by Ann Cristy
He nibbled on her throat, trailing a line of tiny bites from one pulse point to the other.
"This happens to be one of my favorite things," Misty murmured as Luc's mouth traveled over her bare shoulders. "You nibbling on my skin."
"Another one of mine as well." His answer was muffled as he lifted her up his body with one strong arm. "I want you all the time." He sounded almost fierce as he swung her up into his arms and carried her to their bed. "I like your sisters very much, but I'm glad they've decided to stay with Alice and John most of the time." His voice held both anger and puzzlement as he sat her down on the edge of the bed and removed her shoes, then asked her to stand so that he could pull the long silken dress from her body. "I love my work, but sometimes I can't stand to leave you. You have such power over me." Ironic amusement filled his face.
"I hit a sour note tonight, and I played the same song three times, because I was thinking of you," Misty admitted.
"I know. I was there." He grinned. "You didn't see me. Don't be embarrassed, my love."
Misty loosened the studs on his evening shirt. "Maybe we should tell each other more, not hide so much from each other."
He laid her back on the bed—she was still wearing her silky briefs—and divested himself of his remaining clothes. He was holding the sleeve of his shirt when he looked down at her, his eyes appraising her hotly. "Do you know what you look like at this moment, my child-woman? Your red-gold hair looks like sunlight. Your eyes are like the most precious jade. Your skin is creamy pink. Your breasts are beautiful." His rakish grin almost masked the passion in his eyes. "And you have the cutest bottom in three counties."
"Not four?" Misty teased, thanking the fates that Luc thought her lovely.
"Mrs. Harrison..." Luc sat facing her on the bed. "I'd like to talk further with you, but I find that my mind can't hold any thought except how beautiful you are."
"Luc." Misty's body surged forward with a passionate need to love him. She raised her hands to explore his chest, tugging gently on his nipples, her energy building as she saw that he was already aroused.
"I feel I should warn you that I don't have a high tolerance for your loving," he said, his eyes following her hands as she probed, caressed, teased, and touched him.
"Just be patient," she cooed. As his body jerked and bent in response to her every touch, she felt consumed with a thrilling sense of power. "Luc, you're so beautiful." She squeezed the taut muscles of his stomach, then boldly let her hands slide lower and lower until she grasped his manhood, massaging gently.
Luc groaned and reached out to grab her waist. "Much as I love your sensual massage, darling"—he lowered her fully onto the bed and leaned over her— "my restraint just blew apart." In a feverish frenzy his hands and mouth ministered to her.
When he gently parted her thighs to enter her, she was whimpering with desire for him. At once they went up in flames, holding each other, calling out each other's name.
Afterward they kissed good night, their mouths remaining only inches apart as they slept.
Misty woke once in the night with a strange longing. But she was too sleepy to analyze it. Tightening her arms around Luc's waist, she fell back into a deep slumber.
When she woke again, she was alone. She blinked in confusion at the sight of the unfamiliar room, then remembered that they had stayed at the Terrace Hotel suite. "Luc," she called, masking a yawn behind her hand.
"Yes, darling, I'm here. Come and take a shower with me."
Delighted, Misty leaped out of bed and ran unclothed to the bathroom. She paused just inside the door to watch Luc wipe the last traces of shaving cream from his face. "Oh, you're already finished," she said, disappointed. "I like to watch you shave." Her body tingled from the way he was looking at her.
"You do?" He sounded distracted. "From now on I'll call you before I shave." He took a deep breath and pulled her into his arms. "You're too much of a distraction, Mrs. Harrison. Seeing you like this makes me want to cancel my meeting this morning."
"You can't." She gave a breathy laugh. "It's with the board of directors, and you told me last week that it's very important."
"So it is." He sighed, dropping the towel from around his waist and leading her to the shower stall. "I've enjoyed my work since the first day I joined the bank after graduate school, but when I see you naked in front of me, I could chuck the whole thing."
"Don't you dare, Mr. Harrison. You have to support me."
"And the little Harrisons who will be coming along." Luc pulled her forward and began to scrub her back with the loofah sponge.
