§ § § - September 29, 2003
The weather was preparing to change, they could see; Roarke, Leslie and Christian stood in the lane in front of the main house, watching the high feathery cirrus leading in a layer of dark overcast. "It's moving quickly," Roarke observed. "If you leave right now, you should beat the storm home."
"Don't forget to secure your own home," Christian said. "It always amazes me how open this house is, and yet it withstands anything that comes through here. While we're on the subject, tell me why it is that it never, ever rains here on weekends, unless it's very late at night? Is this another form of the enchantment they say is on this island?"
Roarke smiled. "You know I never give away trade secrets," he said with a twinkle in his dark eyes, and Christian and Leslie both laughed. "Hurry home, and be careful."
They easily beat the storm back home and made certain all the windows were closed; then Christian went upstairs to check on their computers. Leslie came up with him and stood nervously in front of the French doors to their deck, staring into the darkening sky and watching the wind begin to pick up. A moment later Christian joined her. "It looks like a big one," he remarked with anticipation.
She smiled tensely and huddled against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I hope it's fast, too," she said.
Christian laughed and wrapped his arms around her as well. "Strange how I've become so accustomed to that storm phobia of yours," he observed. "In fact, if you were somehow cured of it tomorrow, I'd miss the chance to comfort you."
She grinned up at him. "And you do it so well, too," she said, rising on tiptoe to kiss him. "In fact, I'd love some more of that comforting right now."
For just a second or two he hesitated. "Would you, then?" he murmured, studying her with his expression beginning to seal over.
Surprise and hurt sliced through her and she let her arms fall away from him. "I only thought…well, if you don't want to…"
There might have been more, but just then a crack of thunder echoed across the sky, and she jumped and gasped. Christian caught her and held her close, and she clung to him, her head tucked just under his chin. He could smell the floral shampoo she always used, felt every tense muscle in her body pressed against his own, and realized with surprise that he'd missed her. She was happier, seemed recovered from her depression; he found himself relieved to have her back to normal. "I really can't stay away from you so long," Christian admitted softly, reaching down to fit her snugly against him. "Oh, my Rose…come here and let me comfort you. Give me enough of a chance, and you won't even notice the storm."
"Oh, I'll still notice it," she bantered, smiling up at him as another rumble of thunder growled outside. "I just won't care." They both laughed softly; then he lowered his head and kissed her deeply. Leslie moaned just audibly and leaned into him, and he gathered a loose fistful of her hair and drew his hand slowly down, deepening their kiss, his mind growing hazy with his need for her. Within five minutes they'd stripped each other and fallen back onto the bed, and the storm became little more than background noise for them.
Very relaxed in the aftermath, she whispered, "Oh Christian…I love you, and I missed you…five days of not feeling well…I hated it."
"Hmm," he murmured sleepily. "Seems quite odd of me that I resisted, doesn't it?"
"Too much of a good thing, I guess," she said. "I…next time, my love, I'll let you decide, I promise. I'm always ready for you."
He grinned at her. "I can see that. I'm quite fortunate that way! Just assure me that you love me, and you can do anything you like to me."
He had reason to remember those words that night, when he got bored with a television show and went upstairs to find Leslie in the library, writing an e-mail to Michiko. She was wearing the little teal satin shift that had so captivated him on their wedding night, and he thought he caught a whiff of some exotic perfume, which made him pause with astonishment. Leslie seldom wore perfume, and he suddenly wondered, inanely, if there were some significant date or event he'd managed to forget.
"Hi, my love," she said and smiled at him when he stopped in the doorway. "I'll just be another minute or two."
Christian nodded. "I'll get ready for bed, then," he said and went to do so before she could respond. He found himself torn. He could never resist Leslie; he loved her far too much, and she had an effect on him that he had never known with any other woman and that constantly amazed him. He could think of nothing more tempting than falling into bed with her and losing himself in her for hours.
But he was afraid she wasn't making love with him just because she loved him, which should have been the foremost reason for it. She wanted to get pregnant, and she knew she had trouble conceiving. Her apparent solution was to talk him into making love with her every night, and he had begun to fear that this was her sole purpose—that she was making love with him because she wanted a baby, rather than because she loved him.
His mind raced with budding frustration as he changed for bed. He really thought he had gotten his point across; he had been so sure that she'd understood. Was she still so set on getting pregnant? Could he ever again look at her and not wonder? If she wore anything sexy to bed, he got wary. If she did anything even remotely romantic—even, he realized with guilty disbelief, smiling at him or touching him—he was afraid she wanted to try again to get pregnant. He crossed the room toward the bathroom to brush his teeth, trying to understand why he couldn't shake her out of her tunnel-vision mindset. A little guiltily he wondered as well why he was so leery of her getting pregnant. I'm not against it, he argued with himself. I'd be thrilled if she conceived. I just feel…that she's using me and my body so she can have the child she wants.
