Behind His Eyes - Consequences Page 2

  Being a professional businessman with an image to maintain, Anthony worked out every possible scenario and created believable contingency plans. The time and energy he’d put into Claire Nichols’ acquisition could have been billed in millions—literally. Anthony Rawlings’ time was incredibly valuable. Suddenly, his lips twitched upward. Perhaps he should add his billable hours in planning and executing Claire’s acquisition to Claire’s bill? But, wouldn’t that be like a jail sentence of ‘life’ plus 1000 years? Her first debt was practically insurmountable; adding more to it was truly adding insult to injury.

  Movement on the screen caused him to refocus. He watched as Claire unsuccessfully tried to open a bottle of water. After a few attempts she wiped her hands on the arms of the chair and finally removed the cap. If he’d have zoomed closer, he would’ve seen her complexion pale as she forced herself to swallow the refreshing liquid. Satisfaction filled his chest; his delay was working—Claire knew he was coming to her, and her anxiety was obviously growing with each passing minute.

  Maybe—just maybe—he’d been wrong to think the fun was over. Perhaps there’d be more opportunities to enjoy the woman in the black dress and heels he was watching. He reminded himself, it wasn’t all about enjoyment, well at least not hers. No, Claire Nichols had a bill to pay and lessons to learn.

  Anthony was in a place he’d never been. Metaphorically, he was entering virgin territory. After all, he’d never before held a woman captive. There’d never been a need—or a desire. Women were a nice accessory and a necessary complement for many occasions, and through the years, more women than he could remember were willing to fulfill that role, as well as be attentive to his physical needs. Of course, he treated each one with respect. Anthony Rawlings couldn’t have disgruntled women running around talking about him in a negative way. Each separation was his fault—his plate was too full, he had too many responsibilities. The fact that he usually dated high-profile women helped. They, too, had lives, responsibilities, and reputations that required discretion. If he tried to remember half of the gorgeous women he’d dated, Anthony believed that all of his separations had ended amicably.

  Thankfully, he had people like Shelly, his publicist, and Patricia, his private assistant, to remind him when he’d be encountering an old flame. It even seemed that at times, Patricia found his lack of sincerity regarding these women amusing. After all, many of them, at one time or another, considered him a boyfriend. The reality couldn’t be farther from the truth. Never in forty-five years had Anthony Rawlings considered himself someone’s boyfriend. The concept was laughable.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the company of women; it was that, in the game of life, women were a liability, a risk that he wasn’t willing to take. He was a master at appearances. Accepting a woman as anything more than an accessory for an evening or as an outlet for physical needs would be to allow that woman to be part of his persona—part of his life. That had never happened, nor did Anthony Rawlings foresee it happening in the future. He had too much at stake.

  Bringing his thoughts back to Claire, he felt a renewed sense of anticipation. New experiences were rare for him. Viewing the monitors as Claire pretended to read—since she hadn’t turned the page in over ten minutes, he knew she wasn’t concentrating—he conceded that undoubtedly this would be a brand-new experience. He just had to figure out exactly what he would do with it—and with her. His grin reemerged.

  Oh, he knew what he would do with her—whatever he wanted. The question that loomed in his mind was how she would respond. Although she’d willingly engaged in vanilla sex in Atlanta, since coming to Iowa, she’d been considerably less compliant; however, Anthony reminded himself, that was before—before her nearly two week time-out. After watching the short interaction between Catherine and Claire on the video recording, when Catherine informed her of his impending arrival, Anthony believed Claire had experienced an attitude adjustment.

  Truly, he didn’t know how he wanted her to react when he entered the suite. The fact she was dressed appropriately held potential. Perhaps she could be trained to work off not only her bill, but the un-payable invoice that included the life of his grandfather—and perhaps some of his own billable time.

