Annata stood in the foyer, her arms still stiffly crossed. She didn't look at him as he stepped beside her. “I'm going to get a cab and go home. I suppose I'll meet you at the airport,” she said, staring straight ahead.
“You're welcome to share my car. Since we're going to the same place, it would be more environmentally responsible of us to carpool.” He couldn't help but tease her. He felt his spirits rising at the prospect of spending ten hours alone with her. In fact, his day just got a hell of a lot better. He suppressed a grin. She sighed, impatiently.
“I will take my own car,” she hissed.
“Fine, fine. Have it your way,” he mocked. “You're not one of those crazies who doesn't believe in global warming, are you?” Her lips twitched, but she didn't answer. He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Think of all those poor polar bears.” She whirled around to face him, her mouth poised with some angry retort—
But then she narrowed her eyes and turned away from him again. Xin, the maid, returned and handed Annata her coat. Christophe plucked the coat out of her reach and held it out. “Allow me.” After glaring at him, she moved to slip her arms into the sleeves.
“I can't believe this shit,” she muttered. “I'm perfectly capable of handling Paris on my own.”
“I agree,” Christophe murmured. “It feels like a test, doesn't it?” He ran his hands across her shoulders as she savagely buttoned up her coat. “But performing under pressure is your speciality.” She stopped buttoning and turned her head toward him. He had her attention. “And making me look bad is something else you do rather well.” He whispered.
“I don't have to make you look bad, Christophe. You do that all by yourself.” She stepped away from his grasp and moved toward the exit. “Goodbye, William!” She called out as she opened the heavy mahogany door. “I'll call you once I'm on the ground!” Then she slammed yet another door in his face.
Chapter 5
Annata watched the lights of New York City disappear under the inky clouds as the plane ascended into the night sky. She allowed a small smile to cross her lips. Even after all this time, the bright lights of the city still had a hold on her. She remembered the first time she crossed over the Triborough bridge in a taxi after her flight landed, on her way to an uncertain future in Manhattan. The lights dazzled her. She couldn't believe that she was going to be able to live there. She moved from Louisiana for an internship with International and had never looked back. When the lights were no longer visible, Annata turned from the window and opened the latest issue of The Wall Street Journal.
“Funny story. I met your cousin Vivica a few months ago in Rio,” Christophe, in the chair across from her, said suddenly. Annata looked up sharply.
“Really? My bitch of a cousin Vivica is what you want to talk about?” Annata shot back. She hadn't seen Vivica for five years, except for the occasional picture in a fashion or lingerie mag. Once, she was featured on a billboard in Times Square. Seeing her model cousin's face twenty feet wide had freaked Annata out every time she passed. How nice that Viv was living it up in Rio or God knows where, while their grandmother worried herself into an early grave. “Next time you see her, tell her to call home once and awhile.”
“It was crazy. I was at some club, drunk off my ass—”
“Typical,” Annata murmured, forcing her eyes back to the newspaper.
“And this beautiful woman comes up to me. She asks me if I'm Christophe Van der Kind, and she says her cousin works with my company.” He smiled slightly. “She looked like you, but not. It was trippy.”
“She looks nothing like me. Her mother is Vietnamese.” Annata turned a page fiercely.
“She didn't have your eyes, true. Yours are more golden-brown.” He rolled his head toward her, watching her reaction. She pursed her lips. A thought occurred to her, and she was surprised at the anger that flared up.
“Did you fuck her?” she asked, careful to keep her eyes on the page.
“Jesus, Annie. Of course not.” He laughed. “She was drunk, too. Very drunk.”
“Sounds like a match made in heaven.” She dropped her paper, unable to keep from looking at him any longer. “What else did she say?”
“She said to tell you hello.”
“Great. Just great.” Annata snorted. “My 87-year-old grandmother waits by the phone for her to call. When her brother Holland was injured in Iraq a few years ago, did she call? No. But she walks up to you, in Rio of all places, easy-peasy, and says hello. How rich.” Christophe held up his hands in surrender.
