Marriage, Manhattan Style

by Barbara Dunlop

  “No more tests,” she said quietly. “But it’s been three years.”

  Reed braced his hands against the waist-high rock wall, clenching his fists and pressing his knuckles against the rough stone. Sure, it had been three years. But the first eighteen months or so, they weren’t really trying for a baby, they simply weren’t trying not to have a baby.

  He’d assumed it would happen naturally. Thousands of women got pregnant every day of the year. Many of them weren’t even trying; some were actively trying to prevent it.

  And then there was him and Elizabeth, both with above-average intelligence, both healthy, both hardworking. Both of whom would be stellar parents. Yet they had to contend with charts and graphs and invasive tests, and still nothing happened. And now their family members were beginning to speculate.

  “I hate this.” He fixed his stare on the endless ocean. “It’s none of Brandon’s business. It’s none of Heather’s business. There are way too many people in our bed.”

  Elizabeth placed a hand on his tense forearm. “She was only trying to-”

  “I don’t care,” Reed ground out. “I want it to stop. I want you and only you. I want it the way it used to be, with you purring and perspiring-”

  “Reed.”

  “-arching and moaning-”

  “Reed!” She pasted him with a censorious look, glancing meaningfully around at the families out shopping.

  He swallowed. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” she whispered, leaning against his arm, a sheen coming over her eyes.

  “I don’t want us to be self-conscious about making love.”

  “I know.”

  “My parents-” He stopped himself. Elizabeth didn’t need to know his parents were also waiting with baited breath for any sign of pregnancy.

  “They may not be crazy about my pedigree,” she continued his train of thought. “But they definitely want you to procreate.”

  “My parents are snobs.”

  “You think?”

  He chuckled at the tone of her voice, turning to brush a few stray hairs from her soft cheek.

  Her skin was flushed, her smile wide, and the sunshine off the Atlantic highlighted her green eyes. “Can we talk some more about sweating and moaning?”

  Arousal instantly hit him in the solar plexus. “Not here we can’t.”

  “Back at the chateau? In one of our ten bedrooms?”

  “I noticed the master bed was a four-poster,” he pointed out, suddenly anxious to get her back there.

  Her smile widened even further.

  “And we have these new silk scarves.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “I hope you’re hinting that I should wear them.”

  He moved closer to rasp in her ear. “Among other, more interesting things.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Why?” Lovemaking should be playful and fun.

  With the heel of her hand, she playfully hit him in the shoulder. “You seriously want to tie me to the bed and have your way with me?”

  “Absolutely.” A sensual, compelling picture rose in his mind.

  She coughed out an unintelligible protest.

  “Trust me,” he told her.

  “Reed.”

  “Trust me.” He pulled away and grasped her hand, urging her back along the walkway toward the chateau.

  Seven

  At the chateau, Jean-Louis was clearly delighted to see them. And when Elizabeth saw the beautiful table he’d prepared, and inhaled the luscious scents wafting from the kitchen, she knew making love would have to be postponed. She excused herself to change, finding her clothes freshened and hanging in the closet of the master bedroom.

  She changed into a black cocktail dress then met Reed at the bottom of the formal staircase.

  He gallantly held out an arm. “Would you care to accompany me to the wine cellar?”

  She grinned to herself, feeling sexy and playful for the first time in months. “Can I trust you in the wine cellar?”

  He grin broadened. “Come on down and find out.”

  She pretended to hesitate, but he turned them both into a short hallway that ended with a wood-plank door.

  The stone staircase beyond it was narrow, and the light was dim. Reed kept a firm hold on her waist as they made their way to the bottom. There, he switched on an overhead light, and she drew in a surprised breath at the rows and rows of dusty wine bottles.

  “We’re looking for row eight.” Reed led her down to the third rack.

  “What are we looking for?” she asked.

  “This,” he announced, and his hands closed over her hips, lifting her to sit on a ancient, hewn-beam table in the middle of the aisle.

  “What-”

  He silenced her with a kiss, moving between her knees and wrapping his arms tightly around her.

  His lips were cool and soft, moist and parted. His tongue gently explored the recesses of her mouth, and she felt shards of arousal work their way out from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes.

  His hands moved to her bare knees. His kisses explored her neck, her ears, her shoulders, while she gripped his upper arms for support.

  His fingertips circled higher on her thighs, leaving a burning trail of want behind them.

  “I had a feeling I couldn’t trust you down here,” she breathed.

  “You can trust me completely.” But his fingers hooked around her panties, tugging them down.

  She gasped and grasped his forearms. “Not here.” She glanced around at the cold, dusty room.

  He chuckled. “No. Not here.” But he pulled her panties to her ankles, peeling them off over her heels. Then he tucked them firmly into his inside pocket.

  He gazed hotly into her eyes. “Later.”

  “But-”

  He silenced her with a finger across her lips. “We’re on vacation, Elizabeth. We can play.”

  He lifted her down from the table, smoothing her skirt back into place. Arm still around her, he guided her toward the narrow staircase.

  “Reed?”

  “Yes?”

  She tipped her head to look back at him. “The wine?”

  “Right.”

