Her Rules

by CC MacKenzie

  He sank to sit on the edge of the bench and waited until she'd taken her seat beside him.

  His eyes, so blue, held hers, and she recognized despair.

  "You have suffered so much. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for that. For not trying harder, maybe even going public, to find you."

  "You lived a full and happy life without me."

  "I did. Thanks to Maria, I did. But..."

  Her hand covered his clenched fist on his knee and squeezed.

  "Then I'm glad. What my mother did to you... what she did to me... is unforgiveable. She had no right. And once my step-father died and she became ill, she should have at least left a letter, something, to ensure my safety... but she didn't."

  The past was gone.

  There was nothing either of them could do to change it.

  "Will you give me, my family, a chance to get to know you? I sound horribly selfish, I know I do, but I need the contact, Anastacia."

  She blinked, stunned by the desperation in the tone and by what the deep emotions reflected in eyes so much like her own.

  "I'll try," she said, trying to be nothing but honest with a man who was her father and a complete stranger. "It's all been a lot to take in."

  She could see by the way his shoulders slumped that she'd hurt him by not giving him a definitive answer. The sting of guilt annoyed her. She was being selfish, but dammit, she needed time. Time to come to terms with the curve life had thrown her. Her whole world, her past, everything that had happened to her, the good times and the bad, all of those things that had made her the person she was today, was turned upside down.

  "I need you to understand that I never willingly gave you away. I never turned my back on you. I fought for you. And in Law I lost you," Christopher said in a weary voice. "I understand you need time. Can I call you?"

  "Of course you can call me. I'm in the middle of a crazy ad campaign and will be travelling, but yes, all of you can call me."

  Her father nodded.

  He stood, pale and hurting.

  Eyes too bright, he looked his fill at his daughter.

  "I just want to say that I am so incredibly proud of what you've become. You're an amazing woman, Anastacia."

  After he left, she simply stared at the spot where he'd stood.

  Maria, Chloe and Tanith Rucker, every single one of them, were all tall, leggy blondes.

  And how bloody fair was that?

  Then she told herself to get a grip.

  They might be blonde with legs up to their armpits, but they were also warm, welcoming and nice. Really nice. Dinner had been more relaxing, better than expected, until her father had mentioned the attack on her the night before.

  Now she frowned, remembering the way Olivier had jumped into the tense silence to assure Christopher Rucker that there would not be another since he was organizing a security detail for her. Now she blinked, first she'd heard of it and she'd be talking to him and Nico about that later.

  She sat, lost in a myriad of thoughts, and knew that she and her father had taken the first step into a new relationship.

  They'd talked.

  Even though it had been stilted and a little tense, they'd talked and come to some sort of an understanding.

  She'd been able to see part of herself in him, she realized now. The eyes. The way he held his head.

  Now Anastacia closed her eyes.

  God, she just needed time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "I like your family," said Olivier as they entered her apartment.

  "I like them, too."

  He pulled her into his arms, held her close, held her tight.

  "Feeling better?"

  She nodded.

  "I am now. You were so sweet with the girls. Especially Tanith." Olivier had done good. Probably because he had two sisters of his own, he was able to relate. She grinned up into his wonderful face. "You were very sweet with me, too."

  Now his dark eyes stared into hers.

  "Sweet? You think I have perhaps been too sweet with you?"

  Her smile went wide at the masculine growl in his voice, the disgust in his face.

  "If anything you're getting more demanding."

  Now his brows wiggled in a way that made her laugh out loud as his hands found the spot where she was the most ticklish.

  "No," she gasped. And then began to give as good as she got.

  Just beneath his ribs was the spot that made him gasp, too.

  He was laughing as they took the battle to the bedroom, as they wrestled over the bed like children. Quick and searching hands removed clothes. Fast, nipping kisses, discovering the best spot for tickles, breathless fumbling that made her giggle like a five year old.

  When was the last time she'd had so much fun?

