by Nalini Singh
The sound of cloth on skin sizzled over him as the dress fell to puddle around her bare feet. The feel of her almost naked body was an erotic shock. Exquisitely shaped, her breasts were small, taut, letting her eschew a bra when she chose … like tonight. He loved when she did that. It drove him half crazy.
Still kissing her, he moved his hands down her sides, stopping to stroke his thumbs over her nipples. She gasped into the kiss but didn't react in any other way. Her hands didn't move from around his neck; her body didn't press closer to his. Caleb didn't give up. She'd raised the topic, welcomed his embrace. What clearer indication of desire did he need?
He shed his shirt without breaking the kiss, then hesitantly pressed their bodies together. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, a sweet kind of torture. There was no rejection in her body, but neither could he read true welcome, passionate need. Only her mouth gave him hope.
Breaking the kiss at last, he lifted her and put her on the bed. Wide, the design a simple wooden frame, they'd picked it out in the weeks before their marriage, never guessing that it would become the center of one of the major issues in their relationship.
His hands trembled as he tugged her panties down her thighs, two months of deprivation making him ravenous. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and all he wanted to do was lavish his attention on every part of her, to take his time and adore her inch by precious inch. But such slow, luxurious loving required more than cooperation. Nothing less than acceptance on the deepest, most intimate level would do. And even tonight, Vicki held him at a distance, her desire locked up tight.
For five years he'd made love to her as little as possible, needing her more than he needed to breathe but unwilling to hurt her with his demands. Her kisses were always pure fire, her body slick and ready whenever he entered her, but in between, she never responded, no matter how hard he tried.
It didn't matter that he could always bring her to orgasm. What mattered was that she fought every pleasure he tried to give her. What mattered was that she was never so overcome by desire that she became ravenous for him. What mattered was that even in this most personal of situations, his wife refused to drop her shield of cool elegance.
Hoping against hope, he kicked off his shoes and lowered himself on top of her, bracing himself on his arms. As his lips claimed hers, he ran one hand down her body to cup her buttock, and touched her hand.
It was clenched into a fist.
* * *
Four
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A sound of raw pain ripped out from somewhere deep inside him as he rolled away. "Shit." He wasn't going to do this if she was merely enduring the experience. At least before the separation, she'd held on to him as if she'd never let go, allowing him to fool himself into thinking that she wanted him. But this … no more. Something in him had given way, broken. After all this time, he'd hit his own limits.
He heard her move, thought he heard muffled sobs as she got under the sheets. The knife inside him twisted and twisted until he wondered if he was bleeding. Shoving his hands through his hair, he laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, fighting the emotions threatening to take control. He wasn't sure he could cope with that much pain. After several minutes, he shifted to look at her. She was lying on her side, giving him her back.
He thought about the number of times she'd turned away from him in bed. The broken part of him was suddenly furious. "Why did you marry me if you can't stand my touch?" That fact had tormented him for years. At first he'd hoped that nothing more than shyness kept her from touching him, but he had slowly realized that it was something far worse.
His wife didn't want him.
Devastated, he'd tried to limit his earthy sexuality, tried not to burden her with his need. And yet he hadn't been able to stop himself from reaching for her in the darkness, when his shields were at their lowest and he could no longer fight the hunger. Today she'd ripped those shields completely from him, taunting him with a false hope that things would be different. Why had she done that?
Vicki's back stiffened and she faced him, something like shock in her eyes. "I love the way you touch me."
He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Yeah, right. That's why when we have sex, you can't wait for me to finish so you can roll away and pretend you didn't let me put my hands on you."
Unable to make her see what she was doing to him, he'd focused the frustrated power of his emotions on his work. Combined with his inherent need to succeed, to prove himself, he'd been unstoppable. In five years he'd achieved more with the firm than many men did in a lifetime. No one knew that his phenomenal success had come at the cost of denying the passion at the core of him.
Vicki shook his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes were cloudy with distress. "No, Caleb! That's not true. I never— I adore making love with you."
She'd started this but if she wasn't prepared to admit to the depth of their problems, he could see no way out. He sat up. "I'm going for a drive." His voice was ragged, his arousal fading under the accumulated weight of years of rejection. Grabbing his shirt, he shoved his arms into the sleeves and started to walk out.
"Caleb, wait!"
Pretending he hadn't heard, he continued walking away. He couldn't bear to let her see him like this, vulnerable, wounded and so hurt he could barely find his way out of the room.
* * *
Victoria gave up trying to fall asleep sometime around two in the morning. Though Caleb had long since returned, they never did have that dinner she'd dressed up for with such high hopes. Like so many other meals in the past, it had fallen by the wayside. Except this time it wasn't Caleb's work at fault but her own cowardice.
Lying on her back, she stared at the darkness of the ceiling through tear-filled eyes and thought about the mess she'd made of her life. It was no use continuing to blame Caleb for the field of broken dreams that had become their marriage, no matter how easy that was. She was as much, if not more, to blame. If only she'd stood up to him at the start and said what was in her heart, he would have never begun to believe that she didn't want him.
