“And what if I say yes?” She whispered.
“Then we'll live happily ever after.”
“Promise?” she said.
“I promise,” he said.
“Wait.” Annata closed her hand, holding the ring on her finger, and turned to face Christy. His face was blank, his eyes darkening, ready for disappointment. “You want to marry me, and I've never even told you I love you?”
“I love you, you know that,” he said. “With all my fucking soul.” He glanced down at her hand, his ring still on her finger. “I'm tired of being without you. And for what? Why?”
“Christy.” She drew him to her, kissing him softly on the lips.
“I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm sorry about Thanksgiving.” He clenched his jaw as she trailed kisses along it.
“Shut up. Don't be sorry.” She ran her hands through his hair. “I'm just fucking thrilled you asked.” He smiled, his eyes lightening by the second. “Finally.”
“So you're saying yes?”
“Duh! Jerk.” She slid the ring the rest of the way down her finger and looked down at it. “It fits.”
“Of course it fits. I know your ring size, your shoe size, and your dress size.” He took her hand and kissed it. Watching his lips on her knuckles, she shivered with happiness, but tsked at his self-assured words. “Even your size in a sexy little bath robe.”
“You smug little—”
“What? Say it.” He ran his teeth across her knuckle. She imagined him doing that to her nipple...to her clit...she shook her head, clearing out the cobwebs.
“Okay two more things and then we can go upstairs and I'll show you my bedroom.”
His eyes lit up and he dropped his hands to her ass and pulled her into him. “Bedroom now.” She could feel his hardness against her and couldn't resist dragging her hand up the growing bulge in his pants. “After last night, I thought I was going to die from lack of climax.”
“First of all, were you on your way to the airport when you had this change of heart?” She cupped his package. He let out a gust of air, his eyes closing.
“Yes,” he admitted, cracking open one eye to gauge her reaction. She swatted at his chest with her free hand.
“You were going to go on the trip?!” She raised an eyebrow.
“I was in a car heading to the airport and I realized that I was going on the trip just to spite you. It's always about you. Everything comes back to you. And I thought, why did she come to the party? What did she want? And I got a bit of hope. Maybe she wanted me,” he said. “So I had the driver turn the car around, went home, got the ring, and came to find you. Because I want you.” He looked at her then, and she saw all the love in his eyes. She felt the sting of tears coming on. But she didn't feel ashamed or self-conscious. She didn't have to hide herself from him anymore. And it was so freeing.
“Did you at least call Marta and tell her you weren't coming?” she said, laughing a bit, even as a tear made its way down her cheek.
“Yes. God. I'm not a total asshole.” He laughed too, pressing his forehead to hers as she continued stroking him. She kissed him then, not so softly. She heard a low growl in his throat and he shifted, pressing her ass against the back of the couch. She snaked her arms around his neck, a thrill running through her as he opened her robe and cupped a breast through her thin gown. His thumb stroked her hard nipple and she gasped. “That's the last time we talk about Marta or any other woman. Okay?” he said, tweaking the nipple. “You're the only one for me.”
Annata nodded and lifted her leg against his hip. He held her there, his fingers on her knee, bucking his hips a bit. She moaned as his erection connected with her clit. “Now, what's the second thing?” he said, his voice low in her ear.
“Second thing?” she said, her mind cloudy.
“You said two more things before the bedroom. That was one.” He bit her lower lip and sucked on it.
“Oh. I love you. That's all.”
“That's all, huh?” He looked down at her through his lashes. “A whole year I've waited for those three little words, and you toss them out so casually.”
“I love you. What's a better way to say it than that?” She batted her eyelashes.
“No words. Show me.” He lifted her up by her ass, and she tightened both legs around his hips with a squeal. He carried her toward the stairs, then stopped at the bottom step. “I changed my mind. Say it again.” His blue eyes found hers.
“William Christophe Bern Van der Kind the Third, I love you with all my heart,” she said. He sucked in a breath.
