by Sun Chara
“Hungry?” He paused at the foot of the bed, his eyes shadowed.His aftershave wafted to her and wrapped around her frazzled nerves like a warm caress. So many times they shared the shower, laughing and loving beneath the spray. She set her mouth in a firm line, squashing the taunting memory.
“Marta left some frozen—”
“Go away.”
Chapter 8
Peter chuckled, but it was a dry sound. “As you wish, principessa.”
After he shut the door behind him, an oppressive silence smacked her. A moan ripped from her. Why had he called her princess? He used that in their most intimate moments.
Ellie shuddered. This cat-and-mouse game was tearing her apart. Denying yet wanting, craving him. She was like a junkie needing a fix— him. She had to get over it. Wha-at? You want to get rid of something— this feeling everyone spends their whole life searching for? You’ve gone bananas, girlie, the voice in her head muttered without apology.
She nearly snorted. It wasn’t all sunshine and roses, not when one tall dark and very sexy Italian wanted to be in control … of her life, their marriage, and unknowingly stifling her, except in the bedroom.
Even on the day she left, she tried to resist him…
“Wake up, principessa.” He’d stretched out on the king-size bed beside her and blown in her ear, his fingers flirting with the string of beads draped on her back.
She raised her hand from beneath the sheets and playfully swatted him. “Go ’way.” She turned over, cuddling in the covers. “I want to sleep.”
Chuckling, he flicked the satin sheets off her, hauled her into his arms, and she melted into his heat. He captured her mouth with his, his tongue slipping inside; gliding over hers in an erotic waltz… exquisite sensations buzzing through her. Her moan of pleasure tickled his mouth, and he blazed a trail downward, flicking his tongue over one nipple then nibbling his way to the other, before taking it full into his mouth.
She arched into him; with every cell in her body aroused, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers weaving through his hair. “Peter.” His name was a whisper from her lips.
Holding her so tenderly yet possessively, he’d branded her forever with his touch, his kisses, and his body. He lifted his head from the curve of her neck and captured her lips with his, his words a soft caress. “I love you, Ellie.”
“Peter, my love.” She breathed against his mouth, her hands stroking the muscles of his back.
“Mia bella, Ellie.” He groaned from deep in his throat. “I don’t ever want to lose you. You’re mine.”
“I am.” She wrapped her arms tightly around him, holding onto him like a lifeline, and thinking she’d die without him.
She heard relief explode from somewhere deep inside him, and then he crushed her mouth beneath his to conceal his vulnerable moment. He blazed a path of fierce passion down to her navel, circled with his tongue, dipped into the crevice, and she pressed into him.
Delight shimmered through her, and he trailed his fingers lower, fondling her… she bucked into his hand… he stroked her more. Raising his head, he caught her cry of pleasure with his mouth, and then he slipped his hard length inside her, penetrating deep and high.
Taken over by him, Ellie molded her hands over his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh, her legs wrapped around him, pulling him further inside her. She held onto him, fusing with him… one with him. He drove into her, and she hung on for the ride. His rhythmic movements inside her created exquisite friction and rocked her to the peak. Acute sensations spiraled, locked … she felt suspended on the brink, and then she went over the edge, shattering in wave after wave of bliss. A frenzied moment and he shuddered against her with his release, and together they floated from heaven to earth…
A tear slid beneath her lashes now, then another, and another, soaking the pillow she was hugging. She released a trembling breath. Staying in bed wouldn’t make her problems go away. She’d have to get up and deal with her feelings, her marriage, her future with him or … her heart kicked in protest … without him.
So, what’s your plan of attack? the voice in her head taunted. “Shut you up, for starters,” she snapped and realizing she’d spoken out loud, cringed. Maybe she was losing it.
She pushed hair off her face, slid out of bed, and padded to the shower. Cool water should do the trick, clear her head, and snap her out of her despondent mood. She had to control her emotions or she wouldn’t make it through the remaining days with him. But oh, he was so tempting that she wished—shush up!
