Kiss of Ice (St. James Family) (6 page)

Chapter 9

Christophe couldn't keep his eyes off of Annata. She breezed around the Paris office, charming, but completely in charge. He was in awe of her as she answered questions and put out fires. How could she be so perfect? She was graceful.  She was beautiful.  She was smart as a whip. Watching her full lips form around French words was making his cock hard. His whole body was still reeling from the aftershocks of the early morning fucking she'd treated him to.

For seven years, he would crave her sometimes, when he was alone. In graduate school he would date society girls but fuck around and attempt to satiate his cravings with others. Sometimes, he would specifically look for girls that resembled Annata. He wasn't proud of it, but he did. Then he would take them home and fuck them and it wouldn't be the same. Two years in Brazil, and he didn't even attempt to date anymore. What was the point? No one could measure up to his fantasy of her. And now he knew no one could ever measure up to the reality of her, either. It was like she had thrown a switch inside of him. Brazil was done. He would move back to New York immediately upon their return.

Her eyes caught his from across the room.  She furrowed her brow, questioning his look. He realized he must be staring at her intensely, so he allowed a smile to pass over his lips. She smiled back and then bent her head to continue reading a report. The trick would be to slowly imbed himself in her life without scaring her off, he decided. To make his presence seem as natural as breathing to her. He had never wanted anything as bad as he wanted Annie. He had never been more serious about anything in his life. He wondered when was too soon to buy a ring?

“Christy!” A voice that dripped honey cried out. He recognized the voice. Julie, Jean Pierre's daughter, stood in the door of the office, a smile spreading across her face. She crossed the space between them and threw her arms around him. “I heard you were here, and I had to come see you,” she said in a flurry of French.

“
How are you, Julie?” He patted her back. Her flowery perfume and the spicy scent of smoke wrapped around him like a cloak. He remembered she was a smoker, like most French girls. She was thin, all skin and bones, and her hair was longer than the last time he saw her. Her emerald eyes blinked back tears when they parted.

“
I've been better. But Father is doing well. Oh, it's good to see you,
mon chouchou
!” She hugged him again. He looked over the top of Julie's head for Annata. She was watching them. He could have sworn he saw jealousy in her eyes. But then she blinked, and it was gone. In its place was a professional polish. She glided across the room to them just as Julie pulled away from him.

“
Julie? I'm Annata St. James. Christophe and I were sent by William to manage the office in your father's absence.” Annata's French was perfect and smooth. “How is he recovering? Did you receive the flowers we sent?”

“
Oh, yes. Thank you.” Julie nodded, her eyes glassy. “He is doing much better. They say he'll make a full recovery.”

Annata put her hand to her heart. “What a relief. I've known your father for ten years and I was shocked to hear of his heart attack.”

Julie nodded again, biting her lip. Christophe lowered his eyes. He truly felt for Julie. The thought of The Old Man frail and weak in a hospital bed was hard to imagine, despite any differences they'd had.

“
You can let Jean Pierre know that when he's ready to return, this office will be running as smoothly as when he left it.” Annata assured Julie. “I'm sure he's worried that everything is going to hell over here.”

“
I tell him not to think about work, but of course, his head is all business.” Julie said worriedly.

“
Let us know if you need anything. Anything at all.” Annata took Julie's hand and squeezed.

“
Thanks so much.” Julie snuck a look at Christophe. Annata looked pointedly at Christophe. Christophe cleared his throat. “I'll let you two catch up.” She turned on her heel to go.

“
Come to dinner tonight.” Julie tugged on his shirt sleeve. Her eyes pleaded with him. Julie was always this way—desperate and clingy. They dated when they were teenagers and had been each other's first loves, if one could call it that. She was beautiful and elegant and sexy, basically everything his 18-year-old self wanted in a girl. That is, until she had too much to drink or suspected his eyes were roaming. Then she was would scream and cry and be inconsolable. He knew what she wanted. Like always, she was probably looking for a man to kiss and make everything better in her time of need. He just happened to be the most convenient warm body.

“
Actually Annata and I were already planning on dinner tonight,” he lied smoothly. Annata tossed a look at him from over her shoulder. She lifted an eyebrow. He could see the gears shifting behind Julie's eyes.

“
Where were you planning to dine? I have a standing reservation at
L'Astrance.” Julie darted a glance at Annata. Christophe knew Annata would probably jump at the chance to eat at the famed eatery, but he could have gotten them reservations, no problem, had he thought ahead to.  He tried to come up with another excuse, but Julie was having none of it.“We simply must go!” she exclaimed.

***

Christophe rapped his knuckles on Annata's door that evening, dressed in his navy suit. It was all his fault,  and he took credit for it. He should have just told Julie no. Now he was being forced to go to dinner with an ex-girlfriend and his current
—
his current what, exactly? Annata was definitely the woman in his life, but he doubted she would label it as such. He massaged his temples. He was too tired for this shit. He just wanted to fall in bed beside Annata, do naughty things to her, and then go to sleep with her in his arms.

He felt a rush of fresh air to his face as Annata opened the door. She wore a black, form-fitting ankle length dress. Her hair was pulled away from her face, and red lipstick defined her lips. His eyes ran the length of her and he debated whether he should just slam the door behind them, push her up against the wall, and bury himself inside her. She turned and receded back into the room barefoot, fumbling with her earring. “I'm almost ready,” she called out as he closed the door behind him. She stood in the mirror and smoothed her hands down her thighs. He leaned against the doorjamb and admired her. Her dress clung to every curve. She was covered from neck to ankle, but she could have been naked as far as he was concerned. Her gold earrings nearly grazed her shoulders. She looked so damn
regal
. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

“
Take your time. Please,” he said, a wry smile on his lips. “I'll enjoy the view.” She pursed her red lips at him and narrowed her eyes.