“That's more like it.” He smiled, wide, and then continued up the stairs. She pressed her face into his neck, barely able to contain her own smile. She'd let Christophe in, and they'd both won. They'd both won. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with his scent. Time could stop at that moment and she wouldn't care. Not at all. A thought occurred to her and she tapped his shoulder.
“What, baby?” he whispered.
“When are you moving in?” she whispered back.
“Shit. As far as I'm concerned, I'm never leaving,” he said. At the top of the stairs, she pointed the way, and he slammed the bedroom door shut behind them.
Epilogue
“The limo's here, baby!” Christophe called up the stairs. He clasped his cufflinks and sighed. Miranda had insisted on throwing them an engagement party. He was tempted to blow it off and head to the airport instead. A beachside room with Annie by his side sounded like heaven right about then. But they'd just gone to St. Lucia last weekend. And Miranda would kill him. He shrugged into his tux jacket and turned his eyes to the top of the staircase. Annie stood there, drop dead gorgeous in a sleeveless, sequined black gown with a high neck. He loved her in a high-necked dress. In fact, he would love unzipping her later.
“Zip me up,” she said, hurrying down the stairs, barefoot, her shoes dangling from her hand. She turned her back to him, lifting her hair. He pressed a kiss to her neck and drew the zipper all the way up to her hairline.
“Toni is meeting us at the hotel?” he asked, his fingers lingering on her ass.
“I sent a car to pick her up from rehearsal.” She wandered absently to the hall mirror, checking herself out one last time.
“And your cousin? Holland?” He ran his hand through his hair, his fingers still itching to touch her.
“He'll be there.” She smiled, stooping to slip on one shoe then the next. “I think he's bringing a date. Is your sister coming?”
“I think so.” Christophe sighed. “So we definitely can't skip it?” He asked, just to piss her off. She gave him a look in the mirror. “I could call the private jet, have them ready to go in an hour.”
“Christophe Van der Kind. You never change.” She said, shaking her head. He stalked up behind her, tightened his arms around her waist, and lifted her off her feet. She squealed.
“No. I never change. I've loved the same woman since I was 24. But persistence pays off, don't you think?”
“I guess it does. For some people,” she said. He whirled her around, her skirts sweeping the floor. She laughed, her manicured nails digging into his arms. “Put me down, you jerk!” she said, turning her face to his. He obliged after a moment, setting her lightly on her feet.
“Damn, woman. Ready to go yet?” he said, smoothing down his starched shirt and jacket.
“No thanks to you.” She tapped a fingernail against his nose, and then breezed to the door. He followed her, casting a backward glance around the living room. Their house. He smiled. He finally had a home after years of wandering. It felt good. He closed the door behind him and locked up. Annie flung her arm over his shoulders as they walked to the waiting car. He slipped his arm around her waist.
“Do you think William was happy to hear about us?” she asked.
“I think so. He thinks of you as a daughter already.”
“So I'm not too brown for his precious son?” she said, tapping her fingers on his shoulder.
“W
ho cares?” He kissed her cheek. “As soon as we start making brown grandchildren, he'll love them just the same.”
“Grandchildren? Who said anything about that?” she laughed. They separated as they reached the car, her slipping into the seat before him. The driver closed the door behind them and before they even began moving, he pulled her into his lap.
“Miranda's throwing this big stupid party. Do you think we should tell everybody that we're married already?” He ran his nose down the silky skin of her neck. He smiled, thinking about the small ceremony in St. Lucia, just he and Annie on a beach. No parties. No photographers. Only him and his girl.
“No.” She shook her head, tilting it so he had better access. “Let it be our little secret.”
“I don't like secrets.” He nipped at her collarbone. She rolled her eyes.
“You love your privacy.” She shifted her ass against his erection. He lifted her by the hips and she straddled his thighs, bunching her dress up around her waist. “I know you do.”
“I can't deny that.” He ran his hands up under his dress and his mouth broke into a wide smile. His fingers traced the elastic of the garter belt pressing into her thighs, the lacy tops of her hose scratching his fingertips. “Annie.” He breathed. His cock tented his pants. She rolled her hips.
