Sweetened With a Kiss (3 page)

But she was not that girl anymore, thanks to Madlyn Robicheaux. She was Jen Taylor, high voodoo priestess of sugar and all things sweet. And she was not marrying Stefan.

When she made it to baggage claim, she stopped short and ducked behind one of the ugly orange columns. That couldn’t have been Stefan. No way. She was crazy. She peered around the column again to get a look at the tall businessman in a gunmetal gray suit talking on his cell phone with his back to her. His fingers were pushing through his too short hair. No way that was Stefan.

Her Stefan’s hair was not cut short. It was longish and rumpled and caught back with whatever rubber band he could find. And her Stefan wore jeans so faded they were indecent in places and T-shirts he should have thrown away years ago.

Then the man turned and she caught his profile and she was back around the column before her brain admitted it was Stefan. And he was not happy about something.

Stefan was watching the thinning crowd with a growing sense of concern as he ended another call. He saw her luggage come around the conveyor belt but there was no trace of Jen. She should have come through the crowd by now. He grabbed the single bag off the carousel and while he was pulling it off, he caught a glimpse of a tall woman dressed all in black. His breath actually caught in his throat and a raw stab of lust stroked through him as he realized her legs didn’t seem to stop. He took in a ragged breath, glancing away before he saw her face, then shifted his weight as he set the bag down and pulled up the handle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything so intense. He’d been training pretty hard since Jen left and that usually distracted him, but those legs reminded him instantly that it had been a very long time.

He glanced at his watch. Where the hell was she? His eyes slid to the brunette’s legs again, then the high ponytail she wore. That rich brown swath of hair would wrap around his fist at least twice. Before he could kick himself for having that reaction to a complete stranger, he saw her face and lightning zapped the back of his head and sizzled down his central nervous system, freezing him in place.

Jen.

He wasn’t sure how it was Jen, but it was definitely her. He just managed to stop his jaw from dropping as she spotted him and started straight for him. He almost backed up a few steps, he was so stunned. How in the hell could that be Jen? But it was her. She’d lost weight. She hadn’t needed to lose it, but he had to admit it suited her. She was sleeker, her face more defined. She looked older, more mature. But there was no mistaking those caramel eyes, and that mouth just slightly too wide for her face—the one he suddenly couldn’t take his eyes off…unless he let himself admire her legs again and that was not going to happen. Then her mouth was curving into a soft smile so familiar it hit him square in the chest and his lungs really tried hard to turn inside out.

He should have smiled back, but his face was frozen. For a panicked second, Stefan Sellers wasn’t quite sure what to do. He always knew exactly what to do. Always. Instead, he shut down, looking for the place in his head that kept him centered and calm. He couldn’t find it. There was nothing in his head because all the blood had deserted his brain and headed south.

Then suddenly she was right in front of him. She smelled like sugar and sunshine, and she was saying something, but his brain didn’t translate the sound into anything he could understand. Instead he just leaned forward, grabbed her overnight bag from her. “Car’s outside,” he managed to rumble out, and turned towards the exits before he gave in to the urge to throw her over his shoulder and haul her out to the limo.

“But Martin was sending a driver,” she said, trying to keep up with him as he headed towards the exits. He knew it couldn’t be easy in those shoes. Too bad for her. Where the hell did she get shoes like that anyway?

“He did,” Stefan said, “Trent’s in short-term parking.”

Jen stopped short. “You’re joking. You came in a limo?”

She almost stepped back as he turned on her suddenly. She still couldn’t believe she was seeing him in a suit, even if the cut made him more deadly attractive than he was in cutoff blue jeans and faded T-shirts. And really, Jen hadn’t believed that was possible. He looked so much older, less approachable. She hardly recognized the cold, hard man staring back at her impatiently. He was still beautiful, but he wasn’t happy to see her. He looked annoyed and distracted now, but earlier, when he’d first seen her, he’d looked just like he had the night of her junior prom. Jen had hoped never to see that expression again.

“I thought you liked the limo. You and Lizzie used it often enough.” His words sounded like ice chips.

She smiled despite herself. Guilty as charged. She and Lizzie were intimately familiar with the limo. Mac didn’t normally use it on the weekends and had encouraged them to use it because he didn’t like Lizzie driving in the city. They’d been happy to oblige and there had been many girls’ night out both in high school and college. They both owed Trent a piece of their souls for not telling Mac what had actually gone on in the limo. 

At least Trent was happy to see her.  She gave him a quick hug and asked about his oldest daughter.  “She’s starting her residency this fall,” Trent said proudly.

“Well tell Bonnie I asked about her. We all need to get together,” Jen said as she slid into the limo. 

She grabbed two water bottles out of the mini fridge before leaning back. Stefan was on his cell phone so she barely got a chin nod when she handed him one. She took a sip and registered that Stefan was speaking in Russian. When had he learned Russian?

She shook her head in disbelief and tried to relax as they pulled out of the airport. She’d missed New Orleans. Her first impression of Paris had been almost a little disappointing. “It’s just a larger version of the French Quarter,” Jared had said.

“Well, yeah!” Jen had teased, then they’d laughed that whole first day playing goofy tourist and staring wide-eyed at the Eiffel Tower and trying really hard to be too cool to be impressed.

