Ice Queen (28 page)

“School.”

“Soccer.”

“Dance.”

“Homework.”

“Piano.”

And the list went on. When it ran down, she nodded. “So you see, we are all so very busy. Now, imagine if you set aside thirty minutes of your day for this. A quiet oasis of time, where you could set a mood or tone just by how carefully you planned the ceremony, the enjoyment of those who you might invite to attend, every detail, from flowers, candles, colors…you can do this for your friends, your parents, your sister…” She held the girls riveted, bringing alive a way of life that had been all but forgotten and perhaps had never existed as perfectly as it was imagined now. But in just the couple of times he’d been here, Tyler could tell how much these details meant to her, as if they were tiny stitches that kept her life perfectly sewn together, so what was inside didn’t burst out.

He loved watching her move, speak, but he especially liked her stillness. That was when he felt the energy rolling off her in waves most strongly. Like now. She wore black heels with that cheongsam, a very sexy and yet elegant choice for a woman of her stature and coloring, the formfitting skirt stopping just above her knee. When she’d had her back to him, he’d lingered on the three reminders of even the strongest woman’s vulnerability, her fragility. The nape of her neck, the small of her back and the slender anklebones, so similar to and perfectly aligned with the slim heels of her black dress shoes. He wondered how she would react if he touched his lips to that anklebone, caressed it with the heat of his mouth. Then he thought he might better turn his thoughts elsewhere, for if Chloe or Gen asked him to get up to help with anything, he would not be in a suitable condition to be at a children’s birthday party.

After the proper amount of time for the seven-year-old attention span, Marguerite concluded her stories about the tea ceremony. The girls had a half-hour to sip their tea, 179

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eat their cookies and blow the candles out of their teacakes before Tina agreed that her daughter could begin opening her presents. In a move that was typical for a child without a father but no less capable of tugging at his heartstrings, Natalie commanded Tyler to sit by her while she was doing so. As she compelled him to admire each gift, the other little girls joined her in doing what little girls did naturally, trying out flirting skills that would be honed to dangerous proportions by their early teens but were simply charming now.

It hurt Marguerite to watch it. And it fascinated her. As she quietly worked with Chloe and Gen to clear off the cookie plates and dirty utensils, leaving just the teapots at the tables and a few unfinished cups of tea, he kept them entertained single-handedly.

He
would
make a good father, she realized. Some child deserved him. That hurt even more deeply, such that she turned her back on the scene and retreated to the kitchen with her tray.

Ten minutes later, Chloe came in to report that he’d even coaxed a smile out of Debra. Mellowed her such that she was letting Natalie sit in her lap for a few moments, a surrogate older sister.

“And Tina wants you to come out for this next gift. It’s a handmade dress from her mother and she wants you to see it.”

Marguerite dutifully returned to the floor and found herself directed to sit next to Tyler while Natalie opened the gift. He hooked his arm on the back of her chair, fingers loosely caught in the slats, his thumb idly tracing a pattern on the back of her shoulder, playing with the bra strap under the dress in a discreet, sensual way, the very intimacy of it not lost on her. She thought she really ought to encourage him to use email to communicate with her in the future. Email didn’t have hands, a male scent. That mouth she couldn’t stop thinking about.

She was relieved when the last gift was opened and she could rise and help Chloe and Gen clean up the wrapping paper. She sent the girls scampering after each scrap of paper, ribbon or bow, though most of the bows were now stuck in their hair, tied onto wrists or made into necklaces with the attached ribbons.

A shriek, a gasp and Marguerite turned in time to see the girls, wound up by the fun and sugar, stumble against Natalie, who in turn stumbled against the birthday girl’s table in her oversized ruby shoes. The impact knocked over the rose teapot. The spout broke as it fell over and hit two of the cups. The three items knocked over the bowl of daisies, sloshed out the fishbowl water and all of it spun off the table like pins in a bowling alley. Out of the corner of her eye Marguerite saw Tyler and Chloe emerge from their trash trip into the kitchen in time to witness the glassware, teacups, spilled tea, sugar cookies and flowers crash to the floor all together. The pot, saved by its shape, remained on the edge of the table, a thin stream of tea anointing the wreckage.

