by Kimber Chin
"Life is never dull with you, is it, Philippe?” was Angela's parting shot as she disappeared into the crowd.
Deserter. Not that he blamed her. He'd disappear too if he could.
"Philippe, darling.” Suzanne reached out her arms. “I knew you'd be here."
Merde, does she always wear so much perfume? Had he a cold all the time he was dating her? Philippe hugged his ex close, his mouth near her bejeweled ear. “But you should not be here. I want you to leave, Suzanne. Immediately."
"Surely, you don't mean that, Philippe?” She stroked his jawbone, making his top lip curl in distaste.
"With all my heart.” Philippe gritted his teeth. What
God-awful timing he had. Anne resurfaced, sisterless, to witness the full embrace.
Her face was expressionless, classic Anne, but she changed direction abruptly, going with Gregory to the bar, her arm around his waist. Gregory was surprised at first, looking nervously in Philippe's direction over Anne's shorter brunette head. Seeing Suzanne attached to Philippe's, he looked like he won a jackpot without even entering.
Oui, mais. His friend had better enjoy the feeling while it lasted. Philippe was about to reclaim the winnings. First he had to get rid of Suzanne. That damn viper, undeterred by his blunt comments, brushed her breasts against his side.
"I've missed you Philippe. Surely you've missed me."
"I haven't.” He had some difficulty removing her arms from his body, his eyes on Anne.
"Liar, I'm sure you have. Are you reconsidering our split?"
"Never, Suzanne.” Philippe watched Anne toss back another drink. “We're done."
When Philippe stepped towards Anne, Suzanne grabbed his arm. “It's that plain brown thing, isn't it? I was told that you were with her, but I couldn't believe it. I thought that you had better taste."
"I do.” Enough is enough. Philippe's cold tone reflected his lack of patience. “And I've chosen to indulge it.” He looked her up and down and then dismissed her, leaving her gasping angrily after him.
One dark look from Philippe and Gregory backed away from Anne. Smart move. He wouldn't want to have to damage his friend's boyish good looks.
"We need to talk, Cherie."
Anne stared up at Philippe, her eyes black as tar, her chin jutted out defiantly, and then, without a word, turned away, showing him her shoulder.
"We need to talk now, Anne.” Philippe circled her wrist with one hand, spinning her around, her drink spilling on the bar top. Mon Dieu, he was about to explode. Not here, he looked around them. Somewhere private. Outside. Without waiting for any confirmation, Philippe dragged her out of the room. He headed to the gardens, Anne stumbling after him.
There, that was far enough from everyone. They would talk but Philippe had to vent some of the emotion first. He couldn't think, otherwise. He folded Anne in his arms, his mouth hot and hungry on hers, grabbing her rear, driving her against him. Merde, she made him crazy. He could never get her close enough.
When they parted minutes later, Anne caught him unawares, throwing the remaining drink in her glass at him, dousing him with a sticky concoction of orange juice and vodka. But she wasn't done. Anne flew at him, pummeling his chest with her small fists, her arms moving like windmills, her long brown hair flying.
"Why, you little vixen.” Philippe laughed, easily catching her hands, a flea having more strength than Anne. “You like to play rough, don't you?"
"Rrrough?" she spat, slurring her words, “you ssslllleep with everything that walks and you ttttalk to me about rrrough?" Anne staggered into the garden, gait unsteady, heels sinking into the soft grass. She stopped briefly to lean against a tree, kicking off her shoes, before continuing into the night.
What was up with her? He'd never seen Anne this way before. And he didn't know where she was going. There wasn't anything out there except more gardens. And fountains, there were fountains. She might fall into the water, the way she was behaving. Hit her head. Drown. Hell no. Not while he lived and breathed. Philippe followed her.
* * * *
She hadn't fallen into a fountain. Philippe found Anne sitting relatively calmly on an old swing, legs dangling, the seat slab looking wide enough for both of them. “Scoot over,” he instructed. She did so, silently, head turning in the opposite direction but not fast enough for him to miss the glittering of tears in those big brown eyes.
