Best enemies forever, p.24
Best Enemies Forever, page 24
I haven’t lived with anyone since college. Not in a million years would I have thought that the first person I’d do it with would be Constance Connovan.
Not that I’m complaining.
She looks up, her expression softening with a smile. “Hey.”
“Hello.”
“I was going to order some food. Do you want some?”
“Yeah, I’m starving. What are you in the mood for?”
She leans over the kitchen island, bracing her elbows on the marble. It puts her curves on full display, and a pang of want runs through me, remembering her in just that pose, but over the couch.
“There’s a Thai place I like,” she says.
“You want some spice?”
“Yeah, I think so.” She looks over at me, and a mischievous spark lights up her eyes. It makes my body strain with familiar anticipation. “Do you?”
I walk around the kitchen counter. “Of course, I do.”
“I’ll order the spiciest thing on the menu, then.”
“Make that two.”
She chuckles and starts to order. I come to stand beside her, watching her fingers fly over the screen. Running my hand down her spine, I trace the waistband of her skirt. I dip my hand beneath it and glide my palm over her round curves.
Connie giggles again. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just saying hello, properly.” I bend to kiss her neck.
She sets her phone on the counter with a soft sigh. “Food will be here in twenty minutes.”
“Oceans of time,” I say.
She twists toward me. “I added ‘make it really spicy’ in the special instructions box.”
I tip her head back and lower my own, bringing our lips close. “Bring it on, princess.”
She sure does. Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting at the table with boxes of takeout, and the spicy aroma rising from the dishes is already making my eyes sting.
“Well,” Connie says. “Time to dig in, then.”
I reach for one of the curries. It’s hard not to smile. This is so goddamn silly, and yet, it’s what we’ve always done. Competed over every little thing.
“How was work?” I ask.
That fires her up. She talks while filling up her plate, about the conference she’s scheduled to attend in a few weeks, and about the project she’s working on.
I eat and listen, my mouth obscurely burning away.
“But,” she says, “I’m still so angry with Alec for the Nicour deal.”
“Oh, the acquisition he took you off?”
“Yes.”
“That was unfair of him.”
“It was unnecessary,” she says and cuts through a piece of chicken. “They’re entering final negotiations next week, and I’m the one who’s familiar with all the ins and outs of the deal. If my stepping aside was genuinely in the company’s best interests, I wouldn’t complain. Not at all. But knowing it’s just because of…”
“Me,” I say.
She looks over at me, and some of the frustration in her eyes eases. She’s gained more freckles in the sun, a beautiful smattering over her cheeks and up her forehead. “Not your fault,” she says. “Not mine, either, really. They don’t think I’m… mature enough for this, I suppose.”
“You’ve been mature since you were a kid.”
She chuckles and looks down at her food. “Feels like that sometimes. My brothers were adults most of my life, you know, and I had no cousins to play with. Makes one grow up fast under the circumstances.”
“I remember you in school.”
“Law school?”
I shake my head. “No. Well, yes, there too. But back at St. Regis.”
“You were two years ahead of me,” she says. “I saw you on campus, but I wasn’t sure if you were aware of me.”
“Of course I was. The Connovan heiress, in the same school? I was deadly aware.” The rivalry had been instilled in me as a kid, with Contron regularly mentioned in adult conversations around me. It had never been a positive thing.
Connie reaches for more rice. I need to do the same. The burning in my mouth and on my lips has reached a scorching level. “I never suspected,” she says. “We didn’t really talk until… well, law school.”
“No, we just quietly hated one another from afar,” I say.
She’d been a girl with shoulder-length hair. For a few years, she wore glasses. She usually stuck with her small group of friends, always carrying a backpack filled with books, and, sometimes, sending me dark glares across the schoolyard or the cafeteria.
Connie nods. “It was hard not to. I was told to… well. I’m sure you were, too.”
“Yeah.”
“I remember feeling so envious of you when we were at St. Regis,” she says. Her cheeks look rosy, and there’s a light sheen on her forehead.
The spicy food is affecting her, too.
“Envious?”
“Yeah. You were so popular, the captain of the lacrosse team, and always surrounded by a group of people.” She shrugs and looks down at her food. “You were good-looking, had great opportunities ahead of you…”
Both my eyebrows rise at that. Of all the assessments she’s had of me, I would never have guessed that would be one.
“Did I?”
“Yes.” Her bare foot grazes against my shin beneath the table. “Come on. What did you think of me?”
“Fishing for compliments?” I shake my head with a frown. “I always knew you’d be a needy wife.”
She laughs and reaches for her giant glass of ice water. Her lips look extra red, and I wonder if mine are the same, set ablaze by the spice. “Fine, be that way.”
“I thought you were very focused. Definitely studious,” I say. “At the prep school, I mean. We didn’t hang out in the same circles, so I didn’t really hear much. You were cute, though.”
She rolls her eyes. “Right.”
“You were. But it wasn’t until law school that we really…”
That’s when we’d been in the same class. Had our first proper conversation. Circled one another from afar, and then, in ever-tightening circles until that one night right before the summer break of our final year.
