Convicted (Consequences)

by Romig, Aleatha

  He truly thought she’d pushed their past away, glorified him in some unhealthy, undeserving way, yet on these pages, she’d recounted everything, and despite it all, she proclaimed unyielding love. Her words were correct, especially when she wrote, Anthony Rawlings wanted me. Tony didn’t realize how much at the time, but he did. The shrink at the prison helped him see that the terrible things he did—and he did some awful things—were his way of keeping her away—keeping her at a distance. He never intended to become emotionally attached. Blame it on anything from his past—there was no excuse for his behaviors. Anthony Rawlings never anticipated being emotionally vested in anyone. The psychologist also said, no one can come back from that kind of relationship. It can never be healthy. Is that what her therapist said too? Could they all be wrong? Could they be the one-in-a-million?

  Staring into Claire’s eyes, Tony fought the urge to touch her, comfort her, and apologize for ever thinking they should be apart. Once again, his desires overwhelmed him. The self-control he’d elicited for the last two weeks dissipated with each beat of his heart. If he’d truly wanted to maintain their distance, then he never should’ve walked up the stairs. He wanted her more than he wanted life. How did he ever think he could let her go?

  Claire waited. She wondered how he’d react—what he’d say. She hadn’t read that notebook in a while, but she knew it was the first one—the one explaining why she wrote everything down. Tony told her she needed to face their past. She wanted him to see—she had. She’d faced every minute. Although he hadn’t said a word, his eyes pulled her in. She wouldn’t look away—she couldn’t. At the sight of the familiar black gleam, her insides tightened to a painful pitch.

  The temperature surrounding them warmed as his unrelenting stare bore through her. Claire felt heat radiate from every molecule within the room. While maintaining their unbroken gaze, he laid the notebooks on the dresser. The only reason she wanted to show him the notebooks was to show him that she’d already obeyed his directive. Besides, she reasoned—she’d told him to stay downstairs. This overwhelming sensation of lust wasn’t what she had planned. Her mind fought her body. He’d already rejected her. She couldn’t bear to have him do it again, yet without thinking, her feet moved his direction.

  Did he move forward too? She didn’t know. Somehow, they were mere inches apart.

  Willing herself to stop, Claire broke their gaze and looked down. Seconds later, she felt the warmth of his finger and thumb lifting her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. Obstinately, she lifted her chin, but kept her eyes shut.

  The rich baritone voice commanded, “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  Tipping her forehead against his broad chest, she inhaled. His cologne filled her senses as she mumbled, “I can’t.”

  She felt his words rumble from his chest. “Look at me”—it wasn’t a request—“I want to see your damn eyes—now!”

  “Please, please, Tony—don’t. I can’t take another rejection—not from you.”

  Lifting her face, his lips brushed hers just before his words softened and he asked, “Why did you show me that?”

  He hadn’t released her chin when her eyes finally opened. Looking up, she knew, despite her claims to the contrary, not only did he control her chin—he controlled her heart. “So that you’d know...I have faced our past—multiple times. Even knowing that past, I wanted a future.”

  His words dripped with heat, each one blowing a warm breeze against her cheeks, “Wanted? Past tense?”

  She wanted to say, no, I want, but she’d been hurt too many times. Her indignation rose. “You don’t want me!”—“You left me in the Iowa jail!”—“You told me two weeks ago you wanted a divorce!”—“I can’t live in a fantasy! You don’t want me”—“or a future with me!”—with each phrase, her volume grew—“let go of my chin and stop pretending!”

  He obeyed her demand and released her chin; however, relinquishing his hold wasn’t even feasible. Forcing her to keep her face tilted toward his, Tony slid his hand to the back of her neck, while his other hand wrapped around her petite frame. He didn’t think or reason as his lips captured hers.

