Kiss of Ice (St. James Family)

by Parker, Lavender

  Then his cellphone rang. He debated not answering it, but in the end he pushed himself up on his elbows and searched around in the dark for his phone. He found it in his pants pocket and felt his breath catch when he saw who it was. He debated on answering, but knew he didn't have a choice.

  “Christy.” Her voice filled his ear.

  “What do you want, Annie?” he answered.

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you too,” she said. He dropped on his back in the bed, staring at the slivers of light stretching across the ceiling. “How was your holiday?”

  “Uneventful,” he said.

  “Where are you?”

  “What do you care?” he snapped. “I'm not north of the park, if that's what you're fucking worried about.”

  “Okay, then,” she sighed. “Excuse me for calling.”

  “Wait.” He sat up. “Don't hang up.” She stayed on the line. He could hear her breathing on the other end. “How was your day?”

  “Toni and I made dinner for a few people. My cousin Holland visited. It was nice.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He felt his throat constrict around the generic words. He wanted to scream and rage and beg her. But instead, he stayed quiet.

  “Toni is off her crutches. She's up and dancing, kind of,” Annata said.

  “What did you make? For dinner?” he asked.

  “Oh. A turkey of course. It was a little dry, but what can you do? Macaroni and cheese, collards, potatoes. I made a strawberry rhubarb pie, an apple pie, and a cherry pie. We have a ton of leftovers, it's ridiculous.” Christophe laid back, resting his hand on his empty stomach and a smile on his lips. He was loving hearing her talk about food. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Maybe dinner the night before?

  “You cook? And bake?” he asked. “You never stop surprising me.”

  “I can cook. My granny taught me all the family secrets. I just never have time.”

  “Save me some of those leftovers,” he said, imagining her cooking in a little frilly apron. “I love pie.”

  “I make a damn good pie,” she said.

  “You're killing me,” he said, feeling hungry in more ways than one.

  “Maybe you could convince me to bring some down to you. Oh! Except you're not in town,” she said. He sighed. “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Don't bother,” he said. “I'm fine.”

  “Did you call your father today?”

  “Ah. So that's what this is about.” He took a deep breath as the cold anger rose in him. “I'm fine. I need time to myself, and I didn't feel like dealing with Miranda and a hundred of her closest friends.”

  “Understandable,” she said. “Look, Christy—”

  “I'll be back in the city soon enough. You've done your duty. Report back to The Old Man and call it a day.” He hung up.

  Chapter 26

  3 Weeks Later

  Annata took a deep breath and stepped out of the black car parked in front of the Plaza. The International Christmas party was in full swing. Well-dressed invitees swarmed the steps, and the press snapped off photos as the socialites walked the red carpet. Annata took a detour around the red carpet and headed to the main entrance, getting stopped every few moments by former colleagues and friends. She greeted them all warmly, planting on her society smile even as her eyes scanned the crowd. She wasn't there to socialize; she was there for one person.

  She dropped off her sequined velvet jacket at coat-check and moved along with the crowd into the ballroom. A live band played on the stage, playing jazzy covers of Christmas standards. The party was in full swing, the din of 500-plus guests loud in her ears. She continued scanning the crowd, looking for Christophe. Ever since Thanksgiving, when he had hung up on her, she couldn't get him out of her mind. Shoot, she hadn't been able to get him out of her mind for the last year. This time last year was when her life had turned upside down and Christophe had been at the center of that storm. In the aftermath, her life had changed for the better in many ways. Her anger was gone. It had dissipated and washed away. She and William had made amends. Now it was time for Christophe. She was in love with him. And she owed him an apology. Many apologies.

  If he chose not to forgive her—if he didn't love her anymore—she would have to deal with that. But she had to try. Annata lifted the skirt of her plum-colored dress and swept down the stairs. She snaked through the crowd, hugging and shaking hands as she moved along when Miranda suddenly appeared in front of her.

  “Oh Annie!” she cried, leaning in for air kisses. “So glad you could make it.” Her hair was perfect, her black dress cut deep in the front.

