Make Love Not War

by Margaret Tanner

  “Sort out what you need for bed, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea in a while.” He sauntered off.

  She waited until he’d left the room before going to one of the drawers and taking out a neatly folded negligee set. A calf-length black silk nightgown had slits half way up either side. The top was of lacy net and plunged to a deep V between her breasts.

  Why had she let Kerry talk her into buying such a vampish thing? The other part of the set was in the same silky material but only had lace trimming around the edges.

  Stepping into the bathroom, she turned on the taps and started to fill the bath. This bathroom was the last word in luxury. If only Bryce loved her and Andy wasn’t going to Vietnam, she would be the happiest person in the world.

  She picked up a bottle of rose-scented bath salts. It wouldn’t belong to Bryce. One of his many lady friends? She wanted to chuck it in the garbage. On closer inspection, and to her great relief, the inside seal was unbroken. The housekeeper must have bought it.

  What would she do about the housekeeper? If I don’t go out to work, I’ll need something to fill in my time. Maybe they could compromise. She could do some of the work and let the housekeeper do the heavier tasks.

  She relaxed in the water, closed her eyes and let the warmth flow over her. Such luxury! She could have stayed there for hours.

  “Hey, are you all right?” Hard knuckles rapped against the door. “What on earth are you doing in there? I thought you must have drowned.”

  “Sorry! It felt so relaxing, I forgot the time.”

  “The kettle has boiled about a dozen times.”

  Reluctantly she climbed out of the bath, patting herself dry on a huge fluffy towel. She slipped into the nightdress and matching robe and, after giving her hair a quick brush, padded out to the kitchen.

  Bryce lounged at the island bar flipping the pages of a sporting magazine.

  “There’s your tea.” He pointed to a bone china cup and saucer. “Do you want something to eat? There are probably biscuits around somewhere.”

  “No thanks, just the tea.”

  His gaze wandered from her feet to her throat, until it finally rested on her breasts. Could he see the shadowy outline of her nipples? She felt them tighten. His eyes blazed and a pulse convulsed in his jaw.

  “Your mother doesn’t like me, thinks I’m not good enough for you.”

  “My mother is a first-class snob. You wouldn’t appeal to her because your name doesn’t appear in the social columns.” He gave a careless shrug. “Of course, you could always join her chicken and champagne lunches, maybe help out at some fundraiser or other, and then you’d be in the clique with a vengeance.”

  “I don’t happen to like those kinds of things, so don’t expect me to attend them.”

  He laughed. “You’re priceless. I don’t expect you to do anything you don’t want to do, and believe me.” He grimaced dramatically. “That would be the last kind of function I’d ask you to attend.”

  When they had finished their drinks, she took the cups and was about to rinse them.

  “Put them in the dishwasher. Mrs. Evans, my housekeeper, waits until the machine is full before turning it on.”

  “Oh?” She felt so inept. It would take ages for her to adjust to being the wife of a rich man, if she ever did. You’re not destined for great things, Caroline, not like your brother, her mother used to say. You’re just ordinary. She could never understand why her mother had chosen to denigrate her all the time. Or why she burnt every picture of their father. She had refused to talk about him, as if she never wanted to admit that he ever existed.

  “I think I might go to bed now.”

  “You do that. I want to finish reading this.” He waved a car magazine in front of her.

  She dawdled towards the bedroom. What else could she do?

  Caroline was upset. He saw the hurt in her eyes. She needed comfort, but he felt so inadequate. As he watched her walk slowly away, a dispirited droop to her shoulders, he had a strange, almost overwhelming desire to call her back, but he didn’t.

  I’ve married her, haven’t I? He tried to excuse his boorish behavior. I’m behaving like a pig. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? He’d hurt her on purpose. He flung the magazine down. Hadn’t read a bloody word, anyway. Stalking into the sitting room, he switched on the television.

