Kiss of Ice (St. James Family)

by Parker, Lavender

  “Christy,” she murmured, in between kisses. He pulled his mouth away from hers, and looked down at her.

  “What did you call me?” He could have sworn a blush blossomed on her cheeks.

  “Christy,” she said. He kissed her again, nibbling her bottom lip.

  “Say it again,” he said, a smile forming.

  “Christy.” She drew the nickname out, taunting him. Damn, even his hated childhood nickname was sexy coming from her mouth. He thrust into her, unable to hold back any longer. She cried out, her hands gripping his ass. He pumped again and again, her sounds of pleasure egging him on. He wanted to give her everything he had to give, and she took it. She moved her hips to meet his, driving him slowly insane. She was insatiable. He pulled almost completely out, and held himself stiff and prone above her soft, writhing body.

  He moaned, wanting so bad to tell her. If he didn't tell her, his heart would burst and he would die. He knew it. He buried his face in her neck and whispered it, so low he knew she wouldn't hear. “I love you.” He slid deep. “I love you.” He mouthed, his face pressed against her throat. She held him deep inside, her body throbbing around him. He found a slow rhythm, his fingers gripping the blanket, and didn't want to stop until he made her love him back.

  ***

  He was driving her crazy. His measured pace was causing a slow burn inside her, the tension mounting until she could barely take it. She wanted release, but none came. His mouth bit and teased her neck, sending shock waves down her spine. Her muscles were clenched around him, almost painfully. And then he whispered something, his voice hoarse. His body went stiff, and then he thrust hard inside her. He whispered again and her eyes fluttered open when she realized what he was saying. Her heart stopped. Warmth flooded through her body. Christophe Van der Kind was telling her he loved her. He was making love to her. Fuck. She almost came at the thought. Her granny's words of wisdom floated through the ether—'Never trust a man's words in the middle of a long night.' Annata shook her head, trying to clear it. She didn't want to question anything right now, she only wanted to feel. He gently ground against her, hitting a sweet spot. She bucked against him and moaned as another wave of pleasure washed over her.

  “Christy,” she moaned. “Say it again,” she said, wanting him to say those magic words again. Here, in their cocoon, all she wanted was those words. He slowed, buried deep inside of her, and held his head up to look at her. His eyes were almost black, they were so intense and dark. She arched her back, pressing herself against him. Her whole body ached with need. “Say it,” she quietly demanded. He moved his hips, pulling out, and then thrust in again. She ground her teeth, her whole body at the edge. And she just wanted to jump off that edge into the abyss. God, how she wanted to. She flexed her fingers against his hips, trying to push him deeper. She felt that disarming need to crawl inside of his skin again. All she wanted was to be closer to him. To be the only woman in his life. Her need was terrifying, but she couldn't resist it any longer.

  His breathing was jagged. His chest heaved against hers. But he was silent. She furrowed her brow. Was she going crazy? Had she heard it at all? She lifted her knees higher and opened her legs as far as she could. He pushed deeper, his body flush against hers. He gasped and threw his head back. The tendons and veins in his neck and chest were tight as he held himself stiffly on his elbows. She knew he was close. She wanted him to come now, she realized. She had taken her pill that morning. She wasn't worried about pregnancy. The thought of him exploding inside her made her groan and writhe beneath him like she was on fire and only he could put her out.

  “Christy,” she pleaded. With a growl, he thrust inside again and again. She fought to keep her eyes open and watch him. She wanted to see his face when he came. She squeezed him deep inside and he bucked and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. She hooked her ankles together against his ass and raked her fingernails up his back. “Say it,” she cajoled, her body tense. She needed the release as much as he did. He jerked against her, his muscles tight.

  In a quick move, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the mattress. She loved it when he did that. It only made her burn hotter for him. His delicious weight pressed her into the bed and she greedily attacked his mouth. She sucked his tongue as he pumped deeper and deeper. They moved together as one, toward one conclusion. When she couldn't take it any longer, when her toes curled and his fingers dug into her wrists, he pulled his mouth from hers.

