Valentine's Fantasy: When Valentines Collide / To Love Again

Chapter 7

After a half bottle of Jack Daniels, Matthew dreamed of his wife’s creamy thighs, firm breasts and perfect apple bottom. He tossed and turned and even smacked his lips while remembering her distinctive taste. The wanting, aching and longing had stripped him of his sanity.

No matter how many times he tried to think or concentrate on something else, Chanté’s teasing body would crystallize in his mind. If he thought about work, Chanté would materialize as a naked cue-card girl. When writing material for his next book, Chanté would be the naked girl on his Internet pop-up, asking him if he wanted to see her in action.

It was maddening...and a complete turn-on.

In need of relief, Matthew grabbed hold of his erection and tried to assuage the ache. Even at this desperate hour, his hand was a lousy substitute.

You could always go back and knock on the door again.

Matthew’s hand stilled. The thought had possibilities. But then he remembered how Chanté had turned him down the other night and how she closed the door in his face tonight. How many times could he face her rejection?

Knock. Knock.

Matthew remained frozen in the bed with his erection still throbbing in his hand.

Knock. Knock.

Buddy barked from his crate.

“Yes?” he asked sluggishly.

Instead of an answer, he listened as the doorknob turned and the heavy door creaked open. Pushing himself up, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect—an intruder, his wife, or an intruder impersonating his wife.

He waited until the curvaceous figure illuminated under the silvery moonlight. Even then he wasn’t sure he believed what he was seeing or if his old buddy Jack now had him hallucinating.

“Chanté?”

She glided toward the bed and pressed a slender finger against his lips. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to catch her meaning—and he was only too willing to oblige.

Damn it, it’s been five months.

Wait, his brain screamed. Something wasn’t right. Matt eyed her suspiciously. “Is this a trick?”

Again, she didn’t answer. Just gave him a slight shake of her head.

Matthew weighed whether to believe her. Then again, if this was a hallucination, what harm was there in having a little fun?

A bright smile bloomed across Matthew’s face and glowed in the moonlight. “Hey, baby. You finally decided to come pay Big Daddy a visit?”

Chanté frowned. “Have you been drinking?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. There’s no law against a man drinking in the privacy of his own home, is there?”

“Never mind. This was a mistake.” She turned.

Matthew hopped out of bed and clutched her arm. “Don’t go, baby. You know we’ve both been waiting for this for a long time,” he slurred.

She hesitated, giving Matthew all the confirmation he needed.

“Why don’t you give me a big, fat juicy kiss to seal the deal?”

Eager, both Chanté and Matthew leaned forward, only to bang their foreheads together.

“Ouch.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” Matt fluttered a nervous smile before trying again. This time, their lips connected and their bodies sagged with relief.

However, when Matt leaned her back onto the bed, he’d forgotten about his laptop and piles of paper occupying the other side.

“Ow, ouch.” Chanté shoved him off.

“Oh, just a minute.” Matt pitched everything, including the laptop, over the side of the bed. “See? All gone.” He flashed another toothy smile and clumsily reached for her again.

Buddy barked.

“Shh. Buddy, be quiet,” Matthew warned. “You’ll scare my dream girl away.”

Chanté hesitated.

“Don’t worry, no more surprises,” he assured, patting the empty bed for emphasis.

After another beat of hesitation, Chanté decided to give it another try. She glided effortlessly into his arms and imagined herself cast into her own romance novel. But everything didn’t play out quite the way she’d hope.

Matthew grabbed for her like a starved man before an all-you-can-eat buffet. He fumbled and cursed while he tried to pry her out of her lingerie.

“Here, let me do it,” she offered before he had a chance to destroy one more thing of hers. Three snaps later, she chiseled on another smile and then lay back on the bed in all her naked glory.

That was when the real pawing began.

Matt’s once tender and caressing hands were now rough and forceful. Lips that once gave loving worship to her sensitive nipples now seemed determined to chew the damn things off.

“Easy. Easy,” she coached, wanting him to slow down and enjoy the ride. Instead, her husband skipped foreplay and went straight for the main attraction.

