by Kimber Chin
She shrugged him away. “I didn't contact Denise.” Anne hadn't said a word to the woman.
"You're following her, that's worse. I don't think I like you spying on my friends, Cherie."
"I don't like being accused—sorry not accused—found guilty of a crime I didn't commit. So deal with it.” Anne must have misunderstood. He couldn't have done such a quick about face.
"No one thinks you're guilty, Anne. However, sneaking around, spying on people, acting like a sexy little Inspector Clouseau, isn't going to help your case."
Innocent again ... hmmm ... and he thought she was sexy. Anne shouldn't let that affect her but it did. About the spying, she supposed he was right. It didn't help her case but only because she kept on getting caught. That had to stop. Otherwise no one would know. “How did you know it was me?” Anne took off her baseball cap and the wig underneath, tossing them between the seats, shaking her hair down.
"The car got my attention first. I wondered how it passed emissions. Then you fed the meter and bent over.” Philippe picked up the wig, looking at it closely. “I'd recognize that derriere anywhere."
He recognized my ass? Not my face or my eyes but my ass? Anne was torn between pleasure and dismay.
They pulled into Philippe's driveway, a charming and simple four-bedroom ranch style bungalow located close to downtown. She'd been in it a couple times. Back when she actually thought he trusted her.
"Aren't you coming in?” Philippe offered, as he got out, an imprint of her peanut butter sandwich on the seat of his dress pants.
Was she coming in? For a nooner? It was tempting, the opportunity to touch him always was, but she didn't think so. Yesterday, maybe. Today, no. What had changed? He now knew her to be innocent. If Philippe still had overtly thought she was guilty, Anne probably would have gone inside with him, her feelings safely sheltered by the twin shields of anger and vengeance.
Now, the anger was gone, the thirst for revenge partially sated, which left the raw hurt exposed. It lay out there in the hot sun for all, including him, to see. Anne had to reach for a new coping mechanism before she could reach for him.
"I think I'll pass.” Anne stayed in the car. “I don't want to keep this car longer than I have to."
"Good thinking. Replacing it with an equivalent car might be a challenge.” Philippe leaned into the open window, suddenly all seriousness. “Anne, why didn't you tell me about winding up the business?” He had the nerve to sound wounded.
So that was it. The change. Philippe figured out she didn't have anything to gain by the leak of information. He found the proof he needed.
Anne studied his handsome face with sadness weighing heavy on her heart. Nothing changed for her. He didn't truly trust her. She thought about her answer, deciding upon the blunt truth. “I didn't want you to feel guilty."
With that comment, and a backfire to punctuate it, Anne drove away.
* * * *
She didn't want me to feel guilty. Could he feel any worse? Philippe didn't think so. He watched until that wreck Anne drove disappeared from sight. It didn't look too safe but at least she was cautious enough to avoid the freeway. Philippe doubted it could handle high speeds without peeling apart.
Peeling apart. The thought of something happening to her, his darling Anne, was unbearable. He hurt her enough these past weeks. From the brutal way he fired her to his atrocious behavior upon her return. Philippe remembered how she pushed herself into his office, demanding that he assist her in her investigation, and then, then saying she would do anything. Anything to prove her innocence to him. Anything.
And Philippe took advantage of her generous offer, using Anne shamelessly, uncaring of her feelings, of the pain and betrayal she must have been feeling, concerned only about his own selfish needs and his misplaced anger. She accepted his callousness without complaint, head held high, shoulders defiantly thrown back. Classic, brave Anne.
Merde, she gave him everything, without question, and he, he couldn't even give her his trust.
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Sixteen
"An alignment of head with heart, huh?” Stanley hovered over Anne's face with a make-up brush. “An interesting choice of words."
"If you can believe them.” Anne wanted to fidget but knew not to move. “They might be only words."
"From Philippe? He doesn't seem the type to chatter."
"Or lie. Why don't you believe him, Annie?” Nancy asked from her vantage point seated at the kitchen table, “Haven't you told me time and time again that Lamont doesn't lie?"
"That's true.” Philippe doesn't lie. Tension eased out of her body. So what is going on? Could he actually...
