The Pleasures of Winter (17 page)
What more did he want? An anatomy lesson? She had just told him about her first time. What could she tell a Dom about sex that he didn’t know already?
Abbie was tempted to throw a cushion at the screen. If she didn’t reply he would go all Dom again. She had asked him to help her, not burrow into every little part of her brain. The man was worse than a therapist.
Disciplinarian is typing.
She could feel a lump in her throat. So what if she didn’t come? So what if life inside the Marshall/Dillard boudoir wasn’t like the Kama Sutra? Lots of people didn’t have an orgasm every time they had sex. Lots of her friends didn’t have sex at all. D was just winding her up. Trying to see how far he could push her. He was just like Jack.
She slammed the laptop shut. Abbie sniffed loudly. This had been a mistake. A huge mistake. She reached for her cell phone, but it was already late. She couldn’t call Kit now. Abbie eyed the power cable. What she wouldn’t give to be within two feet of Mr Disciplinarian. Memories of Jack flashed into her brain. His arms around her at night protecting her. His hand on her –
‘Shit.’ She dragged her hand through her hair. She couldn’t go on like this. There had to be some way of getting Jack out of her head. She would have to talk to D.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Had he pushed her too hard? She had just gone offline, with no indication that she would be back.
He pushed himself back from the laptop, unable to sit still, and paced around the apartment. He wished there were something lying around on the floor that he could kick. He reviewed the conversation. Had he allowed his jealousy of that dweeby jerk to make him push her too hard?
He shook his head. No, there was something there. She would chat away and answer his questions, but when it came to nice, perfect William, she got tense. There was something about going to bed with William that was freaking her out.
Jack wanted to ask her more about the cave, and the spanking he had given her. He wanted to hear her impression of it, and he would get her to tell him, sooner or later. But first he had to deal with the dweeb and whatever it was about their relationship that was niggling at Abbie.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, added some ice and went back to the computer. She was still offline, so he forced himself to answer a couple of e-mails. He even checked his Twitter account. Wow, two million followers and climbing. He added a quick tweet. ‘Just back from an evening out with the beautiful Kym Kardell. Think we managed to escape the paparazzi this time.’ That should keep Zeke happy.
His Yahoo icon flashed. Bingo. It was Abbie.
He paused before he answered. She could suffer a bit too.
He laughed so hard he almost choked on his drink. He was willing to bet that no one in her newspaper could come within an ass’s roar of Kym Kardell when it came to thinking about clothes and hair.
He smiled.
The image of Abbie in high heels and a skirt did predictable things to his cock. He took a drink and allowed himself a brief vision before he put his hands back on the keyboard.
He held his breath while he waited for her reply.
Wild orchid is typing.
Jack almost came on the spot. It took a huge effort of will to make himself type again.
He allowed that to sink in for a moment.
She couldn’t really object to that. Although with Abbie, he wouldn’t put money on it.
Wild orchid is typing.
Jack laughed. He was so looking forward to this.
The call came just as she finished filing a story on the rise of Danish fashion designers. Abbie reached for her personal phone. Maybe it was Jack? A mad thought, but right now everything came back to him. When she saw Miffy’s name on her screen she was tempted to ignore it but there was no point postponing the inevitable.
‘Hi, Sis, is Dad OK?’
‘He’s fine. He’s taken JJ and Robyn for the weekend, so I thought that we might meet for lunch.’
Abbie glanced at her watch. It was almost noon and lunch was Miffy’s preferred setting for an ambush. She braced herself. ‘OK, where do you want to meet?’
‘Bergdorf Goodman, of course. It feels like ages since I saw you. I’ve got us a nice table where we can have a chat.’
She could just imagine it. Miffy’s favourite table was at the window with a view of Central Park. This wouldn’t be a casual lunch date, more like an interrogation. They hadn’t yet analysed her break-up with William. And she knew Miffy would have plenty to say about that.
Millicent was four years older than her but acted more like it was forty. She always thought that she knew what was best for her. Miffy had always been a bit bossy, but after their mother died, she went into overdrive. It was her way of coping. Most of the time Abbie didn’t let it get to
her – at least, she thought she didn’t – but the prospect of having to come up with an acceptable version of what had happened with William filled her with dread. Still, it had to be done.
‘OK, but remember I’m at work, I can’t stay too long.’ Miffy never quite got the concept of working hours.
‘Wonderful.’ Miffy rambled on, not listening. ‘I’ll see you there at 1:15.’
It was 1:20 before Abbie raced through the homewares department on the seventh floor and into the crowded restaurant. The place was full of out-of-towners. At least it was loud. The sound would drown out Miffy’s constant complaints.
‘Abbie.’ Miffy stood up and air-kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Lovely to see you. I’ve ordered a glass of Veuve for both of us. Sit, sit, you can tell me everything that’s happened since poor William.’