Natalie’s face was whiter than her mother’s and she turned horrified eyes to Marguerite, lips quivering, not the calculated tears of a child knowing how to get out of trouble, but of true dismay.

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“Miss M, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She bent down and Marguerite realized she intended to get down on those childish hands and knees in her beautiful pink dress to try and fix the damage.

“Oh, no, sweetheart.” She caught her up in two steps, lifting her up to her shoulder with some effort. Feeling the thin limbs twine around her waist, she didn’t care that the wet tea on the bottoms of those oversized shoes was likely now staining embroidered silk. “Your pretty outfit. You can’t mess it up. And broken glass is too dangerous to pick up with bare hands. We’ll get a broom and clean it up.”

“But…but it’s my fault…and you just said how special everything is supposed to be… I wasn’t careful.”

“No, you weren’t,” Marguerite agreed, stroking her curls and making those brimming dark eyes look toward her. “And under normal circumstances your mom and I would have you help clean up. But you know what? Sometimes, mistakes happen, when you really, really don’t mean for them to. It happens to everyone. And there’s this rule that says you can’t ever do anything wrong on your birthday.” Natalie blinked. “But I did.”

“But it’s wiped away, whoosh, like this.” She brushed a tear off Natalie’s cheek, inspiring a tentative smile. “I want this day to be absolutely perfect for you, Natalie.”

“But you won’t like me anymore.”

Marguerite rested her forehead against the child’s. “Do you trust me to always tell you the truth?”

Natalie nodded.

“There is nothing you can do to make me not like you. Why, you are more important than every piece of china in this whole place. And it makes me feel that you are a very, very good friend, to care so much about my things.”

“I have an allowance. I get five dollars every week. I can pay you back. I should pay you back.” Natalie put her hands on either side of Marguerite’s neck, curling her fingers in her hair. She had it pulled back but her braid had unraveled and was flowing down to her waist since she’d removed the clips to pin up Debra’s hat.

“All right, then. If you think you should pay some toward the cost, why don’t you give me a month’s worth of allowance?”

“But the pot is worth like a jillion dollars.” Marguerite smiled. “If that were the case, my friend Chloe over there would have pawned it and sent me a postcard from Bimini.” Chloe chuckled, empting the dustpan of wet glass in the bag Tyler was holding for her. “That’s a fact for sure.”

The child looked puzzled by the adult byplay but persisted. “I should give you my allowance forever.”

“No. When something like this happens, you need to give a friend something they will value. You know what I value, Natalie?”

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She shook her head.

“You. Your friendship. So, if you’ll give me a month’s worth of allowance and promise to be my friend forever, I’ll consider that a very, very fair payment for my tea set.”

Natalie studied her for a long time. “Mommy,” she said at last. “Is that fair? To Miss Marguerite?”

Marguerite resisted the urge to squeeze the precocious child to her heart and never let go. Tina approached, ran her hand up her daughter’s back in reassurance. “That’s very fair.”

“Okay,” Natalie said at last.

“All right.” Marguerite lowered her back to the floor after Tina ran a quick washcloth over her feet. “And look. All better. They got it all cleaned up. And
what
are you all doing to my hair?” The other little girls, as if released by the license she had given to Natalie, were touching the ends of it, feeling the silk of it around her hips. She spun around in mock outrage and they scampered away, giggling, though this time they were more cautious around the tables.

“Don’t you know this is enchanted hair? When I let it all down, I can make the wind blow, the rains fall, or the sun shine. Chloe, why don’t you take them out to the back garden and the play area and get some of this energy out? Tyler and I will finish cleaning.”

“Mr. Reynolds is here,” Gen mentioned. Marguerite turned, looked out through the screen door as a white Lincoln pulled up.

“All right, all the better if the girls go out to play now.” She looked toward Tyler.

“Do you mind busing tables while I talk to one of my vendors?”

“Not if I’m fairly compensated.”