  Briefly, Anthony changed a section of the screen to the Atlanta news. He’d been watching and scanning it daily during his travels in Europe. After over two weeks in his possession, he was happy to see that there hadn’t been any news reports or voiced concerns about the disappearance of Claire Nichols. It appeared as though Anthony’s efforts had paid off—emails, text messages, and Facebook messages all accomplished their goal. Claire’s friends and family believed she’d left town to pursue a new job opportunity—Anthony grinned as he switched the screen back to the S.E. suite—and their beliefs were in essence true. This was and would be her new job. Momentarily, he closed his eyes, as mental images of Claire’s growing list of job responsibilities filled his thoughts. Perhaps he should compile a written list?

  A knock at his office door pulled Anthony from his sinister thoughts.

  With a click of his mouse, the screens turned from the monitors in the S.E. suite to the closing stock market results for Rawlings Industries and its plethora of subsidiaries. Without inquiring, Anthony hit the button to allow access to his domain. It was after 9:00 PM and this was his home. He didn’t need to inquire as to who was about to enter his inner sanctuary; there were few possibilities.

  “Mr. Rawlings, did you want to see me?” Catherine’s voice echoed as she stepped into Anthony’s office. Once the door was shut, she lifted a brow. “I would’ve thought you’d have investigated yourself, Anton.”

  “I plan to. First, I want to know a few things.”

  Catherine perched herself on the edge of a chair near his desk. “You weren’t watching from your trip?”

  “I was, but there are some things you can’t decipher from a video feed—such as attitude. Tell me about the last two weeks; how have they been?”

  Catherine smiled. “Educational. I happened to look inside the suite a few minutes ago. Did you see what she’s wearing?”

  “I did. Did you tell her what to wear?”

  “No, I told her that it was up to her.”

  Anthony nodded as he sat back against his leather chair. “So, she seems to understand the importance of appearance—that’s good. What about interaction?”

  “Until today, since you left, she’s only had access to Carlos. He delivered all her meals and returned for the dishes. The rest of the staff entered only when she was occupied with her showers.”

  Anthony grinned. “Carlos—Carlos doesn’t speak English, at least not well.”

  “I know.”

  “Very good, Catherine, I applaud your resourcefulness.”

  “Thank you, Anton. I may not agree with your plan; however, I told you I’d do my part. Now, what do you expect when you enter the suite?”

  “What do I expect? I expect respect for the authority I obviously hold over every aspect of her life. At this moment, I expect her to have the good sense to recognize the magnitude of her current situation.”

  Catherine leaned forward, her voice held the tone of a warning. “Caged animals fight. I saw the scratches on your arms when she first arrived.”

  “That won’t happen again.”

  “And you’re sure of this?”

  Anthony nodded confidently. “I am.” He wondered if Catherine would ask for more clarification. If she had, he wasn’t sure he’d share his plans. After all, those plans were why his excitement at their reunion was once again growing. Anthony glanced at his watch. “Did you tell her I’d be there at 10:00 PM?”

  “I told her between 9:00 PM and 10:00 PM. She seemed desperate for me to stay and talk. I believe she’s lonely.”

  “I saw that on the video.” The woman he’d observed in Atlanta was both social in her work and her private life. Perhaps this time away from others was beneficial. He planned to emphasize how he controlled her interaction
s. His grin broke through his facade with the realization—there wouldn’t be anything he didn’t control.

  “Thank you, Catherine. I think I can handle this from here.”

  She stood. “This was very risky for a man of your—”

  “Thank you, Catherine,” he interrupted. “It’s a roll of the dice. High risks yield the best results. It’s about time I learn if your manipulation has added to my yields.”

  Before stepping from the room, Catherine smiled. “I’m sure you’ll capitalize on your investment … Mr. Rawlings.”

  Anthony looked at his watch again, 9:51 PM. One last click of his mouse and he saw Claire, up on the screen, pacing near the fireplace in her suite. There wasn’t anything he didn’t know about her, from her family to her medical history. He knew that she and her sister were all that remained of the Sherman Nichols line. He also knew that she liked her coffee with cream, and that about six months ago, Claire had had the birth control device inserted. During his observations, he didn’t find her to be promiscuous; the doctor’s notations stated something about convenience. Grinning toward the screen, Anthony agreed: the insert was convenient.