  “I love you,” he whispered. Then he jerked and she could feel his heat spurting inside her. She felt herself implode in turn. In that moment, she was his, absolutely and completely. And he was hers. Nobody else mattered. She wanted to scream it from the mountaintops. Christophe Van der Kind loved her. She tightened around him, her climax hard and fast. He jerked again, and she moved with him, wanting everything he had to give. He dropped his head to her shoulder, out of breath. She could feel the thundering of his heartbeat against her chest. A shudder ran through him. She disentangled her wrists from his slackened grip and ran her hands through his hair as he came down.

  After a moment, he pushed himself up and rolled off of her. She immediately missed his warm weight. Slightly hunched over as if in pain, he walked over to the tub and got a washcloth. Dipping it in the bath water, he turned back to her. Silently, he dropped down beside her. Her legs were still open and he slowly, softly, dipped the washcloth between her thighs. She watched as he cleansed her, washing away the evidence of their lovemaking. He kept his eyes low, not meeting hers. When he finished, he got up and tossed the cloth back in the tub with a splash. He grabbed a robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and slid it on. Watching him, goosebumps prickled on her skin. With his warmth gone, the coldness of the room was seeping in. She brought her knees together to sit up and grunted in pain. She realized that her hip ached. She sat up on her elbows, looking for the source of the pain. Sure enough, there was a large, splotchy bruise forming on her hip. “Shit,” she murmured, poking at the edges of the sore skin. His turned to her and his brow furrowed when he noticed the growing mark on her hip. He was back at her side in a moment, his warm hands on her leg.

  “Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “I was falling on my ass practically all day. I figured I would have a few bruises.” She tried to push herself up. “It's no big deal.”

  “Shut up.” He bent and kissed her hip. She felt her stomach do a flip-flop. Damn, could he be any more sexy? “Stay there.” He left the room, tying the belt around the robe. She heard the door open and close. She was alone again in the room. Outside the windows, the wind howled as a gust blew through the mountains. Annata grabbed the edge of the quilt and wrapped it around herself. She laid back and stared at the ceiling. The doubts started to claw their way into her brain. Was he really in love with her? The sex between them was electric, and good sex could fool anybody into thinking they were in love. She wondered if he was angry at himself for saying the words if he didn't really feel them. But damn, it had felt good to hear them!

  The door closed again, and Christophe returned with the ice bucket. He took a handful of ice and tossed them into the towel. In a flash, he was beside her on the bed. “We need to ice it,” he said, tossing the blanket aside, exposing her leg. He plopped the makeshift icepack on her hip and fussed over it, making sure it was positioned for maximum effect. His eyes ran the length of her leg, looking for more bruises. She watched him, even as he continued to avoid her eyes. She lifted a hand and brushed her knuckles over his cheek.

  “Look at me,” she said. He dropped his head and shifted his eyes to hers. “What's wrong?” she asked softly.

  “Nothing,” he said, kissing the back of her hand. His eyes moved back to her leg and he fidgeted with the towel. The ice began to seep through the thick towel. She shivered. “You're cold? Here.” He opened his robe and enveloped her in his embrace. He wrapped the sides of the robe around her, and she wrapped her arms around his tors
o. They lay for awhile, not speaking, her cheek against his chest. The silence began to feel so heavy between them. Something was definitely wrong. She swallowed hard and broke the silence. "Christy?"

  "What?" he replied, sounding distant. He looked lost in his own thoughts. Maybe he was angry with her for not reciprocating. What exactly did she feel for him? When she thought about him, it felt like a black hole opened inside her and sucked everything else in. She couldn't see past him. Was that love? She didn't know. But the overwhelming need to make things okay prompted her to break the silence.

  "You can stay with me in New York," she said, her voice light. "Any time you want."A laugh rumbled in his chest. She smiled up at him, happy to lighten the mood. "Oh." He nodded, sagely. "I see. You only want me for my body." A smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

  "You know me so well," she teased back. She struggled up onto her elbows wanting to look him in the face. He stared down away from her. Finally his eyes flitted over her face, as if he couldn't resist looking at her. "We're going to do this, aren't we?" She said, not really asking. She was stating a certainty. For once, they felt like a certainty, and yes, it was scary. But it was also thrilling, joyous, and real.

