"Ah! Stop talking!" It was midnight, and what Matthew had said filled Erica's mind with horrible images. She buried her face in his arms and repeatedly snuggled up against him, as if she were trying to get into his body. The wine glass in her hand sloshed and threatened to spill.
Seeing her frightened, Matthew smirked, thinking, 'You're already drunk and still want to make me drink? Now, I think you'll have other things on your mind.' He eyed the drink she was holding and demanded, "Put that down! Just go upstairs and go to sleep!"
Erica stilled and nodded meekly. Peeling herself off of him, she made to put the glass down on the table, then paused. It was red wine of a good vintage, too good to be wasted. She took a deep breath and started in on it again.
"That's enough," Matthew snapped. Leaning forward, he tried to grab the glass out of her hand.
His wife had a good grip, though. Blinking at him, she protested, "I don't want to waste this! It's good stuff."
"Oh, fine—then I'll drink it!" Matthew said. She had had enough to drink, and he wouldn't allow her any more!
"Okay, then," Erica said. But she kept hold of the glass and even jerked it out of his hand.
Before he could react, she took a sip of the red wine but did not swallow it down. Her face drifted close to his. Her expression was pouting, and she moved her lips as though trying to speak. Matthew just stared, unable to comprehend her ridiculous behavior.
After a painfully wrong moment with no response from him, Erica swallowed the wine and explained to him, "Didn't you say you wanted to drink it? I was trying to give you some. Why didn't you take it?" She'd gotten the idea from a few romantic novels she'd read, in which the male protagonists gave their love interests wine, water or medicine in this way.
For his part, Matthew had no clue where she could have gotten this idea. Despite himself, he appreciated the effort. In fact, he knew of a way to up the ante.
Gently, he pinched her chin and made her look up at him. With an evil and attractive smile at the corners of his mouth, he said, "I have a more interesting idea. Do you want to try it?"
"Sure!" There was a sudden light in Erica's eyes.
He took the wine glass from her hand and made her lean against the table behind her. Under her curious gaze, he poured some wine on her collarbone and then slowly lowered his head.
Erica was completely intoxicated by what he was doing.
They made love passionately in the dining room.
And yet when they were done, Matthew was not satisfied. Not knowing what time it was, he took his exhausted wife in his arms, grabbed the red wine bottle in one hand, and somewhat awkwar
ank you so much!" It was true that more friends meant more ways.
She could practically hear Watkins' gentle smile over the phone line. "You're welcome. I'm also responsible for your being set up about Phoebe's miscarriage. Trying to prove your innocence is the least I can do to make things right. I'll have my men look into the old man's whereabouts immediately. As soon as they find out anything useful, I'll let you know."
Erica was so moved that she was about to cry. "You are so kind, Watkins. Thank you. I will treat you to dinner after this!"
"Treat me to dinner? Well, that sounds good! My every attempt to arrange for that has failed up until now. Maybe once we find that old man, it'll work out after all."
"Well, thanks again," she told him. "I've got to finish lunch now."
"Okay, enjoy. Bye!"
Erica was in a very good mood as she hung up the phone. She couldn't wait to expose Phoebe's true colors. When that was done, there would be no way Matthew could continue to defend that woman.
That afternoon, Erica had a class. Afterward, she went to the fruit base with Hyatt.
She picked some fresh fruits—several kinds, but her favorite was the strawberries. At her suggestion, Hyatt got a few of his own. As for the rest, she took them back to the villa, washed them and put them on the fruit plate so that Matthew could have some when he got back.
In the meantime, she decided to give Gifford a call. "Brother, I have something to ask you," she said, controlling her voice and keeping it as pleasant as she could.
"Don't ask me for anything!" barked an irate voice from the other side of the line. Gifford was still going through a migraine because of the trouble his sister had caused him. Hearing her voice again was about enough to make his head explode.
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