Marriage, Manhattan Style

by Barbara Dunlop

  “No, you earn a living.”

  “And it’s a damn good one.”

  She stepped forward and flipped back the comforter on her side of the bed. “Congratulations. Bully for you.”

  “Elizabeth,” he pleaded. “What is going on?”

  She folded her arms across her chest, unconsciously thrusting her breasts out against the thin fabric. “I need a life, Reed.”

  What the hell kind of a statement was that? “You have a life.”

  “You have a life.”

  “It’s our life.”

  “And you’re never in it.”

  “I haven’t left New York in months.” And don’t think that wasn’t tough to orchestrate. But he wanted to be on deck for making babies, and he wanted to be around Elizabeth in case she needed anything. It was a tough time for both of them. He recognized that, and he was doing his best to keep things calm and smooth.

  “You think this is about your physical presence in the city?”

  “What is it about?” He paused. “Please, Elizabeth, for God’s sake, tell me what this is all about.”

  She hesitated, her hands dropping back to her sides. “This is about me wanting a job.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever I can get. Script girl, production assistant, gofer.” She drew a breath and squared her shoulders. “This isn’t negotiable, Reed.”

  He flipped back his side of the comforter, losing his grip on his temper, feeling the argument slip out of control.

  “Great,” he intoned. “Our friends and associates will show up to an opening at the Met. They’ll all have dates. I’ll be stag, because my wife will be the gofer.”

  “No. Elizabeth Wellington will be the gopher.”

  “And you don’t think that’ll be just a little humiliating for me?”

  Her jaw clenched. “Then I’ll use my maiden name.”

  “You’ll use your real name,” he growled.

  “Fine.” She flounced into bed, tugging the covers up to her chest.

  Reed dropped in next to her, more frustrated with his wife than he was with the SEC. She couldn’t go slumming backstage at the Met. They’d both be the laughingstock of Manhattan.

  He knew he was too angry to argue further tonight, but this conversation was far from over.

  He switched off the lamp next to his bed and heard the beep of her digital thermometer. His head hit the pillow, and he closed his eyes.

  Her light stayed on. She didn’t move. He couldn’t even hear her breathing.

  He turned and opened his eyes, blinking at her profile in the lamplight, trying to figure out if she was too upset to sleep.

  She twisted her neck to look at him, distress clouding her expression. “I’m ovulating.”

  Reed’s stomach clenched. He only just stopped himself from cursing out loud.

  Of all the asinine timing.

  How could people be expected to live like this?

  “Right,” he said with a nod, keeping his voice as controlled as possible.

  He slid closer to her, reached over her and turned off her lamp, slipping the thermometer out of her hand to place it on the nightstand.

  They’d made love hundreds, maybe thousands of times. They could do it now. Piece of cake.

  He left his arm draped around her and burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. Once, twice, three times, giving them both a chance to get used to the idea of making love.

  Her hair was soft against his cheek, and he ran his hand through it, letting his subconscious kick in and memories wash over him. Her scent was one of the first things he’d loved about her. He remembered dancing under the stars, on the cruise in the harbor, the warm June winds flowing over them as she swayed in his arms in that red dress.

  Two minutes into the dance, he knew. He knew he was going to love her, knew he was going to marry her, knew he was going to spend the rest of his life taking care of this funny, gorgeous, intoxicating woman.

  Now, he kissed the tender skin of her neck. He trailed his fingertips down the satin of her gown, pressing his warm palm against her abdomen. He kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, then moved to her earlobe, drawing the soft flesh between his lips.

  He wanted to tell her he loved her, but things were too tenuous between them. He was building a fragile peace, a respite in the midst of the tough conversation that would have to take place in the next few days. He couldn’t hope for more than that.

  He fluttered his fingertips along the curve of her waist, up her ribcage, skimming the side of her breast. Desire was slowly but surely thickening his blood. He could feel his breathing deepen and the stirrings of need work their way though his body.

  He stroked her shoulder, slipping off the strap of her gown. Then he made his way down her arm, over her wrist, intending to twine their fingers together as one.

  But he found a fist.

  A tense, tightly clasped fist.

  He jerked back to look at her face.

  Her eyes were scrunched tight, her forehead creased and her jaw clenched shut.

  “Son of a bitch!” He vaulted off the bed.

  Her eyes few open, and he was horrified at the grit, determination and aversion in their depths.

  He was not forcing himself on a martyr. No matter what the cause, no matter what the rationale.

  “This is a marriage,” he choked out, “not some stud farm.”

  He grabbed his bathrobe, striding for the guest bedroom.

  Alone in the bed, Elizabeth had cried herself to sleep. She’d wanted to make love, wanted desperately to make a baby. But their argument had replayed over and over in her mind while Reed caressed her, until it had shrouded her love for him, and his touch had felt empty.

  She knew it would go away. Intellectually, she knew that only minutes or hours would have to pass before she felt secure in his arms once again. But she’d needed some time before lovemaking.

  She’d finally fallen asleep in the early morning hours. Then she woke to the sound of the vacuum, and she knew their housekeeper had arrived, and Reed had gone to work.

