“You don’t have to thank me. You’re right for the job or Adolph wouldn’t have offered it to you.”
“Uh-uh-uh, please.” She waggled her finger in a shameless caricature. “Call him Dolph.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He caressed her hands, wrists, lower arms. “The Dolphster.”
“And his lovely ‘old’ wife.” Annabel moved closer to Quinn and tilted her head up at him. “Did she say more than two words the entire evening?”
“Possibly three. All insulting her husband.” He finished closing the distance between them and held her firmly against him. “So, Fox Girl, what happens now?”
“Mmm, now?” She moved her pelvis against him in a suggestive circle, loving the protective strength of his arms around her. “You mean right now or after we do the dishes?”
“Screw the dishes.”
“Uh, no.” She giggled and batted her lashes. “Screw me.”
“Gladly.” He unzipped her dress, stood back and let it slide to the floor, raised his brows when he saw her camisole with no bra underneath. “Oh, I like that. Very sexy.”
“For you.” She smiled, body heating up before he’d even started touching her in earnest.
“All for me.” He stroked her breasts through the soft cotton material, mouth curved, but not like his recent warm smiles, more like the way he’d been when she met him. Distant, disengaged. Something was up.
He moved her back a few steps until the top of her thighs made contact with the back of the couch. Then he knelt suddenly, lifted her dress, pulled her panties over her thigh-high stockings and assaulted her sex with his mouth.
She gasped, surprised by his attack, then her body turned on to the insistent thrusts of his tongue and she spread her legs wider, giving him access, feeling her face and body flush from the heat of her response. There was nothing tentative or hesitant about the way he touched her and it made her completely—
“Turn around.” The order was curt, urgent.
She turned without question, heard him unzip, realized there would be no lingering tenderness this time. Was he angry? At her? Did he agree with her father that women should stay down and downtrodden?
Couldn’t be. He’d seemed so happy for her.
The crinkle of foil, the hurried unrolling of latex, then one hand on her hip, guiding her, the other on her back, pushing her down over the couch. The initial thrust inside her, her gasp at how good it felt, then he settled into a strong rhythm.
Annabel braced her arms on the couch; her breasts swung forward and back with his lunges. For all her sexual excitement, she was slightly confused, slightly bewildered.
Until her senses registered his hands firmly holding her hips, and her brain pictured him standing behind her, huge, strong, impassive, moving her on and off him, hips thrusting, buttocks clenching, eyes narrow, jaw hard.
And she started to go wild.
He heard her moans, realized what she wanted and pushed harder. She must be tight in this position, she could feel him inside her so well, working her, in and out, hot friction.
One of her hands stayed on the couch to brace her, the other feverishly fumbled between her legs, found her clit and worked the familiar circle, bringing herself almost instantly to the brink of the orgasm his domination had her craving.
Annabel gave over to it, cried out and felt him clutch her hips, strain then stiffen and breathe in, then out, twice, steady and strong, and she knew he’d come, too and thrilled with him.
She collapsed down onto the couch, still joined to him, still wildly excited…and strangely disappointed. It was good sex. Great sex. Fabulous sex. But it wasn’t sex with Quinn the way it had been last time. It was sex. Sex she could have had with any lover, though he excited her far beyond the others.
Not that she expected or wanted or needed all their lovemaking to be nothing but sweetness and tenderness. A little raunch once in a while was great, to keep things fresh, exciting.
But on their last night, when they were celebrating something really special…
Something was definitely up.
“Wow.” She lifted onto her elbows, strained to turn and see if she could identify his mood from his expression. “That was…incredible.”
“Yes.” He pulled out, walked toward the bathroom. “Be right back.”
O-kay. Annabel raised herself awkwardly to standing, feeling as if her muscles had temporarily frozen in the bent-over position. She pulled her panties up, stepped back into her dress and reached around to zip it. She did not want to be naked in front of him right now. She’d prefer a suit of armor, but the dress would have to do.
“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” She spoke the second he reappeared in the living-room doorway, still trying to get the zipper past those pesky few inches in the middle of her back that were nearly impossible to reach.
“Nothing’s wrong. You have to go down to Adolph’s offices in Chicago in the morning, I have a plane to catch, it’s late and we’re both—”
“Quinn.” She yanked at the zipper again, then gave up and let the dress flop open at the neckline. “Didn’t you say we weren’t allowed to pretend nothing was wrong when there was something?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
His face softened. He walked over to her, threaded his hands in her hair and kissed her forehead. “The only thing wrong is that I’m leaving tomorrow. And once you sign on with Fox, between that and your business here, you and I officially become an impossibility for anything more than a once-a-year quickie, if that.”
His words burst the last remaining bubble of Annabel’s happiness, and a larger painful bubble—no, more like a lead cupcake—took its place. He didn’t think their relationship could happen now. Was he trying to imply it was her fault? Or was she feeling guilty on her own?
“So you think I shouldn’t take the job?”
“Did I say that?”
“No.”
“If it’s what you want, of course you should take it.”
