“Yes, I believe it has. I apologize for my behavior. It was childish and unnecessary.”

He had failed to break her—or so it seemed; nevertheless, Tony needed to push and learn if Claire was truly as fragile and on the edge as Catherine said, or if her spirit was renewed. He grinned. “As I recall, a great deal of your behavior was far from childish …” he paused—no reaction, “… but my memory could be failing me. It has been a long trip. I know how we could find out …” another pause—no reaction, “… or review?”

She didn’t take his bait. Instead, she responded, “You’re right. It was very adult. I’d be glad to do whatever it is you tell me to do again. I believe I have a debt to repay. My goal is to make that happen sooner rather than later. Fulfilling my contract is the means to that end.”

He couldn’t fight the urge any longer. He had failed—and he’d never been so relieved. Swiftly, he pulled her against him and watched the fire rage. Oh, she smiled, said all the right things, but her damn eyes were fighting. It was better than he’d dared to hope. Bending down, his lips captured hers. Did he sense hesitation? If so, it was briefly lived. Suddenly, she was pressing back with equal force. He lifted her petite frame and held tight to her firm, round behind as her arms encircled his neck.

All of the trepidation he’d felt walking the gauntlet from his office to her suite morphed into unbridled desire. He didn’t want to make her watch movies; he wanted to make them. Would he watch them? Probably, but that wasn’t what he was thinking as he backed her against the beige wall and her legs encircled his torso. He was silently cursing her choice of attire. Tony would give his entire fortune for her to be wearing a skirt.

It didn’t take long and the damn white slacks and slippery blouse were history, lost somewhere on the floor of her suite. His suit followed, as Claire met him move for move. She was careful not to initiate, but whatever he suggested, whether it was verbal or otherwise, she met him head-on. As the afternoon progressed, he silently questioned if the Claire he’d hope to find was back, or if this was someone different, someone stronger? He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t waste too much time wondering.

About 6:30 PM, he used his cell phone to call the kitchen and have dinner brought to her suite. The flight had been long and their reunion exhausting. It was about 9:30 PM when he finally succumbed to sleep. In the moment before sweet nothingness prevailed and Tony slept better than he had in over a week, the satin strap he’d seen in the video feed crossed his mind. Taking one last glance toward Claire, he saw her bare shoulders and grinned. Tonight she wouldn’t be wearing a nightgown to sleep.

* * *

Tony’s shoes echoed against the marble floor of the long corridor as he made his way toward the front staircase. Inklings of crimson seeped into his vision as each step pounded more determined than the last. All day long, he’d thought about his reunion with Claire and her change in demeanor. As the day progressed he’d convinced himself not only of her acceptance of her situation, but the obvious pleasure she derived from it. Then, as if to prove him wrong, he went to her suite to retrieve her for dinner, and she was gone. Catherine had assured him that Claire knew dinner was at 7:00 PM. Where the hell was she?

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he was about to call out to Catherine, when Tony stopped. In the sitting room, waiting calmly, dressed appropriately for dinner, was Claire. He stood for a moment and watched as he remained hidden from her view. She had her shapely legs crossed at her ankles, just above her high heels and her hands rested serenely on her lap. The dress she’d chosen to wear was blue and sleeveless, accentuating her tanned, firm arms. She didn’t appear anxious, yet she wasn’t overtly relaxed—she just was. As he stared, the red faded from his view. Tony reasoned that Claire hadn’t disobeyed; it was only different. She’d never before taken the initiative to come down to dinner on her own, but there she was. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his suit jacket and stepped into the sitting room. Her eyes immediately went to his. “Good evening, Claire.”

She stood and walked toward him. “Good evening, Anthony.”

Offering his arm, she rested her small hand in the crook of his elbow, and they walked to the dining room. As they entered, he said, “I went to your suite expecting to find you there.”

Her painted eyes widened. “I apologize. I was told dinner would be in the dining room at 7:00 PM; I didn’t want to be late.”

