In From the Cold (7 page)

We’d been there for a good two hours, and we were all getting hungry, but we had promised the girls the climbing wall before we left. Suzie was already three feet off the ground, but Yvette was still frozen on the lowest step. Drake was encouraging her to try the next one up, when I felt a presence behind us. I looked over my shoulder and saw one of the most strikingly beautiful women I’d ever seen. Tall, with thick blonde hair and perfect, even features, she reminded me of a young Catherine Deneuve.

“Hello, Drake,” she said, her voice deep and throaty, with a slight French accent. Catherine Deneuve indeed.

He turned around, startled, one hand still anchored on Yvette’s back. “Oh, hello, Christine.” He squinted at her, puzzled. “What are
you
doing here?”

I looked around, but I saw no children with her.

She waved her hand toward the window. “I saw you through the window, so I thought I’d stop and say hello.” Her hello came out as more of an “allo”, and I was reminded of a bad French film from college. Drake winced, and I almost giggled. She was lying as well. The window stood high in the wall, and there was no way she could have seen us through it. Had she stalked us here? Or bribed our driver to tell her where Drake had gone? Drake must have wondered too, as he stared at the window, then back at her.

“Who is she, Daddy?” Suzie said from her perch on the wall. She scowled, and I sensed she didn’t appreciate the interruption any more than I did. Yvette stepped to the ground, scowling too.

I love kids. They have the best bullshit meters in the world.

Drake looked in turn at the three of us, then turned back to Christine, sighing. “This is Christine André, sweetheart.” He hesitated, obviously searching for an appropriate term. I filled in the blank in my head—
lover, girlfriend, fuckmate
—when he said, “She’s a business friend.”

She laughed lightly, her perfect lips curling at the edges. “A friend, certainly.” She looked at Suzie. “Are these beautiful
jeune filles
your daughters?” she asked Drake. He nodded, then pulled Suzie from the wall and swung her to the ground. “This is my daughter, Suzie.” She patted Suzie absently on her head, then shifted her gaze toward me. I saw a flash of something in her gaze, but whatever it was, she masked it quickly. Then he nodded toward Yvette and me. “Suzie’s friend, Yvette.”

“
Charmante
,” she murmured.

“And their nanny, Claire.”

“Their nanny.” Her expression relaxed. Clearly, whatever threat she had suspected disappeared with my label. She gushed and trilled, as if he were the cleverest of men. “How clever of you, Drake, to bring a nanny and little friend.” She leaned into him, putting her hand on his forearm possessively. He cleared his throat, then hoisted Yvette on his hip, a small shield against this feminine onslaught. I almost laughed at his obvious discomfort.

“I’m afraid you give me too much credit. Yvette is Sharon’s daughter, and Jason hired the nanny.” He turned toward me, smiling warmly. “I can’t thank him enough.”

Christine’s eyes narrowed, and I could almost see the hair rising on her neck, like a cat arching its back, ready to attack. Her big brown eyes with impossible lashes glared at me, but Drake never saw her. He was too busy gazing at me. Then a more speculative look swept across the theater of her face, a curtain ending another act.

“
Moi aussi
.” She purred and stepped close to Yvette, sliding her hand softly down her back. “These poor girls, to be neglected all these nights you’ve shared with me.
C’est impossible.
”

My eyes widened in surprise, but Drake’s even more. “We’ve been to the same parties, Christine, but you have not been ‘with me’.” He sounded irritated by her implication, but I was thoughtful. Was this common behavior among the women at these parties? Did he have to beat them off with a stick?

I snuck a glance at him. He was scowling at her, but she was studying me. She hoped to arouse my jealousy. Had she?

Whatever my feelings were, I could still deny her the satisfaction.

Christine stepped closer to Drake again, but he was oblivious, busy trying to pull Yvette’s hood over her head. I snorted, and he focused on me.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” I laughed, and I swung Suzie up on my hip. She clasped both arms around my neck, still glaring at Christine. “Just looking for a stick.”

He started to say something, but I shook my head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

He studied me, uneasy, then turned to Christine. “Look, Christine, we need to get going. The girls are hungry, and I’ve promised them lunch.”

She seemed to expect an invitation to join us, but Drake merely adjusted Yvette on his hip and turned to go.

