Love Lies Page 14
“Sorry,” he said sadly. “I was hoping—never mind.” Suddenly he was right there, his chest settling against hers, and she gasped and shrank back as far as she could, and her legs tried to snap together without any prompting from her brain. She felt his knee nudge between, gently forcing her legs apart, and then his mouth was on hers.
She twisted her head away. “Don’t do that!” she practically shouted, her tears very close. “Please, Victor, leave me alone, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be married…” She spoke faster and faster, conscious of his silence, conscious of his hands on her hips, of his body, long and hard, against hers. “I don’t want to be married…don’t want you to do that…don’t want you to don’t, don’t, don’t…” Then he was sliding inside of her, and it didn’t hurt but he was so big, he was still pushing inside her, would there never be any end of him? “Don’t,” she managed on a gasp, and then he was seated fully within her, she was pinned beneath him like a butterfly to a board, and for the first time she noticed he was shaking so hard the bed trembled.
“God, God, God,” he was groaning against her neck, and she could feel how tight the muscles of his jaw were against her throat. “Don’t move, Ash, whatever you do. Oh, Christ. You feel incredible. Am I hurting you? Don’t move or I won’t be able to—am I hurting you?”
“No,” she said. He sounded like he was in terrible pain. “This is going to sound like a dumb question under the circumstances, but are you all right? Do you regularly see a cardiologist? You seem kind of…”
“Overwhelmed,” he moaned, rising up so he could look at her. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could make out his silhouette above her. “I’m sorry, Ashley, but I am going to draw this out. You feel so good and I love touching you and I can’t bear for this to be over yet, especially since you won’t let me near you once morning comes.”
“No,” she said decisively, and brought her legs up, which seated him deeper within her. The bolt of pleasure that action brought surprised a gasp out of her; she fought to remain impassive. “I want you finished and out of me. Think of me as a landlord, kicking you out for a bounced rent check.”
“Ashley,” he said pleadingly, then groaned when she deliberately wriggled beneath him. “Don’t…do…that.” Then he seized her with shocking suddenness and pulled out, almost all the way out, and then surged back in. She swallowed a moan, wanting nothing more than to wrap her legs around his waist and thrust back at him, to welcome his caresses, his kisses, until they were both spent.
Instead she closed her eyes and forced herself to remain still. He didn’t deserve a willing, active partner. He was forcing her to this…again.
Oh but that sounded like a lie. Two lies.
It was over in moments; his grip tightened and she saw him throw his head back, groaning at the ceiling as he found his release. Now he’ll collapse over me and go to sleep, she thought, annoyed, just like last time. Wheeee! Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled over, bringing her on top. “That was sweet,” he said against her neck, and kissed the hollow of her throat. “But I wish you would have let me bring you pleasure.”
“I don’t want your pleasure,” she said rudely. “Let go of me.”
He did so at once. “Do you want some help cleaning up?”
“No.” She started to climb off the bed when he reached out and caught her arm. “What is it now?”
“Did I hurt you? I was a little…frantic, toward the end.”
The memory made her cheeks warm. “No, it didn’t hurt. This time.”
“And never will again.”“We’ll see,” she informed him, then walked into the bathroom.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
He left her alone the next night, but gently insisted on lovemaking the morning after. “I want to be able to see you clearly,” he explained, and she found that distressing to the extreme.
Except for the sunlit room, it was a replay of the other night: he gently stretched her with lubricant, applied a generous amount to himself as well, then slowly entered her, watching her face the entire time. She didn’t bother with struggles or protests: he had been right, damn him—a deal was a deal. Instead she tried to wriggle again, and brought her legs up, tricks that had worked quite well the other night, but he just shook his head at her and smiled, and kept thrusting in and out of her with gentle insistence.
It was almost more than she could bear, feeling that hot, hard length nudging in and out of her, looking up into his intense black gaze while his body did things to hers which were beyond her control. He lowered his head and tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away. He finished quickly after that and withdrew, pulling her against him and holding her for a time. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
She said nothing.
When they went to the kitchen for breakfast, Jean was already there. She waved her cereal spoon in amiable greeting and immediately returned her attention to Vogue.
“Don’t forget about your appointment,” Victor said, loading his briefcase with the paperwork he finished the night before.
“Of course I won’t forget—I’m the one who’s pregnant.”
“And a more radiant mama-to-be never existed,” he said, ignoring her tone and gifting her with a warm smile. “I’ll meet you at Dr. Opitz’s.” He bent and brushed a kiss across her cheek; she allowed it, and had to force herself not to turn around to watch him walk out.
Jean put her magazine down the moment she heard the front door close. “He apparently enjoys it when you’re mean to him,” she said, arching her reddish gold eyebrows. “The boy’s got it bad. How’s your sex life?”
She shivered, remembering. “Awful.”
“He’s mean? Beats you with his belt? Smears applesauce on your toes? Makes you dress up like a dog and bark for him?”
She giggled. “No, even worse.”
“What could be worse than the dog suit?”
Abruptly, Ashley started to sob. “Being with him. I hate him! I wish I’d never met him!”
