Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  Something about the thought of home meaning Tony’s house perplexed Claire. She decided—it was what it was. As he’d put it, her actions in Chicago resulted in the consequence of needing him to keep her from having more accidents. It wasn’t up for debate. She also knew things could be considerably worse than snuggling with a book, by the fire, in her suite, in her cashmere hoodie, and some comfortable jeans. She did her best to compartmentalize—it made the fire, book, and hoodie all very pleasant.

  Tony entered the bedroom as she stood before the mirror wearing a black silk robe and working on her hair. She knew, during her recovery, he’d only visited his district offices via Internet. He’d sent Timothy to do some of his bidding, but his presence had more influence. Some things needed to be dealt with in person. If his mood was any indication, the business dealings were going well.

  Her hair was pinned up and she’d been curling the ends when Tony came up behind her and kissed her neck. The contact ignited an immediate fire within her soul. Although her busy day had only allowed a short nap, his kiss sparked her to full alert.

  “Good evening, Claire. I trust you were successful today with your shopping endeavors?”

  She happily reported that she’d done very well—even finding some extra items.

  His grin showed his approval. “I can’t wait to see tonight’s ensemble.”

  Claire watched in the mirror as Tony disappeared into the dressing room to prepare for his shower. Seconds later, her insides tightened as he returned to the bedroom completely nude. Momentarily, their eyes met in the reflection. Seemingly distracted from his shower, Tony moved behind Claire, wrapped his arms around her and maneuvered his large hands beneath her flimsy robe. As he caressed her soft skin, he neared his lips to her neck and whispered, “Do you think joining me in the shower would be detrimental to your hair and make-up?” He nuzzled her neck.

  She inhaled his intoxicating scent as his chin’s stubble triggered goose bumps on her arms and legs. “I think it would,” she answered, unconvincingly.

  “Then perhaps we should plan it for another time?” His hands didn’t obey his words and continued to fondle.

  “Or…we could postpone your plans?” Claire closed her eyes, tilted her head against his chest, and massaged his strong arms. As she turned to face him, she smiled at his physical reaction to their proximity. Obviously, he was happy to be near her.

  Though his gravelly voice resonated in her ears, it successfully elicited pulsations elsewhere in her body. “Oh, God, I want to, but we have plenty of time for that. Tonight, I have special plans for you.” He slowly stepped back, but before he released his touch, he said, “And, so far you look amazing. I believe I like your outfit now better than the one you bought.”

  With her robe now lying in a black silk puddle on the floor, Claire’s cheeks blushed, and she flashed a modest smile. “It’s November. I believe I’d get cold as we walk the streets of New York,” her voice reflected Tony’s playfulness.

  “Perhaps—but if I have anything to do with it—cold is not what you would be feeling.”

  After a lingering kiss, Claire watched him disappear into the bathroom. Shaking her head, she retrieved her robe and secured the tie. It truly amazed her how he was able to flip a switch and immediately send her entire body into mayhem. Though she tried to concentrate on her breathing and resume her work on her hair, her thoughts continually went to the next room—thinking about Tony’s steamy shower and slippery soap suds.

  When Tony re-entered the bedroom, Claire was dressed. His gaze lingered. “I think you look stunning”—his expression didn’t seem to be in full agreement with his words. Lifting the hem of her dress, his fingers traced the top of her new hosiery and his grin broadened—“My! What will they think of next? Very good.” He lightly kissed her lips.

  Claire smiled. He was so predictable—well, sometimes.

  By the time they reached the front doors of the building Eric had the limousine warm and ready for their adventure. Once in the back of the car, Claire asked Tony about their plans. He would only disclose that their first stop was dinner. The cold crisp night air formed crystals on the windows of the limousine, making the lights of the city shimmer. The crystals seemed to flash rhythmically with intensity mimicking the hum of music coming from the cabin’s speakers.

