A Winter's Seduction (A Winter's Tale Series Book 5) Page 5

“The best Upper East Side Manhattan has ever seen,” he agreed. “And no doubt you’ve witnessed me at my finest moments.”

  “That I have . . .” Charlotte frowned. “And now, that I don’t have to be the silently judgmental best friend I can comfortably admit that I was incredibly annoyed by you a lot of the time.”

  “I annoyed you?”

  “Let me correct myself. You didn’t annoy me, so much as your sexual exploits.”

  “Really?” he grinned, leaning against the counterspace. “I had no idea . . . and I shared so openly with you. There wasn’t much I left for your imagination,” he mused.

  Charlotte groaned dramatically. “Tell me about it. Your stories ran long.”

  Nicholas knew how to antagonize her. With a smug smile on his full lips, he asked, “Why were you so annoyed, best friend?”

  “The better question is . . . how did you not realize what you were doing to me?”

  Nicholas took a step in her direction. “And what exactly was I doing to you?” he asked, his steel gaze darkening to a molten mercury. A beat passed and then he was standing in front of her . . . the heat of his body engulfing her in what could only be described as a vortex of euphoria. His scent overtook her, a mixture of warm cinnamon and citrus filled her being− shortened her breath. “So,” he pressed when she didn’t respond.

  Charlotte blinked up at him. “So?” she repeated, fighting to keep her poise when he was so determined to shatter her pretenses.

  Leaning into her, Nicholas breathed, “Are you going to answer my question?”

  “Which one?”

  Placing his hand on her cheek, he stroked her delicate jawline with the bridge of his thumb and then firmly pulling her into him, pressed his mouth to hers. Teasingly grazing the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, he smiled against her mouth when she opened up to him− kissing him with the same hunger and urgency that he felt. Nicholas brushed his fingers down her toned arms, traveled further still, until his hands were planted at her small waist. Even through her cami, his touch caused her heart to race. Charlotte groaned from the pleasure of his touch− the honeyed sound swallowed by the inferno of their heated embrace. Their kiss was a perfectly orchestrated dance, all consuming . . . devastatingly seductive. Nicholas released her slowly, reluctantly. “If I had known what you tasted like years ago . . . maybe, I would have been less of the so- called whore you’ve named me,” he grinned.

  Charlotte laughed then. “Doubtful.”

  “Perhaps, you’re right,” he shrugged uncommittedly. “But at least one good thing came out of my years of promiscuity . . .”

  “Oh?”

  “Complete confidence in my ability to please my wife,” he said, lifting Charlotte into his strong arms and tossing her over his shoulder with ease. Taking long strides, he quickly cleared the dining and living room area in his pursuit to the bedroom where he dropped her onto the mattress with a small thud. Pulling at the drawstring of his grey sweatpants, he skillfully loosened the waistband of the restricting material with one hand all the while removing Charlotte’s pale blue tank top with the other. Lowering himself on her, Nicholas pressed his mouth to hers, forcefully parting her lips with his own. Framing her face with his large hands, he drew her forward, needing their kiss to be deeper than space would allow. Nicholas moaned as her soft mounds grazed his chest. Bending his head, he took her left breast into his hungry mouth. Sucking on the perky bud with an expertise that only experience would allow, he caressed her right breast with sure fingers pinching her nipple ever so lightly. His mouth was a warm haven, his tongue a velvet whisper, teasing her flesh−tantalizing her senses with unspoken promises of pleasure.

  Melting against him, Charlotte’s entire body cried out as Nicholas’ mouth left her breast to travel down her torso, his full lips feathering soft kisses along her navel and further still. Charlotte gasped at the feel of his warm breath on her inner thigh. Taking his time, he kissed the inside of her leg with a practiced patience− building the fire within her, until she was impatiently raising her hips to meet his teasing mouth. The scent of her arousal was his undoing. Closing his eyes, Nicholas caressed her most sensitive spot with a hungry mouth, devouring her until she was falling apart in his arms.

  ***

  Charlotte lay passively in Nicholas’ arms, absently grazing the back of her hand along his goatee. His 5’ o clock shadow stabbed the pads of her fingers, causing a tingling sensation to form where the prickly hair had just touched. Stirring against him, she sighed aloud. “This was the best weekend I’ve had in a really long time. I’m going to be sad when you leave.”

