Читать книгу Picture Perfect Christmas - Melanie Schuster - Страница 13

September 2005

New Orleans, Ninth Ward

Chastain stood on what used to be a sidewalk and choked down her own tears. It was like some prehistoric beast had ravaged the city. Houses were destroyed, trees were turned over and the streets were littered with broken limbs and exposed roots. Debris was still floating everywhere and the sight was horrible. Furniture, shoes, cars, a child’s bicycle and other bits and pieces of people’s lives churned in the filthy water. Chastain tried to take in the enormity of what she was seeing, but she couldn’t. It was just too much to process. She covered her mouth with one hand and the tears rolled faster and harder.

A touch on her shoulder made her turn around, but she wasn’t afraid. As soon as she felt his big hand, she knew it was Philippe. She felt the same soft thrill that always coursed through her body whenever he was near her. He turned her around to face him and wrapped his long arms around her.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“I know you, Cerise,” he said as his arms tightened. Cerise, the French word for cherry, was his special nickname for her.

“It’s so awful, Philippe. It’s worse than I imagined,” she said sobbing.

“I know it is, baby. You can’t keep standing out here in this mess. Come on, let’s go.”

He kissed her forehead, her weeping eyes and her cheeks, and warmth flooded her body. She went with him willingly and in a relatively short time they were at his house. He opened the door and she went in first. Once inside the foyer, they looked into each other’s eyes deeply and intently. In one movement they were in each other’s arms, kissing like this was the only moment they would ever have together.

Philippe’s lips covered Chastain’s and his tongue plundered their sweetness as she opened herself to him. He put his hands under her behind and lifted her so her legs could wrap around his waist. Their mouths were fused together, tongues stroking, temperatures rising as he walked to the stairs that would take them to his bedroom. As soon as they reached the bed they were tearing at each other’s clothes with an urgent need to join their bodies. Philippe’s jeans and briefs were finally discarded in one direction while her blouse went the other way, followed by her bra. He didn’t bother to take off her lace-trimmed thong panties. He moved them aside with a long finger, feeling the moisture that had already pooled between her thighs.

His rock-hard penis slid into her with fierce precision, a hard thrust that was followed by more. Their hips were rocking back and forth and their mutual need was answered by a shattering climax that shook them both at the same time. Still locked together, they gradually slowed down long enough to remove the rest of their clothing so that there was nothing to separate them. The familiar feel of his silky-rough chest hair against her breasts made her want more of him, as much as he could give her. His mouth was driving her crazy, biting her neck softly between lingering kisses.

When he licked her between her breasts and began sucking her hardened, ultra-sensitized nipples, she tightened her walls on his manhood and pumped until she was on the verge of another climax. Philippe rolled onto his back and held her hips as she pumped harder and faster. His upward thrusts matched hers until a second, more intense orgasm shook their bodies wet with the sweet, steamy sweat of release.

Maybe it was because they were so emotionally charged from the aftermath of the storm, or maybe it was because they’d realized how much they cared about each other, but whatever the reason, they continued to make love until they couldn’t move a single limb. They fell deeply asleep in each other’s arms and stayed that way until morning.

December 2, 2009

New York

Chastain couldn’t believe how much she’d revealed to Mona before going to bed. There were certain things that she left out, like the details of her sex life with Philippe, but she’d given the young woman an earful. On the one hand, talking about her sad little love life was kind of cathartic. It helped put her strange encounter with him into perspective. Mona had to get the last word in, though. When she was getting ready to go to her bedroom she said something that got Chastain thinking.

“I had forgotten about that stupid invitation until Philippe showed up last night. When I saw you and David together I thought that’s the kind of man you need to be with. I’d pay somebody to look at me the way he looks at you. I really would.”

Chastain went to bed with David on her mind, but he didn’t stay there long. All night long she dreamed about Philippe, about that day in New Orleans and how they made love for hours without uttering a word. Their bodies and their souls had done all the communicating. It was much later when Philippe had said, “I love you.” The dream was so vivid that she woke up expecting him to be there with her, but there was only Lulu, curled into a tight ball with one bright eye open.

“You slept just fine, didn’t you? I was the one tossing and turning all night with X-rated memories. I’m going to take a shower and get dressed and then we’ll go for a long walk. How does that sound?”

Lulu’s answered her with a big yawn.

When Mona got up about thirty minutes later, Chastain was dressed and ready to go. She looked fierce in a pair of black trousers, an ivory cowl-necked cashmere sweater topped with a red belt and black boots. Lulu was also dressed in her snappy red coat with black velvet buttons.