  "Do what?" he asked, even though he knew exactly what she meant. He wanted her to say it. He fidgeted with the towel. A drop of ice water ran down her hip. She shivered as the freezing water made a path across her skin. His fingertip deftly caught the errant drop.

  "This." She jabbed a finger into his hard chest. "You and me." He threw her a sideways look, as if she were fucking with him. "Christy and Annie, k-i-s-s-i-n-g," she replied, like she was 13-years-old. It was crazy how he brought out all the childish and youthful parts of her, parts that she had stamped down in herself until they barely existed. The urges to play and tease and fight all pushed their way to the surface in his presence. He dipped his head, looking away, but a definite smile curled over his face. He turned his full gaze on her, finally.

  “Can I get that in writing?” he deadpanned. She giggled, glad that the shadow on his face had passed.

  “Get what in writing, exactly?”

  “It's simple really.” He began writing on her leg with his finger. “I, Annata... What's your middle name?”

  “Elizabeth.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Wonderful,” he noted, then continued writing. “I, Annata Elizabeth St. James do solemnly swear to kiss William Christophe Bern Van der Kind the Third—”

  “That sure is a mouthful.”

  “Try living with it,” He said, as an aside, then continued. “—whenever and wherever he so desires, and with tongue, on demand. And then you sign here,” He made the mark of an X on her inner thigh. “And here.” He made another X on her stomach.

  “What if I don't agree to the terms?”

  “Then I'll force you to sign. And believe me, I have my ways.” He smiled fiendishly as his hand swept under the blanket and over her stomach.

  “That's duress!” she exclaimed, swatting at his hand as he tried to tweak her nipple.

  “Just do it, woman.” His fingers found their way under her arm and he tickled her furiously until she doubled up with laughter. The ice pack slid down off of her hip, sending a shiver up her spine.

  “Okay, okay!” She choked out. “I surrender!” She held up her hands.

  “Good,” he said sternly, and pointed at her inner thigh. “Sign here.” Annata signed her name with her finger and a lot of flourish. “And here.” He poked her stomach. She signed again, ending with a definitive period.

  “There. Now you have me. Whenever you want me.”

  “And wherever. Don't forget that part.” He leaned into her and captured her mouth in a deep kiss. His hand snaked up to cradle her scalp and he forced her onto her back. She took everything he had to give, knowing that he still hadn't required her to reciprocate his words. She was scared, she could admit that much. Because if she dug deep, past all of her denial, she might unleash something with the power to hurt her. Hurt her so badly that she might never recover. She wasn't ready for all of that yet, and she was pretty sure he wasn't either, despite his declaration of love.

  “Annata Elizabeth St. James, you wanna go steady with me?” he whispered against her lips.

  “Do I have to sign somewhere to make it official?” She breathed. “I think I know a place.” She smiled devilishly and slid her hand down his chest and gripped his hard erection. He growled, and bucked into her hand.

  “Damn, baby. Are you trying to kill me?” he hissed. She giggled and squeezed, then released him, not wanting to torture him too much. He shrugged with a smile and positioned himself between her legs. “I can't think of a better way to go.”

  Chapter 14

  By some miracle they both slept on the plane, and before he knew it, they were circling the skyline of New York City. Annie had woken up at some point, he realized. She watched the lights appear below from the small window. She took his hand and squeezed. He wondered if she was feeling the same way he was, anxious about returning. The city was beautiful from above, but disarmingly small. He wondered if there would be room for him in Annie's little world. Shit, it was his world as well, but he might as well be from Mars, it was so foreign to him. Boardrooms and stuffy suits and The Old Man breathing down his neck every five seconds. The thought of spending Christmas at home was not exactly a happy one.