“I just acquired a promise for twenty dollars,” she retorted. “It’s all yours.” 182

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Chloe tucked her tongue in her cheek and shepherded the noisy children toward the side entrance to the gardens. Tina hung back another moment, touched Marguerite’s arm.

“I am so sorry,” she murmured. “Please be sure and add it to my bill.”

“It’s fine.” Marguerite patted her hand, the warm, professional hostess. “You stop worrying and go enjoy them. We’ll settle things later.” She sent her on her way and turned to meet Tyler’s shrewd look.

“And just how much is that tea set worth?”

Marguerite shrugged. “I bought it at auction for six hundred dollars.”

“And yet you trusted it with a dozen children.”

“Yes, I did. And they’re generally very careful, as careful as adults, because I emphasize the special nature of the tea ceremony. One moment of perfection can last a lifetime. That’s what the tea parties are about.”

“Just as one thousand imperfect moments can make a perfect life,” he suggested.

She inclined her head. “So you understand why I used it, as well as why I’m not upset about it.”

The door opened and an elderly man stepped in, bearing a basketful of flowers on one arm and a wooden box in the other. He wore a pair of comfortable brown slacks, a striped dress shirt and a baseball cap on his bald pate, which he dipped his head to remove as he crossed the threshold.

“Mr. Reynolds, it’s wonderful to see you. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all. Come sit down over here and you and I will do our business while Mr.

Winterman finishes cleaning up the tables. If he doesn’t mind?” As she sat down with the man and explained the girls’ birthday party, the kind of warm chatter indulged when the vendor was a fond acquaintance, Tyler delivered all the silverware and tea sets to the kitchen. While he helped Gen, he listened to the cadence of Marguerite’s voice. She reviewed the samples Mr. Reynolds had brought, discussed with him his recent attempts to combine tea types with different flower and fruit flavorings and listened to his description of the conditions in which he’d produced this latest group of flowers for her. When Tyler came back out she was putting a pinch of tea leaves on her tongue. She closed her eyes, inhaled, frowned.

“This is flat, bakey.”

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“Try this. You’ll like it better.” Mr. Reynolds, apparently undismayed by her criticism, put another pinch in her hand, watched her bring it to her nose. Rinsing out the taste of the last tea from a water glass, she then put that sample into her mouth.

Tyler took a seat within their line of sight but a table over, taking out his pocket organizer to appear occupied so he would not give the impression that he was hurrying her with her guest.

“Mmmm. Better.” Marguerite nodded, her eyes closed. “This one has a lovely aroma. We’ll use the clay pots to brew that, bring out that onion and ginger seasoning marvelously.” She cracked open an eye. “And did you write down how you put it together?”

He laughed. “You know I just potter with it, Miss Marguerite.”

“Mr. Reynolds.” She tapped her fingernail on the table. “You must keep a journal, every detailed step of how you do this so you’ll know how to reproduce it. What if my customers fall in love with it so much they want more?” He smiled at her. Tyler saw grandfatherly affection mixed with a bit of a nostalgic crush. “At my age, Miss M, it’s not about whether I can do it again. That’s the beauty, in a way. Doing it different every time, never sure what to expect.” He pinched up the excess leaves, placed them carefully back in their container so none of it was wasted.

“Once you do it right once, you don’t need to write it down anyway. Your feet will go toward that path again if you don’t worry about it or force it.” He folded the top, handed it over to her with a beaming look. “Ready for my mystery tea of the month?” At her nod, he produced a thermos from an insulated carrier and a tiny teacup.

Pouring a portion for her, he pushed it across the table and sat back with an expectant look on his face.

She raised the cup to her mouth, inhaled the contents through thin nostrils, her lashes fanning her cheeks, her brow furrowing. Her soft lips parted to press against the cup edge and take in a sip.

It was absurd that he could get hypnotized and hard just watching her drink tea.

Tyler had no problem believing what she’d told the girls, that even her hair held magic.

The white strands were scattered down her back and over one shoulder, brushing her forearm. He wanted to wrap himself up in them, in her, tangling them together until there was no way to unknot them again.

