by Snow, Nicole
Then I watch her empty half the mini-bottle in one long drink.
This is gonna be good.
I haven’t been up to a challenge in a long time, and the deeper this one gets, the more I’m liking it. By the time I’m done, her mother will figure out no one uses my son as a pawn.
Or Wendy.
Silas parks in the driveway of her parents' house. It's a nice sized brownstone in a fairly decent neighborhood. I instantly know who owns the white Mercedes.
I haven’t even met this Marco, or her sister, but I'm already scoffing, and highly doubt it'll change.
Wendy’s nervous. I can tell by the way she presses a hand to her stomach.
I lean over and though I only meant for it to be a quick kiss, as soon as my lips meet hers, the beast awakens.
Long dormant desires flare to life. Her lips are motionless at first, but then, after a tiny quiver, they dance under mine like Sleeping Beauty waking up. Except this kiss isn't anything as chaste as a damn fairy tale smooch.
I give her teeth. I give her tongue. I pull her bottom lip into my mouth and then I take over, fucking in and out against her tongue, showing her exactly how hard I could lay her down.
My fingers go numb. They're hungry. Eager to reach down, push her knees apart, and then struggle under her clothes. They know they'd find her hot little pussy slick and ready.
Fuck. No. Not yet.
I jerk away just in time. We're both breathing heavy then.
“What the hell was that?” she whispers.
She may not have meant me to hear, but I did. “Practice, babe.”
I step out of the car, take her hand, help her outside, then reach in to grab the pie off the seat.
“You’re crazy,” she whispers as we walk toward the house. “No, this is crazy. Maybe I'm the crazy one for going along. This won't work, Hunter. On second thought, let's just forget everything and –”
“It can work, it will, and you're not going anywhere.” I loop an arm through hers, gently pulling her forward. “When I first saw that lump of brown cake, I’d have never thought it could turn into a unicorn. You'll wow me again tonight, Wendy, and yourself, too.”
She gives me a long look, and then shakes her head. “This isn’t even close to being in the same realm.”
“Wrong. The realm you're talking about is only in your mind,” I say as we step onto the porch. “Trust me. Follow my lead. We'll give them a show they won't forget, and you'll be thankful after I show you who you really are.”
“Jeez! I didn’t know you were a philosopher, too.” Her laugh is genuine.
So is mine, and we're both laughing when the door opens.
“Hunter?” Sammy Agnes hides her surprise behind a smile. “My, I didn’t expect –”
“I know. Surprise.” I say it so deadpan a mafia don would be proud. I hand her the pie. “I decided to grab Wendy on a whim after work.”
“Oh, how lovely! Well, come in, come in.” Sammy steps aside.
I slide my arm off Wendy’s shoulder and grab her hand as she steps over the threshold. I keep ahold of her hand as we both walk in far enough for Sammy to close the door.
I also get my first glimpse of Marco and Rochelle. They both have brown hair, brown eyes, and scornful looks like they can't believe this odd intrusion into their world.
She’s wearing a white pantsuit. He’s got white pants with a black shirt on. They're both near the window of the living room, pretending they weren't gawking at the limo in the driveway.
Or maybe not.
Rochelle, taller than her sister and nearly pencil thin, puckers her face as she glares at Wendy. “What are you doing riding around in a limousine?”
I squeeze Wendy’s hand. “Surprised her with a private holiday light tour tonight. Figured it'd be relaxing after twelve hours of hard work.”
“A holiday light tour?” Rochelle repeats as she slowly looks at Marco and then back at us. “Who are you, anyway? The stand-in?”
I can't tell whether her mother hasn’t told Rochelle about me, or if she's just a natural bitch.
Probably a good thing if Sammy at least had enough sense to keep our deal on the down low. I glance in her direction.
Sammy just lifts a brow, watching, amused with the whole situation. I take that as a good sign. Maybe she's just overbearing then, and not playing favorite daughter a hundred percent of the time.
