Rebellion (A Dangerous Man, #2) (3 page)

“Good.” He is already pulling me out of the study, his hand
gentle on my elbow. “Let’s eat.”

Dinner is a home cooked feast Mrs. Daniels must have
prepared before she left for the day. In the kitchen, David fills our plates
from the silver chafing dishes, his fingers moving with superb grace. Is there
anything he doesn’t do perfectly well? I help him load the plates unto a tray
and follow him as he takes them to the living room.

The food is delicious, as is the red wine David pours for me.
We eat, seated on the rug, the couch at our backs, and the gleaming lights of
the city laid out at our feet.

There’s something about the intimacy of the moment. I feel
close to him somehow. “Tell me about yourself.” I whisper.

He leans back on the couch, watching me through hooded eyes.
“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” I say hopefully.

“My life isn’t half as interesting as yours,” he states
coolly. “My father died when I was young, my mother remarried almost
immediately and lived happily ever after till her husband died last year.” He
shrugs, his voice sounding detached.

Something in his tone gets to me. “Didn’t you get along with
your step-father?” I ask, concerned. He doesn’t sound too happy about his
mother’s marriage.

“I have no idea.” He says cryptically. “I never saw either
of them.”

“How come?”

He looks at me over the top of his glass. “He was very rich,
and he liked to travel, my mother followed him everywhere because that was what
he wanted.”

My heart goes out to him as I imagine him growing up without
the attention of his mother. At least my mother didn’t abandon me. She died.

“They never took you with them?” I ask, a small frown on my
face.

He shakes his head. “No, they didn’t.” He says, looking a
little bored. “My step-father had a house not very far from here. I lived
there.”

“Oh.” I watch as he leans back on the couch, his face
relaxed, his eyes hooded by half closed lids. His lashes are incredibly long, I
think, momentarily distracted. “Does your mother still live there?”

“When she’s in town, yes.”

He doesn’t seem eager to talk about his mother, so I decide
to switch subjects.

“Tell me about your work.” I say, leaning forward. I already
know that his company is called Preston Corp and that it has something to do
with software, but I’m curious to know more.

“I invest in developing computer software.” He says. “There
are a lot of products out there with the ability to provide enormous user
satisfaction. Some of them never get to reach their target market. I make it
possible for them to do so.”

I’m impressed, and even more so by the confidence in his
tone. “How did you get started?”

“A videogame.” He grins boyishly, again looking his age. I
have a sudden urge to wrap my arms around him and hold him close, to soothe the
lonely little boy my imagination has conjured out of his words.

“Did you miss her?” the question pops out of my mouth before
I have the time to consider it. I’m thinking of my own mother, how I’ve spent
my whole life with the faint ache of missing her, even though I never knew her.

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

He is silent for a moment, but only a single moment.

“Never.” He states finally, his voice cool. He gets up and
picks up the tray, and taking it to the kitchen. He loads the dishwasher while
I dump the empty bottle of wine in the chrome bin with the ‘recycle’ icon. It
seems our moment of intimacy has passed. We clean up in silence. He works
quickly, efficiently, and self-sufficiently. I may as well not even be there. As
soon as we’re done, he goes back to his study.

I sit at the window seat in the living room, alternately
admiring the view, and thumbing through a glossy magazine on interior design. I
can’t really concentrate though. My thoughts are full of David as I piece the
things I now know about him together. I know more than I did when I married
him, but he is still a mystery in so many ways.

After a while, I’m filled with a longing to recapture the
feeling of intimacy I had earlier while we were talking, so I drift towards the
study, hoping that David would be finished with whatever he is doing.

I find him seated at the desk, his face lit by the glow from
a desk lamp and his computer screen. He looks hard as he sits there alone, the
planes and angles of his face made pronounced by the dim light. Watching him, I
get the feeling that he is someone that’s used to being on his own. I imagine
him as a solemn, dark haired little boy, left alone while his mother chose to
spend her time with her new husband. It makes me sad.

Reluctant to disturb him, I walk on to our room, and lie
waiting in bed. I don’t sleep until much later, when he comes to join me and makes
love to me until I fall asleep in his arms.

