He waited as she remained silent. Only her stare intensified and prodded, as if she could see deep into his soul. The sudden vulnerability chilled his skin. Could she see his pain? Yes, he was responsible for her consequences and pain that she’d endured, but he had pain, too. With all his heart he wanted to make them both forget it all—the pain, the past, everything. Stepping toward her, he saw anxiety in her expression increase. His chest ached at the realization that she was frightened of him. He would do anything to change that.
Exhaling, he maintained his distance and forged ahead. “Damn it, Claire. Nothing has been the same without you. The house is just a big, empty hole.”
“Tell me why,” she demanded.
“Why is it empty? Because you’re not there.”
“No, Tony. Why did you do it to me? Why’d you set me up—worse, arrange my entire life to look as though I was after your money, setting you up for the kill? You know I continually told you I didn’t care about the money. But everything, from the beginning, was manipulated to make me look guilty. Now you say you loved me. You don’t do that to someone you love. Tell me why you did it.”
“It isn’t past tense, Claire. I still love you. And I thought you knew why.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
“What was in the box you said you received? What information did you think I revealed?”
Suddenly, he envisioned her in prison, receiving the package. It wasn’t a thought he’d entertained before his dream. He’d convinced himself that prison was her fault, but now having her before him, he thought about the time she’d endured in a cell—months, a year. Thirteen days in her suite had nearly broken her. Damn, he deserved anything she said to him and anything she did with this newfound knowledge.
Her words rushed together, glued by years of suppression. “There were pictures, articles, and a letter. It explained that your birth name was Anton Rawls, and that you changed it after the death of your grandfather and parents.”
Perspiration threatened to dampen his veneer, as his hidden past came rolling from her tongue. “Was it handwritten? Where is it? I’d like to see it.”
“Yes, the note was handwritten. I thought it looked like your writing. It wasn’t signed, but you never signed anything.” Her fire-filled gaze disappeared as her eyes dropped to the floor. “You can’t see it. I burned it.”
His anxiety lifted as a relieved laugh escaped his lips. “You what?”
Her stare once again found its target as the intensity grew. “I burned it—all of it. I took it to the incinerator at the prison and watched it burn.”
He couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re serious. You have no proof of anything you just said? You burned it.” A smile momentarily flittered across his lips. “I don’t know who sent it to you. I did confirm, today, that you received a box in October of last year. The prison said the return address was Emily’s.”
Claire nodded. “Yes, I assumed it was books or something.”
“Burned it. Why?”
She shook her head. “I’ve asked myself that same question a thousand times. I believe it was a cleansing of sorts, my way of removing you from my life.”
Tony smirked, “How’s that working for you?”
Claire’s grin filled his heart. It was more real than any last night, and he didn’t want it to stop. “Not as well as I’d hoped.” Looking about, she added, “I really do need to get ready for my lunch date. If we’re done, I’d like you to leave.”
Date? He didn’t want to leave—ever. “I would like to ask you one more thing.”
Claire nodded.
“Who was the expected recipient of that dazzling smile?”
Her head tilted and brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“When you first opened the door, your smile was earth-shaking. Who were you expecting?”
“A good friend.”
Tony raised his eyebrows, but Claire didn’t respond. A good friend. Could it be Harrison Baldwin? He would or could have a key; after all, he’s Amber’s brother. Or did someone else have a key?
Claire stood. “If you’ll follow me; I’ll show you to the door.”
Tony followed. “I will not give up my quest.” He wanted to be honest, too. He wanted her back in every way possible, by his side, united in everything.
When they reached the door, Claire said, “Please give Catherine my love. If you have truly changed, as you claim, you’ll respect my decision. If that’s the case, you’re wasting your time.”
“I have invested much more. One last thing,” he paused as his words slowed. “Do not share your unsupported theories with anyone.” He’d kept this part of his life hidden for years. The repercussions of it becoming public were too far reaching.
Claire’s neck straightened. “I’m sorry. It’s too late for that.”
Though her words set off alarms, her proximity incited desires, pushing the warnings temporarily away. Wanting one last morsel of contact, Tony reached for her hand, lowered his lips to soft skin, and brushed her palm with the tips of his fingers. Despite her demeanor, her acceptance and arousal were evident. If he could just take her back to Iowa—there were so many things he wanted to do.
With her hand still in his, he warned, “Be careful. You don’t want to disappoint me.”
Her posture grew and her voice feigned strength. “That—is no longer my concern. Good-bye, Tony.”
Nodding, Tony turned and strode through the door toward the elevator. Behind him, he heard Claire’s door shut. The sound reverberated through the unoccupied hallway, returning the emptiness of the last fifteen months to his soul. Part of him wanted to turn around and tell her that, no matter what, she could never disappoint him.
Then he remembered her question, why? Why did he choose her? He lowered his head and debated the answer. It was because of the vendetta; she should have figured that out from the box. Tony knew in his heart that it was so much more. She was part of him. Maybe that was the real purpose of the vendetta: it brought them together in the most unlikely of circumstances. Fate. No matter of the why, the truth was that he needed her. He was incomplete without her, and he didn’t want to live another moment without knowing she would once again be part of his life.
Suddenly, he turned on his heels and returned to her door. He would tell her!
Before he could knock, the crash of something breaking came through her door. Tony inclined his head and listened. With each passing minute of silence, his anxiety grew. What if she were hurt? He knew Amber was out of town. Claire might be injured and in need of help.
Tony reached for the handle, expecting it to be locked; however, it turned under his grasp. Hesitantly, he opened the door and slowly entered the foyer. Straining his ears, he heard only silence.
Walking in the opposite direction from the living room, he neared a partially open door. Pushing it wider, he found a bedroom. Immediately, he knew it was Claire’s. It wasn’t one thing in particular, although he did see a picture of Emily and John; the space was filled with her presence—her scent and her aura. Searching the room for his ex-wife, he allowed his fingers to touch the sheets of her unmade bed. Instantaneously, images of her sleeping upon this bed filled his thoughts—or better yet, not sleeping.