  It didn’t take long, considering the traffic, to reach their destination—the Crown Plaza Hotel on Broadway, in the heart of New York’s theater district. Once inside, Tony directed Claire to Brasserier 1605, a beautiful restaurant bustling with patrons. The hostess immediately ushered them to a romantic table with a stunning view of Times Square. The waiter seemed to know their timetable better than Claire—providing exceptionally efficient service. Tony ordered a bottle of wine—approved a taste—and the waiter poured two glasses. They enjoyed delicious grilled sea diver scallops for their appetizer and seared Atlantic salmon as their main course. Claire thought everything tasted scrumptious. Along with other sensory organs recently reawakened, she had a newfound appreciation for food. She enjoyed the aroma as the plate appeared in front of her, the taste on her tongue, and the texture as she chewed. Tony watched happily as she delighted in each bite of her seafood.

  His mood amused Claire. It seemed different—in a positive way. He talked excessively, yet not about anything in particular. She asked when they were going back to Iowa, and he said he did need to have a few meetings on Friday. So, they could leave Friday night or wait until Saturday. Claire felt bad about not being with Catherine on Thanksgiving. She would love to be with John and Emily, but knew better than to ask. Catherine had become her closest family. She hoped Catherine had someone to visit for the holiday.

  Tony wouldn’t give hints about their next destination. Being in the Theater District, Claire guessed they were on their way to a show. Smiling, he refused to tell her which one. After dinner Eric appeared to chauffeur them to the Broadhurst Theater. The title on the marquee read The Merchant of Venice with Al Pacino. Claire had heard it was one of the hottest tickets in town. They, of course, had amazing seats. She’d never been a Shakespearean fan, yet in no time at all, she became completely engrossed in the play. By the time it ended she’d laughed and cried. The entire cast’s performances were riveting, taking her to another world for two hours and completely draining her with the range of sweeping emotions. She was ready to go back to the apartment.

  Eric waited for them as they left the theater. Tony didn’t ask Claire where she wanted to go next. She assumed they’d be heading to the apartment; therefore, when Eric went another direction she was surprised. They headed north to Fifty-Ninth Street, and Eric stopped at Seventh Avenue, at Central Park.

  The cold crisp air awakened her as they moved from the warm limousine to the waiting horse-drawn carriage. The horseman was prepared for the brisk weather with blankets, and Eric supplied mittens and scarves. To keep warm, they snuggled under the blankets, held mittened hands, and observed the beautiful park with lights lining the paths and illuminating some of the trees. The large strong horse pulled the carriage slowly and steadily around the eight hundred plus acres. The methodical trot rhythmically created a cadence for their dialogue. Their noses and cheeks reddened in the cool air as they cuddled, talked, and enjoyed the incredibly romantic setting.

  Gently holding Claire’s mittened hand, Tony spoke honestly with love, “Claire, you know I’ve dated many women.” She said she’d read about some. “There have been women who’ve wanted to date me solely for my money, and I admit to taking advantage of that.” His honesty had her full attention. “You know I’m a private person. Truly there are few people who have seen the real me. There are all sorts of psychological reasons for why I am the way I am. They probably stem from childhood and traumas early in life, but the past is that, and the reasons don’t matter. What matters is that unlike many of my business associates or acquaintances, you’ve met the real me.” That thought made her feel slightly uneasy. “There are sides to me that need subduin
g. Honestly, I’ve never cared to try, but I do now, and I believe it’s possible.”

  She continued to listen. His soft brown eyes held her gaze as he continued, “Claire, the other night you asked me if I cared about you. Honestly—with our initial arrangement—I never intended to, but without a doubt, I do”—she saw something new in his expression—something she didn’t recognize. He asked—“Do you care about me? Do you enjoy being with me?”