  Part of her couldn’t believe he’d left without waking her to make love. But then she remembered his expression as he’d stormed out of the bedroom. She’d angered him. And maybe she’d hurt him. He had, after all, tried valiantly to put the fight behind them and make love.

  She was the one who had failed.

  She flipped off the covers, showered, dressed and took her car to the Wellington International office tower on Fifth Avenue.

  She rode the elevator to the executive floor and paced through the marble foyer without giving herself a chance to hesitate. She’d apologize to Reed. Not for the fight, but for staying so emotional afterward. She was past it now, and she’d tell him so.

  If worst came to worst, she’d flash the lacy black camisole she was wearing under her coat dress. She had thigh-high stockings to match, and she’d put on the skimpiest, sexiest pair of panties she could find in her drawer. She wasn’t above a little seduction. And there was a fine hotel right across the street.

  “Elizabeth.” Reed’s secretary, Devon, rose from her chair. She shot a quick, uncertain glance at the window through to Reed’s corner office. “Is Reed expecting you?”

  “It’s a surprise,” Elizabeth admitted. She hoped a good surprise.

  Devon shot another glance at his office, and there was something strange in her expression. “Let me give him a call.”

  Elizabeth glanced through the window and saw a woman’s profile. She had spiky black hair and wore a dark blazer.

  “You wife is here,” Devon said into the phone.

  There was a split second’s delay, and then the woman shot a guilty glance through the window at Elizabeth. She immediately came to her feet.

  “Who’s that?” Elizabeth asked Devon.

  “She’s a job applicant,” Devon replied, busying herself with some papers on top of her desk.

  Something in the atmosp
here made Elizabeth feel awkward. “I hope I’m not disturbing something.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” said Devon.

  The door to Reed’s office opened, and the woman came out first. She was a strong, no-nonsense type, about five foot seven, with short cropped hair, classic clothes and a self-confident stride.

  She nodded to Elizabeth as she passed, leaving a clean hint of a coconut shampoo in her wake.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” said Reed, and Elizabeth turned back to face her husband.

  “Surprise,” said Elizabeth, with a smile for Devon’s benefit.

  He gestured to the open office door, and she preceded him inside.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” she offered as he latched the door.

  “Not a problem.” He indicated a pair of leather chairs in one corner of the room, bracketing a low table.

  “Who was she?” Elizabeth asked.

  Reed waited for her to sit down. “Who?”

  “The woman who just left. Devon said-”

  “She’s a client,” Reed said hurriedly.

  Elizabeth froze, a terrible feeling creeping into her empty stomach. He was lying. Why was he lying?

  “What kind of a client?”

  Reed waved a dismissive hand. “She owns a chain of furniture stores on the West Coast.”

  Elizabeth nodded, depression settling on her shoulders.

  “Did you need something?” Reed asked, tone formal and polite.

  I need my husband back.

  She was suddenly at a loss. Did she make the proposition? Did she carry on with the seduction plan? Could she bring herself to make love with him knowing he was lying?

  “Sweetheart?” he prompted, his tone more intimate.

  “I felt bad about last night.” She made her decision in a rush.

  “The job?”

  She shook her head. “The…other.”

  “Oh.”

  She grasped her purse with both hands. “I was thinking, maybe we could…” She glanced around, moistening her dry lips. “Make up for lost time.”

  He blinked at her.

  She forced herself to boldly keep his gaze.

  “You’re not seriously suggesting we make love here?”

  “The Oak Castle.” She named the hotel across the street.

  He glanced at his watch.

  “Should I have made an appointment?” she asked tightly.

  “Gage and Trent are due in ten minutes.”

  “Cancel.”

  “Elizabeth.” He held up his palms.

  “It’s time, Reed.”

  “It’ll wait until tonight.”

  “But we should have done it last night.” The words were out before she could think about how they sounded.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, his gaze going hard. “We should have.”

  She stood then, feeling supremely stupid for having dug out her black lingerie for a workaholic husband. She didn’t know why she had expected today to be any different from other days. Reed was a busy man. He fit her in when he could fit her in, and she’d best not ask for more than that.

  He immediately stood with her.

  “Goodbye then,” she offered, turning for the door, struggling to cope with the hurt of his rejection.

  But before she could take a step, an unruly little voice urged her to show him what he’d missed. She fought it for a moment, but then decided to get the last word.

  Popping the four buttons on her dress, she turned back and jerked it open.

  Reed’s eyes went wide and he sucked in an involuntary breath.

  “Enjoy your meeting,” she told him, redoing the buttons, flouncing out of the office and closing the door before he found his voice.

  On impulse, she stopped at Devon’s desk. “What was the job?” she asked.

  Devon looked confused.

  “The woman Reed was interviewing. What was the job?”

  “Oh.” Devon paused. “Accounting.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Elizabeth marched to the elevator, meeting Gage and Trent coming the other way. At least the part about the meeting with them was true. Elizabeth didn’t know what she would have done if he’d lied about everything.

