She stretched out across the bed, hoping to fill the empty spaces—but it didn’t work. Chanté closed her eyes and struggled to remember all of their firsts. The first time he took her into his arms. Their first kiss. The first time they made love. After a while, the memories flooded her senses.
The first time they were together they’d lain on a bed of rose petals. Roses were her favorite flowers. That night, she thought she’d die from the sheer joy of their consummation. The tenderness of his probing and inquisitive hands. He was masterful in figuring out all her hot spots.
She remembered his mouth tasting like a fusion of heaven and sin. One minute, she was his precious angel and in the next, his little devil. Back then, Matthew kept a beautifully groomed goatee and her sensitive skin always quivered beneath its light tickle.
Lost in the memories, Chanté unwrapped the towel from her baby-oiled body and fanned her fingers across her chest. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to travel back in time and experience that night again. Love seemed so effortless and happiness was always just a kiss away.
Nothing is stopping you from going to him now.
Her eyes snapped open. For a second her eyes darted around to see if someone else had actually made the comment. When she realized she was still alone, she sighed in relief.
But the bud of her femininity began to ache for fulfillment.
“I could go,” she whispered, warming to the idea. Heck, who said that she had to apologize in order to get laid? Hell, she didn’t even have to talk.
Chanté sucked in her bottom lip and nibbled for a little while. There’s the danger of Matthew thinking that sex would be some sort of peace offering.
The ache between her legs intensified.
Then again, I could correct him in the morning. Chanté liked that idea and bounded off the bed, in search of the perfect negligee to seduce her husband.
Chapter 7
After a half bottle of Jack Daniels, Matthew dreamed of his wife’s creamy thighs, firm breasts and perfect apple bottom. He tossed and turned and even smacked his lips while remembering her distinctive taste. The wanting, aching and longing had stripped him of his sanity.
No matter how many times he tried to think or concentrate on something else, Chanté’s teasing body would crystallize in his mind. If he thought about work, Chanté would materialize as a naked cue-card girl. When writing material for his next book, Chanté would be the naked girl on his Internet pop-up, asking him if he wanted to see her in action.
It was maddening...and a complete turn-on.
In need of relief, Matthew grabbed hold of his erection and tried to assuage the ache. Even at this desperate hour, his hand was a lousy substitute.
You could always go back and knock on the door again.
Matthew’s hand stilled. The thought had possibilities. But then he remembered how Chanté had turned him down the other night and how she closed the door in his face tonight. How many times could he face her rejection?
Knock. Knock.
Matthew remained frozen in the bed with his erection still throbbing in his hand.
Knock. Knock.
Buddy barked from his crate.
“Yes?” he asked sluggishly.
Instead of an answer, he listened as the doorknob turned and the heavy door creaked open. Pushing himself up, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect—an intruder, his wife, or an intruder impersonating his wife.
He waited until the curvaceous figure illuminated under the silvery moonlight. Even then he wasn’t sure he believed what he was seeing or if his old buddy Jack now had him hallucinating.
“Chanté?”
She glided toward the bed and pressed a slender finger against his lips. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to catch her meaning—and he was only too willing to oblige.
Damn it, it’s been five months.
Wait, his brain screamed. Something wasn’t right. Matt eyed her suspiciously. “Is this a trick?”
Again, she didn’t answer. Just gave him a slight shake of her head.
Matthew weighed whether to believe her. Then again, if this was a hallucination, what harm was there in having a little fun?
A bright smile bloomed across Matthew’s face and glowed in the moonlight. “Hey, baby. You finally decided to come pay Big Daddy a visit?”
Chanté frowned. “Have you been drinking?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. There’s no law against a man drinking in the privacy of his own home, is there?”
“Never mind. This was a mistake.” She turned.
Matthew hopped out of bed and clutched her arm. “Don’t go, baby. You know we’ve both been waiting for this for a long time,” he slurred.
She hesitated, giving Matthew all the confirmation he needed.
“Why don’t you give me a big, fat juicy kiss to seal the deal?”
Eager, both Chanté and Matthew leaned forward, only to bang their foreheads together.
“Ouch.”
“Oh. Sorry about that.” Matt fluttered a nervous smile before trying again. This time, their lips connected and their bodies sagged with relief.
However, when Matt leaned her back onto the bed, he’d forgotten about his laptop and piles of paper occupying the other side.
“Ow, ouch.” Chanté shoved him off.
“Oh, just a minute.” Matt pitched everything, including the laptop, over the side of the bed. “See? All gone.” He flashed another toothy smile and clumsily reached for her again.
Buddy barked.
“Shh. Buddy, be quiet,” Matthew warned. “You’ll scare my dream girl away.”
Chanté hesitated.
“Don’t worry, no more surprises,” he assured, patting the empty bed for emphasis.
After another beat of hesitation, Chanté decided to give it another try. She glided effortlessly into his arms and imagined herself cast into her own romance novel. But everything didn’t play out quite the way she’d hope.
Matthew grabbed for her like a starved man before an all-you-can-eat buffet. He fumbled and cursed while he tried to pry her out of her lingerie.
