by Sun Chara
Holding him close, Ellie spanned her hands across his back and around until she found her way beneath his shirt. Her fingers slid across his torso, outlining every muscle, every curve and crevice.
Peter lifted his head and pillaged her mouth with his tongue. A sound of utter pleasure dropped from her lips and onto his. Skimming his hand beneath her breasts, Peter set her abdomen fluttering. His fingers glided over the curve of her hip to her thigh and further, exploring the shape of a long, slender leg. He pushed the hem of her dress upward and feathering her foot with his fingertips, discarded her high-heeled pump. He brushed her instep and sensation shot through her nerves. He stoked the blaze between them … his hand upon her calf, pushing silk fabric higher, he stroked her inner thigh, each brush of his fingers inching closer to her moist center.
A burning log in the fire grate crackled, a backdrop to their breathing.
Ellie moved beneath him, thinking she’d die of need, anticipation, desire. “Peter, my dea—”
“Ellie, cara—”
Ring! Ring!
The sudden ringing of the doorbell jolted them. Peter’s words froze on his lips and Ellie stilled in his embrace.
“No-o.” Peter pressed his forehead into her bosom, willing the intruder to go away.
She caressed his hair with her fingertips. She inhaled a deep puff of oxygen and her breasts lifted, brushing his face. His sharp intake of breath mingled with hers. Through the silk of her dress, his steel length pressed into the apex of her thighs. She wanted him … wanted to feel him inside her, and the future, be that what it may. A suspended moment, and common sense fought through her tumultuous feelings. “Pet-er.”
The bell peeled a third time, insistent.
“It might be important.” She forced the words from deep in her throat and wriggled from beneath him. Air hit her moist flesh and she shivered.
“Do not move,” he huffed, still holding onto her.
Peter heaved a deep breath and, about to explode, exhaled a miniature hurricane. He’d waited so long for her, to touch her, to have her. Other nights he would not think of. Tonight was his with her and he wouldn’t relinquish it. Nothing could be more important than this. The crossroads of his marriage, his life, and his future with this woman he’d married. He grazed her cheek with his knuckles and then kissed her long and hard. At last, he dragged himself up and tossed a stray lock of hair off his brow. He remained fixed to the spot, staring down at her, sexual energy like a livewire between them.
Ellie lounged on the carpet—his woman, his wife. Her dress pooled at her waist, her hair mussed, her lips slightly swollen from his kisses, her breasts straining for his caress. He moved to touch her, fondle, taste her again, then, checking the motion, stuffed his hand in his pocket.
“Whoever’s out there better send up a flare.” He was in no mood to be civil, especially when Ellie began straightening her dress and slipping on her shoes. “Who the heck could be calling at midnight?” He shoved his shirt in his waistband and stomped to the door, his tongue skimming his mouth. Her taste lingered on his lips and his gut jerked … he craved more of her. He yanked the door open and a laugh teased, but a scowl won out.
“Good evening, senor.”
“Good night is what you mean.” He opened his mouth to say something more, and then clamped it shut before he blurted something he’d later regret. His housekeeper pushed passed him, her arms loaded with packages. “What are you doing here, Marta?”
“I’ve brought you food.” She flashed her dark eyes up at him and in her no-nonsense manner, marched toward the kitchen. “Lasagna, enchiladas and your favorite Mexican sweet bread.”
He rubbed his cheek. “Couldn’t we do this tomorrow?”
He didn’t want food. He wanted Ellie, who was in the den getting dressed. Frustration gnawed at his insides.
“No.” She turned and, to his utter amazement, her face crumpled, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“What’s the matter?” His hand hovered over her shoulder and then he gave her an awkward pat, not sure how to handle an emotional woman at a time like this. “Can I help you?”
She sniffed, shaking her head, and caught a glimpse of Ellie in the other room. “Buenas noches, Senora Medeci.” She jostled containers in her arms and swiped at her cheeks with her sleeve. Before Ellie could respond, she plunked the packages in Peter’s arms. “Am leaving for Mexico … the husband of my sister … he leave her for chola.”