  For two weeks, he’d tried to let her go. He’d wanted to release her and give her the freedom she deserved—the freedom he’d taken away so many years ago, but—each day, each hour, each minute, each second—was agony. When Tony wasn’t near Claire—he thought about her. When he was near her—his energy was devoted to fighting his desire. It was exhausting. With his lips against hers, he no longer wanted to fight. His chest pushed against her, moving them, step by step, until they were flush with the wall. His needs intensified as he felt the sensation of her breasts against him. He told himself to stop—he was no good for her—but he didn’t listen—he couldn’t. Unapologetically, his tongue penetrated her lips, and his grasp pulled her hips against his.

  Momentarily, Claire’s fists pushed in protest. Soon, she realized resistance was futile—mostly because—she didn’t want to fight. His actions had her on the verge of forgetting any reasonable arguments. All she wanted was the present, then Tony’s voice rumbled like thunder, and his fist pounded the wall above her head, “I told you before, I’ve never pretended to love you! I do love you! That’s present tense!”

  While the wall vibrated, she watched the illuminations of darkness dance through his eyes. She’d wanted to see emotion and now she had it! Before she could respond, his body pinned her against the wall. The scent of cologne mixed with musk overpowered her olfactory senses. Her body liquefied at the sensation of his lips and hands. She heard the sound of her own heart beating as the rush of blood pulsated too quickly through her veins. Soon, their ragged breaths filled her ears, and she fought to regain the breath he’d taken. Her body was mindlessly responding to his touch as his desires became more pronounced and her moans echoed through their large suite.

  Before long, he led her to the bed, and her world tilted as he followed her onto the mattress. Her body ached for everything he could offer, but her mind couldn’t take another disappointment. While his hands found their way under her blouse, she found the strength to speak, “Stop.” When he didn’t respond, she repeated herself, louder, “I said, stop!”

  She saw the pain in his expression as he pushed himself away.

  Rolling out from under him, she exclaimed, “You need to go. I can’t do this. I won’t let you hurt me again.”

  “Claire, don’t you understand?”—The emotion in his voice stilled her movements, as well as her speech—“That’s why I wanted a divorce. I don’t want to hurt you and—and I can’t take it again, either. You talk about me leaving you at the jail and this divorce”—he stammered—“W—what about you?”

  Claire stood and stared in disbelief as Tony paced beside the bed. His unbuttoned shirt allowed a clear view of his still muscular chest. “Me?” she asked. “What about me?”

  “You left me. You drove away from me—twice! You don’t think I don’t remember that every damn time you drive away from this estate?” His hand ran through his salt and pepper hair as he fought his words. “The other day when you were gone for over three hours and driving around Bettendorf—of all places—I was scared to death that you’re considering doing it again.”

  Claire’s knees buckled as she sunk onto the bed and stared incredulously. Her words came slowly, “What do you mean...the other day? How did you know that I was in Bettendorf?”

  “Claire, they say we’re no good for one another, but your notebooks—you said you still loved me after everything—is that still true?”

  Now standing, Claire stared up into her husband’s face and moved closer. “Answer me. What do you know about my comings and goings?”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled. “The reason I didn’t want Roach working for you, was”—he hesitated—“he’d been working for me since the day you came home.”

  Claire’s eyes filled with moisture. They weren’t angry tears—although perhaps they should’ve been—they were happy tears. Her
voice was barely a whisper, “Why? Tell me why you’ve had Phil following me.”

  He gripped her shoulders. “You have every right to be angry. That’s fine, but I’m not sorry. I worry—I’ll always worry. I don’t want anything to happen to you—ever again.” His words came fast. “I don’t really care that you go—I just need to know that you’re safe.”

  Slowly, she turned away and found her seat on the edge of the bed. From somewhere deep, she tried to summon a mask—any mask—but they were all beyond her reach. Her emotions were real and her expression transparent.