He met his own gaze in the mirror and froze there for a moment, mouth full of toothpaste, eyes apprehensive. Why in the world do you feel like that? his image seemed to be asking. Does she do anything differently when you two are making love?
No…she's as loving as ever. She still cries out my name when she climaxes, she still holds me when it's over, and she doesn't turn away from me. I can still lie in her arms as I come back down from that high, and feel her caressing my back, and be secure in her love for me.
Then what's your problem, Enstad? She just wants to have a baby. Maybe you're just selfish. You mentioned to her not so long ago that you weren't ready to share her with any child you two might have together. Are you really so self-centered that you'd deny her the child she wants, just because you're afraid she'd have no time left for you after the baby was born? You know she loves you. She's never been less than adoring of you. But now you're losing your trust in her, and that's going to hurt her badly.
Christian scowled at himself. Oh, shut up. Leslie knows I'd never hurt her. If I'm not sure, then I'll ask her. She'll understand.
You think so? How about this, Enstad: do you want to be a father? Do you want her to have a baby, or are you hoping she'll never conceive and you'll have her to yourself for all your days, even though you know she wants to bear your child? Remember what she told you last week? She sees bearing your child as giving you something precious, a rare and miraculous gift. You, on the other hand, see it as a nuisance.
His own thought jolted him and he furiously rejected it. He spat out his toothpaste with twice the necessary force and snapped at himself in jordiska, "You have no idea what you're talking about, you fool!" And yet, some little corner of his mind seemed to be pinching him, taunting him that he protested too much. Come on, Enstad, do you want to be a father or not? Can't you answer that question?
He cursed, the worst curse he knew of, the word hissing through his teeth, and left the bathroom in a foul mood. He could only hope that Leslie wouldn't try to initiate the act tonight; he wasn't sure how he'd react. Christian crossed the room, rounding the bed to his side, and slid in, dousing the lamp and lying on his side facing the back wall. You don't want to deal with me now, Leslie, my Rose…please just ignore me when you come in.
He could still hear her typing in the library and closed his eyes, fighting his guilt, his doubt and his annoyance with himself. After a few minutes the typing stopped, and he tried to remain still, listening hard. In another moment or two he heard her feet padding softly over the carpeted floor and felt her getting into bed beside him; the mattress stilled, and then he heard her release a small sigh. "Oh well…" she whispered, just barely audibly, and the mattress shifted again. The dull-red field Christian saw behind his eyelids from the light changed to black, and he heard a snap at the same moment.
Astonishment filled him. She had really meant it when she'd said she'd let him decide, he realized, flooded with guilt. But the words she'd said…what had that meant? And just like that, he doubted all over again. She would have tried again, wouldn't she?
Tormented, he sprang out of bed and to the window, knocking a frustrated fist on the wall and leaning his forehead on it. He had no doubt he'd startled his wife, and sure enough, a few seconds later she ventured timidly, "Christian?"
"Pay me no attention, Leslie," he said. "I have something on my mind."
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
Knock it off, Enstad, said the nagging voice in his head. She doesn't deserve this. He blew out a sigh and turned slowly back, retracing his steps to the bed and sitting on the edge of the mattress, shoulders rounded, head drooping, eyes closed. "I'm sorry, Leslie," he said.
The mattress shifted again and he opened his eyes, watching her sit up from his peripheral vision. She reached out and he tensed subtly, waiting, while she slowly ran a hand up and down his back, nothing more. "Maybe I can help you feel better," she offered softly.
Christian had just started to relax, and now went taut again. "Oh?"
Leslie's hand stopped midway down his back, then left him entirely. "Never mind," she said quietly, and he turned his head in time to see her shift away from him, preparing to lie back down. "You've already had enough of me…"
The words stunned him; he felt icy inside. "What?"
She went still, but didn't turn back to him. "I wanted to help, but then I remembered I promised you. So never mind."
Christian could no longer endure the emotional hurricane within him. "Just tell me one thing, Leslie, please. Why do you want to make love with me?"
Very slowly Leslie turned around and gaped at him; he could see shock and pain and disbelief glittering in her eyes. But he had to know, and while she goggled at him he pressed the issue. "Tell me! Why?"
Finally she croaked at him, "You…you actually have to ask me that?"
"Yes!" he snapped, driven past rationality by his own insecurity. "I do have to ask you, in light of what you finally told me last week. I want to know, and I want your honest answer, Leslie. Why?"
"Don't get imperial with me, Christian Enstad," she warned, her voice shaking. "I'm your wife, not some servant. And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure I should even try to answer such a ridiculous question. For one thing, I don't think you'd believe me."