~§~§~§~§~

The next morning when I wake up, my body is sweet and tender
from another night of intense lovemaking. I move, wanting to snuggle close to David,
but he’s not in bed with me. Disappointed, I get up. The bed feels incredibly
empty with me as its sole occupant.

On my way to the bathroom, I see the note propped upright on
the dressing table. ‘Gone to the office.’ It says, in a firm elegant scrawl. I’m
already missing him as I go into the bathroom and take a warm shower.  

Afterwards, I dress and find my way to the kitchen,
following the unmistakable smell of breakfast cooking. I find Mrs. Daniels
making pancakes. Still feeling let down that David has already left, I say a
friendly hello to her, silently telling myself that it’s unrealistic to expect that
David and I would spend all our time together, making love. Of course, he has
to go to work, he has a business to run after all.

Mrs. Daniels pours me some tea and places a large plate of
pancakes dripping with maple syrup in front of me. I’m not particularly hungry,
but the pancakes are light, fluffy, and delicious. As I eat, we talk about the
apartment, and she tells me the things I need to know, like the names of some
of the building staff and all the security codes and emergency numbers I might
need. She seems to vibrate with warmth as she talks, and I soon relax in her
company.

After my breakfast, she has other work to do, and I’m left
on my own again. I find myself missing Stacey and her constant concern. I imagine
her sitting at her desk with a frown on her face, wondering if David has turned
out to be Bluebeard. I don’t have a mobile, I’m sure that if I did she would be
calling me every hour. I decide to put her mind at rest.

“Sophie honey,” I can hear the relief in her voice that I’ve
finally called, “How are you?” It’s so like her to keep fretting about me, even
though I’ve assured her that I’m happy.

“I’m fine.” I say, laughing.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I insist. “I’m perfectly happy.”

“Okay.” I try not to hear the skepticism in her voice. Thankfully,
she starts to tell me about the reactions to my sudden marriage. I listen
silently, but I don’t really care. Ashford seems like a very long time ago.

“Mrs. Newton seems to think you broke poor Eddie’s heart,”
She says, catching my attention, “Apparently he was always sweet on you.”

“He wasn’t.” I say defensively, trying to forget the look on
Eddie’s face when he confronted David at my apartment. Good thing Stacey
doesn’t know about that. I think, relieved.

“Oh well,” She sighs. “Don’t hesitate to let me know if you
need anything.” She says finally.

“I won’t,” I assure her, “but don’t worry about me Stacey, I
promise I’ll be fine.”

The rest of the day passes slowly. Mrs. Daniels clucks in
disapproval when I tell her not to bother about lunch. She disappears again,
leaving me by myself. I swim laps in the pool, lie on the lounger in the
terrace reading magazines, and watching the city from the height of the
penthouse. I can’t help feeling as if I’m on a solo vacation instead of a
honeymoon. 

I wander through the apartment, exploring on my own. In
David’s study, I look through the numerous books on business, and philosophy. Thankfully,
there are also some literary classics, Charles Dickens, Thackeray, and even
Fitzgerald. They are all sturdy looking, leather bound volumes. Probably very
expensive, I think, wondering if he reads them.

I spend the rest of the day drawing. The sound of my pencil
scratching the paper of my sketchbook is soothing and familiar. I draw until it
gets a little dark outside. As I put my sketchpad away, I realize with a vague
feeling of sadness that it’s the third day of my marriage, and I have been
alone all day.

I’m at the window seat reading a book when David returns. He
steps into the living room, filling the space with his striking presence. I
spring up from my seat, unable to contain how happy and relieved I am to see
him. At the back of my mind, I berate myself for being so pathetically
dependent on him, but I forget those thoughts when he drops his briefcase and
claims my lips in a soul-searing kiss.

I forget that I have been alone all day, I forget the
gloominess of my feelings earlier. Surrounded by the taste and feel of him, I
can’t think of anything besides how he makes me feel.

“Are you hungry?” I ask when he finally releases me.

The smile spreads slowly across his lips. “I am.” He says,
his eyes devouring me.

I take a deep breath. “Mrs. Daniels left something for
dinner.”

