Truth

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.
    Claire reminded herself that her memory banks held a litany of scenes involving Anthony Rawlings. She had plenty to supersede the erotic episodes she was currently viewing -- no, reliving. She knew the other memories existed. It’s just she’d worked to compartmentalize them away. So when her eyes closed and she remembered sharing a table with him, only hours before, the lock on the negative part of their past remained secure.
    Then again, during that dinner she had plans. And once again, he thwarted her plans, utilizing his unlimited resources and cunning psyche to conquer her desired consequence. Appearing suave and debonair he’d managed to reduce her well laid idea to rubble, while maintaining the perfect smile.
    That wasn’t completely true. His veneer definitely cracked when she referred to him as Anton . That bombshell unquestionably permeated his facade. Claire still couldn’t wrap her mind around this new revelation. Of course, she’d assumed the box was from him. She was certain of the writing, although the note wasn’t signed. Claire wished she still had the note. But, she had the pictures. The writing on the back of those, she was certain was his.
    Again, thankful Amber wasn’t home, Claire chose to forgo another all-consuming dream and get-up. She wanted to review and work on their research.
    With a warm cup of coffee in tow, Claire made her way to one of the spare bedrooms. Turning on the light she marveled at the magnitude of papers. Slowly, she was taking over more and more of Amber’s space. Although she mentioned finding a place of her own, she admittedly liked the company. And thus far, Amber