“Stop it. You're embarrassing yourself,” he said, leaning against the table. She could punch him. He looked effortlessly elegant—his blond hair was perfectly combed, and the cut of his suit was impeccable. “You broke up with me, remember?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Shut up,” Annata said, because he was right. What right did she have to tell him who to sleep with? But her blood still boiled when she thought about how he'd touched her in the ballroom. How he'd held her, his cock hard against her. All it took was one touch from him, and she was wet and ready. Her thighs were still slick from their dance. Damn him.
“That's all you have?” he asked, his eyebrow raised. She sighed.
“No. I'm angry at you.” Annata smoothed her hair, willing herself to relax.
“I don't owe you an explanation.” He said. “Miranda just said that to see if you would react.”
“I know that. But if you'd kept your hands to yourself, she wouldn't be trying to kick up dust.”
“You liked it,” he said, his voice low. “You liked when I grabbed your ass.”
“So what's her name?” Annata asked, ignoring his last statement. She tried to swallow, but found that her throat was thick and sticky as honey.
“Marta. We've been fucking for a couple of weeks,” he said matter-of-factly.
“How does Miranda know about Marta?”
“Who knows? We went out a couple of times for dinner. One of Miranda's spies must have reported back.”
“You didn't introduce her to your parents?”
“No!” Christophe scoffed.
“How old is she?” Annata fired back.
“Jesus, Annie,” Christy sighed. “25, I think.” Annata felt like her head was going to explode. So Brazilian Marta was young and beautiful. Of course she was. Annata knew she shouldn't care. And Christophe didn't owe her her anything. But that didn't make her feel any better. She'd come to the party for Christy. Because she loved him. But maybe that didn't mean anything. Maybe that wasn't good enough.
“Where did you meet?” Annata couldn't stop herself.
“We met on the plane. After Thanksgiving,” he said, his eyes dark and intent on her. “We fucked in the first class bathroom.”
“The bathroom?” Annata squeaked. She felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up, the heavy air in the room and the close proximity to Christy finally getting to her. “You're such a cliché, Van der Kind.” She said. A smile touched the corners of his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I'll admit, not my best performance,” he said. Annata laughed harder, leaning on the table right next to him. She clutched her side, her ribs barely able to expand in her corset. He kept going, enjoying torturing her.“It was too cramped. There were legs and arms everywhere. The mile high club is way overrated.”
“Did you get to do your signature move?” she choked out, imitating his two fingered move that he showed her all those months ago in the cab in Paris.
“No, I didn't even attempt it. Too dangerous,” he whispered, leaning in close to her.
“How responsible of you.” Annata sighed, her giggles subsiding as she felt his lips brush her shoulder. His hand strayed to the sensitive skin at the small of her back, exposed by the line of her dress.
“Annie,” he murmured. “What else do you want to know?” Annata felt his fingers softly caressing her skin.
“Is she good?” Annata asked.
“She's not you,” he said, sliding his hand down her ass.
“What do you think about when you're fucking her?” Annata felt herself leaning into his touch. He dragged his teeth across her shoulder.
“Nothing,” he whispered, pulling her toward him, positioning her between his legs. She put her hands on either side of his face, wanting to kiss him. And she did, dipping her tongue between his teeth. He responded with a moan, his hands digging into the soft skin of her ass. She could feel his hardness against her thigh and a familiar thrill ran through her. She'd missed him so much. He sucked on her lower lip before taking her mouth again, and she gave as good as she got, sucking and teasing his tongue. He bucked his hips against her, his fingers digging into her ass. “She doesn't mean anything,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss her neck.
“Do you like fucking her?” Annata said, imagining him on top of a beautiful girl in his bed. His long body, taut over her, crying out as he came. Jealousy flared up, unwelcome and angry.
“I missed you.” His voice filled her ear. “I want you.” She pulled him closer, her love for him fiercer and more terrifying than ever. But she wanted him to know. She wanted him to hear her say that she loved him, when he had asked her so many times if she did. The time when she denied her feelings for him was over. It was time to lay bare her soul and let the chips fall where they may.
