Chapter 8
Eight
“Oh my god, Xander Maxwell!”The host was a younger man in his early twenties and the first to recognize Xander. “You’ve got a hell of a slap shot.”
“Thanks for watching, man,” he said, smiling. “Could we get a table for two? The member name is registered under Maxwell.”
The country club had a restaurant for the exclusive use of members and their families. The host didn’t take long to look up our membership between swooning over Xander. “Do you want to sit by the window or in a booth? It’s not too cold out, so our courtyard is also open for dining today.”
“The courtyard,” Xander replied. “Somewhere with a lot of sun.”
“Yeah, man, sure, anything.” He nodded excitedly.
Bemused, I followed in their wake. The man hadn’t glanced at me once. It didn’t surprise me; people had always felt struck by Xander’s magnetism. He was attracting quite a bit of female attention, too, and I doubted any of them recognized him. For as long as I’d known him, girls had chased after Xander. I always found it odd that he never gave anyone the time of day.
A glazed look descended over his eyes as the host cornered him with his thoughts on the play-by-play of last season’s game. Xander nodded politely, murmuring in all the right spaces, and it hit me. How often did people approach him? Armchair sports commentators—some of them drunk, many of them likely had never played a game in their life—offering their opinion on how this game should have been played or how that play had been flubbed.
Exhausting.
Xander glanced at me as I settled into my seat, and so did the host for the first time. He looked me up and down, then his mouth opened and shut. The man didn’t pull his eyes away from me as if waiting for something, but what?
“That’ll be all.” Xander appeared calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice. He was probably annoyed by the unsolicited advice.
The host finally lowered his gaze.
“I see what you mean,” I said dryly when the young man walked away. “I’m sure it gets old, being hockeysplained to by amateurs.”
“It’s the helicopter fans I can’t stand,” he said, watching the host with icy eyes that glistened like emeralds in the sun. “The ones who think they own you because they come to every one of your games.” He relaxed a little when the man was no longer in sight. “What about you? I’m sure you have all kinds of stories about clients who don’t want to be neat and aspirational.”
While I tried to think of a story that wouldn’t get me sued if it got out, our waitress came up to the table. There was an aura of enthusiasm surrounding her that made me suspect that our little host had blabbed about the not-so-secret identity of their newest patron.
Technically, this buzz was exactly what Henry wanted—for people to take photos of us discreetly and leak them to the media.
“Hello,” she purred. “I’m Macey, and I’ll be your server today. Our special today is crêpes salées and cold cucumber soup. For drinks, we have a blackberry sage fizz or a Bière de Garde on tap.”
Xander looked at me, and so did our waitress, reluctantly. “We’ll get two charcuterie boards. The meat and cheese one, and the vegetarian. What do you want to drink, Jordan?”
“I’ll have a French 75 and—do you do Manhattans? I didn’t see them on the menu, but they’re his favorite.”
Xander watched me in that strangely intense way. Our server nodded, frowning.
“Excellent. Then one of those for my stepson.”
She brightened at that, giving Xander another beaming look. “Got it. I’ll have your drinks right away.”
I watched her go with a new pep in her step.
“Why did you say that?” he asked.
“What?” I looked up from placing my napkin on my lap. “Did you not want a Manhattan?”
“You called me your stepson.”
“Yes.” I blinked, puzzled. “Because you are.”
“Jordan,” he said. “Didn’t you notice our waitress?”
“She was very pretty,” I said diplomatically. “You should get her number.”
“She thought we were together.”
“What?”
“Well, not anymore, obviously,” he said, irritated.
“Wow.” I considered her change in attitude. “Well, that’s flattering, I suppose—although cougar was never a career option that I brought up with my guidance counselor,” I added with a shudder.
“You’re not old.”
“I’m old enough,” I said aloud before catching my own grim tone.
“You do know that every man has been checking you out since we arrived?” His eyes darkened. “Our asshole host wouldn’t stop staring.”
I glanced around the restaurant. A couple of men here and there met my eye. Embarrassed at being caught staring, they returned to their meals.
“I think they are staring at the star athlete in our midst.”