“Yeah,” she says. Her eyes look glazed, and she reaches with her napkin to pat the moisture in them. “I’m not crying because of this walk down memory lane, you know.”
“Oh, you’re not?”
“No.”
“Is it the food? Too spicy for you?”
She reaches to take another bite. “Of course not.”
I wipe my own forehead. “You know, one-upping each other like this led us to an impromptu marriage. It’s probably not safe for us to play this kind of game.”
“Probably not,” she says. “But this feels much safer than our last attempt. Hey, you can’t be handling this as well as you look.”
“I might be using my poker face,” I say. The curry I’m eating had stopped tasting good about fifteen bites ago. Now it’s just pure fire.
Connie pushes her plate away and puts her hands over her eyes. I have a brief thought that she may be crying, but then muffled sounds emerge from behind her hands.
She’s laughing.
“Princess?”
“We’re so stupid,” she says and lowers her hands. Her eyes glitter with mirth.
“Yeah, but I thought that was a given.”
“Let’s call the spice-off a tie.”
I put down my fork. “Thank God. I can’t wait to never eat another bite of this.”
She laughs and reaches up to wipe her eyes. A strand of hair has come undone from her ponytail, falling in a soft tendril down the side of her face. “Maybe we’ll always compete,” she says. “Maybe that’s just us.”
“Maybe,” I say, relishing the thought. I love when her eyes flare up in a challenge and she gives just as good as she gets. When we’re both fully present in the moment. “But I think I like it best when we’re on the same team.”
Connie’s eyes soften on mine. “Come on,” she says and gets up from the table. She’s still in her office outfit, but with flushed cheeks and a smile on her lips. “I think there’s ice cream in the freezer. I bought it before our interview.”
I watch her head into the kitchen. “You really thought Cynthia Schultz was going to open our freezer?”
“She’s an investigative journalist,” Connie calls back. “She wanted to prove our marriage is a sham. We couldn’t give her any reason to.”
“I get that. But again, why would she open our freezer?”
“I was covering our bases.” Connie grabs a pint and heads to the couches in the living room. “Someone had to. You didn’t even want to rehearse the questions.”
I follow her at a leisurely pace, my hands in my pockets. “Because I didn’t have to. Tell me my answers weren’t perfect.”
“I’ll give you that, actually. You performed very well.”
Something about those words makes my insides tighten. I don’t know if there will ever be a time when I won’t want her so much. Crave every inch of her against me—over, and over, and over again.
“Oh, did I?”
“Yes.” She sinks down on the couch, lying back against the pillows. The pint of ice cream is forgotten on the table as she reaches up and starts loosening her ponytail. “The article hasn’t come out yet. I called Cynthia’s office yesterday, but they didn’t have a firm publishing date set so far.”
“Odd,” I say. It’s not, really. I called Business Digest the other day and asked Schultz to add a special something to that article.
“Mmm.” Connie’s hair falls onto her pillow. It’s an auburn mane, beautiful and shiny. She lifts up a knee and gives me a look. That look. It’s a seductive pose, and judging from the smile on her lips, she knows it, too.
“Is your mouth burning, too?”
“Yes,” I say.
“We should eat that ice cream.”
I close the distance between us and sink down to my knees on the couch beside her. She spreads hers a bit wider, giving me room. I let my hands trace up her bare legs to the hem of her skirt.
“If you really want to know, I thought you were fucking gorgeous the first time I saw you at law school again.”
“You did, did you?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s been years since St. Regis. Years since I’ve seen you last.” She’d been in the classroom when I walked in on the first day. Already seated, books on her desk. Her hair had been longer then and braided to the side. She’d worn a tweed blazer—I can still remember it—and somehow looked both prim and ready for battle.
I grip her thighs in my hands and slide my palms further up to the curve of her backside. “God, I love your ass so much.”
She chuckles. “This won’t cool you down, you know.”
“Worth it,” I say and kiss her. Her lips feel hot and swollen from the spicy food. My need for her is immediate. Natural, strong, irresistible. Her knee comes up to my waist, bracing against me, and her hand dives into my hair. I love it when she twines her fingers into it.
I undo the buttons on her blouse, one at a time. Her chest is lightly freckled, too, little dots spreading like the stars in a galaxy over her pale skin. Her generous tits are hidden beneath the cups of her bra. I’ve spent some real time with them now, and fuck, there’s just nothing like them. Soft swells and pink nipples, and bigger than a handful, spilling out of my grip in the most delicious sense.
“So, you never thought I was… too big?” Connie asks. Her breathing has sped up, and her arm is still around me, but there’s a shyness to her voice.
I lift my head. “What?”
“Too much,” she says and gestures down her form. “I didn’t use to like my… body. When I was younger.”
“What?”
She chuckles. Her blush has intensified, spreading up from her chest to her cheeks. “That’s the second time you’ve said that.”
“Because it doesn’t make sense. I mean, sure, everyone has their insecurities. But this body…” I shake my head and look down at the deliciousness on display. Pinkish, smooth skin, soft stomach, generous hips, full thighs. “You’re a work of goddamn art.”
