When Valentines Collide (11 page)

Matthew finally rolled onto his side, but remained welded inside of her. After their hearts returned to a normal pace, he brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“You. Us.” She fluttered a shy smile. “The last two nights.”

His arms tightened around her as he drew in a deep breath. “What about us?”

“I was just thinking about how nice it is to fall in love again.”

Matthew met her steady gaze unblinkingly. “Yes, it is.”

M
atthew and Chanté made love throughout the night. Each time, the pleasure intensified and strengthened the newly formed bond between them. By the time morning spilled sunlight through the windows, they were no more than two heaps of flesh piled onto each other.

“What time do we have class?” Chanté asked, lacking the strength to even lift her head.

“Who cares?” he groaned. “I may never leave this bed for as long as I live.”

She chuckled and then yawned lazily. When she realized that she was still lying on top of him, she asked, “Am I too heavy?”

“Don't even think about moving,” he warned and yawned himself. “As soon as I get my energy back, I'm going to make love to you again.” Another yawn. “Any minute now.”

“No worries, baby. I'm staying right here.” She planted a kiss against his chest and drifted off to sleep again.

The next time she opened her eyes, the daylight had softened and there was the unmistakable sound of rain drumming against the windows. Still straddling her husband's hips, she sat up and glanced groggily about the room.

Matthew groaned as his eyes fluttered open. However, a smile quickly slid into place at the sight of his wife's breasts. “Now this is how a man should be greeted in the morning.” He reached up and ran his hands over the soft mounds and loved the way her nipples hardened at his slightest touch.

Before he could get the party started, they jumped from the phone's sudden ring.

Matthew frowned. “Who in the hell would be calling us?”

“I'll give you one guess,” Chanté said, reaching over and snatching the headpiece off the receiver. “Good morning, Edie.”

“Morning? Try afternoon,” Edie corrected. “Wait. How did you know it was me?”

“Simple deduction, my dear Watson,” she said, laughing and dismounting her husband.

“Wait. Don't go.” He reached for her, but she bounced off the bed, leaving him to grasp nothing but air.

“Was that Matthew?” Edie pried.

“No. Denzel Washington,” Chanté shot back. “Who else would it be?”

“Then I take it that last night was another success?”

Chanté watched her husband as he stretched lazily among the sheets. “You can say that,” she said, as another wave of desire spiraled through her.

“Good,” Edie said triumphantly. “I told Seth you were okay, but he thought that I should double-check to make sure that neither of you reverted to your old ways and tried to kill each other.”

“Well, he can relax. We're both alive and breathing.”

“Just barely,” Matthew shouted. “She wore me out!”

Edie “whooped” loud enough for Matthew to hear and the three of them laughed good-naturedly. “All right. Are we going to see you guys for dinner?”

“Dinner?” Chanté glanced around. “What time is it?”

“Two o'clock,” Edie sang merrily. “But don't fret. I was told a lot of people missed the morning classes.”

“Told?”

“What—you think you're the only ones who can work it all night long? I am the original Energizer Bunny, baby.”

Chanté rolled her eyes and quickly disconnected the call.

“Well, what did our self-appointed babysitters want?” Matthew asked, sitting up. “Or should I even bother to ask?”

“Nothing too serious. She was just spying on us and reserving us for dinner.” She waltzed over to him on the edge of the bed and popped a squat on his lap. “But I'm starving now.” She leaned forward and nibbled on his ear.

Matthew opened his mouth but he was unable to respond with her warm tongue getting him all excited again.

Chanté chuckled at seeing her husband rendered helpless and decided to cut it out—especially if she wanted to eat anytime soon. “You call room service while I go freshen up,” she instructed with a departing kiss.

“Ah, we're not going to eat in the nude?”

“We can.” She shrugged as she headed toward the bathroom. “But don't you think we should go to at least one class today?”

“The point is for us to have sex. I think we have the gist of it now,” he joked. “We just needed a refresher course.”

Laughing as she entered the bathroom, she gave him one final reminder to call room service, then closed the door.

Surprised to see just how much water they had splashed on the floor, Chanté retrieved a few towels from the rack and made floor mats out of them before she went about washing her face and brushing her teeth. When she reached inside of her cache case for her morning pills, she stopped.

“What are you doing?” she asked her reflection. She waited as if her mirror image would actually give an answer. If this was to be a new beginning then she needed to start with being honest—and doing the right thing.

Chanté left the pills in her bag, and then turned to the tub to let out the previous night's water and to take a quick shower. When she finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in one of the resort's robes, their late lunch was just being delivered to the room.

