Truth - Romig Aleatha (читать книги полностью без сокращений бесплатно txt) 📗

Claire chose to use the word brave.

When Claire entered her condo she heard unexpected noises resonating from the den. Making her way down the hall, she found Harry lounging on the small loveseat watching a baseball game. The way his long legs hung off the end of the sofa added to the comedy of the scene. Especially considering the large comfortable couch and five times larger television in his condo. “Is your television broken?”

He turned to speak. Her appearance momentarily muted him. Eventually he managed to answer, “No, it’s fine. I just thought you might need some moral support.”

“Tell me you aren’t here to be sure I came home.”

Harry stood and approached one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. “Not like you may think. I really wanted to be sure you were all right. I know I haven’t asked directly. And I don’t need to know anything you don’t want to say, but I get the feeling there were times in your past, your ex-husband didn’t treat you well.” He tried to read her eyes; they were changing into that stoic noncommittal stare. “Claire, stop the pretense.”

She backed away from his sudden harsh tone. “Excuse me? I haven’t said a word.”

“No, you haven’t. But you’re doing what you always do. You’re hiding behind some mask of indifference.”

The night was overwhelming. Her head did hurt. She’d just left dinner with Tony and was suddenly in another confrontation. Claire honestly wasn’t up for more conflict. Plus, his word: mask. That’s what she used to tell herself to wear with Tony. Did she really wear one with Harry too?

“My head is aching. I’m sorry if you find my expression unappealing. I appreciate your concern. I’m home safe and sound. And, I did learn some valuable information. Perhaps, I can share it with you tomorrow.”

He stepped closer and placed his hands on her waist. She didn’t back away. Yet, she filled with guilt as her thoughts centered on the man at the restaurant, not the one before her.

When Harry touched her waist, his fingertips landed on her warm skin. He hadn’t realized the back of her dress was open. He leaned around her shoulder and took in the stunning view. “You look lovely. I’m sure this will be on every magazine in a day or two.”

“No, it won’t.”

Surprised by the finality of her statement, Harry asked, “How can you say that? We go to Starbucks and make the internet. You looking this gorgeous will warrant the cover of every national gossip magazine!” He continued to hold her gently around the waist. Claire shook her head back and forth. Then half-jokingly he whispered, “Apparently, I’ve not warranted such an amazing dress.”

Her neck stiffened, “It’s not new. I wore it in Texas. And I can assure you, you won’t see my picture in this outfit or any other with Anthony Rawlings, at least not until he is ready to have it out there.”

“What happened to your plan for visibility?”

“I was trumped. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.”

“What happened?”

“I promise to tell you all about it, tomorrow. Right now, I want out of this dress and these shoes.” Harry moved ever so slightly toward her warmth, until her next words changed his plans. “If you’d please lock the door on your way out, I’m going to bed.” She pulled away from his embrace and turned toward her room.

Before she passed the door frame she heard Harry’s voice. “I would really like the chance to understand you better, the real you.”

Softly she said, “Good night, Harry,” and proceeded to her room. Truthfully, his comment regarding a mask caught her by surprise. She didn’t mean to hide her feelings, well not usually. Nevertheless, tonight she couldn’t possibly look into his soft blue eyes or feel his gentle touch and not think about the man that challenged her sanity. It wasn’t fair to Harry, be with him and think about Tony.

It wasn’t fair to Claire to have to make decisions about her true feelings. She needed time; time to sort out the mayhem that continued to be her life. Luckily, the medicine cabinet in her attached bath contained a big bottle of acetaminophen. Finally, she settled into her welcomingly cool and pleasantly lonely, comfortable bed.

Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together. 

—Eugene Ionesco

Chapter 17

Claire’s body dripped with perspiration; her breasts pushed toward his solid muscular chest. She craved the sensation of his tight muscles and soft chest hair against her sensitive nipples. Inhaling deeply, the fragrance of cologne reached the depth of her lungs, filling her senses and intensifying her irrepressible desire. The tips of her fingers gripped the soft Egyptian threaded sheets; her manicured fingernails threatening to gouge the luxurious linens, potentially returning them to fibers, in the heat of passion. Arching her back, Claire’s lips sought to taste the stubbled neck, which with each exaggerated pulse of his carotid artery, provided the amazing scent. It was so close.

 Yet, as much as she tried, as much as she pushed toward the warmth, she couldn’t reach her target. Claire’s body ached to feel him, to have him, to take him or more accurately, to be taken by him. It’d been so long, and she could no longer suppress her desires. No one else’s opinion mattered. Willingly and without regret she submitted to the mounting passion. The train she rode couldn’t be stopped, even if she wanted. But, she didn’t want to stop. Every fiber of her body was in agreement. She wanted what only he could give. She wanted...

Her eyes opened to darkness. It wasn’t the darkness in her dream – not the dark eyes, which unpardonably consumed her heart and soul. It was the darkness of night, of her room, of her lonely, empty bed.

Claire looked at the clock on the nearby table. Damn, it was only a little after two. Being the third time she’d awoken since leaving Harry down the hall. She decided it was the night that never ends. Lamb Comps sang in her head, a G rated childhood memory running in loops, kindly drowning out the echoes of XXX rated passion.

Freeing her bound legs from the tangled mess of sheets and blankets, Claire relished in the cool fresh breeze from her open window, detecting the slightest scent of the impeding summer. She inhaled the promise of warmth, chlorine, and freshly cut grass.

The night had been a never ending ride upon a carrousel, up and down, around and around, the same scenes over and over. One minute feeling cold, she’d ensconce her body with a soft cocoon and drift to sleep. What seemed like moments later – she’d awake, violently thrashing to free herself from the sweltering coverings. Thank god, Amber was out of town. Claire believed a few times, she’d actually cried-out audibly. She wasn’t sure if her screams were from the ecstasy of her dreams or the pain of her reality.

These weren’t mysterious nightmares which left her wondering their meaning. No, these were vivid, lifelike dreams that caused her to gasp with disappointment each time her eyes opened to the cold reality. Although, the visions were no more real than her memories of an Iowa summer or her lake shore, she still laid panting for breath and clutching the helpless, innocent pillow.

Claire knew her unconscious, carnal yearning had once again forsaken her. It wasn’t the first time. Last time, she gave in to its perfidious pleas. Last time, the object of her desire was close, too close to fight. She hadn’t had the strength, not to fight him and her rebellious longings.

Allowing her eyes to adjust to her surroundings, she concentrated on the stucco ceiling illuminated only by the light of the clock. The stupid, red numbers refused to change, giving her more time to do nothing but think. Claire focused on her breathing, willing her pulse to slow and her skin to cool. She argued with her traitorous body. Surely with enough reasoning, she could make it cooperate.