Black Frost Winter: The Black Seasons Book Two Read online

  The night’s still young.

  Deborah didn’t glance up when Amy called Alexia and Carrie over. It wasn’t until they reached the booth that her attention wavered, peering over her martini glass with a charming twinkle in eye. It faded in an instant.

  “Oh, it’s you. Finished so soon? You don’t want to leave yet, do you?”

  The Parisians broke out in a wail of protests at the suggestion. Carrie ignored them.

  “Finish your drink. We’re going to a house party.”

  “A house party?”

  “Yes, don’t worry, I’m sure there will be plenty of other…people there for you to meet.” To Amy, she added. “It’s a refined house party. Hosted by Chloe Monet. Besides, Alexia ditched her party to come out with us last night, so it’s only fair that we repay the favor.”

  When Amy and Deborah swayed indecisively, Carrie made it clear that she wasn’t asking.

  “You’re going, and we’re leaving now.”

  Much to the displeasure of the Parisians looking to score, Deborah and Amy followed Alexia and Carrie out into the chilled winter air.

  Carrie wrapped her wool scarf tightly around her neck. “Gah, it’s freezing!”

  “Feels fine to me,” Deborah said.

  “Liquid heat,” Amy grumbled.

  “Sorry?”

  Amy raised her voice over the wind. “Ever heard of liquid courage?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Same principle.”

  Driven by a desire to get back indoors, Carrie set a hard pace, leaving Alexia little time to admire the stores they wandered past. Most had large inviting windows, tempting those passing by with a preview of the delights that awaited inside. One was a cheese shop that radiated creamy goodness from every angle. The Brie wheels were as large as the circle she made with her arms while extended high above her head in fifth position, the Camembert was sliced in pie-size chunks to show off its delectable interior, and the mold in the blue cheese was the color of the deep sea.

  “I don’t get how the French stay so slim. I’d never be able to live here without putting on weight.”

  “I would,” Deborah replied, lips pulled up into a coy smile.

  “Whatever, Miss Pastry Queen. I did see you at breakfast, remember?”

  Deborah kept her smirk. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d eat my fill. I’m just saying that I wouldn’t have a problem working it off…”

  As if it had been planned all along, an attractive group of men turned the corner. Deborah threw them an unabashed wink.

  Eyes rolling into the back of her head, Alexia pushed Deborah along, wondering if it would have been better if she’d attended the party alone. The thought of how Chloe would perceive her friends weighed on her conscience.

  “Please don’t hit on anyone at the party, Debs. I swear, if you come on to someone’s boyfriend again…”

  “Like I was supposed to know that guy was taken?” Deborah quipped back, knowing the exact incident Alexia was referring to. “I swear, everyone in a relationship should just have it tattooed to their forehead. Fair game until proven taken. Besides, he definitely came on to me first.”

  Alexia pursed her lips at Deborah’s skewed moral compass. “All I’m saying is that if you accidentally hit on Chloe’s boyfriend and make the rest of my week a living hell, I will wake you up at 5 a.m. with a fog horn every morning next year.”

  “Whatever.” Deborah’s expression shifted to boredom.

  The city’s 7th arrondissement was only a ten-minute stroll from the hotel, but even with the warm pit stop to pick up a bottle of wine, by the time they arrived at the apartment building, Alexia could barely feel her fingers. She jabbed the buzzer like it was an eject button in a crashing plane. From above, a dull roar of laughter fought the howling wind.

  They only waited a second before the door’s lock disengaged with a click. Alexia pushed it wide without delay, and the four friends found themselves in a space that emitted Parisian luxury from every corner. The foyer was bathed in a reddish light reminiscent of sunset—a photographer’s dream. Apparently Deborah’s too, for she pulled her phone from her bag to snap some selfies. At the end of the foyer rested a marble table with two cafe-style bar stools tucked in underneath. To their left, a spiral staircase with a beautifully carved rail winded up to the other floors. For those who didn’t care to walk, there was a small elevator on the right.

  Deborah marched straight for it, but Alexia called her back.