“Here, let me do it,” she offered before he had a chance to destroy one more thing of hers. Three snaps later, she chiseled on another smile and then lay back on the bed in all her naked glory.
That was when the real pawing began.
Matt’s once tender and caressing hands were now rough and forceful. Lips that once gave loving worship to her sensitive nipples now seemed determined to chew the damn things off.
“Easy. Easy,” she coached, wanting him to slow down and enjoy the ride. Instead, her husband skipped foreplay and went straight for the main attraction.
He entered with one mighty thrust and nearly split her in two.
What the hell?
Chanté gripped his bulging biceps and tried to hold on during the ride. However, she was nearly rendered senseless several times as her head was rammed into the headboard. Meanwhile, Buddy continued to bark his head off. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
“Shh, Buddy. Shh, Buddy,” Matthew hissed in between his “Oh, Gods.” His hips hammered away while his eyes damn near rolled to the back of his head.
Chanté watched in resolute boredom until Matthew stiffened with one last thrust, and then collapsed in a sweaty heap.
Is that it?
“Oh, baby. I missed you so much.” Matthew panted and peppered sloppy kisses across her face and eyes.
“Uhm.” She searched for the right words. “Matt?”
“Hmm?”
“I, uh, didn’t...well, you know.”
Matt lifted his head and stared down at her. “You didn’t?”
Chanté shook her head. Not even close.
“I, uh, I’m so—well, I guess, I did get a little carried away. It being a while and all.” He absently wiped the sweat from his brow.
She nodded in feigned understanding. “That’s all right. You can try again.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He smiled and wiggled his hips.
To Chanté’s dismay, she noted Matt Jr. wasn’t exactly standing at full salute.
“Just give me a minute to...catch my breath,” Matthew panted.
Chanté’s brows furrowed, but she had no choice but to bob her head in agreement and wait for her husband to catch his second wind.
Two minutes later, Matthew was fast asleep.
* * *
At breakfast the next morning, Seth decided it was time he dusted off his culinary skills to make his wife breakfast in bed. Unfortunately, his specialty was cold cereal.
“Oh, honey.” Edie smiled brightly when he appeared at their bedroom doorway with her breakfast tray in hand. “You shouldn’t have.”
Seth beamed proudly as if he’d prepared a five-course meal. “My baby deserves the best.”
“Special K, huh?”
“Special K with strawberries.”
“Then bring it on!” Edie set aside the pamphlets in her lap and punched up her pillows before her husband delivered her meal.
“What are these?” he asked, picking up one of the pamphlets.
“Some brochures I picked up yesterday before my talk with Chanté.”
Seth frowned as he opened one and then another. “Sex therapy? I thought the idea was to get them to see a real counselor?”
“They’re real.” Edie snatched one of the brochures back. “I’ve heard some great things about these places.”
“Where? On one of those women’s talk shows?”
Edie poked out her bottom lip as she shrugged her shoulders. “What if I did? A reference is a reference.”
“Okay, this job just went from difficult to impossible.” Seth laughed. “Sex isn’t the problem. Their ability to stay away from sharp objects is.”
“Are you sure about that?” she asked, scooping out her first spoonful of cereal.
“No,” he acquiesced. “It’s not the sort of thing we talk about.”
“Well, what do you talk about?”
“His lack of sex. Five months and counting.” Seth shook his head with great sympathy. “I don’t care what anyone says, that’s cruel and unusual punishment. No wonder he’s demolishing cars.”
“I hear you.” She chomped away for a moment while her gaze returned to the pamphlets.
“Actually, I really think I’m on to something here. Last week when Chanté stormed over here about the Letterman incident, she said that Matthew used to be great in bed.”
“What the hell? Do you two give each other blow-by-blow recaps?”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re still a ten in my book.”
Seth straightened his shoulders as his chest swelled from the compliment. “Ten is easy when I have an eleven in my arms.”
For that, he was rewarded with a kiss.
“So you think this sex therapy will work?”
“It certainly can’t hurt.”
“Not unless there’s a chainsaw on the premises.”
Edie chuckled.
“Any idea how we’re going to get them to one of these places?” Seth asked.
“Yes. We lie.”
Chapter 8
Chanté was beyond pissed.
No car. No foreplay. No orgasm. Enough was enough.
She slammed the kitchen cabinets as she made coffee, took her morning pills, and slaved over the hot stove. Every time she thought about last night’s lousy performance, she broke a glass, a cup or a dish. How and when did Matt become so selfish and so clueless in bed?
Not only had he fallen asleep, he snored loud enough to wake the dead.
Crash!
Another plate bit the dust.
“Good morning.”
Chanté’s gaze snapped to her husband as he entered the kitchen, and for a brief moment she weighed the consequences of smashing his head in with a frying pan.
The temptation nearly won out—especially since the bastard had the audacity to be in a cheerful mood.
“What smells so good?” he asked, with a beaming smile.
“Breakfast,” she answered with an overdose of saccharine. “Hungry?”
Suspicion glimmered in Matt’s eyes. “You’re cooking me breakfast?”
“It’s not unusual for a wife to cook for her husband.”
