The suite at the Ritz was as beautiful as it always was. They had a view of the Place Vendôme, a living room and bedroom and two baths. The entire suite was done in pale yellow satin. And the hotel had filled three vases with long-stemmed yellow roses. She would have loved it if she hadn't felt so heartsick over Jack.
“Is there any particular reason why we're here?” Maddy asked him lifelessly as he poured himself a glass of champagne, and offered her one. “Is it just to keep me off the air, or is there some better reason?”
“I thought we needed a vacation,” he said simply, and all the fury of the day before seemed to have vanished as she took the glass of Cristal from him. She didn't even want it, but she needed something to numb her. “I know how much you like Paris and I thought it would be fun for us.”
“After everything you've said to me in the past two days, how can you say that?” The prospect of anything being “fun” with him was absurd.
“Because that was business, and this isn't,” he said calmly. “You walked right into something that was a matter of national security and you had no business being there. Maddy, I was trying to protect you.”
“That's bullshit,” she said, sipping the champagne. She was not yet ready to forgive him for his threats, his words, or his saying that he owned her. But she didn't want to argue with him either. She was exhausted and depressed.
“Why don't we just put that behind us, and enjoy Paris? We both needed a vacation.” She felt as though she needed a lobotomy or maybe a new husband. She had never felt as betrayed by him in all the years they'd been married. And she couldn't help wondering how, or if, they would recover. “I love you, Mad,” he said, moving closer to her, as he ran his fingers sensually up the arm that he had used the day before to shake her. She still remembered the feeling, and knew she always would.
“I don't know what to say to you,” she said honestly, “I'm angry and hurt, and maybe even a little bit scared of you. I feel sick over everything that happened.” She was always scrupulously honest with him, far more so than he was with her.
“That's why we're here, Mad. So we can forget our jobs, our work, our problems, our differences of opinion. We came here,” he said, snuggling up to her, and putting his glass down on the Louis XV table, “to be lovers.” But she didn't feel like being lovers. She just wanted to hide and lick her wounds, and be alone for a while until she understood what she was feeling. But he wouldn't let her do that. He was kissing her, and he started unzipping her dress, and before she could stop him, he had her bra off.
“Jack, don't … I need some time … I can't …”
“Yes, you can,” he said, covering her lips with his own, and nearly swallowing her, and then his mouth moved to her breasts, and her dress seemed to disappear along with her underwear, and he laid her on the floor and was kissing her and caressing her, and his tongue was so powerful and so effective that she wanted to muster all her strength to resist him, but found she couldn't. And much to her chagrin, after a moment more, she knew she didn't want to stop him. He took her there, on the floor, as they rose and fell in each others arms, and their climax was so swift and so powerful that she didn't expect it. She was his again, and she lay breathless for a time, clinging to him, and wondering how it had happened, and why.
“Well, that's one way to start a vacation,” she said, feeling foolish. Their lovemaking had been entirely sensual, and so powerful it was like a tidal wave of feeling that had run through her, but there had been nothing loving about it. If anything, it had only proven yet again that he owned her. But she felt powerless to fight it. “I don't know how that happened,” she said, looking at him, as he lay naked on the floor beside her.
“I could show you, if you like. Maybe some more champagne would help.” He propped himself up on his elbow as he lay there, and smiled at her. She wasn't sure if she hated him now or not, but one thing was certain about Jack, he was fatally handsome, and she had never been able to resist him. He gave her no choice.
She looked at him sadly, and propped herself up to look at him as he handed her another glass of champagne. She didn't really want it, but she took it, and sipped it. “I hated you yesterday. That was the first time I ever felt that way about you,” she confessed, and he looked nonplussed.
“I know you did. That's a dangerous game to play. I hope you learned a lesson.” It was a thinly veiled warning, which she heard.
“What lesson was I supposed to learn?”
“Not to put your nose where it doesn't belong. Just stick to what you know, Mad. All you have to do is read the news. It's not your job to pass judgment on it.”
“Is that how it works?” She was feeling a little drunk, and for once she didn't mind.
“That's how it's supposed to. Your job is to look beautiful and read your stuff off the TelePrompTer. Let someone else worry about how it gets there, and what it says.”
“That sounds pretty simple,” she giggled as she said it, but a sob caught in her throat. She felt somehow as though she had not only been demoted, but diminished as a person, and she had been.
“It is simple, Maddy. And it's simple between us. I love you. You're my wife. It's not good for us to fight, or for you to challenge me like that. I want you to promise me you won't do that anymore.”
“I can't do that, Jack,” she said honestly. She didn't want to lie to him, no matter how much she hated conflict. “Yesterday was a matter of professional ethics and morality. I have a responsibility to the people who watch me.”
“You have a responsibility to me,” he said in silken tones, and for an instant, she felt frightened again, but she wasn't sure why. There was nothing threatening about him now, in fact he was caressing her again, in ways that were infinitely distracting. “I told you what I want … I want you to promise me you're going to be a good girl.” His tongue was traveling across the most sensual places of her body, in between saying things to her that confused her.
“I am a good girl, aren't I?” She giggled uncontrollably as she said it.
“No, you're not, Mad … you were a bad girl yesterday, a very bad girl, and if you do it again, I'll have to punish you for it … maybe I'll have to punish you now,” he said, teasing her, but he didn't sound ominous, just seductive, “I don't want to punish you, Mad … I want to please you,” and he was, almost too much so. But she didn't have the energy to stop him, she was too tired and too confused, and the champagne was making her feel fuzzy. For once, she didn't mind being drunk. It helped.
“You do please me,” she said in a husky voice, momentarily forgetting how angry she had been at him. But that was then, and this was now, and this was Paris. It was hard to remember how furious she'd been at him, how betrayed she felt, and how frightened. And as she tried to remember it, she found she couldn't as he started making love to her again, and her whole body felt as though it were on fire.
“Are you going to be a good girl now?” he asked, taunting her, torturing her with pleasure. “Do you promise?”
“I promise,” she said breathlessly.
“Promise again, Mad….” He was a master at what he was doing, it had taken long years of practice. “Promise me again….”
“I promise … I promise … I promise … I'll be good, I swear.” All she wanted now was to please him, and from the distance, she knew she hated herself for it. She had sold out to him again, given herself to him again, but he was too powerful a force to resist.
“Who owns you, Mad … who loves you? … I own you … I love you … Say it, Maddy …”