“
Don't just stand there. Help me with this.” She held up a simple pearl necklace to her neck. He sidled up behind her and ran his hands from her ass to her shoulders. She shivered against him. “You jerk,” she chastised. Chuckling, he took the delicate strands of the necklace in his fingers.

“
Do we have to go?” he whispered in her ear. He clasped the necklace and snaked his arms around her slender waist. He pulled her tight against him. She dropped her hands to his arms.

“
You're the one who wanted to go,” she tilted her head so that he could nuzzle her neck.

“
I disagree.” Christophe ran his nose along the soft, perfumed skin of her throat. “I said yes because I knew you would want to.”

“
Oh
chouchou
, we simply must go!” She mimicked Julie's honeyed voice.  He growled.

“
Fuck L'Astrance.” He bit her ear. “The food's not as delicious as you are.”

“
You are too much.” She swatted at his arm and pulled away from him. He let her go, reluctantly.  She moved to the bed and stepped into her six-inch heels.  “So how long ago did you date her?”

“
Date who?” he feigned innocence.

“
Julie Bissett.”

“
Oh, her.” He rolled his eyes. “We went together when we were 18. For about a year, when she was in school at Yale.”

“
A year, huh? Did you love her?” she asked, plopping her hands on her hips. Christophe rubbed his face. She always wanted to talk about shit he didn't want to talk about.

“
I thought I did, at the time.”

“
What does that mean? Either you did or you didn't,” she replied.

“
Jesus!” Christophe barked. “I was 18. I had simple needs back then. If a hot girl sucked my dick, I thought I was in love.”

“
Did she love you?”

“
Annie,” he said in a warning tone.

“
I think she did.” Annata leaned over and snagged her gold leather clutch purse off the bed. “She probably still does.”

“
What the fuck does it matter?” He could feel a flare up of anger. She always knew how to get to him. He didn't want to talk about Julie, someone who felt so insignificant, with Annie.

“
It doesn't,” she said, her tone light. “I just wanted to know what I was walking into.” She avoided his eyes as she dropped the red lipstick into her bag. Then she moved to walk past him and he grabbed her.

“
Kiss me,” he demanded.

“
My lipstick,” she protested, pushing against his chest. He enveloped her in his arms.

“
Come on,” he cajoled her, his hands memorizing her curves. Giving in, she pressed her lips to his cheek.

“
That's all you get,” she said, her eyes laughing. She rubbed the red lipstick off of his skin with the pad of her thumb. The she pushed herself on her tiptoes to reach his ear. “Wait until I suck your dick. You're gonna go out of your mind,” she whispered.

***

Annata slid across the backseat of the car and glanced out the window. The sky was milky-thick with clouds. The air outside was still and quiet. She smiled. Ever since she moved to New York from Louisiana, she would look forward to the first snow of the season. It was a secret, childish pleasure of hers. She loved to sit at her window and watch the flakes fall. She loved when the snow would blanket the city and all would be quiet, if only for a few hours. Christophe slid in next to her and shut the car door. “Looks like it's going to snow,” she said, pointing to the tell-tale clouds.

“
You want to discuss the weather? How banal,” he teased.

“
I love the snow,” she admitted, turning her face back to the window. She could feel his eyes on her. Then he pressed the palm of her leather-clad hand to his lips.

“
In that case, I hope there's a fucking blizzard,” he murmured. She smiled at him as the driver eased them into traffic.

“
I never experienced snow until I moved to New York.” She dropped her head, slightly embarrassed. “It's magical.”

“
Where did you grow up?”

“
Louisiana,” she said, letting her Southern drawl rise to the surface. He looked at her in amazement.

“
Say that again.”

“
Louisiana,” she said, drawing out the word. He threw his head back and laughed.

“
That is so sexy,” he said. “I never would have guessed.”

“
You just haven't seen the South come out.” She snapped her fingers. “When it rears up, you better watch yo'self.”

“
I look forward to it.” He laughed. “Believe me.”

“
Where did you think I was from?”

“
Boston. Or Connecticut.” He shrugged. “Or maybe New Jersey.”

“
New Jersey!” She slapped his hand. “I do
not
sound like a Jersey girl.”

“
No, you don't. Your Yankee accent is superb.” He drew his hand up to trace her jaw. “But hey, fake it til you make it.”

“
That's my motto.” She leaned into his hand, enjoying the smooth buttery feel of this leather glove. “You were born in New York?”

“
Born and raised. But I spent summers abroad, and  had internships all around the country. Undergrad at Yale. I've jumped around. So I suppose, I haven't spent much time in the actual city.”

“
Poor little rich boy.” It was her turn to tease. He didn't laugh along, though. He clenched his jaw and looked away. She was tempted to continue poking at him and make him snap at her. But she didn't. She just watched him and wondered what was going through his mind.

“
I'm moving back to New York,” he said, his eyes straight ahead. She furrowed her brow, not quite understanding. What? Why was he moving back? Did his decision have to do with William? She felt a rising tide of panic. For the last two days in Paris, they had existed in a bubble. But when they returned to New York tomorrow,  William's retirement would be back in the forefront of her mind. She could not fathom giving up on becoming William's successor.