  She tried to think, but couldn't remember.

  Now she was on top, naked and straddling him.

  "I win!"

  His dark eyes danced into hers as his wide smile had the dimple wink in his cheek.

  "Si, what is my punishment?"

  "Easy. I'm going to kiss you to death."

  He laughed.

  "A wonderful way to go."

  Her eyes held his as something profound was exchanged between them.

  Something that gripped her belly, her heart.

  "I feel really weird asking you this, but has it ever been like this with anyone else?"

  Now his eyes went soft and gentle.

  He shook his head.

  "No. Never."

  She bent to drop a kiss on his mouth.

  "Me neither."

  Then she sat up, still straddling him, just enjoying the sensation of the stroke of his hands on her bare back, the rhythm of his touch soothing her.

  "Why do people look so hard to find the one?"

  "To love someone more than they love, or care, about themselves, " said Olivier without a moment's hesitation.

  He was so terribly sure of himself, of her.

  "But how do they know it'll last?"

  "They do not. They take a leap of faith. Sometimes they find a love that lasts a lifetime. They are the lucky ones."

  "Do you think we'll get lucky?"

  Dark eyes melted as they stared into hers.

  Her heart raced.

  "I know it."

  "So sure."

  "I am sure I love you, Anastacia. Nothing will ever change that."

  In a smooth move, she was under him.

  Her body spread wide as she took him into her.

  And as he took her higher, she realized she was so very happy.

  Too happy.

  A little voice whispered in her mind, 'The sort of happiness that could never hope to last.'

  ***

  Early the following morning, Olivier yawned as he wandered into Anastacia's kitchen to make a large pot of the black stuff. His woman didn't function on any sort of level until she'd had at least one hit of coffee. On the worktop he noticed his cell was flashing and buzzing with an incoming message.

  He picked up, checked the sender, and frowned.

  Natalia.

  The fucking last thing he needed was Natalia Loewe causing trouble between him and Ana. As things stood, their relationship was too fragile to deal with a clever mischief-maker, which was why he pressed the number to speak to his ex-lover.

  Anastacia padded through her sitting room en-route to the kitchen, her mind firmly on her first coffee fix of the day. She'd taken just one step when she heard Olivier's deep voice in the kitchen. He had his back to her, shoulders held stiff, as he stared out of her kitchen window over the river Thames and the city beyond.

  "It is early, Talia. Si, something's never change." He was on his cell, Anastacia realized, speaking in low tones. She wished she could hear both sides of the conversation. "Si, it was a surprise. Si, we can. One o'clock at the..." She blinked at the name of a restaurant famous for its exclusivity. "... nessun problema, Ana is fine with it. Si, Talia, I will see you then."

/>   Talia, not Natalia, Anastacia thought as her stomach plunged. Natalia was a long-legged sexy blonde. Talia, was an old lover and an old friend who also, it appeared, deserved a certain amount of fondness, even tenderness.

  Determined not to skulk around in her own damn house, she took another step and by the look on his face realized she'd caught him by surprise. However, in that instant, she found it hard to read his eyes, it was if his mind was elsewhere. Then he smiled as he focused on her, even though his expression was slightly abstracted.

  "I had a call to return," he said. "I was about to bring you a cup of coffee."

  Really?

  She waited, but he didn't mention who he'd been speaking with.

  No way was she going to let him get away with that.

  "Lots to do today? Hot date with the ex?"

  He blinked.

  "Scuse?" When her brows rose, he nodded. "Si, Talia remembers I am an early riser. We are meeting for lunch."

  And her heart clenched, because she knew, just knew that if she hadn't pushed it he wouldn't have told her who he was meeting.

  "I heard," she said in a very cold voice. Now she narrowed her eyes. "If I were you, I'd be very careful."

  Again, he blinked at her watch-it-pal tone. "Scuse?"

  "She wants something. Don't forget that these days everything you do is like cat-nip to the paparazzi and the gutter-press. I won't tolerate being embarrassed. I think I've suffered enough. Don't you?"