How had he survived?
"Because he's strong," she whispered to the darkness. Strong and used to fighting for everything he'd ever gotten from life. But he'd been unable to fight her inhibitions, unable to fight years of Grandmother Ada's pitiless conditioning.
Why hadn't he ever told her what she was doing to him? And why hadn't she ever asked him what he needed, what he wanted in bed? Accustomed to Caleb taking charge, she'd always allowed him to focus on pleasing her. Especially in bed. When had she ever tried to please him? Never.
Her heart clenched. Her inexperience was no excuse, not when she'd soon realized that Caleb needed something from her that she didn't know how to give. Instead of asking him, she'd buried her head in the sand and pretended everything was okay, using the coping tactic that had allowed her to survive after her mother had abandoned her on Ada's doorstep. However, mere survival was no longer enough. She wanted to live.
Pushing aside the blanket, she got up and padded down the wide hallway to the kitchen. The romantic glow of the moonlight streaming through the windows seemed to mock her as she pulled a carton of milk from the fridge. Pouring some into a glass, she replaced the carton and put her cold fingers to her eyelids.
A creaking noise came from the hallway and a second later, Caleb entered the kitchen wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts. "What are you doing up?" His voice was rough, his hair mussed.
"I couldn't sleep." She raised her glass in explanation. "Do you want some?" Caleb stood only a few feet from her and yet miles away. She didn't know if she had the courage to cross the divide.
He merely raised an eyebrow at the offer.
Finishing her drink, she put the glass in the sink and rubbed her hands on the thighs of her flannel pj's. "Did I wake you?" Was she going to pretend that he hadn't left her naked and alone in bed? Continue living her life in a fantasy world? Or was she finally going to say
what needed to be said?
"No."
God, he was so beautiful to her and she was so afraid to touch him. Swallowing, she crossed the cool tiles until she was less than an arm's length away. "I guess you have a busy day tomorrow. You should try to sleep." Why couldn't she say what she so desperately wanted to say?
She tried to force the truth out, fighting years of being told that passion and desire were dangerous and destructive. Words bubbled up in her throat but no matter how hard she pushed, fear kept her lips from shaping them into sound.
Something like disappointment flickered in Caleb's eyes but she couldn't be sure in the semidarkness of the room. He simply moved to let her pass, then fell in step behind her. She heard him enter the guest bedroom a few seconds after she'd shut the door to the master bedroom and slumped against it.
More tears burned at the back of her eyes, mute evidence of her frustration and anger. What was wrong with her? Was she so cowardly that she couldn't even take the necessary steps toward saving her marriage? Was she going to settle for this half-life, with her husband thinking she couldn't bear his touch?
So angry with herself that she wanted to scream, she forced herself to remember each moment of the two months she'd spent alone in this house. Every single day she'd come into this bedroom, crawled into this bed and hungered for Caleb. She'd slept on his side of the mattress, worn his old shirts, spent entire nights dreaming of his loving.
Was she willing to go back to that existence? Because she knew without a doubt that her husband wasn't going to return to her bed unless she convinced him she needed him desperately. She'd hurt him too much.
It was the thought of Caleb in such pain that straightened her defeated posture. Taking a deep breath, she tucked her hair behind her ears and opened the door.
Caleb's own door was open and she knew why. Even in his anger, he wanted to be able to hear her if she needed him. It was a good sign, she told herself as she walked in. He was lying on his side facing away, but she knew he heard her come in even though he didn't move. For the first time in their married life, Caleb had turned his back to her.
Fighting the hot rush of fear, she crossed the endless carpet and sat on the other side of the bed. As soon as she touched the mattress she knew she was making a mistake. There was only one way she could reach Caleb—she had to stop protecting herself. She moved to lie beside him, her head nestled in the hollow of his back, one hand on his waist.
"What are you doing here, Vicki?"
She'd never heard him sound that harsh, that unwelcoming. It shot her confidence to pieces but she was here and if she could come this far, she could keep going. "You walked away without letting me explain."
"What's there to explain?"
So much, she thought desperately, that she couldn't find the words for. "I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't know you thought I didn't want you. I swear, I didn't know." She'd thought she was doing something wrong and had tried to control her own reactions so as not to offend him, not realizing she was taking the worst possible action.
Caleb didn't reach out to gather her into his arms as he had so many nights in the past. She ached to be held. But it wasn't easy for a woman who'd spent a lifetime hiding her emotions to lay them out in the open.
"Now you do."
And the next step was hers.
The thing was, Vicki didn't know how to take that next step, didn't know how to fix this broken bridge between them. She'd never confided in him, never once taken the chance of putting her pride, her heart, her deep insecurities on the line.
"You have to help me," she whispered. If she was going to lose her husband, it wouldn't be because she'd been too afraid to chance her heart. "I can't do this without you."
At last, he turned. But he didn't hold her, instead propping himself up on his elbow. "We've had enough lies between us. Just tell me the truth. Why?"
Why did you marry me if you can't stand my touch?
The words he'd spoken in anger earlier whispered around the room, a silent third party to this painful conversation.
