Barbara Dunlop - Marriage, Manhattan Style

“We’ve already blown this month anyway,” she ventured, half to herself.

He smiled. His expression relaxed, and when she looked deep enough into his eyes, she caught a glimpse of the man she’d first fallen in love with.

“Paris,” he said, dipping forward. “Or Marseille. We’ll rent a chateau and lock out the world.”

His lips met hers in a familiar kiss. Her body quickened, and she longed to wrap her arms around him and bury her fears in his strength.

But she couldn’t let herself do that. Not this soon. And not this time. They had things to work through besides lovemaking.

She drew back. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. I’ll book the jet.”

Reed had found a chateau for rent in the little town of Biarritz in southern France. It overlooked the craggy beaches, bleached castles and stone walkways of the Atlantic coast. They had their choice of ten bedrooms, the chef came highly recommended and, best of all, there wasn’t a blackmailer or SEC investigator within four thousand miles.

He watched while Elizabeth gazed around the arched great room, taking in the bank of French doors and paned windows that revealed a stone veranda. The veranda overlooked the harbor, where waves crashed against the rocks and seagulls called on the afternoon breeze.

It was a cool day, but tourists and residents still dotted the beach walk. And a few intrepid souls reclined on colorful towels on the sun-warmed sand.

“It’s stunning,” she said, turning in a circle to view carved wall panels, antique furnishings, rich draperies and crystal chandeliers hanging from twenty-foot ceilings.

After a minute, she grew still, facing him. A wariness shadowed the joy in her eyes.

There was definitely some work to do on their relationship. He wasn’t exactly sure where to begin. Elizabeth had misunderstood the blonde hanging all over him at Alexander’s. And, he admitted, he could see how that could have happened.

But it was obviously a misunderstanding, easily explained away. And he wasn’t sure what he’d done to warrant her suspicion in the first place. Every step he took in life was designed to protect her, to make her life easier and happier. But, for some reason, that wasn’t enough.

From what he could tell, this had all started with her crazy idea to get a job. Although why a woman with an unlimited bank account would need a job, he couldn’t figure out. Was she bored? Lonely?

He would love to spend more time with her. He’d also love to give her a baby. And he was doing the very best he could on both of those fronts. But he couldn’t force a pregnancy, and that unlimited bank account didn’t magically regenerate itself. And, lately, the world seemed to throw down challenges as fast as he could rise to meet them.

He felt frustration building within him, but he couldn’t give in to the luxury of that emotion. For some reason, Elizabeth was unhappy. And, as her husband, it was up to him to fix the problem-whether it made any sense or not.

“Are you tired?” he asked gently. “Would you like to take a nap?”

“Could we walk instead?” she asked, turning her attention back to the windows. “Along the shore?”

“Of course,” he agreed easily.

She smiled at that, and the frustration eased inside him.

While Elizabeth went upstairs to change into comfortable shoes and a sweater, Reed consulted with the chef on the menu. Jean-Louis also showed Reed a romantic, little dining alcove on the second floor. With a view of the lighthouse and the yachts in the harbor, it would be a perfect location for dinner.

When Elizabeth returned, Reed took her hand, leading her through the wide turret that was the foyer and out to the porch, down a cobblestone path and a short staircase to the beach walkway.

She turned in circles, gazing at the rolling waves and the rock promontories. “This is absolutely gorgeous.”

“I think the town center is that way.” Reed pointed south to the vintage, stone buildings and the international hotels.

“Let’s check it out.” Her hand tightened on his as they started to walk.

As they passed other tourists, she asked, “Did you know we have ten bedrooms in the chateau?”

“You counted?”

“I counted.”

“It was hard to find a place on short notice.” His travel agent had given them a choice of very high end or very low end. High end easily won.

“It seems like we should invite some friends to join us.”

“Not a chance.” This was their getaway. Theirs and theirs alone.

They came upon a shop with merchandise displayed on the stone sidewalk. Elizabeth ran her hand through a row of colorful silk scarves.