Suddenly Jean was there, her arms around Ashley, patting her, soothing her. “Honey, why don’t you give it up? Who are you trying to fool? You’re crazy about him, you have been since you met him.”
“I hate him,” she said, crying harder.
“If I really believed that, I’d help you pack your bags. Hell, I’d hire someone to break his legs. Hell, I'd break his legs. But it’s no use, Ash. You love him. And he thinks the world of you. I heard him telling the gardener that he was newly married and his wife was expecting, and you should have heard him—he was so proud of you, Ashley.”
“Eavesdropper,” she said, blowing her nose on Victor’s cloth napkin. So there, Vic, she thought meanly.
“Don’t change the subject. You’ve no reason to be so unhappy, you silly twit. You’re married to a man who practically worships you, you’re pregnant—and you’ve wanted a baby for how long?—and you happen to be desperately in love with the baby’s father. Oh, and now you have more money than the Queen of England.”
“But it’s wrong,” she said desperately. “He did that—to me—and I shouldn’t still love him. I should be able to hate him, I shouldn’t think about him all the time, and I shouldn’t enjoy how he—he—”
“Oh-ho,” Jean said quietly.
“It’s sick.”
“No, the dog suit thing would be sick. This is just…well, it sounds an awful lot like two people falling in love.”
She made a sound that sounded awfully like a gag, but Jean—deep in lecture mode—ignored it.
“It would be sick if forcing you was his modus operandi, as it were. If calling you Crystal was an everyday thing. But it was a fluke, Ash, a one-time thing. He was out of his head. Hello, near death? How long can you hold it against him?”
“Forever,” she said stubbornly. “I can’t put it out of my mind. When he’s…inside me, it’s all I can think about, and then when he gets me excited I get so mad, at him and at me.”
“I’ll come to my senses and divorce the bastard,” she said sourly.
“Either that, or you’ll finally stop being stubborn and accept the fact that you love him, he loves you, so shall it be, forever and ever, amen.”
“Thanks, reverend.”
“In the meantime, let’s go toilet paper Crystal’s shrubs.”
Her mood lifted after that. For one thing, for the first time since she could remember, she didn’t have to work. She had quit her job the day after deciding to marry Victor, promising her boss she would be available for the occasional freelance assignment. Best of all, she had almost two weeks of vacation pay coming to her, and she had nothing to spend it on but Christmas presents.
Christmas—with all that had happened in the last couple months, she had completely forgotten about the upcoming holidays. Christmas was only a couple weeks away, and for once she had the money for presents.
Smiling, she punched the Speakerphone button on the telephone and called her bank, wondering if the check had been credited to her account yet. Two whole weeks of pay, and she didn’t have to spend a penny of it on rent, food, or utilities!
“Want to go Christmas shopping?” she asked Jean, punching in her account number.
“That’s more like it,” she said approvingly, slapping the magazine closed. “Might as well take the good with the bad, and his money definitely falls under the Good category.”
“I’m not touching his money,” she said stubbornly. “I’ve got my own.”
“Oh. Sure, that makes sense,” Jean said, in a tone that indicated she thought the exact opposite. “Say, have you been helping yourself to my medication again?”
Ashley stuck her tongue out at her just as the robotic voice of the automated attendant came on the line. “Your balance…as of…December…fourth…is…thirty… thousand…seven… hundred…sixty…two…dollars…and…thirteen…cents.”
“What?” Ashley shouted.
“Exactly how much severance pay did they offer you?” Jean asked.
“Oh, that—there has to be some mistake.”
But a quick call to her banker confirmed that there was no mistake. Her last paycheck had indeed been deposited…and thirty grand had been wired in on her wedding day.
She stabbed the speed dial button for Victor’s office. “Lawrence Associates,” his secretary sang.
“Could I speak to Victor, please?”
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
“Tell him it’s Ashley Lorentz.”
“Well, hell-o, Mrs. Lawrence!”
“Lorentz.”
“Er…yes. Such a pleasure to speak with you, but you must come to the office so the staff can see you in person.”
“I’ll do that, now can I please talk to Victor? It’s urgent.”
“At once, ma’am.”
There was a click, a split-second of hold-music, and then Victor was on the line. “Ashley? What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Are you all right?”
“Hell, no, I’m not all right!” she shouted. Across from her, Jean, in the process of pouring herself a bowl of cereal, spilled the milk. “I was going to do some shopping today so I checked my account to find out how much money I had. Imagine my surprise to find out my bank is apparently paying six thousand percent interest!”
He made an impatient sound. “Is that all? For God’s sake, you scared the hell out of me. Look, my accountant is on the office phone speed dial. His name is William Along. Just tell him how much money you want and he’ll cut you a check. That’s—"
“I don’t want more money, I want you to stay out of my personal account!”
“Why?”
She closed her eyes at the honest puzzlement in his tone. Think tranquil beaches, think golden sunsets. Calm, be calm. “Because it’s my account. If you keep dumping money in there, you’ll be sorry.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Spend it!” she yelled, slamming the phone down. She drummed her fingers on the table for a moment while Jean watched her nervously. Finally she jumped to her feet. “Get your coat,” she snapped, and Jean scrambled to obey.
