“Claire,” Phil warned, his gaze mimicking Tony’s. “This is serious. Think about Patrick Chester—”
“I don’t want to think about him,” she snapped. “I don’t want to think about the possibility that someone could be targeting Nichol or me. However, I will not let that someone hold my daughter captive inside of her own house. It’s not happening.” Her eyes met Tony’s. Though she saw the darkness in his, Claire felt the fire in her own. Lifting her brow, she added, “She will never feel trapped in her own home. It’s not debatable.”
Her husband’s lips formed a tight line as he forcibly retained his response.
“Mrs. Rawlings?” Taylor asked, breaking the couple’s unspoken standoff.
They both turned toward Taylor’s voice. “Yes?” Claire replied.
“May I suggest changing your tickets?”
Claire shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. Nichol’s too excited about The Lion King.”
“Not changing the show,” Taylor continued, “just changing the performance. Your plans include being in the city for three nights. Could you go one of the other nights?”
Claire looked at her husband and tilted her head in question. “Can you change the tickets at this late of a date?”
His cheeks rose. “Hell yes. That’s a great idea. Taylor, thank you.”
“We’ll get it all arranged and have the tickets put in another name,” Phil interjected.
“There,” Claire said. “It’s settled. Now let’s all get some sleep. Someone I know likes to wake up way too early for these business trips.”
As Claire followed Phil and Taylor toward the door, Tony’s voice rang through the office. “No, Mrs. Rawlings, I don’t believe this conversation is finished.”
Turning back, she took in Tony’s demeanor. His tone and the piercing darkness of his gaze used to signal internal alarms. Not tonight. Tonight what caught her attention was the devilish grin he tried unsuccessfully to conceal.
When she turned back, Phil’s questioning eyes asked what his lips couldn’t. With a smile and a nod, Claire let Phil know that she was and would be fine. His shoulders relaxed as she said good night and closed the door. Looking again toward the dark eyes that filled her dreams, Claire walked back toward her husband.
“What do you possibly want to discuss that can’t be discussed upstairs?”
Tony reached for the tie of her soft robe and tugged it open, exposing her satin nightgown. “Do you really think that this is appropriate staff-interaction clothing?” His hands caressed her hips, taking in the slippery material.
“I wasn’t planning on seeing anyone but you,” she replied. “I just came down for my Kindle.” As she spoke, he stood. With each passing second, Tony’s proximity gravitated closer until he hovered above her, and Claire’s back arched over the desk. With a smirk to her voice, Claire continued, “You’re the one having a big powwow in here. At this late hour, I thought you’d be alone.”
“Now I’m alone.” His tone morphed from business to sultry as the darkness too changed: his earlier visible concern swirled with desire. “What did you plan to do with me… alone?”
Warm bourbon-scented breath bathed her cheeks and mixed with the aroma of cologne as heat radiated from his chest. Parts of her body—ones which moments ago had been ready to sleep—were now suddenly awake and begging for attention.
With a giggle, she replied, “Nothing. I just wanted my Kindle.”
Lifting her to his desk, Tony eased himself forward, spreading her legs and pulling her waist toward him. “Nothing?” he asked, as he eased her robe from her shoulder.
“Tony, we have a nice bed upstairs.”
“You know,” he spoke in bursts, kissing her neck as his fingers traced her collarbone. “I hate it when you make references… references to the past… I hope you know… how sorry I am… that you have those memories.”