Control (4 page)

I called Robert at lunchtime and told him I’d made reservations at the club for seven. “You’ve been working hard all week and I’ve hardly seen you. I’d love to have a nice dinner with you tonight.”

“That’s a great idea, Elsie. Thank you.”

Robert looked harried when he arrived at home, but once we were seated in The Peninsula Club’s dining room, I could see the stress begin to fade from his face.

Good. The better his mood, the more likely he would be favorable to what I was going to suggest.

Everyone knew us here, and shortly after we were seated, Robert’s usual glass of Remy Martin Louis XIII was brought over—an outrageously priced cognac considered to be one of the best in the world. There was also a glass of Santa Lucia Highlands pinot noir for
me—much more reasonably priced by comparison. This is how we always started our order, so the staff knew there would be no complaints.

Robert took a sip of his very pricey drink, and I could almost see more of his stress dissipate. He felt comfortable here, his home away from home. Perhaps also because—unlike The Melting Pot—it was full of people he could relate to: rich older men with wives who knew their place.

Wives who didn’t want to lose, by way of a nasty divorce, the luxuries they’d become accustomed to. I saw some in the dining room who I believed should have left their marriages ages ago. Ruthie Davenport. Agnes Long. They were older, in their sixties, but it was long rumored that their husbands had had affairs with several younger women. Ruthie’s husband apparently had gotten not one, but two mistresses knocked up.

Felicity Williams was in her early thirties, and her husband was a philandering pro athlete. They’d been college sweethearts, and the word was that she wasn’t going to let some “skank-ass ho” steal her man.

There were even a couple rumors of physical abuse. But through it all, those wives had stayed.

I had always pitied the wives of such husbands. And I’d never seen Robert as a man who would abuse his wife either emotionally or physically. And yet here I was, a little fearful of asking if he would be okay if I went out of town with a dear friend for a few days.

How had our marriage gotten to this point? For the first couple of years, I never would have been afraid to ask Robert anything. He had been thoughtful and
patient—at least with me. I’d heard him argue with his ex-wives on occasion, and had always thought it odd that he could be so cruel with them, yet loving with me. Once, when wife number two was dropping off their teenage daughter, she’d murmured, “Enjoy Robert while he’s nice. Because once he turns…”

She hadn’t finished her statement, but I’d dismissed her warning as a comment from a bitter ex-wife.

Now, as I looked around the busy dining room, I couldn’t help wondering if anyone there pitied
me?
The wait staff? The managers? The other wives? Had any of them seen something in my marriage that I had missed?

Robert smiled brightly and waved at someone across the room. He
was
charming and pleasant. Definitely likable. Successful.

Though I’d been having some doubts about my marriage over the last several months, I now found myself flip-flopping. Robert’s irritability, and his occasional rude behavior, such as he displayed at The Melting Pot—they had to be effects of getting older. Either emotional or physical—or both.

Approaching seventy, he could no longer ignore his mortality. And maybe there were changes in a man’s body that made him more irritable as he hit a certain age. If there was some physiological reason for Robert’s behavior, how could I hold it against him?

And there were so many happy memories from early in our marriage that I clung to.

Like the time we were in Paris, and I was in the hotel suite alone while Robert was at a business meeting.
There was a knock on the door and I’d opened it to find Room Service delivering a cart with three trays on it. The waiter wheeled the cart into the room and lifted the silver lids to reveal fresh fruit slices and chocolate fondue.

I’d assumed Robert had simply sent the fruit to the room as a treat for me—but the real surprise came when he suddenly appeared in the doorway as the waiter was leaving.

Robert had ordered the fondue platter not so much for the fruit, but for me. For my body. He put the chocolate on my nipples, licked it off slowly. He put it on my ass, then ate it off with his tongue and his teeth. And he made me come—over and over—when he’d licked chocolate off my clit with tender, hot strokes….

“Cindy,” Robert was saying warmly.

At the sound of his voice, I was jerked from my memory. I glanced upward at Cindy, a waitress we knew well. He greeted her by squeezing her hand. “How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

A flirtatious comment? Perhaps, but I didn’t take it seriously—and I certainly would never get mad at Robert for it. Unlike how he had treated Alexander.

Robert chuckled. He proceeded to joke with Cindy and make conversation about her studies. She was putting herself through UNC, the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, and one day hoped to become a lawyer.

