A Perfect Marriage (19 page)

She tried to hit him again, and when he caught her wrist she bent her head without a second's thought and sank her teeth into his hand. He wrenched away but without releasing her, and she raised her free hand, fingers clawed, reaching for his face, but he was holding her well away, and she only connected with his arm and shoulder as she hit out again and again.

She shifted her feet-they were bare so she couldn't kick him-and he staggered momentarily but he soon regained his balance, swinging her with him in a half circle. She pulled away, straining to twist out of his grip, but he said grimly, his face ashen and obstinate, "No, you don't-not until you calm down."

That made her more frenzied than ever, and she fought him with a desperation and ferocity that lent her strength, so that he had to follow when she moved, and for a time she thought they were almost even.

Her hair tumbled about her shoulders, fell across her eyes as she tried to bite him, scratch, hurt him in any way she could. She didn't realise that Max had edged her back towards the bed until she felt it behind her knees, lost her balance and fell backwards.

He had captured both her wrists, and was breathing almost as hard as she, his face showing nothing but a gritty determination to win. He leaned over her, holding her wrists down against the bed cover, and said, "All right, Celine, that's enough!"

 
He must have seen in her face what she meant to do, perhaps felt it in the tension of her arms, and as she brought her knee viciously up, he twisted, avoiding it. So she tried to kick him instead and encountered only the bruising bone of his shin.

"No more!" he said forcefully, and in one movement he had hitched her further back onto the bed and flung himself over her. "No more," he repeated as his hands, his body, his legs imprisoned her struggling limbs and pressed her down on the mattress.

He freed her wrists, but as she pushed and thumped at his chest and shoulders he trapped her hands between their bodies, his arms behind her back, holding her tightly. "Shh," he was saying. "Settle down, Lina. Hush."

It was the pet name from their childhood days that made her abruptly stop struggling, all her energy concentrated on stemming an unexpected tide of piercing, overwhelming grief. She was not going to cry again.

Feeling her sudden surrender, Max changed his hold, cradling her against him, his arms a haven, not a prison, his cheek touching hers, his voice murmuring broken words of comfort in her ear.

Gradually their breathing slowed. She felt with blank shock a tiny dampness against her cheek, and stirred, moving her head so she could see his face. He lifted his head, his eyes glittery with tears, and she saw the effort he was making at control, the set of his mouth,
the
taut sinews of his throat. "I'm sorry
, "
he said hoarsely. "I know I've done you an enormous wrong, Celine. I wish there was another way..;'

His eyes were tortured, and she knew he'd been speaking the truth when he said he was on the rack. The last remnant of her anger faded, leaving her oddly calm, almost detached. She freed her hands of his slackened hold on her, and touched his face, the moistness of a tear meeting her fingers. "Oh, Max," she whispered, compassion swamping the last of her bitterness. She slid her hand behind his bead, into the silky strands of his hair, and kissed his cheek m a gesture that was tender and passionless.

  
 
He smiled at her, bent closer and returned the kiss, first on her cheek, then her forehead. As he drew back slightly, Celine's lips parted. They were hot and throbbing. She looked into his eyes and mutely begged for more, her eyelids drifting down, and heard him say in an unsteady voice
, "

She didn't dare open her eyes.

After a pause of several heartbeats, she felt the tentative brush of his mouth against hers, and sighed contentedly, allowing her breath to mingle with his.

She was conscious of his instant stillness and, terrified that he'd leave her, tightened her arms and held him. Opening her mouth, inviting him to more intimacy, she angled her body subtly, hardly more than a flexing of her leg muscles, so that her bared thigh lay snugly between his.

He lifted his head an inch or so, a frown between his brows. "Celine, I don't think-"

"Don't!" she whispered. She brought her imprisoned thigh up a fraction, and saw the flare in his eyes, felt the stirring of his response. "Don't think!" she urged him, pulling his head down until their lips met again, slipping her tongue into his mouth, gliding it over his, moving it back and forth in a way that had always excited him. She raised her knee, and heard him give a moaning grunt, felt his resistance ebbing. His mouth enclosed her tongue, gently sucking, encouraging, before he reversed their roles and silently asked her to receive his.