Peter crinkled his brow. “Chola?”
Marta screwed up her face like a mutinous prune and continued without answering him. “I go find him. Knock his brains out.” She proceeded to illustrate by making a fist and hitting her forehead.
“Easy now.”
She laughed, and then hiccupped. Her oversized bosom heaved and nearly tipped her petite, plump body over. She waved her agitated hands around. “Chola, senor. Loose woman, ’ho, street girl.”
“Uh huh.” Peter nodded and wisely refrained from further comment.
“I go now.”
Yes, please, he thought. Marta’s sister’s woes were not what he needed to hear now, considering he teetered on his own marital seesaw.
“Good luck.” From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Ellie edging toward the door. He couldn’t let his chance just drift away before he … she … they—
“Thank you, senor,” Marta said in her accented English, interrupting his sensual thoughts.
“Welcome,” he muttered, ushering her to the front door. Suddenly, she stopped and he almost bumped into her, and it was all he could do to keep the casseroles from spilling a new color scheme on the Persian carpet.
“I didn’t want to use the back-door key. Maybe someone think I’m thief. I saw light and—”
“I understand.” He edged toward the open door, hoping she’d get the message. “Bon Voyage.”
“What you say?
“Bon—never mind.” A half-smile skipped across his lips. “Have a good trip.”
She opened her arms wide and hugged him, food and all. “You are like my own son.” She gave him a smacking kiss on his cheek and waddled out to the dinged-up Corolla, motioning to the morose man behind the wheel.
Soon as she slid in the passenger seat, he revved up the motor and drove off.
“Buenas noches,” Marta yelled, leaning far out the window.
“Goodnight.” Peter shut the door with the back of his foot and turned to Ellie, feeling anything but the suave physician.
“You need help with those?” she asked.
“Na-a. I’ll just put them—”
“Then, I’ll say goo-oodnight.”
“Ellie,” he murmured, stepping closer. Balancing the dishes against his chest, he was tempted to chuck them over his shoulder and grab her, continuing where they left off. She under him, his mouth on hers, his hand on her—
“I had a lovely time, Peter.” She drew nearer, and he held his breath. Then, she leaned into him and kissed his cheek.
His cheek. Like he was old faithful or some such fellow by her side, when only moments ago fireworks … heck, megaworks were about to explode between them. He gulped down his disappointment, watching her turn and glide up the stairs to—their bedroom, he hoped.
Emptiness gnawed in his gut. He almost had her, had what he dreamed about, desired, craved these months. A heavy sigh lumbered out from deep inside him. He knew the seduction scene was over. If he made a play for her now, he’d lose in the blink of an eye. And she’d come out the winner. He stalked to the kitchen, every muscle in his body tense.
Upstairs in her bedroom, Ellie removed her earrings, thankful for Marta’s timely interruption. And if she hadn’t felt so embarrassed by nearly being caught in a state of dishabille by the housekeeper, she would have found the whole thing comical. Especially with Peter standing under the chandelier with his arms laden with delicious-smelling dishes.
At the moment, Ellie couldn’t even work up a smile. Her body buzzed with unfulfilled desire, nerve ending
s stimulated, heart throbbing. If Marta had delayed five minutes, she knew from her fevered response to him, she would have fallen right into his hand.
Heat suffused her face. What had she almost done? It would’ve been a disaster. She slipped the shoes from her feet and wriggled from her gown. Would it have been so bad to indulge in a romantic evening with her husband? She glanced up and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her breasts still glowed from his touch, the nipples puckering. She groaned and brushing her fingers over them, she splayed her hand across her abdomen, bringing it to rest on the curve of her hip.