The gloves were off, and for her sense of pride, she had to see it through. Show him that she could survive without him, and that she didn’t need him in any way. Her body ached and a quiver shot through her. She’d have to find a way to get through it, find an alternate plan.
Nineteen days left.
If anyone would be asking, begging for it, it would be him. With that pleasant thought, Ellie stepped under the spray, humming.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in her usual black leggings and hot-pink sweater with thick socks warming her feet in sneakers, she bopped into the kitchen, a plan formulating in her mind.
“Peter, I was thinking—” The kitchen was deserted. “What a let-down.” She opened the refrigerator and took out the carton of orange juice.
“What’s a let-down?”
“Yikes!” She nearly jumped out of her skin, the carton almost slipping from her hand. Turning, she sucked in her breath. He stood inches from her, and she glimpsed the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, smelled the damp leather of his jacket. She leaned backward and bumped into the fridge. His warm breath fanned her cheek, tickling the sensitive spot behind her ear. His gaze shadowed, deep, intense. She wiggled. “Must you sneak up behind me?”
“I was not.” He stepped to the cupboard beneath the sink and pulled out a bag of Canine Nibbles. “Did the let-down” —he took a couple of bone-shaped biscuits, shoved the bag back and shut the cupboard door— “have anything to do with the event upstairs?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sidestepped him and busied herself with finding a glass, filling it with juice, and returning the carton to the refrigerator. The frigid air smacked her face and she welcomed the cool bite, hoping it banished the heat from her flesh.
He chuckled. “Still denying, carina?”
“I’m denying nothing, Peter. Except that we are both adults—”
“Consenting or otherwise?”
“Stop provoking me.” She shut the refrigerator door with extra force to emphasize her words.
“Am I?’
She pressed her lips together and stroked the dew forming on the outside of the glass, the action soothing her nerves. “I’m not playing, Peter”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“Pity.” He shrugged, and that aggravated her even more.
“I hardly think so under the circumstances,” she retorted.
He shoved the dog treats in his pocket and pinned her with his dark gaze. “What is it you want, Ellie?”
There, he’d given her the opening to unload all on her mind. It seemed so easy. Yet the past five years had taught her that as simple as it appeared, that a talk should resolve their problems, sometimes the simplest things were the hardest to achieve. Her husband was no exception to this. She knew that ‘telling was long past and it was showtime’. Well, she ‘showed’ him for two days. What of the rest? She shrugged her own query aside and, taking a sip of juice, peered at him over the rim of the glass.
“I was thinking, Peter.”
He waited.
He wasn’t going to make this easy, if anything, he’d make her work for everything. That was fine, because in the end she’d get what she wanted, wouldn’t she? And what was that? Divorce or reconciliation? The answer dangled out of her reach.
“We have nineteen days left to spend together.”
“Yes?”
She was up to something. Peter felt it in his
gut. That fiasco in their bedroom earlier should have tipped him off. Instead, he misread the signals. He shook his head. When her brown eyes had shadowed with emotion and she’d given him the nod, his heart leaped into his throat, blood pulsing through him and turning him rock-hard. He’d hoped they’d settle this whole thing in bed, once and for all. But then, she dropped the bomb, ‘if that’s what I wanted,’ and an ice storm exploded inside him. He’d shoved her aside and flipped on his back, each breath of air, a frosty abrasion down his throat. He felt like he was ripped wide open, and his heart froze, shackling his emotions.
Now, he studied her beneath his lashes and felt a stirring in his blood. He crushed it. This time he’d be ready for her. Bide his time. She’d fall into his hands like a ripe peach— She may do that, the voice in his head taunted, but no guarantee you’ll be taking a bite. Shut up. He grunted.
“Wha-at?” She cradled the glass between her palms and orange flavor wafted to him.
