Naughty Or Nice / A Sinful Little Christmas. Rachael Stewart
excuse us a second, Clare?’
‘Sure.’ She doesn’t even quirk a brow at his remark, such is her professionalism, and I’m grateful for it.
I watch her walk away and purse my lips as I turn back to him. Refusing to acknowledge the excited tremble that runs up my spine as his eyes sparkle at me, glinting in the fairy lights adorning the tree beside us.
‘Do you mind keeping this professional?’
If I expect my cold demeanour to rub off on him, it doesn’t. He actually looks as if he’s about to laugh.
‘I was merely suggesting you might be hungry.’
His eyes trace a slow path to my belly and back up, teasing me through the silk.
‘The hors d’oeuvres were delightful, but hardly enough to keep one going all night.’
I swallow. It’s the way he draws out the words all night…the sequence of carnal images it paints…
‘So, are you free for a late dinner? The place is emptying out.’ His hand, still holding a glass, sweeps the room, but his eyes are all for me. ‘For old times’ sake, Evangeline. We’ve so much to catch up on.’
There’s my name again. There’s that same excited shudder. My brain is screaming at me to turn him down, to keep this all about business from here on in. It’s wrong on so many levels—not least of all my family’s. I want to be stronger. I want to be able to stamp this out and move on.
‘Slow to work out that you’re not wanted here, Waring?’
Shit. Dad.
I’d been so focused on Lucas I hadn’t sensed my parents’ approach. Now they’re both standing directly beside me and I can feel the war building. This can’t be happening. Not tonight of all nights. My night.
Fuck that.
A pulse moves in Lucas’s jaw. He’s mad. Really mad.
‘I don’t believe anyone has said that.’ He raises his drink to his lips, the movement casual, but I can feel the barely restrained anger thrumming off his rigid stance.
My mother touches a hand to my father’s arm. ‘Now, David—’
‘I am,’ my father says, talking over her. ‘And she will—won’t you, Eva?’
He’s looking at me. They both are. And I see red. This is what I’ve been fighting to escape—my family’s control, interference, whatever you want to call it. For all that they love me, I’m tired of being under their thumb, dancing to their tune. And this is my product, my life. I’ve earned the right to say who I get involved with.
The way my brain phrases that last bit—involved with—isn’t lost on me, but I push past it and look to my father.
‘Waring Holdings is a good fit for the business.’
My father’s colour deepens, his eyes widening as my mother’s hand tightens upon his arm. But anger has given me the strength I need. Not just to deal with Dad, but with Lucas too.
‘They will be on my list for consideration.’
I feel Lucas’s chest puff and my eyes snap to his.
‘Please ensure that Clare has your details before you leave, so that we can arrange a mutually agreeable time to meet.’
My words leave no room for misunderstanding but rather than looking rebuked, he appears amused. The spark in his eye an open challenge. ‘Of course.’
‘Now, shall we go?’ I say to my parents. ‘We don’t want to leave François waiting.’
My mother looks warily between us all. ‘I thought you…?’
She’s right. I told them before the night began that I wouldn’t be joining them for dinner at their favourite French restaurant afterwards. I had some grand plan of a fancy takeaway, a hot bath and more champagne. Wallowing in my triumph, so to speak, and soaking away the stress of the last few months—years, even.
Now I know that a bath would only encourage debauched fantasies of what I might be doing with Lucas…
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say over the heat that starts to swirl, and I face him off. ‘Thank you for coming, Lucas.’
His lip twitches and I read the double meaning in his eyes. Christ. I almost expect him to say, Not me, but you did…twice.
My cheeks flame as his eyes dance. ‘I look forward to our next meeting.’
Look forward to it? I’ll be on heat for it—and at my wits’ end if I don’t get this under control.
Still, I have at least a week—maybe more.
Plenty of time.
It’s late when the door to Je l’adore opens and she emerges, her parents in tow.
I don’t know why I’m here. Or rather I know why, but I don’t approve of my actions.
Seems seeing her again has broken something in me. Something I kept locked away when I had a friendship to protect, a surrogate family to honour. Without it, I can’t shake free.
I want to blame it on unsated desire. Sex. Simple as.
I tell myself that if I have her, then I can move on. It’s an ability that’s served me well in the past. I don’t form attachments. Not any more.
I look at her now from my vantage point in the back of my limo across the street. She’s laughing, her arms around her mother as they bid each other goodnight. There is so much love between them and my gut lurches at the sight of it. There’d been a time when I’d been part of that. Had loved and been loved, or so I’d thought.
Then she turns to her father and that lurch turns into a twist. I don’t want to care any more. It’s old ground. But I owe part of myself to that man, my only real father figure. He shaped me, and my success is in some way because of him.
Love, respect, anger—they all collide. I flex my fists, breathing through it. I always knew tonight would be hard, but there’s so much I didn’t bank on.
And right up there is this rush of feeling for her. An emotion I thought well and truly dead.
Seems she is my weakness after all.
She pecks her father on his cheek and I can almost sense his need to say something. I know him, and I know he’s not going to let this go, but whatever he says she shakes her head at it and gestures for them to get in their waiting car.
I know she has an exclusive apartment around the corner—one of many homes owned by her family—and I’m banking on her heading back there tonight.
Just as I’m banking on getting what I came for…
I’m wired by the time I say goodbye to Mum and Dad. I could blame it on the amazing party—the culmination of my hard work. But it’s not. It runs a whole lot deeper.
Loving Lucas had been as natural as breathing in my teens. And just as impossible to prevent. He’d always been a part of our lives, his mother constantly using mine as a sitter so she could go on date after date, never finding anyone permanent.
I don’t know whether she was picky or desperate, but it had made me mad. Mad at how she could neglect Lucas, not care about him. The day he got his exam results I remember her delivering a swift ‘well done, honey’ before planting a kiss on his forehead and leaving for the night. There was no celebration—no nothing.
It