Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Tony felt like the floor had been yanked out from beneath him. Claire Waters—here? Why? How? And why now?
Before he could say a word, she stepped forward with that familiar gleam in her eyes…
“Darling, aren’t you going to give me a kiss?”
Tony blinked, half-convinced his sleep-deprived brain had conjured Claire Waters as a cruel hallucination. But no—there she was. Real. Radiant. And dangerously unpredictable.
She looked stunning. Her long black hair was twisted back in an elegant sweep, and the pale yellow dress hugged her tanned figure like it had been designed just for her.
Before he could summon a response, Claire glided past Mrs. Sandy and threw her arms around his neck.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
A familiar, provocative scent wrapped around him, soft and subtle but unmistakably Claire. His hands found her waist without conscious thought. A reflex. A memory. A mistake.
“I’ve missed you too.” The words came out in his voice, but it felt like someone else had spoken them.
She smiled up at him, expectant. He lowered his head. Their lips met—warm, sweet, unnervingly familiar. For a heartbeat, he lost himself in it.
“Oh, my.” Mrs. Sandy’s delighted titter shattered the moment, and Tony jerked back.
“What do we have here?”
The deep voice came from the doorway, and Tony turned slowly, dread creeping into his bones.
Harold Clarke stood just inside, watching them with an amused twinkle in his eye.
“Mr. Clarke.” Tony pried himself free from Claire’s arms and extended a hand, fighting the urge to scrub her lipstick from his mouth. “What a surprise.”
“I told you Harold might stop by,” Mrs. Sandy said brightly.
“That’s right.” Tony forced a smile. “You did.”
“Let’s cut the guy some slack, Darlene,” Harold said with a chuckle, shaking Tony’s hand. “It’s not every day a man is reunited with his fiancée.”
Claire arched one brow but didn’t correct him. Instead, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned her gaze to Tony—cool, composed, and clearly in on the game.
Tony, on the other hand, felt like he was about to burst into flames. Subterfuge wasn’t in his skill set. Honesty, yes. Improvisation under pressure? Not so much.
“Mr. Clarke…” He raked a hand through his hair, every nerve on high alert. “There’s something I need to explain?—”
“Darling.” Claire’s fingers closed around his arm, nails biting into his skin. “I’ve been traveling since early this morning. I’m exhausted and really need to sit down.”
Mrs. Sandy bustled forward. “Of course. Forgive my manners. Let’s move into the parlor, and I’ll bring us some iced tea.”
Tony opened his mouth to protest. He couldn’t let this drag on. “Wait, I need to explain?—”
“I said don’t worry about it.” Harold’s tone left no room for argument. “It’s good to see such a close and loving relationship.”
“Tony’s always been affectionate.” Claire’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Whatever she didn’t understand, she’d decided to run with it—and enjoy the chaos. Tony’s stomach sank.
“Sweetheart, stop.” He smiled through clenched teeth and shot her a look meant to convey danger. Her answering grin only widened. This was her playground now, and he’d handed her the keys.
“Everybody, just take a seat,” Mrs. Sandy said. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Claire perched next to him on the sofa like she owned it. Harold, ever gracious, turned his attention to her.
“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”
“Mr. Clarke is an elder,” Tony said quickly, “and head of the church council.”
He hoped she caught the weight of that. If not, he was sunk deeper than the Titanic.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Harold said warmly. “We all have. Andrea’s quite the catch.”
“My name is Claire,” she said sweetly.
“Andrea Claire,” Tony said instantly, grabbing her hand and giving it a hard squeeze. “Andrea Claire Waters.”
Claire laughed—a little high-pitched—and Tony winced. But Harold seemed unbothered, especially when Claire leaned forward, lashes batting.
“Harold—you don’t mind if I call you Harold, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you must call me Claire.”
And just like that, she had him. Watching her work was like watching a magician saw a man in half—equal parts awe and dread.
By the time Mrs. Sandy returned with a tray of tea and cookies, Claire and Harold were laughing like lifelong friends.
“So, Harold, what do you do for a living?” Claire asked, accepting a glass of tea without so much as a thank-you.
“I’m a banker,” he said.
“A banker?” she echoed.
“I own the bank,” he added with pride, “in addition to a few others in nearby towns.”
Claire leaned in, her voice low. “I knew you were a businessman the moment I saw you.”
“What gave it away?”
She purred, “The look. The clothes. The hair. The smell—” she wrinkled her nose delicately “—of success.”
Tony resisted the urge to groan.
“I’ll get more napkins,” Mrs. Sandy announced, rising abruptly. Her spine was stiff, her steps quick.
