Maybe it would be different now that they'd finally brought the secret pain of their marriage out into the open. Maybe Vicki would respond to him in the way he'd always wanted her to respond. Maybe.
She didn't say a word as he carried her into the master bedroom. When he set her on her feet, they just looked at each other for several long seconds, two starving people in front of a banquet. The same moment that he began to reach for her, Vicki's lashes fluttered shut and her body swayed toward his.
Cupping her face, he kissed her. She always responded to this, kissing him back with explosive passion. He cherished the kisses she gave him during lovemaking because they were the only signs that she wanted him.
So he kissed her. For a long, long time. Kissed … and hoped. When she whimpered and made a small restless movement, he slid his hands to the back of her dress and pulled down the zipper. Trailing his fingers up her spine, he became fascinated by the delicacy of her skin but resisted the urge to linger. Part of him was afraid this moment would be lost if he didn't hurry. Promising himself he could return to savor her, he raised his hands to the shoulders of the dress and slid them down her arms. She let go of him only for the instant it took to remove the dress from her upper body.
The sound of cloth on skin sizzled over him as the dress fell to puddle around her bare feet. The feel of her almost naked body was an erotic shock. Exquisitely shaped, her breasts were small, taut, letting her eschew a bra when she chose … like tonight. He loved when she did that. It drove him half crazy.
Still kissing her, he moved his hands down her sides, stopping to stroke his thumbs over her nipples. She gasped into the kiss but didn't react in any other way. Her hands didn't move from around his neck; her body didn't press closer to his. Caleb didn't give up. She'd raised the topic, welcomed his embrace. What clearer indication of desire did he need?
He shed his shirt without breaking the kiss, then hesitantly pressed their bodies together. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, a sweet kind of torture. There was no rejection in her body, but neither could he read true welcome, passionate need. Only her mouth gave him hope.
Breaking the kiss at last, he lifted her and put her on the bed. Wide, the design a simple wooden frame, they'd picked it out in the weeks before their marriage, never guessing that it would become the center of one of the major issues in their relationship.
His hands trembled as he tugged her panties down her thighs, two months of deprivation making him ravenous. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and all he wanted to do was lavish his attention on every part of her, to take his time and adore her inch by precious inch. But such slow, luxurious loving required more than cooperation. Nothing less than acceptance on the deepest, most intimate level would do. And even tonight, Vicki held him at a distance, her desire locked up tight.
For five years he'd made love to her as little as possible, needing her more than he needed to breathe but unwilling to hurt her with his demands. Her kisses were always pure fire, her body slick and ready whenever he entered her, but in between, she never responded, no matter how hard he tried.
It didn't matter that he could always bring her to orgasm. What mattered was that she fought every pleasure he tried to give her. What mattered was that she was never so overcome by desire that she became ravenous for him. What mattered was that even in this most personal of situations, his wife refused to drop her shield of cool elegance.
Hoping against hope, he kicked off his shoes and lowered himself on top of her, bracing himself on his arms. As his lips claimed hers, he ran one hand down her body to cup her buttock, and touched her hand.
It was clenched into a fist.
* * *
Four
« ^ »
A sound of raw pain ripped out from somewhere deep inside him as he rolled away. "Shit." He wasn't going to do this if she was merely enduring the experience. At least before the separation, she'd held on to him as if she'd never let go, allowing him to fool himself into thinking that she wanted him. But this … no more. Something in him had given way, broken. After all this time, he'd hit his own limits.
He heard her move, thought he heard muffled sobs as she got under the sheets. The knife inside him twisted and twisted until he wondered if he was bleeding. Shoving his hands through his hair, he laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, fighting the emotions threatening to take control. He wasn't sure he could cope with that much pain. After several minutes, he shifted to look at her. She was lying on her side, giving him her back.
He thought about the number of times she'd turned away from him in bed. The broken part of him was suddenly furious. "Why did you marry me if you can't stand my touch?" That fact had tormented him for years. At first he'd hoped that nothing more than shyness kept her from touching him, but he had slowly realized that it was something far worse.
His wife didn't want him.
Devastated, he'd tried to limit his earthy sexuality, tried not to burden her with his need. And yet he hadn't been able to stop himself from reaching for her in the darkness, when his shields were at their lowest and he could no longer fight the hunger. Today she'd ripped those shields completely from him, taunting him with a false hope that things would be different. Why had she done that?
Vicki's back stiffened and she faced him, something like shock in her eyes. "I love the way you touch me."
He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Yeah, right. That's why when we have sex, you can't wait for me to finish so you can roll away and pretend you didn't let me put my hands on you."
Unable to make her see what she was doing to him, he'd focused the frustrated power of his emotions on his work. Combined with his inherent need to succeed, to prove himself, he'd been unstoppable. In five years he'd achieved more with the firm than many men did in a lifetime. No one knew that his phenomenal success had come at the cost of denying the passion at the core of him.
Vicki shook his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes were cloudy with distress. "No, Caleb! That's not true. I never— I adore making love with you."
She'd started this but if she wasn't prepared to admit to the depth of their problems, he could see no way out. He sat up. "I'm going for a drive." His voice was ragged, his arousal fading under the accumulated weight of years of rejection. Grabbing his shirt, he shoved his arms into the sleeves and started to walk out.
"Caleb, wait!"
Pretending he hadn't heard, he continued walking away. He couldn't bear to let her see him like this, vulnerable, wounded and so hurt he could barely find his way out of the room.
* * *
Victoria gave up trying to fall asleep sometime around two in the morning. Though Caleb had long since returned, they never did have that dinner she'd dressed up for with such high hopes. Like so many other meals in the past, it had fallen by the wayside. Except this time it wasn't Caleb's work at fault but her own cowardice.
Lying on her back, she stared at the darkness of the ceiling through tear-filled eyes and thought about the mess she'd made of her life. It was no use continuing to blame Caleb for the field of broken dreams that had become their marriage, no matter how easy that was. She was as much, if not more, to blame. If only she'd stood up to him at the start and said what was in her heart, he would have never begun to believe that she didn't want him.
How had he survived?
"Because he's strong," she whispered to the darkness. Strong and used to fighting for everything he'd ever gotten from life. But he'd been unable to fight her inhibitions, unable to fight years of Grandmother Ada's pitiless conditioning.
Why hadn't he ever told her what she was doing to him? And why hadn't she ever asked him what he needed, what he wanted in bed? Accustomed to Caleb taking charge, she'd always allowed him to focus on pleasing her. Especially in bed. When had she ever tried to please him? Never.
Her heart clenched. Her inexperience was no excuse, not when she'd soon realized that Caleb needed something from her that she didn't know how to give. Instead of asking him, she'd buried her head in the sand and pretended everything was okay, using the coping tactic that had allowed her to survive after her mother had abandoned her on Ada's doorstep. However, mere survival was no longer enough. She wanted to live.
Pushing aside the blanket, she got up and padded down the wide hallway to the kitchen. The romantic glow of the moonlight streaming through the windows seemed to mock her as she pulled a carton of milk from the fridge. Pouring some into a glass, she replaced the carton and put her cold fingers to her eyelids.
A creaking noise came from the hallway and a second later, Caleb entered the kitchen wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts. "What are you doing up?" His voice was rough, his hair mussed.
"I couldn't sleep." She raised her glass in explanation. "Do you want some?" Caleb stood only a few feet from her and yet miles away. She didn't know if she had the courage to cross the divide.