Make Love Not War (22 page)

To hell with it, he would go to bed. He was tired. It had been one hell of a day. After all, it is my bed, isn’t it? He was being unreasonable, bloody idiotic, in fact, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was a desperate form of self-preservation.

Stomping into the bathroom he took a shower. Would he shave? No, he couldn’t be bothered, even though his five-o’clock shadow rasped when he rubbed his knuckles over his jaw.

He returned to the bedroom; one of the side lamps had been left on. Flicking it off, he shrugged out of his robe and slipped under the sheet. Caroline lay on the far side of the bed. He thought for a moment that she might be asleep, but then he realized she was sobbing into her pillow.

He should reach out, take her in his arms and offer her some comfort, but he couldn’t. He rolled over, pummeling the pillow with his fist. Why was he so angry with her? On remembering what had transpired the last time they shared this bed, he nearly yelled out in frustration.

“Can’t you sleep, Bryce?” Her fingers skimmed his bare shoulder.

“Yes, I can sleep. Just leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Sorry? You’re sorry.” He vented his anger and uncertainty on her. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. You’ve landed yourself a rich husband and can laugh all the way to the bank. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m to be saddled with a wife and kid I don’t want.”

He felt the shudder go through her even as she moved away from him, and he could have bitten his tongue out. There had been no need to attack her. It was his fault. This whole sordid bloody mess was his fault entirely. She was young and innocent, he a mature, experienced man who should have known better. He’d used his penis instead of his brain, and now he had to put up with the consequences.

He pummeled the pillow again. He lay there for a time and could tell by her breathing that Caroline had fallen asleep. Some wedding night, he thought morosely. He tossed and turned for a while. God, he felt tired, but he was so overwrought he didn’t think he would ever sleep soundly again.

Bryce awoke some time later. He switched the bedside lamp on, and as he glanced at the clock he suppressed a groan. Three o’clock. He moved his leg and came in contact with something warm and soft, so he rolled over. Caroline lay on her side facing him, her hair cascading all over the pillow.

She looked angelic, her well-shaped lips slightly parted. Her skin was pure white, silky soft, as he trailed his fingers across her cheek. She didn’t stir. He traced the line of her jaw and a savage need surged through him. This couldn’t be happening. He wanted her with a fierce desire that was killing in its intensity.

He ran his hands down over her body. He couldn’t drag his gaze from her cleavage and he ached to touch her nipples with his tongue. Continuing his gentle exploration, he fumed because his touch was restricted by her nightgown. He felt like ripping it off and throwing it away. Come to that, he’d like to throw all her nightgowns away. She didn’t need them, better for her to sleep naked, as he did. That’s how nature intended it to be.

Burying his face in her hair, he savored the smell and texture of it. He groaned in frustration as his need became urgent, his erection harder. He pushed the straps of her nightgown down and let his finger slide along the smooth valley. Cupping a breast in either hand he drew the creamy mounds together, encircling both nipples with his tongue.

He shouldn’t wake her up, especially after being such a bastard last night, but he hadn’t meant all those things he said. He was upset, confused. Surely she would realize that.

They were husband and wife now, and he desperately wanted to consummate their marriage. So it wasn’t a love match, and he resented the thought of being tied down to one woman, but he wouldn’t cheat on her. ‘Forsaking all others,’ was the vow he made in church and he would keep it. Regular, hot sex with someone as warm and generous as Caroline would be great compensation for losing his bachelor lifestyle.

“Caroline, Caroline,” he groaned her name over and over. God he wanted her, his whole body ached with desire.

He recalled hearing or reading about pregnant women needing plenty of rest. Well, she could rest all day tomorrow, but he wanted her now, and his desire was becoming more desperate with every passing second.

“Wake up, darling. I want you, need you.” He started nibbling her ear lobe until she stirred.

***

Carolyn woke up to the feel of Bryce’s hot mouth against her throat. It hadn’t been a dream. It really was him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making love to you. I know I should let you sleep, but I can’t.”

His mouth clamping over hers stilled her reply. She felt the pressure of his tongue between her lips, the thrust of his erection against her thigh. He didn’t love her, but he wanted her, and for now that was enough.

She listened to him growling with need, sensed his fierce desire and smelt the musky scent of his arousal. She parted her legs and he drove into her with one long, powerful stroke.

Moving slowly at first, rhythmically, faster and faster, building up the tempo, he sensitized her love canal until it fluttered into life, eagerly responsive to his every movement. He drew back. She sobbed in deprivation, raking her fingers across his back in frustrated desperation.

Giving a feral growl, he thrust into her again, hard and deep. The yielding flesh of her arousal, nurtured into pulsating life by him, closed around his velvet shaft, enfolding it as he worked his magic.

“Bryce!” She cried out his name on reaching her climax. Her back instinctively arched, her hips levitated.

Just as he reached the pinnacle of his orgasm, his whole body shuddered and he exploded inside her. They collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs and sheets, their sweat-slicked bodies fused together.

“My God, Caroline,” he gasped. “You’re really something.”

Too overcome to speak, too exhausted to move, all she could do was run trembling fingers across his cheek.

Next morning Caroline woke up to the sounds of crockery and a grinning Bryce bearing a breakfast tray.

“Good morning, Mrs. Harrington. Sleep well?”

Her cheeks burned. “Yes, thank you,” she answered primly, trying to hitch the sheet up over her breasts as she sat up.

“Don’t cover them, they’re beautiful.” He leaned across to kiss each rosy tip. “I’ve eaten breakfast and been for a run. What would you like to do today?”