Had he hurt her so much? Enough to make Anne cry? Philippe tugged on the rope and tested the stability of the board, ensuring that it could hold his weight, before sitting down.
"I'm not sleeping with Suzanne, Cherie."
"At this exact second, I guess you're not.” Her words sounded muffled.
Trust Anne to take him literally. “I broke up with her two months ago. Around the time, I met this little brown sparrow.” Philippe had never gotten around to telling her that. He assumed she knew.
Anne's answer was a very wet sniff.
Did he have a handkerchief? Philippe patted his pockets. Non, he didn't. “I didn't sleep with your sister either. For a number of reasons. I just met her today.” Philippe knew enough to keep humor out of his voice. “The bigger one being that I'm not attracted to her. My only interest in her is that she happens to be the sister of this woman I truly care about.” He waited for her response. Minutes ticked away.
"She said something like that,” Anne admitted.
So he had caused trouble between the sisters. That didn't make him happy at all.
"Ginny loves you.” Philippe hoped this would soothe things.
"I know.” The words were quiet, yet certain. Philippe wished he had so much confidence in Anne's feelings for him.
"What about you and Gregory?” Philippe had to know. Were there any feelings there?
"He's a friend of a guy I like."
Philippe let out a breath that he didn't even know he was holding. Bonne, bonne, tres bonne. He pushed the swing out with one foot.
At that point and without any warning, Anne promptly fell over.
"Anne?” Philippe looked down, horrified that she had fell and disgusted with himself that he hadn't caught her.
She didn't seem any the worse for wear. Anne was peering up at the stars, feet propped up on the swing, an expression of complete happiness on her face. “Lets not fight anymore, Philippe, lets lay here and look at the stars.” Her brown hair was spread around her like a halo, her shoeless feet balanced on the swing, exposing a lot of stocking and a bit of garter belt. She looked wild and free. Relaxed like they had just made love.
Mon Dieu, she was adorable. And acting damn peculiar. Philippe bent down, feeling under her head for a bump. There was none thankfully, she had fallen on the soft grass. Then why the quick change in emotion? Why the strange behavior?
A very fragrant yet ladylike burp revealed the culprit.
"You're drunk,” he stated flatly.
"You, sir,” Anne reached up both soft hands to cup his concerned face, “are right.” And then she smiled a smile that would soften the hardest of hearts.
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Eleven
The way Philippe looked at it, he had a couple of options. Only one interested him. He laid down on the grass beside Anne, shifting so she was resting in the hollow of his shoulder, and propped his own feet up on the swing seat beside hers. His reward was Anne snuggled close to him and a satisfied sigh. Philippe didn't have to see her face to know she was smiling.
"The stars are moving, je pense.” He pointed to the dot of light in the sky.
"That's a plane, goofy.” Anne laughed. When was the last time Philippe Lamont, venture capitalist, had been called goofy? When was the last time he star-gazed? He didn't know but he considered both worth it to hear her laugh. “I see I'll have to eradicate your ignorance concerning the solar system."
She sounded so prim and proper that he squeezed her tight. “Yes, teacher."
"Pay attention, if you get lost...” Anne warned.
"And don't hav
e my GPS.” The Maybach, hell, even his watch had one.
"And don't have your GPS..."
"And it's night,” Philippe pointed out yet another restriction in her plan.
"And it's night,” Anne amended. “This could come in handy. See that formation..."
"I like to call it a constellation,” Philippe couldn't help teasing.
She glared at him, her bottom lip quivering suspiciously. “Do you want to hear this, Mister Know-it-All, or am I wasting my time?"
"D'accord, d'accord, I'll try to be quiet."
"I won't ask the impossible.” This sauciness earned her a roll in his arms, the freshly mowed grass rustling under his back.
After a moment needed to recollect her inebriated thoughts, Anne continued with her lecture. “See that big cup with a handle?"
"The big dipper?"
"Yep, and see the little cup?"
"The little dipper?"
"You know this already,” she was getting exasperated.
"That's all I know, I promise. Please continue,” Philippe lied badly, counting on Anne being too drunk to notice.
She was. “The little dipper or Ursa minor is the most important of the two."
