“Is everything all right out there, Caulter?” Rose asks as I pass.
“I’m just taking a break.” I don’t pause, but she stops me, with one hand on my arm.
“The library is closed off,” she says. “It’ll be quiet, if you want someplace where you won’t be bothered.”
I cover her palm with mine. “Thanks, Rose.”
She smiled and waves me off. “No harm in taking a break,” she says. “You kids don’t need to be on display all the time. You want me to make you a sandwich? All those little appetizers don’t amount to much of anything. You’re probably starving.”
“I’m okay,” I say. I just want to get out of here.
“Scoot, then, before someone finds you,” she says. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You’re an angel.”
Rose chortles. “You’re delusional.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Closing the library door, I shut everything out. Kate should be flirting with someone else, I tell myself. It’s better this way. The thing between us was just supposed to be sex. Nothing more. She isn't supposed to be drawing page after page of pictures of me. I’m not supposed to be thinking about her, dropping everything to rescue her at parties, turning down sex when she throws herself at me because I don’t want to hurt her.
It’s like I don’t even know who I fucking am anymore.
I’m sure as hell not whatever Kate thinks I am. I’m not a good guy.
There’s a liquor cabinet in the library, and I pour myself two fingers of bourbon. Sinking into the reading nook, I try to ignore the party below, but find myself looking out over the lawn anyway.
I wonder if that disgusting lacrosse player is dancing with her, sliding his hands over her ass, whispering into her ear the things he wants to do to her. The thought makes me want to kill him.
Instead, I swallow the rest of the liquor in one gulp, letting the warmth settle down my throat into my belly, and lay back with my head against the wall and my eyes closed.
When the door opens, I look up.
A redhead closes the door behind her, saunters across the room, and unzips the back of her black dress, letting it fall to a pool around her feet. A natural redhead, by the looks of things.
Well, hell. Generally the only thing better than a redhead is twins. She looks at me expectantly, her hands on her hips, clad only in black heels. "Well?" she asks.
I don't move. "Well, what?"
"I expected a better reaction than that. Well, I heard you were a dick." She stands there motionless, proudly displaying her nakedness like some kind of peacock. Not that she shouldn't. Her body is flawless. Except for the tits. I can't help but think about Katherine's perfect pair. These are...less than.
"That's what they say."
"So, what?" she asks. "You don't like what you see? Or you get so much pussy that a woman walking in and dropping her dress on the floor is old news?"
Her voice repulses me. I can't stand it. I rise, picking up the dress that lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, and hand it to her. "I'm not interested."
But she reaches for the collar of my shirt and presses her body against me. "Come on," she says. "Caulter Sterling not interested? I've heard you're always up for a good -- "
"I said, not interested. Do you have a hearing problem?" I push her away, and look up to see the library door swing open.
Kate stands there, unmoving, her eyes going back and forth between me and the naked redhead standing not more than two feet away from me. She blinks a few times, and for a minute I think she might cry. But she just shakes her head and turns.
"Kate!" I toss a dark look at the redhead, who seems to have no shame about standing there naked in the library with the door wide open. "Put your fucking clothes on and have some self-respect."
Rushing out the door, I head after Kate, but she's already outside. I'm cutting through the back, the same way I came in, through the kitchen, but I stop short. A few of the catering staff wander through to refill trays with hors d'oeuvers and disappear outside again, while Rose comes in through the swinging door that adjoins the dining room.
Rose gives me a look. "You're upset."
"Don't you know that I'm Ella's sullen child?" I ask. "I'm always upset."
She puts her hand on her ample waist. "I didn't say angry," she says. "I said upset."
"Is there a difference?" I'm irritated and I don't want to discuss word choices with her.
"There's a difference between angry and hurt."
I force a laugh. "I'm certainly not hurt," I say.
"Sure you're not," she says, wiping her hand on her skirt. "But in case you're looking for her, she went running past the dining room. I assume she was headed back out to the party."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't," she says. "Now get out of here. There's too many people in my kitchen, with the staff running around like this. I need to make sure things stay in order."
Exhaling heavily, I step back outside, walking zombie-like through the partygoers, the Senator's political buddies with their suits and tuxedos and protruding stomachs. Their middle-aged wives have faces frozen in semi-permanent looks of surprise, the result of overzealous plastic surgeons. My mother's invites, the stars and starlets, are sprinkled through the crowd.
"Caulter!" The Senator gestures to me, my mother draped over his arm. She has that too-happy look that says she's well into several glasses of champagne. "I'd like to introduce you to Congressman Hill and his wife, Barbara. Caulter has been accepted to Yale for the fall semester."
I stop, staring at him. That's news to me, since I've not applied anywhere. In fact, the guidance counselor at school practically insisted on sending my applications in himself, but I refused to let it happen. Why go to college, when I already have a trust fund?
Besides, there's no point in school for people like me. We're meant to live off the dividends from our trust funds; smile and have photos taken at social events; and eventually meet a girl who will attempt to stave off the inevitable decline of age by spending the equivalent of a mortgage on plastic surgery.