Misty clutched at him, stunned by what he had said. Children! She couldn't have children! She'd vowed long ago never to have them. What if she turned out to be a terrible mother like her own had been? She shuddered. Why had it never occurred to her that Luc might want children?
"Darling, you're cold. Let me make the water warmer."
"No, no. It's fine." She tried to smile up at him, but when she saw his eyes narrow in concentration on her, she pulled his head down and kissed him deeply. She kept her mouth on his until she felt his lips begin moving against hers, his mouth opening, his tongue thrusting against hers.
As they toweled each other dry and put on their clothes, Misty kept up a ceaseless round of questions concerning the board of directors' meeting.
"You've always been a good listener," Luc drawled, "but you seem obsessed with business this morning." He regarded her speculatively. She shrugged and didn't respond.
Even as they descended in the elevator to the hotel foyer, Misty felt him studying her. Melton was waiting for them outside the front entrance when she and Luc emerged.
Luc pulled her close to him. "We promised to be open with each other," he reminded her in low tones, his eyes piercing hers.
"We are open," she said weakly.
"Then tell me what's on your mind. What's making you frown?"
"Ah... I was trying to figure out what music to play on Thursday." As soon as she said the words, he stiffened beside her. He knew she was lying, but he didn't contradict her.
They were silent in the limousine on the way to the bank. Misty's head was filled with worries. How long had it been since she'd been to a gynecologist? When had she had her last menstrual period?
"Luc ..." She licked suddenly dry lips as the car came to a stop in front of the bank.
"I'll be a little late tonight," he told her.
"Luc, we promised your mother and father we'd go out to the house Friday night and stay the weekend. They're giving another dinner party and—"
"Mystique, I really am in a hurry." Luc kissed her lightly on the cheek and hurried out of the car. Melton pulled away from the curb, not seeming to notice that his passenger was pressing her fist against her mouth. She was bewildered and upset. She had withdrawn from Luc, and he had sensed the change at once.
Back home, Misty was greeted by Bruno and Mrs. Wheaton. She listened to what the older woman said about preparing dinner, promptly forgot it, and raced up to her bedroom, Bruno at her heels. Nowadays he rarely left her side when she was in the house, and she had come to love the dog.
She dialed her gynecologist's number and made an appointment, feeling frustrated when she had to make it for two weeks away. "Would you put me on a cancellation list, please?" she asked the nurse.
She paced the bedroom rug, back and forth, back and forth. She couldn't have a child. She couldn't take the chance that she would be like her mother. To hurt a child that way! She buried her face in her hands as tears filled her eyes. Bruno whined at her side, and she patted his head. Why had she stopped taking the pill? The headaches they caused weren't so bad! Why had she assumed she wouldn't get pregnant when she went off the pill? She started in surprise when Mrs. Wheaton entered.
"Mrs. Harrison, I knocked, but— Why, what's wrong?" the older woman queried, coming farther into the room.
"It's nothing, Mrs. Wheaton. Just a slight headache, that's all." The housekeeper frowned, b
ut she left when Misty assured her she was fine.
That evening Luc was silent and aloof as they drank coffee after dinner, a silver tray between them. The thought of making love with him worried Misty, but the thought of alienating him was an even greater fear. Nothing must come between them! Hesitantly, she stood up and went over to sit on his lap, cuddling close to him.
At first he did not respond. Then, gradually, his hold on her tightened. "Witch," he whispered into her hair. He began to caress her with slow, seductive strokes. Moments later he surged out of the chair, holding her in his arms, and strode up the stairs, his cheeks flushed with passion.
That night their lovemaking was frenzied. Misty felt as though they were joined not just in body, but in blood and in spirit as well.
Unlike other nights, when they had cuddled and joked softly for a long time before falling asleep, now they held each other in fierce silence until welcome sleep took them both away.
The days remaining before she and Luc were scheduled to drive to his parents' house on Long Island were fraught with tension. Not all of Misty's efforts succeeded in melting the frost between them.