Tony caught the faintest hint of jealousy in her departure—and nearly choked on his tea.
“My father’s a businessman,” Claire said. “Very successful. You remind me of him.”
Harold cleared his throat. “What kind of business is he in?”
“He used to own a data warehousing company,” she said. “Now he’s pursuing something new. A venture with a friend.”
Mrs. Sandy returned, her lipstick refreshed and curls fluffed. She settled beside Tony and smiled at Claire, too sweet to be sincere.
“Your father and Harold must be about the same age. I bet they’d have a lot in common.”
Tony bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Claire gave her a long, considering look. “Daddy’s a lot older than Harold. And not nearly as handsome.”
“Harold has three teenagers at home,” Mrs. Sandy added.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “How awful for you.”
Harold blinked. “They’re good kids. Of course, it’s hard being a single parent.”
“Does your ex live nearby?”
“My wife passed away five years ago,” he said, the pain flickering across his face like a shadow.
“How horrible.” Claire offered a look of sympathy. “But I bet women are lined up around the block for a man like you.”
Tony squeezed his eyes shut.
“Claire, was your father ever disappointed that your fiancé didn’t go into business with him?” Mrs. Sandy’s aim was direct—and deadly.
Claire turned slowly, studying the other woman. “Daddy’s still hoping Tony will come around. He believes enterprise software is where it’s at.”
Tony choked on his tea.
“Are you saying he doesn’t think the ministry is a worthy calling?” Mrs. Sandy’s eyes narrowed. “It almost sounds like you agree.”
Claire looked at Tony, confusion swirling in her eyes. She was in over her head now, and he knew it.
“Claire was the one who encouraged me to become a minister,” Tony said quickly.
“Really?” Harold brightened. “That’s wonderful.”
Tony nodded. “We were having coffee in Cedar Ridge, Colorado—Claire’s hometown—talking about a friend’s wedding. And the more we talked, the clearer it became that ministry was where I belonged.”
Harold turned to Claire. “So no second thoughts about being a minister’s wife?”
Claire lifted her glass and took a long sip, her eyes serious for the first time. “You want me to be honest?”
Tony’s grip tightened around his glass.
“Of course,” Harold said.
Claire smiled. “Like I told my father before I left town, there’s no place I’d rather be than at Tony’s side. The fact that he’s in the ministry? Just an added plus.”
* * *
“Can I be honest?” Tony paced the floor of the quiet, echoing church, his voice clipped as he mimicked hers. “Mind telling me what that was all about?”
He’d brought her here to talk, to get some clarity. After Harold had offered up the keys, Tony had leapt at the opportunity to escape the chaos—and pry some answers out of Claire.
“I was jerking your chain.” She laughed, light and careless. “It was fun. I might do it again.”
“Do you even realize what’s at stake here?”
Claire met his stare, her expression gleaming with challenge. “Not really. Ask me if I care.” She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Not really.”
Tony inhaled slowly, trying to steady the frustration churning inside him. When he’d received the call to Millville, he’d prayed for a clean start. A real chance to do some good.
He hadn’t prayed for Claire.
“I still can’t believe you’re a minister.” Her gaze skimmed down his frame, appreciative and unapologetic. “What a waste.”
He resisted the urge to remind her he was a minister, not a monk. That would only encourage her. “We need to talk.”
“You mean coordinate our stories?” she said with a teasing smile. “I prefer winging it. Keeps things interesting.”
Interesting? For her, maybe. For him, it had been a disaster in slow motion.
She tilted her head, considering. “But sure. You can go first. Tell me how you got yourself into this holy mess.”
“It’s… complicated.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find a way to explain that didn’t make him sound like an idiot. “Why don’t you start? How did you find me, Claire? What are you doing in Millville?”
“Taylor gave me your address.”
He stiffened. Of course. Taylor. He wished it was her standing in front of him right now. She’d understand. Claire? Claire was an emotional grenade with the pin halfway pulled.
“How is she?” he asked cautiously.
Claire shrugged, casual as always. “Well, she doesn’t look like a blimp anymore, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Taylor’s always been thin.”
“Ha.” Claire rolled her eyes. “You should’ve seen her six months ago.”
“You mean before she had twins ?”
“I don’t know how Nick could bear to look at her.” She shuddered. “Love must truly be blind.”
Tony’s jaw tightened. At one time, he’d wished it could’ve been him with Taylor. Now he saw things more clearly. It hadn’t been God’s plan. But still, when he imagined marriage, it was to someone like Taylor. Not…
Claire.
“She sent me pictures. The boys are cute,” he said, keeping his voice level.