It was Christian's turn to be utterly shocked, and he realized in that instant that he'd gone too far. "Oh, Leslie, fate take me…what on earth have I done? Please, my darling, I'm so sorry. I'm only…I'm not rational tonight. it seems…"
"I want to make love with you," Leslie said softly, "because I love you. Believe me or don't, but that's my answer."
"But you wanted to…" he began and cut himself off.
"No, go on," she said, and he looked up to find her staring at him, her expression closed. "Now you tell me—where in hell did that question come from?"
Christian wilted and ran a hand through his hair. "It came," he said starkly, "from the fear that you want to make love with me solely in an attempt to conceive a child."
Leslie gasped, softly but sharply, and he risked another glance at her. "Maybe you think I do," she said, "but damn it, Christian, if the only reason I wanted sex was to conceive, then I could have asked anyone who came down the pike. I want only you. I want your child, not just a child, do you understand the difference?"
Christian hadn't heard what he wanted—needed—to hear. "But do you just want the child, or do you want me?"
"I want you!" Leslie shouted, finally losing her temper. "I love you, dammit! Why on earth don't you believe me?" Her control eluded her entirely and she began to cry.
"Leslie…Leslie, come here," he pleaded, moving back onto the bed and gathering her into his arms. "My darling, I do believe you. I'm only trying to understand this overwhelming need you suddenly seem to have to get pregnant. It's been eating at me lately…every night you ask, and I know you want a baby, and I've begun to wonder if there's only that ulterior motive driving you. I honestly don't mean to upset you, but I can't find the answers without asking you, and unfortunately I didn't handle it properly. Please, my Rose, forgive me my insecurities…I simply want to help, and I don't quite know how."
"I'm sorry, my love," she sobbed softly. "I didn't mean to yell…but I didn't know…"
"I know, I know," he murmured in a soothing tone. "I am sorry, truly. Please, tell me what's really driving you. The issue bothered you before, but you were always able to deal with it, to put it in its proper perspective. Now it's become a small monster and I don't want it getting any larger. Why, my darling, why is it suddenly so important for you to have a baby? Are you so bored with having only me in the house?" Deliberately he couched the last question in a gently teasing tone, threading his fingers through her hair again and again, rocking her a little, trying to calm her.
"No," Leslie said tearfully. "No, I love you…I love having you with me, I love being your wife, I love you and everything about you…I want her to be wrong."
"You want whom to be wrong?" Christian cajoled gently.
"Ingela Vikslund," Leslie cried softly, breaking down into a fresh round of tears. "She knew I couldn't get pregnant…it's like she knew I'd tried and tried and it never happened. Maybe she's right…maybe I really am barren."
Christian growled low in his throat and huddled her against him. "If I ever see Ingela again, she'll pay for that," he ground out. "Her intent was to hurt you, Leslie, and she simply managed to find the one truly sore spot in you and rain hammer blows on it. When you let her see that she'd found your weakness, she exploited it. It's not your fault, my Rose. She has little enough conscience that she finds it very easy to hurt others in the attempt to get what she wants." He cupped her chin and tilted her head back. "Ingela Vikslund's opinions and insults simply aren't worth putting yourself through this torture. Whatever else you do, don't let her be the reason you want to conceive now."
Leslie stared up at him, anxiety in her eyes. "Do you…still love me enough to…?"
"To make love with you? Leslie, my darling, how can you ever think I don't love you? Don't you know by now that you're my very life? Haven't you ever realized that the moment you kiss me, the moment I feel your hands on me, all my resistance is gone? My only fear was that your primary motivation was conception, and I felt left out, pushed aside."
"No, no, no," Leslie cried desperately, throwing her arms around him and hugging him so hard that he found it a little difficult to breathe. "No, Christian, my love, no, don't ever think that, please! I'm hooked on you, do you realize that? Of course I want to have your baby, but I could never, ever, just perform the act and then turn away. You…you just intoxicate me. I want to make love with you because…because oh, Christian, you're so wonderful—you always make me feel so loved and so safe and so cared for!"
She had hit him straight in the heart, and he clutched her hard, cradling her head and struggling not to cry himself. "You've convinced me," he managed to choke out at last, closing his eyes and tightening his hold on her. "Oh, Leslie, my darling, my light, you have to know you're worth a dozen of Ingela. Nothing she says matters at all. Oh, sweet Rose…I love you so very much…you can't begin to imagine how much." He kissed her, deeply, with an urgency that she returned in kind, and in just a mere few minutes they were tangled in each other, caressing feverishly, murmuring to each other, kissing frequently. He slipped into her and she wrapped herself around him, and they soared together, each repeatedly calling the other's name.