“I’m Hunter Forsythe,” I say, extending a hand to Marco first. “Wendy’s...friend.”
I purposefully pause before saying friend, and release her hand to wrap my arm around her shoulder again, to indicate that we're more than just friends. This subtle hiss of air escaping Rochelle's lips says she’s caught my meaning.
“Ah, yes,” Sammy says. “Forgive me. You two haven’t met Hunter. Hunter, this is Marco Rollins, and Wendy’s sister, Rochelle. Hunter will be joining us as Wendy's date.”
Marco shakes my hand, but his gaze goes from my head to my toes, and then to Wendy. He’s not sneering, but he’s not impressed either.
“Pleasure, Marco,” I say, while he mutters something unintelligible that sounds like yuh-huh. I see him checking out my clothes.
I've seen this happen before, when the arrogant upper middle class meets the truly rich. I don't flaunt my wealth, but I wear designer brands that make me look good. Probably the very same Marco likes, only he's likely going into debt or spending whole paychecks to do it. For me, it's a line I don't even read on my statement.
I nod to Rochelle. “I sent my black suit out to be cleaned. Looking forward to the big day.”
Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. “Hold on. If you're some guy she hired, we need to talk about this. Mom, I –”
“Rochelle-Jean!” Sammy clucks a warning with her middle name for emphasis. “Be nice. Hunter's not some kind of bum Wendy found off the street. These two have a history, even if they needed a little, shall we say, extra push.”
She winks at me. Wendy's eyes pop. My blood should be boiling, but I just laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Sammy thinks she's twisting my balls, but she may have done me a bigger favor than she knows.
I'm about to fire back when I see Wendy looking past me. Suddenly, we have an audience, several more smiling people I've never seen.
Then there's just Sammy talking again, ignoring Rochelle's weak protests, “Oh, and, Hunter, dear, this is Will’s brother, Sam, and his wife, Charlotte, and cousin Eddy, and...”
Sammy introduces me to half a dozen other relatives. They all appear almost as shocked that Wendy has a boyfriend as Rochelle did, which only feeds my ire.
So does the way Wendy trembles. For fuck's sake.
Don’t any of them see Rochelle doesn’t hold a candle to her? Not in looks or personality? She's like the candle itself, the only thing that's real and bright in a room full of dim, dusty lamps, trying their damnedest to burn but only showing their filth.
The only one who seems genuine in all this is her old man, Will.
“Hunter,” he says, walking in the room from what must be the kitchen since he’s carrying a dish towel. “Great to see you again! Are you joining us tonight?”
“No, sorry, Will, we can’t. Big plans. Wendy just wanted to drop off the pie and say hello, so here we are.” I gesture toward the door behind us with a nod. “Car's waiting for us. We've got ourselves some Christmas lights to see, and if I'm not mistaken, the ones downtown will be firing up in another hour or so.”
“Oh my God, Wendy! You’re riding around in a limo dressed like that?” Rochelle's squeal ripples over several quieter conversations.
I give Rochelle a solid once-over glare. From her skinny pointed white shoes to her skinny face, she's all bones and bitter words.
“What part of surprised her, didn’t you hear, honey?” I ask, tugging Wendy tighter to my side.
“Hunter, no. We'd better get going,” she says quietly, pulling gently on the end of my jacket.
I can see how her sister would drive h
er nuts. She's so entitled, it's maddening.
Marco seems no better. He's actually unmistakably sneering now, passive-aggressively punching thumbs at his phone when he isn't looking up at me.
It’s enough to make me want to throat punch him. I haven’t done that to anyone in years.
Fuck, maybe she's right. Time to go. Before I say something I can't take back.
One thing's for sure: I'm not keen on their wedding wear idea. I have half a mind to go out and buy the gaudiest red – or even better, gold – suit for their black only wedding. Heads would turn so fast they'd pop right off.
No one attempts to delay us more, just wishes us well as we head out the door.
Not that I'd expected it, but it would've been nice if they'd shown enough respect for Wendy to at least suggest we stay longer.