* * * * *
“Here you go, pal.”
“Thanks, Cherry.” the homeless man, the one she had jumped over on that long-ago day to meet Victor for their first lunch date, took the offered check docilely. He glanced at the amount and his eyes widened, then narrowed. “This a joke, cute stuff?”
“Nope.”
“It’s not made out to nobody.”
“That’s because I don’t know your name. Come on, let’s go open an account for you. They’ll give you a cash card and you can take out the money whenever you want.”
She seized the slack-jawed man by the elbow and hauled him up off the sidewalk.
“This ain’t real,” the man, a former construction foreman, confided to Jean as they walked to the bank. “I figure I ate some bad chicken or somethin’, because I’m having this incredibly weird dream.”
“It’s not a dream,” Jean informed him, “it’s revenge. You’re a tool, sir, used by my friend to punish her husband.”
“Cool!”
Things were arranged at the bank in less than twenty minutes. The homeless man—who wasn’t likely to remain homeless much longer—was Dan Mitchell. He proved more suspicious of a trick than grateful, until it was proved to him that, yes, “Cherry” had just given him thirty grand, and yes, it was his to use however he liked.
“Who do I haveta kill?”
“Nobody,” Ashley protested. “It’s a present, that’s all.”
“Hey, this is like that movie, the one with Redford and what’s-her-name.” Dan nodded sagely and tipped Ashley a wink. “Hey, no problem, doll. For thirty grand, I’ll sleep with ya.”
“Keep your pants on,” Ashley told him, not unkindly. “I’m an unhappily married woman.”
“But ya gotta want somethin’ for it,” he hollered after Jean and Ashley as they left the bank.
“I do,” she said without turning around. “Buy something warm with the money. It’s too cold out here for a windbreaker.”
Ashley was so pleased, she was still chortling over lunch. “That’ll teach him to think he can buy my affection.”
“Oh, yes, you gave away thirty thousand dollars for spite, but he’s a real bastard.”
She put down her fork. “Jean, who’s side are you on?”
“Yours, of course, because I don’t think you’re on your side. You’ve been acting like a child ever since you were—um—”
“Raped by my husband,” she asked sarcastically.
“His past bad behavior,” Jean said stubbornly, “is no excuse for your current bad behavior.”
“You are on his side!”
“No, Ash. I’m on yours, like I said. Because you’re not on yours.”
They finished their lunch in silence.
* * * * *
Ashley showed up for her appointment half an hour early, only to find Victor waiting for her. The big man, dressed in a tailor-made suit and topcoat, looked out of place in a room full of pregnant women. Ashley noticed quite a few of the women were eyeing her husband, and the cow sitting next to him was actually flirting with him.
“…I’m sure your husband wouldn’t mind if you elected to breastfeed,” she heard him say politely. “I’m hoping that’s what my wife decides to do. I’ve read it’s best for the baby.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that. I just, you know…” She wriggled in her seat and crossed her legs, flashing Victor a blatant come-hither look. “Wanted a man’s opinion.”
“Well, what does your husband think?”
“Oh, him. He’s never around…travels so much…and I get soooo lonely.” She sighed disconsolatel
y, and peeked up at Victor to see if he was appropriately sorry for her.
“Darling!” Ashley shouted, causing everyone in the room to jump. Victor turned his head, spotted her, and started to stand. She foiled him by marching over to his seat and sitting down in his lap. Hard. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” She threw her arms around his neck and smacked his cheek loudly. “Have you been here long?”
“…can’t…breathe…”
She shifted her weight and Victor gasped for breath. “Good thing you’re already pregnant,” he muttered into her ear, “because I don’t think I’ll be able to father more children. And how about a real kiss?”
She smiled across him at the hussy. “Who’s your new friend, darling?”
“This is…er…I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s Elinor,” the woman sniffed, clearly put out to see physical evidence that Victor was not a free man. “Elinor Pohl.”
“It’s just lovely to meet you, Miss Pohl.”
“It’s Missus.”
“Yes, of course it is. So nice of you to keep my Victor company while he waits. How can we ever repay her, darling?”
“I’m sure we’ll think of a way.”
Ashley shifted her weight again, trying to get up, but Victor tightened his grip. “I like you there,” he said. “But I haven’t figured out how someone so little and thin can weigh so much. Do you have antimatter for marrow?”
“No, and it’s not nice to comment on my heaviness. You think it’s bad now, wait another couple months.” She leaned against his chest, comfortable. She felt so good about her triumph, making Dan Mitchell un-homeless, that she could afford to be generous with her affection. He was going to be so mad when he found out what she’d done! She chuckled to herself, picturing the scene.
And frankly, not that this was relevant, because it absolutely was not, but she didn’t care for the way Elinor Pohl was ogling her husband. At all.
And…he was being awfully sweet. She might not care for him as a husband, but he was going to be a marvelous father.