  Nicholas stiffened. “You want me to leave,” he asked, his voice low − wounded.

  “Yes,” she nodded weakly.

  Shifting his weight from under her, he moved to the edge of the bed to put distance between them. Nicholas regarded her carefully for several moments before he responded. “What was the point of last night, of today if you didn’t want to fix things between us?”

  Charlotte blinked at him. Her heart clenched painfully at the dejected look she had caused to darken his beautiful eyes. “I do want to fix things between us . . . we are fixing our relationship. But to have you move back in right now, it’s too soon.”

  “I want more than a couple of weekends with you every month. I need more than that . . . we need more than that. I refuse to go back to how things were, with us barely talking. . . the never ending, tension between us. Dimple−”

  Reaching out to him, Charlotte took his face in her hands once more. “It won’t be like that,” she promised. Inching closer to Nicholas, she easily closed the small gap between them. “It won’t,” she whispered against his full lips. Kissing the corner of his mouth, she closed her eyes and then rested her forehead against his. “I’m ready to work things out. I really am, I just . . . I just need more time before we move back in together. I hope you understand.”

  “I don’t really have a choice but to understand,” he responded, his tone impassive. “I screwed up and you get to call the shots.”

  “Nicholas,” she sighed, her tone pleading. “Please don’t take it like that.”

  Nicholas was quiet for some time, his thoughts soaring wild as he tried to think of a solution to a growing concern, a nuisance, that had been nagging his subconscious for days on end. Santiago, or whatever he called himself had torn a hole in the very foundation of his assurance. The man openly revealed his interest in Charlotte, blatantly flirted with her in front of Nicholas with little decorum, or respect for his even being there to witness it. If the man’s demeanor was curt with Nicholas standing there, he could only imagine what he would be capable of in his absence. “Caleb and Menzie will be in Manhattan for a while . . . I think it unnecessary for them to stay in a hotel, but my loft is too small for the three of us. And since you are adamant about me not moving back in here with you, maybe, you’ll consider allowing Menzie to crash with you until they can make other accommodations?”

  Charlotte frowned. “Caleb would be okay with that?”

  “My loft has no privacy . . .” he answered, evading her question.

  His request was sudden, and gave Charlotte a reason to pause. Something wasn’t quite adding up, nor did the circumstance of his request make any sense. If I hadn’t reached out to you last night . . . what would have been their living situation, then? She wondered. Though, while the distress of so many unanswered questions plagued her thoughts, she opted to allow them to go unanswered for the time being. After all, she had just crippled his feelings with her refusal of allowing him back home. “Okay,” she said hesitantly, giving into his request. “She can stay with me.”

  Chapter Six

  The sun set slowly in the early summer sky. Beautiful hues of red and orange kissed the heavens, caressed the once white clouds with a welcomed embrace before slipping beneath the New York skyline and then disappearing as if they had never been. Charlotte lay on the couch beside Nicholas as he watched television, her gaze fixed on
the earth’s transformation through the living room window. The weekend had flown by with little regard to her growing anxiety and melancholy mood for Monday morning. The two days of bliss she had spent with Nicholas had not been enough, and the thought of having to leave her apartment to re- enter the real world seemed like more than she could stand. In less than a scant twelve hours she would have to enter what could only be considered hell on earth, Gizzelle Bridal.

  Sighing inwardly, Charlotte fought to reign in her emotions. Allowing a lunatic like Dean Proctor to have that much control over her attitude was beyond unacceptable. He was nothing, less than nothing and his vengeful attempts at making her life miserable would soon pass; after all, nothing lasted forever . . . not even the wicked ways of an insane man. Exhaling away her growing dread over the coming days, Charlotte leaned further into Nicholas− needing the comfort of his body heat. Secure in her sentiments of not allowing her time with him to be in vain, she blocked out every thought of tomorrow and relished in the simplicity of lying peacefully in her husband’s arms.