  Irritation, just a whisper, crossed over his gorgeous face.

  "I have no intention of adding fuel to that particular fire."

  Then another part of his conversation leapt into her mind.

  "I don't remember saying I'm fine with you dallying with an ex-lover."

  "Eavesdropping now, Ana?"

  "Excuse me? This is my home. My kitchen. I have ears, if you wanted a private conversation, you should have buggered off home."

  "Then use those big ears to hear very clearly these words. I am having a meeting in a public place. Nothing more." Now those dark eyes narrowed at they studied her hot face. "Do you trust me?"

  Did she?

  "Maybe. I'd trust you a hell of a lot more if she wasn't an ex-lover."

  "That was over years ago. Years before I ever met you." Now a sort of male bewilderment joined irritation and frost entered his eyes. "Are you telling me you are jealous of a woman I have not seen, or given a thought to, in years?"

  Anastacia simply gave him a very long, very direct stare. "I bet you're thinking of her right now," she whispered and turned to walk back into her bedroom, quietly closed the door, and turned the lock with a final click.

  She stripped as she marched into the shower.

  And let the sting of the spray soothe the chronic pain in her heart.

  Why the hell was she putting herself through all this crap?

  Jealous?

  Yes, she was frigging jealous and it killed her.

  Olivier simply stared at the bedroom door and couldn't believe she'd locked him out. Cristo, his woman's mood swings were giving him whiplash. All he was having was lunch, that was all.

  What was the big deal?

  Who the hell needed all this bloody drama?

  ***

  Anastacia wanted to kick ass as she slung on jeans, a sleeveless cotton shirt, thrust her feet into running shoes. She piled her hair into a messy top-knot and didn't bother with make-up.

  Why bother?

  How was she expected to compete with that... slut?

  She sank to the edge of her bed. God, she'd handled the whole thing wrong. Now when he met Talia (she made a horrible face) he was going to be royally pissed with his fiancée. How was that a good idea, Anastacia?

  Then she slapped her face, why should she need a good idea anyway?

  "Get a grip," she muttered to herself. "Don't make a big something out of nothing."

  Still, she fumed and brooded over every cross word in the taxi as it wound its way to T.C.'s apartment.

  "What?" yelled T.C. through the intercom by way of a greeting.

  "Open up," yelled Anastacia right back.

  "Feck's sake, Banana. Do you know what time it is?"

  "Who cares? Let me in."

  Silence.

  "What's the matter?"

  Anastacia closed her eyes and prayed for deliverance.

  "Nothing. Am I gonna stand here all day?"

  T.C. muttered something about a pain-in-the-fricking-ass and buzzed the door open.

  By the time she'd climbed four flights of stairs, Anastacia hadn't trusted herself in the elevator, much of her mad had worn off leaving a sort of crawling misery festering in her belly.

  T.C. was in her immaculate kitchen making coffee. She was dressed in faded soft pyjama bottoms, white covered in red hearts, with a red skinny vest which showcased spectacular and unfettered breasts. Breasts that were every man's wet dream. The pillow crease on her right cheek and the bleary eyes told Ana she'd woken her best friend out of a deep slumber.

  "What's up?" demanded T.C. as she placed a huge mug of the black stuff on the work-top and turned to pour her own. "Lover's tiff?"

  Anastacia's eyes went to slits. Something like a snarl rose in her throat. "You're a witch."

  T.C. looked at her over the rim, took a careful sip of her very hot coffee. "Trouble in paradise?"

  "There's this woman..."

  "No fricking way..." her bestie shot back without even thinking about it.

  "If he wants sex with a leggy blonde with big tits, he shouldn't have had sex with me last night."

  T.C. blinked, like a deeply confused baby owl. "Back up. I've lost the thread already." After staring at Anastacia for an endless moment, she cautiously dipped a toe into dangerous waters. "WTF did he do?"