Silas is at the car door, waiting patiently, holding it open as we arrive. I tell him he can start driving the tour route as Wendy climbs in.
Once I’m in and Silas is back in the driver's seat, she looks at me and speaks.
“That...that was painful. Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this isn’t going to work.”
“Yes, it will.”
“No way. You saw them, Hunter. None of them believe that you...you and me would ever...” She leans her head back against the seat, refusing to finish that sentence.
“That we'd what?”
“Not you, maybe. More like they don't believe that I could ever –” She stops herself and hisses a sigh. “Have a man of your caliber.”
Now, I'm pissed.
It's incredible how such a smart woman can't see what's right in front of her.
It's insane. She could have any man she wants. Her family has just made her believe she can’t, but she could. I don’t want her to continue thinking this way. Not at all.
“My caliber? What sort is that?” I snort. “When I joined the Marines, I didn’t have a pot to piss in. The small amount of life insurance money my parents had wasn’t enough to pay the mortgage on their house, and it was split two ways with my brother. My aunt made it work, though, using her own money, and we lived there until after graduation.”
Her eyes flutter again when I mention the word brother.
Fuck.
I want to tell her about Cory, about how both of us owed Aunt Margo for helping us through those months that are nothing more than a blur now. But I can’t risk telling anyone about him, or it might get back to Ben.
He knows I had a brother who died, but thinks it was long before he was born. And Ben has no idea I'm not his maker, even if we technically share half the same DNA, with Cory being my twin and all.
Still, if he ever found out...I shudder to imagine the consequences.
“I joined the service because it was the only way I could afford to get an education, and once I got out, I started my company. Built up through years of hard work. Nothing happened overnight.”
“Yeah, Landmark Defense Systems. A weapons' company, isn't it?”
I nod. “We make innovative systems, mostly for the Navy these days. Have contracts with Uncle Sam and several allied nations now, but we didn’t in the beginning.”
Oh, don't I know it. We wouldn't have gotten shit without Cory. He did the legwork, won our first big contract before we even had a functioning prototype in place.
“It must be a big company,” she says. “My dad said it’s on the Nasdaq.”
“It is. Went public a few years ago.” That was Cory’s dream, and I fulfilled it, but wish like hell that he was still here to know his hard work paid off.
“And now you're worth what? Millions and millions.”
“Sure. I’m not ashamed of that,” I say, shrugging.
“You shouldn’t be,” she says. “You should be proud. Very proud of what you’ve accomplished. That's not my point.” There's sincerity shining in her dark eyes. On her face. “It’s just...well, it isn't convincing. No one in my family will ever believe a millionaire would look at me twice. They'll think you're an actor or I'm a charity case or something even more ridiculous. They'll think –”
“Enough,” I say sharply, stopping her mid-thought. “Sugar, it doesn’t matter how much money a person has. Opposites attract all the damn time.”
She sighs. “Yes, it does. My Uncle Sam has a favorite saying – you can fall in love with a rich man as easily as you can a poor one. Finding one's the hard part. We're asking for the impossible. They're all so excited that Rochelle is marrying Marco. His family owned several beach resorts. His grandfather, I think it was, and sold them to some big company and made millions.”
“So, Marco doesn’t work?”
“Not that I know of. Oh, and he doesn’t think Rochelle should either.”
I nod, having run into his type many times. “They're going to live off family money their entire lives?”
“I guess so. Marco has something to do with the stock market, that’s what he’s always talking about anyway.”
“That’s how you know Landmark is on the Nasdaq?”
“No, my dad dabbles in the stock market, too. He told me. Said he was going to invest the profits we made in it.”
“Playing the markets can be a risky game.”
She nods. “That’s what Dad says. He’s been very frugal about it, but they're hit and miss. The investments he made once on my behalf paid for a good chunk of my college. Even allowed me to study abroad. The other times...” She makes a face, sliding one finger against her throat.
“Abroad, huh? That's where you learned to bake like that?”
