“Fourteen years,” Annie said, then looked surprised herself. “Christ. Time flies.”
“That is very true.” Julie smiled at Christophe. “I almost can't believe how much time has passed since we were in college together.” Christophe didn't answer. Julie could go down memory lane by herself. He wasn't interested in reliving the past. “We lived together. We left the dorms and had an apartment. It was right above a bar, and we would just stay out and drink all night.” She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. Annie laughed along, her eyes cold. “We would go on trips all the time, flying off to the Caribbean, Aspen, or California on a whim.”
“Sounds carefree,” Annie said.
“I'm glad you're working for International now. You always wanted to work with your father,” Julie said t0 Christophe, patting his knee under the table.
“Did I ever really have a choice?” he snorted.
“You do have a choice,” Annie said. Christophe took a deep breath. The waiter chose that moment to swoop in with the wine. They sat in silence as he poured their glasses. When the waiter finally left, Julie swirled the wine in her glass.
“I heard you were in Brazil, so I was surprised to hear you were in Paris.” She caught his eyes over her glass.
“I heard you were married,” he shot back. Julie's smile faltered.
“I was married. Past tense.” She took a deep drink. Annie cleared her throat and glared at Christophe. He turned his attention from the woman who used to drive him mad to focus on the one who was currently driving him mad.
“You've never been married, have you, Annata?” He saw the flash of anger behind her eyes and felt an odd sense of satisfaction.
“Not that I recall,” she said, her cold voice incongruous with the heat in her eyes.
“Hmm. I wonder why that is.” He drummed his fingers on the table.
“Because I don't have time for foolishness and temper tantrums,” she shot back. He smiled, taunting her.
“I think we should order,” Julie murmured.
“Yes, let's.” Annie agreed.
“I think we should do the prix-fixe. The courses – il sont magnifiques.” She closed her menu and signaled the waiter. Christophe waved his hand dismissively. Annie shot him a look and then nodded.
“I trust you, Julie,” Annie said with a smile. Christophe balled up his napkin in his hand. Julie ordered for them in French.
“So Julie, how are things going? In your life?”
“Well, until Father's sudden illness, fine. I am back in university for my second Master's degree.” Julie took a sip of her wine.
“What are you studying?” Annie said, making conversation.
“Philosophy.” Julie smiled.
“Interesting.” Christophe couldn't help himself. “And what was your philosophy behind choosing philosophy?” Julie blinked at him.
“I always liked philosophy in school. Don't you remember?”
“Well, you took philosophy, world history, art history, photography, basically any useless subject that could take your mind off of your useless existence.” He shrugged. Julie's smooth brow furrowed. “I was right there with you, skating through, even though I was in the business program.”
“Christophe,” Annata said again, on red alert. The waiter served them three matching bowls of something green and leafy, with a yellow sauce. As soon as the waiter left them, Christophe swooped in again.
“What do you think of philosophy as a life calling, Annata?” He turned to Annie. “Don't you have a Master's degree in both business and economics?” Annie ignored him, spearing some greens on her fork.
“Are you saying philosophy is not worthy of study, Christophe?” Julie asked, her green doe-eyes wide and innocent. That look could undo men, he knew from experience.
“What do you plan on doing with your Master's in Philosophy?” Christophe asked, before emptying his glass. “What kind of work will you pursue?”
“Work?” Julie laughed, pressing her manicured nails to her lips. “Why must there be a reason to further one's studies? There's joy in learning, is there not?”
“Of course,” Christophe said.
“You shouldn't be so American, Christy. A little bit more time in Paris, and you'll remember what's really important,” Julie smiled smugly. Christophe refilled his wine glass.
“Funny you should say that.” He took a gulp. “That's exactly why I came to Paris. To remember what's important.”
“Oh?” Julie leaned in, her fingertips clamping onto his thigh under the table. “Are you playing games with me—with us?” She asked, seeming to remember that Annie was also sitting at the table. Julie sent a quick smile to Annie, who smiled back. Christophe caught Annie's eyes above the candle. Her look was ambivalent, as if she were above the fray. Damn woman.