"The smaller anything usually is."
"Why thank you.” Anne took that as the compliment he intended it to be. “See those two stars at the end of the cup?” She pointed up at the sky. “Those are called the ‘Pointer Stars.’”
"I see them.” Truthfully he was busy breathing in the fruity scent of her hair. Why did she smell so good?
"They point to the North Star,” Anne's voice washed over him, “If you get lost..."
"At night with no GPS,” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek.
"You can use that star to let you know which way is North,” Anne concluded happily.
"Have you ever used that piece of trivia?"
"It's not trivia. It's useful information, and yes, I have, once or twice. Well maybe just the once,” Anne amended tritely, nodding, her hair rubbing against his jacket, “when Ginny and I were teenagers."
Vraiment? Philippe found that hard to believe. “In the wilds of California?"
"Yep, in the wilds of California. Malibu Creek, to be exact. We went camping and Ginny and I were having so much fun swimming that we didn't head back to the campsite soon enough. If not for the North Star, we'd be wandering lost today.” The happiness of the memory lent a touching warmth to Anne's voice.
"You love your sister, don't you?"
"Of course, we have our differences but I love her and she loves me,” Anne declared.
"You sound confident about that,” Philippe teased.
"What can I say? I'm completely lovable.” Anne laughed. And what could Philippe say? She was.
Philippe was content, lying there in the grass, Anne in his arms, both lost in their thoughts. The experience ended all too soon for his liking, the lights in the garden flicking off and on in warning.
"That's our sign to leave.” He could have stayed there all night.
"Wh ... what?” From the sounds of it, Anne had almost been asleep.
"Come, Cherie.” He rose to his feet and then bent down to scoop her up. She cradled in his arms nicely.
"My shoes.” Anne stretched out her stocking clad legs to show him her toes.
Left, by the tree. Philippe knew where the shoes were. He was feeling too lazy to retrieve them. “I'll buy you a new pair."
"You will, will you? You might want to reconsider that. I like expensive shoes. Only the best for me, and oh, that reminds me, I need a ride home, Ginny..."
Must have driven. “You're coming with me."
"Are you okay to drive?” she asked, like the thought had just occurred to her.
Better shape than she was. “I have a driver tonight.” Philippe hired a driver so he could drink at these events.
"You let him drive the Maybach?” Anne may be drunk. She may be tired. That didn't stop her from asking a thousand questions.
"I bought the Maybach especially so a chauffeur could drive it,” and tonight Philippe thanked his foresight. There was nowhere he would rather be than holding her in the backseat during the long trip back.
It was a long trip. They started deep in the suburbs, miles away from downtown. All was going well until a little over midway. Anne started groaning, holding her stomach, her beige skin turning a greenish hue. “Philippe, I don't feel very well."
Merde, she is going to be sick. Philippe frantically looked around him for something to contain the mess. He grabbed the plastic bag out of the wastebasket to prepare.
Anne fumbled at the car door. Good thinking. Fresh air. That might help. Philippe found the controls and rolled down the window, allowing Anne to stick her face out, the wind pushing her hair over her shoulder.
"Hold on a little longer, Cherie, you're almost home.” He rubbed her back in a calming circular motion, hoping all this would buy them some time. It did. No mess in the Maybach. Now, to get her to the condo.
Philippe brought the plastic bag with them as he carried her into the elevator. Luckily the elevator was vacant, an express trip stopping only on Anne's floor. Philippe felt her stomach jerking, trying desperately to empty, Anne keeping her mouth stubbornly shut.
Merde, where is that key? Philippe searched through Anne's tiny clutch purse. There it was. Finally opening the door, he kicked it closed behind them, carrying Anne directly to the bathroom. Made it with only a second or two to spare, Anne sticking her head in the toilet bowl, heaving.
"There, there, you'll feel better now.” Philippe coaxed, holding her hair out of the way. How could such a small person have so much in her stomach? He didn't know but he wasn't going to drink orange juice anytime soon. As Philippe ran a wet face cloth over her face, Anne avoided his eyes. All this must be embarrassing for his dignified sparrow.