“It’s a Ceylon,” Marguerite said at last. “You’ve added an Assam, just a touch…and rose, I think.” She took another sip, then her expression cleared. “You’ve also added a fruit. Peach, I believe.”

He shook his head. “You’re uncanny. I’ve never seen more discerning taste buds.

Do you like it?”

“I do.”

“Can you guess the color of the rose I brought you today?” 184

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Her eyes warmed upon him. “You know I can’t do that. It’s beyond even my powers.”

“I don’t think anything is beyond you, Miss Perruquet.” He put the basket on the table and removed the light linen cloth covering them. On top of the carefully arranged group of cut flowers was a yellow rose, the bud not quite open. He extended it to her.

“Here you are.”

Accepting it with a gracious nod, she rose. “I’ll get your check and a bud vase for this.”

When she vanished behind the kitchen door, Mr. Reynolds turned his chair, scraping it along the floor, squaring himself with Tyler. For the second time that day Tyler found himself being shrewdly assessed by a protective friend. She was well-fortressed, he reflected. Within and without. Pushing aside the organizer, he gave the man his full attention.

“You know, it doesn’t matter what I mix. She guesses it dead-on, every ingredient, every time. None of this, ‘I think’ or ‘I can’t quite get that’. Until today.” Tyler met the man’s penetrating look. “Was what she told you accurate?”

“Missed the fruit by a mile. It’s a mango.”

“Shouldn’t you tell her?”

“She’ll figure it out herself and call me to find out why I didn’t tell her right off. I figured she was flustered enough, though. Just like I figure you’re the reason.”

“I think Marguerite is accustomed to having admirers.” Tyler indicated the basket of flowers. Mr. Reynolds shook his head.

“It’s not me making her forget her good sense. I assume you have enough to keep her out of trouble until she remembers it.”

“Yes, sir.” Tyler provided the only acceptable answer under the man’s expectant look.

“If I was thirty years younger, I’d squash you like a bug on my way to her, son.” Tyler inclined his head. “You could try.” Mr. Reynolds chuckled and Tyler relented with rueful smile. “In truth, I’d say I’ve already been flattened. She just spent the last half-hour with you, totally ignoring me.”

“Ah, son. You’re old enough to know women. It’s the ones they pretend to ignore that they want the most. That’s the way their evil minds work. I don’t think that flush in her cheeks is because of me, though for one delusional moment I enjoyed thinking it might be.”

Marguerite returned with a check and a suspicious glance between the men.

“Just talking with your fancy-looking busboy here,” Mr. Reynolds explained, rising.

“He does more talking than working. I’m afraid his career here is short-lived.” The old man snorted. “That’s what my wife said about me. But she kept me around for about fifty years.”

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Marguerite picked up the tea he’d offered her, took another sip, frowning. “Mr.

Reynolds, this… I think I was off—”

“You were,” he admitted. “And you were quicker to realize it than I expected.” He sent Tyler a significant look. “It’s been my experience that women lose their good sense only in temporary spurts. But they can make a man lose his mind forever.” He turned his bright eyes back to a nonplused Marguerite. “You call me when you figure it out, Miss M, if you want. But don’t fret about it. Some of my best days came when I couldn’t figure out the answer to anything. I’ll pick up the basket next trip.” He collected his thermos and cup, made his goodbyes. Marguerite saw him to the front door and waved him to his car. As she watched him drive off, Tyler studied her from his table. The set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head that said she was thinking.

The yellow rose sat in its vase on the table, alone, perfect. In a day or two, with the magic that was beyond human comprehension, it would begin to open. Minute by minute it would show a hundred different faces of beauty, inspiring wonder in anyone paying close enough attention to appreciate it.

“Tables all done, boss,” he said lightly.

She turned on her heel halfway toward him. The sunlight filtering onto the porch limned the outline of her slender figure. His attention covered all that and more. The length of her forearm, the silver glint of her hair.

“Tyler, what are you doing here?”

“As I said. Missing you.”

“I wasn’t expecting you.”

He stayed where he was though everything about her made him want to go to her.