“Would you like one?” he asked, eyeing a bright purple and blue design.

She chose a lemon yellow, so he bought them both.

The next shop sold beachwear.

Elizabeth sorted through a rack of sundresses. “I had the strangest conversation with Heather the other day.”

“Uh-huh.” Reed checked out a white bikini and matching wrap, wondering if he’d convince her to wear it.

“They know we’re trying to get pregnant.”

Reed switched his attention from the bikini to Elizabeth, surprised by the revelation. “Did you tell them?”

She shook her head. “Brandon said it was in my eyes when I looked at Lucas and in my voice when I talked about him.”

Reed nodded, his happiness dimming a notch. Suddenly, the scarves in the little bag seemed frivolous and inconsequential.

He took her hand and they moved on together in silence.

“Heather…” said Elizabeth, shifting tight against him as they maneuvered around a family of four. Then she took a deep breath and eased away. “Heather offered to be a surrogate mother.”

Reed stopped in the middle of the walkway, and his chest contracted painfully. Did Elizabeth know something he didn’t? Had there been bad news from Dr. Wendell? Was that what all this job and infidelity nonsense stemmed from?

“Why?” he demanded in a hoarse voice.

Elizabeth urged him to the edge of the path, out of the crowds, where a cliff dropped down to the crashing waves below.

“Were there more tests?” he probed. “Did you find out-” He couldn’t voice the question.

“No more tests,” she said quietly. “But it’s been three years.”

Reed braced his hands against the waist-high rock wall, clenching his fists and pressing his knuckles against the rough stone. Sure, it had been three years. But the first eighteen months or so, they weren’t really trying for a baby, they simply weren’t trying not to have a baby.

He’d assumed it would happen naturally. Thousands of women got pregnant every day of the year. Many of them weren’t even trying; some were actively trying to prevent it.

And then there was him and Elizabeth, both with above-average intelligence, both healthy, both hardworking. Both of whom would be stellar parents. Yet they had to contend with charts and graphs and invasive tests, and still nothing happened. And now their family members were beginning to speculate.

“I hate this.” He fixed his stare on the endless ocean. “It’s none of Brandon’s business. It’s none of Heather’s business. There are way too many people in our bed.”

Elizabeth placed a hand on his tense forearm. “She was only trying to-”

“I don’t care,” Reed ground out. “I want it to stop. I want you and only you. I want it the way it used to be, with you purring and perspiring-”

“Reed.”

“-arching and moaning-”

“Reed!” She pasted him with a censorious look, glancing meaningfully around at the families out shopping.

He swallowed. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” she whispered, leaning against his arm, a sheen coming over her eyes.

“I don’t want us to be self-conscious about making love.”

“I know.”

“My parents-” He stopped himself. Elizabeth didn’t need to know his parents were also waiting with baited breath for any sign of pregnancy.

“They may not be crazy about my pedigree,” she continued his train of thought. “But they definitely want you to procreate.”

“My parents are snobs.”

“You think?”

He chuckled at the tone of her voice, turning to brush a few stray hairs from her soft cheek.

Her skin was flushed, her smile wide, and the sunshine off the Atlantic highlighted her green eyes. “Can we talk some more about sweating and moaning?”

Arousal instantly hit him in the solar plexus. “Not here we can’t.”

“Back at the chateau? In one of our ten bedrooms?”

“I noticed the master bed was a four-poster,” he pointed out, suddenly anxious to get her back there.

Her smile widened even further.

“And we have these new silk scarves.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“I hope you’re hinting that I should wear them.”

He moved closer to rasp in her ear. “Among other, more interesting things.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Why?” Lovemaking should be playful and fun.

With the heel of her hand, she playfully hit him in the shoulder. “You seriously want to tie me to the bed and have your way with me?”

“Absolutely.” A sensual, compelling picture rose in his mind.

She coughed out an unintelligible protest.

“Trust me,” he told her.

“Reed.”

“Trust me.” He pulled away and grasped her hand, urging her back along the walkway toward the chateau.

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.