“Sorry. Didn't mean to stir up anything,” he said. Then he stood. “You want a drink?”
“Whatever.” Annata shook her head. She took a deep breath and forced her anger aside. Vivica was not her problem. Her biggest problem was standing right in front of her, and she had no idea what to do about it. Christophe busied himself at the small wet bar. The private company jet was well stocked with all of William's favorite spirits. He clinked ice cubes in a glass.
“Vodka tonic?” he asked, his back to her. She took in his broad shoulders, clad in an black cashmere sweater. His muscles rippled under the rich fabric as he unscrewed the cap on the vodka bottle. His ass looked great in his designer jeans. His cologne, she realized, was taking over the air in the cabin of the jet. The fine scent was all around her, pushing the air out of her lungs. Damn him. A drink suddenly sounded heavenly.
“Please,” she murmured. She cleared her throat. “Thanks.” He turned and held out a glass of clear liquid.
“With a splash of lime, just how you like it.” He smiled, his white teeth flashing.
“What do you know about what I like?” she asked, careful to not touch him as she took the glass from him. He turned back to the bar.
“You think you're the only one who pays attention?” Amusement tinged his voice as ice clinked in his glass.
“Let me guess. Whiskey on the rocks?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink. It was perfect. He mixed it exactly the way she liked. She couldn't suppress a low moan as the spicy liquid slid down her throat. “This is good.”
“You're welcome.” He gracefully slipped back into his seat, a whiskey on the rocks in his hand. She had guessed right. He held it out for a toast. “To Paris.” Annata narrowed her eyes, but clinked her glass against his. They sat in silence for a moment, the muffled roar of the jet engines the only sound in the cabin.
“So.” Annata broke the silence first. “How's your sister? I didn't see her at the party.”
“Kat is in Africa until next year. I think she's keeping her distance from Miranda.” He laughed into his glass.
“Why?”
“She came out. You know that socialite, Jana Stephens? She and Kat have been together, for a few months. Really down low, obviously. Miranda blew a gasket. I wish I had been there to see it.”
“Jana Stephens?” Annata couldn't contain a giggle from escaping. It was all too much. Looked like the socialite was someone in the Van der Kind family's type, but not Christophe's. One giggle turned into many and she doubled over with laughter. She realized how tightly she had been wound ever since Christophe had shown up at the Christmas party. Shit, since William had told her he was retiring. A good laugh felt great. Christophe watched her over the top of his glass, his eyes dancing in amusement. “Jana Stephens is so...so...beautiful!” she finally got out, still laughing.
“Kat seems to think so,” he answered, straight-faced.
“You don't think so?” she asked, swiping at her eyes with her free hand.
“No.” He shook his head. “My type is a little more exotic than that.”
“Oh? Really?” She took a drink, her throat suddenly dry after her laughing spell. She imagined that brazen Brazilian girls were more his type. Or girls like Vivica—beautiful messes. “Is that why you went to Brazil?”
“I went to Brazil because The Old Man asked me to go,” he said. “But the women were definitely a plus.”
“So you and William had been planning that
buyout for awhile.” Annata ran her finger through the condensation on her glass. Christophe continued watching her, silent. Her forehead creased as a thought came to her. “What about the women?”
Now it was his turn to laugh.
***
Of course. Of course, she wanted to know about the women he'd been with. Christophe didn't want to talk about them with Annata. She didn't seem to realize that the woman of his dreams, his type, was sitting right in front of him. A powerful tigress who would snap and growl at him and make him feel alive. Someday, he hoped she would lower her defenses. Even if she didn't, he wouldn't stop wanting her. The laughter died on his face. What if she never opened up to him? He would have to give up on her eventually, he supposed.
“What do you want to know?” he asked. She shifted in her seat and took a drink. He could tell she was deciding what to ask, and whether or not she wanted to ask it.
“Do they really wear thong string bikinis?” she finally said.