“No games.” He smiled. “Annie was coming to Paris. So I came to Paris.” He felt Julie stiffen beside him, her hand dropping from his thigh. Annie crossed her legs under the table, rolling her eyes.
“Bullshit.” Annie finally spoke. “William asked you to come and he says jump—”
“And I say how high.” Christophe sat back in his seat, lacing his fingers in front of him. The waiter drifted around them again, clearing dishes and bringing more. Christophe didn't break Annie's gaze. She narrowed her golden-brown eyes at him and he waited. Waited for her to go for the jugular. Prayed for it. “Like Brazil,” he said, nudging.
“Precisely.” She nodded slowly, not taking the bait.
“And it was a huge success. Put me in the running. And I've got stamina, I can keep this race going for however long it takes.” He licked his lips. She blinked, her mouth twitching. Beside him, Julie cleared her throat.
“The running for what? I don't understand,” Julie said, her voice dripping honey again.
“It's always been my company, I suppose. I just didn't realize it. But my eyes have been opened as of late. I think mahogany and black leather will work in my New York office.” Christophe couldn't suppress a smile at Annie's deadly look. “What do you think, Julie?”
“Tres jolie.” Julie murmured, taking a sip of her wine. Annie scoffed,her elbow on the table as she leaned toward him.
“You're so full of shit, Christophe Van der Kind. And as far as an office in New York, it's never going to happen. I'll make sure of it.” Annie purred. He leaned toward her, snapping his fingers.
“It's done. Like that. It's done. One call. That's all it'll take.”
“You.” Annie pointed her perfect finger in his face. “You can go straight to hell.”
“Only if I can follow you down.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, turning it out. Then he pressed a kiss to the perfumed skin, her veins pumping blood beneath his lips. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Excuse me,” Julie said, standing so abruptly that the table shook. Then she turned and hurried away.
“You're an asshole.” Annie pulled her hand free and stood to follow.
***
Annata closed the bathroom door behind her. She heard retching in the far stall, the sound echoing through the marble room. Julie was throwing up the little bit of dinner she had. Annata sighed and went to the sink. She turned on the faucet, the running water drowning out the noise. She spruced up her lipstick with a shaking hand. What the hell was he thinking? She froze, remembering the feel of his lips on her wrist. He was angry with her. Pushing all the right buttons and getting her all worked up. And Julie too, apparently.
The stall door slammed and Julie clacked out in her stilettos, stopping short when she saw Annata. She mumbled something to herself in French that Annata didn't quite catch. Then she moved around Annata to the sink.
“You must think I'm—,” she said, her English trailing off.
“I think Christophe is acting like a child. But he's very sleep deprived. Jet lag.” Annata said, annoyed that she was even attempting to explain away Christophe's dickish actions.
“I know him.” Julie waved he
r hand. Annata noticed Julie's mascara was smudged under her eyes. “He's unhappy. So he takes it out on everyone.” Julie dipped and splashed her mouth with water.
“No excuse,” Annata murmured to herself.
“He's in love with you.” Julie stood, opening her bag and pulling out her lipstick. Annata smoothed her lips, spreading the creamy lipstick to cover.
“I don't think so.” She shook her head. The thought was ridiculous. Christophe wanted to fuck her, in more ways than one. But love? She felt a hysterical laugh bubbling to the surface but she suppressed it.
“Why did he agree to dinner, if he was going to flaunt it like that in front of me?” she said, in fast French.
“Because he's an idiot.” Annata answered back, in French.
“No. He's a lover. A wanderer, searching for happiness.” Julie paused in front of the mirror. “Tonight I wanted to take him home and make love to him. And then he would vanish, and this night would forever be beautiful.” Julie sighed. A tear traced its way down her cheek. Annata stared at her, completely speechless for the second time that night. “I wished for a magic night. But it is not to be. I accept that.”
Annata felt herself nodding, watching the beautiful French woman clean up the smudged mascara under her eyes.