He entered with one mighty thrust and nearly split her in two.

What the hell?

Chanté gripped his bulging biceps and tried to hold on during the ride. However, she was nearly rendered senseless several times as her head was rammed into the headboard. Meanwhile, Buddy continued to bark his head off. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

“Shh, Buddy. Shh, Buddy,” Matthew hissed in between his “Oh, Gods.” His hips hammered away while his eyes damn near rolled to the back of his head.

Chanté watched in resolute boredom until Matthew stiffened with one last thrust, and then collapsed in a sweaty heap.

Is that it?

“Oh, baby. I missed you so much.” Matthew panted and peppered sloppy kisses across her face and eyes.

“Uhm.” She searched for the right words. “Matt?”

“Hmm?”

“I, uh, didn’t...well, you know.”

Matt lifted his head and stared down at her. “You didn’t?”

Chanté shook her head. Not even close.

“I, uh, I’m so—well, I guess, I did get a little carried away. It being a while and all.” He absently wiped the sweat from his brow.

She nodded in feigned understanding. “That’s all right. You can try again.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He smiled and wiggled his hips.

To Chanté’s dismay, she noted Matt Jr. wasn’t exactly standing at full salute.

“Just give me a minute to...catch my breath,” Matthew panted.

Chanté’s brows furrowed, but she had no choice but to bob her head in agreement and wait for her husband to catch his second wind.

Two minutes later, Matthew was fast asleep.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Seth decided it was time he dusted off his culinary skills to make his wife breakfast in bed. Unfortunately, his specialty was cold cereal.

“Oh, honey.” Edie smiled brightly when he appeared at their bedroom doorway with her breakfast tray in hand. “You shouldn’t have.”

Seth beamed proudly as if he’d prepared a five-course meal. “My baby deserves the best.”

“Special K, huh?”

“Special K with strawberries.”

“Then bring it on!” Edie set aside the pamphlets in her lap and punched up her pillows before her husband delivered her meal.

“What are these?” he asked, picking up one of the pamphlets.

“Some brochures I picked up yesterday before my talk with Chanté.”

Seth frowned as he opened one and then another. “Sex therapy? I thought the idea was to get them to see a real counselor?”

“They’re real.” Edie snatched one of the brochures back. “I’ve heard some great things about these places.”

“Where? On one of those women’s talk shows?”

Edie poked out her bottom lip as she shrugged her shoulders. “What if I did? A reference is a reference.”

“Okay, this job just went from difficult to impossible.” Seth laughed. “Sex isn’t the problem. Their ability to stay away from sharp objects is.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, scooping out her first spoonful of cereal.

“No,” he acquiesced. “It’s not the sort of thing we talk about.”

“Well, what do you talk about?”

“His lack of sex. Five months and counting.” Seth shook his head with great sympathy. “I don’t care what anyone says, that’s cruel and unusual punishment. No wonder he’s demolishing cars.”

“I hear you.” She chomped away for a moment while her gaze returned to the pamphlets.

“Actually, I really think I’m on to something here. Last week when Chanté stormed over here about the Letterman incident, she said that Matthew used to be great in bed.”

“What the hell? Do you two give each other blow-by-blow recaps?”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re still a ten in my book.”

Seth straightened his shoulders as his chest swelled from the compliment. “Ten is easy when I have an eleven in my arms.”

For that, he was rewarded with a kiss.

“So you think this sex therapy will work?”

“It certainly can’t hurt.”

“Not unless there’s a chainsaw on the premises.”

Edie chuckled.

“Any idea how we’re going to get them to one of these places?” Seth asked.

“Yes. We lie.”

Chapter 8

Chanté was beyond pissed.

No car. No foreplay. No orgasm. Enough was enough.

She slammed the kitchen cabinets as she made coffee, took her morning pills, and slaved over the hot stove. Every time she thought about last night’s lousy performance, she broke a glass, a cup or a dish. How and when did Matt become so selfish and so clueless in bed?

Not only had he fallen asleep, he snored loud enough to wake the dead.

Crash!

Another plate bit the dust.

“Good morning.”