“I don't think we've fucked in a limo before,” she said, as he slipped a finger past her panties and into her wet heat.
“The night of the Christmas party, I thought about dragging you out into mine and stripping you naked,” he said, his voice low. He pumped the finger in and out, slow.
“I wish you had,” she said.
“Me too,” he said. She dropped her face to his and she dipped her tongue between his lips. He fumbled with his pants, freeing himself just in time.
“It doesn't matter,” she whispered.
“No. It doesn't,” he said, slipping the head of his cock between her wet lips. “We have nothing but time.”
“We'll tell them. Soon,” she said. He nodded, and positioned himself at her opening, his breath catching in his throat. He still wasn't used to how she felt, how she squeezed him and caressed him. It still felt brand new, like he was the young asshole pushing her up against her desk, so in lust that he couldn't see straight. He bucked his hips and slid deep inside. She moaned against his lips.
“You like that?” he said, caressing her cheek.
“God, yes. Fuck me,” she said, running her hand through his hair, tugging his head back. He smiled.
“Say please.”
“Please fuck me.” She nipped at his lip, rolling her hips and driving him crazy.
“Whenever, wherever, my love,” he said, and then proceeded to do just that.
The End
***
A preview for KISS OF FIRE, book two in the St. James Family four-part series:
Chapter 1
Antoinette St. James stood en pointe in front of the floor to ceiling mirror in her practice space until her legs shook. Her toes ached. Her back ached. Everything ached. She had been dancing for hours. Back and forth, back and forth on the worn floor. She wanted to get the moves exactly right. Her audition for Sleeping Beauty was the next morning. She arched her arms and tilted her head. In the mirror, she looked like a dancer. Her arms were graceful and lean. Her cocoa complexion was bright and clear. Her black hair was pulled back tightly in a bun. There were dark circles under her eyes, but make-up would cover that in the morning.
Toni was young, one of the youngest dancers in the company. But she was hungry. She knew the higher-ups in the company noticed it. They noticed her. She gave herself a bright smile. She was going to be amazing tomorrow, she thought to herself. She was going to outshine her fellow dancers with her grace and poise and precision. Toni stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes at her reflection. She was tired. She needed rest. She let her body relax and her arms fall to her sides.
She plopped on the bench at the back of the studio and pulled off her pointe shoes. Her feet were wrapped in white tape stained red. She grimaced as she unwrapped her bloody toes. The price to pay for perfection. Quickly and efficiently, she re-bandaged her left big toe with clean tape and then pulled on a pair of wooly socks over her tights. Her vision blurred and she blinked. She was more tired than she would admit. She had barely slept at all that week. She maneuvered her feet into her leather boots and threw on a sweatshirt over her leotard. There was no way she was waiting for the train to head back home to Harlem. She would have to splurge on a cab.
She stood and a dizzy spell overtook her. She swayed on her feet. The room tilted on its axis. Toni shook her head, trying to clear the fog. Finally her vision sharpened and the room stopped spinning. With shaking hands, she rifled through her bag on the way to the door. She unearthed an apple from beneath a notebook and took a bite. The first bite of food she’d had all day. She needed to start taking better care of herself. After tryouts, she would start eating and sleeping again. She would let herself relax. Really relax. She smiled. Maybe she would even have time to get laid.
Toni waved goodbye to Jones, the late night custodian who pushed a mop in the dark hallway. She had seen him every night this week. She was having more of a relationship with Jones than she’d had with any other man in a long time, she thought with a chuckle. Her love life was in a sorry state. But romance was low on the list of priorities at the moment. She hadn’t come from Louisiana to dance with UNB, one of the best ballet companies in the world, just to blow it because her head wasn’t in the game.
Toni pushed through the heavy glass doors of the front entrance. There was a chill in the early May air that cut through her sweatshirt and tights. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. The courtyard was empty. Her foot falls echoed off the tall buildings that surrounded her. There was something ominous about the chilly, lonely night. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be at home in bed. She quickened her pace to the street, and hailed the first cab that she saw.