“No,” he hissed, which I found oddly hilarious. “Only at you.” He muttered something else under his breath that sounded an awful lot like, I should teach all of them a lesson.
I laughed. “Are you sure you aren’t flattering me into paying for lunch? Because I was going to do that anyway.”
“I already did.”
“What?” My eyes widened. “How?”
“I gave the host my card and told him he could have a fifty percent tip if he kept people away from our table.” He added grimly, “I guess I should have specified that included staff, too.”
“I was supposed to treat you,” I protested.
The waitress arrived with our drinks. I noticed the stem of the cherry in his Manhattan had been twisted into a rather crude approximation of a heart. Amused, I watched him pluck it out of the drink in disdain and set it on the coaster while the waitress’s face fell. She walked away, defeated.
“That was rather mean.” I flicked some of the gold strands off my shoulder. “She’s a cute girl.”
“I’m not into cute.”
What are you into?I nearly asked before remembering who I was talking to. Sipping my gin and champagne cocktail, I leaned back in my seat instead, listening to the tasteful jazz piano. Sunrays warmed my face, drawing a smile to my lips. Despite being December, the sun was strong today, creating a pleasantly warm afternoon.
“Isn’t this nice?” I asked, basking in the rays of light and hoping my porcelain skin would finally catch some color. “This place reminds me of a café in Paris I used to frequent. In Le Marais, if I’m remembering correctly. It had painted shutters and a view of a building covered in ivy.”
He tasted his drink. “Why does it remind you of that café?”
Unthinkingly, I responded, “I suppose because it was the last place I was truly happy.” God, why did I say that? I was going to have to take it easy on the drinks to keep my wits about me.
“Good afternoon, folks.”
I looked up to find a muscular frame in a fitted chef’s coat towering over our table. He wore a charming smile on his lips, his toned arms flexing as he set down the charcuterie board. He appeared to be the head chef. If I were younger and unmarried, I would’ve considered him a sight to behold.
“Today, we have a selection of French cheese with our charcuterie board,” he explained. “The chèvre is my absolute favorite. I also recommend the whipped goat cheese. Make sure to try it with the jam. It’s got real lavender from Provence.” The man’s strong hand moved effortlessly as he pointed to each ingredient on the board.
“Wow. Look at this.” I marveled at the beautifully arranged board.
The tantalizing scents made my stomach growl in anticipation, but I hadn’t expected it to be delivered by the chef. I suppose I had Xander’s burgeoning fame to thank for the personal services, though the man’s eyes were mainly on me.
I cleared my throat upon catching a glimpse of Xander’s narrowed gaze.
“This arrangement is gorgeous,” I said, cutting into the thick, awkward silence that seemed to have settled over the table. “Thank you.”
The chef’s piercing blue eyes gleamed. “I can also bring over some seasonal fruits that’ll pair well with?—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Xander replied firmly on my behalf.
I glanced at Xander quizzically, only to find him already watching me. His generous lips thinned, the muscles in his strong jaw clenching. I got the impression he didn’t like whatever was happening at our table.
“Are you sure?” the other man pressed.
“Yes,” Xander snapped in a voice that sounded very much like fuck off.
“Um—”
“Make sure no one else disturbs us again,” he said dismissively. “We’re having a private conversation.” The insinuation in his tone made private sound like an intimate conversation between lovers.
Christ.
Outwardly, Xander was the golden boy with impeccable manners. No one would believe how quickly his mood could sullen, and I was flailing to keep up.
“Eat,” he ordered as the chef slinked away. His voice was a harsh burr in the soothing atmosphere that no longer felt quite so relaxing.
I wanted to ask what brought on the change, but in the end, I let it go. The waters remained as muddled as they had been in the past, where good vibes could deplete in the blink of an eye. I didn’t want to rock the boat and munched on a cracker.
Desperate to fill the awkward silence, I offered, “I had a chance to review your PR contract.”
“I see he put you to work already.” Xander was referring to Henry. It was odd he never acknowledged Henry as his father; I’d love for them to reconcile one day.
I shrugged. “I like my work. I never wanted to be a trophy wife. I just wanted—” someone to love me. “Work is fulfilling,” I said instead. “Tell me what kind of branding you’re looking to do.”
