Behind His Eyes - Convicted: The Missing Years (40 page)

When they entered the house, Tony questioned Claire’s recently praised management skills. The staff was gone. She said she’d released them for the night. He had no idea that she’d been coming home to an empty house. As he waited for her to return from upstairs, with whatever she wanted to show him, Tony wandered from room to room. Though he planned to discuss the situation with Roach in the morning, he found it to be totally unacceptable. Slowly, unknowingly, color returned. If her managing the staff was to work, she needed to know better.

With each step up the stairs, Tony thought about his stance. It was simple. Until she retired for the evening, someone should be with her. What if she needed something? What if something happened? This wasn’t debatable. As he turned the corner to enter the master suite, Tony stopped. His Claire was there, on the floor rummaging through boxes. What was packed? Was she leaving? Anything she needed was here when she moved in. As the room seeped with crimson, Tony learned that red was also the color of worry. Why would she have boxes?

Then he remembered: her things from Everwood. He’d told the staff to send everything to the estate. That had to be what it was. She wasn’t leaving—was she?

From the disappointment at the lack of staff, to the worry over the boxes, the emotion he had worked for two weeks to subdue, consumed his being. As he watched his wife, Tony knew he should turn around and go back downstairs. The floodgate had opened. Emotions didn’t surge singularly. Disappointment and worry were only the front-runners. Desire and need were quickly approaching. He no longer had the energy to hold it back. Though he should have stayed downstairs, he didn’t turn around. Hunger colored his vision as his desire for his wife intensified.

Without turning in his direction, Claire said, “I’m sorry it took so long. I thought I knew where they were.”

When she stood and their eyes met, he knew without a doubt that she could sense the change. He saw it too in her eyes. The spark he’d doused now burnt his soul. Damn, she could probably hear his heart. It was beating out of his chest as he tried to appear aloof. In a few steps, she was before him, handing him what she’d found. Tony reached for the notebooks and asked, “What are these?”

“They’re my compartments,” she replied.

Confused, Tony opened the top notebook, and asked, “Your compartments? What do you…?” His words trailed as he began to read:

I suppose I should start in the beginning—March 2010. No, that wasn’t when I was born. It was when I began to live. Most people think I’m crazy—maybe I am. You see I began to live the day my life was taken away. Funny, I don’t remember how it happened. I do know now, it never could’ve been stopped.

Anthony Rawlings wanted me. If I’ve learned one lesson in my life—and believe me, I’ve learned many—Anthony Rawlings always got what he wanted.

Tony didn’t know if he could do this. He’d read the damn book. Why did she want him to see this? He continued:

I can’t explain how it happened. I can’t explain how I fell deeply and madly in love with a man who did the things that Anthony did—but I did! These feelings have been discounted by multiple people: family members, doctors, and counselors to name a few. They’ve told me my love wasn’t and isn’t real. They say I’m a victim of abuse, and as such, I don’t understand the difference between love and applied behavior. How can that be true? If I don’t know my own feelings, how can anyone else?

It was different than her testimony. It was different than Meredith’s book. This was real and in Claire’s handwriting. It was raw and vulnerable. Her therapists and doctors had told her the same thing that Jim had said—that they were wrong together. Yet, despite it all, she claimed to still love him, to never have stopped loving him, even when she thought he was dead, that she’d killed him. He continued to read:

So here I go. I’ve lived this story, and I’ve told this story. Now, I’m going to try to do both, because without reliving it, even in my mind, I can’t possibly explain that I’m not crazy…

I met Anthony Rawlings on March 15, 2010. That night I worked the 4:00PM to close shift at the Red Wing in Atlanta. He came up to the bar and sat down. I remember thinking…

Tony closed his eyes. He’d lived it and he’d read it. While with Jim, he’d relived parts: parts he wanted to forget and parts he’d remember forever. Fluttering the pages of all four notebooks, he noticed every page of every book was filled with writing. Glancing up, he saw Claire leaning against the wall, her arms folded over her chest watching him. Her blank expression failed to reveal her thoughts; however, in her eyes—her damn emerald green eyes—he saw the fire he’d missed. The one he’d doused too many times, most recently with his talk of divorce.

Staring, Tony fought the urge to touch her, comfort her, and apologize for ever thinking they should be apart. Gone was his control: his desires overwhelmed him. He wanted her more than he wanted life.
How did he ever think he could let her go?

The temperature of the suite warmed exponentially as he laid the notebooks on the dresser yet maintained their gaze, their connection. Surrendering to his need, he moved forward. Instantaneously, mere inches separated them. Then, Claire looked away, breaking their connection.

He lifted her chin and searched for the fire. Though she didn’t fight his grip, she obstinately shut her eyes. It was too late to stop. Tony knew what he wanted. “Open your eyes. Look at me,” he commanded.

Instead of obeying, Claire tipped her forehead against his chest, and said, “I can’t.”

She could probably hear the racing of his heart as he demanded her compliance. “Look at me. I want to see your damn eyes—now!”

“Please, please, Tony,” she pleaded. “Don’t. I can’t take another rejection, not from you.”

Rejection? He could never reject her. That was the furthest thing from his mind. He lifted her chin, and this time, brushed her lips with his. With a softer tone, he asked, “Why did you show me that?”

Her lids fluttered open. “So that you’d know… I
have
faced our past—multiple times. Even knowing that past, I wanted a future.”

Analyzing each word, the erratic beat of his heart stopped, perhaps all together because if what she said were true, there would no longer be a reason for his heart to continue to beat. “
Wanted?
Past tense?” he asked.