"Sounds like he cares for you, Annie-pie.” Stanley dabbed some face paint under her right eye. “What about you? Do you still like him?"
"Yes.” Oh, yes, did she ever. In every way imaginable.
"Do you love him?” Nancy tossed out.
Anne hesitated. Love him? Could she love him? After everything? Unfortunately...
"She does,” Stanley answered for her. “She wouldn't be in this analysis paralysis hell pit if she didn't. Our darling Annie-kin was never one to dither. Must be love."
"Don't dither yourself out of a lover,” her pregnant friend advised. “Lamont likes to make a decision and move forward."
"That'll happen eventually anyway.” Philippe moving forward without her. “So why should I even try?"
"Why not? What's the worst that could happen?” Stanley flicked some powder over her cheeks, setting the paint.
"He could break my heart.” There, Anne said it.
"And what would be the state of your heart if he moved on tomorrow?"
Tomorrow. Not even one more day, one more kiss, or one more touch. “Broken."
"Then you're not risking anything, are you? The downside is the same, and think of the upside,” Nancy pointed out.
"And while you're at it, the backside.” At the women's gasps, Stanley mocked being offended. “What? Can you honestly say that you haven't noticed that tight little butt of his, like ripe peaches, so round and...?” Dead silence. “Okay, okay, enough about that. Open your eyes, Annie-Bananie, Babammie, I'm done."
Anne stared into the mirror, an exotic face complete with leopard spots on her cheek and darkly shadowed eyes reflecting back. “Very nice."
"Nice!” Stanley squealed. “It's more than nice. This is my best work."
"Even better than Tinkerbell.” Nancy clapped her hands. “Lamont is going to die."
Stanley took a sip of his white wine before continuing, “For your hair, very simple. We'll twist it up like this.” He took a fistful of hair and put it up. “Pins, Nance No Chance.” A few were handed over and he secured the do. It looked wild yet confined. “Perfect."
"You're going to wear that dress, aren't you?” Nancy rubbed an excited hand over her belly.
"I don't know. It's a little revealing.” Anne bit her bottom lip. She never had worn anything so scanty before. It was almost scandalous. “I'm afraid my underwear will show."
"Then don't wear any, girlfriend.” Stanley grinned saucily. “I'm sure Philippe, that handsome devil, won't mind. It'll save him a step."
"Stanley!” But Stanley was right. Anne knew where wearing that dress would lead. Was she ready? Could she forgive Philippe his lapse of trust? Could she not? One more kiss ... one more...
Her doorbell rang and Anne shot up straight, clutching her robe around her. “He's early."
"He couldn't wait,” Nancy teased.
"Maybe he's expecting pre-show entertainment. You might not want to get dressed.” Stanley laughed. “Don't worry, Anne-the plan, I'll take care of your man for you.” And he sashayed out of the kitchen.
* * * *
Stanley opening the door took Philippe aback. During his short time away from Anne, he came to a decision. No more guessing. No more battling the unknown. He'd tell her exactly how he felt and beg for her forgiveness. Right away. But with Stanle
y there and Nancy calling a friendly hello from the kitchen, that wasn't possible.
"Annie-kitten, your great white hunter is here,” Stanley called through the condo.
That's what he looked like, Philippe supposed, with his khaki pants and crisp white shirt. The theme was Lions for Literacy, a charity scavenger hunt at the zoo with participants wearing either safari gear or animal outfits, Philippe opting for the more conservative look. He even found one of those Tilley hats. Glad he left that in the car. His outfit made Stanley giggle as it was.
Nancy rushed around the kitchen, packing up brushes and make-up. “We're leaving, Philippe, we won't be here much longer.” Philippe always liked Nancy.
"We are?” Stanley on the other hand...
"We are.” The redhead leveled the man a warning look as she passed what looked like a mid sized toolbox. Who needed that much make-up?
"We are.” Stanley was pushed toward the door. “Bye Annie-pie,” he called out again. “You kids have fun tonight. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Which isn't much.” Nancy rolled her eyes.