“I owe you an apology. And I have an offer to make, as I said.” The pale blue eyes were wary. “You don’t owe me anything, Tyler. You’ve made it possible for me to continue my membership at The Zone. Thank you for that.” He put the organizer back in his jacket, stood up, watched her eyes gauge his intent.

“You know, you have this way of making me feel like a knight riding up to an ensorcelled castle. Guarded by dragons, a deep moat and damn near unscalable walls.

But it’s those sorceress’s eyes that are the most impenetrable fortress of all. It’s like you’re standing on the top turret, daring me to find a way in.”

“Perhaps it’s not a dare. A dare implies a desire for the dragon to be fought, the moat to be jumped, the wall breached. Sometimes the message is as simple as it seems.

‘Don’t go past this point. I don’t want you here.’”
Oh yeah.
He’d been right. She’d not only recreated her shields, she’d reinforced them to the point the Great Wall of China looked like it had been made out of Tinkertoys in comparison.

She simply looked at him, waiting.

“In all the readings I’ve done,” he said, “there’s often this part in the story where a Goddess comes in, full of power and calm. Who has astounding beauty without 186

Ice Queen

glamour, the beauty of Nature, all the things that are so powerful in their perfection.

And she makes everything better. I look at you and the names come to my lips. Athena, Isis, Freya, Niuka…”

“Tyler—”

“Hush and let me finish.”

She subsided, pressing her lips together. He took a step forward, his eyes steady on hers. “I haven’t honored you as a Mistress as you deserve. I want to give you the gift you’ve given me. Please allow me the privilege of serving as your slave for one night.” A charged stillness fell over the room. For several moments, her eyes did not waver.

Did not even blink. No part of her moved but he sensed how much was going on in her head. Possibilities, motives weighed. He made sure he was her mirror, waiting for her response with no change in his expression.

Then her gaze moved. Slid down his neck, over his shoulders and chest with the thoroughness with which he suspected her hands could or would. He felt her power roll over him and immediately understood why a sub might feel as if he faced the simultaneously most terrifying and pleasurable experience of his life. This she knew, was familiar with. Excelled at. His cock hardened and he thought of closing the two steps between them to pull her against him, make her feel his need. But he knew how to play poker. He waited.

“At The Zone.”

“Wherever you wish, angel.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Name your day and time. I’ll be there.” A car door slammed somewhere outside. Something in her eyes shifted. He felt like he was witnessing the turning of a dial that shuttered away one face and produced another, but in that brief moment before the Mistress disappeared those tempting lips formed words.

“Tuesday, eight o’clock.”

The same time she always played with her subs, perhaps to underscore that he would be no different. She was carrying around a grudge. With rueful resignation he realized he’d just handed her the means to exercise it.

But when she moved past him, he inhaled her scent and saw the pulse in her throat.

He couldn’t miss it because it was pounding hard just below that lovely jaw. Without another glance at him, she disappeared behind the swinging kitchen door.

* * * * *

She used a precise method when she washed out the teacups and pots made of glass. Using her fingers instead of a cloth, she worked the soap around the rims and into the cup itself. Then rinsed them under a water spout that came on by sensor.

Finally, she turned the cup over on a soft cloth on the counter. She immersed herself in 187

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the process, shutting out noise and anything beyond the scope of the square sink full of water. She wouldn’t allow her mind to go anywhere beyond the immediate task. She certainly wouldn’t allow herself to wonder if he’d joined the children outside. Or if he’d left altogether, his mission accomplished. She gripped a teapot, lifted it.

“Your friend says the more a woman ignores a man, the more it’s a sign of her interest.”

His breath was on her neck. Marguerite hadn’t heard a sound. Not the swinging door, not his footsteps.

“Did he?” The words came out rough and strange. His fingers caressed her shoulders, then came forward, slipped the frogs of the diagonal front-closing neckline of the cheongsam. One…two…three. The fold of fabric dropped forward, half exposing her breast. With a deft hand, he unfastened her front-closing bra. He was methodical and decisive about it, while she was paralyzed.

“We’re where people could see us. What are you—”

“Yes, we are. But I haven’t given you permission to speak.” She should have been startled, infuriated. Instead, she was starting to shake.