Matthew, who'd put on a pair of white boxers to answer the door, glanced up. “Hey, honey, we had a note on the door from Dr. Gardner. She wants to schedule a one-on-one consultation. Do you feel up to it?”

“Psychologists seeing psychologists. Maybe Tom Cruise was right and we're all just crazy.”

“Or we all just need someone else to talk to.”

Chanté lowered her gaze as she slid her hands into the pockets of her robe. “We should be able to talk to each other.”

“True,” he said thoughtfully. “But when you're dealing with a proud man who finds it difficult to apologize, then talking to him may not be the easiest thing in the world to do.”

“Or when you're dealing with a woman who thinks it's easier to leave than deal with a problem.” Sadly, she shook her head as she moved over to the sofa. “It's funny. I give millions of listeners and readers advice, but when it comes to me…?”

“Neither of us has claimed to be perfect. It's hard for teachers to be students and for doctors to be patients. We're learning and growing from our mistakes just like everyone else. Sure we have issues. You like to poison people and I like to cut things up. We're perfect for each other.”

Chanté laughed and loved him for brightening her mood. “Hey, did you know that psychologists had the highest rate of suicide?”

“Huh, I thought it was dentists.”

 

Chanté and Matthew emerged from their daylong hibernation to rejoin their group for a class in tantric dance. At first, Chanté thought she would never be able to master the belly rolls and simultaneous hand gestures, but soon, she found the sensual snakelike movements fun and exhilarating.

Plus, Matthew was completely turned on by her efforts.

After class and a pleasant dinner, Edie asked Chanté to join her for a trip to the ladies' room.

“I take it that you want to talk to me about something,” Chanté said, checking her appearance in the mirror.

Edie nodded and turned toward her friend with her arms crossed. “Have you told him yet?”

Chanté's genial smile melted from her face. “Told him what?”

“Come on. This is me you're talking to.”

Turning away from the mirror, Chanté met Edie's laserlike gaze dead-on. “Not yet.”

Edie rolled her eyes with a loud sigh. “Mind if I ask what you're waiting for?”

“I don't know.” Chanté's shoulders slumped as she exhaled. “Something called the right moment?”

“He talked nonstop throughout dinner about it.”

“I know. I know.” She shook her head. “It's just that it's so important to him and after so many…I can't…” She stopped herself and closed her eyes. “He may not forgive me.”

“Aww.” Edie moved in close and wrapped her arm around her friend's shoulder. “Of course he'll forgive you. He's in the forgiving business.”

Chanté had her doubts but didn't voice them. Instead, she lifted her head and wiped a few errant tears from her eyes. “Maybe you're right. Tomorrow we scheduled a one-on-one therapy session with Dr. Gardner. It's as good a time as any to talk about it. Who knows—maybe there's something to this therapist needing therapy thing.”

“That's my girl.” Edie squeezed her shoulders. “Let's take those men back to our rooms and work up a black sweat, separately, of course.”

Laughing, Chanté quickly fixed her makeup and waltzed arm in arm back out to the resort's grand dining room. However, through the rest of their meal, Chanté's reservations and doubts began to pile on top of one another. Soon, she found it difficult to keep her smile angled at the appropriate levels while the beginnings of a migraine throbbed at her temples.

Matthew leaned to her side and whispered, “Honey, are you all right?”

“Huh? What?” She blinked out of her reverie and glanced around the table to see she'd become the center of attention. “I'm sorry, I didn't catch what was said.”

“You were rubbing your head so I just asked if you're okay.”

“She does look a little pale,” Seth noted.

“Oh, it's nothing.” Chanté waved off everyone's concern. “It's just a little headache.”

“Well, it looks like the sex gravy train has come to a halt,” Seth joked with a whack across Matthew's back. “Looks like you may be the only man not getting good use of those belly dancing moves tonight.”

“Seth!” Edie smacked her husband on the back of the head. “Don't be crude.”

“What? He knows I'm just joking with him.”

“Keep it up and you'll be on the couch.” Edie's annoyance melted when she turned her attention to Chanté. “Do you have any Tylenol or anything? I have some in our room, if you'd like some?”

“Actually, I think I have some in my cache case,” Chanté said, massaging her pressure points again.

“We should call it a night.” Matthew stood and then offered to assist her from her chair.

“Well, maybe I should go take something.” She accepted his offer and stood. “I guess we'll see you in class tomorrow.”