She dragged herself to the present when they didn’t take the exit to cross the Pontchartrain. “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

“We’re going the wrong way.”

He gave her a grim look and his phone rang before he could answer her. She fished her own phone out of her bag and sent Jared a text telling him she’d arrived safely. She smiled at the ten text messages from Lizzie, all demanding
Are you here yet?

She sent back,
Yep

Her phone rang less than thirty seconds later. “I’m so glad you’re home,” Lizzie rushed. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked on the phone almost every day.

“Glad you’re still here,” Jen said, wishing Lizzie wasn’t heading back to school in a week. They’d been best friends for as long as Jen could remember. Lizzie had always been more like a little sister than just a friend. And when Jen’d gone to live with the Sellers after her parents were killed, she and Lizzie had gotten even closer. They had never really been apart until Lizzie went off to graduate school.

“I’m not going back to the frozen North until you’ve made pancakes.”

“Tomorrow morning. Promise.” Jen said, then lowered her voice and turned towards the window. “What is going on with Stefan? He’s really intense and he’s been on his phone the whole time.”

“Stefan picked you up?”

“I know, I was surprised too.”

“Something’s happened at STI. I’m not sure what exactly. Martin pulled Stefan off his bike this morning and Dad’s still at the Tower but Mom keeps saying ‘everything’s fine, dear’.”

“That’s bad,” Jen said, darting a glance at Stefan who was hanging up. “Gotta go.”

She ended her call and sipped her water and pretended not to notice he was no longer ignoring her.

“Lizzie?” he asked.

She nodded.

“What did she say?”

Something in the tone of his voice raised the hairs on the back of her neck and she turned slowly. Glacial blue eyes were watching her closely, and the hairs on her arms joined the hairs of her neck in a nervous dance. “She wants pancakes. Why?” she asked slowly, wondering what he thought Lizzie had told her.

He pushed his fingers through his hair, then just shook his head. “No reason.”

Right.

“Is everything okay?” she asked carefully.

He watched her a moment, then reached into his jacket pockets. “It will be,” he said and tossed a small black box at her. “As soon as you put this back on.”

She jumped, startled as if he’d dropped a spider on her lap. She would’ve actually preferred the spider. She stared at the box, unable to even bring herself to touch it. She turned away and stared out the window. A spider would have been a whole lot better.

“We need to talk,” she said, the words barely audible as her nerve started to desert her.

“Your six months are up. Put it back on.”

The tone of his voice actually startled her worse than dropping the box in her lap. There was an edge to it she’d never heard before, and he was so cold the temperature in the limo was actually dropping.

She reached for the box, but her fingers were trembling. She couldn’t keep a hold on it. It tumbled back to her lap and bounced onto the floor board. She leaned forward but an arm slid across her waist and pushed her back against the cool leather seats. He leaned forward and scooped the ring box off the floorboard.

He snapped the box open and the solitaire that had once taken her breath away, now made her insides as cold as the atmosphere in the car. Warm fingers curled around her hand and he slid the ring onto her shaking finger. His touch was gentle, as usual, but it nearly burned her. She turned her face towards the window, unable to face the fire in the perfect stone. It just hurt too much. Nothing that beautiful should be based on a lie.

Then she realized he was still holding her hand, his thumb stroking gently across her knuckles. The gentle caress hurt deep in her chest. She wasn’t even sure if he realized he was doing it. He normally didn’t touch her, other than a light hug or a quick kiss on the forehead. But caressing her fingers like that?  She needed it to stop and tried to pull her hand away. He didn’t let go.

“We really need to talk about this,” she said.

“No, we don’t.” He released her hand and reached over to pull the barrette out of her hair. Her hair came down in a straight brown wave. He pushed it around with his fingers then threaded them through her hair until it fell the way he liked it. “That’s better,” he said. “You’ve lost weight. How can you lose weight at pastry school?”

Almost paralyzed by the light touch of his fingers around her neck, she had to swallow hard before she could ask again, “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer her. She wasn’t surprised. If he didn’t want to answer a question, he usually ignored it. If he didn’t like her answer to one of his questions, he ignored that too. Instead he just watched her. She could feel his eyes skimming all over her.

“I don’t want to get married,” she finally said out loud, no longer able to contain the words.

“I agreed to give you six months. Time’s up. Come here.” His hand tightened on the back of her neck as he eased her closer to him.

Six months ago, she would have plastered herself to him at the first opportunity. She had tried a few times only to have him pull back and keep things light. Now, he was actually pulling her into his lap. An unwelcome but familiar ache came roaring back through her without any warning as she balanced herself against rock hard shoulders and legs.

“Be still,” he snapped, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t handle being this close to him. Panic swirled up in her, and she struggled against him until he clamped his arm around her waist and his other hand laced painfully into her hair. “I haven’t seen you in months and all I get is an angry kitten.”

“Let me go,” she whispered, wishing desperately his phone would ring so he would have to let her go.

“Can’t do that,” he said, his voice sounding like gravel. The fingers still threaded through her hair, tightened suddenly and he pulled her head down closing the short distance between them. She closed her eyes and tried to turn her head but his mouth crashed into hers, his tongue sliding in between startled lips, laying ruin to every single shred of defense she had gathered up in the last few months.