  He puffed moodily on a cigarette but after only a few puffs stubbed it out in the ashtray. A second-rate western appeared on the screen. When he could stand it no longer, he turned the dial, only to be confronted by some torrid love scene. That he could certainly do without. Sporting repeats on another channel did nothing for him. In the end he turned it off in disgust.

  To hell with it, he would go to bed. He was tired. It had been one hell of a day. After all, it is my bed, isn’t it? He was being unreasonable, bloody idiotic, in fact, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was a desperate form of self-preservation.

  Stomping into the bathroom he took a shower. Would he shave? No, he couldn’t be bothered, even though his five-o’clock shadow rasped when he rubbed his knuckles over his jaw.

  He returned to the bedroom; one of the side lamps had been left on. Flicking it off, he shrugged out of his robe and slipped under the sheet. Caroline lay on the far side of the bed. He thought for a moment that she might be asleep, but then he realized she was sobbing into her pillow.

  He should reach out, take her in his arms and offer her some comfort, but he couldn’t. He rolled over, pummeling the pillow with his fist. Why was he so angry with her? On remembering what had transpired the last time they shared this bed, he nearly yelled out in frustration.

  “Can’t you sleep, Bryce?” Her fingers skimmed his bare shoulder.

  “Yes, I can sleep. Just leave me alone.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Sorry? You’re sorry.” He vented his anger and uncertainty on her. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. You’ve landed yourself a rich husband and can laugh all the way to the bank. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m to be saddled with a wife and kid I don’t want.”

  He felt the shudder go through her even as she moved away from him, and he could have bitten his tongue out. There had been no need to attack her. It was his fault. This whole sordid bloody mess was his fault entirely. She was young and innocent, he a mature, experienced man who should have known better. He’d used his penis instead of his brain, and now he had to put up with the consequences.

  He pummeled the pillow again. He lay there for a time and could tell by her breathing that Caroline had fallen asleep. Some wedding night, he thought morosely. He tossed and turned for a while. God, he felt tired, but he was so overwrought he didn’t think he would ever sleep soundly again.

  Bryce awoke some time later. He switched the bedside lamp on, and as he glanced at the clock he suppressed a groan. Three o’clock. He moved his leg and came in contact with something warm and soft, so he rolled over. Caroline lay on her side facing him, her hair cascading all over the pillow.

  She looked angelic, her well-shaped lips slightly parted. Her skin was pure white, silky soft, as he trailed his fingers across her cheek. She didn’t stir. He traced the line of her jaw and a savage need surged through him. This couldn’t be happening. He wanted her with a fierce desire that was killing in its intensity.

  He ran his hands down over her body. He couldn’t drag his gaze from her cleavage and he ached to touch her nipples with his tongue. Continuing his gentle exploration, he fumed because his touch was restricted by her nightgown. He felt like ripping it off and throwing it away. Come to that, he’d like to throw all her nightgowns away. She didn’t need them, better for her to sleep naked, as he did. That’s how nature intended it to be.

  Burying his face in her hair, he savored the smell and texture of it. He groaned in frustration as his need became urgent, his erection harder. He pushed the straps of her nightgown down and let his finger slide along the smooth valley. Cupping a breast in either
hand he drew the creamy mounds together, encircling both nipples with his tongue.

  He shouldn’t wake her up, especially after being such a bastard last night, but he hadn’t meant all those things he said. He was upset, confused. Surely she would realize that.

  They were husband and wife now, and he desperately wanted to consummate their marriage. So it wasn’t a love match, and he resented the thought of being tied down to one woman, but he wouldn’t cheat on her. ‘Forsaking all others,’ was the vow he made in church and he would keep it. Regular, hot sex with someone as warm and generous as Caroline would be great compensation for losing his bachelor lifestyle.

  “Caroline, Caroline,” he groaned her name over and over. God he wanted her, his whole body ached with desire.

  He recalled hearing or reading about pregnant women needing plenty of rest. Well, she could rest all day tomorrow, but he wanted her now, and his desire was becoming more desperate with every passing second.

  “Wake up, darling. I want you, need you.” He started nibbling her ear lobe until she stirred.