Cindy smiled as she answered his questions—and yet I would never consider her anything other than
professional. She was being nice to a customer. The same thing the waiter at the other restaurant had been doing.

Cindy or any of the waitresses here could easily have designs on some of the rich regulars at the club. And they’d be in a far better position to try and undermine a marriage than a waiter we were likely to see only once in our lives.

Forget what happened at The Melting Pot,
I told myself.

But the hypocrisy bothered me—even if I could forgive Robert’s behavior.

I glanced around as he continued to chat with Cindy. And when my eyes landed on a pair of wide shoulders beneath a black blazer, my heart pounded in my chest.

The shoulders…that golden-brown skin…the shaved head.

Oh, my God. Was it
him?

My pussy began to throb.

“Elsie,” Robert said urgently.

I jerked my eyes back to his. “Sorry.”

“Cindy wants to know if you’re having the steak.”

“Yes. Yes, the steak is fine.”

My eyes ventured across the dining room again. Disappointment came crashing in.

It wasn’t him. Lord, it wasn’t him.

The guest had turned, and now I could see his face. He wasn’t the man I’d been fantasizing about.

As Cindy walked away, I brought my wineglass to
my lips and sipped. But the wine didn’t wash away my discontent.

I tried to push the sexy stranger out of my mind as we enjoyed our dinner. Tonight was about getting Robert to agree to my trip with Sharon.

By the end of the meal, two glasses of cognac had had their effect on Robert. His business problems forgotten, he was smiling and laughing and telling me stories about the early days of his company.

It was the perfect time for me to ask him about my trip.

“Darling.” I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine. “There’s something I want to talk about.”

Robert swirled the dregs of cognac in his glass. “Yes?”

“You know Sharon’s been having a hard time ever since…ever since Warren’s death.”

Sharon was one of the first women I’d met in the neighborhood after marrying Robert. A stunning, dark-skinned beauty, she could have easily passed for a high-fashion model. I’d been pleasantly surprised to find her completely down-to-earth. She was a couple years older than me, and had married Warren the month after their college graduation. Warren had gone on to start an Internet business, which he’d sold for millions and millions before the dot-com bust. He took part of that profit and began a telecommunications company, which was also a huge success.

Like Robert, Warren had been a self-made millionaire. But the difference between Sharon and Warren’s
relationship and mine and Robert’s was that they’d met and fallen in love before either of them had any money. And from everything Sharon had told me, Warren always treated her as an equal in their marriage.

“Yes, of course. Such a tragedy.”

That was an understatement. The one thing that had kept them from being one hundred percent content was their inability to have a baby. Sharon had been pregnant six times, but miscarried each one. For a few years she’d gone on the Pill, giving up her dream altogether. Then they’d decided to try again. Six months after going off the Pill, she miraculously got pregnant.

And then she’d lost her husband.

“Understandably, Sharon is feeling glum. Oh, she’s putting on a brave face. She’s been incredibly strong since losing Warren.” I knew she was trying to be extra strong, not wanting anything to cause her to miscarry again. “But she could use a change of scenery. And who could blame her?”

I paused. Swallowed. Asking my husband if I could go away with a friend for a weekend shouldn’t have given me such anxiety, but it did.

“She wants to go away?” Robert asked.

“Just for the weekend,” I quickly said. “Probably drive down to Charleston, or Myrtle Beach. You know. To get her out of that big, empty house.”

“And she wants you to go with her,” Robert stated.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“This weekend. Tomorrow until Sunday.”

“So you’ve already planned it,” Robert said.

“No.” I tried to sound casual. “Nothing is planned. I told her I would run it by you first, but that as far as I know we have no plans, so hopefully…”

“I think Charleston would be the best option,” Robert said. “I don’t think a pregnant woman has any business at Myrtle Beach. There are too many horny college kids there. It’s not a good scene.”

My anxiety ebbed away. I tried to mask my surprise when I met Robert’s eyes. “So, you don’t mind that I go with her?”

As Robert sipped the last of his cognac, I wondered if it had magical powers. For the price, it certainly should. And in this case, if it had put him in such a good mood that he was offering no objections, it was well worth the money.

“Why would I mind?” he asked. “I’m sure you’ve been bored all week. I’ve been working more than usual. And you’re Sharon’s closest friend here. Of course she would want to go with you.”