  Tony knelt beside her. “Please, tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Claire shook her head. “I don’t know—there are so many things.” Her voice quivered as she searched for the right words. “I—I’ve been asked over and over, why I didn’t try to escape from you in 2010 when I had opportunities.” Tony’s eyes reflected the pain coming from her words. Claire went on, “When I tell the story about us, and talk about shopping or the symphony—they tell me I should have run or told someone. I didn’t”—she inhaled—“because I was afraid—I was afraid that if I did, and failed, you’d punish me—hurt me.” Claire watched the torment grow in her husband’s expression. Framing his face in her hands, she continued, “That physical pain I feared was nothing—nothing compared to the pain of thinking you no longer cared. These last two weeks have been hell. They taught me that pain can be present, despite every physical need being met.”

  Small pools of moisture teetered on Tony’s lower lids. “The divorce wasn’t meant to hurt you.”

  She reached out and hugged his neck; her lips brushed his. “Tony, maybe I should be upset that you’ve had me followed, but I’m not. Honestly, I’m relieved—I didn’t think you cared anymore.”

  His eyes shimmered while the tips of his lips curved into his signature devilish grin. Pushing her back against the mattress, Tony covered her body with his and replied, “Mrs. Rawlings, I will always care and always love you. I promised you that almost six years ago.”

  This time, she didn’t protest as his weight held her to the soft satin comforter. Removing his shirt from his broad shoulders, Tony added, “I’ve told you. I am—and despite it all, I continue to be—a man of my word.”

  Claire watched his chest expand and contract. Unconsciously, her fingers threaded through the soft chest hair, which, too, had lightened with the addition of intermingling gray. As her hands caressed his warm muscles, any thought of age slipped from her mind. Her only thought was of his skin against hers. They were two pieces of a larger puzzle that fit perfectly together. Without their union, the puzzle would be forever incomplete.

  The sensation of his lips trailing across her exposed collarbone as his fingers unbuttoned her blouse, incited goose bumps on her arms and her legs. Claire yearned to be closer—to have him inside of her and though every fiber of her body wanted what only he could give, she needed to know more. Finding her voice, she asked, “If we do this—if we reunite—can I trust you not to leave me again?”

  “I wanted to protect you. The divorce was only to keep you from being hurt—by me.”

  “Don’t you see?”—her questioning stopped Tony’s seduction—“Not being with you—hurt me. Every day hurt more than the one before.”

  Tony nodded. “It was agony. When I was in prison and we were separated by distance, it sounded good in principle, but seeing you”—he lifted his head and looked down at her now nearly naked body—“and touching you”—the tips of his fingers softly trailed the warm flesh from her collarbone down to the band of her lace panties—“and not being allowed to taste you.” His lips seized a now exposed nipple and gently tugged while his tongue swirled the hardening nub, eliciting moans Claire didn’t know she’d articulated—“Was agony.”

  Her breath quickened as the stubble of his beard prickled her skin. Unabashed, Claire wanted the kind of agony that only he could provide. Arching her back, she exposed her breasts for more of his delicious torture. While she still had the ability to speak, she murmured, “First—first, I have a request.”

  His mischievous grin caused Claire’s muscles—the ones deep inside that had yet to be touched—to tighten. With a raised eyebrow, he quipped, “Yes? I think I might like this. Does it involve black satin?”

  Fighting the carnal desire, she snickered. “No.” Trying to focus, she replied, “I want you to promise that you won’t leave me, no more talk of divorce—ever. I want my happily ever after. Despite everything, I trust you and your word. If you tell me you’ll never divorce me or discuss it—I’ll believe you.”

  His baritone pitch resonated throughout their suite and deep into her soul as he spoke between kisses to her exposed skin. “You, my dear, are my drug. I’m so damn addicted”—“I can’t quit you”—“I know, because I’ve tried—not for me—but for you”—“I failed miserably”—“The more I have of you—the more I need”—“I can never get enough”—“If you’ll have me back—after all, this is your estate”—“If you’ll allow me to move back, I’ll try every day to give you exactly what you deserve”—“And I promise I will never mention divorce again.”

