Aleatha Romig - Behind His Eyes

Tony’s voice continued to mellow. “Up until the moment Sue handed you that note, I was extremely proud of you. You were amazing. Courtney told me that about ten times.” He felt the tension leave her body as she became liquid against his chest. Claire lifted her eyes and smiled. He went on. “There’s something I’d like us to do.”

“Whatever it is—yes.”

He’d been wrong, yet instead of being upset, Claire was relieved. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted her. He no longer tried to subdue his grin as he said, “Your hair smells like smoke. I’d like us to shower.”

Returning his grin, Claire took his hand and led him to her bathroom. Once there, she reached for the buttons of his shirt, but before she undid them, her questioning eyes found his. It was a simple unspoken request, and he longed to grant it and more. As she removed his clothes, he undid her braid. Under the warm spray of the shower, he wet her hair, added shampoo, and gently massaged. “Your hair is beautiful, but it needs trimming, and the weather is getting colder, so maybe some highlights. I believe you’ll enjoy the spa. It has a great reputation.”

Her expression of innocence and surprise about did him in as she turned and asked, “You didn’t cancel my appointment?”

“No, I guess I hoped something would change my mind.” Was that true? Had he hoped for that? Or had he realized that the spa wouldn’t be open until the next day? Either way, as he lathered her hair with conditioner and the floral scent replaced the odor of smoke, he was glad he hadn’t had the opportunity.

Soon his slippery hands found their way to the curves of her breasts. Despite the warm water, her nipples were taut and hard. Each caress found his hands lower and lower. Turning her around, he lifted her body and held her against the shower wall. She was so light and fit just right. When her legs wrapped around his torso he worked to create the same frenzy in her that he felt burning within. His tongue and teeth taunted her nipples while his fingers increased their pace. By the way her nails gripped his shoulders, he knew she was close to finding the ecstasy that he too wanted to experience.

Adjusting her slightly, he found the place he wanted to be. Her wordless moans filled the shower and pushed him deeper and deeper. All of the day’s energies erupted as their bodies quaked in the aftermath of their union. When she laid her head on his shoulder and he heard her ragged breathing, Tony wanted nothing more than to hear those moans of pleasure again.

Through the night, he got what he wanted, and he made sure that Claire did too.

Tony woke before his alarm. Hearing Claire’s soft and delicate breathing, he saw her covered with only a sheet and curled into a ball on the far side of the bed. With the pale light of the lingering moon, he noticed her hair fanned around her head, damp and wavy. The sheet did little to hide her petite, soft, and supple body. He carefully lifted the blankets and covered her. As he watched, the warmth of the blankets allowed her to unconsciously relax and settle into a deeper slumber. He wanted her again. He knew he could wake her, and she would accommodate his demands. Laying his head back on the pillow, he remembered the sex they experienced and wondered when did this happen? He no longer wanted to dominate but to satisfy.

He hadn’t realized the true depth of his feelings until he heard himself apologize. Anthony Rawlings could count on one hand the people to whom he’d apologized. Now this woman—a piece of his plan—was on that shortlist.

Instead of relishing his new realization, he berated himself. Catherine was right: he should have stayed indifferent, dominant, and in charge. But, wasn’t he still in charge? He was. Even Catherine had said she was used to Claire—so was he.

Maybe he did apologize, and admittedly that was going a bit too far. Words from his past echoed in his memory. “Only the weak apologize.” Tony vowed to not allow that to happen again. Glancing again at the woman only a few feet away, he considered waking her. If he did, he could demonstrate the indifferent, domineering qualities that would verify he wasn’t weak. He could prove that he was in control.

Seeing her peaceful expression and thinking of her giving and surrendering herself over and over, Tony quietly got out of bed, put on his jeans, and left her suite. Stepping into the corridor, he decided to work out.

There is no such thing as accident; it is fate misnamed.

—Napoleon Bonaparte

The whole damn deal hung by a thread. How many hours and millions of dollars had been wasted researching and reviewing this investment and securities firm to have it fall apart over some stupid disagreement about benefit buyouts? Sitting at the head of the long conference table, Tony listened to the debate until he couldn’t take it any longer. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke above the fray, “you have my offer. Your company won’t stand as it is another six months. You can either take the deal or file Chapter 11. With my offer your employees will receive appropriate compensation in exchange for their loss of benefits.”

“Mr. Rawlings, with all due respect, you’re offering pennies on the dollar.”

Standing, Tony adjusted his jacket and ignored the vibration of his private cell phone as he replied, “Yes, Mr. Collins, I am. I’ve also spent over a year learning the ins and outs of your company. You have no other prospects. I suggest you take the offer. The federal bankruptcy courts won’t be as generous.”

While the murmuring at the conference table intensified, Tony placed the documents and his laptop into his leather briefcase and nodded to his team. Addressing the assembly, he announced, “I expect an answer by tomorrow at noon, or I’ll assume that you’re taking your chances with the courts. Good day, ladies and gentlemen.”

