Valentine's Fantasy. Janice Sims

drew a deep breath and tried again—this time a little louder. When she didn’t answer the second time, he knew he was officially being given the silent treatment.

      “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he murmured to the door.

      Buddy lifted his head and delivered a sloppy lick against Matthew’s cheek.

      “At least you still like me.” Turning, Matthew followed the gray duct tape back to his room.

      * * *

      Thinking she heard something, Chanté shut off the shower and waited to see if she’d hear it again. After a minute, she shivered from the cool chill of the bathroom and turned the hot water back on. The steady, warm pulse of the water did a considerable job of easing the tension from her body.

      However, she fully intended to make herself a hard drink once she climbed out of the shower—maybe even two.

      As she lathered and rinsed, lathered and rinsed, she churned an inventory of Matthew’s prized possessions over in her mind. Which item would pack the most wallop and which one would hit below the belt?

      How long are you going to keep this up?

      The question threw her, mainly because she didn’t have an answer. This tit-for-tat game they played was taking on a life of its own, and in a weird way, it fed something in her—in Matthew, too, if she wasn’t mistaken.

      She shut off the water again and stepped out of the shower. Wrapping the towel around her body, she traipsed back into the adjoining bedroom. She stripped everything off the bed, and then put on fresh linens before she crawled on top.

      Sighing, she stared up at the ceiling and laughed. She laughed so hard and so long, the voice inside her head questioned her sanity.

      Sitting up, she took a long look around her gilded cage—albeit a trashed cage—and felt an incredible loneliness. It hadn’t always felt this way—not when Matthew used to lie beside her. Chanté groaned. Why did her heart constantly flip-flop where Matthew was concerned?

      She loved him. She hated him. She loved him. She loved him.

      “Aw, hell. Maybe Edie was right. Maybe we do need help.” After all, it had been easy to fall in love with Matthew, though many of her friends thought they were oil and water from the start.

      Growing up, she hadn’t known any affluent black families—not in a small Texan town like Karankawa. She was charmed by everything from the way he talked to the way he walked. She was in awe of his intelligence, captivated by his sophistication and seduced by his good looks.

      While wallowing in a moment of honesty, she realized he still had those qualities. Maybe she was the one who’d changed. Maybe if her body had given them a child, she wouldn’t be so bitter.

      She stretched out across the bed, hoping to fill the empty spaces—but it didn’t work. Chanté closed her eyes and struggled to remember all of their firsts. The first time he took her into his arms. Their first kiss. The first time they made love. After a while, the memories flooded her senses.

      The first time they were together they’d lain on a bed of rose petals. Roses were her favorite flowers. That night, she thought she’d die from the sheer joy of their consummation. The tenderness of his probing and inquisitive hands. He was masterful in figuring out all her hot spots.

      She remembered his mouth tasting like a fusion of heaven and sin. One minute, she was his precious angel and in the next, his little devil. Back then, Matthew kept a beautifully groomed goatee and her sensitive skin always quivered beneath its light tickle.

      Lost in the memories, Chanté unwrapped the towel from her baby-oiled body and fanned her fingers across her chest. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to travel back in time and experience that night again. Love seemed so effortless and happiness was always just a kiss away.

      Nothing is stopping you from going to him now.

      Her eyes snapped open. For a second her eyes darted around to see if someone else had actually made the comment. When she realized she was still alone, she sighed in relief.

      But the bud of her femininity began to ache for fulfillment.

      “I could go,” she whispered, warming to the idea. Heck, who said that she had to apologize in order to get laid? Hell, she didn’t even have to talk.

      Chanté sucked in her bottom lip and nibbled for a little while. There’s the danger of Matthew thinking that sex would be some sort of peace offering.

      The ache between her legs intensified.

      Then again, I could correct him in the morning. Chanté liked that idea and bounded off the bed, in search of the perfect negligee to seduce her husband.

      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