Chanté’s gaze snapped to her husband as he entered the kitchen, and for a brief moment she weighed the consequences of smashing his head in with a frying pan.

The temptation nearly won out—especially since the bastard had the audacity to be in a cheerful mood.

“What smells so good?” he asked, with a beaming smile.

“Breakfast,” she answered with an overdose of saccharine. “Hungry?”

Suspicion glimmered in Matt’s eyes. “You’re cooking me breakfast?”

“It’s not unusual for a wife to cook for her husband.”

Matthew’s brows shot up.

“Why don’t you just take a seat at the table? The food will be right out.”

Matt didn’t move. Instead, he studied the angles of her plastic smile. “Uh...about last night,” he began. “Did we...you didn’t come to my room last night, did you?”

The jerk doesn’t even remember! Chanté crossed her arms and weighed her options. “Only in your dreams,” she lied bitterly.

“Oh, I didn’t think so.” He shook his head and gave an awkward laugh. “I knew I had a few too many.”

Chanté glared and contemplated the frying pan again. “Breakfast will be out in a minute.”

He hesitated again.

“Go on now. I’ll be out there in a second.”

Finally, he gave her a slight nod and then turned in the direction of the dining room.

I’ll fix you breakfast all right. One you’ll never forget.

* * *

Matt knew he was in trouble. Why on earth would Chanté fix him breakfast after what Buddy did to her room? The way he saw it, he still had options. He could either run from the house screaming like a banshee, put in a precall to 9-1-1, or drop to his knees and beg for mercy.

The first option had potential.

“Breakfast is ready,” Chanté sang, carrying plates to the table.

Too late. Matthew swallowed a lump in his throat while his brain threatened to short-circuit with trying to come up with an excuse to miss breakfast.

“Uh, Chanté.” He followed his wife to the table.

“Yes, dear?”

Dear? “You know, I’m not all that hungry,” he said with a nervous smile. However, the sight of fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and golden-brown biscuits made his stomach roar at the lie.

Chanté lifted an inquisitive brow.

“Maybe I am a little hungry.”

Chanté smiled and pulled out a chair. “Sit.”

Matt hesitated. His fear accelerated at the sight of her lips sliding wider.

“Come on.” She patted the back of the chair. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

How could he back down from a challenge like that? “Of course not.” He walked over to her, searched her eyes for any telltale signs and then slowly eased into the offered chair.

“There. See?” She patted his shoulders. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The corner of Matthew’s lips quivered and then he glanced down at the meal before him. Everything looked good—perhaps too good.

Chanté hummed a merry tune like a Disney princess as she walked to the other side of the table to take her seat. “Dig in,” she said.

Matt glanced around. “You know, I think I’d like some orange juice,” he announced, scooting back his chair. “Can I get you any?”

“I’ll get it.” She jumped up from her chair and nearly raced out of the room. “You sit there and eat.”

When she disappeared around the corner, he reached across the table and switched the plates. A second later his wife rushed back into the room carrying two glasses of orange juice. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, honey.”

Her smile thinned at the endearment and Matthew grew suspicious of the drink she handed him as well. Mercifully, Buddy chose that moment to waddle into the room.

“What in the hell is he doing in here?” Chanté snapped and jumped up from the table.

“Hey, little Buddy.” Matt scooped up the dog. “How do you keep getting out of your crate?”

“Get him out of here!” Chanté screeched.

Matthew cradled the dog against his body. “All right. Calm down. Don’t have a conniption fit. I’ll go put him back in his crate.”

“Apparently he needs a stronger crate. Tie him up somewhere outside.”

Buddy barked.

Chanté stuck her tongue out at the dog.

“Now is that mature?” Matthew asked.

“After what he did to my bedroom, he’s lucky we’re not having him for breakfast.”

Buddy whimpered and snuggled against his owner.

Unmoved, Chanté stomped her foot. “Outside.”

“Come on, Buddy. Let’s see if Roger can get you situated somewhere.” Matthew rose from his chair and marched out, all the while cooing and apologizing to the dog for his wife’s behavior.