“Christy...” She murmured, her voice trailing off into a moan as he nipped at the sensitive skin on her neck. Then he pulled back, with a deep breath.
“Wait.” He drew a shaky hand through his hair. “I invited her.”
“You invited her?” Annata shook her head, trying to get the cobwebs out. “Where? To the party?”
“No. On the trip. We're going together.”
“The trip?” Annata furrowed her brow, not understanding. Then, like a bucketful of cold water splashing her in the face, she got it. He was taking the young and beautiful Marta away for Christmas. On a romantic trip. “Fuck.” Annata pressed her palms against his chest and pushed away from him. “Fuck!
“Annie.”
“No! Forget it. I hope you and Marta have a great time, wherever the hell you're going.” The angry jealousy reared up, and she knew she shouldn't let it cloud her judgement. But she couldn't stop the rising heat in her chest, nor the roaring in her ears.
“Annie, shut up.” He pulled her to him, nuzzling her neck. She pushed him away again.
“I think your father is waiting for you. For the speech.” Annata stepped away, smoothing her dress. She needed to be away from him. If she didn't get away, she'd probably break down crying, which was not in her plan. She could feel her throat thickening already. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He grabbed for her again, his hands on her waist.
“You're punishing me. For telling the truth,” he growled, pressing his forehead to hers. “All you do is punish me.”
“I'm sorry for coming tonight,” she said, her voice wavering. “I'm sorry for complicating things.”
“Goddammit Annie!” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” she murmured, although she wanted everything. She wanted all of him, every bit. She was being selfish, she realized. He was moving on with his life. She should let him. He dropped his hands and pulled away from her.
“Fine.” He straighten his suit jacket and buttoned it to cover the bulge in his pants. “You know what? I'm sorry, too, as always. I'm sorry for pawing all over you like a caveman. Obviously, we're just going around in circles here.” His voice was cold, business-like. He jammed his hands in his pockets. In that pose, with that look on his face, he could be a model in a Gucci ad. She put her hand to her lips. They felt swollen. Her lipstick was probably a mess. She wondered what her hair looked like? Her mind focused on the stupid details, shutting out the siren call of her heart. If she opened her mouth, the scream would escape. “I didn't prepare a speech. The Old Man loves to pull this shit. To keep me on my toes,” he said, not looking at her. She felt herself nodding her head in agreement. “I should go.”
Annata cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, hoping that she'd be able to. “I...You'll be fine,” she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt. “Play the straight man to William. The crowd will love it.”
“Yeah.” He turned and strode to the door.
“Have a good trip.” She heard herself saying. He shot her a dark glance, anger on his features. Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him. Annata sat on the edge of the table, feeling completely and utterl
y empty. She wanted a drink. Badly. Then she wanted to go to bed and hide under the covers. But first, she had to get away from the party as quickly as possible. She felt a laugh bubble up and the sound echoed in the empty room. She'd blown it. Completely and totally blown it. For someone so savvy and successful at her job, she was utterly failing in her personal life. She was head over heels in love with Christophe Van der Kind. He was the only man she wanted. And she had a sneaking suspicion that without him in her life, she was going to dry up like the desert. She wanted to retreat to Sarah Jane and never leave.
Some time later, she left the conference room. She focused on the exit, seemingly miles away, as Christophe and William's amplified voices took up all the empty space. On stage, but out of sight, they bantered back and forth, their words unclear. Spattered applause and cheers leaked out into the hallway. She willed herself to keep her face forward, not looking into the ballroom.
“It never was William was it?” A voice to her left said. A hand brushed her arm. Annata turned her head, barely registering the words. Miranda cocked her head, her brow furrowed. “It was Christy the whole time.”
“Miranda,” Annata said, then sighed. “I was on my way out.”
