Читать книгу Park Avenue Secrets: Marriage, Manhattan Style - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 13

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.

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 said.

“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.

“Then, how does it work?” she asked.

Reed wasn’t sure how to explain the complexities of his job.

“The companies depend on each other,” he told her. “And someone needs to watch out for the big picture.”

“What about Collin?”

“Collin has his own job. He can’t do mine, too.”

She harrumphed out a sigh. “I think you’re getting too puffed up with your own importance. They didn’t miss you this week.”

“A week’s not very long.” And he’d been monitoring quite a number of things via his laptop and cell phone.

“I like spending time together,” she said.

“I like spending time together, too.”

There was a light rap on the door. “Mr. Wellington?”

“Yes?”

The solid door creaked open, revealing one of the housemen. “A phone call for you, sir.”

“Obviously something important,” Elizabeth sassed.

“Obviously,” he agreed, giving her shoulder a quick rub before getting up from the sofa. He was keeping his cell phone turned off most of the time, and he’d asked the office not to contact him through the chateau unless there was an emergency.

This better be good.

The uniformed man pointed to a telephone in the corner of the room, and Reed perched himself on a tiny, French provincial chair.

“Hello?”

“Reed, it’s Mervin Alrick calling.”

Reed was shocked to hear Elizabeth’s father’s voice. “Mr. Alrick?”

Elizabeth swiveled her head to look at Reed, brows knitting together in a question.

Reed shrugged in answer.

“I’m afraid—” Mervin cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’m calling to give you some terrible news.”

Reed’s chest tightened in dread, his thoughts going to Elizabeth’s mother. “Yes?” he asked slowly.

Elizabeth leaned forward, cocking her head, a look of concern growing on her face.

“It’s Brandon.”

“Brandon?”

Elizabeth came to her feet.

“Brandon and Heather were in a car accident on the coast.”

“Are they okay?” Reed reached for Elizabeth, and she moved forward to take his hand.

“What?” she whispered.

Reed gave his head a little shake, concentrating on the call.

“I’m afraid—” Mervin cleared his throat again.

“Mr. Alrick?”

“They’ve died.”

Reed felt like he’d been sucker punched. “They?”

“Both of them.” Mervin’s voice broke, while Reed pulled Elizabeth against him.

Watching his expression, her eyes had gone wide with fear.

“You’ll tell Elizabeth,” Mervin rasped.

“Yes. Of course. We’ll be there as soon as possible. And Lucas?”

“Is fine. He was with his babysitter.”

“My jet’s in France. We’ll go straight to San Diego.”

“Yes … well …” Mervin was clearly struggling for control.

“We’ll call you soon.” Reed disconnected.

“Reed?” Elizabeth’s voice was paper dry.

He turned to face her, bracing one hand on each of her shoulders.

“Why do we have to go to—”

“It’s Brandon,” said Reed, hating what he was about to do to her. “He was killed in a car accident today.”

Elizabeth shook her head in denial. “No. No. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Heather was killed, too.”

Elizabeth took a step back, still shaking her head.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Brandon was her only sibling, and she’d adored him.

“It can’t be,” she whispered, even as her eyes welled up with tears.

Reed stepped forward and pulled her back into his arms. She struggled against both his touch and the cruel reality of the situation. “No. No. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it.”

“I need to get hold of Collin.” Even as he rocked her, Reed reached for the phone. “He’ll contact the jet and make arrangements.”

Elizabeth let out a low, keening moan that nearly broke Reed’s heart.

“We have to get to California,” he told her firmly. “Lucas needs us.”

She stilled, looking up. “Lucas?”

“Lucas is fine. He’s with a babysitter. But we need to get to him.”

She gave a jerky nod, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Reed wrapped one arm firmly around her shoulders, and used the other hand to dial Collin.