, abandoned is appropriate.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, “Communication—we began talking. I realized that it was all a misunderstanding. Despite the evidence, you convinced me that you weren’t responsible.”
“Then who?”
“We may never know. There had been some deliveries and some new groundskeepers had been hired. Perhaps it was a business rival—we’ll probably never know. The clues are long gone and the police concentrated on the wrong person.”
With each comment, Claire’s gaze mellowed.
Tony continued, “I personally went to Governor Bosley. He attended our wedding, and in the past, I’d done him some favors. He agreed to your petition for pardon. Since then…” Tony continued weaving a history that his friends would accept. Slowly, he saw Claire’s stance relax and her gaze become more accepting. It seemed that Claire, too, wanted this evening to go well. Was it because there was a small part of her that wanted it to be real, or was it because she was afraid of the consequences if she didn’t? Tony prayed it was the former.
Upon opening Claire’s door, Tony looked into her nervous expression. “I’m not leading you into the den of lions,” he whispered.
“No,” she sighed. “You’ve already done that.”
“This time I won’t leave you,” he promised. “I’ll stay by your side, and you won’t be alone.”
Nodding, Claire grasped his extended hand. Their fingers intertwined as they approached the stately home. He leaned down. “I’d hoped seeing everyone here first would be easier than seeing them for the first time in a crowd.”
“It probably will be; nevertheless, I think I’m going to be ill.”
He pulled her to a stop and searched her face under the darkening sky. “Your color looks good. You look amazing. I promise,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’m right here.” His grin broadened. “A man of my word.”