"Philippe, I'm fine now, you don't have to stay.” Predictably, Anne wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible.
"I'm staying.” Someone had to take care of his damned independent woman and that someone was himself. Philippe doled out a dab of toothpaste on her brush and handed it to Anne. “Here, Cherie, you need this."
"Rat.” Her smile was wobbly. She took the toothbrush.
Philippe then picked up her monster sized bottle of mouthwash, scanning the ingredient listing, and shook his head. “You need something stronger than this, Cherie. Do you have any industrial strength?” Philippe made a big show of opening and shutting the bathroom cabinets. He chuckled at the organized stockpile of hygiene products, the severe sparseness of her medicine cabinet. She was a neat freak, his Anne.
She spat and rinsed. “Don't tease, I feel bad as it is.” Anne portioned out a thimbleful of mouthwash, gurgled, and spat again.
Philippe smoothed her hair back. “There, feeling better?” Hugging her close, he moved them into the bedroom. She had to be exhausted.
"Philippe, I don't think I'm up to...” her big, brown eyes pleaded.
"Don't worry. I don't make it a habit of coercing inebriated women,” Philippe assured Anne, dryly. Not that he didn't find her sweetly attractive but he would rather she be sober for any lovemaking. That, and not having to worry about her vomiting up anything left in her stomach. From college days, he knew nothing ruined the mood faster. “I'll help you undress."
Anne sat with a thump on the bed. “I can do it...” Even as she said the words, she laid back, her eyes already fluttering close.
"Sure you can.” She wasn't in any condition to do anything. Philippe reached around her to unzip her black dress, sliding the fabric up her body. She was as loose as Jello in his hands. And this Jello turned him on, even passed out and sleeping. He tried to ignore the way her black bustier pushed her small chest up and together, creating the illusion of more. Tried, but couldn't. That wouldn't be comfortable, no matter how soft it was. Philippe undid the tiny hooks. Yes, definitely uncomfortable. He traced the ridges dug into that supple brown skin of hers.
No shoes
to remove, those didn't survive the night. Philippe looked down at her shapely legs. The stockings had to go. He picked one foot up, resting it over his shoulder and then carefully rolled down the filmy material. Soft, but not as soft as the inside of her thigh. He moved to the other leg, repeating the process, hesitating only a minute before pushing the stockings into his pocket. Not one for lover mementos, why he wanted them, he didn't know. Peut-etre, a reward for tonight's restraint.
Philippe stared down at Anne, now naked except for the briefest of panties, tied with flimsy ribbons at her hips. He sucked in his breath. Merde, she is beautiful. It was almost a shame to cover her up.
"Where would your nightgown be?” Philippe asked out loud, not expecting an answer.
He got one. “No nightgown. Too hot,” muttered from the bed.
Hot? She brings new meaning to the word. Philippe drew the sheet over that sexy body and then bent down, kissing her cheek. “I have to go, Cherie. Sleep well."
"Don't go.” Anne frowned, her eyes closed. “Stay.” She patted the space on the king sized bed. A big bed for a little woman.
Philippe should refuse. The driver waited downstairs. Anne was intoxicated. His control was weak. But he couldn't. There was nothing he wanted more than to sleep, even if it was only to sleep, beside her. To wake up with her in his arms. Besides, she might need him. What if she was ill again? She'd be alone. A corner of his brain said that it was unlikely but even the slightest of possibilities was rationale enough for Philippe. “D'accord."
After a quiet call to his driver, Philippe shrugged out of his tie and jacket. He couldn't sleep in his pants so he took those off also. Should he leave his shirt on? Philippe sniffed an armpit and decided non. The fabric was quite ripe, the vodka and orange juice soaking through. The underwear, they had to stay on. Oui, if he had any hope at all of getting through this night.
Should he take a shower? He would smell fresher, mais the water would wake him up. Was being awake conducive to sleeping, only sleeping, next to his near naked sparrow? Non. So the shower had to wait. Maybe tomorrow morning? Together? On that happy thought, Philippe lifted the sheet and crawled in behind Anne, wrapping his arms around her.