  Claire considered her answer. Honesty was the best policy, no matter the consequence. “Tony, I do care about you. I want you to be happy, and I would do anything to help that happen, and on a night like tonight, or even a quiet night at home, I enjoy being with you”—she smiled—“more than enjoy”—her emerald eyes shimmered in the cold air—“however, honestly, there are times I don’t. There are times I want you away from me, or vice versa.” She maintained eye contact and watched for his reaction.

  He smiled and leaned closer. His kiss was forceful, yet passionate. It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. The relief overwhelmed her as she kissed him back.

  When he pulled away, his tone was sincere, “You are the most amazing woman. I have vice presidents, presidents, and chairmen of boards who have never experienced me as you have. None of them would have the courage to answer that question as honestly as you just did”—she exhaled—“It’s your strength and determination that have infuriated me. That strength and resilience has also made me fall in love with you.”

  Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a shock—but it was. He said that he loved her. He had her complete attention, and yet her internal monologue almost drowned out his voice: Love, really? He just said he loves me? Do I love him?

  “Claire, I experienced life without you—after your accident. I don’t want to do that again, but I want you to make your own decision. Tonight I would like to present you with two options: your freedom—you may leave tonight and your debt is paid, or”—he removed a diamond solitaire ring from his jacket pocket—“you could agree to marry me and spend the rest of your life with me—not out of obligation or contractual agreement—but because you want to be with me.”

  Her heart beat rapidly and her lungs momentarily forgot to breathe. She stared at Tony and at the ring. With only the illumination of the streetlamps she saw the brilliant solitaire diamond. It was surrounded by a delicate diamond border with additional diamonds on the platinum band. She’d never seen anything so beautiful, and Tony was offering it to her. Her mind couldn’t stop spinning. She knew she should answer, speak, say something, but words failed her.

  He continued, “You told me yesterday no more black boxes, so I took it out of its box”—he grinned—“could we see if it fits?”

  Claire nodded and extended her left hand. Tony smiled as he removed the fuzzy mitten and placed the ring on her fourth finger. She was suddenly glad she agreed to a manicure.

  “It seems to fit.” Tony looked into her emerald eyes. “The question still seems to be unanswered. Do you want to keep it on and stay with me? Will you please be Claire Rawlings?”

  She weighed her possibilities. He could be the most romantic man in the world. He was incredibly generous with his money, both to her, for whatever she needed, and others—thus much philanthropic recognition. He was the most amazing lover. She’d never in her life experienced sensual highs like she had with him. He was the only person whom she could talk with freely. He knew all about her, because he knew her private information, but—that was the word that haunted her—but he could be dark, mean, cruel, controlling, and sadistic. He was the reason for that private information. “I…I’m so surprised”—she stuttered—“are you seriously asking me to marry you?”

  He grinned and bowed his nose to hers. “Yes, my dear, this entire night has been leading to this proposal. I’ve watched you—with me—in private—in public—with my closest friends—and I want you there always. I love you.”

  Again, internal debate: Love? He keeps using that word. Love, do I love him? I think I do. When did that happen? Oh my, Claire needed to think about this. The napkin thing happened too quickly, this needed contemplation. “Please”—she implored—“please, let me think. I promise you an answer soon.”

  He waited patiently. The carriage steadily moved through the cold crisp air. She saw her breath as she looked at her hand and at Tony. She thought about his patience as she healed from her injuries, about him risking public exposure with Dr. Leonard, about how he made her feel when she saw him walk into a room. Her contemplation took a while. They sat back in the carriage. She rested her head on his shoulder and thought. He didn’t say a word or push. Instead, he waited and tenderly held her hand.

  She could decide to leave—and do what? Go back to Atlanta. Did she still have an apartment? He waited. There was a side of him that frightened her, but the idea of living without him—somehow frightened her more. She needed him. He told her that. More importantly, she loved him—she really did. Sometime during the last eight months he’d become her everything. Now when faced with the possibility—Claire couldn’t imagine her life without him in it.