“I want him to be happy. But I want happiness for myself. Don't I deserve happiness? The loneliness is stifling.” Julie reached into her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and matches. She lit one, letting out a stream of smoke. She offered one to Annata, who shook her head no. Julie sighed, taking another puff. “Americans. Always letting life's pleasures past you by,” she said, sadly.
Chapter 11
The snowflakes began to fall softly as they left the restaurant. Christophe was silent on the ride home and Annata ignored him. She didn't want to think about Christophe. Or William or New York. The driver took his time maneuvering through the streets of Paris and Annata let the silence sink in. She watched the snowflakes fall outside, trying not to think about Julie's words in the restroom.
By the time they arrived back at the hotel, Annata was ready to crawl into a chair with a hot cup of chamomile tea and watch the city slowly disappear under white from her window. The solitary flakes had begun swirling and sticking and multiplying. An inch of snow had already collected on the ground. She teetered on her tiptoes, trying to avoid getting her feet wet. Christophe breezed past her, a scowl on his face. She hit a patch of frozen ground and her right foot slipped under her. Instantly, Christophe was right next to her, his arm around her waist, steadying her. She gripped the lapels of his wool coat and tossed her head back and laughed, her voice echoing across the courtyard.
“Are you drunk?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“No.” She stuck out her tongue at him and righted herself. She didn't try to move away from him and he didn't let go of her, so they walked together to the entrance. She tossed a look over her shoulder. The snow wasn't letting up. It was only falling harder and faster. He steered her into the elevator and jabbed the button for the 12th floor. As soon as the doors closed, he pushed her against the cold, mirrored wall. He slammed his palms against the wall on either side of her, caging her in.
“You're infuriating,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Good,” she replied, then took his face in her hands and kissed him hard. His arms snaked around her and crushed her against him. She raked her tongue over his. He tasted of wine. His skin was cold and smelled liked winter. He shoved his knee as far as her skirt would let him between her legs. She moaned. Everything about him was too much. He was so big and so beautiful. Time seemed to stand still as they clung to each other. The rush of emotion she felt was terrifying but she didn't let go. She wanted to crawl into his skin.
He pulled away and dragged his mouth down her jaw to her throat. His lips sent bolts of electricity down her spine. Her knees started shaking and she could feel her panties getting wetter. A lump raised in her throat and she didn't know whether she was going to come or cry. When she couldn't take anymore, she raked her hands through his hair and gripped a clump of it. She pulled his head back up so she could capture his lips again. He growled and held her tighter, so tight she could barely breathe. But she didn't care.
The elevator slowed as it reached the twelfth floor. Christophe disentangled himself from her as the doors opened. Annata exited first and hurried down to her room. She felt Christophe behind her, moving silently across the thick carpet. Feeling his eyes on her was the biggest turn-on. She could feel the slickness between her legs. She knew he wanted to fuck her again, and the thought warmed her. She swiped the card and finally was back inside the hotel room. He closed the door behind him. She kept her back to him and tossed her purse and key on the table. The room was dark except for the white light streaming in through the floor to ceiling plate glass windows.
They were alone again. The quiet enveloped them. He closed the space between them and rolled her coat off of her shoulders. He tossed it on the chair. His coat followed. His hands skimmed up her hips and back and then he caught the zipper at the neck of her dress, under her hairline. She held her breath as he unzipped her down to her ass. She felt cool air on her skin and shivered as he ran a fingertip down her spine.
“Why do you always think the worst of me?” he asked in a low tone.
“Hmm?” she murmured, her brain foggy.
“I tell you I'm coming back to New York, and you think I'm making some kind of strategic move,” he said, spreading the open panels of her dress further apart, exposing more of her skin to his gaze. “Did you ever think...” he trailed off, snapping the clasp on her bra open. “...that I was moving back for you?”