"It's unfortunate that I love you, husband," she whispered to the framed picture on her dressing room table that Friday afternoon as she packed her clothes for the weekend. "I was a fool not to go back on the pill as soon as we were married, but I got headaches... Maybe Dr. Wagner can suggest an alternative."
Just then Luc came into their bedroom, stripping the tie from his neck. "Since I'm here, why not talk to me instead of to my picture?"
"Ah... I was just asking your image if you would like two pairs of jeans packed or one." Misty watched his relaxed features tighten. He knows I'm lying, she moaned to herself.
"I'll pack the rest of my things," Luc told her, striding to the second bathroom attached to their suite.
"Luc," she whispered aloud. She couldn't explain to him how she felt, even though he'd met her mother. He would tell her she was wrong, she supposed, but she couldn't take a chance with their child. What if she was as twisted as her mother? No... no...
Talk between them was sporadic as they finished packing, checked with Mrs. Wheaton, and left the brownstone. "In the time since I've lived in New York, I'd never gone to Long Island until I visited your parents' and Alice's homes," Misty said as they left the city. She cleared her throat. "I enjoyed dining with them last month." "So you told me." Luc's words were clipped. "So I did." Misty began to burn from discomfort. "I was only trying to make conversation."
"Yes, you make conversation, but you're not honest with me. Is that how it should be?"
"What are you trying to say?"
"Look, Mystique, I'm not the one who's being evasive."
"I am not an evasive person," she shot back, her temper beginning to let go.
"What you mean is, you're not evasive or dissembling with most people. With your husband you are." His words seemed to echo in the confines of the car.
"Where the hell do you get off telling me what I am or am not, Mr. Perfect!"
"When did I ever do that to you?"
"When didn't you?" she retorted.
"There's no sense in continuing this discussion."
"Don't patronize me," she cried. As Luc pulled off the expressway and headed toward the North Shore, she faced out the window, ignoring the tree-lined avenues, open fields, and glimpses of Long Island Sound.
Silence reigned for what seemed like hours to Misty. Then the car was turning into a curving driveway bordered with rhododendrons, their brown leaves like claws snapping in the cold wind. The denuded trees looked to Misty like phantom guardians of the large sandstone and brick house they were approaching. Situated in the middle of a tremendous expanse of lawn, the building seemed to brood over the barren landscape.
Before Luc had pulled the car to a complete stop under the porte cochere, the double oak doors were flung open, and two boys of five and seven raced down the steps. "Good Lord," Luc muttered with evident amusement. "Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan are here." He turned to Misty, grim humor on his face. "My sister Deirdre's brood has arrived. My two nephews, Greg and James, who are now assaulting my car. Wait a minute, you two, until I get the door open. Their baby sister Jennifer, who has mastered the dubious art of smiling and spitting up at the same time, is also undoubtedly here." Misty gave a tentative laugh as the boys clambered onto the hood of the Ferrari. Wincing, Luc bounded out of the car and tackled them. "All we need now is for Velma to show up with her gaggle from Chicago. Janie, whom you met, is their only civilized child."
"Luc, you cad. Are you trying to kill my angels?" A tall, slender woman with gray eyes and ash blond hair similar to Luc's stood at the top of the steps, dressed in a simple pink cashmere dress. She hurried down as Misty stood uncertainly next to the car. "And you must be Mystique, the beauty who finally corralled the famous Elusive One. Good for you. What did you use? Bear traps?"
"A lasso," Misty answered, watching Luc pluck the two boys from the car and imprison one under each arm. "As a last resort I was planning to use poison—nothing lethal, you understand, just something to slow him down."
Deirdre threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, I love it. He has, indeed, met his match." Not seeming to mind the cold, she held out her hand. "I'm Deirdre. And I still think you should consider poison."
"Thank you for the advice." Misty chuckled at the boys, who were making faces at their uncle and smiling at her.
"Very funny," Luc said, panting and red-faced as they all climbed the steps to the open doors. "Stop wriggling, you monsters," he admonished. "Ah, Hawes. Get the bags, will you? Thanks."
"They drive him crazy, but he loves them," Deirdre explained. "How many will you have, do you think? Oh, Lord, Luc, watch them, will you? That's mother's Tang vase."