She reached out and stopped him. “Later, darling.”

He turned away and rolled his eyes—again.

The poor dear.

I stifled a giggle and zipped Yvette’s parka to her neck.

“Who’s hungry?” I asked. And with a resounding chorus of “me”, we marched out into the cold air.

After a quick walk past Jackson Town Square (where I tried not to look too smug as the girls “oohed” and “ahhed” over the antler gates), we bundled ourselves into The Bunnery. Smells of homemade yeast breads, soups and burgers made my mouth water, and we quickly placed our orders and slid into our seats. The cozy environment had us all yawning in minutes, and I winked at Drake as Yvette practically fell asleep in her cinnamon roll and hot chocolate. I would have liked to linger, but the girls were so tired, we called James to meet us and whisked them home as soon as they had eaten.

They fell asleep in the car, so Drake and I carefully carried them up the stairs and tucked them into their beds. We tiptoed out, and I pulled the door shut behind me. Then we crept into the dayroom, and I flopped back onto the sofa.

“Whew. We made it.” I leaned over and pulled my boots off. “I think I need a nap too.”

“Why don’t you? You probably need the rest.” Drake settled back into the chair by the fireplace. He was looking at me strangely, as if I would disappear if he looked away.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” I brushed at my nose, but he shook his head.

He walked over and sat beside me, then cupped my cheek in his hand, brushing my skin with his thumb. I stiffened, unsure of the change in the air, thrilled and terrified by what might come next. My heart pounded and my mind blanked—no words, no thoughts—feeling the callus on his thumb, the heat of his palm. He leaned in and kissed me gently, his lips more imagination than substance.

He moved back an inch, waiting, still so careful of me, giving me time. He brushed his fingertips over my eyes, my nose, my throat, but it was not enough, not nearly enough. I moaned and rocked forward, my arms around him, my fingers in his hair. I pressed my lips against his, demanding entry. I suddenly needed to be part of him with an urgency that startled me.

He grabbed me then, pulling me tight, his heat radiating toward me in waves. He tasted of cinnamon and hot chocolate, sweet and rich and warm, and my tongue knew no boundaries. I wanted all of him, and when I bit his lower lip and sucked it into my mouth, he groaned and clasped me tighter.

I moved my hands down his chest, and pulled his sweater up and off. I pulled the edge of his shirt out of his jeans, and thrilled as he shivered under my fingers when I dipped inside, my hands caressing his tight abdomen, seeking and petting the soft hair that arrowed to his nipples and tight pecs. Something shot through me too, when he shivered, and I felt so powerful, so feminine when he trembled at my touch.

It was still not enough, but he was letting me explore, letting me set the pace. I pulled my sweater over my head and pressed my chest against him, nervous, excited, needy.

“Claire.” He breathed into my ear, his hands under my shirt, smoothing over my ribs, rubbing under my bra. “Let me see you.”

In answer, I arched into him. His hands unclipped my bra clasp, and in one quick flip of shirt and bra, I was bare to the waist. He leaned back and studied my face, then shifted his intense gaze to my breasts, his hands cupping them, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. I moaned, his every stroke sending jolts into my core.

“You’re so beautiful—your skin, your breasts.”

“Please, Drake. I need…” But my words sank into another moan as he met my need. He kissed his way down, his warm wet lips latching onto my right breast and suckling me hard and deep, twirling his tongue, setting a rhythm that had me writhing.

“Oh my God, that’s so…” I pulled his head into me, and he licked from one nipple to the next, suckling and tasting, until my core felt so wet he must know, must…

He laid me back on the couch, still suckling, and I felt his hand go to the buttons on my jeans. I stilled, and he broke away from my breasts.

“It’s all right, Claire. I just want to make you feel good. Let me show you. Let me touch you.”

I started to sit up, but he guided me down again, his hands gentle but insistent.

“Shhhh. It’ll be fine. Let me. I want to see you come to pieces in my arms.”

He started suckling again, and I felt spread like a feast for his attentions. His hand slowly shucked my jeans down, and then he slid his hand under my panties, feathering his fingers through my curls, sliding one finger through my wet folds.

“Ahh God, Claire. How you would feel wrapped around my cock. You’re so wet.” He shivered, and slid his finger down and up, down and up, his thumb circling my nub, teasing my deepest yearnings for him. My senses completely focused on his finger and his words, as he slid closer and closer to my sheath.