“I should have seen it from the beginning. I'm usually good at that sort of thing.” Miranda dropped her hand from Annata's arm. “I...I was the one who convinced William and the board to vote Christy CEO over you. I was...” She trailed off, glancing at the floor. Annata vaguely wondered if the anger that flashed through her chest was showing on her face. Miranda picked at her emerald bracelet. “I was jealous. Of your closeness with my husband.”
“For Christ's sake. He was my mentor!” Annata couldn't stop her voice from rising. Miranda grabbed her arm, dragging her to an alcove in the foyer.
“I was wrong and I apologize.” she said in a hushed tone.
“Goddammit, Miranda. What do I look like?” Annata hissed back.
“I said I was sorry!” Miranda sniffed. “I was wrong about you.”
“You should be sorry. But it was the right decision.” Annata couldn't stop herself from glancing back to the ballroom. She couldn't see him, but she could hear him, still on stage with his father. “Christophe was born to run International.”
“Are you in love with him?” Miranda asked.
“For once, mind your business,” Annata said, stinging behind her eyelids signaling the onset of bothersome tears. “I have to go now.”
“Just wait. A few minutes. They'll be off-stage soon,” Miranda pleaded.
“Merry Christmas, Miranda.” Annata turned and fled as stoically as possible, before the tears came.
Chapter 27
Bang. Bang. Annata opened her eyes a crack, then closed them again. She ignored the knocks on the door. The fluffy duvet covered her head, surrounding her with comforting, dark warmth. She'd lost track of how long she'd been in the bed, but the light flooding the windows told her that it was daytime. She pulled her knees up to her chest, as the memories rushed to her. Christy was gone. On a trip with his new girlfriend. She'd blown her last chance. She scowled, a wave of nausea hitting her. She wondered how long she would have to lay in bed before she could move again.
She heard the door open. “Nat. You're not going to stay in bed all day are you?” Toni asked, her voice muffled.“What happened last night? Did you get drunk?” Annata ignored her. She heard the floorboards squeak as Toni moved around the room. “You looked so pretty. Was Christophe Van der Kind there?” Annata groaned inwardly. Hearing his name was like a kick in the chest.
“Leave me alone, Toni,” Annata grumbled.
“I have some pastries from the bakery. Your favorite.” Toni must be shaking the bag, because Annata heard the crinkling of paper. Two seconds ago, the thought of food was too much, but the possibility of pain au chocolat was too good to deny. Her stomach grumbled its dissent. She folded back the duvet, revealing half of her face.
“Leave the bag,” she said. Toni smiled and plopped the bag on the bedside table.
“You must have him whipped. He knew exactly what you would want,” Toni said, a devilishly innocent look in her eye.
“He who?”Annata felt a jolt down her spine.
“Christophe Van der Kind, dummy.” Toni rolled her eyes. “You're not sick are you?” She crossed her fingers in front of her, warding off any germs. “I have an audition tomorrow and I can not be sick.” Annata sat up, her hand immediately flying to her hair, which must be a hot mess.
“What about Christophe?” Annata asked, blinking her eyes in the bright room.“He's downstairs. He showed up about ten minutes ago, with those.” Toni motioned to the bag of pastries. Annata froze, her brain hiccuping information. Christophe. Here. Now. “He's not moving in is he?” Toni asked, checking her makeup in Annata's vanity mirror.
“What?” Annata asked, finally drawn out of her stupor.
“He had bags with him. Nice. Italian leather, I'd guess.” Toni opened the closet door. “I knew the first time I met him he was in love with you. You always try to pretend you're made of stone, but I saw it when you looked at him.” Toni tossed Annata's robe on the bed. “What are you waiting for? Get up!” Toni said.
Annata tossed the duvet off and set her feet on the ground. She stood, her muscles aching in protest. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost two.” Toni smiled and headed for the door. “Don't worry. I'll make myself scarce. In case you want to...you know. Hump.”