As he kissed her more and more deeply and his breathing quickened, she let her hands drop from his neck to explore his shoulders, sliding her fingers under the thick towelling, then peeling it away so that she had access to his back and his chest, running knowing hands over him, identifying again the pattern of his crisp chest hair, the flat coins of his nipples with their tiny centres, the rise of his ribs, the taut, hollowed plane of flesh between the lower ones, and the almost invisible scar on his hip, legacy of a childhood encounter with a broken branch when he'd fallen from a tree.

 
He had one hand curved under her nape, his thumb caressing her earlobe as he kissed her, and the other made a leisurely journey from her armpit to her thigh, lingered there and then without haste made its way to her breast, stroking it firmly through the silk the way she liked, until she parted the front of the gown herself, signalling him that she wanted his hand on her skin.

He obliged, pushing the edges of the gown further back so that with lazy-lidded eyes he could watch the effect of his caresses, and later his kisses. She touched his hair again, and combed her fingers through it over and over, pretending not to notice or concern herself with what he was doing, until her breasts were tense and full, the furled centres so sensitive that the mere brush of his breath across them made her gasp with pleasure.

Her hands were plucking at the belt of his robe even as he shifted aside to remove hers. Not bothering to shed them fully, they smiled at each other and came together again, flesh to heated flesh.

He settled himself against her, his hands cupping her shoulders, his forearms taking his weight, and she aligned her body with his so that when he came in, it was with one slow, sure thrust. His hips were cradled between her thighs, and she rocked slightly, gently, while he matched the rhythm, his hands moving to her head, his fingers in her hair as he kissed her.

They had learned, over the years, how to prolong the plateau with small movements and snatched kisses and feather-light touches that brought murmurs of enjoyment as they exchanged taut, expectant smiles. She knew that he liked the light play of her fingers over his shoulder-blades and back, and that the moist tip of her tongue in the hollow of his throat would make him shiver and close his eyes, inciting her to do it again. And he was aware of the erotic torture he inflicted when he caught her earlobe in his teeth and teased it with his tongue.

When Max felt her breathing begin to alter, he lifted his mouth from where he'd been idly nuzzling the curve of her

  
 
neck
and shoulder, and showed his white teeth in a tight feral smile.

She didn't need to tell him what she wanted him to dohe did it instinctively, knowing when to make the provocative rhythm faster, when her body was feverishly begging him to go even deeper, when she had attained the pitch of unbearable excitement that preceded the ultimate cresting of pleasure, so that he could let go the iron rein of his restraint and join her, hurtling into the void.

As their breathing steadied, Celine's hand strayed from his hair down the back of his neck to his shoulder. She raised her head to kiss him there, his skin slightly salty and dewy against her lips. She felt his hand tighten for an instant on her hair, tugging it, and then he was dragging himself away from her to lie on his back with one arm flung across his eyes.

The harshness of his breath gradually diminished. The sheet was tangled about his waist, leaving little for Celine. She reached for tissues from the bedside table,
then
pulled her gown across her breasts, her eyes on Max.

At last he heaved a huge sigh, and took away the concealing arm from his face. Celine propped herself on her elbow, still watching him. It seemed to be an effort for him to look at her.

"Are you all right?" he queried.

"I'm fine." She wanted to smile at him, snuggle down against him as she usually did after lovemaking. But the bleakness in his expression warned her before he said, "This should never have happened. I-I have no right to-"

No right to make love to his wife? Disappointed hope was a knife turning just below her heart. "It takes two," she said remotely, determined not to let him see how let-down she felt, as though someone had just dropped her from the clouds onto the hard, cold ground.

He sat up, hauling the towelling robe closed as he stumbled to his feet. Almost violently he retied the belt, pulling the knot tight.

"It's all right," Celine said, acrid amusement colouring her voice. It was so unlike Max to be bothered by his own nakedness. "I'm not planning another assault on your virtue."