  “I appreciate the invite. It didn't feel right, missing a Christmas party.”

  “Absolutely not. William wouldn't hear of it.” Miranda slid her arm through Annata's, gliding her along.

  “Is Christophe here?” Annata said, trying to keep her tone light.

  “I'm sure he's here somewhere.” Miranda leaned in. “By the bar most likely,” she said in a low tone. “It's about time you and Christophe bury the hatchet. William was so happy when you two could come to terms.”

  “I'm happy too, Miranda.” She looked toward the bar. “Now things can get a little back to normal, maybe?”

  “Absolutely. You must come over for dinner. Soon!” Miranda said, her eyes wandering around the room.

  “Definitely.” Annata scanned for Christophe and felt her heart stop when she saw him. He was at the bar, laughing and chatting, a whiskey in hand. He wore a black suit, and a crisp white shirt, opened at the neck. He was devastating. Annata reveled in the sight of him. It'd been too long since she'd seen him. Miranda followed her gaze.

  “Oh! There's our Christy,” Miranda said. “Let's go say hello.”

  “Wait.” Annata stopped her. “Miranda, how is he?”

  Miranda gave her a quizzical look. “Well, look at him. He's fine.”

  “He seems to be,” Annata said.

  “Who'd have thunk our little Christy would be such a shark?” Miranda drawled, then tsked. “Look at Monique Demains. Who told her that yellow dress was attractive?” Miranda shook her head sadly then turned back to Annata. “Excuse me. Duty calls. We'll talk again soon.” She said, blowing a kiss before disappearing back into the crowd. Annata rolled her lips together, smoothing her lipstick. She turned back to look at the bar and a jolt ran through her.

  Christophe's eyes were trained on her. She swallowed hard and nodded at him, in greeting. In response, he turned away, back to his conversation. Okay, so he was still angry. She was prepared for that. Annata steeled her spine and headed towards the bar.

  “Whiskey on the rocks, please,” she said to the bartender. She could feel his eyes on her, from a few feet away. She glanced over her shoulder at him. His eyes were dark, his jaw tight. His smile was long gone. He closed the space between them in seconds.

  “I didn't think we'd be graced with your presence this evening.”

  “Hello, Christy.” She took a deep breath, the scent of his aftershave wafting around her.

  “Why are you here, Annie?” he said, low in her ear.

  “I was invited,” she whispered back. He ran his hand up her shoulder, his fingertips cold and light against her skin. She shivered.

  “Did The Old Man ask you to be here? To come and check up on me?”

  “No.” She accepted her drink from the bartender with a smile. “I want to talk to you.”

  “So talk.” He cocked his head, his eyes boring into her.

  “Meet me in the conference room.”

  “No,” he said, his fingers tracing the top of her sleeveless dress.

  “Why not?” she asked, her eyebrow raised. His hand closed around her hand and extracted the drink from her. “That's mine!” she protested as he took a gulp of the drink and then set it back on the bar.

  “I don't want to talk,” he said, pressing against her, pushing her toward the dance floor. “I want to dance with you.”

  ***

 
The band began a slow burn rendition of “What Are You Doing New Year's Eve” just as they reached the dance floor. Christophe slid his arm around her waist and took her hand, not meeting her eyes. Goddamn her. She showed up in that purple dress—barely covering her tits, and hugging that amazing ass—and wanted to talk? Ha. He was lucky he could get one word out with all of the blood rushing to his cock. He began to move with the music and she followed his lead, leaving a nun's ruler of space between them. She brought her arm up to rest loosely against his neck, her hand on his shoulder, her breath on his cheek.

  “I don't think this was a good idea,” she murmured. The understatement of the century.

  “Why not? You don't want to let anyone in on our little secret?” He dipped his head and let his lips graze her smooth cheek. She let out a soft sigh and he felt her move closer to him, her arm clenching around his neck.

  “My grandmother loves this song,” she murmured.

  “I think I'm going to love this song too,” he said bumping his hips against hers.