Annata tossed a throw pillow at her sister's head. Toni giggled and darted down the hallway. Annata slipped on the robe and, after running a quick comb through her hair, padded down the stairs. She could smell his cologne, wafting through her house. Her heart leapt into her throat. Sure enough, his bags were by the door. She bent and ran her hand over the worn leather. Did he stop on the way to the airport? What did he want? She found him in the kitchen, in front of the open refrigerator. He wore a black t-shirt and designer jeans, hair mussed, hanging out like he owned the place. She crossed her arms over her chest, her heart beating through her skin. He glanced back at her, a smile crossing his lips.
“Damn, woman, don't you have anything to eat?”
“Damn, you going to pay my electric bill?” she asked, her voice not quite as strong as she would have preferred. He slammed the door shut and leaned on the countertop, turning his blue eyes on her. She faltered, her stomach jumping.
“Good thing I brought something to eat. Unless you already ate them?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No. They're upstairs.” She furrowed her brow.
“In your bedroom? I haven't seen your new bedroom. I think I'll go up and get them.” He moved around the island, coming towards her, mischief on his face. She grabbed his arm, stopping him.
“Wait,” she said.
“You have another man up there?” He cocked his head.
“Christy, what are you doing here?” She looked at his chest, not able to bring herself to look him in the eye. He brushed his knuckle along the curve of her cheek.
“I decided to stay in the city for Christmas. Brazil is crazy this time of year.” He shrugged. Annata felt her heart skip a beat.
“But—,” she began, her heart suddenly racing.
“You have a problem with that?” He took her chin is his hand and tilted her face so that her eyes met his. She shook her head.
“No,” she murmured.
“Oh! I brought your present.” He dropped her chin and went to his bags. He crouched down and unzipped the front pocket of the smaller one.
“I don't need a present,” she said, moving to lean against the cold marble countertop of the island. She still couldn't believe Christy was in her house. He moved back toward her, holding something behind his back. Then he slid a black velvet box across the counter toward her. Her breath caught in her throat. He moved to stand behind her, sweeping her hair off her neck and kissing the exposed skin.
“What is it?” she asked, knowing full well what it was. Could it be
? No.
“Open it,” he said, his breath tickling her neck. She reached out for the box, hands shaking as she opened it. She let out the breath she'd been holding, her shoulders sagging. Her pearl earrings. She felt him chuckling behind her.
“You jerk!” she said, running her finger over the tiny pearls. “How long have you had these?”
“Since last summer. I kept waiting for a good time to give them back.”
“Why didn't you mail them?” She set the box back on the counter, feeling relief? Disappointment? Something.
“Because I couldn't give up my last piece of you.” He snaked his arms around her waist. “I couldn't let them go.”
“But you can now?” she asked, keeping her voice light, feeling uncertainty creep down her spine.
“Yeah. Cause I'm never going to let you go again.” He held up a ring—a vintage diamond ring, set in platinum, surrounded by swirls of tiny pearls and blood red rubies.
“Jesus.” She murmured.
“Is it too much?” he said. “I saw it and thought of you.”
“How long ago?”
“Hmm?” he said, nuzzling her neck.
“How long ago did you buy it?” she said. He hesitated for a long moment. She could practically hear his mind working, debating if he should tell her truth. “Tell me,” she prodded.
“Last Christmas.” He admitted.
She sighed hugely, letting herself lean into him. How much time they'd wasted! She wondered if she would have been smart enough or brave enough to say yes then if he'd had the chance to ask.
“If you say no, I'll buy a castle and lock you in the tower,” he whispered in her ear. “I'll never let you out.”
“What's the question, exactly?” she asked, wanting to be very sure.
“Damn, you're going to make me work hard for it, aren't you?” He chuckled. He took her left hand in his and slipped the ring over the tip of her ring finger. The metal was cold, but quickly warmed to her skin. The gems glinted in the light. “Annata Elizabeth St. James, will you marry me?” He said, his voice low.
Kiss of Ice (St. James Family) Page 23