He flicked
her an
amazed glance. "It's no laughing matter."

"Ifs not the end of the world, either," she said tartly. "It isn't even immoral. We're still married."

"On paper," he allowed. "That doesn't mean a thing."

That caught her on the raw. "It may surprise you," she said, "but it does mean something to me. Once, I thought it did to you."

"You know what I meant," he said.

"No." Celine sat up, her back straight, her eyes hostile. "Explain it to me."

Stiffly, he said, "Our marriage is over. You know that."

"Well, it certainly didn't feel over five minutes ago! And I'm damned sure it didn't feel like it to you!
Unless, of course, it takes the fillip of not being married to your partner to turn you on these days?"

"That's a hell of a thing to say!" Maybe she'd come close to pricking him, she thought, watching his sudden anger with interest. But he quickly controlled it, his voice turning frigid as he added, "Sarcasm doesn't suit you."

"Oh, don't be so stuffy!" Celine hurled back the remainder of the sheet and stood up, too, facing him across the width of the bed, tying her own robe with vicious efficiency. "Why did you make love to me, then?
Habit?"

This time her sarcasm backfired badly. "I guess that's about it," he said heavily. "You seemed to need ... comfort. And it got out of hand."

Celine momentarily closed her eyes. She'd asked for that.

' Out
of sheer blind stupidity. Looking at him again, she said, "Will Will you tell Kate?"

Max shrugged. He had his hands in the pockets of the robe again. His jaw was clenched. "I don't know."

"Supposing I do?" she asked him, her chin held high.

"Is that a threat?" His eyes had narrowed. Hostility sharpened his features. "You wouldn't be so vindictive."

He knew her too well. The thought had no sooner entered her mind than she'd dismissed it. Even if it took
Kate ,
out of his life, it wouldn't bring Max back to her. He'd never ' forgive her.

"If you want my advice," she said, "you won't mention it to her."

A complicated expression crossed his face. But all he said was, "Thanks."

Celine shrugged. A little hysterically, she wondered what she was doing, playing agony aunt to her husband, giving him advice on his relationship with another woman. I'm not doing very well, here, Honoria. I don't suppose this is the way to get him back.

"I'm going to have a shower," she said, on her way to the bathroom. "You can leave the robe downstairs." His clothes ought to be dry by now.

As she reached the door, his voice stopped her.
"Celine?"

She turned her head. "Yes?"

"Why did you-just now... Was it habit for you, too?"

Why was he asking her? Did it matter? Was he hoping she'd say yes? The one thing she wasn't going to admit was that since he'd left her she'd realised how much she loved him, how much she wanted him, emotionally, physically, in every way. Confessing to it would only embarrass him, like an unwanted gift. And she still had her pride-it was about all that he had left her. "Lust," she said calmly, watching the ripple of shock on his face. "You're still the best lover I've ever had, Max."

She saw the flush that mounted to his cheeks, and made to turn away, pausing when he said harshly,
"
Better than your building tycoon?"

For a moment she didn't even know who he meant. She hadn't seen much of Roland lately; he'd been involved on another of his commercial projects, and once they'd worked out what was wanted for the house he'd only called in briefly
 
a few times to see how the work was going. "Roland?" she said at last. "I'm not sleeping with him.
Or anyone.
Except you," she added with a bleak little smile.

The glimmer of relief that crossed his face then should have amused, or perhaps angered her. Instead she was only dully, distantly surprised. "I'm inclined to be cautious," she said. "Things have changed since you and I got married. Sex wasn't a life-threatening activity, then. You didn't use any protection just now, did you? I hope you've thought of it with Kate."

Startled, he said, "You don't really think I'm a danger to your health?"

"One can't be too careful, they say."

"You've no cause for concern," he said shortly.

"You can hardly be certain of that," she pointed out, "unless Kate was a virgin-"

She was quite unprepared for his sudden, dark flush. Her heart made a sickening, unexpected plunge. "Oh, God, Max!" she said. "Did you know?"