“Good morning, sweetie. There’s coffee and I made beignets. I’m taking girlfriend for a walk.”

Mona rubbed her sleepy eyes. “My God, how can you be so perky at this hour? You went to bed the same time I did and I feel like fresh hell,” she moaned.

“It’s because I’m pure of heart,” Chastain said with a laugh. “Pull yourself together and I’ll see you in a half hour or so.”

James and Veronica were already in the gallery when she went downstairs. They chatted for a few minutes and then Chastain and Lulu set off down Lexington Avenue. The cold air was refreshing and for once the barrage of holiday decorations and the constant reminders of Christmas didn’t bother her. She felt really good, as a matter of fact. She felt as if she was better able to deal with whatever Philippe chose to dish out. “If he wants to be a jackass, then I’ve got something for him. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but my grandma didn’t raise a fool. I’ll take his head off and hand it to him, won’t I, little girl?”

Lulu was trotting along beside her drawing all kinds of attention in her little coat. She loved being outside and she especially loved meeting new people. The two of them looked like a Macy’s ad. Chastain’s coat was a black-and-white hound’s-tooth swing coat and she had on a red beret and scarf that picked up the colors in Lulu’s coat. Chastain was used to hearing compliments on her fancy little dog, so when they were returning to Studio L and she heard a little girl in a stroller squeal, “Doggie,” it was par for the course.

She was keeping a careful eye on Lulu because she was very fond of babies and she’d try to kiss them. They stopped for a red light and as luck would have it, so did the stroller. “Doggie!” Lulu reacted at once, going over to the carriage to meet its occupant. Chastain spoke to Lulu in French, telling her to sit down and be a lady. The child’s mother wasn’t alarmed in the least, however.

“Demetria loves dogs,” she confided. “She’s not afraid of them at all. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ricki Fontaine. I was at your showing last night, but I didn’t get to meet you,” she said charmingly.

Chastain’s eyes left Lulu and her hand tightened on the lead. She stared into the sparkling brown eyes of the beautiful woman who’d been Philippe’s date. She felt a little faint, especially after she took a good look at the dimpled little girl in the stroller. That child was a Deveraux—there was no denying it. Was this what Philippe had been up to since she went to Europe?

Philippe awoke with the alacrity of a dead man about to walk. He’d had a rough night. Dreams of Chastain had started almost the moment he closed his eyes. It was as if his subconscious had deliberately picked the most profoundly sensual dream possible, the one about their reunion in New Orleans after Katrina. He’d heard she was back, but he hadn’t seen her. He went out looking for her and knew instinctively where she would be. When he found her forlorn figure he took her in his arms and couldn’t let her go. They had gone back to his house and made love for hours. It was some of the best lovemaking he’d ever had. Nothing had compared to it since and he knew nothing ever would.

He was the one who’d introduced Chastain into the art of making love. She was an apt and eager pupil, surprisingly uninhibited and natural. She had taught him as much as he taught her, not from experience but from her heart. He could never forget that he was her first lover. She understood at once when he started calling her Cerise. It was because he treasured her gift to him above all else. And she would probably never speak to him again after the way he’d behaved last night. A cold shower seemed his just reward for his colossal stupidity.

After he had showered, shaved and dressed, he joined Antoine in the kitchen. The housekeeper was there, but Antoine was doing the cooking. He always made breakfast for his family and he insisted on doing the same for Philippe. “A cup of coffee isn’t going to give you the energy you need for the day. A good meal and a good woman are what you need. I can make you a delicious omelet, but the woman, that’s up to you,” he said with a rakish grin.

Philippe decided to let that one pass. He’d had a long dream about the perfect woman, but he wasn’t about to share that information with Antoine, no matter how much he liked the guy. “It’s quiet in here,” he observed.

Antoine agreed. “Yes, it’s like a tomb here without my little angels. Ricki took them to school. She refuses to leave it to the driver. She says it’s her responsibility and her pleasure.” He took another sip of the espresso he’d prepared and looked over at Philippe, who was checking his BlackBerry.

“You seem to be in a better mood today,” he observed.

“I think I am,” Philippe replied. “I owe you for listening to me vent. You may have prevented me from making a grave mistake.”

Antoine looked pleased. “So you’ve decided to let it go? No lawsuit?”

“I don’t think it’s going to come to that. I have something else in mind. A mutually satisfactory compromise is what I have planned.”

“An excellent idea. I’m sure your friend will agree to it. It’s a good solution.”