was.
Clara Sinclair.
The first time he’d laid eyes on her, Eddie had been smitten; Clara wasn’t the type of woman who would’ve been considered a knockout, but to his eyes, Hollywood starlets paled in comparison. He had marched over to her teller window and started talking about anything he could think of: the weather, the new Perry Como song, even ruminations about how many people touched any one particular piece of change. It was nonsense, but looking at her, seeing just how captivating she could be, he couldn’t help himself. He felt certain that Clara must have felt the sparks rocketing back and forth between them, but amazingly, she appeared put off, even a bit embarrassed. She never uttered more than a few words.
Which only made him want her all the more.
Just like that, Eddie was infatuated. He watched her from across the bank, memorizing every strand of her hair, the way her face lit up when she smiled at a customer, the cut of every outfit in her closet. Every chance he had, he approached her, complimenting her work, her shade of lipstick, even what she’d brought for lunch, anything that might strike up a conversation between them, but he never managed to crack her frosty exterior. Eventually, it became such an obsession that he pressed her more often, more insistently, until finally his father noticed and hauled Eddie into his office.
“Stay away from her,” Theo had warned, his face creased with a disapproving scowl. “She’s got enough troubles in her life without you chasing after her like a puppy. You look like a fool.”
Chastised, Eddie retreated to his desk and did as his father asked. But being barred from speaking to Clara only drove his unrequited feelings to even greater heights. His daydreams grew in intensity; he imagined the two of them married, the talk of the town, living in the house on the hill surrounded by their children, and happier than he would ever have imagined possible.
Then his father died and he no longer had to hold back his feelings.
Over and over, Eddie replayed his talk with Clara. It hadn’t gone quite how he’d imagined. Telling her that he loved her and that he wanted to marry her had been liberating, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. But her reaction had been disappointing, to say the least. Listening to her, understanding that she was rejecting him, had lit a fuse inside Eddie, sparking an explosion that had surprised him almost as much as Clara. He hadn’t intended to use the money she still owed on her house against her; he’d only wanted to show her what she stood to gain by becoming his wife. But later, after she’d gone, he saw how useful the threat of taking her house was. All his life, squirming beneath his father’s thumb, Eddie had been powerless.
Now, he had the power.
Eddie poured another drink, this time adding an extra finger’s worth. Raising the glass, he offered a silent toast to his future.
He swore that he would court Clara the right way. He would make her see what she’d been missing all these years. Then, when he officially proposed, offering her a ring adorned with the biggest diamond he could find, she would fall into his arms and tearfully accept, realizing just how wrong she had been.
That day would be the happiest of both their lives.
But then again, if she remained stubborn, if Clara refused to acknowledge what was best for her, Eddie would use the loan on her house against her.
Either way, he would get what he wanted. He was tired of being denied.
This time, when he swallowed down his drink, it felt good.
Chapter Seven
N AOMI M ARSH CLOSED her eyes, tipped back her head, and let a moan rise in her throat, enjoying the feel of Tommy’s lips against her skin. She sat on a scarred workbench in his garage, deep in the dark shadows, as the afternoon sun blazed down outside, an unusually hot day for spring. He was sweaty, a mixture of heat and passion. They faced each other, Tommy standing, Naomi’s