Chanté leaned across the table and craned her neck to see if the coast was clear and then quickly switched the breakfast plates back.

Minutes later, her husband returned with a pinch of annoyance in his expression. The emotion vanished when he discovered his wife had already started eating her meal. He eased into his chair and watched her expression.

Chanté stopped chewing and frowned.

“Is something wrong, honey?” Matthew picked up his fork.

“No.” She smiled but it faltered. “Everything is...fine.”

He returned the smile when she placed a hand over her stomach. “Good.” He dove into his food triumphantly and moaned aloud to emphasize how wonderful everything tasted. “You know, honey. I think this is the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time.”

“Glad you enjoy it.” Grimacing, she cupped a hand over her mouth. “Excuse me.” She bounded out her chair and raced out of the room.

Matt shoved another forkful of food into his mouth while chuckling to himself. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on me.

In the half bathroom on the bottom floor, Chanté was doubled over with laughter.

* * *

The studio audience for The Love Doctor show grew restless waiting for their host to take the stage. The warm-up team had long run out of jokes and prizes to hand out and the camera crew and stagehands were growing bored.

“Where is he?” Trish from the sound department inquired. “Production is going to run over.”

“Love Doctor! Love Doctor!” the crowd chanted.

“We’d better do something or we’re going to have a studio of emotionally imbalanced women storm the stage,” Trish warned.

“Love Doctor! Love Doctor!”

“I’ll go check his dressing room,” Cookie volunteered cheerfully and sashayed off.

* * *

Matthew wasn’t feeling too good. In fact, he was feeling downright miserable—and he knew why.

“I’m never going to forgive her for this,” he vowed, exiting his private bathroom. Despite his black mood, he finally managed to pull himself together and leave his dressing room.

“There you are!” Cookie approached, wearing a wide smile. “Everyone is waiting for you.” Studying his face, the intern frowned. “Are you all right? You don’t look so well.”

“Fine.” Matthew flashed a smile but proceeded to take tiny steps toward the stage. “Never better.” He stopped and closed his eyes as another wave of nausea threatened to send him back to the toilet.

Cookie stopped, fearful that whatever he had was contagious.

After a few seconds, Matthew sighed in relief when his stomach settled and he continued his slow journey to the stage.

“Love Doctor! Love Doctor!” the crowd chanted.

“There he is!” a spectator shouted from the crowd, and the studio thundered with applause.

Matthew smiled, waved and hit his mark in front of the cameras. However, the moment he opened his mouth his stomach dropped to his knees and his nausea was no longer ripples but huge tidal waves.

“Hello, everyone,” he greeted, struggling to remain professional. Yet, the moment the stage lights turned up, he literally felt beads of sweat pop up along his forehead. “Thanks for coming...and good night.” Matthew turned and bolted off the stage, praying that he would make it back to his private bathroom.

* * *

“What type of conference is this again?” Chanté asked Edie for the third time as they perused the shoe aisles. “And why do both Matt and I have to attend?”

“It’s a relationship conference and you’re going because it’s an excellent promotional opportunity. A lot of press is covering this thing so you and Matt need to be on your best behavior.”

Chanté sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, Edie. I sort of need a break from Matthew—especially after last night’s fiasco. I wanted to kill that damn dog...and him.” She hesitated and then cast a sidelong glance over at her friend.

“What?”

Chanté debated on whether she should tell everything that had happened. “I went to Matthew’s bedroom last night.”

Edie’s eyes lit up. “You did? Well, good for you!” She gave her a strong hug and noticed Chanté’s lack of response. “Not good?”

“I’d rather have played Scrabble.”

Edie grimaced.

“No kissing. No foreplay. No nothing,” Chanté whispered angrily. “He just tossed me back onto the bed, pumped like an Olympic record was on the line...and then rolled over and went to sleep.”

“Ouch.”

“Damn right. I wanted to kill him.” She stopped there, not confessing to tampering with Matthew’s breakfast. No need to paint herself in a bad light. “I just don’t get it,” Chanté complained. “He wasn’t always like this. I remember a time— Ooh, girl. The earth moved, angels flew down from heaven and I thought I’d need physical therapy in order to walk again. Now? It’s wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am and, by the way, where is the baby?”