“I want this, Claire. This place, just me inside you.” With those words, he slid his finger into me and I rose off the sofa. “I want to feel my cock enter you, claim you, spill my come inside and brand you. I want you mine, in every way. Inside, outside, inside, deeper…” He moved his fingers to the rhythm of his words, sliding first one finger in, then adding another, in and out. I was mesmerized, his spell building the pressure inside me, closer, closer, until like a magician, he commanded, “Come for me, Claire. Come now!” He thrust his fingers hard inside me and I seized, his lips clamped on my breast and his arms tight about me as I exploded like a firework, up and up, then slowly fell as I drifted into oblivion.

I lay, replete and dazed, feeling my heart slow, my hand dragging back and forth slowly over the thick mound in his jeans. I felt it bob at my touch, as if it reached out for me. Drake’s eyes were closed, his expression almost tortured. I shimmied up, then pulled him to a sitting position on the sofa and kneeled before him.

“My turn,” I whispered, and undid the top button of his jeans.

His eyes fluttered open. “What?”

“My turn,” I repeated, “to enjoy you.” I pulled his zipper down and felt the heat rising from the bulge under my hand.

“Claire, you don’t have to…”

“Oh, but I want to. I really, really want to.”

He shook his head, then sank back, too overcome to fight me. I slid his jeans down his legs, then slid his underwear down his tight thighs. His cock sprang gloriously to life, straight and heavy and proud, the veins flooded to his purple cap. Moisture glistened on its slick top, and my hand gloried in the hot satin skin. I settled between his legs, bent and nuzzled his cock and sac, and he groaned. He smelled of male, and soap, and Drake—intoxicating.

I licked the head, then slid my tongue down the sides of his cock and swirled my tongue around the sensitive head, tracing the faint line that lay beneath. I looked up at him. His eyes were shut, his body rigid in an agony of pleasure, but I wanted more.

Slowly, I took him in my mouth, thrilling to his tremors. I slid up and down, my lips gripping him tightly, and felt his cock grow even harder in my mouth. He groaned again, and I felt him mold his hands gently to my head, guiding my movements, urging me to take him deeper. I let my teeth gently rake him and he shivered, then I sucked him hard and heard him hiss in pleasure. Together, we increased the rhythm, my mouth sliding up and down, taking him as deep as I could go. He stilled, and I moved harder on him, faster, determined to suck his salty come right out of his cock. I felt ravenous, sexy and empowered, my body screaming for his completion. His body danced to our sensuous rhythm as I moved up and down, faster, then faster, slick glides until his body tightened and he arched with a deep groan, his cock pulsing in my mouth, his come streaming. Triumphant, I swallowed, then swallowed again, his hands tight on my head. Slowly, after I swallowed the last bit of come, his cock softened in my mouth. I licked him gently, cleaning him like a cat, kissed the tip, and finally let him slide away.

We lay there contentedly, his hand stroking my hair, my cheek against his thigh. Finally, with a sigh, he pulled me beside him and tucked me under his chin. I felt incredible, as if a door long bolted had finally been opened. My body sang, but my spirit—my spirit had taken flight, soaring on new wings. I snuggled into him and closed my eyes, feeling his hand caress my back, my cheek against his furred chest. He had the prettiest body hair. Brown with blond tips and so soft.

“Claire,” he whispered, still stroking me. “That was the most incredible…”

“Shhh. It’s all right. You don’t have to say anything. You felt incredible too.” I snuggled in closer and heard his quiet “Thank you” as he kissed the top of my head.

We dozed for a few minutes, with that half awareness that reminded us we were not completely private and could be interrupted any time. Soon, I reached over and put my clothes on, and Drake his. At least, if the girls should awaken or Sharon wander in, we would look fairly normal, even if my feelings blazed like a neon sign. I didn’t want to get up or leave him, as if what we had done tied us together with new knots. I wanted to savor it.

“What now, Claire?” Drake asked softly from the top of my head.

“I don’t know.” I kissed his chest. “Just enjoy, I guess.”

“You know, earlier today, Christine…” He hesitated, then pulled my face up with his finger. He gazed at me intently, as if he memorized my face.