As he pulled out her chair and she sat, Tony studied the ringlets of hair that teasingly grazed her neck. He reminded himself that the blonde hair emerging from her brown was an outward sign of the new woman he was creating. Her obvious emphasis of obedience was because it was what he demanded—the old Claire wouldn’t have done that, perhaps not even recently. This Claire knew her place, and after their glitch a week ago, she was being extra careful.

He sat and studied his creation. He wanted to believe her; yet the red loomed nearby. He found his businessman’s tone. “Your punctuality is duly noted. It seems my absence has helped you remember who’s in charge and what guidelines you are to follow.”

“Yes, your absence was advantageous on many counts.”

He stared. What the hell? Unable to form a rebuttal that would facilitate their dinner conversation, he waited.

Finally, she spoke again, “I believe it helped me recognize I owe you much, not just the money to repay my debt, but the confidence you’ve shown in me … the confidence to trust me with your intimate beliefs.” She paused. “I will not betray that confidence.”

While Cindy and Carlos entered the dining room and filled the table with food and drinks, Tony continued to stare. He looked for any sign of manipulation. Truly, what did she expect to gain? Once they were again alone, Tony said, “Claire, if you’re sincere, you never cease to amaze me. If, however, you’re playing me, you will regret it.”

“Tony, what would I gain by playing you? I’m aware my present, future, and release are solely in your hands. I’m sorry for my behavior before you left.”

He broke their gaze as he contemplated her words. Her eyes had been in agreement: he saw spirit, but not fight. Tony didn’t accept her declaration, but he didn’t rebuke it either. He changed the subject and they ate.

After dinner he escorted her out to the gardens for a stroll. As they approached the area in the path where he’d watch her disappear, he stopped. The underbrush was down trodden. He gazed into the trees. With the setting sun, the woods appeared dark and unknown, yet he knew she’d been there every day. Why?

She looked from the point in the border of the trees and then up to him. When she didn’t volunteer, Tony asked, “Tell me about your walks. How far do you go?”

“I’m not sure … in miles. At first, I just walked.”

“At first?”

“At first, I was trying to get a feel of your land and would go in different directions. I found the most beautiful clearings, right in the middle of the trees. There were flowers, wild flowers, and …” He listened to her words, but there was something else, a sense of discovery or wonder that he’d never heard or seen before—in anyone. They were just damn trees and bugs and things that existed wherever man had yet to build something truly spectacular; however, as she described the clearings, the insects, and animals, her eyes—no, her whole damn face—lit up like she was describing the most beautiful monuments in the world. “… that’s when I found the lake. Oh, Tony, it’s beautiful. It isn’t big, but it isn’t small. There’re fish and a beach. I’ve been taking books and reading and enjoying the sun.”

“A lake?” he questioned. “I remember seeing one, years ago, when I did flyovers of the land to help me decide where to have the house built.”

Her look of wonder morphed into one of blatant concern. “I-Is it still on your land?”

He took her hand in his. “Yes,” he reassured. “That’s still on my land. You haven’t broken my rules.”

Claire’s obvious relief was the final shove to push the red away. Maybe it was as Catherine said, he was used to her, or maybe he had missed her? Had she missed him? He didn’t want to ask. Even if he did ask, could he believe her answer? If she were truthful and the answer wasn’t what he wanted—it was better not to ask.

Tony reached into his breast pocket and brought out a black velvet box. “I found these for you in Italy. I thought they made a nice complement to your necklace.”

Claire hesitantly accepted the small box. Before she opened it, she peered up at him through her lashes. It struck him again how different she was from the other women he’d dated. They would’ve never hesitated; they wanted gifts, the more the better. Then again, he and Claire weren’t dating—were they?

She opened the box and revealed the pearl earrings he’d found at a small jewelry store in Florence. He’d seen them in the window and immediately thought of Claire’s necklace. They weren’t exactly the same; however, the pearls were very similar and they were offset on white gold circles. He explained, “Your necklace is a cross, which is an X on its side. Now your earrings are O’s—X’s and O’s.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Tony,” she said as she closed the lid. “It was very kind of you to think of me during your busy trip.”

He placed her hand back into the crook of his arm, and they continued to walk about the garden. The sun was setting and he was home.