The group of friends finished their goodbyes and Matthew and Chanté returned to their private lodge. During the entire walk, Chanté practiced the next day's confession in her head, and each time her vision of Matthew's reaction intensified her migraine.

“You really don't look well,” Matthew commented as he led her to the bedroom. “Why don't you lie down and I'll go get your medicine and some water for you.”

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I'm sure I'll be all right in a little while.” She eased back against the bed's pillows.

“Don't worry about it, my beloved.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead. “The most important thing is to get you feeling better.”

Beloved.
She really did love it when he called her that. “Thanks, my beloved.”

Matthew's eyes lit up at the use of his endearment and he rewarded her with another kiss; this time a light, sensual one that was as effective in curling her toes as well as fluttering her heart.

“Be right back,” he promised.

She smiled as she watched him move away from the bed. Lavishing in her love haze, she couldn't quite remember how she'd allowed things to get so bad between them. Now, she just hoped tomorrow's session with Dr. Gardner wouldn't change all of that.

She closed her eyes and tried to lie still until Matthew returned with her pills, but then her eyes flew wide open when she remembered what else was in her cache case.

Matthew stood above her. In one hand he held a glass of water and in the other, her circular compact of birth control pills.

“Why in the hell do you have these?”

C
hanté bolted out of bed like a light and snatched the pills out of her husband's hand, as if doing so would magically make him forget that he'd ever seen them. Once the damning evidence was in her hand, she felt an overwhelming sense of nausea.

“I believe I asked you a question,” Matthew said, setting the glass of water down on the nightstand and settling his darkening gaze on her.

She opened her mouth to launch into the prepared speech for the following day's session, but what came out of her mouth instead was, “You weren't supposed to find those.”

Silent, he glared as if he enjoyed watching the room's mounting tension choke the living daylight out of her.

Chanté wasn't used to that sort of combat. She much preferred it when there was a lot of yelling and screaming involved. She was in her element in verbal combat and petty revenge tactics.

How did anyone fight silence?

At long last, Matthew turned on his heel and headed toward the closet. It wasn't until he pulled out his suitcase and propped it up on the bed that Chanté's panic hit her at full throttle.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I'm packing,” he growled.

She rushed toward the bed. “You're leaving?”

He didn't answer.

“You can't leave. W-we have class tomorrow and—and what about our session with Dr. Gardner?”

He stopped and pierced her with another dark glare. “Tell me about the pills.”

Her mouth went dry and after a full minute of struggling for the right words, she gave a flat response. “It's complicated.”

Matthew clenched his jaw so tight, a singular vein protruded from the center of his forehead. He turned back toward the closet, grabbed the few clothes he had hanging from the rack, and shoved them—hangers and all—into his suitcase.

“Wait. You can't go.” She threw the pills onto the bed and started snatching his clothes back out of the suitcase.

Matthew stepped back and slowly settled his hands against his hips. “Tell me about the pills,” he stressed evenly.

“Matthew, it's just that…I tried to tell you but—”

“Tell me about the goddamn pills,” he roared, reaching out and grasping her painfully around her arms.

Her vision blurred with a sudden rush of tears. “I've been taking them for a year.”

The confession was like a hard slap and Matthew's grip tightened on her arm.

“Let go, Matt. You're hurting me.”

He released her immediately, but it didn't stop his hands from trembling.

The silence returned and Chanté squirmed fitfully beneath his murderous glare. She made an attempt to reach him through the windows of his soul, but she couldn't journey past the blackness of his stare.

“A year,” he finally growled. “All those times we were trying…or should I say
I
was trying to have a child, you were taking birth control pills?”

“Look, Matt, try to understand—”

“Understand?” he roared. “How can I understand anything if you don't say anything? How could you let me believe that we were in this together?”

“We were in it together. It just got to be too much—too many miscarriages and too much heartbreak. I couldn't…I couldn't keep putting myself through that.”

“And what about me?” he shouted. “Don't I have a say about any of this? Why wasn't I a part of the decision-making? Or is this another grand standing position that since it's your body, you get to make all the decisions?”

“That's usually how it works,” she snapped back, finally feeling her own anger rise.

“Not in a marriage!” He stormed toward her again. “We're supposed to be equal partners. I know how hard it was to lose every one of those pregnancies. I was right there with you, or did you forget? You weren't the only one who'd gotten emotionally attached to each child we created.”

“No, but you were the only one who could bounce back in a twenty-four-hour period, wanting to give it another whirl like I'm some freaking machine where you just drop in a deposit and wait for your baby. Well, I'm sorry to inform you but this machine is broken.”