  “Who's idea was the band and the dancing?” she asked, her voice strained as she attempted small talk. “As long as I've been coming to these parties, there's never been dancing.”

  “You like to dance,” he said. “Don't you?”

  “Was it your idea?” she asked, her voice close to his ear. He felt an electric tremor pulse down his spine.

  “Maybe.” he said. She swept her hair off of her shoulder, her eyes scanning the room beyond. He followed her gaze. Miranda watched them from a few feet away. “I wonder if she's on to us,” he said.

  ““There is no 'us', right?” Annie replied. Christophe chuckled bitterly.

  “No, there's not.” His hand clenched on her waist as an overwhelming urge hit him to usher her out of the ballroom. He wondered how long that would take to get a room. Shit, he could take her outside to his limo. They could be naked and fucking in 10 minutes, tops, he calculated. He felt her stiffen under his touch and she glanced up at him through her lashes.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, like she didn't already know the answer.

  “Just thinking about my trip. I leave tomorrow morning.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Wouldn't you like to know?”

  “You brought it up. I'm just trying to make conversation,” she said. He turned her abruptly to the right, almost knocking her off balance.

  “Still reporting back to The Old Man?”

  “Jesus. Get over yourself,” she said. “I swallowed my pride, and your father and I made up. You should be happy about that.”

  “Why? Does that change anything? You want to hop up on that stage right now and tell William and Miranda and everybody that you're madly in love with me?” he said. Annie pursed her lips, her eyes flashing. “That's what I thought,” he said with a humorless smile.

  “You smug little—, ” she whispered, trailing off.

  “What?” he said. “Say it.”

  “I don't want to fight, Christy.”

  “I like fighting with you.” He dropped his mouth to her ear. “Feels like old times.” He dragged his lips down her sweet neck, tasting her. She moaned, a small sound barely audible, but he heard it. He felt her arms tighten around his neck. Her fingertips curled, her long fingernails teasing his scalp. He wanted to feel her hands in his hair. He wanted to feel her satin skin against his. He lightly bit her neck, his hands roaming lower on her hips. The sounds of the party faded away as she swayed with him, their bodies so close. His cock was painfully hard. He was getting lost in her again, his lust clouding everything else. He wanted her and he'd never stopped. His heart pounded in his ears.

  “Annie.” His voice was hoarse and rough. “You still want to go to the conference room?” He dropped his hand to cup her ass, knowing he was probably going too far, and not caring. “I'll take you over that table and fuck you so good you won't remember your name.” He heard her gasp and couldn't help but smile. He was getting to her. He wished he could run his hand between her thighs and feel how wet she was. Her voice floated through the ether.

  “You're making a scene, Christy.” She sounded breathless.

  “I don't care.” He squeezed her luscious ass.

  “Christy.” He heard the warning tone in her voice and the world whooshed back around him. The party was still in full swing, but the song had ended. A faster version of “Jingle Bells” was playing now. He stumbled back, shaking his head.

  “William just walked in,” she said, running her hand down his front, smoothing his shirt. He cleared his throat, thinking about how close he'd been to dry humping Annie in the middle of the dance floor.

  “Shit,” he mumbled, turning away from her, his eyes searching the crowd for his father. And sure enough, there was The Old Man, making his way through the crowd in a green tuxedo with a red-striped cummerbund. He shook his head, clearing it. Miranda looped her arm through his father's, her society smile pasted on. Christophe pressed his hand against Annie's lower back, steering her toward his father.

  “Let's go say hello.” He smiled as Annie narrowed her eyes at him, but she followed him through the crowd to William.

  “Look! It's Christy. And Annie!” Miranda gushed when they got close. “You should have just seen them cutting a rug on the dance floor.”

  “Oh?” The Old Man said, lifting an eyebrow as he shook Christophe's hand. “Annie,” he said, smiling warmly and enveloping her in a hug. “It is very good to see you.”

  “You too, William,” Annie said. “I love the band.”

  “You can thank Christophe for that.” The Old Man said, as they parted. “All his idea.”

