Park Avenue Secrets: Marriage, Manhattan Style

Gripping her upper arms, he shifted her to the center of the bed, her head cocooning in the deep pillows. He placed one knee on either side of her stomach, without putting any weight on her.

He stretched her right arm out again.

He was not serious. He was not.

He wrapped the other end of the scarf around the bedpost.

She tried to talk, but her throat had gone dry, and the words turned into a rasp. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t angry. In fact, she was sort of …

He stretched out the other arm.

“Reed,” she tried, wiggling her hips.

He centered himself over her, capturing her gaze, looking directly into her eyes. “Do you think I’ll hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“Do you think I’ll do one single thing you won’t like?”

She shook again. She wasn’t scared. In fact, she was turned on. She was well and truly turned on at the thought of giving him free rein over her body.

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded.

He smiled. “Good.”

Then he kissed her mouth. She opened wide, welcoming his tongue. Instinct told her to hug him, but she kept herself still instead.

He kissed her jawline, her neck and shoulders. He made his way to the tip of one breast, then drew the nipple into his hot mouth. She groaned, and arched, and he moved to the other. Sparks of hot sensation traveled the length of her body, flushing her skin, making her blood burn with need.

She hissed his name. But he took his time, indulging in her belly, her thighs, her knees, all the way to her ankles. On the way back up, he moved to the inside, closer, slower, until he hit the center, and she nearly arched off the bed.

Her breaths became pants, and her head thrashed from side to side. Her thighs moved apart, knees bending.

“Now, Reed,” she finally cried.

He levered up on his arms, settling over her, pushing inside in one smooth stroke. And she gave a guttural groan. Her arms automatically went around him. The scarves fell away, and she realized he’d never tied a single knot.

She wrapped her ankles across the small of his back, trapping him to her, rising to meet him, reveling in the barrage of sensations she’d nearly forgotten could exist. Her need drove higher, her body grew hotter, as their slick bodies came together over and over again.

A roar grew in the depths of her brain, and a pulse at the base of her spine became insistent. It throbbed harder and faster, radiating out to engulf her limbs.

She moaned his name and tightened her body around him as his rhythm came harder and faster, until rockets exploded behind her eyes and warm honey seemed to fill every crevice of her body.

Then the pulse slowly subsided, and her limbs grew limp. Her legs fell down to the bed, and her lungs worked double-time to recover.

Reed smoothed her hair from her face.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said.

“I love you,” she affirmed.

He pulled her tight, rolling them both, so she was cushioned by his body. Then he flipped a comforter over her back and tucked her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair, his chest rising and falling with his own deep breathing.

Their time in Biarritz was like a second honeymoon. As the days drifted by, Reed watched the tension ease from Elizabeth’s expression. They walked the beaches, rented a yacht, tried windsurfing, and visited the funky little shops that dotted the town. They even bought and shipped home an oil painting of the local lighthouse.

They made love every night, most mornings, too. He felt like they were finally reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies. He dreaded going back to the fertility charts and programmed sex.

He was surreptitiously checking with Selina, Collin and Devon several times a day. He’d kept the communications quiet, not wanting to break the spell for Elizabeth. But he knew that issues were beginning to pile up on his desk, and their vacation had to come to an end.

Elizabeth resettled against him on a sofa in a little nook they’d found in the turret on the third floor of the chateau. The sofa faced a curved bank of windows that showed off the brilliant orange sunset over the ocean. A storm was forecast overnight, and Jean-Louis was reluctantly whipping up a gourmet pizza so they could dine casually.

Let it rain, and let the waves blow in. Reed was looking forward to a cozy evening with his fabulous wife. It was their last evening in France. Elizabeth didn’t know it yet, but the jet was already on its way to the Biarritz airport.

“Why can’t it always be like this?” she asked.

“Sunset?”

“I mean, us. Together. No worries, no problems.”

Reed couldn’t help but smile at her wistful voice. “Well, for one thing, we’d run out of money.”

She straightened to look at him, curling her legs beneath her in slim jeans and a loose, sea-green sweater. “Would we?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe we could sell off a few companies. Or maybe you could hire a manager to run them?”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Everything in his conglomerate was interconnected. It was also interconnected with his father’s companies. Wellington International as a whole was worth a lot more than the sum of its parts.

“Then, how does it work?” she asked.

Reed wasn’t sure how to explain the complexities of his job.

“The companies depend on each other,” he told her. “And someone needs to watch out for the big picture.”

“What about Collin?”

“Collin has his own job. He can’t do mine, too.”

She harrumphed out a sigh. “I think you’re getting too puffed up with your own importance. They didn’t miss you this week.”

“A week’s not very long.” And he’d been monitoring quite a number of things via his laptop and cell phone.

“I like spending time together,” she said.

“I like spending time together, too.”