Aleatha Romig - Behind His Eyes

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.”

He chuckled. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve taken her out in public. She’s been seen with me. While we’re in New York, I’ve told her that she’ll shop.”

Catherine resumed her seat. “Shop? So you want her to be visible?” She sat for a moment and contemplated. “Do you believe she’ll be noticed? I’m not sure that the press will recognize her. Not without you, I mean.”

“Maybe not, but Eric will. He’ll get pictures.” Tony’s grin grew. “I consider it part of our insurance policy.”

“She’ll need to spend more money than she did last time. If you want to convince the world she’s after your money, she’ll need to buy more than a few blouses and a book.”

“I’ll emphasize that in my directive.” He leaned back. “Faith, Marie, have faith.”

“All right, since you’ve already put her out there, the more insurance the better. I just think it would’ve been better to not have had her out in public with you in the first place.” She stood and walked toward the door. “I think it would’ve been better to stick with the original plan.”

“She’s not on a vacation,” Tony reminded in a low, yet direct tone.

“Really?” Catherine turned toward him. “She dresses in the best clothing, she doesn’t lift a finger, and now she’s traveling. So she’s satisfying your needs. I don’t think she hates that—anymore.”

He smirked. “Are you surprised? For your information, I could provide a long list of references who … don’t hate it.”

“Do I really care? No, I don’t. I’m concerned.”

“That?”

“That you’re letting down your guard. I mean, who’s really in control? How much is you, and how much is her manipulating you? You’re a man. Men … well, men forget sometimes what part of their body should do the thinking.” She softened her tone. “Anton, I don’t want you to be swayed.”

As Catherine went on about her concern, Tony remembered the night before in Claire’s suite. It was the first time she’d willingly offered herself to him—and he allowed it. He didn’t direct her movements or give instructions. He’d allowed her to seduce him, and now he’s taking her to New York. Could Catherine be right?

When Catherine quieted, Tony replied, sounding more confident than he truly felt. “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t wake you for a debate. I woke you so that you could do what you do, and have her ready to board my plane by 6:00 AM. Do you think you can do that? Do you think you can do your part of this project?”

“Yes.” Her neck stiffened. “I can do that.” She rubbed her hands over the softness of her robe. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sure Claire Nichols isn’t manipulating you. You’re in much more control than that. I know you wouldn’t want to disappoint Nathaniel that way. Besides, it sounds like this public appearance thing is well planned and thought out.”