Matthew stepped back and shook his head with disappointment written clearly in every inch of his hard features. “Broken, or just giving up?” He searched her face for a true answer. “I would have supported you if you felt you needed a break or even if you wanted to stop trying. The important thing is for me to be included.”

She shook her head and ignored the tears that raced down her face. “That's not true. Every time I even hinted that maybe having a child is just simply not in the cards for us, you throw up a brick wall. It's like you don't hear me!”

“Don't give me that garbage! I thought you were seeking support. You never once said ‘Matthew, I don't want to do this anymore' or ‘Matthew, I think I need to give my body a rest.' You made up your own mind to lie and sneak behind my back.” He grabbed his clothes again and started cramming them back into the suitcase.

“It wasn't like that,” she insisted.

“Then what was it like?” he challenged.

Being put on the spot like that, Chanté continued to grapple to find the right words.

“Just as I thought. You know, for a talk radio host, you're a woman of very few words.”

“It's because I know what I did was wrong. But I couldn't talk to you then.”

“Funny. Millions of people have no problem talking to me, but when it comes to my own wife, I'm treated like some kind of stranger.” He clamped his suitcase shut and proceeded to zip it despite a few articles sticking out. “I'm out of here.”

When he turned and snatched his suitcase off the bed, Chanté raced around him and tried to block his path. “You can't leave. We haven't finished talking yet.”

“You had a year to talk to me. Just like you had a year to make me feel guilty that what was happening between us was my fault.”

“I thought it was your fault,” she said desperately. “Your obsession for a child left me with no room to breathe. It was almost as if you only wanted a child—like I wasn't enough for you. That's why I kept saying that maybe a child wasn't in the cards for us. I needed to hear that us being childless would be okay. That I was enough for you. But you never said it.” Her voice cracked as she madly wiped away her tears. “And I doubt that you can say it now.”

Another wave of unforgiving silence crashed through the room and Chanté could feel her heart literally tearing in two.

Matthew lowered his head and tightened his grip on his suitcase. “I have to go.” He walked around, incidentally bumped her shoulder, but kept moving without an apology.

Chanté closed her eyes and remained rooted in the middle of the room long after the front door had slammed close.

On the fourth day of the retreat, Chanté remained in her private lodge, hoping that Matthew would return after he'd cooled down. However, morning morphed into the afternoon, and then faded into night and she remained sitting alone. Shortly before ten o'clock there was a knock on the door and Chanté raced to open it up, only to have her heart dive back into despair when Edie stood on the other side.

“Oh, it's you,” Chanté said.

“Mind if I come in?”

Chanté cringed at the amount of sympathy dripping from her voice, knowing that there was only one conclusion to be drawn. “I take it you already know what happened between me and Matthew?”

Edie hesitated but then slowly nodded her head. “He called Seth last night,” she admitted as she cocked her head. “How are you holding up?”

Instead of answering, Chanté stepped back and gestured for her friend to enter. Once she was inside, Chanté closed the door with a soft click and then wrapped herself in her own embrace. “What did Matthew say?”

Edie lowered her gaze and drew a deep breath. “I didn't hear it all. Like I said, he talked to Seth.”

Chanté released a long, frustrated breath and marched back over to the sofa. “If you're going to give me the watered-down version, then just forget it.”

“That's not what I'm trying to do.”

“Then spit it out,” she challenged. “You're supposed to be on my side.”

“I'm not on anyone's side,” Edie corrected.

Her words cut like a knife and Chanté turned her back, feeling like the entire world had ganged up on her. “Fine. Don't tell me. What do you want?” She plopped down on the sofa and refused to meet her friend's gaze again.

“C'mon, don't take your anger out on me. I am your friend.”

“A friend who doesn't take sides. Boy, I hit the lottery with you, didn't I?” Chanté immediately regretted her words. “I didn't mean that,” she recanted.

“I know.” Edie walked over and staked claim to the empty space next to her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Chanté sucked in a deep breath and she thought the question over. “Actually, no,” she said and realized she meant it. “No pity party. I'm going to be a big girl and own my mistakes.”

“He's just angry right now,” Edie said, determined to comfort her.

“And I'm just hurt.”

“Aww,” Edie groaned.

She opened her arms to embrace her friend, but Chanté held her hands up and shrank away. “I mean it. No pity party.”

True to her word, Chanté didn't shed a tear that night, or on the plane ride home. Not until she returned home and discovered that Matthew had moved out, did the dam break and tears flow.