A moan of such need erupted from the center of her being that she quickly turned away from her reflection. She picked up her dress off the floor, walked to the closet and hung it up. Busy. Keep busy, she reminded herself. Shoes were placed in their spot. She stepped to the bed, pulled her nightie from behind the pillow, and slipped into it. After she fluffed the pillows, she slumped on the edge of the bed.
What had she expected—a night of unreserved declarations? A sigh tore from her. His agenda hadn’t changed, and now that she had one of her own, they were butting heads … possibly all the way to the divorce court.
She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.
If she imagined a night of lovemaking would change anything, she’d be greatly mistaken. He’d follow his course of action as usual, thinking it was all right with her. Any progress she made by challenging him and setting her own terms to their three-week liaison would lose impact. She raised her head, removed pins from her hair and shook it loose over her shoulders. She’d get over it … him. Think again, my girl. “Oh, be quiet.” She tossed the pins on the dresser and slipped under the covers.
She’d use the bathroom later, long after he finished, thus avoiding another encounter with him tonight. She pulled the blankets up to her chin and replayed the fantasy evening in her mind. Moistness pressed against her lashes and a lone tear slipped out, rolling down her cheek.
Downstairs, Peter shoved packages in the freezer with such force, he could’ve strangled someone. Air exploded from him, frosting in the icy compartment. He’d been so close, so close to her, so close to having her, so close to having her admit, so close to having answers to questions that battered his mind, so close— You didn’t score, Doc. Shut up, brain.
Iciness of the freezer cooled his feverish flesh. He still felt her beneath his hands, her smooth skin, the taste of her mouth, sweet like strawberry wine, her scent … And her moan of sheer delight had been his near-defeat. He glanced at his crotch and, sure enough, his need was making itself known. He placed a hand there, adjusted the material of his trousers and breathed easier, but not much.
He slammed the freezer shut, turned the light off, and marched from the kitchen, wondering why she rushed away from him. She’d been responding to him. After Marta left, she avoided further physical contact with him. But why had she kissed him? A tease? Of what he tasted but didn’t get? Had he underestimated her? Was she playing her own seductive game, and was he the prey? His heart booted back in protest. His mind mocked. Why not? Wasn’t that what you’re doing? But that’s because he wanted her to take him at face value, to trust him, believe in him, no questions asked. To teach her a lesson, just a little one. Maybe there’s a lesson in this for you, Doc. He laughed, loud and hard, the sound bouncing off the foyer walls.
A moment later, he sobered. Get a handle, man. He’d been behaving like a tongue-tied schoolboy receiving his first kiss. His marriage was disintegrating before his eyes, and he didn’t know how to stop it. If he were honest, he’d admit he was clutching at straws.
He was either going to have her or let her go. A rush of such agony filled him that he buckled over and pounded the banister with his fist. He heaved a deep breath and it hissed out between his teeth.
Okay, Mrs. Medeci. A flash of a smile. She still carried his name. His smile vanished. This round went to her. He drew his lips in a taut line and climbed the steps to his bedroom, one thought sustaining him. There’d be another round … a final round. “Winner take all.” And he intended to take the victory.
Chapter 11
At eight o’clock the next morning Ellie trudged down the stairs, yawning. Groggy from her restless night, she grabbed onto the banister to avoid stumbling, thoughts zigzagging in her brain.
“G’ mornin’, wife.” Peter trotted past, slinging on his jacket and almost knocking her over.
“Goo-od morning.” She swung around and tightened her grip on the railing, glad she’d reached the bottom step.
“Emergency.” He hurried in and out of his office in two seconds flat and, with his briefcase under his arm, yanked the front door open. A minuscule pause, and he glanced at her like he was about to say something more but changed his mind. “See you later.” He slammed the door behind him, the sound reverberating around her.
“Some vacation time,” Ellie murmured, but he was already gone. Although dressed in her customary black leggings and a ruby-red pullover that reached to mid-thigh, chills had her rubbing her hands over her arms.