Poor William? Abbie was about to turn round and go home again when a waiter materialized behind her, slid back her chair and Abbie took a seat, wincing as she was pinned against the table. There was no escape now.
Miffy smiled at the waiter as if he were an old friend. ‘We’ll both have Lobster Mac and the Harvest Salad.’
Great, why doesn’t she ask me if I want to go to the bathroom before I sit down?
Another waiter appeared with their champagne. Abbie took a moment to try to settle herself. She was just going to have to get through this.
Miffy took a sip of her drink and replaced the glass on the table. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on her hands. ‘Darling, tell me everything. I still can’t believe it. You must be devastated about losing William.’
Abbie took a sip of her water. ‘I’m good, actually.’
‘Good?’ Miffy sounded horrified. ‘How can you say that? You’ve practically been engaged since second grade.’
‘Maybe that was the problem.’
‘But William adores you and Dolores Dillard is simply distraught. I saw her at bridge on Thursday and she could barely hold her cards.’
Abbie almost choked on her champagne at the thought of scandalizing bridge night. She could just imagine the undercurrent of spite as the ladies who lunched pretended to be sympathetic.
‘It’s for the best, Miffy. Honestly.’
Miffy sat back in her chair. ‘It’s that man, isn’t it? Jack Winter? He’s done this to you. He’s attractive, I’ll give you that, but he’s not our sort of people, is he?’
Our sort of people. Now there was a thought. Abbie gave a little inward shudder. Just who were ‘our sort of people’? Was Kit right? Was she simply a wuss who was under the thumb of her family? After all, Miffy wasn’t really concerned about her, but about some set of unwritten rules about what was appropriate for their family.
Even though Jack was arrogant and overbearing, in the short time they had spent together she always felt that he was utterly focused on her. He listened to her like no one else ever had, not even Kit. Abbie stifled a smile at the thought of a Jack/Miffy encounter. Alien versus Predator came to mind.
‘I’m not seeing Jack,’ she said.
Miffy looked almost disappointed. ‘But he’s here, isn’t he, in New York? I saw his face on the front of the
Post
.’
The waiter arrived with their food and refilled their
champagne glasses. Abbie dug a fork into her meal and wished she were somewhere else. ‘I have no idea.’
‘So you’re not … I mean …’ Miffy stared at her, but not a muscle moved in her face.
Abbie sighed. More Botox. Her sister couldn’t frown any more with the amount of stuff she had in her face.
‘No, I am not sleeping with Jack Winter.’
At the table beside her, a fork clattered to the floor.
‘There’s no need to be vulgar, darling.’
Miffy toyed with her food, moving it around the plate until Abbie wanted to slap her. How could she be on another diet? She was barely a size two. The waiter whisked away Miffy’s barely touched plate and brought their salads.
‘Now, darling. I know that you don’t want to listen to advice. I mean, if you did, you wouldn’t still be working at that newspaper and running around the world getting yourself into all kinds of ridiculous scrapes.’
Miffy examined the greenery on her plate. ‘Go back to William. I’m sure if you ask him to forgive you, he will. You can have a winter wedding. Somewhere quiet. But do it soon, darling, before he meets someone else.’
Abbie almost choked on her salad. It was the ultimate humiliation – love advice from her sister.
‘You’re not getting any younger, you know,’ Miffy said as she stuck a fork into her tiny dish of salad dressing first before attacking the carefully arranged circle of leaves.
‘If you just want to casually run into him, William will be at the Van Gogh exhibition opening next weekend. I’ve booked some tickets for you. It’s a very good cause. You’ve no idea how much it costs to stage an exhibition like that.’
More tickets. Abbie didn’t want to think about how much they would cost. If it wasn’t tickets for the museum, it was the opera or some other charity that she was involved with. Why did Miffy always think that she could do this to her?
Because you always let her. Idiot.
‘I’m not sure about the weekend …’
‘Darling, you know that I only want the best for you. Don’t let your involvement with that man destroy your only chance of happiness.’
Message delivered, Miffy sat back in her chair. ‘Now, after we have coffee, we can do a little shopping. Miu Miu have some darling shoes and you simply must try them.’
The party at the Honduras Friendship Society was not the sort of thing that Jack Winter normally attended, so Abbie was astonished when she got there and saw him stepping out of a car on to a red carpet.
Betsy had sent her to cover the event on the basis that she had a better chance than anyone else of getting an interview with Jack Winter. Abbie hadn’t believed he would actually show up.
When she saw him, she couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him. He looked stunning in a tuxedo. She was torn between gazing at the way his sharp cheekbones gave an air of danger to a face that was almost too beautiful to be real, and imagining the body underneath the hand-made suit. In the end, she settled for his eyes. Jack’s eyes were so blue, so intense, that she would be tempted to claim they were coloured contacts if she hadn’t seen the exact same blue in the jungle.