“Oh that.” He chuckles, his eyes telling me that his hunger
was for something else. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He says, picking up his
briefcase and going to our room to change out of his suit.

I set the table in the kitchen. After we eat, David gives me
another long kiss before disappearing into his study. Confused, I wonder if all
my days are going to be spent like this, waiting for him to come home to make
love to me, and staying out of his way when he wants to work. I may not have a
lot of experience, but I’m sure there should be a lot more intimacy in a
marriage.

It’s not as if I blame him for working, but we’re supposed
to be on our honeymoon. I understand that with the rushed wedding, there would
have been little time to arrange his schedule to put a trip together. But it’s
not even a trip I want. I want him. I want him to be mine the way I’ve
surrendered to being his. I don’t want to be like Psyche, wandering all day
around a beautiful house, with a husband I don’t know, who only comes to make
love to me in the dark.

I’m still awake when he comes into our bedroom. I watch him
as he comes to sit on the bed. I’m trying to find the words to tell him how I
feel without seeming needy. I’ve told him my feelings once, and the only answer
he gave me was silence. I don’t know if I can expect anything better this time.

“You left so early this morning.” I say finally, when the
silence becomes too much.

“I always leave early.” His tone is dismissive.

That was before you had a wife. I want to say, but I bite
the words back. I understand that he has to work hard. You don’t get to have
the things he does at his age by being laid back, but I need to know that I’m
not just a warm body he comes to at night. I think of all the things I want to
tell him. That I was lonely without him, bored, wishing he was here. That we’re
newlyweds, supposed to be spending this time together.

“You were gone all day.” I say instead, my voice low.

He sighs tiredly, “Sophie, maybe in your imagination being
married means spending every single moment together, but real life isn’t a
fantasy, I have a business to run.” His voice is harsh, and I flinch, unable to
hide my pain and surprise.

“I was just...” I stop, unsure what to say.

He turns to look at me. Something in my face seems to get to
him. “I had a hard day Sophie, I was incredibly busy.” He explains, before
getting up and going to the bathroom.

I frown at my hands on my lap. I’ve told him that I loved
him, and he said nothing. I’m telling him I’d like to spent more time with him,
and his response is to treat me as if I don’t know what I’m talking about.
Hurt, I lie back on the bed and turn on my stomach. I hate that I feel like
crying. I’ve lied to Stacey, I realize, I’m not happy. I’m afraid. I have a
husband who can set my body on fire with just one look, and who is everything
to me, but has no desire to be close to me, or to let me get close to him.

I feel him return and slide into the bed beside me, but I
don’t look up. I try not to react to the warmth of his skin as it touches mine.
I try to stay still as he runs a hand gently down my back. When he raises the thigh
length t-shirt I’m wearing and spreads my legs, I bite my lip to keep from
moaning. The thought that this is all he wants from me is painful. I want to be
angry with him, not to respond to what he’s doing, but already I’m eager,
wanting him so much that it’s an intense throbbing ache that needs to be
filled.

My resistance lasts until he dips his head between my legs,
and starts to lick me, his tongue moving rapidly, swirling round and round my sensitive
core until I am breathless and gasping, moaning his name. At the back of my
mind, I accept that I need more than this from him, but for now, I don’t care.
I’m too lost in the pleasure.

I let out a long moan, and he grips my thighs tightly so that
I can’t move. My fingers dig into the pillow. Imprisoned between his hands and
his tongue, I surrender myself to the exquisite pleasure. He teases me to a
frenzy until I reach a shattering climax, crying out my pleasure as my hips
jerk wildly against his delicious tongue.

Afterwards, while my body is still shuddering with the
aftershocks of my climax, I run my fingers down his chest. He lies back on the
bed, watching me through half closed eyes as I explore his body. I watch his
face, eager to see the signs that I’m pleasing him.

My fingers travel down over his belly, until they close
around him. I marvel at the hardness encased in the soft skin, like steel under
silk. He feels warm, strong and powerful, I stroke him with eager fingers,
loving the feeling. His breathing changes, becoming faster and more ragged, encouraged,
I bend my head and take him into my mouth.