  “Come on, let’s do the stairs.”

  “To the eighth floor? Get real.”

  Alexia’s gaze drifted to Deborah’s shoes. “I thought you could do anything in those things?”

  She had learned long ago how effective challenging Deborah’s ego was. As predicted, Deborah changed sails, shooting her an “I’ll show you” look as she strode toward the staircase. But by the fifth floor, Deborah wasn’t the only one to complain.

  Breathless and winded, Amy panted, “He lives on the top floor? I would have sided with Debs if I’d known.”

  “I don’t know why you guys are whining, I was the one working out all day.”

  Alexia’s top-notch fitness had pulled her a floor ahead of the others with ease. It wasn’t that her friends were out of shape, but Alexia did have the advantage of exercising for a living. Referring to ballet as physically demanding would have been an understatement.

  Only when she reached the eighth floor landing did her pulse rise—and it wasn’t because of the exertion. Nerves sent her heart into an uncontrolled frenzy as she gazed upon the entrance to the apartment. It was as if reality had given her a sudden slap in the face. She, Alexia Brooks, was standing in front of her idol’s residence. Well, her idol’s boyfriend’s residence, but close enough. The important thing was that she wasn’t a stalker, but an invited guest.

  “Are we going in or what?”

  Alexia jumped at Deborah’s voice.

  “Of course! I was waiting for you.”

  When Alexia raised her hand to knock, her skin was sallow—from the cold, she hoped. But the temperature couldn’t be held accountable for the swarm of butterflies flapping in her stomach. Her knock was three quick bursts upon the door. Then she drew a deep breath and waited. Laughter flowed under the doorsill, but no footsteps accompanied it.

  “You didn’t knock hard enough,” Deborah insisted.

  Balling her hand into a fist, Deborah attacked the door like there was a throng of attractive men on the other side of it and a slab of wood was the only thing stopping her from reaching them. Her attempt was more successful.

  “J’arrive,” someone called from within.

  A moment later, Chloe opened the door looking, if possible, even more immaculate in her regular clothes. Her mane cascaded over her shoulders in a sensual black waterfall, dark eyeshadow accentuated the almond shape of her eyes, and her lips were the color of a ripe peach. She drew them up into a thin smile that made Alexia feel like Chloe wasn’t excited to see her.

  “Oh great, you made it,” she said, curbing some of Alexia’s doubt.

  Without waiting for introductions, she leaned forward, her perfect face coming in for Alexia’s at a speed she couldn’t evade. For a jaw-dropping moment, Alexia thought Chloe was going to kiss her square on the lips, but she turned her head at the last minute, brushing her mouth against both of Alexia’s cheeks instead.

  Alexia gave herself a mental facepalm. Of course, the standard French greeting.

  Before Alexia could compose herself, Chloe was greeting Deborah, Amy, and Carrie in the exact same way.

  Deborah giggled when the principal dancer grazed her cheek. “Why, we’ve only just met!”

  Alexia’s embarrassment was unnecessary; Chloe laughed.

  “You Americans are so funny. Come in, have a drink.”

  The classiness of the building’s foyer parallelled the apartment’s interior. It wasn’t massive, but it was efficient without compromising elegance. The ceilings were high, opening the space t
o feel larger than it was. Chloe swept them into the kitchen for a glass of wine. A cut out wall faced the living room, offering a clear view of the festivities. Fifteen stylish partygoers flitted about the room, some reclining on the velvet lounges, others smoking out the large French windows. At first everyone appeared to be significantly older, but after catching one of their faces, the soft lines of youth made her doubt her initial assumption. The guy couldn’t have been over thirty. In fact, no one in the room could have been older than that. It was their clothing, their posture, their suave appearance that had her fooled into thinking they were twice her age.

  “I take it you all drink red?” Chloe asked.

  “Sure, but we brought a bottle,” Carrie replied.

  “Which one?”

  She handed it over, and Chloe scrunched her face as she read the label.

  “Is it bad?” Carrie asked.

  Chloe’s reply was curt. “Cabernet originated in France, and that’s where it should have stayed. Please, drink mine.”