  Elizabeth leaned back against the solid table, content to let Reed choose the year and the winery. If there was anything her well-bred husband knew, it was good wine.

  She watched the play of his muscles as he reached into the bins, considering and returning bottles. She shifted down the table to bring his profile into view. There was no doubt he was a gorgeous man, and a slow pulse of sexual arousal remained steady in her bloodstream while the cool air circulated around her bare legs.

  She couldn’t help but picture the big, four-poster bed. The silk scarves also tickled their way into her imagination, making her shiver. She and Reed had more complex problems than a long night of pleasure could solve, but reconnecting sexually wouldn’t hurt. It might even help. And it could definitely be satisfying.

  “After you,” he said, gesturing to the staircase with one of the bottles he’d chosen.

  They made their way back to the second floor, where a young French woman assisted Jean-Louis in serving them an artichoke and baby greens salad. It was followed by pumpkin soup, bay shrimps, salmon, a cheese tray, and finally the most heavenly torte she’d ever tasted.

  By the time the final dishes were cleared away, Elizabeth had kicked off her shoes and curled up in the rich, velvet upholstery of the big, Louis XV chair.

  “Come here,” Reed rumbled, a half smile on his face and heat smoldering deep in his midnight-blue eyes.

  Elizabeth’s sexual arousal returned in a rush. She set down her coffee cup, uncurled her legs and padded the length of the table to Reed’s chair.

  He took her hand, drawing her down into his lap. Pulling back her loose hair, he feathered soft kisses into the crook of her neck.

  Footsteps sounded in the doorway, and she stiffened at the sight of Jean-Louis.
r />   Reed’s hand closed around Elizabeth’s wrist, keeping her from jumping off his lap.

  “We won’t require anything further tonight,” he told the chef.

  “Bonne nuit, monsieur,” intoned Jean-Louis with a respectful nod.

  “Oh, it will be,” Reed whispered to Elizabeth as the door closed behind the chef.

  “That was embarrassing,” said Elizabeth.

  “Exhibitionism not one of your fantasies?”

  She drew back in astonishment. Sexual fantasies were definitely not a subject of discussion in their marriage. “No.”

  He chuckled and resumed kissing, his spread fingers delving into her hair. “Noted.”

  “Seriously, Reed. I’m not-”

  “Noted,” he repeated. “I’m not going to forget.”

  “But-”

  He anchored her head and kissed her deeply on the mouth. His other hand stroked behind her knee, teasing its way up her thigh, reminding her she was naked under the little black dress.

  Her arms snaked around his neck, and she breathed his name, leaning into another deep kiss, reveling in the play of his lips and tongue on her swollen mouth.

  Her breasts rubbed against his broad chest, nipples coming erect, growing sensitized against the fabric of her clothes. Her skin began to tingle, itching, aching to be touched.

  His hand cupped her bare bottom, sliding toward the small of her back, bringing the hem of her dress up to her hips. He began an intimate exploration, and perspiration soon slicked her skin.

  She went for the buttons of his dress shirt, popping them from their holes, splaying her hands over his chest, starting an exploration of her own.

  “I’ve missed you,” he groaned.

  She nodded, but words were beyond her capability right now. His skin was taut, his muscles firm, the fire in his veins transmitting itself to her very core.

  His palm slipped back down her leg, covering her thigh, caressing her knee, exploring the curve of her calf, then teasing the arch of her foot. Her head dropped back, and his kisses found her neck. He made his way down her chest, while her hands moved to grip his shoulders, stabilizing her position.

  He nudged her neckline, moving the fabric out of the way, kissing her nipples through the thin silk of her bra, leaving wet circles that cooled and puckered her skin unbearably.

  A groan made its way up from her core, and his hand convulsed against her waistline.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her breast. “I am madly and passionately and completely in love with you.”

  “Oh, Reed.”

  “No matter what happens-” He pulled back, straightening, scooping her into his arms while her body throbbed with need. He carried her the length of the hallway, pushed open the master bedroom door, then closed it firmly behind them.

  The lights were out, but the shine from the town and the glimmer of the lighthouse gave the room a luminous glow. Reed sat her on the edge of the bed. Then he stripped off his jacket and tie, his shirt still hanging open. He came down on one knee in front of her, parting her legs and easing between.

  He hooked his fingertips into the top of her bra and tugged her forward. She came easily, kissing his mouth, running her fingers through his neat hair, shifting forward so that her dress bunched up and she came in contact with the bare skin of his abdomen.

  He rolled her dress up over her head, unclipped her bra so that it fell between them. Then, his eyes boring into her body, he laid her back on the bed. He stroked his hand up the center of her belly, over her navel, between her breasts and across her shoulder.

  His mouth followed the trail, leaving hot, moist spots along the way. Finally, he slid up beside her, lips coming down on hers, arms wrapping around her, pulling her solidly against the strength of his body.

  His cotton shirt trailed over her skin, further sensitizing her belly, her breasts, her nipples. His hand circled down, touching her downy curls, lower still, until she gasped and arched off the bed.

  His kiss deepened, and she convulsively dug her fingernails into his back. Her eyes closed. Her toes curled. Her thighs began to quiver, and her lungs struggled to keep up with her need for oxygen.