Once again, the day stretched ahead of her, empty until Peter returned home. Her stomach stitched. When would he be home? She shook her head, trying to unravel her feelings and find her purpose in this marriage. The bittersweet events of last night flashed through her mind and, not wanting to dwell on them, she hurried past the den. She paused by the foyer window and glanced up at the sky.
A ray of sunshine pierced through the clouds. A good sign? She chuckled at her foolishness. A lonesome howl cut through the stillness and fear snaked through her. When it sounded again, she swallowed her nervousness and squared her shoulders. A brisk walk around the grounds might help clear her mind.
She toured the gazebo behind the house, scent of jasmine wafting to her from its trellis-like frame. The perfume reminded her of her wedding to Peter and a lump of emotion rose in her throat. How had they come from that idyllic day to the brink of divorce today?
She marched across the lawn, her boots squelching on the dew-drenched grass, until she came to the little bridge that had always enchanted her. Clambering across, she paused and leaned over the railing to glimpse goldfish swimming in the pond beneath. A sigh, and she glanced up at a bluebird in flight.
Over the years, Peter had soared to the heights of his professional journey, but she had yet to begin hers. Something she intended to change at the end of this interim period.
Her desire to make their marriage work battled with her desire to fulfill other needs in her life. This last lap of the three weeks should zip by, and she’d have her answer. In winning her life back, would she lose Peter? And if she didn’t, would she lose herself all over again?
She stomped over the bridge, stepped off, and stumbled in her footing. Snatching up the stone beneath her boot, she hurled it across the green.
King barked.
She jumped, seeing him not three yards from her. The beast lay in his doghouse with a morose look in his eyes. A moment of indecision kept her fixed to the spot, and then she swung away. He whined and she paused. Another whimper tugged at her heart. She turned around and took a pace nearer.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Emboldened by his sad countenance, she stepped closer, yet maintaining a safe distance.
The Doberman raised his head a fraction for a better look and then flopped it back down between his paws.
“You’re hungry.” She noted his empty bowl and rubbed her hands together for courage. “Peter forgot to feed you, rushing out like he did.”
The dog looked at her with his doleful eyes. What was she to do? A twinge of guilt stabbed her at the thought of the dog going hungry. Peter wouldn’t be back for hours. “You sensed that, did you?”
A soft woof.
“You miss him, too.”
Her heart thudded. A quick breath and she snatched his food and water tray, imagining he’d snap her fingers off. When he didn’t, pent-up air whooshed from deep in her chest and she chuckled in nervous relief. She h
urried away, his bark following her. After she’d gone several steps along the cobblestone path, she tossed over her shoulder. “I’ll be back, dog.”
It took her five minutes to wash the containers, fill one with doggy pellets and the other with fresh water. Another minute brought her to King’s door with her knees knocking. The dog hadn’t moved.
“I know how you feel.” She set the food in front of him and leaped back. “You must eat, boy. Keep up your strength.”
The dog quirked an ear, liking the sound of her voice and her attention. Getting up, he stretched, and without giving her another glance, sampled the fare.
“Must taste good, you ol’ pooch.” She settled on the grass and watched him wolf it down. “Ignoring me like that.”
King finished his chow and gave a pleased bark.
“Amazing what a nice meal will do for the disposition, hey?”
The beast answered with two consecutive woofs.
“Wish I could activate my appetite as quickly.” She stood, brushed at her bottom to dislodge grass sticking to her sweater and turned to go. “S’ long.”
King protested her leaving with incessant barking.
“What now?”
He walked toward her and she backed off. He paced away, then forward again, wagging his tail.
“Oh, no.” She shook her finger at him. “You’ll have to wait for Peter for that.”
King yelped, and she laughed. “You do know how to twist me around your little paw, don’t you?” She took several steps closer. “Som’m you learned from Peter?” A trembling breath eased between her lips. “Tsk, tsk, and you and I are just getting to know each other.” Unhooking the leash from the wall, she paused, her stomach tensing. What if he bit her? She gulped down her uneasiness and clicked the strap onto his collar.