“If? If it’s what I want?” She pulled away from his hands, part of her realizing she was arguing reflexively, that coming to care this much for Quinn had made her wonder whether high-powered success and all the 24/7 obsessions that came with it were really what she wanted.
But she couldn’t stand the patronizing attitude that implied she might not really know what she wanted, that she might not be able to handle something this big and that they’d be better off if she rearranged her schedule to accommodate their needs.
N-n-n-nope.
“I’ve specifically said this is what I want. From the beginning.”
“But this isn’t the beginning anymore, Annabel. It’s nearly the end.”
“There must be a way we can—”
“I don’t want to see you once a month for an hour.” His voice raised and he paused for a long breath. “I want more than that. And believe me, the kind of schedule you’re embarking on now isn’t even going to afford us that one hour.”
“So you think I should change my life goals so you and I can be together.”
“No.” He took a step back, looking so weary and grim that she took a comparable step forward to stay close to him. “That’s not what I think.”
“Then what do you think?”
He reached out, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I think losing you will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to go through.”
She gaped at him. Swallowed. And then tears came in a torrent, as if someone had found a way to stop Niagara Falls and someone else happened by and bumped the switch to On by mistake.
He put his arms around her, rocked her back and forth, and his tenderness only made her cry harder.
Get a grip, Annabel. Crying would solve nothing. She clung to him, fighting the tears with everything she had, and gradually brought herself under control. He held her another minute, then released her a little too fast for it to feel right or safe.
“You’d better go home. You’ll nee
d to sleep and it will only be harder for both of us if you stay until morning.”
Annabel nodded dully, shocked at the pain that hit her. She’d counted on them having this one last night together. But he was right. There was no point staying, no point lying in bed next to each other all night, miserably waiting for the end.
Better leave now while things were relatively sweet, before either of them had a chance to think too hard, before the logical resentment could build, at the circumstances or at each other.
“The dishes.” She gestured lamely at the mess, more than she could stand thinking about.
“I’ll put away the food, soak the worst ones. Someone will be in tomorrow. I already arranged for them to clean up after the party so you wouldn’t have to.”
“Thank you.” The tears wanted to come again, and again she fought them. “You are so good to me.”
“It’s what you deserve. Remember that.” He walked with her to the door, handed her her coat, obviously wanting her out as fast as possible, to avoid a prolonged, agonizing scene. Probably just as well. She couldn’t stand much more of this herself.
He put on his own coat and walked her out into the hall, down the elevator and to her car. Ever the gentleman, always watching out for her. Going back now to watching out for herself, as familiar as it was, would feel like a loss. God, she’d miss him. In one week he’d changed so much of her life.
“Good luck, Annabel. Stay in touch on e-mail. I’ll call when I can.”
She nodded, knowing they’d try for a while and then the futility of trying to recapture even a small part of the intimacy they’d established this week would overwhelm them, and they’d drift apart.
“Who knows. Maybe fifteen years from now we’ll meet again.”
She nodded again, unable to do anything else, then managed to croak out, “That would be nice,” in the voice of a condemned woman.
“Merry Christmas, Annabel.”
“Merry Christmas, Quinn,” she whispered. Then she walked numbly around her van to the driver’s side. Got in. Buckled. Started the engine. Pulled out. Saw him in her rearview mirror, standing on the curb watching her drive away.
This was the right thing to do. If she stayed in Milwaukee, if she turned down this opportunity to make time for him, she’d always wonder whether she could have had a better life, done bigger things, been someone. Time would vindicate her. She hoped it would. It had better.
Because right now she felt as if she’d made the worst, most completely wrong decision of her life.
ANNABEL WALKED off the elevators and down the empty beige corridor toward the Chicago branch of Adolph Fox’s company, feeling as if the bad dream she’d had the night before was coming true. She’d been a ghostly figure, observing her own house while she was moving to Chicago for her new job. Friends and relatives, instead of packing, had been plundering her rooms for whatever they could carry away. Even Quinn was there, trying to pry away the kinky tiles around the fireplace to take home so he and his new love could practice different positions.
Then she’d been transported to Fox’s company, a dark, foggy place, utterly silent until the Dolphster had sprung up out of the floor in a blaze of hellfire and shocked her awake.
Not happy thoughts. She’d had the nightmare shortly after she finally drifted off, and barely slept after that. Quinn might be out of her life, but missing him sat like a burning bowling ball in her chest. How long before she was over him? She would get over him, of course. People did. The human spirit was very resilient. And in the meantime, she’d have tons of exciting projects and new beginnings to distract her from the pain.
Right.
She reached the end of the hallway and massive wooden doors with huge round gold handles and the Adolph Fox & Company logo—his gold signature sprawled across a gold ladle.
Obviously, this was the place. Half-expecting the fires of hell, she opened the door and instead walked into a huge reception area—also beige—with a giant wooden desk front and center, behind which sat a gorgeous young woman dressed in—yes—beige, with honey-blond hair.
Was color not permitted in this company? Annabel felt positively loud in her black suit and red sweater. And not a Christmas decoration in sight. Not even on Christmas Eve.