  Finally, she answered, “God help me, yes—Tony, I’ll marry you”—he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her tenderly. When their lips separated, Claire confessed—“I love you too.” She watched his eyes glisten with the reflection of the white lights. It was a gaze she could watch forever. As the carriage continued through the park, Claire scooted closer, laid her head back on his shoulder, and looked again at her left hand.

  Tony’s voice broke the momentary stillness, “If you don’t like the ring we can look at others. It’s from Tiffany’s. We can go Friday and exchange it.”

  “Oh, no! I love the ring, besides you chose it. It’s exquisite. I’m just so surprised.” She thought of something. “Does Catherine know you were planning this?”

  Tony said she suspected, but he hadn’t told anyone. He didn’t know her response. “I never go into a meeting that I don’t know the outcome. I’m always prepared for every situation. Tonight I wasn’t sure. You asked about your debt being paid a few months ago. I thought perhaps you would take that option.” He leaned down to kiss her hair. “I can’t tell you how happy I am you didn’t. I know Catherine will be too.”

  When the carriage arrived back at Seventh Avenue, Eric had the limousine warm and waiting. As Tony helped Claire down from the carriage and led her to the car, and he told Eric, “My fiancée and I are ready to go back to the apartment.”

  “Yes, sir. Congratulations, Mr. Rawlings, and to you too, Ms. Claire.”

  That night after some of the most wonderful lovemaking Claire had ever experienced, she began to consider the reality that she was getting married and that meant a wedding. “I don’t know how to plan a wedding to someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “You know what I mean. This won’t be your everyday Indiana or Iowa wedding. You’re Anthony Rawlings. We can’t go to dinner without photographers—a wedding will be a national spectator event.”

  He chuckled. “My dear, that’s why there are wedding coordinators and planners—we’ll hire the best. They’ll assist in everything.”

  That made Claire feel better. She wondered: if the wedding were a catastrophe; wouldn’t that be a public failure?

  “By the way”—Tony added—“how do you feel about a Christmas wedding?”

  Her mind went into overdrive. “Christmas? As in four weeks from Saturday?”

  “I can’t wait any longer than that to have you be my wife, Mrs. Anthony Rawlings.”

  She knew from experience his mind was made up. With queasiness deep in the pit of her stomach, she replied, “I feel that you must hire the world’s best wedding coordinator and planner.”

  Claire tried to sleep, but the panic of planning a wedding in four weeks made her suffocate. She lay next to her fiancée and attempted to make sense of everything. Maybe she needed to compartmentalize—one thing at a time: wedding—reception—dress—and maid-of-honor. �
��Tony, I’d like Emily to be my matron-of-honor.”

  He was almost asleep, and his voice sounded far away, “We can discuss it tomorrow. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  This is the finest measure of thanksgiving: a thankfulness that springs from love.

  —William C. Skeath

  Chapter Twenty-Five

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  They talked into the early morning about the wedding. Therefore, Thursday morning, Claire slept soundly until after 9:00 AM. Sensing she was alone in the big bed, she focused her gaze on her left hand. On the fourth finger was a spectacular engagement ring. Smiling, she marveled at the reality—it wasn’t a dream. She was really marrying Anthony Rawlings. Until last night, Claire hadn’t allowed herself to think of Tony in terms of emotions or endearments. She knew she was having feelings, but she wouldn’t let herself elaborate; however, when he said he loved her—it opened a floodgate. She thought about her feelings and how she missed him when he was gone. How she enjoyed having him around to talk with. How he could make her feel special, and how she thought about him when they were apart. She realized, to her own amazement, she really did love him! She couldn’t contain her smile; this revelation was so astounding!

  Claire wrapped herself in a thick long robe and walked downstairs to the dining room. As she approached, the rich poignant aroma of fresh coffee filled her lungs and brought her senses to life. Jan had coffee warm and ready. Tony wasn’t there. When she enquired, Jan informed her, “Mr. Rawlings is in his office. Ms. Claire, if I may? Congratulations.”