Misty felt vastly relieved that Deirdre had been momentarily diverted from the question of children.
"Lord, Dee, couldn't you peel one of them off?" asked a tall blond man coming into the massive foyer. He watched as Luc wrestled with the boys on the marble floor, again coming dangerously close to a Louis Quatorze table on which stood a rare vase of roses and baby's breath. He came forward to introduce himself. "I'm Ted Manning, father of the twosome that's assaulting your husband on the floor."
"Hello," Misty said, grinning back. All of Luc's family made her feel so at ease.
"Is that you, Mystique, dear?" Althea, Luc's mother, came out of the mammoth living room carrying a baby girl dressed in a pink pinafore, the one blond curl on top of her head tied with a pink ribbon. "Those are the boys, dear," she explained, casually handing her the baby. "And this is Jennifer. She's very good, but you should have this towel just in case." She adjusted the flannel square on Misty's shoulder.
Deirdre chuckled. "Let me take the baby until you can get your coat off." She hefted the baby onto her hip, and Ted took Misty's coat. "I've just met your sisters, and they're delightful. I like the idea of holding a Mardi Gras party to introduce the girls to society rather than waiting until the fall, don't you?" Deirdre handed Jennifer back to Misty.
"Ah..." Misty couldn't remember having heard about a Mardi Gras party.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Luc asked from the floor. Ted told the boys to behave, and Luc managed to shake them off for a moment. "We don't know about any Mardi Gras party. What in the world has Alice been up to?"
"You should see the girls." Deirdre giggled. "They look so preppy in their skirts and sweaters, and they love their schools. They seem very excited about Mardi Gras. Ted and I have decided to fly back for the occasion, and I know Vel and Ken will want to come, too. I understand just everyone will be there—at least three hundred guests."
Misty gasped. Luc stared at his sister in astonishment. "She's lost her mind," he declared.
"McLaren will do the flowers," Deirdre continued, "and Bijou is handling the food, and a couturier by the name of Morey is making all the clothes, including mother's dress." Deirdre finished breezily, appare
ntly unaware that her brother's face had turned brick red.
"Oh, that's lovely. Morey's a friend," Misty offered, then bit her lip as Luc glared at her.
"Do you realize that she's creating a... a..."
"A bang-up do?" Deirdre suggested sweetly.
"A stampede," Luc corrected angrily. "And you can stop laughing, Ted. You'll be ordered to wear white tie, too."
Luc's brother-in-law chuckled and held up a hand. "Not me. This is your party, right, honey?" He glanced at his wife, who scowled back at him. "Now, Dee, surely you don't intend for me to—"
"Are you going to be the only one who lets those lovely girls down?" Deirdre demanded, seeming to swell with indignation.
"Yes, will you be a cad?" Luc quizzed.
"Quiet, Lucas." Ted shot his now chuckling brother-in-law a dirty look. "Dee, listen to me. Boys, quiet down. Dee..." His voice trailed off as he followed his wife back into the living room.
"Come inside and have some tea, dear," Luc's mother offered serenely. "We're just having a quiet evening at home. Hildebrand and George have joined us, but no one else will come until tomorrow night." She smiled at Misty and took her arm.
"You invited those bores?" Luc demanded.
"That is an unkind way to speak of your cousins," his mother admonished as she led Misty into the living room, which seemed to be filled with people, all of them talking loudly and gesturing wildly.
Ted was still pleading with Deirdre, who was talking to John and flapping her hand at Ted. John was nodding to Deirdre and shrugging at Ted. The twins were sticking their fingers in the clam dip and trying to get their grandfather to catch the crackers they were throwing at him. Luc's father was instructing the butler to make drinks at a small bar to one side of the Adam fireplace and telling the boys over his shoulder that he would be with them in a minute.
Misty cradled the baby and stared open-mouthed at a balding man sitting at the grand piano near the terrace doors. His singing was loud and flat, and his playing wasn't much better. At the same time, another plumpish man was reading him stock quotations from The Wall Street Journal.