  ***

  Carolyn woke up to the feel of Bryce’s hot mouth against her throat. It hadn’t been a dream. It really was him. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m making love to you. I know I should let you sleep, but I can’t.”

  His mouth clamping over hers stilled her reply. She felt the pressure of his tongue between her lips, the thrust of his erection against her thigh. He didn’t love her, but he wanted her, and for now that was enough.

  She listened to him growling with need, sensed his fierce desire and smelt the musky scent of his arousal. She parted her legs and he drove into her with one long, powerful stroke.

  Moving slowly at first, rhythmically, faster and faster, building up the tempo, he sensitized her love canal until it fluttered into life, eagerly responsive to his every movement. He drew back. She sobbed in deprivation, raking her fingers across his back in frustrated desperation.

  Giving a feral growl, he thrust into her again, hard and deep. The yielding flesh of her arousal, nurtured into pulsating life by him, closed around his velvet shaft, enfolding it as he worked his magic.

  “Bryce!” She cried out his name on reaching her climax. Her back instinctively arched, her hips levitated.

  Just as he reached the pinnacle of his orgasm, his whole body shuddered and he exploded inside her. They collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs and sheets, their sweat-slicked bodies fused together.

  “My God, Caroline,” he gasped. “You’re really something.”

  Too overcome to speak, too exhausted to move, all she could do was run trembling fingers across his cheek.

  Next morning Caroline woke up to the sounds of crockery and a grinning Bryce bearing a breakfast tray.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Harrington. Sleep well?”

  Her cheeks burned. “Yes, thank you,” she answered primly, trying to hitch the sheet up over her breasts as she sat up.

  “Don’t cover them, they’re beautiful.” He leaned across to kiss each rosy tip. “I’ve eaten breakfast and been for a run. What would you like to do today?”

  “Stay in bed.” She felt too comfortable and satiated to move.

  He laughed, and what a difference it made to him. “You’re a brazen hussy.” He wagged a finger at her. “Dad rang a while ago, wanting to know if we’d like to come over for lunch. They always have a traditional Sunday roast. It’s going to be hot, and we could use the pool afterwards.”

  “Sounds nice. Do you normally go there on Sunday?” Had he taken Amanda, Shereen or one of his other beauties for a Sunday roast?

  He frowned. Did he guess the thoughts and questions running through her mind?

  “I go sometimes. Depends on what I’m doing. Dad found those old school photos he told you about.”

  “Let’s go, then. You know, I can’t remember ever having seen a picture of my father.”

  “Surely your mother had some.”

  “She burnt them all.”

  “What a shame. Why?”

  “Who knows? Mum grew increasingly bitter about being left a widow with two little kids. I think she blamed my father for getting himself killed.”

  “He was a hero. Dad said he won a bravery medal.”

  “I know. She was a strange woman. I didn’t realize until I got older exactly how strange. I think she was jealous, didn’t want us to love Dad, only her. Well, she didn’t care about me, but Andy was her shining star.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged, but her mother’s rejection still hurt. “Oh, she wasn’t cruel, I mean abusive. She didn’t starve or beat me, just didn’t like me, and made no effort to hide it. Did you have a happy childhood?” she asked, biting into a piece of toast.

  “I suppose so. Well, Dad was affectionate and spent every spare minute he could with me, but he was busy building up the business.”

  “Your mother?”

  “A social butterfly. She didn’t spend much time with me. Always flitting around from one charity function to another. She’s not particularly maternal.”

  “Our baby won’t suffer like that.” Her hand went to pat her stomach. “I’ll tell it a dozen times a day how much I love it,” she declared fiercely.

  “Me too,” he said, walking over to the window and drawing the drapes back. “It’s ten thirty.”

  “Ten thirty?” She jumped out of bed and the dreaded nausea rose up in her throat. Dashing to the bathroom, she lost her breakfast in the toilet bowl.

  “Are you all right?” He handed her a towel. “Did I expect too much last night? I mean...”