  “I helped.” Miranda pouted, pulling William close to her.

  “That you did.” The Old Man patted Miranda's hand. Christophe glanced at Annie from the corner of his eye. She looked at him, an amused smile on her lips that didn't reach her eyes. His fingers itched to brush her cheek. He shoved his traitorous hand in his pocket.

  “It's great. Really livens things up,” Annie was saying, blandly.

  “These things never are lively, at least until Will shows up,” Miranda said. “Are you going to be giving your speech this year?”

  “I was thinking Christophe and I could do it together,” William said, turning to Christophe with a glint in his eye.

  “I know you love giving the speech every year. I wouldn't want to rain on your parade,” Christophe said. “Besides, I'm not exactly the, uh, showman, that you are.” He motioned to his father's colorful suit. The Old Man chuckled and fingered his candy-cane printed bow-tie.

  “Can't argue with that logic.” His father clapped him on the back. “Annie, please, stick around, have a good time. Although, perhaps you don't want to hear an old man droning on about business?”

  “Are you kidding? I love droning on about business,” Annie said, laughing.

  “Has Christophe been showing you a good time? He hasn't exactly been the most social lately,” The Old Man nudged.

  “Oh,” she said. Christophe smiled, loving her discomfort.

  “He definitely was showing her something,” Miranda said, her eyes glittering with mischief. “I didn't realize you two were so friendly.”

  “Last I heard, these two were at each other's throats,” The Old Man said, raising an eyebrow.

  “That was months ago,” Christophe said. “This is the first time I've seen Annie in a long time.” He turned to her, wanting to see her squirm.

  “Too long,” Annie murmured. “I hope I'll be seeing more of you.” Annie's liquid eyes caught his, the silence between them stretching for a millisecond too long. Then she turned back to Miranda and The Old Man. “Of all of you,” she said smoothly.

  “You'll have to come out. Christy, you can invite your female friend. What's her name?” Miranda said. Annie blinked, but otherwise showed no reaction. Christophe clenched his fist in his pocket. Dammit Miranda. Always trying to stir up shit.

  “I doubt she would be interest
ed,” Christophe said. The woman he'd been fucking for the past month was as disinterested in having a real relationship as he was. He had needs, goddammit, and Marta was available. But it didn't matter. Now he felt the need to explain to Annie, even though he owed her no explanation. In fact, she might be dating someone. But instead of making him feel better, the thought of her fucking someone else only enraged him. He knew it was hypocritical, and he didn't care.

  “She's tall, just like you, Annie. I think she's a model or something? Brazilian. Lovely caramel skin.” Miranda gushed on. He stared at her, with what he hoped was a blank expression on his face. With every word, he felt Annie moving further and further away.

  “We'll have to set up a dinner,” The Old Man nodded. Miranda's eyes flitted between Christophe and Annie. Well, it was official. If Miranda didn't flat out know, then she was definitely suspicious. He saw Annie's armor was back up, her back ramrod straight.

  “I'll let you get back to your party. So good to see you,” she was saying, looking everywhere but at him. And then they were alone, as alone as they could be in a crowded ballroom, as Miranda and The Old Man wove their way through the crowd. “Don't let me monopolize you,” she said. “You should be schmoozing.”

  “You said you wanted to talk to me. About what?” He stepped closer to her, but she backed away.

  “Enjoy your party, Christophe. You earned it,” Annie said, then turned toward the door. He followed her, keeping a short distance behind her. When she reached the entrance to the ballroom, he hooked an arm around her waist and steered her down the hallway. “What are you doing?” she hissed in his ear.

  “Just walk,” he told her, ushering her down to the conference room where this had all begun, one year ago.

  ***

  Annata watched the heavy door of the conference room slam shut behind her and turned to face Christy, her hands on her hips. She didn't think he really wanted to be in a room alone with her, but here they were.

  “You son of a bitch,” she blurted out. “Playing grab-ass with me, while your Brazilian model girlfriend waits for you at home? Or is she here? I want to meet her.”