My mother looks at me meaningfully. "You are planning to attend Yale in the Fall, aren’t you, Caulter?”
Smiling, I nod my head. “Looking forward to it,” I say. What I’m really looking forward to is getting the hell out of this party. I came outside chasing after Katherine, but why? It’s better to let her think the worst of me.
But that's until I see her beside that Neanderthal lacrosse player. I watch as she grabs two champagne flutes from a tray as a server walks by, and downs them, one right after the other. She makes fleeting eye contact with me, and turns back to the guy, obviously ignoring me.
My mother says something to me, and the Congressman's wife puts her hand on my arm, but I can't hear what either of them are saying. Everything fades as I watch Katherine lean forward, with her hand on his arm, then tuck her hair behind her ear, tilting her head down as she bites her lip and smiles.
That smile is what does it for me. That smile is what kills me. It pushes me beyond the pale, and I’m done.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Katherine
He’s talking about my father. He’s talking about my father’s campaign, and “the really important issues,” and the Presidential race, and oh my God, I think he just said something about wanting a wife and kids. I touch his arm and pretend whatever the hell he just said was funny, but really I’m thinking about Caulter. I can’t get the image out of my head -- Caulter standing there with that woman in the library.
I want to vomit. The idea of him fucking some other woman, in the library of all places, makes me sick. I think she's married, too; I saw her on the arm of an older man earlier tonight.
A server passes with a tray of champagne and I grab another flute, despite the fact that I’ve already downed two and deposited the empty glasses on the bar. I wish Chase would just shut the hell up. He talks and talks, endless streams of wo
rds, and it makes me want to claw my eyes out.
I wonder if I should just hook up with Chase. He's not awful looking in a meathead sort of way. Maybe that would be enough to erase the memory of Caulter's touch that seems to just linger on my flesh. Screw Caulter, anyway. There's nothing special about him.
I look up and Caulter is right in front of me.
"Excuse me," he says, putting his shoulder between Chase and I.
“What the fuck?” Chase asks.
“I need to talk to Katherine.” Caulter says. “That means you can leave.”
Chase puffs out his chest and stands his ground. “I’m talking to her, dickwad,” he says. “Do you want me to have to beat your ass at your own house?”
“Chase.” My voice is sharp, warning. “This is not the place.”
“Whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Obviously you give more of a shit about your step-brother here than --”
Caulter looks at him. “Why are you still here?”
“Fuck you, asshole.” But Chase walks away. I'm not disappointed to see him go.
But I am pissed at Caulter. “What, did you get tired of banging the redhead in there?” I hiss.
His grip on my arm tightens and he leans in close to me, glancing at a couple nearby, who toss us dirty looks before moving to another spot a few feet away. The bartender is mixing a drink, but I have the sneaking suspicion he’s also listening. Caulter whispers in my ear. “That was not what you fucking think, and I will explain.”
I shake him off. “I don’t want an explanation, Caulter. It’s none of my business.” But I do want to get the hell out of here. I weave and wind through the people outside, and cut through the back entrance of the house. I know Caulter is somewhere behind me, but I don’t care. I want out from under the scrutiny of all those people, and I feel a little buzzed from the champagne.
“Kate.” Caulter says my name loudly, then quieter, as I dart around one of the caterers in the kitchen and through the side door into the dining room, where it’s empty.
I whirl around, and look at him. “What, Caulter?” I ask. “What could you possibly have to say that I would want to hear?”
“This is not the place for this conversation, Kate.” He nods toward the swinging door that separates the rooms, the door that barely provides any cover for the kind of heated argument this is bound to be.
“Maybe we should have this conversation in the library, then. Would that be a more suitable place?"
"I already told you, that was not what it looked like." He speaks low, looking over his shoulder toward the kitchen, and even though the last thing I want is for anyone to hear this conversation, I'm somehow made even more irritated by his concern.
I know we're hiding this -- whatever the fuck this is -- but the fact that we're skirting around just makes the whole thing seem shady.
"You're right," I whisper. "I was probably just confused by the naked ass and tits. I wasn't really clear about what was happening."
I'm done with this conversation, and I'm done with him.
I storm out of the room, taking the stairs as quickly as I can in my stupid heels. He follows me, and when I reach the door to my room, he's behind me, his body dangerously close to mine.
"Hurry up and open the fucking door," he says, his voice a low growl.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. "Go to your room. I don't want to talk to you."
"Open the fucking door before someone looks up here and sees us," he says. "Because you have about two seconds before I drop my pants." His hand slides up my thigh, and I slap it away.
"Don't touch me," I say. "You're disgusting." But I open the door anyway. He's right that someone could walk down the hall and see us.
He shuts the door behind him, hard, and I walk to the other side of the room and draw the curtains, shutting out the partygoers outside before I spin around. "You're pissed off," he says.
"I'm not pissed off. I don't give a shit what you do."
Caulter crosses his arms over his chest, smirking at me. The problem is, standing there in the tuxedo like that, he looks damn near irresistible. "You really think I fucked that redhead in the library?"
"How can you even ask me that question, Caulter? Of course I think you fucked her. Your reputation precedes you."