We discussed endorsement opportunities for the rest of lunch, though the conversation inevitably turned deep as it always did with Xander. He was easy to talk to, with a solemnity beneath the charm that reminded me of a deep, dark well. An old soul, I supposed.
Henry didn’t care for wisdom or in-depth conversations. We conversed superficially, and I taught myself to smile until I could half convince myself that what I was feeling was happiness. I lived the lie I sold to my clients, but it was still a lie, regardless.
“Earlier, you said Paris was the last place you were happy. You aren’t happy now?” He stared at me for a few beats, assessing my reaction to the question.
I sighed. “We can’t be happy at all times of the day, can we?” I took an aggressively long sip of my drink, flushing when it all went to my head. “For now, I’m grateful for my clients and for a beautiful home. Someday soon, I hope to have children, and then I can be happy knowing I earned everything I had dreamt of.”
“Happiness shouldn’t be earned.”
“Happiness is an indulgence.” I finished what remained of my cocktail.
His brows came down as he watched me push my empty glass aside. “Another one of these.” Xander tapped my glass, and I realized that the waitress had sneaked up on us to check in, only to be shooed away with another one of his neat little dismissals.
My second French 75 arrived, smelling of flower fields. And then, when I finished that, a third one. The alcohol gnawed away at the edges of the tension I hadn’t even admitted to myself that I was carrying.
He watched me in that strangely intense way of his. “You’re being quiet,” he commented.
I peeked at him, realizing my heavy soul had stilted the conversation. He must’ve picked up on it.
When I didn’t respond, he motioned at the couple across the room. I followed his gaze. “What’s their story?” he asked.
Without missing a beat, I replied, “She is working her way through college, and he is robbing the cradle.”
He laughed, eyes scrolling through the club for more victims. “How about them?” He nodded at a young couple two tables down.
“Hm. Some sort of new romance. Maybe a first or second date. Look at how much the poor guy is fidgeting.” On cue, the man fumbled and dropped his phone. We both laughed.
We continued the charade as other patrons not-so-discreetly took photos of us. Our glasses were topped off until I felt pleasantly buzzed and unwound.
When I wobbled on our walk back to the car, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Enough to dance to Madonna in these heels,” I informed, slightly slurring my speech.
I was more than okay. I felt more vibrant and animated than I had in years, and I couldn’t help but credit Xander for it. It was as if I had been sleeping for the years he was gone, and he had revived me from the unwanted hibernation.
“I’ll have to take you dancing then,” he said, guiding me into the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel. “I know a place back in Canada. It’s like a time warp. Neon lights, jukeboxes, and beer under five bucks.”
“Ha.” I laughed, my head feeling fuzzy. “You couldn’t keep up with my moves.”
The corner of his mouth crooked up. “I’m a good dancer. My mother made sure of that.”
He started the engine, and after a short drive that felt like mere seconds, the house loomed before us—large and imposing. Suddenly, I dreaded the beautiful estate that had become my solitary confinement where sunshine couldn’t reach me.
Xander cut the engine but didn’t get out of the car. “Did you have fun today?”
I was nodding even before he had finished speaking. He had no idea what today meant to me.
Xander unclipped my seat belt when I didn’t move. His hand brushed against my dress in the process and lingered there momentarily. Heat suffused my face in a heavy wash. I looked away from him, plucking at my sleeve.
“You deserve someone who isn’t going to keep you on the shelf like some dusty trophy,” he said softly.
I forced a smile, bypassing the connotation. “It’s not like that—whoa, what are you doing?”
One second, he was sitting there. The next, he was leaning in, like he was going to—to kiss me?
What the hell?
Xander was halfway across the center console, his face nearly touching mine. I let out a panicked breath, groping desperately behind me until I found the door handle and spilled out. A cold breeze ruffled the back of my linen dress, giving me goosebumps.
“Um—thank you… for lunch,” I spoke rapidly beneath the panic. “I-I’ll see you later.” I shut the door.
Oh, God. How did this afternoon flip from a fun outing to an inferno within seconds?