Connie laughs and shrugs out of her blouse, leaving only the skirt I’ve rucked up around her hips and her lace bra. “And you’re an art connoisseur, are you?”
“No, I’m your husband.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh.”
I kiss along her neck, her chest, and let my free hand grip her ass again. “You’re gorgeous, princess. Every last inch of you.”
Her hand slides into my hair, fingers gripping in the way that shoots electric jolts straight down my spine. I reach for her other hand and twine our fingers together, looking into her green eyes. “There’s no way I’m sleeping in the guest room again.”
Her eyes dance. “You’re not?”
“No.” I lower down until my lips are only an inch from hers. “I’m going to sleep in my king bed, in my apartment… with my wife.”
Her hand glides along my jaw. “Call me that again.”
So I do, over and over again, while fucking her on the couch. Her legs wrap around mine, her nails dig into my shoulders, both of us on fire. Quelling it this way is so much better than ice cream.
I really do like us better on the same team.
Connie
“Is that you?” I call. I’m standing by the mirror in the bathroom, putting on my earrings. I’ve changed after work into a breezy summer dress and sandals, ready for a fun night out in the city. Gabriel and I are going on a date.
“Of course, it’s me,” he says. His voice is unusually irritated. “If it wasn’t, I’d want you to arm yourself.”
“With what? Nail scissors?” I ask.
Gabriel had suggested the night out yesterday. Let’s not do takeout. As dates go, not a very romantic proposition. It was casual… just like everything has been lately with this unexpected slide into intimacy between us.
I’m afraid that if we speak about it, if we acknowledge the shift between us, the bubble might pop.
“Yes.” There’s a sigh and the sound of the bed creaking.
I look out to see him stretched out on our bed. He’s still in a navy suit from work, and his eyes are closed, a hand over his forehead.
The pose makes me smile. “Dramatic, are we?”
“Honey, I’m home,” he says dryly, “and I’ve had an awful day.”
“Tell me about it.”
He groans. “My cousin is a dick.”
“Did you play football today, too?”
“No, I wish. He’s just smug and insufferable, and does it in front of our employees, too. We were in meetings all day about a joint new investment, and he was so much worse than usual. I know this is hard to believe, but, sometimes, he’s actually all right. Today, though… man, he looked way too pleased with himself. He’s up to something.”
“I’m glad I don’t have any cousins.”
Gabriel’s eyes flare with anger. “You know what really pisses me off? How unnecessary this is. We have the same goddamn goal. The CEO position is still at least a decade away. Neither my dad nor aunt will retire anytime soon. Jacob should be working with me, instead of against me.”
“I’m sorry.” I come to stand at the edge of the bed, and Gabriel sits up. He leans his head on my chest, and I run my hands through his thick hair.
“I wish we’d have another game soon,” he mutters, “so I could beat him up.”
That makes me chuckle. “As long as I don’t have to watch. The last game was… brutal.”
“Mmm.” He leans back with his arms still locked around my waist. “You look nice.” Then he frowns, a deep groove appearing between his eyebrows. “Right. We have dinner plans.”
“Yes.” I smooth some hair back from his brow. “But we can order in.”
“No, we should go out. Soon.” His hands glide over my hips, his eyes dipping down to the low neckline of my dress. “You’re very pretty.”
I laugh again. “Thank you.”
“You in a sundress is… distracting.”
“Well, so are you in a suit, you know.”
His mouth tips up into that smug smile, like he enjoyed that a little too much. “Good to know,” he says and leans forward to rest his head on my breasts. “So you—”
The ringing of his phone breaks through the moment. He curses, and I laugh again, stepping out of his embrace. He lies back on the bed and pulls his phone out of his pocket, answering it without looking at the screen.
“Thompson,” he says.
I head into the bathroom to finish getting ready, but his conversation is impossible not to overhear.
“Right. I appreciate you getting back to me,” he says. “Mm-hmm. Right. I’ll talk to her. Yes. Yes, I’ll do that… Thank you. Bye.”
I reach for the bottle of perfume and raise my voice. “That sounded interesting.”
There’s complete silence from the bedroom.
“Gabriel?”
He’s staring up at the ceiling, and there’s a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before. “Who was that?” I ask.
“Francis Kilburn,” he says.
Oh.
The city’s premier divorce lawyer. Famous for his negotiating skills, his talented team, and his ruthless way with words.
I’d contacted him, too, right after our wedding. I’ve been told I was on a waitlist.
“What did he say?” I ask.
Gabriel looks at me. There’s an emotion in his eyes I can’t name, can’t place. “He said you emailed his office first, by three hours, and so he can’t represent me.”
My mouth opens in surprise. I can’t think of a single word to say. Not one.
Gabriel looks back up at the ceiling. “At least great minds think alike.”
“There are other divorce lawyers,” I say. “Trevor from law school does divorces, I know. Whittler & Sons specialize in these kinds of cases—you can reach out to them. I’m sure they’d put you at the top of the waitlist with a bit of encouragement.”
“Are you giving me recommendations for a divorce lawyer, princess?”
“Oh. I suppose I am… yeah.”