He looks disappointed. "Despite what you might think," he says. "I'm not an asshole."
I laugh. "You must think I'm a complete idiot," I say. "Or that just because I was a virgin when you did the deed, that I'm totally naive."
"I don't think you're stupid or naive," he says. "Which is why you know I didn't fuck her." He looks sincere, and I want to believe him, but I can't be sure he's not lying.
"You had a naked girl in the library, and you were holding her clothes," I say. "You fucked her."
"I'm not an asshole, Kate," he says. I'm distracted by the way his mouth looks as he speaks. I want to feel the heat of his breath on my skin. "She was repulsive."
"She was hot," I say. "And naked."
"How long had it been since I walked out of the party?" he asks. "Ten minutes? Fifteen? Enough time for me to have a drink in the library."
"Enough time for you to screw her," I say.
"You've fucked me, Kate," he says, his eyes boring into me. "You tell me if you think fifteen minutes is long enough for me."
"What about when we were in the library before?" I remind him. "How long was that?"
"The ladder broke. That's not exactly my fault."
"You were coming before it broke."
"Only because you were coming on my cock."
"So? What does that have to do with it?"
He reaches up with his other hand and traces his finger down the front of my dress, hooking it under the necklace on my chest. "So...I can't hold out when it comes to you, Kate."
I laugh. "I'm sure that's what you tell all the girls."
The edges of his eyes wrinkle when he looks at me. "There are no other girls."
"I don't believe you."
"Yes you do," he says, moving his finger up to my face. He traces the outline of my jaw, pulls my face up toward his. "Because you know it's true. Since you, there's been no one else."
My heart thumps in my chest. "But the redhead..."
"I don't know her. She walked in and stripped off her clothes." He leans in close and kisses me, barely brushing my lips with his, the movement light as a feather.
I push him back, unable to contain my laugh. "Women don't just walk in a room and take off their clothes."
"They do for me."
"That's ridiculous."
"I'm a celebrity," he says. "It's not the first time."
"And it won't be the last, either." I'm irritated with him again. I'm irritated with the idea that women walk into a room and throw themselves at him. I'm irritated with the fact that the insistent throbbing between my legs is making me stupid. It's making me want to lose my mind and beg him to bury his cock inside me.
"I like this jealous streak," he says. "It's adorable."
"I'm not jealous," I insist, lying, to him or myself, I'm not sure which. "I'm making sure you're not riddled with STDs."
"Jealous," he says, his mouth close to mine. He licks my lower lip with the tip of his tongue, and I inhale sharply, my thoughts clouded by lust.
"You're the jealous one. You were jealous when you saw me outside with Chase."
He grabs a handful of hair at the base of my neck and pulls me to him, covering my mouth with his. A twinge of pain shoots through me as he presses his mouth hard against my mouth, his tongue warring with mine. My body is on fire, and I long for him to run his hands over my skin. I long to feel him inside me.
When he finally pulls away, he keeps a firm grasp on my hair, holding my head steady so I can't help but look at him. "You're damn right I was jealous," he says. "Don't even think about talking to him again."
"Says the guy who had a naked girl in the library. That's ironic."
"I didn't touch her. I
threw her out," he says. "She was repulsive."
"She was hot. And you could have touched her," I say. "You and I aren't anything."
"That lacrosse player doesn't lay a finger on you," he says. "You belong to me."
"What the hell is this, Caulter?" I ask. "You're the one who says you're just having a little fun. You're nobody's happy ever after, remember?"
He grips my hair harder, pulls me against him, his hardness pressing into my thigh. "And you're not some frail little princess who needs swept off her feet," he says, running his hand up the side of my leg and cupping my ass, the tips of his fingers touching my pussy lips. I'm wet, practically dripping, and when he realizes it, he pulls me against him, crushing my mouth with his again.
"Then what am I?" I ask, when I come up for air.
"You're the most irritating girl I've ever met," he says, his grip still tight on my hair. He covers my breast with his hand, warm through the fabric of the dress, and my nipples harden immediately to his touch.
"And you're the --"
"You don't ever stop interrupting," he says.
I laugh. "You're a caveman, with your --"
He squeezes my breast hard, sending a jolt of pain through my body. "Keep talking, and I'll give you something to put in your mouth."
I can't help it; Caulter has done something to me. He flipped a switch in me the first time he had me. That was really the night he claimed me.
The thought of his hand on my hair, forcing his cock inside my mouth, makes my legs quiver. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"
"Test me, Princess. Go ahead and see if I'm making idle threats."
"So go on," I say, dropping to my knees on the floor. "Tell me what I am, again." I unbuckle his pants and take his massive cock in my hand.
Caulter groans. "You're the most stuck-up -"
Wrapping my hand around the base of his cock, I lick him, base to tip, the pre-cum salty on my tongue. I slide my lips over his head slowly, savoring everything about him...his taste, his scent, the way he moans under his breath, the sound guttural, deep in his throat. Then I pause, looking up at him. "And you're an asshole."
A Very Dirty Christmas Page 15