“They’re okay, I guess,” Claire said with a begrudging tone. “But they’re monsters. Especially Robbie. That one screams non-stop. No wonder some women leave their kids. You’d have to have nerves of steel to handle that.”
“Mothers don’t leave their children.”
“Some do.” Her voice was quiet, too quiet. A flicker of something dark passed over her face, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
Tony frowned. “Taylor can handle it. She always could.” He tried to soften the moment with a smile. “But you still haven’t told me what brought you here.”
“You owe me a favor,” she said breezily. “I’m here to collect.”
“A favor? What favor?”
“Let’s sit down, and I’ll remind you of what you so conveniently forgot.” She kicked off one heel and rubbed her foot. “Bought these in New York a couple of weeks ago. They’re killers.”
“My office should be down this hall.”
She slid her shoe back on and followed him, the sharp click of her heels echoing along the gleaming floor. He stopped in front of a door marked PASTOR in gold lettering.
For a moment, Tony just stood there.
He’d waited years for this—worked, studied, prayed. And now he was here. A minister, with a congregation and a town that believed in him.
Thank You, he whispered inwardly.
“What are we waiting for?” Claire asked, impatiently. “An invitation?”
Tony chuckled. Same old Claire. He opened the door and gestured her inside.
She wrinkled her nose. “It smells funny.”
“It’s just stale air.” He raised the blinds and cracked the window, letting sunlight spill across the room.
The paneling was dated, but the burgundy leather chairs looked decent. A brand-new computer sat on the desk. It wasn’t glamorous—but to Tony, it was sacred ground.
“This place needs serious help,” Claire said, eyeing the decor with disdain. Her gaze landed on a silk floral arrangement in a burgundy vase. Her face contorted. “Good Lord.”
“Claire…”
“Don’t tell me you like those things.” She looked horrified. “What’s next? Magnetic goldfish on your desk?”
“I was thinking of getting two,” he deadpanned. “One for me, one for you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You do and that cheap plastic bowl’s going over your head.”
He laughed.
“You think I’m joking.”
“No,” he said, still grinning. “But I am. ” Then, more seriously, “I’d like it if you stayed. At least for a while.”
“I might.” She sank into a chair. “At least until Daddy cools down.”
“What’s got your father upset?”
“You know how unreasonable he can be.” She waved a hand, dismissing the question. “We needed space. So here I am.”
“I haven’t seen you in two years.”
“I know.” She winked. “Too long, don’t you think?”
He studied her. She was up to something—he just didn’t know what.
“Don’t look so suspicious, darling.” Her voice dipped low, teasing. She leaned closer, catlike. “It’ll be a kick. You and me, together again—just like old times.”
Tony’s throat went dry. That road still held its temptations. And he hated how aware he was of her nearness.
“Claire, things have changed,” he said, backing up a step. “I’m a minister now.”
Her lips twitched.
He crossed his arms. “You find that amusing?”
“You might have fooled the others,” she murmured, placing a hand flat on his chest, “but I know the real you.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” He stepped back, heat flaring under her touch. “You never tried. You just wanted to use me—to break up Nick and Taylor.”
She stilled.
A long moment passed.
“Well,” she said quietly, “I guess that makes us even, doesn’t it?”
“Even?”
“Oh, come on, Tony.” Her eyes flashed. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a fool.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You want people to think I’m your fiancée.” Her voice was calm, almost clinical. “Fine. I’ll play along. But if you’re going to use me for your own purposes…”
She stood and walked slowly toward him.
“…then I need to know the game plan before?—”
“Before what?” he asked, a knot forming in his gut.
She looked up at him, her gaze cool and unreadable.
“Before I decide what it’s going to cost you.”
Tony stared at her, the silence thick between them. He didn’t know whether to laugh, shout, or start praying. Of all the ways this week could’ve gone wrong, this—Claire showing up like a beautiful wrecking ball—wasn’t even on his radar. And now she was laying down terms like they were in some kind of twisted negotiation.
He wasn’t sure what rattled him more—her unpredictability or the part of him that still responded to it.
God help me, he thought, because I’m going to need more than sermons and goodwill to survive this.
* * *
Claire watched Tony, studying the tension in his shoulders, the conflict in his eyes. He wasn’t the same man she used to know—at least not entirely. He stood straighter now, steadier. There was something solid beneath the charm.
Something...dangerously real.
And that scared her.
He looked at her like she mattered. Like he saw something in her worth believing in. And the worst part? A tiny, ridiculous part of her wanted him to be right.
Don’t be stupid, she warned herself. But her pulse fluttered all the same.