  The elevator doors closed, and the express car whooshed smoothly downward. Truth was, she didn’t know what she was going to do about any of it at all. Reed was lying to her. He was lying to her about a woman. She seemed like a woman of substance rather than style, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but note the contrast between them.

  Four

  Frustration was evident on the face of Reed Anton Wellington II, “Anton” to his close friends, “Mr. Wellington” or “Sir” to most, and “Father” to Reed.

  “And you’re saying Kendrick never called, never suggested, never even hinted-”

  “Never,” Reed confirmed, closing the library door in his parents’ Long Island mansion. “Not once, not ever.”

  “It’s things like this that can impact the firm.”

  “I know that, Father.”

  “It’s things like this that can lose millions of dollars.”

  “I know that, too.” Did Reed’s father honestly think the broader impact of the SEC investigation were lost on Reed?

  Anton moved behind his desk. “You have a good lawyer? You’ll cooperate fully?”

  “Of course I’ll cooperate fully. I have nothing to hide.”

  Anton stared silently from beneath bushy eyebrows, and a frightening thought percolated in Reed’s mind.

  “You know I have nothing to hide, right?”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to succumb to temptation.”

  Reed was stunned to hear the words from his own father’s mouth. “You think I would cheat?”

  “I think you have a lot of pride. I think you’re very driven to succeed.”

  “Wonder where I got that from,” Reed muttered.

  “I need to know what we’re dealing with,” said Anton.

  Reed took a step toward the wide desk. “We’re dealing with an innocent man accused of insider trading, and a ten million dollar blackmail attempt.”

  “Can you prove the blackmail?”

  “I’m the third person in my building to be a victim.”

  “That’s not proof.”

  “No, but the police are working on it. If they find the blackmailer, the SEC will most certainly drop the charges.”

  “Do they need more manpower?”

  Reed shook his head. “I have my own investigation underway, and Collin’s put together a legal team.”

  “Never was too fond of Collin.”

  “He graduated top of his class in Harvard Law.”

  “On a scholarship.”

  “Father, people who receive scholarships are every bit as capable as those who donate them.”

  Anton harrumphed. “Genetics isn’t nothing.”

  “Don’t go there,” Reed warned.

  “How is Elizabeth?”

  Reed threw up his hands. “I swear to you, I am walking out that door.”

  “I just asked a question.”

  “You just linked Elizabeth with the middle class. There-fore, in your opinion poor genetics. Don’t try to deny it.”

  “All right. I won’t deny it. How is she?”

  Sexy as hell, frustrated as hell, probably mad as hell since it was nearly eight-thirty and Reed wasn’t home yet. “She’s fine.”

  Anton moved to the wide, oak bar and uncorked a decanter of scotch. “You mother and I keep waiting for you to announce that you’re expecting.”

  “I know you do.”

  When he had two fingers of scotch in each crystal glass, Anton turned back. “Any particular reason why you’re not?”

  “We’ll have children when we’re ready.”

  “Your mother’s anxious.”

  “Mother’s been anxious since I was eighteen.”

  “And now you’re thirty-four.” He handed Reed a glass of scotch. “You can
see why the situation is getting worse.”

  Reed tried to imagine himself explaining the fertility issues to either of his parents. But he couldn’t make the picture form in his brain. Not that he would compromise Elizabeth’s privacy in any case, especially not to his parents. She was already intimidated by their opinion of anyone outside their tax bracket.

  He downed the single malt. “I have to get home.”

  “I can have somebody from Preston Gautier sit down with Collin.”

  “Collin’s fine,” said Reed. “It’s all under control.”

  At least the SEC investigation was under control. The same couldn’t be said of the blackmail. And the same certainly couldn’t be said of his current situation with Elizabeth.

  Reed could still picture the sexy underwear she’d flashed him in his office. If his meeting had been about anything other than her security and the blackmail case, he’d have chased after her like an eager pup. He’d considered doing it anyway. But then Gage and Trevor arrived, and the real world had closed in.

  Elizabeth was on her third margarita in Hanna’s downtown loft, blocking out the real world and taking the edge off her humiliation.

  “You actually flashed him?” Hanna’s laugh was rife with disbelief. “Right there in the Wellington International office?”

  “I was wearing underwear,” Elizabeth pointed out, stretching out on her stomach on Hanna’s leather couch. Hanna was already lounging sideways in an armchair, her shoes kicked off, feet swaying, the slushy drink dangling from her fingers.

  “Ever done anything like that before?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “Bet he was surprised.”

  Elizabeth nearly giggled at the memory. “I’m pretty sure he was speechless.”

  “I bet.”

  Elizabeth’s smile faded. She realized the margaritas must be strong or she wouldn’t be finding any of this even remotely funny. “I think I was jealous.”

  “Of what?”

  Elizabeth took another sip of the drink. “Okay, this is going to sound crazy. But there was an attractive woman in his office when I got there. He lied about her.” She sat up, swinging her feet around to the floor. “He told me she was a client. Devon told me she was a job applicant.”

  “Uh-oh.” Hanna’s swinging feet came to a halt.

  A few beats went by in silence.