I nearly cringed when I heard Xander exiting the car and dogging my steps. I rushed up the stairs toward the main entrance of the mansion.
“Jordan.” The way he said my name was low, caressing. He blocked the front door with his body and held up both hands. “Stop. I just want to talk.”
I shook my head. “Have you lost your mind? Y-you tried to kiss me.”
He didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
How could he sound so casual? I might be slightly intoxicated, but not enough to call him out for crossing a line.
“How dare you?” I sputtered. “I’m your father’s wife?—”
“Don’t,” he hissed. The warning in his voice told me he was at the end of his rope. “Don’t say it. I can’t stand it when you refer to yourself as that.”
His father’s wife?
I tried to push past him, but he stood between me and the door like a human barricade.
“Did you know I hated you before I even met you?” he asked.
I tensed.
So, his grand plan was to humiliate me? He thought I was a gold digger, and now he’d returned to prove he was right. Today was the first good day I’d had in years, and it had been a complete farce.
“That’s your excuse? You still hate me after all these years, and you want to, what, set me up to see if I’d betray your father?”
He scoffed. “Far from it.”
“Then what?”
Silence engulfed us for several moments before he finally spoke. “I hated you before meeting you,” he repeated. “But you were nothing like I envisioned. I wasn’t expecting you to be warm or to take the time to learn everything about me. I’d always been the one to take care of everyone else. I knew what Jasper liked to eat and drink. After Mom’s accident, I made myself familiar with her preferences. I had to keep my asshole father away from them by finding the things he liked, too.”
He stood there, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the crisp white fabric of his shirt. The confident smirk that usually graced his features was nowhere to be found.
“But no one ever asked me what I liked,” he said quietly. “Before you, no one had made me feel special,” he said like it was an accusation.
I glanced at the beautiful estate garden in front of us, overwhelmed. Why was he telling me all this?
“You were funny, original, your own boss,” he continued. “I’d never met anyone like you. And you have more in common with me than you do with him. Why do you keep holding on to him?” he asked bitterly. “He treats you like shit.”
My temper threatened to break loose. “Are you serious?” I yelled. “You don’t get to leave for years, then come back to judge me for my marriage.”
“I left because you chose to marry him,” he shouted. “I couldn’t stand the idea of seeing you two together, and you refused to leave with me. I thought things would be different after some time apart. Or maybe you would feel differently.”
“Why would you think that?” I asked, upset.
“Because I thought you’d see what I’d built for myself and finally want me, too.”
If possible, the temperature dropped several more degrees between us. I pressed my hand against my chest, where my heart pounded with a deep ache. It was true then—my worst fear—where Xander was concerned.
I scoffed. “Oh. I see. You thought I was a gold digger and had sold myself off to the biggest bidder.”
He frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You sure did imply it. What did you think would happen? Now that you have money and fame, I’d come running to fulfill your stepmother fetish.”
“Shut. Up,” he chewed out.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You thought I’d hop from your father’s bed to yours and open my legs to fulfill your dirty fantasies?—”
Xander moved faster than I expected. With a tight grip on my shoulders, he shoved me against the front door.
“What the hell?” I cried out.
I didn’t anticipate his fingers to wrap around my neck. He squeezed my throat, the warning clear. He’d tighten his hold if I made another sound. He stepped forward, his hip bones pressing into me and effectively trapping me.
I stared into his stormy eyes as I tried to peel off his thick fingers.
My stomach lurched. I searched for the staff members so someone could save me. Anyone. I exhaled in relief when he finally loosened his grip, thinking this madness was about to end.
Before I could relish it, his hand moved to my cheek, gripping me in a biting hold.
And then his lips were on mine.
A wave of heat swept through my body at a kiss that wasn’t gentle or sweet but forceful and commanding. The numerous drinks at lunch, combined with my shock, kept me rooted to the spot.
Electricity crackled in the air, pulsing with danger as his tongue probed for entrance. It jolted me out of the murky fog.
I clawed at his large hand, but he didn’t let up. I tried to protest, but speaking against his all-consuming lips was impossible. When I didn’t open my mouth, he growled in frustration and squeezed my cheeks. Tears stung my eyes from the pain, and my mouth instantaneously opened wide for him.
