Convicted (Consequences)

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,