Christophe smiled. “Oh yes. Yes, they do.” He drained his glass. “I can bring you a thong bikini if you want.”
“You're crazy. Can you see me in one of those?” she said, shaking her head. He coughed as a naughty vision of Annata topless, in a gold thong bikini, on a beach in Brazil, materialized in his brain. Her hands, fingernails long and red, covered her nipples...he coughed again, trying to clear his brain. All of his blood was suddenly rushing to his dick. She watched the change come over his face and she snaked out her foot to kick him lightly in the shin. “Nevermind! Forget I said anything.” He caught her foot at the ankle and pulled it into his lap.
“Nope. Can't.” He stroked the skin that under her ankle bone, above her black leather pumps. She poked her sexy tongue out at him. The vodka tonic was definitely loosening her up, he mused. “What color of thong would you prefer? I'm thinking gold maybe...or red?” She kicked her foot at him, but he held fast to her ankle. She made a sharp sound as she inhaled a quick breath.
“That tickles, you jerk!”
“Or maybe purple. You like purple don't you?” He slid her pump off the end of her heel and ran his finger down the arch of her foot. She squirmed in her seat. He grinned. He loved making her squirm. “I remember that lacy blouse you used to wear.”
“I still wear that blouse,” she said, her voice strained. He slid her shoe all the way off. Her toes were painted a deep shade of violet. He chuckled.
“Definitely purple.” He traced a circle on her arch. “I'll bring you a purple thong bikini, but you have to promise to wear it.” She bit her lip as he began kneading the pad of her foot. “Most of the girls wear just the bottoms and go topless on the beaches.”
“Do they?” she said vaguely. “I bet you fucked your way across that country.” The way she said “fucked” hit a note inside him somewhere and he felt sparks firing off throughout his body. He loved her dirty mouth. One of these days he would make her beg him to fuck her. He would make her scream. She was staring at him, her golden eyes locked on his, like she could read his mind. He kept his mouth shut and continued massaging her foot. “Did you have women in Brazil?” She asked in a low voice, rolling her head to the side. He chuckled. He admired her tenacity.
“I had my share,” he finally answered.
“Lucky you,” she said, her eyes closing.
“What about you?” he said.
“What about me?” She settled back into her chair, her eyes opening to slits. “You want to know if I'm sleeping with someone?”
“Yes. That's exactly what I want to know,” he whispered. She smiled, closing her eyes again.
“Mind your business,” she said. He laughed.
“Okay, Annie. Keep your secrets,” he said, taking a drink. Her head drooped against her shoulder and he realized after a moment that she'd fallen asleep. He dropped his head back, eyes to the ceiling, and took a deep breath.
7 Years Ago
“You stay the fuck out of my office!” Annata hissed in Christophe's ear. She hauled him up out of her chair as he laughed. He loved fucking with his father's office manager. He was interning at International that summer, and was bored out of his mind until he discovered how fun it was to get under her skin. Just sitting in her chair would get her so angry, she could spit fire. She pushed him toward the door. “Make yourself useful and go get me my coffee,” she snarled.
“Milk? Sugar?” he asked sweetly.
“Black,” she spit out.
“Get it yourself,” he shot back. “Bitch.” He lingered over the word, slightly shocked with himself for calling her that. Her eyes widened, then went cold. She tossed her head, her long braids snapping against her back.
“I'll be a bitch. I'll be the worst bitch you ever met in your life. But I'll be running this company one day,” she said in the most bone-chilling voice he had ever heard. “You're a pathetic, entitled piece of shit. You're an embarrassment to your father. You're nothing, and you're never going to be anything. Now get the fuck out of my office.” He felt anger soaring through him, but mostly he was stunned. He had never been talked to in such a way. Even his father had never spoken such words to him. And of course, if he was completely honest with himself, those were his worst fears pouring out of her mouth. He turned and left her office, feeling an almost paralyzing range of emotions.