  She didn’t offer to return the Chilean wine to Carrie, but popped it straight in the trash. No one dared utter a word of protest as Chloe filled four wine glasses with a generous serving of authentic French cabernet.

  Alexia was about to take a micro sip to please Chloe, when a man appeared in the kitchen. He was tall with blond hair that waved at just the right angle to not shield his hazel eyes. At first, she’d mistaken them for green, but when his head shifted they developed in color to a soft brown, darkening with the light. He was dressed in a cream blazer, tailored perfectly to his masculine shoulders. The color suited him—stunning enough to attract, but without screaming for attention. The smile on his lips was intriguing, one that Alexia could have stared at all night, but to her disappointment it flattened as soon as he caught sight of Chloe.

  “Hunting for a refill, Leo?” the principal dancer asked, ignoring the tension that had suddenly seized the air.

  “Plus maintenant, je reviendrai plus tard.”

  Deborah lifted sultry eyes over the rim of her glass. “I have no idea what you just said, but you can say it again.”

  Alexia elbowed her in the side with a sharp jab.

  Please don’t be Chloe’s boyfriend. Please don’t be Chloe’s boyfriend.

  However, Chloe hadn’t taken any offense if he was, and Leo welcomed the distraction with open arms.

  “Oh, Americans! Are you dancers in town for Le Réveillon de la Saint-Sylvestre?”

  “Only this one,” Chloe replied, flipping her head in Alexia’s direction. “The others are her friends.”

  Leo’s gaze followed the billowing strands of Chloe’s hair until his eyes locked on Alexia. She smiled meekly under the strength of his stare—one that seemed to look past her face and into the inner workings of her mind. Petrified she might blush, Alexia averted her eyes. The last thing she needed was for Chloe to think she was crushing on her boyfriend…even if she was.

  In a scramble for words, Alexia introduced Deborah, Carrie, and Amy, paying extra attention to his reaction when Deborah extended her hand. Thankfully, Leo didn’t hold her gaze any longer than what was deemed polite. Deborah wasn’t ruffled by this. As soon as it was clear he wasn’t drooling over her, she shifted her focus back to the living room, hunting for another target. Following the direction of her interest, Chloe invited them to meet the others.

  The open windows invited a cold draft to sweep through the apartment, scattering the refined fragrance of the candle burning on the coffee table. Few people turned when they entered, absorbed in conversations that flew back and forth at such an unprecedented rate of speech, that even if they had been speaking in English, Alexia doubted she would have been able to understand a word.

  “You can put your coats in Marque’s room,” Chloe offered, motioning to the first door in the hallway.

  Alexia’s heart soared at hearing the name of Chloe’s boyfriend for the first time. More precisely, at the fact that his name wasn’t Leo. She shot a sly glance in his direction, wondering if he was fair game after all.

  As if reading her mind, Carrie said, “Here, I’ll take them. You go mingle.”

  Her wink at Alexia was lost on Deborah, who assumed the suggestion had been intended for her.

  “Don’t have to ask me twice,” Deborah said, dumping her coat in Carrie’s outstretched arms. With a twirl, she strutted off to the group of men Leo had joined. Alexia’s eyes flitted over to him. He hadn’t noticed Deborah’s approach, absorbed in a discussion with a guy on his right. The man he spoke with was just as attractive, with dark, sensual skin and a shaved head that gave off an alpha male vibe. He was wearing a purple velvet jacket, which few people would have been able to pull off as well as him. As Deborah drew closer, he looked up in a way that seemed he was keeping a keen eye on everything around him—running the show.

  Alexia’s heart stopped.

  Abort, Deborah, abort!

  But Deborah only swayed her hips wider as she closed in on Marque. Before Alexia could take a step forward, Chloe appeared at Marque’s side, slipping an adorning hand around his waist to mark her property. Alexia prayed Deborah had noticed.

  Luckily, she had. In one smooth motion, Deborah changed course, finding the next best eye candy in the room to strike up a conversation with. Amy shuffled after her, nodding to Alexia in a way that said “You have fun. I’ll babysit.”

