Control

“You never see it, do you?”

Knowing what Robert was referring to, I once again turned to look out the window.

“I don’t want a repeat of Hawaii,” he said.

“Hawaii?”

“Yes, Hawaii,” Robert stated curtly. “Don’t play dumb when you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Nothing had happened in Hawaii—though Robert wouldn’t believe it. During our last vacation there, over Christmas, he had been convinced that one of the pool attendants was hitting on me. The man had made pleasant conversation, brought me extra towels, reserved our lounge chairs every day. Robert had point-blank asked the man if he’d been trying to get me into bed.

He hadn’t been, of course—even if I can admit he was flirting. Robert and I weren’t the only May-December couple who went to the spectacular St. Regis Resort in Kauai over Christmas, year after year. Hollywood producers and their young wives also packed the place over the holidays. Men with power and money and trophy wives. The hotel staff knew how to cater to just that kind of clientele. How to pander to them and even kiss their asses when necessary. But this attendant, Richard, was new, and didn’t keep the same kind of “professional” distance that men like Robert expected. He’d talk to you about the weather, your interests, where you were from—that sort of thing. And sure, he probably stole a few excited glances of me in my two-piece.

That was to be expected. Guys the world over checked women out, not caring if they were married or not. And wasn’t that supposed to be the perk of having a beautiful woman on your arm—that other men were openly envious of your catch?

Unfortunately for Richard, Robert had been so offended by his “lack of professionalism” that he’d complained to the hotel. There was no way that management wanted to risk losing any of their high-end customers, especially not Robert Kolstad, so Richard had been made to apologize to me and Robert—and then he’d been fired.

“Our waiter was nothing but courteous and professional,” I said.

“He’s lucky I didn’t speak to the manager.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I’m sure you are.”

I sighed. “Robert, can you just let it go? Please, you’re making an issue where there is none.”

He had never been jealous. Not early in our relationship, anyway. But in the last few years, I think, as the realization that he was getting older, while I was still comparatively a young woman, hit him, he had become far less secure in our marriage.

That had to be the reason for his odd behavior. Which was why I felt he needed something else to make him feel more secure. Something that would show I loved him and was committed to him.

A baby. I wanted a baby more than anything.

“Maybe I did overreact,” he admitted. “I guess I need to accept that I have a wife most men would love to steal from me.”

Then don’t push me away, I thought silently. It was a sentiment I’d felt more than once over the last year—that Robert’s behavior was eroding the relationship we had. There were other men out there, maybe someone who was perfect for me.

Like the man with the hazel eyes who had come into my shop a couple weeks before.

But I said to Robert, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” He paused a beat. “Shall we go to the country club?”

“Sure,” I said. You got your way again.

When I was out of town or on vacation, and anyone asked me where I lived, I always said Charlotte. But Robert and I actually lived just north of Charlotte in an exclusive community called The Peninsula. Situated on Lake Norman, The Peninsula was a country-club community with so much to do, you didn’t have to go anywhere else if you didn’t want to. There was a yacht club, a championship golf course, swimming, tennis. Casual and fine dining. We were members of both The Peninsula Yacht Club and The Peninsula Club. Though we had our own pool at home, we sometimes used the pool at the yacht club when we socialized.

On most days, Robert could be found on the greens at The Peninsula Club. It was his home away from home. We ate there much of the time when we chose to dine out, which was why I had wanted to try someplace different.

But that’s where we went, and Robert was a much happier man. After a casual dinner and a couple of drinks, we headed home—where I still hoped to end the night the way I had originally planned.

I tried to get Robert in the mood after we pulled up in front of the house. Reaching across the seat, I lazily skimmed my fingertips over his hand before taking it in mine.

Robert squeezed my fingers in return. Then he met my eyes.

I stared at the man I had married. He was getting older, yes, but he was still so distinguished. Still looked like Harry Belafonte, a man who no matter how old he got would always be attractive.

“I love you,” I told him. “Only you.”

Robert’s mouth curled in a small smile, one thing that despite the years was as dazzling as it had been the first day I met him.

Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to his. A lingering kiss that said we would continue this in our bedroom.

“I love you, too, Elsie,” Robert whispered as we pulled apart.

We exited the Porsche, which he had parked at the front of the house. A series of pod lights and spotlights illuminated our grand, Italian renaissance manor. It truly was a spectacular place, complete with a Roman-style fountain on an island of grass in the center of the long circular driveway.

I looped my arm through Robert’s as we made our way up the steps. Once inside, I kissed his cheek. The double front doors led to a huge great room with a plasma television mounted on the wall, a fireplace, sofa, love seat and lounge chair. There was plenty of room to make love right there, and Olga, our housekeeper, was long gone for the day. But I knew my husband. He would want to wait until we were comfortably settled in our bedroom, as opposed to getting hot and heavy on the sofa.

Holding his hand, I led him up the curved staircase, across the portion of hallway that overlooked the great room below, to the double doors at the end that led to our bedroom.

The moment we crossed the threshold, I turned to face Robert, snaking my arms around his neck, my mouth on his, slowly coaxing his lips apart. Slipping my tongue into his mouth, I held him tighter. Robert began to kiss me back and I moaned, the sound ripe not just with desire, but with desperate need.

Robert’s hands went to my upper arms. He held me for several seconds, kissing me. Then he tightened his grip and forced my body away from his.

“I haven’t taken my pill, Elsie.”

“You can take it now.” I moved forward to kiss him once more, but he held me away.

“I want to make love to you—I do. But tonight—”

I planted another kiss on his lips. “Please, sweetheart. Please…”

I continued to kiss Robert, not ready for our night to end like this. He allowed it to go on for a few more seconds before pulling away again.

“I’m sorry, Elsie.” His eyes roamed over my face. And I thought I saw, just for a moment, a flash of disapproval.

“What is it?” I asked him.

“It’s…” He fingered the loose locks of hair around my face, almost as if examining the strands. “I’m tired, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

I got the feeling that Robert had been about to say something else. That there was another reason he didn’t want to take me to bed.

But it was late for him—nearly eleven—and he’d had a couple glasses of that expensive cognac at the club, which always made him a little drowsy.

“Okay.” I gave him a soft kiss this time, trying to quell my disappointment. “If you’re tired, you’re tired. Why don’t you go get ready for bed, then? I’ll do some reading in the great room.”

“I’m sorry,” Robert repeated.