  Claire pulled his face toward hers. Their kiss lingered as his fingers continued to roam, each move delving lower and lower. His promise returned color to her world—she was his, and he was hers. Her nails bit into his shoulders as he teased and electrified her body with taunting caresses. Breaking the spell, he looked honestly into her eyes. “I want you so badly, but I need to be honest.”

  Her mind whirled with the possibilities of his confession.

  Tony continued, “I can’t promise you the happy ever after.” A lump formed in her throat, fearing his next words. “Not because you don’t deserve one—but because I know myself, and I’ll probably screw it up; however, I can promise I’ll spend the rest of my life trying. Is that enough for you?”

  Tears of relief cascaded from the corners of her emerald eyes. She captured him with her expression of acceptance; however, it was her words that secured the lock, “Tony, it’s more than enough.” Kissing his neck, she offered, “I promise that I’ll never drive away to leave you again, and I’ll never listen to anyone else without learning the truth from you, but”—she paused to deliver more butterfly kisses—“I will drive away, to multiple places.” Claire waited. When he didn’t argue, she continued with a smile, “And I’ll travel easier knowing Phil is there—when you can’t be.”

  Tony’s approving smile lit her world—his touch kindled a smoldering passion on the brink of an out of control wildfire.

  “I think we have a deal.”

  With a playful smile, Claire added, “Now, if you don’t make love to me right this minute, I’ll have you thrown off my property.”

  “My—Mrs. Rawlings, will my lodging payments continue to be so extreme?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I have the rest of our lives to come up with new ideas. You know, I’m very creative and let me warn you—the payments will be daunting—I hope you’re up for it.”

  His dark chocolate eyes liquefied into molten pools of brown, glistening above his signature devilish grin, as he said, “I believe that you know that I am—and Mrs. Rawlings, I look forward to your challenges. Apparently, only you can decide whether I make the cut.”

  Claire’s eyes fluttered as her body quaked in anticipation. Gripping his shoulders, she whispered, “Don’t disappoint me—there will be consequences.”

  The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life.

  —Richard Bach

  The aroma of sea filled the air as a gentle breeze brought the sound of the surf into the large living room. Madeline’s smile reflected the mood of the occasion. It had been years since she’d had so many people on the island. By the glow in her big brown eyes, her heart was as full as the house. The little baby she’d helped bring into the world was a beautiful little girl with large brown eyes—soft as suede and filled with joy –just lik
e her father’s.

  Claire held tightly to her sister’s hand as they both watched Tony place their grandmother’s pearl necklace around Nichol’s neck.

  “Look, Momma! Look, Aunt Em! Isn’t it pretty?” Nichol exclaimed as she spun toward them, exposing her precious gift. Turning back, she wrapped her small arms around Tony’s neck. “Thank you, Daddy!”

  As Tony swung their daughter into his arms, Claire let go of Emily’s hand and walked toward Nichol. Kissing her cheek, Claire replied, “It sure is, honey; this necklace means a lot to Mommy—and Daddy”—Claire’s eyes shifted momentarily to Tony’s as the emerald glistened with memories only the two of them shared—“So,” she continued to Nichol—“it’s only for special occasions. A long time ago, it belonged to Aunt Em and Mommy’s grandmother—your great-grandmother.”

  “Is today a special occasion?” Nichol asked.

  “It sure is!” Tony exclaimed. “It’s your third birthday. I don’t think anything is more special than that!”

  Claire leaned closer as Tony wrapped one arm around his wife and held tight to their daughter. Their group hug had the attention of everyone in the room—John, Emily, Michael, Brent, Courtney, Maryn, Caleb, Julia, Meredith, Jerry, their children, Madeline, and Francis. Undoubtedly, it was a full house and would be until after Christmas.

  Tony and Claire couldn’t think of a better way to thank all of the people who’d worked to keep their daughter safe and helped to make their world right. Truly, it was an unlikely assembly—one brought together against all odds. Some might say that, at one time, this assembly would’ve been considered improbable—maybe even impossible; however, as everyone rejoiced and wished Nichol a happy birthday, they were a family—united with unbreakable bonds.