  Standing, Anthony put on and buttoned his double-breasted suit jacket. No, he’d been wrong when he thought the actual acquisition had been the climax—there would definitely be many more to come!

  Anthony depressed the button on the side of the doorframe while simultaneously hearing the beep and opening the door. Claire’s eyes opened wide while she remained seated in the chair near the fireplace. The last time he’d seen her—in person—she’d looked like hell, wearing a robe, her hair a mess, and her face discolored. Tonight was definitely an improvement. It wasn’t just her appearance, although Anthony approved; it was her demeanor. That morning, nearly two weeks ago, Claire had been out of control—demanding, yelling, and crying. It wasn’t that she was in control now; Anthony saw the fear in her eyes. It was that she was … composed.

  “Good evening, Claire.”

  She stood and replied, “Good evening, Anthony. Shall we sit?”

  When he stepped toward her, he noticed her quick intake of air. Confidently, he sat on the sofa, leaned back, and unbuttoned his jacket. He watched intently as she sat on the edge of the chair with her back straight. The hum of the fireplace fan filled the room as he considered the woman before him. Without a doubt, she was an improvement over the one he’d left on the floor of the same suite.

  He waited to see if she would ramble. When only the fireplace blower prevailed, Anthony spoke, “Do you think you’re ready to continue with our agreement? Or do you need some more time alone to consider the situation?”

  “After consulting my attorney, I feel I have no choice but to continue with our agreement.”

  Anthony felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. What the hell? He glared toward the woman who had the audacity to sound trite. “Claire, I know you’re joking, but do you really think it’s a good idea? Considering your circumstances?”

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think; joviality has sustained me.”

  He tilted his head. The woman had nerve—he’d give her that. “I must say your demeanor impresses me. I’ll need to deliberate on this new personality.”

  He sat silently and contemplated this petite woman who had the fortitude to maintain eye contact, and answer his questions with a hint of bravado, all while knowing she was at his mercy. Or did she know? Did she think this was some kind of sick reality TV show and any minute it would be over? He stared. “Tell me what you’ve learned during your reflection time.”

  She rambled about clothes and food, truly inconsequential things. Anthony interrupted, “That’s all very nice, but what have you discovered about your situation?” He couldn’t contain his condescending tone, perhaps he didn’t want to. After all, she needed to know who held the answers. “Do you even know where you are?”

  After only a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I’m in Iowa, or at least somewhere near Iowa City.”

  How the hell? He’d scanned hours of video—did someone pass her a note of some kind? Anthony couldn’t imagine that they’d disrespect him like that. “And … you learned this … from whom?”

  “I learned it from the Weather Channel—Local on the Eights. The local weather for this area comes from Iowa City, Iowa.”

  Anthony exhaled. Damn, he was on edge. Her flippant attitude needed readjustment. “Very well, that will spare me telling you. For the sake of clarity, since that seemed to be a problem in the past, you’re aware that your indebtedness to me can only be determined paid by me?”

  Her smile appeared pained, yet she managed to keep it in place as she nodded. Anthony waited for an answer. When she didn’t speak, he proclaimed, “I prefer verbal confirmation.”

  “I am aware that you are the only one who can decide when my debt is paid in full.” Though her words sounded too calm, her hands remained clenched. She’d never know how that unconscious act helped to calm her captor. He wanted—no needed—to know that she understood his authority.

  He continued, “You are also aware that your duties require you to be available to me whenever, wherever, and however I demand?” His eyes never left hers.

  “I am aware.”

  He reiterated for clarification. “You’re aware that you must at all times obey my rules?”

  “I’m aware that I must do as I’m told.”