“Stay in bed.” She felt too comfortable and satiated to move.

He laughed, and what a difference it made to him. “You’re a brazen hussy.” He wagged a finger at her. “Dad rang a while ago, wanting to know if we’d like to come over for lunch. They always have a traditional Sunday roast. It’s going to be hot, and we could use the pool afterwards.”

“Sounds nice. Do you normally go there on Sunday?” Had he taken Amanda, Shereen or one of his other beauties for a Sunday roast?

He frowned
. Did he guess
the thoughts and questions running through her mind
?

“I go sometimes. Depends on what I’m doing. Dad found those old school photos he told you about.”

“Let’s go, then. You know, I can’t remember ever having seen a picture of my father.”

“Surely your mother had some.”

“She burnt them all.”

“What a shame. Why?”

“Who knows? Mum grew increasingly bitter about being left a widow with two little kids. I think she blamed my father for getting himself killed.”

“He was a hero. Dad said he won a bravery medal.”

“I know. She was a strange woman. I didn’t realize until I got older exactly how strange. I think she was jealous, didn’t want us to love Dad, only her. Well, she didn’t care about me, but Andy was her shining star.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, but her mother’s rejection still hurt. “Oh, she wasn’t cruel, I mean abusive. She didn’t starve or beat me, just didn’t like me, and made no effort to hide it. Did you have a happy childhood?” she asked, biting into a piece of toast.

“I suppose so. Well, Dad was affectionate and spent every spare minute he could with me, but he was busy building up the business.”

“Your mother?”

“A social butterfly. She didn’t spend much time with me. Always flitting around from one charity function to another. She’s not particularly maternal.”

“Our baby won’t suffer like that.” Her hand went to pat her stomach. “I’ll tell it a dozen times a day how much I love it,” she declared fiercely.

“Me too,” he said, walking over to the window and drawing the drapes back. “It’s ten thirty.”

“Ten thirty?” She jumped out of bed and the dreaded nausea rose up in her throat. Dashing to the bathroom, she lost her breakfast in the toilet bowl.

“Are you all right?” He handed her a towel. “Did I expect too much last night? I mean...”

“No, sudden movements in the morning or certain smells set me off. It has nothing to do with last night.”

He hovered near her. “I’m a selfish person. I’ve only ever considered myself, but if I ever ask too much of you, tell me.”

“It was wonderful last night, better than I ever dreamed it could be.” She rose to her feet, purposely turning her back on the mirror. No point in seeing exactly how awful she looked.

“Did, did you enjoy it?” she asked huskily.

“Yes, you know I did. It was the best sex I’ve ever had. When I lit the right fuse, you went off like a firecracker.”

No words of love, but he enjoyed the sex. Better than nothing. Love came with children. That’s what people said about arranged marriages. She remembered reading that somewhere.

“Have a shower, and then we’ll go,” he suggested. “Dad was so excited because he found the old school photographs of your father. He can’t wait to show them to you.”

Caroline dressed in a white linen slack suit. The red cowl neck top suited her. She had never worn
real
silk before. Bryce was movie-star handsome in navy trousers and a blue-and-white, geometric-design shirt.

“Should we bring something with us?” she asked.

“There’s no need.”

“Flowers for your mother?”

“No, they won’t expect anything.”

“Do I look all right?”

He snorted in exasperation. “Of course you do. I’d tell you if you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” She touched his arm. “I want to make a good impression.”

“You will, so stop worrying. You’ll end up with ulcers before you’re thirty.”

She couldn’t help feeling insecure, inadequate. Her mother had made sure of that. The Harringtons belonged to the
‘
beautiful people
’
brigade, wealthy, articulate and good-looking. Everything she wasn’t.

Chapter Sixteen

They pulled up in front of the Harrington mansion, and Caroline’s anxiety escalated. 

Bryce helped her from the car with his usual hand under the elbow. “I’ve always liked this view of our house best. It looks so elegant set at the end of such a long sweeping drive.”

“Yes, you could almost believe you were in the country. You can’t even see your neighbors. It must have been wonderful growing up in such a place.”

“It was. I learnt to ride my first bike on the lawns over there. Dad thought the grass would cushion my fall if I fell off.” He laughed. “I’d have been black and blue otherwise.” He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly as they walked towards the house.

“Mrs. Ferguson, this is my wife, Caroline,” he said, introducing her to the housekeeper who met them at the door. “Mrs. Ferguson is the best cook in Melbourne.”

“Ah, Mr. Harrington.” She chuckled. “Ever the flatterer. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Harrington.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Ferguson.”

With trepidation, Caroline entered the house. Persian carpet on the floor, frescoed ceilings, chandeliers and antique furniture, just as she’d imagined it would be. She was so overcome with nerves that she baulked.

“Come on.”  Bryce’s hand in the small of her back propelled her forward.

They entered a sitting room, as opulent as the other rooms she had glanced into.

“Ah, Caroline.” Alexander came towards her, arms outstretched. “How are you, my dear?” He gave her a hug.

“I’m very well, thanks. How are you?”

“All the better for seeing a pretty young thing like you. How’s it going, son?”

“I’m fine. Where’s mother?”

“Fluttering around as usual. I found the school photos I told you about.” Alexander positively beamed. “Have a seat next to me on the couch, Caroline. A drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Caroline was sick this morning.”

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.”

“Morning sickness, it’s no big deal.”

“I remember when Iris was pregnant with Bryce. She spent the best part of an hour each morning with her head down the toilet.”