  "How come a man can have amazing sex with one woman one minute, and then have lunch with his ex-lover?"

  T.C.'s baby blues went razor sharp.

  "You're asking me for relationship advice? Are you nuts?"

  Anastacia recognized the strength of that argument.

  T.C. was crap at relationships.

  It didn't take them long to tag Danni for moral support.

  Four hours later, as her two besties chatted among themselves, Anastacia tried very hard not to think about what Olivier was doing. Fought not to think of him sitting down at a very expensive restaurant table with a gorgeous ex-lover.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Meanwhile, Olivier was not having a good time.

  It was typical of Talia to keep him waiting. He should have expected her to play games. She was good, very good, at playing games. When he'd been young, and too stupid to live, he'd found her games alluring, even arousing. How many times had she come hurrying into a party, a club, a dinner, at least thirty minutes late, her beautiful face lit up with laughter and eyes filled with a fake remorse. They both knew the game she'd played, both played.

  These days he was brighter, at least he liked to think so.

  He'd made the reservation for one p.m. and told her twelve-thirty. He'd arrived at twelve-fifty, slid into a private cubicle reserved in his name. He shook his head at the offered wine list, ordered water. No way was he going to drink to old times, not with Natalia Loewe.

  He spent time scanning the fancy restaurant, knowing full well it would suit Talia perfectly. And his Ana would hate it. Classy, opulent, jam-packed with the sort of people who craved attention, who needed to be seen.

  His mood was still a bit ragged around the edges from his fight - if it had been a fight, he wasn't quite sure - with Ana. The fact she hadn't trusted him fuelled the fire of temper in his gut.

  Didn't she know him by now?

  Stupid question, he realized.

  Of course she didn't know him.

  How could she?

  But then he found himself pitifully hurt all over again.

  All he was doing was having a very short meeting with a woman he hadn't set eyes on for over three years. After all, Talia had had a
big impact on his life, once upon a time, when he'd been young and dumber than a turnip. Later, he'd sort out the woman who'd captured his heart, the little witch.

  Natalia walked into the restaurant with her customary style and speed - long legs, hips swaying, hair bouncing down her back. With a soft sorry-I'm-late-I-know-you-forgive-me laugh, she whispered a kiss on his cheek and took her seat.

  "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

  "No. I arrived a moment ago."

  The arrival of the waiter serving his water supported his statement.

  "Hmm." There was a flash, just for an instant, in her eyes, then another tinkling laugh. "You always did understand how I ticked." She played with her hair, another little trick he remembered, before shooting him a quick and naughty-little-girl smile. "Do you remember my favourite drink?"

  "Champagne. Tattinger," he said to the waiter.

  "I'm honored."

  "And for you, sir?"

  "I am good."

  The waiter bowed his head once, and slipped away.

  "Water?" she asked, slid him another teasing look.

  "I am in training."

  Now she eyed him carefully.

  "The game always came first with you."

  "Still does."

  "The discipline, the hard work, it suits you. In fact, the way you've risen through the ranks has been amazing."

  She waited until the sommelier opened her bottle of champagne, poured her a taste.

  "Delicious, thank you."

  She relaxed back in her plush chair, feline eyes sparkling. "How does it feel to be wealthy, seriously wealthy?"

  It hit him, hard, that the enquiry was one it would never occur to Ana to ask.

  "I do not think of it as wealth. I have nearly everything I want. I love the game." He shrugged. "You?"

  "Oh, I'm sort of between modelling campaigns at the moment. Just divorced Andrew. He broke my heart." She slid him another quick look from under her thick lashes, another old trick that used to ceaselessly captivate him. "Sometimes love alone isn't enough to maintain a... partnership. It simply wasn't meant to be."

  Coolly, Olivier picked up his glass, sipped, as he studied her over the rim. "He was a smart man. Too old for you. Too set in his ways, as I remember telling you when you dumped me for him."