Xander didn’t miss a beat, plunging his tongue deep inside my mouth. One hand sifted through my hair while the other wrapped around my waist to keep me in place. He groaned, his touch rough and impatient.
“Why are you doing this with me?” I finally gasped against his mouth. “You can have anyone you want.”
“I only want you.” I felt his hot breath against my lips.
“I’m your stepmother.”
“I don’t care.”
“This is sick.”
A dangerous glint sparked in his eyes, his finger tracing the rapid throbbing of my pulse. “If this is so sick, then why have you been miserable all these years without me?”
“What?”
“I can see it in your eyes. You’re not the same person from three years ago. You can deny it all you want, but I know it’s because you’re depressed without me. You refuse to acknowledge the part of yourself that wants me.”
“I don’t want you.” I pushed against his chest for space, but his unmovable stance was a clear message that I couldn’t leave until he permitted it.
“Then why did you always jump at the opportunity to see me?”
My heart pounded against my ribs as he leaned in, making me feel claustrophobic despite being outside. “Please let me go.”
“Nothing has changed. You’re still desperate to be around me.”
“Stop it, Xander.”
“First, answer me.” He transferred one hand to my shoulder and shook me. “Why did you always seek me out?”
“Because you were my only friend!” I shouted.
The rays of the late afternoon sun had begun to fade, casting a subdued glow over everything. I felt a tumultuous mix of emotions swirling within me.
“What do you want from me?” I demanded.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
The intensity in his green eyes magnified. Instead of giving me an answer, he closed the small gap between us with his mouth. He attacked my lips hungrily in a way that scared me—as if he couldn’t stop himself from returning for seconds.
He had me pinned to the door, forcing his tongue to invade my mouth. His kiss grew more intense, more feverish, practically violent. His arousal dug into me, and he ground against my sex. I thrashed, desperate to escape, but his hold was unyielding, possessive.
His large hand tore at the skirt of my dress, calloused fingers moving over the trembling flesh underneath. He moved my panties to the side and crudely delved into my core. When I yelped in surprise, he slapped a hand over my mouth as he worked me.
His touch was frenzied yet somehow in complete control. For a moment, I forgot where I was and who I was with. I felt lightheaded, my grasp on reality slipping through my fingers.
“Fuck,” he cursed, his hot breath tickling against my cheek. His digits roamed the flesh of my most intimate part, the wetness coating his fingers. “You’re so fucking soft here.”
The slight intoxication mingled with the roughness in his voice, which added to the sudden ache between my thighs. One of my hands fisted his shirt.
“Ah.” A whimper tumbled out of my mouth as he held me prisoner against the door and forced me to take the heightened sensations he delivered with his fingers.
“That’s it, baby. Come on my fingers,” he ordered.
Overwhelming tension raced through me with a raw desire to break free. The hand around my throat tightened. I couldn’t get my eyes to open, but I could still feel the intensity of his eyes as they studied me.
He pushed his tongue past my lips again, exploring my mouth achingly slow. The fingers pressed against my clit and moved in an expert rhythm that I hadn’t experienced in years. Desperation for release assaulted every one of my bones, my limbs tightening to the point of pain. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew we were outside and doing something very wrong, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore.
All I needed to do was to let go.
“Oh, God,” I hissed against his lips. Waves of pleasure shot through me, my body trembling uncontrollably. I would’ve dropped to the ground if he didn’t have me pinned to the door. “God, oh, God.” I gasped for air, feeling disoriented and overwhelmed.
I didn’t snap out of it until his mouth grazed against my ear and whispered, “That’s my girl.” I stared at him when he pressed a kiss to my parted lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve fantasized about making you come.”
A wave of fresh panic washed over me.
Unable to stop myself, I let out a blood-curdling scream. Xander stopped his ministrations, surprised by my pitch. I took the opportunity to push him off me. I leaped for the door and spilled inside the house. I couldn’t hear anything over the roaring in my ears, nor did I stop running until I was safely inside my bedroom.
What the hell just happened?