When he calmed down, much later, he laughed off the words that she had spoken. He told himself that she was wrong, that she didn't know anything about him. He decided to make it his mission to make her life hell for the rest of the summer. Every day he would go into her office and move things around or take her things. He would take her beloved chair and give her a broken one. He would reset her clocks and unplug her lamp and keyboard. He knew he was being immature and he didn't care.
On the last day of his internship, Christophe shut the door, closing himself inside Annata's clean little office. He smiled. The floor was clearing out as people were going home for the weekend. Of course, Annata was working late and was in a private meeting with his father and the members of the board. He went over to the desk and opened the drawer. He rooted around inside, moving her things around. He picked up a floral scarf and inhaled. It smelled of citrus and flowers. He opened another drawer and dropped the scarf in.
Heel-clicks echoed down the hallway outside. Christophe froze, a slow smile spreading across his lips. He knew then what he was going to do. Sure, it was childish. But the thought of getting a rise out of her was too tempting. He slipped into the corner between the the antique oak armoire and the wall. The doorknob turned and Annata entered, carrying three fat folders stuffed with papers. She slammed them down on her desk. She wore her braids down her back again. His eyes skimmed her and he realized that he had never noticed how tapered her waist was, and how full and curvaceous her ass was. She wore a tight, high-waisted skirt that day, and it accentuated all of her assets. She tossed a braid over her shoulder, exposing her throat. Her gold hoop earring brushed against the fine skin beneath her ear. The scent of her perfume wafted in his direction. He clenched his fists. He imagined running his mouth down that slender throat, feeling the thumping of her vein under his tongue as he made her blood pressure rise. He let out a low breath. Shit. He knew he had to act fast or she would notice him.
He moved fast and silent out of the corner and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. The other he clamped over her mouth. He felt her inhale sharply and he put his mouth to his ear. “Get the fuck out of my office.” He whispered. She struggled against him and he dropped her so abruptly she stumbled against the desk. He laughed as she whirled around to face him. Her golden eyes darkened, a storm on her face. She moved so fast he didn't have time to block her blow. The slap snapped his face to the side and he swore; stars danced behind his eyes. He tasted a metallic tinge in his mouth. There was a roaring in his ears as the pain gave way to anger. But he realized anger was not the only thing he felt. Emotions rushed through him too fast—he didn't know what to do with them. He was also suddenly, indes
cribably hard. He pushed her against the desk and she landed back on her elbows with a thud, her back arched over the folders. He slammed his hands on the desk on either side of her, leaning over her.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” he hissed. He searched her face for answers. Who was this woman that took all his self control from him? He had been an idiot to continue messing with a force he didn't understand. Now he was caught up and couldn't free himself. She brought her hands up against his chest and tried to push him away. But he was too strong.
“Get off of me,” she said, squirming under him. He ground his hips into hers, pinning her against the desk. He had never hit a woman. He had never forced himself on a woman. The combination of anger and lust he felt almost terrified him—he saw how easy it would be to hurt her. Beneath him, she was breathing heavily, her breasts straining against her purple silk blouse. Realizing that he had instigated a dangerous situation, he forced him to take a step back. She snapped up, her hands against his chest, pushing him away. “Christophe Van der Kind!” she said through gritted teeth. “What the hell are you doing?”
He shook his head. His brain felt foggy. He didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't stop his hands from roaming. They gripped her ass, crushing her against his growing erection. Her fingernails were biting into the skin beneath his shirt. “Look at me!” She hissed. His eyes finally met hers. She was giving him a strange look, somewhere between anger and something else. He wondered if he was scaring her?
“Annata,” he managed to get out. She exhaled a jagged breath and stared back at him, her eyes wide. “Fuck,” he whispered. She was so beautiful. He knew he was a goner. He wanted her now. Right now. Against her desk. He dropped his head and ran his teeth against her soft, fragrant skin. She moaned deep in her throat. He could feel the vibration against his tongue. As if she could read his mind, her arms slid around his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair, cupping the back of his head as he nipped her jaw and ran his tongue along her skin.
Kiss of Ice (St. James Family) Page 3