The room fell into a stunned hush as Anthony Rawlings and his protégés gathered their belongings and walked away from the bargaining table. Once they stepped beyond the glass doors and neared the elevator, Tony heard Tom exhale. The team that accompanied him consisted of Tom Miller, his associate, Sharon Michaels, and David Field, one of Tony’s negotiators. Only their private assembly entered the small elevator. When the doors shut, Tom leaned toward Tony and spoke in a hushed tone. “I know you know how much it’ll cost if this falls through. We’re talking about—”

Remaining professional, Tony’s eyes met Tom’s, interrupting his words. Tony hissed. “I am well aware. We can discuss this further in the office.” The conversation was officially stalled. Tony didn’t care that it was still early in the afternoon and that their meeting was scheduled to last until much later. He could only present the same information in so many different ways. He had neither the patience nor the inclination to entertain the assholes in that conference room upstairs another minute. They wanted what he wasn’t willing to give. He knew that their company needed him more than he needed it. At this point, he needed a few minutes to decompress. If he didn’t, he’d be willing to take the whole damn thing as a tax write-off.

The silence continued as they entered the waiting car. They weren’t scheduled to return to Iowa until the morning, and they all knew that they’d spend the rest of the day and possibly the night dissecting every last document in their arsenal. Despite Tony’s comments, too much had been invested; somewhere there was a definitive piece of information that would insure this deal’s success. By all estimations, they had a long night ahead of them.

Just as Tony’s nerves began to calm, he again felt his pocket vibrate and reached for his iPhone. Touching the screen, he saw: TWO TEXT MESSAGES

Further investigation told him that they both were from his press secretary, Shelly. He read the first:

MR. RAWLINGS PLEASE READ THE ATTACHED PRESS RELEASE THAT JUST CAME ACROSS MY FEED. IT WILL NOT APPEAR FOR A FEW DAYS. IT HAS BEEN PURCHASED BY ROLLING STONE AND PEOPLE. I DON’T THINK I CAN STOP IT.

The car moved in jerky bursts. Tony hated New York City traffic. That was one of the reasons he chose to live in Iowa. Of course, there was traffic there too, but it wasn’t this stand-still shit. Instead of reading the attachment, he read the second text, also from his press secretary:

MR. RAWLINGS I’VE CONFIRMED THE SALE OF THE RELEASE TO BOTH MAGAZINES. IF I ATTEMPT TO STOP PUBLICATION IT MAY BACKFIRE. PLEASE ADVISE IMMEDIATELY.

“They’re bluffing.” Tom’s voice broke the silence within the car.

“I don’t bluff,” Tony replied. “I’d rather lose the preliminary costs than deal with those assholes. I won’t be at their mercy. We’ll find something that’ll make them beg for my offer, and we’ll find it tonight.”

Tom didn’t respond, nor did anyone else. Tony didn’t expect responses. After all, he wasn’t asking. There was a mission and it would be carried out. When the car stopped in front of the tall office building, Tony and his associates silently entered the building. It was another quiet elevator ride as they made their way to the sixty-second floor and the New York satellite offices of Rawlings Industries.

The pretty brunette receptionist immediately stopped her work as Tony and his entourage entered the lobby to the executive offices.

Before she could speak, Tony said, “Kelli, we’re planning a long night. Call for food. We’ll need sandwiches and coffee delivered.”

“I’ll get right on that, Mr. Rawlings.” Kelli handed him a small stack of papers. “Sir, Shelly has called multiple times. She’s very anxious for you to read a press release. I took the liberty of printing it for you.”

Taking the printed pages, Tony thanked her and walked into his private office; only Tom followed. He started to sit behind his desk when the title on the page caught his attention. Suddenly, his body ceased to move and the air left his lungs.

“Questions Answered—the Mystery Woman in Anthony Rawlings’ Life Agrees to a One-on-One Interview.”

His cheeks paled as the blood drained from his face.

“What’s the matter?”

Tony heard the concern in Tom’s voice. Although their relationship wasn’t just that of business, Tony didn’t feel like sharing. Prying his eyes away from the article in his tightening grip, Tony forced himself to make eye contact with his longtime friend. “I …” he hesitated. “I-I need a minute. I’ll call you when I’m ready to get started.”

“Are you sure? Is there something I can—”

“A minute—now,” Tony cut him off. It wasn’t the volume of his voice that demanded action; it was the authority.

Tom nodded and headed for the door. Within seconds, Tony was alone with the press release that Shelly had tried so desperately to share.

He scanned the pages. Words and phrases jumped out from each paragraph: Since May of 2010—Anthony’s special woman—she agreed to sit down—freelance writer—Meredith Banks—Claire Nichols—Tony’s blood boiled. The tips of his fingers blanched and lost feeling as his grip upon the helpless pages intensified.

More scanning: long-time friendship is why Claire finally agreed to sit down and discuss her relationship with one of the world’s top bachelors.

Slowly his knees buckled and Tony’s tall, muscular body perched on the edge of his large leather chair. He continued reading: Anthony Rawlings has long been seen as a wonderful catch for that one deserving woman. He dated such women as supermodel Cynthia Simmons and recording artist Julia Owens. However, none of his previous relationships lasted long. That is until now, now that Rawlings and Nichols have been together. These two were first seen together in late May (see picture) at the Quad City Symphony not far from the large wooded estate of Anthony Rawlings. And since that time, they have been spotted by curious onlookers at various charity events, as well as taking on two of the nation’s biggest cities, New York (see picture) and Chicago (see picture).

Intermittently, he flipped back and forth between the pages and the photos of Claire with him. With each word and each picture his vision blurred. Red seeped from every direction, threatening to cover everything in its wake. The pages, his office—hell, his life were all dripping in red.

Such basic rules—how could Claire have been so stupid as to break the most basic of his rules? It wasn’t like he demanded that much from her.