Stanley opened the door with a flourish, not a bit offended. “Too true."
Philippe breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them and the condo was quiet. But then he felt his stomach clench. What if his distrust had destroyed any feelings Anne held for him? What if she was proving herself out of pride? He wandered through the small place, vaguely noting that the walls were yet another color, and stopped at Anne's bedroom door. No guts, no glory, as Anne always said. Philippe took a deep breath and knocked. “Can I come in, Cherie?"
"In a minute."
He waited, listening to the noises coming from within. Anne sounded like she was debating something to herself. He could hear her muttering.
The door swung open with Anne hiding behind it. “Philippe, I need your honest opinion. Do you think this is too, well, too...” She walked into view.
And Philippe's mouth dropped.
The woman was wearing a little slip of leopard print silk, more an undergarment than a dress. It was short, not even skimming the knee. Sandal straps, in the form of ribbons, reached up her legs, disappearing beneath the skirt. The top covered everything but didn't cover everything. It was obvious to Philippe that Anne wasn't wearing a bra. If he looked hard enough, and believe him, he was looking, he could see the outline of her nipples poking against the silk. Silk on silky skin, a lethal combination.
Then she turned to grab her purse and he saw the back. There wasn't much of it, the back dropping down to the dimples above her rear. Mon Dieu, is she wearing underwear? He didn't think so.
Philippe spun around to face the hallway, the impulse to throw her over his shoulder and slam the bedroom door behind them too strong. They should talk. Get things out in the open. But how could they talk when Philippe couldn't even put two words together.
"It's too much, isn't it?” Anne fretted. “I knew it was. I told Stanley ... Oh, I'll change."
Now, she is going to get naked.
"Mon amour,” he groaned, breaking. One step and she was in his arms, his lips capturing hers, his hands on that slip of silk. She stiffened at first contact, but with gentle persistence, Anne yielded, softening. Philippe felt the fragile fabric give a little even under his tender onslaught. “I'll rip your dress.” What there was of it.
"And it wrinkles badly.” She stepped back, slipping the dress over her shoulders and placing it carefully on her dresser top.
Yes, she wore underwear but only the thinnest of thongs, her legs bare, her feet in those sandals. They'd have to stay on, it would take too long to remove them.
They should talk. Mais peut-etre, peut-etre, he could show her what he lost the words to say.
* * * *
What was that? Anne shook out her silk dress, too bemused for once in her life to worry about wrinkles. That, what they shared, what Philippe showed her, was unlike anything they ever did before. Sure, they'd had sex before, wild, passionate monkey sex but this ... this wasn't sex. Finally, Anne understood what making love was. She slipped the dress over her head, the fabric caressing her body. That was making love.
Philippe tucked his no longer so creaseless shirt into his fawn-colored khakis. “We're supposed to talk, mon amour. That's why I showed up early. Now we're late.” He checked his watch. “And no clearer."
Mon amour. Isn't that “my love"? Or is it another endearment like Cherie?
"So let's talk.” Anne straightened her dress, trying to make the silk cover more skin than it was supposed to. “Do you trust me?"
"Yes, even when logic said not to."
Good answer. Very good answer. “Do you care for me?"
"More than I have for anyone."
Another good answer. So good, it curled her toes.
Should she ask if he loved her? Anne twisted her mouth in thought. Nope, too risky. A good negotiator quit while she was ahead.
"Then that's all I need to know.” For now.
"Vraiment?” Philippe obviously expected a big blow out. He wasn't going to get one.
"Vraiment.” Anne smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. She could feel him responding and tilted her head in question.
"Later,” Philippe replied ruefully, “we should go to this thing."
* * * *
Anne rethought the wisdom of the skimpy dress when she entered the pavilion. Gregory stared at her in a way that made Anne uncomfortable and Philippe's grip tighten.
"Anne, you look marvelous.” Denise, in a flowing zebra print, was a picture of light and dark. “I'd like you to meet my fiancé, Derek."
Derek, the mystery man Denise met that day at the Cyber Café. “Pleased to meet you, Derek."
"Believe me the pleasure is all mine.” His words were smooth but not too appreciative. Unlike a pair of blue eyes.