  With the worst of her fears pacified, Alexia was reminded of the weight of the full wine glass in her hand. One sip couldn’t hurt, just to taste it. The flavor was explosive; bold with notes of blackberries and cedar. Savoring it, she let the liquid explore every crevice of her mouth. Chloe hadn’t lied. It was exquisite.

  Lowering the glass, Alexia found herself alone for the first time since that morning. With no desire to join Deborah and Amy, she was just about to go in search of Carrie when something caught her peripheral vision. Leo had broken away from Marque. Alexia’s insecurities caused her to glance at his glass, wondering if he was searching for a refill. But his trajectory wasn’t aimed at the kitchen, it was aimed at her.

  Alexia tried to relax, her muscles all of a sudden rigid. Before she knew what she was doing, she downed another swig of wine, shaking out her legs with a subtle kick. She took a deep breath before facing Leo with her best attempt at a casual smile.

  “Enjoying the party?” His voice was silk.

  Alexia swallowed. “It’s…different from the house parties I’ve been to back home.”

  A smile revealed a dimple in his left cheek. “Well, I’ll have to take your word for it. I’ve never been to the U.S. Maybe you can fill me in. Are the parties there just like in the movies? Keg stands, and tabletop dancing?”

  Alexia laughed out loud at the memories the question brought back. “I’m not going to lie, most of them are exactly like the movies. Namely any one that Deborah gets invited to. Give her enough to drink tonight and you might even get a sneak peek.”

  Leo chuckled a procession of deep notes that bathed Alexia with delight. It was a seductive laugh, just like his voice. She loved the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, and the longer she spent in his presence, the more she melted into it.

  “Life without interesting friends is an uninteresting life,” he said casually.

  Alexia’s mouth parted.

  Is this guy for real?

  She almost asked him as much, before stopping herself at the last moment.

  “Is that a quote from somewhere?” she said instead, indulging in another sip of wine.

  “Not that I’ve heard. But your words inspired it, so it’s only fair to say we thought of it together. I’ll give you ten percent of the royalties if it gets plastered all over millennial merchandise.”

  Alexia feigned outrage. “Ten percent?”

  “Twenty?”

  “Fifty.”

  He laughed. “Quite the negotiator. Alright, fifty percent, but it comes with a catch.”

  “Depends on the catch,” she replied, hoping i
t was him.

  Green was restored in his eyes as they caught the light when he looked down at her.

  “That you join me for dinner tomorrow night.”

  Alexia struggled to remain calm, but failed when her first words came out in an octave higher than the rest. “Is it a dinner for interesting friends?”

  Leo smiled his dimple-forming smile, one that said he knew very well that she had understood his intention.

  “I would prefer if it was just you and me, but if Deborah would like to provide the tabletop dancing entertainment for the evening, I wouldn’t object.”

  Alexia rubbed her forehead, shielding herself from the mental picture. “Just the two of us it is.”

  As if her ears were burning, Deborah turned to them from across the room in a spray of red curls. Some of her features had begun to droop under the influence of alcohol.

  “Oh, Alexia!” Her boisterous American accent was a stark contrast to the sophisticated European voices around her. “Come over here, would you? Bring your Ken Doll.”

  When the words registered, Leo scoffed. “Did she just call me a Ken Doll?”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  After a second of hesitation, they went to her, and the circle of people surrounding Deborah parted in welcome. Alexia was surprised to see Carrie beside Amy, not having noticed her slip past. Well, she wasn’t that surprised. It was difficult to take note of anything when Leo was within two feet of her.

  The introductions made by Deborah were undertaken with such familiarity, it was as though she was hosting the party herself. Alexia listened attentively to the names of the four French men who had captured Deborah’s fancy, but within a few minutes they had slipped from her mind. Either she’d reached her capacity of introductions, or the wine was going to her head. She glanced down, surprised to find her glass almost empty. She made a mental note to slow down as Deborah carried on at what she did best, dominating the conversation, Alexia shot Carrie a sidelong glance.