I felt a smile break out on my face. “Thank you, Robert. She’ll be very happy.”

“What about the shop?” he asked. “It’s not a busy weekend?”

“Not particularly. Spike can handle all orders, and Tabitha is always asking for more hours. I’m sure between her, Maxine and Olivia, the store will be appropriately staffed.”

“Sounds like it’s all set. You should stay at that wonderful bed-and-breakfast where we went the last time we were there.”

“The Barksdale House Inn. I’ll call them to see if they’ve got room.”

“Very good, then.”

My lips curled in a soft smile as I stared at Robert. This was the man I’d fallen in love with—the kind and considerate man.

My doubts about our marriage seemed to float away.

Robert had his flaws, sure.

But no one was perfect.

I had always believed that I was not motivated by sex. That for me, an emotional connection was paramount, first and foremost. So I was very surprised to find myself having another hot dream about the stranger from my store later that week.

In the dream, I was sitting at the bar, looked to my right—and suddenly he was there. My body had an immediate reaction to him, as if an electric current were hitting me.

He said no words, just smiled at me, the kind of smile that oozed sensual heat. Then, abruptly, we were no longer in the bar, but in a bedroom somewhere, with only one lamp on.

He was sitting on the large bed. I was standing in front of him.

“Take your clothes off,” he said.

The words aroused me. The thought of undressing for this stranger, of fucking him, excited me beyond anything I had ever known.

So I pulled my dress over my head, revealing my nude body. I stood in front of him for a long while, his hazel eyes feasting on my nakedness and almost burning me with desire.

I’d never stood naked like this in front of a stranger before, and yet I didn’t feel self-conscious. Instead, a delicious rush coursed through my body.

“Touch your pussy,” he said.

I ran the tip of my finger over my clit, something I had never done in front of a man I didn’t know.

“Are you wet?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling an erotic charge at the admission. “Very.”

Slowly, he rose from the bed and came to me. He kissed me, deep and hot, while his hands covered my breasts. As he squeezed the soft mounds, tweaked my nipples, he moaned—a low, hot growl that made me feel a surge of feminine power beyond anything I had ever experienced.

I gripped the edges of his shirt, anxious to see him naked, as well. As his tongue tangled with mine, I pulled his shirt out of his pants and splayed my hands on his abdomen. He was all hard ripples and muscles, with the body of an Adonis.

Tearing his lips from mine, he lowered his head to my breast and drew one of my nipples into his mouth. Prickles of pleasure and pain shot through me. He suckled me hard, hungrily. This was raw, primal. About lust
and need with a man whose body spoke to mine in a language all its own.

I arched my back, moaned. Stroked his cock through his pants.

As his tongue worked its wicked magic on my nipples, he cupped my pussy. I melted. Had anyone’s touch ever felt this good?

When his fingers slipped into my layers of flesh, I gripped his shoulders and threw my head back, whimpering from the exquisite pleasure. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

“Yes, baby,” he whispered against my ear, and penetrated my vagina with a finger, pushed it in deep. “I love how your pussy feels.” His digit still inside of me, he went down on his haunches. “Now I want to see how you taste.”

He flicked his thumb over my clit, and then his tongue—and a shudder roared through my body. Then he spread my folds and suckled me with exquisite gentleness until I was coming and screaming.

I woke up to find my hand between my legs, my pussy throbbing and wet. I rode the wave of my orgasm from my dream state to consciousness.

After my pleasure subsided, I was satisfied but perplexed. I had just come while
dreaming.

Me—someone who hadn’t had these kinds of arousing fantasies even as a teenager.

Something was changing in me. I was having sexual needs and urges I wasn’t used to.

And I was liking them.

On Friday around ten, Sharon and I left for Charleston. She wanted to drive, and that was fine, so she came by my place and picked me up in her Cadillac Escalade. Robert had once again left for the office early that morning, but before he went, he’d kissed me deeply and told me to have a good time.

I had expected him to be busy with the board, with conference calls to Germany and whatever else he needed to do in order to seal the acquisition deal. So I was surprised when my iPhone trilled before Sharon and I even made it Charleston.

“I had a break, so I thought I’d call,” he explained when I picked up. “I phoned the bed-and-breakfast. They said you hadn’t checked in yet.”

“That’s because we’re just getting into Charleston now.”