Edie fell silent as she cocked her head in sympathy.

“I used to think we were just in some kind of rut. You know, stress from the jobs, the pressure to try and beat my biological clock. Before I knew it, long lovemaking sessions were downgraded to quickies and we’ve been stuck in that same gear ever since.”

“I’m sorry.” Edie draped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. Now she was convinced more than ever that she was doing the right thing in tricking Chanté and Matthew into sex therapy. “Look, go to this conference. When you get back, I’ll make sure you get a break. I’ll talk to Julia in the publicity department and arrange a book tour for you. That’ll keep you out of the house for a little while.”

“True.” Chanté sighed, but then perked up. “Ooh. These are nice.” She picked up a pair of leather pumps.

“Don’t you already have a pair like that?”

“No. It doesn’t have this cute little buckle on the side. I’m going to try them on.”

Edie just shook her head as she followed her friend to a nearby chair where she asked a saleswoman for the correct size. “No offense, but how many shoes can one woman own?”

“Hey, when I was growing up, I never owned more than two pairs of shoes at a time.”

“And now you have a whole department store in your closet.”

“All right, I admit it. I love shoes. Sue me.”

Edie continued to shake her head. “So what do you say? Will you do the conference?”

“Separate hotel rooms?”

“C’mon. How will that look at a relationship conference?”

“Like we’re trying to preserve our sanity.”

“Chanté.”

“All right. All right.” She held up her hands.

“You’ll do it?” Her editor perked up.

Chanté drew a deep breath and tried to figure out just how long she and Matthew could share a hotel room without a homicide detective showing up.

“Please?” Edie folded her hands in mock prayer.

“All right. I’ll do it,” she huffed. “Just make sure the room is stocked with enough alcohol to dull my pain.”

Edie smiled smugly behind Chanté’s back. One down, one to go.

Chapter 9

“I’m not going anywhere with that psycho!” Matthew spat to Seth and then ducked his head back over the toilet bowl. “If you haven’t noticed, she damn near tried to kill me this morning.”

“Am I to believe that you did nothing to provoke her attempted murder this time?”

“No,” he lied, coming up for air again. “Well...not exactly.”

“Uh-huh.” Seth finished wringing cold water from a face towel and then tossed it to his client. “What exactly did you do? It wouldn’t happen to have involved a four-legged friend I told you not to take home?”

Matthew placed the towel over his face, in part to cool his forehead and in part to hide his guilt while he reviewed last night’s major disasters...and one mind-blowing sex dream.

“If it’s taking you that long to answer the question, I don’t think I want to know what happened.”

“That’s probably best.” He paused and then added, “I think my, uh, streak ended last night.”

Seth’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but then quickly crash-landed. “You think? I take it since the porcelain god is your best friend today that it didn’t go too well?”

“Horrible,” Matthew groaned. “I was drunk and it had been so long...I grew too excited...and was a little quick on the trigger.” He glanced up at Seth. “And that’s not the worst part.”

“You didn’t.”

He nodded. “I did. I fell asleep...and then this morning I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamed the whole thing. When I asked Chanté about it, she said that it never happened, but I don’t know.”

It was Seth’s turn to groan.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Matthew said defensively. “It just did. And then this morning when she was cooking breakfast I started to apologize...and I couldn’t quite get the words out. Me! King of the talk shows couldn’t find the words to apologize to my wife. How pathetic is that?”

“No wonder she tried to kill you.”

“Nothing excuses that.”

“And what excuse is there for taking a chainsaw to someone’s car?”

“Hey! Just whose side are you on?”

“No one’s side since you’re both crazy as hell.” Seth folded his arms as he leaned back against the sink. “C’mon, Matt. About this conference—it’s going to be great for you publicly. A few of the other top relationship gurus are going to be there.”

“Dr. Phil?”

“If I’m not mistaken,” Seth lied smoothly. “It’s just for a couple of days. Surely you and Chanté can put your differences aside for a couple of days to pose as the perfect couple?”