“Europe.” A bit of shine returns to her eyes, happier times. “I cooked at Buckingham Palace. Made the pastries for the Queen’s birthday one year.”
“Damn, that's sweet. Congrats, Sugar. Nobody can ever take that away from you.”
She looks stunned. I'm not sure why.
“What’s wrong? That’s really something to be proud of. I'm not just stroking your ego.”
“I-I am proud of it.” She shakes her head. “It's just, maybe you’re the first person who ever congratulated me about it. Thank you.”
That hits a nerve. One that tells me I’m going to fight like hell to make our date for her sister’s wedding all the more memorable.
But for now, more pleasant things are coming into view.
“Look,” I point out the window on her side of the car. Silas is driving down a street where every house is lit up with holiday lights.
It's the full show. Strings hanging off houses in every color and configuration, blinking plastic reindeer, Santas and snowmen flapping their mechanical arms in a friendly wave that says, fuck yeah, it's Christmas!
She scoots closer to the door. I slide in, too, and roll down the window for a better look.
The next two hours fly by as we drive past house after house, listening to Christmas music, and talk.
We talk about things I'd long forgotten. Like Christmas mornings when my parents were alive, including that year Cory and I got awesome new bikes. He’d broken his arm trying to learn to ride, and he'd been so mad that I’d learned how while he’d been stuck wearing his cast that he refused to try and ride his again.
That boy didn’t learn to ride a bike until years later. I smile at the memory, remembering how stubborn he could be. Served him, and us, very well in later years.
Sugar tells me about how Rochelle demanded a pony one year, so her parents had bought her riding lessons.
Predictably, Rochelle insisted it wasn't the same and refused to go, so Wendy did instead.
“I was scared the first time I climbed on a horse. So scared, Hunter, but I knew my parents must've spent a small fortune on those lessons, so I went riding once a week for four months, which made Rochelle mad because I said it was fun. Sure meant it, too. By the time the lessons were over, I was really enjoying them.”
“Did your parents buy you more?” I ask.
“No. It was fun, but we were on a budget. Besides, I liked baking a whole lot m
ore.”
“Even when you were little?”
“Maybe.” Her face heats, painting her cheeks in an adorable flush that does terrible things to my body. There was a wistfulness in her voice. “First thing I can ever remember playing with was mud. I'd brought one of Mother's rolling pins outside and had myself a grand old time whipping up Minnesota muck pancakes. I think I was grounded for a week after I turned it back in, dirty, laid it right on the kitchen counter.”
She's laughing, and so am I. Hell, I’ve never been around a woman that brings out the things in me that she does. It's nice to hear her carefree for once.
I want her to sound like that all the time when she’s talking to me. Dreamy and soft.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am crazy. Right now, I’ll take crazy in spades because there's no denying what I want.
I want her. Greedily. Every sweet morsel of Sugar and Spice. Any damn way I can have her whole.
She’s looking up at me again. The raging desire to kiss her hits so hard I nearly jolt in my seat.
Fuck. Cool down.
I have to take it slow. If I push her too hard, too fast, she’ll back right out, and I can’t have that. For her sake, too.
The intercom beeps and a second later, Silas announces we’ve arrived. I’d told him to take us to the bakery after the tour so she could retrieve her car.
I push the button and tell him that we’ll wait a few minutes for Wendy’s car to warm up. She pushes her auto start button and the headlights blink on.
“Thanks, Hunter, this was pretty nice. Even if I'm not a huge fan of surprises. I’ve never gone on a light tour before.”
I hold her coat as she slips her arms in. “Glad you liked it, Wendy.”
“Do you and Ben do this every year?”
“We used to, when he was little, but we haven’t the past few years.”
She frowns. “Why not?”
“He got too old for it. Too distracted. Had more fun hanging out with friends from his old school.” It sounds like an excuse, and it might be. The rules of parenting change every year. Every day.
“You should do it with him again,” she says. “Make it a tradition for old time's sake that he’ll remember forever. Someday, maybe you'll even do it with his kids.”