  Then something brushed softly over her face.

  She opened her eyes to see a yellow haze.

  Reed stretched out her right arm, then trailed the scarf along it, wrapping the soft fabric loosely around her wrist.

  He was joking.

  He had to be joking.

  But what an odd time to decide to be funny.

  He moved her other arm, and she felt the same sensation along it. Something shivered deep down in her core.

  “Reed?”

  “Trust me,” he whispered.

  Then he rose, stripping off his shirt, his slacks and everything else.

  She lay still, not moving her arms, not moving a thing, taking in every inch of his magnificent body as diffuse light played off the planes and angles of his muscles. His chest was broad, shoulders strong, arms toned, hands capable.

  He leaned over her, and she swallowed.

  Gripping her upper arms, he shifted her to the center of the bed, her head cocooning in the deep pillows. He placed one knee on either side of her stomach, without putting any weight on her.

  He stretched her right arm out again.

  He was not serious. He was not.

  He wrapped the other end of the scarf around the bedpost.

  She tried to talk, but her throat had gone dry, and the words turned into a rasp. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t angry. In fact, she was sort of…

  He stretched out the other arm.

  “Reed,” she tried, wiggling her hips.

  He centered himself over her, capturing her gaze, looking directly into her eyes. “Do you think I’ll hurt you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you think I’ll do one single thing you won’t like?”

  She shook again. She wasn’t scared. In fact, she was turned on. She was well and truly turned on at the thought of giving him free rein over her body.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded.

  He smiled. “Good.”

  Then he kissed her mouth. She opened wide, welcoming his tongue. Instinct told her to hug him, but she kept herself still instead.

  He kissed her jawline, her neck and shoulders. He made his way to the tip of one breast, then drew the nipple into his hot mouth. She groaned, and arched, and he moved to the other. Sparks of hot sensation traveled the length of her body, flushing her skin, making her blood burn with need.

  She hissed his name. But he took his time, indulging in her belly, her thighs, her knees, all the way to her ankles. On the way back up, he moved to the inside, closer, slower, until he hit the center, and she nearly arched off the bed.

  Her breaths became pants, and her head thrashed from side to side. Her thighs moved apart, knees bending.

  “Now, Reed,” she finally cried.

  He levered up on his arms, settling over her, pushing inside in one smooth stroke. And she gave a guttural groan. Her arms automatically went around him. The scarves fell away, and she realized he’d never tied a single knot.

  She wrapped her ankles across the small of his back, trapping him to her, rising to meet him, reveling in the barrage of sensations she’d nearly forgotten could exist. Her need drove higher, her body grew hotter, as their slick bodies came together over and over again.

  A roar grew in the depths of her brain, and a pulse at the base of her spine became insistent. It throbbed harder and faster, radiating out to engulf her limbs.

  She moaned his name and tightened her body around him as his rhythm came harder and faster, until rockets exploded behind her eyes and warm honey seemed to fill every crevice of her body.

  Then the pulse slowly subsided, and her limbs grew limp. Her legs fell down to the bed, and her lungs worked double-time to recover.

  Reed smoothed her hair from her face.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he sai
d.

  “I love you,” she affirmed.

  He pulled her tight, rolling them both, so she was cushioned by his body. Then he flipped a comforter over her back and tucked her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair, his chest rising and falling with his own deep breathing.

  Their time in Biarritz was like a second honeymoon. As the days drifted by, Reed watched the tension ease from Elizabeth’s expression. They walked the beaches, rented a yacht, tried windsurfing, and visited the funky little shops that dotted the town. They even bought and shipped home an oil painting of the local lighthouse.

  They made love every night, most mornings, too. He felt like they were finally reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies. He dreaded going back to the fertility charts and programmed sex.

  He was surreptitiously checking with Selina, Collin and Devon several times a day. He’d kept the communications quiet, not wanting to break the spell for Elizabeth. But he knew that issues were beginning to pile up on his desk, and their vacation had to come to an end.

  Elizabeth resettled against him on a sofa in a little nook they’d found in the turret on the third floor of the chateau. The sofa faced a curved bank of windows that showed off the brilliant orange sunset over the ocean. A storm was forecast overnight, and Jean-Louis was reluctantly whipping up a gourmet pizza so they could dine casually.

  Let it rain, and let the waves blow in. Reed was looking forward to a cozy evening with his fabulous wife. It was their last evening in France. Elizabeth didn’t know it yet, but the jet was already on its way to the Biarritz airport.

  “Why can’t it always be like this?” she asked.

  “Sunset?”

  “I mean, us. Together. No worries, no problems.”

  Reed couldn’t help but smile at her wistful voice. “Well, for one thing, we’d run out of money.”

  She straightened to look at him, curling her legs beneath her in slim jeans and a loose, sea-green sweater. “Would we?”

  “Of course.”

  “Maybe we could sell off a few companies. Or maybe you could hire a manager to run them?”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” Everything in his conglomerate was interconnected. It was also interconnected with his father’s companies. Wellington International as a whole was worth a lot more than the sum of its parts.