"Flying solo, Gregory?” Philippe grumbled.
"Not for long.” The blond grinned and winked at Anne. “Plan to go after some big game tonight."
This drew an even darker look from her date. “The punishment for poaching is severe, my friend."
His threat made the lawyer laugh. “Don't worry. If the prey is properly tagged, I'll leave her alone."
"Alrighty then, I think I need a drink. Anne?” Denise hooked her arm, moving them towards the bar. “Men. They can be such idiots,” she added out of earshot.
One specific idiot was forefront in Anne's mind. “Philippe doesn't trust me,” she blurted out. She didn't know why. She simply had to say it to someone, to remind herself.
"Exactly. Idiots.” Denise ordered a vodka martini for herself and a screwdriver for Anne. “Philippe doesn't even trust his own self right now. He likes you Anne."
"How can he when he...” thinks I'm a thief and a liar and an all around louse?
"People do many strange things when they're out of their comfort zone."
Anne didn't know about that.
"Look, I understand that you've had a career change.” Anne guessed she could call closing down a business and getting fired a career change. “Don't you find yourself doing strange things? Things that don't make sense?"
Like wearing strange disguises and stalking people? “I've painted my condo three times in the past two weeks."
Denise threw back her head and laughed so loudly heads turned. “Anne, you're priceless. I adore you."
Was that a compliment? “Thank you, I think."
Denise didn't pause. “And Philippe likes you. Like he's never liked anyone before. That's why he's acting like an idiot. Derek was the same way when we met."
"Speaking of Derek ... shouldn't we get back to your fiancé? He'll think you deserted him.” Although the three men were deep in a conversation.
"Nah, he knows them almost as well as I do.” Denise intercepted Anne's arched eyebrow look and hastened to correct, “Oh, maybe not as well."
"That has to be awkward.” Anne was jealous even now of Denise's relationship wit
h Philippe.
"At first, sure. Especially since I was seeing Philippe.” Then Derek was the one. The one Denise dropped Philippe for. A friend, too. Hurtful. “But he was fine with me dating Derek. He didn't care."
Denise could tell herself that. Anne knew better. Even if Philippe's heart hadn't been touched, his pride would be bruised.
"Sorry to break up the tea party.” Gregory draped his arms lightly around their bare shoulders. “Bogey at nine o'clock, Anne. Your date needs his wing woman."
Anne's eyes darted in Philippe's direction. Suzanne, clad in a skin tight tiger print, was standing too close to Philippe, her hands running up and down his sleeve. All her irritation at Denise's high handedness with Philippe's feelings transferred to Suzanne. That clinging vine, she had her shot at Philippe while Anne was out of the picture. Now things had changed. Anne was back.
"If you'll excuse me,” Anne told Denise and Gregory sweetly, setting down her cocktail. Her icy smile warning them not to follow.
Philippe's face lit up with relief as she approached. “Anne, I was wondering where you went. You've met Suzanne, haven't you?"
"I have,” Anne's voice was husky as she brushed Philippe's lips, her eyes sliding to a spluttering Suzanne. “Suzanne, thank you for keeping Philippe company. I know my interests are safe where you're involved."
"Suze.” Perfect teeth bared in a fake smile. “I'm surprised to see you here, Anne. Could damage a company if its leader associated himself with the wrong kind of people."
Was Suzanne accusing her of unethical behavior? Here? In the middle of a party?
"Philippe, didn't you mention exactly that?” Philippe didn't answer, his brown eyes watching them warily. “Poor man, I don't know what caliber of a woman he settled for before he met me.” Anne paused for impact and then asked, “Whom are you with tonight, Suzanne?"
Philippe sputtered. Anne ignored him, intent on Suzanne.
She looked less than fabulous tonight, faded and tired. “It's who you leave with that matters, little...” Suzanne looked down at Anne's less than bountiful chest, ... “Anne."
The argument had fallen right into the gutter. “Interesting. Who would be so desperate as to steal a date at a charity event?” Anne wondered out loud, “Sounds tacky to me, not classy at all."