“Nothin’.” He shook his head. “You had som’m to say?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead.” He was amazed at the seemingly ordinary domestic scene they were playing out. He guffawed … there was nothing ordinary about their relationship. Turbulence had rocked them from the start and it looked like they were headed for a final clash.
He swallowed bitter taste in his mouth. Who was playing whom? And did either one of them need to pander to this ridiculous game? Why didn’t he just grab her and do it right there on the kitchen floor? His body was primed and ready and, from what he sensed upstairs, so was hers.
He tightened his jaw against the sexual arousal. As much as he wanted her, wanted to get her out of his system, he didn’t want it this way.
He wanted her to want him, crave him, ask, be—
Oh hell, what was happening between them, anyway? One thing was for sure. A man of his word, he’d see the three weeks … er … nineteen days through. Air blasted from his lungs. What condition he’d be in at the end of that time was anyone’s guess.
“I thought—” She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.
His gut jerked. “Yes?”
“—we could at least be civil to each other.”
“Haven’t we?” He gazed at her long and hard, noting the glass she was strangling between her hands. Did she imagine it was his neck? She bit her lip between her teeth and tapped her toe on the tile. A smile skimmed his mouth. She did that whenever she was nervous.
“Not to my liking.”
“You have a preference?” he asked, arching a brow.
“Peter, must you be so difficult—”
“Me?” He advanced a step. Stopped. “Woman, if you only knew—”
“Yes?” she prompted.
Hmm, was she leading him on? Well, he was not about to be caught on a hook like a floundering seabass. “Civil, you say?”
“Mmm.”
“Good idea.” He leaned against the white-granite counter and folded his arms across his chest. “Exactly what I suggested two days ago.”
She lifted a shapely brow and curved her lips into a smile, brightening this damp February day. His insides twisted.
“Any other changes to our living conditions?” He rubbed soreness from his jaw, the result of frequent clenching these last few days.
She circled the rim of the glass with her fingertip and then slipped it in her mouth, tasting the tartness. Stop that, woman. How many times had he taken her fingers in his mouth, stroking, licking, sucking with his tongue and heard her whimper with pleasure.
“No-o.” A moment of confusion fleeted across her face, and she masked it by taking another sip of juice.
About to detonate, Peter expelled the pent-up air from his lungs in a harsh sound. He wanted to be anything but civil to her. Wanted to sling her over his shoulder and stride up the stairs, toss her on the bed, and beat his chest like Tarzan, the conqueror. Take a cold shower, Medeci. He was not of the Stone Age, but a twenty-first-century man who had to curb his ardor in the guise of civil behavior. A wistful twist to his mouth. Even though she put him through hell, it didn’t stop him from imagining this woman he married, under him, fused with him, one with him, riding him to the heights of sexual fulfillment.
He cleared his throat. “Only fair that I make a suggestion too, don’t you think?”
Suspicion settled on her every feature.
“I was about to take King for a walk.”
Her eyes grew wide. She stepped away from him, and the kitchen counter pressed into her back.
“I’d like you to come with me.” If he could get them on a friendly footing, get her to talk with him, open up to him again, he’d get what he wanted at the end of this interlude, one way or another. And what was that? Divorce or reconciliation? The answer eluded him. He tautened his jaw, banishing the question.
“Go fly a kite, Doc.” She plunked the glass in the sink with force and juice splashed onto her hand. “And take that beast with you.” She raised her hand and licked tangy liquid from her fingers with the tip of her tongue.
He groaned, blood surging to a major part of his male anatomy and making him throb. He took a step toward her, then checked himself, controlling his lust. Didn’t take much for her to turn him on. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he gulped down his frustration. “Afraid?”
She hesitated, her face reflecting her inner struggle. “Yes.” She wiped her sticky hand on her thigh.
“I bet when you get to know King, fear will fly out the window.”
“Uh, uh.”
“Are you game?” It was a challenge and she wouldn’t turn it down, especially issued by him. He inhaled a breath, exhaled, the sound rough even to his own ears. Except she resisted his overtures in the bedroom— and that irked him big time. He frowned. Had he missed a clue?