Matthew’s brows shot up.
“Why don’t you just take a seat at the table? The food will be right out.”
Matt didn’t move. Instead, he studied the angles of her plastic smile. “Uh...about last night,” he began. “Did we...you didn’t come to my room last night, did you?”
The jerk doesn’t even remember! Chanté crossed her arms and weighed her options. “Only in your dreams,” she lied bitterly.
“Oh, I didn’t think so.” He shook his head and gave an awkward laugh. “I knew I had a few too many.”
Chanté glared and contemplated the frying pan again. “Breakfast will be out in a minute.”
He hesitated again.
“Go on now. I’ll be out there in a second.”
Finally, he gave her a slight nod and then turned in the direction of the dining room.
I’ll fix you breakfast all right. One you’ll never forget.
* * *
Matt knew he was in trouble. Why on earth would Chanté fix him breakfast after what Buddy did to her room? The way he saw it, he still had options. He could either run from the house screaming like a banshee, put in a precall to 9-1-1, or drop to his knees and beg for mercy.
The first option had potential.
“Breakfast is ready,” Chanté sang, carrying plates to the table.
Too late. Matthew swallowed a lump in his throat while his brain threatened to short-circuit with trying to come up with an excuse to miss breakfast.
“Uh, Chanté.” He followed his wife to the table.
“Yes, dear?”
Dear? “You know, I’m not all that hungry,” he said with a nervous smile. However, the sight of fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and golden-brown biscuits made his stomach roar at the lie.
Chanté lifted an inquisitive brow.
“Maybe I am a little hungry.”
Chanté smiled and pulled out a chair. “Sit.”
Matt hesitated. His fear accelerated at the sight of her lips sliding wider.
“Come on.” She patted the back of the chair. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
How could he back down from a challenge like that? “Of course not.” He walked over to her, searched her eyes for any telltale signs and then slowly eased into the offered chair.
“There. See?” She patted his shoulders. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The corner of Matthew’s lips quivered and then he glanced down at the meal before him. Everything looked good—perhaps too good.
Chanté hummed a merry tune like a Disney princess as she walked to the other side of the table to take her seat. “Dig in,” she said.
Matt glanced around. “You know, I think I’d like some orange juice,” he announced, scooting back his chair. “Can I get you any?”
“I’ll get it.” She jumped up from her chair and nearly raced out of the room. “You sit there and eat.”
When she disappeared around the corner, he reached across the table and switched the plates. A second later his wife rushed back into the room carrying two glasses of orange juice. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, honey.”
Her smile thinned at the endearment and Matthew grew suspicious of the drink she handed him as well. Mercifully, Buddy chose that moment to waddle into the room.
“What in the hell is he doing in here?” Chanté snapped and jumped up from the table.
“Hey, little Buddy.” Matt scooped up the dog. “How do you keep getting out of your crate?”
“Get him out of here!” Chanté screeched.
Matthew cradled the dog against his body. “All right. Calm down. Don’t have a conniption fit. I’ll go put him back in his crate.”
“Apparently he needs a stronger crate. Tie h
im up somewhere outside.”
Buddy barked.
Chanté stuck her tongue out at the dog.
“Now is that mature?” Matthew asked.
“After what he did to my bedroom, he’s lucky we’re not having him for breakfast.”
Buddy whimpered and snuggled against his owner.
Unmoved, Chanté stomped her foot. “Outside.”
“Come on, Buddy. Let’s see if Roger can get you situated somewhere.” Matthew rose from his chair and marched out, all the while cooing and apologizing to the dog for his wife’s behavior.
Chanté leaned across the table and craned her neck to see if the coast was clear and then quickly switched the breakfast plates back.
Minutes later, her husband returned with a pinch of annoyance in his expression. The emotion vanished when he discovered his wife had already started eating her meal. He eased into his chair and watched her expression.
Chanté stopped chewing and frowned.
“Is something wrong, honey?” Matthew picked up his fork.
“No.” She smiled but it faltered. “Everything is...fine.”
He returned the smile when she placed a hand over her stomach. “Good.” He dove into his food triumphantly and moaned aloud to emphasize how wonderful everything tasted. “You know, honey. I think this is the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time.”
“Glad you enjoy it.” Grimacing, she cupped a hand over her mouth. “Excuse me.” She bounded out her chair and raced out of the room.
Matt shoved another forkful of food into his mouth while chuckling to himself. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on me.
In the half bathroom on the bottom floor, Chanté was doubled over with laughter.
* * *
The studio audience for The Love Doctor show grew restless waiting for their host to take the stage. The warm-up team had long run out of jokes and prizes to hand out and the camera crew and stagehands were growing bored.
“Where is he?” Trish from the sound department inquired. “Production is going to run over.”
“Love Doctor! Love Doctor!” the crowd chanted.
“We’d better do something or we’re going to have a studio of emotionally imbalanced women storm the stage,” Trish warned.
“Love Doctor! Love Doctor!”
“I’ll go check his dressing room,” Cookie volunteered cheerfully and sashayed off.
Valentine's Fantasy: When Valentines CollideTo Love Again Page 5