"I love your touch," she repeated her own words. But this time when he began to move away, she grabbed his shoulder. "Don't. Don't, Caleb."
It was the break in Vicki's voice that halted Caleb. He knew she was fighting tears. No matter how much it hurt him to lie beside her knowing she felt nothing for him when he burned for her, he'd do it if it would stop her from crying. He had no defense against her tears, not when he knew exactly what they cost her.
In the early days of their marriage, she'd once confessed that she didn't cry because as a child, her tears had been the only thing over which she'd had any control. No matter what she'd said or done, her grandmother had never been able to make Vicki break down.
"I'm here," he said. "Don't cry, honey."
"I'm not crying." Her voice was raw. "I just need to say this. I've been trying for so long."
"What?" Giving in to his own need, he drew her into his arms. She came without hesitation, spooning her back to his front. The familiarity of the gesture was bittersweet. Vicki didn't mind his embrace. All those late nights when he'd finally slipped into bed, she'd sleepily scooted nearer so he could tuck her close.
"The way I am in bed … it's not your fault."
What was he supposed to make of that?
She took a deep, halting breath. "Grandmother…"
The abrupt change of topic threw him. "What about her?"
Caleb didn't particularly like Ada Wentworth, even though the old woman had introduced him to Vicki and given her smiling blessing to their union. He'd known that Ada had chosen to overlook his lack of breeding only because of his increasing wealth and connections, but it hadn't mattered. Despite the ten-year gap in their ages, he'd fallen headlong for Vicki.
She put her hand over the arm he had around her waist. "She said— She said that the reason my father left my mother was because my mother was a s-slut. A w-whore who'd spread her legs for any man who asked."
Caleb bit off a sharp curse. "How old were you?" He knew she'd been sent to live with Ada at four years of age, soon after her parents, Danica and Gregory Wentworth, had divorced.
"I can't remember the first time, but I grew up with her voice in my head telling me 'like mother, like daughter.' I guess I must have been very young when she started. There was never a time when I didn't know what Grandmother thought of Mother and what she'd think of me if I ever strayed out of line."
He was rocked by the viciousness of the wounds Vicki had hidden inside herself.
"And she said," Vicki continued before he could speak, "that unless I was the perfect model of a wife, you'd leave me, too. She told me that men don't want their wives to be w-whores. If I wanted to keep you, I had better make sure I always acted like a lady, not a slut."
She was killing him. "Vicki—"
"When I was ten, my father married Claire. She's so perfect, sometimes I don't think she's real. It's as if she has ice running in her veins. I've never seen her show any powerful emotion. Grandmother used to tell me, 'Look at Claire and now look at Danica. Men sleep with sluts, but they marry women of breeding.' I believed her."
Caleb wanted to strangle Ada. "I married you," he said, trying to cut through her pain. "I never asked you to be anything other than the woman you were."
"That's just it, Caleb." Haunting sadness laced her tone. "You were so proud to be marrying the woman Grandmother had made me into, the woman I was when we met. So proud of the way I talked and acted. I wanted you to love me so I tried hard to continue to be that woman even though she wasn't really me.
"And all the time, I knew I wasn't giving you what you needed but I didn't understand what it was that I was doing wrong. I kept trying harder and harder but no matter what I did, you kept moving further away from me. Then one day I realized that if I tried any harder to be someone I wasn't, I'd disappear forever."
Stunned, he put both hands on her shoulders and tugged her onto her back with him braced over
her. She tried to avoid his gaze but he put a finger on her jaw and applied gentle pressure until her eyes met his. "You don't have to act a certain way to prove yourself to me. The only thing I ever wanted was for you to drop your shields and let me in."
Her eyes widened at his husky words. A hesitant hand rose to touch his cheek and he felt his whiskers scrape her skin. He used to shower and shave before coming to her, wanting to be what he'd thought she needed.
"Really?" Doubt continued to throw shadows over her expression.
Understanding, he stroked the hair off her face. "Don't you think I could tell what Ada had tried to do to you? What attracted me to you was your spirit, your refusal to be crushed by her. I was so goddamn proud to have you as my wife. You, not the well-bred, elegant doll."
"And I was proud to have you as my husband." Vicki's hand slid to rest on his shoulder. "Proud of what you'd achieved through sheer determination. Did you know I used to brag to the other wives about your successful cases? Sometimes, I'd go sit in the back of the courtroom to watch you work and think, he's mine."
Caleb's whole world changed in that instant. "Vicki," he whispered. No one had ever been proud of him. His family came to him for money but not one of them had ever said, "Well done, Caleb, well done." Not one of them had ever come to watch him defend a case. And not one of them had ever been so proud that they'd praised him to others.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry."
He shook his head. "I'm as much to blame as you. I pushed and pushed like I always do." As a child, belligerence had been the only way he'd been able to make his father, Max, "see" him. As often as not, his stubbornness had sparked Max's temper, but back then Caleb had been desperate enough to value any connection with the man. The experience had scarred him, made him emotionally aggressive when dealing with the people who mattered to him, with Vicki.