“The thought didn't cross my mind.” She managed to get out. “Is that why you were acting like an asshole at dinner? Because you were trying to show me how much you care?” she drawled. In a fluid movement, he caught her lightly around the throat with one hand. She stiffened, then relaxed into his warm grip, lust flooding her veins. She felt her body molding to his. The snow swirled around outside the windows.
“Goddamn you.” He yanked down the front of her dress, exposing her breasts and trapping her arms to her sides by the partially fallen dress. “It's all for you,” he whispered in his ear as he flexed his fingers around her throat. She hoped he could feel the blood pumping there through her skin. She nearly swooned. She leaned against him for support, her knees weak. She hated feeling so weak, but then again, she loved being at his mercy. She was his tonight, no matter how fleeting the feeling was.
He disentangled her strapless bra from her arms and tossed it onto the floor. He cupped the weight of her left breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and middle finger. He moaned and she could feel his hardness against her ass. “I love your tits,” he breathed. He tweaked her nipple and she gasped sharply. He chuckled in her ear, harshly. Then he dropped his hand and squeezed her bottom. “I love your ass.” He slapped her ass then, hard enough to sting. She bit down hard on her lip. His nose nuzzled against her neck. “Do you like that?” he whispered.
She moaned, her mouth not forming around words. He dropped the hand from her throat and worked to free her from the rest of her clothes. With a shove from him, her dress was a puddle at her feet, and her panties down around her ankles. She stood before him in only her shoes and her jewelry. She tried to turn around to face him, but he didn't let her. He gripped her hips and pushed her forward, until she was against the plate glass window. She gasped when her nipples met the cold glass. He pushed her legs apart with his foot. She was open to him and completely vulnerable. He ran the palms of his hands from her shoulders to her ass. She felt herself arching into his touch.
She pressed her forehead against the glass, panting. She felt his finger slide inside her roughly and she gritted her teeth. She could feel how impatient he was. He wanted her now, and the thought made her even hotter. “You're so wet,” he rasped and withdrew his finger. She heard him unzipping his pants and fumbling with the foil
packet of the condom. In a flash, he was poised at her entrance. She felt the head of his hard cock slide down her lips and against her clit. “Is this good enough for you?” He asked hoarsely. Her heavy breathing was fogging the window in front of her. She nodded, impatiently. She knew from this angle, he would feel so big inside her. Maybe too much. She angled herself against him, wanting as much of him as she could take. He parted her lips with his cock. She flattened her palms on the window, waiting for him.
With one movement, he forced himself into her up to the hilt. White flashes burst behind her eyelids. He was so big. She'd never felt so full. A ragged cry escaped her lips. He withdrew and then ground back in, her body sensuously stretching around him. She braced herself against the window with her hands, her nails clawing the glass. He gripped her hips and quickened his pace. She felt her body stiffen, crackling with tension. It was too much. She was feeling too much. Nerves were firing off all over her body. “Is my cock good enough for you?”
“Yes.” She moaned. “It's so good.” He leaned against her, the starched linen of his shirt scratching against her back. She felt a tremor run the length of her spine and she involuntarily clenched her muscles around him. Her skin was so sensitive, the slightest touch felt like a spark. He bucked against her.
“Fuck!” he hissed. Suddenly she was empty, as he pulled out. He grabbed her arm and flung her onto the bed. She landed on her back on the mattress, her legs flopping open wide. He was on her in an instant, his warm mouth crushing against hers. Her head was spinning. She felt punch-drunk. He broke the kiss and trailed his mouth down her throat. Down the valley between her breasts. He tossed his white shirt over his head and then dipped his head to taste her pussy. She screamed as he sucked her clit and opened herself wide to him. She positioned her heeled foot against his shoulder, her knee brushing her stomach.
He sucked and licked her into oblivion. She didn't think it was possible to be more wet than she was right then. She was so close. Her toes were curled in her shoes and her muscles were clenched so tight, her back arched. He released her from his mouth and rolled his thumb over her swollen clit. She opened her mouth, but no sound escaped. She was unable to scream anymore. Her throat felt like cotton.
Kiss of Ice (St. James Family) Page 7