***
Sebastian O’Donovan sped up the West-Side Highway. He glanced at the digital clock on the dash. 2:05 a.m. Shit, it was late. He was surprised Gwen hadn’t started blowing up his phone by now. She would be pissed he was showing up at this hour. He could hear her voice in his brain: “You act like I’m on call. My pussy’s not open whenever you need it to be.” It wasn’t his fault there had been a warehouse fire late into his shift. Or that her place had to be on the Upper-West Side, an hour’s drive away from his firehouse in Queens. He had asked her to move in with him months ago. He had a nice flat in Woodside, close to his job. She had laughed and declined. Queens might as well be Siberia as far as she was concerned.
Holy Mary. He just wanted a hot shower and a hot meal. But he laid on the gas and continued up the west coast of Manhattan. He glanced out the passenger’s side window. The glittering lights of the city never failed to impress. He quickly did the sign of the cross and then kissed his fingertips. His family had emigrated from Ireland when he was just a lad. He sometimes couldn’t believe that he lived in the best city in the world. The vastness of what men could create. He shook his head. He shouldn’t complain about having to drive to Manhattan, he supposed. A pint of beer, and he’d be right as rain.
He smiled to himself. He wondered what Gwen would be wearing as she waited for him. Something sexy, he hoped. Or even better, nothing at all. He hadn’t seen her in four days, since he stayed at the firehouse during his days on. But this was the beginning of his three days off. He was ready to kick back and relax, a beer in one hand, his girl in the other.
And then he saw it. He might have missed the flash of orange flame had he been looking in a different direction. Squinting, he leaned forward to look in his rearview. Sure enough, about a mile back, something was burning. It was hidden in the trees by the side of the road. Shit. He pounded the steering wheel. He had to go back.
At this time on a Tuesday night, the road was virtually empty. A few cabs and not much else. He craned his neck to look
out the back window. No cars were coming. He was in the clear. He punched the brakes and his tires squealed. He put the car in reverse and sped back toward the flickering light in the trees. He hit the brakes about a quarter mile past the accident. His headlights illuminated the road ahead. He looked for tire burn on the pavement. Sure enough, there were tell-tale black streaks, leading to the underbrush. The guard rail to the right of him was twisted where a car might have crashed through. Shit.
Pulling over and parking by the side of the highway, he jumped out of the car and hopped the guardrail. He headed toward the flames. He patted his jeans for his cell-phone and found it in his back pocket. The acrid smell of smoke was heavy in the air. He dialed 911 and put the phone to his ear as he slashed his way through the underbrush.
“911, what is your emergency?” A tinny voice sounded in his ear.
“This is Sergeant O’Donovan with ladder 56. I’m on the West Side Highway, between 59th and 79th street exits. We’ve got an accident on the right side of the road.” He put his hand in front of his face as he reached the car. The heat and the stench were already overwhelming. It was a yellow cab, the front end smashed into the ditch. Flames were leaping from under the hood. Sebastian shoved the phone back in his pocket and looked in the back window. There was a body slumped over the backseat. In the low light, he could see it was a young woman. She appeared to be unconscious. He jogged to the driver’s side and yanked on the handle. The door didn’t give.
Sebastian leaned forward and cupped his hands to look into the driver’s window. The driver was pushed forward into the steering wheel and his head had made contact with the front windshield. Sebastian made a quick executive decision. The cab driver was either dead or dying. He had the best chance to help the passenger. He moved back to the passenger door and yanked on that handle. It didn’t give.
He moved toward the door on the opposite side and braced his foot against the side of the car. He took hold of the door handle and pulled. The ruined car shuddered and shook as he tried to open the door. “Come on, come on!” Finally, he got a break. With a creak, the door swung open. He lost his footing for a moment, falling back on his ass in the dirt. Then he was up again and lunging into the backseat of the car, reaching for the woman. He grasped her under her arms and pulled. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but the woman seemed to weigh nothing. She slid across the backseat toward him.
Kiss of Ice (St. James Family) Page 24