“What’s the bet?”
His frown dissolved into a smile. She was on the brink of capitulating. “If I’m right,” he said, thinking how to best phrase his words so she wouldn’t bolt. Heck, the best defense was an offense. “Have dinner with me.”
“You’re asking me for a date?” She laughed in disbelief. “After nearly five years, you’re asking?”
“Yeah.” Must he grovel? Had it been that long since they had an evening out alone? She had always seemed busy with her circle of friends—a niggling thought—or had they been his social circle, and his business dinners they attended? He gulped down a self-deprecating guffaw. Then, he set his jaw. She had seemed friendly enough with Louie at the club. He expelled a harsh breath. Indeed, time had swept by, and a date with just the two of them was what the doctor ordered. And with the end result he determined to have.
“And if you’re wrong?”
“You set the stakes.” He unfolded his arms and rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. Dangerous, Doc. He was treading a tightrope, playing into her hand like that, but he figured it was well worth the risk.
“Sure?”
He didn’t like the way she said that, tilting her head and squinting at him. She was about to toss him another grenade. He sensed it in his gut and prepped for it. “Yeah.”
“I leave in three days.”
Silence filled the room. Tension vibrated around them, pressuring.
“If I’m wrong” —he played his ace— “I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”
“Even back to the club?”
He narrowed his focus. “Mmm.”
“And how’d that look for the election?”
He shrugged. “Shouldn’t make much difference by then.”
“I-I see.” Her words were so quiet that he strained to hear.
“Deal?”
Chapter 9
Fear snaked through her at the sight of the dog. She felt silly, a grown woman, being so afraid of a puppy. But he was a big puppy.
“You want to hold the leash for a while?” Peter asked.
“No, thanks.” After days of procrastination, she agreed to go on this walk, but kept her distance from man
and beast. Both were dangerous. The dog reminded her of the terrifying event in her childhood, and the man, of his overpowering personality that had nearly swamped her.
King barked and she jumped another foot away. “We did agree to keep this a short walk, didn’t we, Peter?”
Amazement glimmered in his eyes. “It’s only been five minutes, Ellie.” He strolled a few paces ahead. “Give it another fifteen at least.”
She glanced at her wristwatch. “Not a moment longer.” A bead of sweat slid between her breasts. She collapsed on a boulder beside the trail in Malibu Canyon Park and watched them. Man and beast exemplified strength, power, and physical fitness. Rugged, beautiful—untamed.
Breath stalled in her chest, her pulse vibrated, her palms damp.
Peter picked up a stick and threw it. The dog chased after it, retrieved it, and raced back to him, tail wagging. Laughing, Peter rubbed the dog’s ears. “Good boy.”
When they set out for the outing, Ellie had scrambled onto the back seat of the Mercedes, to see the beast better. No way would she sit in the front and have the Doberman breathing down her neck from behind. She would’ve freaked out for sure. And she wouldn’t give Peter the satisfaction of watching her do so.
Peter had thrown an old blanket over the front seat and the dog bounded in, barking excitedly. A satisfied smile settled on her mouth. From her vantage point, she had them both in her sights.
Ellie breathed in the scents of nature. At this higher elevation, air was pure, crisp and fresh, a soothing balm to her rattled nerves. Another twig whirled through the air and King caught it in his teeth. Hair on the back of her neck stood on end. The dog bypassed Peter and dropped his prize at her feet. She draped her arms around her bended knees and shrank back on her perch. The animal stared at her with his luminous eyes, tongue lolling and tail wagging. He barked. She whimpered.
“He likes you,” Peter said.
She shook her head, too numb to speak.
“Come ’ere boy.”
The dog hesitated, perplexed at her reaction and trotted back to Peter.
“He was being friendly, Ellie.” Peter rubbed the dog’s neck. “Wanted to play with you.”