Of course, um, she could think of someone else’s office that wasn’t exactly a rainbow, nor a seasonal masterpiece. She marched over to the receptionist, smiling politely. First chance she got, she was painting her office walls blue and buying a bright yellow chair. Maybe some colorful prints on the walls, too.
“I’m Annabel Brightman. I’m here to—”
“Yes.” Ms. Receptionist smiled a fake, perfect white-toothed smile. “His secretary will be right out.”
“Thank you.” Annabel sent her a nice fake smile back and wondered if teeth-whitening strips were standard employee issue.
Ten seconds later, another stunning woman rounded the corner, also blond, this one wearing winter white.
Another fake smile. She introduced herself as Gina, then bent over to the receptionist. “Take my calls while I’m with Ms. Brightman.”
“Okay, Gina.”
More baring of white teeth on both sides, oh my goodness, the meows were practically audible. What a lovely welcoming atmosphere.
“This way.” Gina gestured down the beige hall.
Annabel fell into step beside her, expecting polite get-to-know-you conversation.
No polite get-to-know-you conversation.
The silence got weird.
“So, Gina, how long have you worked here?”
“Long enough.” Gina pushed through a doorway into another office—ooh, light brown this time—and gestured to the table. “Just to get it out in the open, I was supposed to be the Fox Girl. Until you showed up.”
“I see.” Uh-oh. “So, you didn’t have kitchen experience? Or…”
“I have kitchen experience.” She pointed to a chair at the conference table and sank into the one opposite, folding her arms. “And I’ve been here since I graduated high school. I know the place inside out.”
“Well. I’m…sorry. That must feel bad.” Oh, this working relationship was going to be extra super special, Annabel could tell. With luck she wouldn’t have to be in the office much.
“Whatever.” Gina sent over a glance of sulky dislike. “Maybe you give better head than I do.”
Annabel’s eyelids snapped up like overwound shades. “Excuse me?”
Gina raised an eyebrow and took out a stack of folders. “Here’s your schedule for the next month. If you sign on, you officially start January first.”
“Wait a second.” Annabel dumped her briefcase on the table and held up a hand like a traffic cop. “I am not sexually involved with Mr. Fox.”
The other eyebrow went up. “Oh, please. We all know how it works around here. She gets to the top who bends over farthest and swallows the most.”
“I have a boyfriend.” For a second, after the words came out of her mouth, she desperately wanted it to be true. And she desperately wanted that boyfriend to be Quinn.
Gina shrugged. “So what’s your point?”
“Are you saying I’ll have to—”
The door to the room pushed open and another beautiful woman came in, older, maybe in her early thirties, and like the other two not a hair out of place. But at least her beige suit had a slight rose tint to it. She must be the radical in the bunch.
“Annabel, welcome, I’m Mr. Fox’s assistant, Teresa.”
Annabel stood and shook her hand, struck by the firmness of the other woman’s grip and the complete lack of the announced welcome on her face. This was going to be a very, very, very long day. For a traitorous moment she thought of Stefanie, back at Annabel’s comfortable house, holding down the fort, space heater blowing at her feet, miniature Christmas tree on her desk. Then Tanya’s warm, homey shop, the garlands, the friendly customers, kids’ pictures…
“I see Gina has given you your schedule. Thanks, Gina.�
�
“You’re welcome, Teresa.”
Brr. Annabel resisted the urge to shiver. Battle of the Icy Bitches.
“Any questions so far, Ms. Brightman?”
“Please call me Annabel. Is Mr. Fox in today?” A friendly face would be a nice thing. A very nice thing.
The women exchanged glances.
“Yes.”
The word came from both their perfectly made-up mouths at the same time, then they sat and stared.
“O-kay. Thank you.” She sent them her umpteenth fake smile of the day, wanting to be out of this room and back—
Yes. Okay. Right. Back in Milwaukee with Quinn? Who wasn’t in Milwaukee anymore and since when had she been the type to run to a man when things got tough?
“Here is your contract.” Another file was pushed across the table to her. “Should you decide to sign, you’d need to read it care—”
“Get a lawyer.” Gina jumped and clamped her lips together. Annabel had the distinct impression Teresa had just kicked her under the table.
“Mr. Fox is looking for someone to represent the company with a more youthful look than he can provide. Specifically to appeal to the young men buying frozen food.”
“Young straight men buying frozen food.”
Annabel nodded and winked. “So I’ll be a frozen-food prostitute?”
“Yes.”
Again both women spoke together. Not the slightest attempt at a smile, fake or otherwise. Apparently humor wasn’t allowed in here any more than color and Christmas.
The door swung open again, and the Dolphster himself strode in. Annabel stood. The women exchanged glances again, still seated, watching Annabel pointedly.
Oh, this was so comfy.
“Annabel, how nice to see you.” He strode around the table, handsome in a black suit with a red tie, shooting off his usual energy and, instead of shaking her outstretched hand, to her horror, kissed it. Twice. “I’m delighted you’re here. We can’t wait to get started, can we, ladies?”
“No.”
Both. Gina and Teresa. Zero enthusiasm.
“I have meetings set up for you all day today. Then off, of course, for Christmas. Then you can be back here the next day and—”
Before I Melt Away Page 18