Though he still held her chin, the beautiful woman in his grasp morphed into the bold woman he’d grown to love. Her volume rose with each phrase. “
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! Let go of my chin and stop pretending!”

He obeyed her demand and released her chin; however, relinquishing his hold wasn’t even feasible. Tony’s actions weren’t planned: they were visceral and carnal. He slid his hand to the back of her neck and intertwined his fingers through her hair, forcing her to keep her face tilted toward his. With his other hand, he pulled her petite body against him as his lips seized hers.

For two weeks, Tony had tried to let Claire go. He’d wanted to give her the freedom she deserved, the freedom he’d taken away. However, each day, each hour, each minute, and each second had been agony. With his lips against hers, he no longer wanted to fight his desire. He couldn’t. Step by step, he pushed her backward until they were flush with the wall. Her initial resistance faded as his need intensified. Unapologetically, he tasted her sweetness as his tongue parted her lips. As he pulled her hips against his, everything came at him, more emotion than he’d allowed in years. Colorful fireworks exploded in his mind as his fist pounded the wall above her head. With his voice resonating throughout the suite sounding more like a growl, he said, “I told you before. I’ve
never
pretended to love you! I do love you! That’s
present
tense!”

She didn’t respond verbally, yet their kiss deepened, and their ragged breaths filled the large room. With each caress, her body responded to his touch. His want became more apparent and difficult to deny. When her sensual moans echoed in his ears, he could no longer resist. Tony led his wife to the bed and without hesitation, followed her onto the mattress. Her fanned hair behind her flushed face and slightly swollen lips was the most beautiful and erotic sight Tony had seen in years. Pushing her blouse upward, he searched to touch the softness of her skin.

The pulsating of the blood rushing through his veins deafened him to the outside world. He barely heard her voice the first time she told him to stop. The command didn’t even compute. Then he heard her speak louder.

“I said, stop!”

His mind was a blur. What had happened? She was willing just seconds ago. The pain of his need ached as he lifted his body from hers, and she rolled out from under him.

Claire’s voice was strong and determined. “You need to go. I can’t do this. I won’t let you hurt me again.”

Damn, she was right. He was no good for her. “Claire,” Tony pleaded as he stood and began to pace. “Don’t you understand? 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 my leaving you at the jail, and this divorce.” He stammered, “W-what about you?”

Claire stood and stared incredulously. “Me? What about me?”

Running his hand through his hair, he explained the obvious. “You left
m
e.
You
drove away from
me
—twice! You think I don’t remember that every damn time you drive away from this estate? 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 eyes widened as she asked, “What do you mean… the other day? How did you know that I was in Bettendorf?”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d had her followed; just like Jim, she wouldn’t understand. “Claire,
they
say we’re no good for one another, but in your notebooks you said you still loved me after everything. Is that still true?”

She moved closer. “Answer me. What do you know about my comings and goings?”

Tony closed his eyes and exhaled. “The reason I didn’t want Roach working for you was…” Damn, he owed her honesty, even if it would upset her. “…he’d been working for me. He’s been watching you since the day you came home.”

Claire’s eyes filled with tears, yet her voice wasn’t angry. In barely a whisper, she asked, “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.”

She sank back to the bed, and he knelt before her.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Her words were painful and beautiful. “I don’t know. There are so many things.” She shook her head. “I-I’ve been asked over and over, why I didn’t try to escape from you in 2010 when I had opportunities. When I tell the story about us, and talk about shopping or the symphony they tell me I
should have
run or told someone.”

God, he hated that she had those memories—that they both did.

Inhaling, she continued, “I didn’t, because I was afraid. I was afraid that if I did, and failed, you’d punish me, hurt me.”

She’d been right: he needed to leave. They’d never get beyond this. Just as he was about to stand, Claire’s hands framed his cheeks and pulled his gaze back to hers. With a softer tone, she explained, “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.”

Unable to stop the moisture that threatened his eyes, Tony reiterated, “The divorce wasn’t meant to
hurt
you.”

Unexpectedly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed his lips with a kiss. “Tony, maybe I should be upset that you’ve had me followed, but I’m not.” Was it happiness he heard? “Honestly, I’m relieved. I didn’t think you cared anymore.”

The tears faded as the tips of his lips moved upward. When she returned his grin, he pushed her back onto the bed and covered her body with his. “Mrs. Rawlings, I will
always
care and
always
love you. I promised you that almost six years ago.”

He had. The realization hit him. He had promised that. If he didn’t follow through on the divorce, it wasn’t because he wasn’t a man of his word—it was because he was. Tony had vowed to love her and care for her forever—twice. Claire didn’t protest as his weight held her to the soft satin comforter. Removing his shirt, he added, “I’ve told you that I am, and despite it all, I continue to be, a man of my word.”

Instead of replying, her soft hands caressed his chest as his lips trailed across her exposed collarbone and he unbuttoned her blouse. With each button he trailed a kiss lower and lower until her blouse was open and he reached the top of her slacks. Easing them down her legs he continued to worship the woman beneath him. When his lips weren’t caressing her skin, they were speaking, telling her how much he’d missed her, how much he wanted her, and how much he loved her.

She reached for his face and lifted his eyes to hers, as she asked, “If we do this, if we reunite—can I trust you not to leave me, again?”

There was no way he could leave her. “I wanted to protect you. The divorce was only to keep you from getting hurt—by me.”

“Don’t you see? Not being with you hurt me. Every day hurt more than the one before.”

Tony agreed. “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 neck 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 that he loved to hear. “Was agony.”