  Nicholas felt Charlotte’s body grow stiff, tense. Tightening his hold on her taut body, he bent his head to her thick curly hair, inhaling the bold scent her kiwi mango conditioner left behind. Grazing his mouth along her ponytail, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing important,” she answered, not wanting to destroy their evening. “I can handle it.”

  “Even still, I want to know what’s bothering you . . . even if it is something that you can handle on your own.”

  Sighing heavily, Charlotte said, “It’s work. The thought of having to walk into that building tomorrow seriously depresses me. I hate having to go there, every day. Worse, I despise the fact that I’ve allowed others to alter my feelings for a place that had once been so important to me. I loved working at Leisure Me Ready, even Gizzelle Bridal had its perks at one point, but now . . .”

  “Has it gotten that bad?” Nicholas asked, though he already knew the answer. It had been hard for Charlotte before he had left Gizzelle Bridal, and so he could only imagine how terrible it must have gotten for her without his protection, especially with a psychopath like Dean running the show. More than anything he wanted for her to quit the magazine, to be as far away from Dean as possible, but she was stubborn until the bitter end.

  Turning in Nicholas’ strong arms, Charlotte readjusted her weight so that she could meet his steel gaze. “He demoted me from editor and gave the position to Penelope.”

  “He did what?” Nicholas demanded, his silvers wild with agitation. “Demoted you to what?”

  “His part-time secretary.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “A little over a week ago,” she frowned. “That day you came by . . . and my co- worker, Santiago had also happened to stop by . . . he came to check on me after hearing about my demotion.”

  Nicholas licked his lips slowly, tasting the truth of her words. Annoyance drew his dark brows together. “Well, isn’t he quite the gentleman.”

  Charlotte swallowed his sarcasm. “Nicholas−”

  “My apologies,” he laughed humorlessly. “It must be my guilt speaking for me again.”

  She stared at him intently. Silently, her browns made a study of his enticing features, his long ash brown lashes over bright silver eyes, his tan skin and full lips. God, he was a beautiful man. Even through the sudden display of his temper, the narrowing of his brow and the tightening of his mouth, he was the most gorgeous specimen of a human being she had ever seen. Lifting her right hand to his cheek, Charlotte ran the back of her fingers along his cinnamon goatee. “Am I a total bitch for finding the smallest amount of pleasure in your being jealous?” she asked, unable to stop a small smile from softening the corner of her mouth.

  “Jealous,” he echoed, tasting the word. Then shaking his head to deny the charge, he said, “I saw the way the man looked at you. He’s attracted to you, and I don’t blame him . . . I mean he’s not blind. What’s not to be attracted to?” he asked, but then pausing, Nicholas regarded her carefully, his sparkling eyes thoughtful. “I’m more so bothered by the fact that you’re attracted to him than the other way around.” There− he’d said it, spoken the stark truth, a truth that had been eating away at him since she had all but sent him away a week prior. It was unnerving to even think about Charlotte being enticed by another man, regardless of how innocent the enticement may have been− it still bothered him.

  “Do I find him to be a good- looking man, yes,” she admitted. “But just because I think he’s nice- looking it doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him.”

  Nicholas frowned at the irrationality of her confession. “It absolutely does mean that you’re attracted to him,” he scoffed.

  “Nicholas, I don’t want to argue.”

  “Who’s arguing? I’m just stating a fact. You two share an attraction for one another. I witnessed it in the five seconds that I watched the two of you interact. There’s no way you haven’t noticed it and you see the man every day.”

  Dropping her hands from his tan face, Charlotte backed away from him. She didn’t like the direction their conversation had taken and if she were being completely transparent, it made her uncomfortable. Was Santiago a handsome man, of course, any woman with decent vision could see that much, but was she attracted to him . . . did she desire him, absolutely not. She only had eyes for Nicholas, had only wanted Nicholas . . . even at their worst, he was the only man she’d thought of− the only one she’d yearned to be with. “You can believe whatever you want,” she said, suddenly irritated. “But− I’m being honest. I am not attracted to Santiago.”

  “Okay,” he said, and leaning forward kissed the side of her pouted mouth.

  Raising an arched brow, Charlotte narrowed her almond browns. “Okay?” she repeated. “So, you believe me?”

  “I believe that you, believe you.”

  “Nicholas!”