“It’s nearly three o’clock,” Robert said.

“We didn’t leave until ten, and there was must have been a wreck on I-77, because we were backed up for a good hour.”

“Oh. So how far are you?”

“Ten minutes from the B and B, I think. Maybe fifteen.”

“Call me when you get settled,” he told me.

But before I could, he called again, just as Sharon and I got to the room.

I put the phone to my ear. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Just making sure you’ve arrived.”

Or checking up on me?
“We’re here.”

“Are you going to go get a bite to eat?”

“A snack, most likely. I already made reservations at Hyman’s.”

“The seafood place. Ah, very nice. For what time?”

“Six-thirty.”

“What’s the weather like?”

“Pretty nice. About seventy-one, right, Sharon?”

“Yeah, that’s what they said on the radio,” she concurred. “I might bring out that bikini yet.”

“What?” Robert asked. “What was that about a bikini?”

“It was a joke,” I told him. “We’re definitely not going swimming.” I paused. “Can I call you back? We just got up to the room, and we want to get settled—”

“No problem. I’ll talk to you later.”

Hanging up, I faced Sharon. “He wanted to make sure we arrived okay.”

She smiled and looked away. But I got the feeling there was an opinion behind the grin.

It might not have been warm enough to swim, but it was warm enough for ice cream—at least as far as Sharon was concerned. So, two hours later, after getting a manicure, we went into an ice cream shop in historic Charleston. I got a cone. Sharon got a hot fudge sundae.

We were walking down the street two minutes later when my phone rang again. I pretty much knew, before looking at the display, that it would be Robert.

I lifted my phone from my purse. Somehow, I refrained from rolling my eyes when I saw his number
on the display screen. I didn’t know what had gotten into him.

“Give me a second, Sharon,” I said, stopping. “It’s Robert.”

“Again?” she asked.

I answered my phone. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

What kind of greeting was that? “Sharon and I are taking a stroll.”

“Oh. I called the room, and you weren’t there. And then your phone went straight to voice mail. I thought you might have headed to Myrtle Beach.”

“What? Myrtle Beach is two hours away.” I wondered why Robert was calling so much. He was acting like a paranoid parent checking up on a kid who’d gone off on her own for the first time. “We were getting our nails done, so I turned my phone off.”

“Of course. Of course. Are you having a good time?”

I looked at Sharon, who was making quick work of finishing off her sundae. “Yeah, we are. So far, so good.”

“Don’t let Sharon drag you into anything scandalous,” Robert said. “Like scoping out a new father for her baby.”

“What?” I asked, stunned by such a ridiculous question.

“Bad joke,” he admitted. “I was out of line.”

Bad joke was right.

“I suppose you’re tired of me calling, but I just miss
you, that’s all,” Robert said. “I kind of feel a little…off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing in particular. A little woozy. Some aches and pains.”

“How serious?” I asked.

“It’s probably stress,” he replied. “It’s been a long week. Nothing a nap won’t cure.”

“You have been very stressed this week. Any success with the acquisition?”

“Finally, I think so.” Robert sounded relieved. “The deal should go through by Monday, as planned—so this is very, very good news.”

“I’m so glad to hear that, darling. I know how much of a headache it’s been for you.”

“It has been, but the end is in sight.” He paused briefly. “So, Hyman’s, right?”

“Yep.”

“Six-thirty?”

“Yep. Six-thirty.”

Sharon narrowed her eyes at me. I could read her thought:
What’s with the twenty questions?

“Excellent,” Robert said. “I love you, sweetheart. I’ll call you later.”

“Love you, too,” I replied, then pressed the button to end the call.

I sighed loudly, playing up my own frustration with Robert’s many calls. “Sometimes it’s like he can’t survive without me.”

“That’s sweet,” Sharon commented, and she seemed
sincere. “At least it can’t be said that he doesn’t love his wife.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

She made a wistful sound. “I miss that. The calls to see where you are, even if they’re annoying. I miss it so much.”

“Oh, Sharon.” I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed. For the most part, ever since Warren’s funeral, she had kept her feelings locked inside. It was a rare moment when she even talked about missing her husband. So for her to be doing so now made it clear to me how much she was hurting. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She placed a hand on her belly. “I have our baby. I’ll be okay.”

“You want to go back to the room and relax for a bit before dinner?” I asked, releasing her.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind another hot fudge sundae.”