  She was good. He didn’t believe a damn word she said, but he had to admit, she was good. Oh, he considered demonstrating more of his authority, but perhaps Catherine had been right. Claire Nichols was lonely, and she was grasping at the straws of any interaction. Perhaps no interaction would prove to be the most educational tool. Besides, he had plenty of time—as much as he wanted—for interaction. Finally, he spoke, “Very well.” He stood and walked toward the door.

  Before he reached his destination, Claire’s determined tone rang throughout the suite. “Wait.”

  Anthony turned, unable to hide the shock at her demand, his eyes locked onto hers.

  Apparently, she had the good sense to realize her breach of station. Immediately, her tone softened, “I’m sorry … but may I leave this suite?”

  Apologetic and requesting permission—yes, Anthony could deal with that. “As long as we are certain on the terms of our agreement, and you follow the rules and orders given, I see no problem with your roaming the house.” He reached for the door handle. “It’s rather large. I’ll be working from home tomorrow. Your services will be utilized then, so be prepared for my call. When I have a chance, I’ll give you a tour of the house and define your limitations. I think it’s best that you don’t roam tonight. I don’t want you getting lost.” Within his pocket, he depressed the sensor, causing the beep to sound once again. Anthony reached for the handle.

  “Anthony?” The earlier strength he’d heard in her tone was gone. “I don’t have any … duties tonight?”

  “I’ve recently arrived from a series of meetings in Europe and am quite tired. I’m glad to know we have a mutual understanding. Goodnight, Claire.”

  As he shut her door, he heard her say goodnight.

  Walking toward his office, he thought about the bourbon he’d left sitting on his desk—there were about fifty emails that needed reading and probably responses to be written—and he had at least two web conferences tomorrow. He’d need to check to see if Patricia had sent him his schedule.

  Oh, yes, and apparently his acquisition was adapting to her new reality—that was good. Anthony Rawlings had too many things to think about other than to be concerned with the woman upstairs. Hell, Catherine had been spot-on with the isolation. Perhaps he should allow her to deal with the day-to-day maintenance; he’d utilize Claire when it fit his schedule. Besides, a little alone time seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.

  Damn, in a week and a half the proposal from Arkansas was coming in. Did he have that preliminary report? There were too many other things to think about besides Claire N
ichols; however, it was comforting to know she’d adapted. Tomorrow, Anthony decided he’d take that theory to the next level. Would her actions be as accommodating as her words?

  The morning light had yet to penetrate the heavy drapes of his suite when Anthony turned toward the red numbers. It was only 4:42 AM, yet he was wide awake. The woman—about whom, he reminded himself, he didn’t give a damn—was inside his house. She was undoubtedly sleeping soundly under his roof. How many nights had he imagined what it would be like to have her where he could watch her, train her, and control her? Now she was here and he was a floor away. If he went upstairs and took what his body obviously wanted, what difference would it make? This wasn’t a normal dating scenario. Claire wasn’t going to go to the press and proclaim his actions. She wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, this wasn’t about sex, although he was painfully erect. It was about power. Everything about her existence was his to determine. If he wanted her to sleep, she would sleep. If he wanted to use her, he would use her.

  Though the thought of entering her suite—no, not her suite, the S.E. suite—and asserting his dominance while assessing her reaction appealed to him, Anthony reconsidered: the more accommodating he made her, the better. He didn’t relish the idea of continued daily battles. Yes, he liked things his way; however, his energies could be better utilized if she were more compliant.

  Catherine was right. Showing up to the office with scratches on his face or arms would instigate questions. Making his way out of bed, Anthony walked to his bureau, opened the top drawer, and found what he’d purchased in Europe. Running the long lengths of black satin across his palm, his mind considered the possibilities of their use. It wasn’t that he was into the kinky shit; this was more about self-preservation. He could even consider it a favor. Claire’s fighting hadn’t worked well for her in the past, and he wouldn’t allow it in the future. With the use of satin restraints, he would assure that when he exited the S.E. suite, he’d be scathe-free, and with her cooperation, albeit forced, Claire would be able to boast the same.