  “Dimple, I don’t want to talk about San Antonio anymore,” he groaned.

  “Santiago,” she corrected, her tone thick with laughter.

  “Whoever,” Nicholas shrugged uncaringly. “Whatever his name is, I’m tired of talking about him. You say you’re not attracted to him, okay, fine. You’re not attracted to him.”

  “I just want you to believe me.”

  “I trust you,” he said. “And while the thought of you being even remotely attracted to another man pisses me off, it’s human nature. I know that you would never act on it.”

  Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. “You do?”

  “I do,” he said, pulling her back into his embrace. “Now, back to Dean. I’ll take care of−”

  “Don’t do anything,” Charlotte interjected. “I will continue to handle Dean in my own way, okay?”

  Nicholas silently contemplated his wife’s request. After several seconds of deep thought, he asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Positively certain. If it becomes too much, I will come to you, but until then I would like for you to allow me to handle my work life on my own.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do. I insist,” she said. Then pausing, she pulled her lower lip into her mouth as her brain contemplated if she should fill him in on her latest office outburst. “But− you should probably know that in a bit of rage I announced to practically the entire office that we are married. I know this is probably problematic . . . since you asked me to keep our marriage from Dean.”

  “What else does he know?”

  Nicholas’ question put a sour taste in her mouth. Agitated, she snapped, “He doesn’t know, that I know, about you and Blithe, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  His jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he said apologetically.

  “I know,” she sighed. You never do.

  Chapter Seven

  JULY 2009

  Standing in the doorway which separated the kitchen from the dining room area, Charlotte leaned against the white wooden door fra
me as she watched Menzie prepare what looked to be scrambled eggs; though the smell emanating from the small space suggested otherwise. The aroma from the concoction was unlike anything she had ever encountered. Rising on her toes she attempted to see over the other woman’s thin squared shoulders for a better look, but to no avail. “What are you making?” she asked, breaking Menzie from her deep concentration and causing her to jump.

  Quickly turning around, Menzie brought her right hand to her chest. “Oh-my-gosh!” she laughed. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “A couple of minutes give or take,” Charlotte shrugged nonchalantly. “I can’t quite make out the smell . . . but it looks like scrambled eggs, no?”

  “Eggs, yes. Scrambled, no. It’s called Pong Mouan Snol; it’s a Cambodian omelet filled with pork, green onions and preserved cabbage. You should try it when its ready. I think you’ll appreciate the taste.”

  “What does it taste like?”

  “A little salty and a little sweet. Actually, it is the perfect combination of salty and sweet. The egg helps to bring all of the flavors together.”

  “I’ll try it,” Charlotte said, offering Menzie a quick smile. It felt weird to have another woman cook in her kitchen, it felt weird to have a roommate that wasn’t Nicholas. “If it tastes as exotic as it smells then I am in for a treat.”

  Menzie chuckled. “You don’t have to try it. I won’t be offended. Cambodian food is definitely an acquired taste because of the heavy use of spices.”

  “No. No. Of course, I’ll try it. Creole dishes also consist of hearty amounts of seasoning and spices, so I have an appreciation for foods that contain the same.”

  “Good to know. It’s just about ready . . . if you set the table, I’ll make the plates.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Menzie had all but made herself at home in the three weeks that she’d been staying with Charlotte, and had little thought of over- staying her welcome. “So, I have to ask . . . I mean I’ve wanted to ask since I got here but thought it would be a bit presumptuous to assume that you would open up to me . . . it’s not like we’re close friends, or anything . . . what I mean is that we hardly know one another. We’ve only hung out a couple of times before I started staying here, and that’s hardly enough time to get to know someone. You know?” Menzie spoke quickly, her sharp voice penetrating through the kitchen walls. “I just didn’t want to cross the line,” she said as she piled heaps of Snol onto their plates. When Charlotte didn’t respond, she cleared her throat. “Honestly, even though we aren’t quite friends, I must admit that it feels like we are close in some regard. We’d have to be, for you to share your home with me, and for such an extended amount of time, ya know?” With a plate in either hand, Menzie made her way into the dining room. “Forget it, it’s really none of my business,” she huffed, smiling awkwardly.