We both smiled.

I was surprised she’d finished off the first huge one. But I said, “Who am I to keep a pregnant woman from what she craves?”

We made it through dinner without Robert phoning again. I was relieved. Despite what Sharon said about Robert’s calls proving he loved me, she had to be wondering the same thing I was.

If he was checking up on me.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

I looked up at her. “Hmm?”

“You’ve hardly touched your key lime pie.”

And before I could speak, my phone rang.

If this was Robert calling for an itemized list of what we’d eaten…

Instead, the display showed the name Felicity Williams.

“It’s Felicity,” I announced, almost happily. I put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Felicity. What’s up?”

“Wondering where you are tonight. A few of us are going to head to NV Lounge to kick back and have a couple of drinks, and wanted to know if you’d like to join us.”

“I can’t. I’m out of town right now.”

“Oh.”

“With Sharon.”

“Ohh.”
Felicity’s tone fizzled. “How is she?”

“She’s good. Doing well, all things considering.”

“So sad, what she’s going through,” Felicity said, but she didn’t quite sound sincere.

“I’m gone for the weekend, so I’ll call you when I get back to town,” I told her.

“Where are you?”

“In Charleston.”

“Well, have fun. Ta-ta.”

“Bye,” I said, and ended the call.

“Did she actually ask about me?” Sharon inquired, looking dubious.

“She asked how you’re doing.”

“Funny—she could call me herself to find that out.”

“You still haven’t heard from her?”

“Ha ha ha. That’s a good one.”

Up until the time Warren died, Sharon and I used to get together on Sundays after church with a few other wives “to lunch.” Felicity was one of the women we regularly met with, as was Carmen, the wife of another Carolina Panther. It was what society women did, and we’d discuss what was happening in our worlds, charitable efforts and, of course, gossip.

Unlike Sharon—whom I truly connected with—there seemed to be a wall of glass around Felicity and Carmen. As if you could see them on the other side of the table, but couldn’t touch them. Couldn’t get close.

I’d taken to Sharon the instant I’d met her, seen her as a real person. Felicity and Carmen always put on a bright smile and played like they were happy to see you, but I never felt either one was genuine.

The fact that they hadn’t seen Sharon since her husband’s funeral proved me right.

“I can’t believe Felicity.” I shook my head. “You haven’t heard from Carmen, either?”

“You know those two are thick as thieves. What one does, they both do. And they suddenly have no use for me.”

“Do you think they’re staying away because they don’t know how to…to deal with your grief?” I knew that some people were uncomfortable in the face of another person’s pain. “Yeah,
that’s
it.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “Let’s get back to you and what’s going on with you.”

“Me?”

She gave me a pointed look. “You know what I’m talking about.”

I did. And it was one of the reasons I’d wanted to go away with her—to use her as a sounding board for some of my doubts about Robert.

I cut my fork into the key lime pie, but didn’t lift the morsel to my mouth. I did it to keep my hands occupied.

“What’s bothering you?” Sharon pressed.

I sighed. “I just wonder sometimes.”

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to go on.

“You and Warren were married for sixteen years. And I know you were college sweethearts and all that. But I just wonder…did you ever… Is it normal to sometimes feel that maybe you’re not sure about your marriage? To wonder if it will last?” I finished with difficulty.

“Is it normal to have doubts about your marriage? Of course it is.”

“So you had doubts at times?”

“Doubts?” Sharon made a face. “There were times I didn’t know if we would make it.”

“Really?”

“After my last miscarriage, I shut down. I had an emotional wall up that no one could penetrate. Warren threw himself into work as a way to avoid both my pain and his. For nearly a month, we hardly spoke.”

“Wow,” I said softly.

“I felt like a failure. We had a great life, and all I wanted was to complete our family with a baby.” Sharon stopped. Inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t meant to…to be a downer.”

“You’re not. Of course I’m thinking about Warren.”
A soft smile curved her lips. “Gosh, we would fight sometimes. Yell and scream at each other. But when we made up…” I chuckled.

“So, yeah, it’s normal to go through rough times.”

Again, I moved my fork around on my plate. Then I leaned forward and whispered, “But is it normal to…to have fantasies about other men?”

Sharon didn’t answer right away. She took a sip of her water first, which made me wonder if my question had shocked her.