  Christophe debated about how much he should tell The Old Man. A smile touched his lips when he thought of all the ways his father could react to the news. While a ball-buster like Annie was well respected at work, he doubted his father saw her as a good match for his son. Too old, too much drive, too brown. Not to mention, The Old Man's idea of grandchildren—blond-haired, blue-eyed angelic specimens who would have a standing admission to the ivy league from birth—was as outdated as the brownstones on the Upper-East Side. He chuckled to himself as he thought of what kind of child he and Annie would produce. Tall, definitely, with golden eyes like Annie's, and with her wit and drive.

  But maybe he wasn't giving his father enough credit. Maybe The Old Man would simply count his blessings at having any grandkids, since Christophe settling down and getting married had looked like such an impossible scenario. And now that his sister had come out and was in her medical residency, Kat had become the long shot. Strange how life could change so quickly.

  The plane began its descent. Christophe realized he was now impatient for the trip to be over. He wanted to fall into a bed—preferably, Annie's—and wrestle the jet lag immediately. After a roll in the hay with his girl first, of course. Christophe tugged one of the black curls on Annie's shoulder. "I hope you have good Chinese delivery. I'm starving."

  "Oh really? Who said you were invited over?" Annie said.

  “Whenever. Wherever. Remember?”

  “I don't recall agreeing to anything like that.”

  “Convenient.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Luckily, I got it in writing.”

  “Hmmm.” She narrowed her eyes. He smiled with teeth, rubbing her nose in it. “Wouldn't you rather sleep in your own bed?”

  “Depends on if you're in it with me,” he said, bracing himself for the landing. He felt the force pulling them forward as the plane braked on the runway. Finally. He itched to stand and stretch his legs. As the plane taxied on the runway, Christophe unbuckled his seatbelt and stood. “So, my place or yours?”

  Annie cocked her head. “Do you have a good sushi place?”

  “Of course.” He watched her mull it over. Then she stood.

  “Sold.”

  ***

  Annata was ready to pass out by the time that their cab turned the corner on to Great Jones. She knew he'd had a pied-a-terre at the corner of Great Jones and Lafayette for the last three years, but this would be the first time she had ever been there. With her work in Midtown and her apartment on the Upper-West Side, she didn't often get downtown. She liked the arty, hip vibe of downtown, but not the snootiness. It was the
playground of the young and rich now. She didn't identify herself as either of those things. Christophe, asleep with his head on her shoulder, was definitely both. She nudged him as the driver pulled to the curb. He sat up, immediately awake. She checked her watch. It was midnight. She sighed and followed Christophe out of the taxi.

  She followed Christophe into the industrial looking building and into a rickety- looking metal elevator. “Are you sure this thing works?” she asked, skeptical. He chuckled.

  “It's been working for the past 150 years. I can only assume it will continue to do so.”

  “I better not die in this elevator,” she said as he pulled the lever to close the door. With a grinding of gears, the elevator jerked and then began to move. She held on to the railing and gave him a look. He smiled and advanced on her, pressing her against the metal wall. He dipped his head, teasing his tongue along her lip. Then he took her mouth against his, kissing her silly until they ground to a stop at the top floor.

  “Are you still scared?” he said, with a smile.

  “I wasn't scared,” she said. “Just cautious.”

  “Don't worry. I'd never let anything happen to you.” He kissed her nose, then moved to crank the lever to open the door. He grabbed their bags and stepped out into his loft. She realized that the elevator opened directly into the apartment and shook her head. Of course he lived in a penthouse. She wondered if he had a roof deck or outdoor space. She strolled into the apartment, taking it in.

  It was a complete bachelor pad. Everywhere she looked was black leather and heavy, dark fabrics. He had a black leather couch and a black leather Eames recliner. He had floor to ceiling casement windows, with thick velvet curtains that ran the length of them. A large bed was set against the back wall, up on a platform accessible by a few stairs. It was like she had entered a modern design magazine. On the wall closest to the elevator, he had a gallery of framed art. So chic. She kicked off her shoes on the shaggy wool rug beneath her feet and immediately sighed in relief.