  “No, sudden movements in the morning or certain smells set me off. It has nothing to do with last night.”

  He hovered near her. “I’m a selfish person. I’ve only ever considered myself, but if I ever ask too much of you, tell me.”

  “It was wonderful last night, better than I ever dreamed it could be.” She rose to her feet, purposely turning her back on the mirror. No point in seeing exactly how awful she looked.

  “Did, did you enjoy it?” she asked huskily.

  “Yes, you know I did. It was the best sex I’ve ever had. When I lit the right fuse, you went off like a firecracker.”

  No words of love, but he enjoyed the sex. Better than nothing. Love came with children. That’s what people said about arranged marriages. She remembered reading that somewhere.

  “Have a shower, and then we’ll go,” he suggested. “Dad was so excited because he found the old school photographs of your father. He can’t wait to show them to you.”

  Caroline dressed in a white linen slack suit. The red cowl neck top suited her. She had never worn real silk before. Bryce was movie-star handsome in navy trousers and a blue-and-white, geometric-design shirt.

  “Should we bring something with us?” she asked.

  “There’s no need.”

  “Flowers for your mother?”

  “No, they won’t expect anything.”

  “Do I look all right?”

  He snorted in exasperation. “Of course you do. I’d tell you if you didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” She touched his arm. “I want to make a good impression.”

  “You will, so stop worrying. You’ll end up with ulcers before you’re thirty.”

  She couldn’t help feeling insecure, inadequate. Her mother had made sure of that. The Harringtons belonged to the ‘beautiful people’ brigade, wealthy, articulate and good-looking. Everything she wasn’t.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They pulled up in front of the Harrington mansion, and Caroline’s anxiety escalated.

  Bryce helped her from the car with his usual hand under the elbow. “I’ve always liked this view of our house best. It looks so elegant set at the end of such a long sweeping drive.”

  “Yes, you could almost believe you were in the country. You can’t even see your neighbors. It must have been wonderful growing up in such a place.”

  “It was. I learn
t to ride my first bike on the lawns over there. Dad thought the grass would cushion my fall if I fell off.” He laughed. “I’d have been black and blue otherwise.” He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly as they walked towards the house.

  “Mrs. Ferguson, this is my wife, Caroline,” he said, introducing her to the housekeeper who met them at the door. “Mrs. Ferguson is the best cook in Melbourne.”

  “Ah, Mr. Harrington.” She chuckled. “Ever the flatterer. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Harrington.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Ferguson.”

  With trepidation, Caroline entered the house. Persian carpet on the floor, frescoed ceilings, chandeliers and antique furniture, just as she’d imagined it would be. She was so overcome with nerves that she baulked.

  “Come on.” Bryce’s hand in the small of her back propelled her forward.

  They entered a sitting room, as opulent as the other rooms she had glanced into.

  “Ah, Caroline.” Alexander came towards her, arms outstretched. “How are you, my dear?” He gave her a hug.

  “I’m very well, thanks. How are you?”

  “All the better for seeing a pretty young thing like you. How’s it going, son?”

  “I’m fine. Where’s mother?”

  “Fluttering around as usual. I found the school photos I told you about.” Alexander positively beamed. “Have a seat next to me on the couch, Caroline. A drink?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Caroline was sick this morning.”

  “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.”

  “Morning sickness, it’s no big deal.”

  “I remember when Iris was pregnant with Bryce. She spent the best part of an hour each morning with her head down the toilet.”

  “Alexander,” Iris snapped, as she minced into the room. Caroline stifled a giggle, trying to visualize this haughty queen with her head stuck in the toilet bowl.

  “I found peppermint tea helpful. Would you care for some?”

  “No, thank you. Sudden movements or spicy smells tend to set me off in the morning. Otherwise I’m okay.”

  “Pregnant women need plenty of rest.” Iris went on, and Caroline felt her cheeks burn. She lowered her head, letting her hair hide most of her face. Surely Iris couldn’t tell that they had spent half the night making love.