Work Text:
If Kate doesn’t strangle Anthony Bridgerton by the end of the weekend, it will be a miracle.
She’s been with the firm for three months, and every single day has been spent either competing with him for cases, or, on the unhappy occasions they’ve had to work together, arguing with him about the best methods to represent their client. Kate has never been one to spend time musing about new and inventive methods of torture, but something about Anthony just brings it out in her.
The most infuriating thing about him is that he’s actually very competent, and, of course, never lets her forget it. She’s seen him completely dominate settlement meetings with little more than a quirk of his brow and a well-placed comment. All of which Kate would respect, if he weren’t seemingly determined to piss her off at every opportunity. From her very first day, she’s wanted to stomp on his overpriced wingtips with her secondhand Manolos.
(The second most infuriating thing about him is how handsome he is, but Kate has done her level best to ignore that. Some days, she’s more successful than others.)
It’s bad enough that he dominates her work week, but she can usually depend on weekends and bank holidays for respite, a few days when she doesn’t have to see his smug face or be thinking of her next cleverly placed insult - not counting the ones she jots down in her notebook on Sundays, just to be prepared for the week ahead.
But this weekend has shot all that to hell. One of the firm’s partners, a bit tennis mad and clearly a man with entirely too much money on his hands, has purchased a hospitality package for the entire team to attend Wimbledon for a "non-optional team-building activity," which are five of Kate’s least favorite words.
And sure, normally she would have been all too happy to spend a Saturday having a Pimms in the rare English sunshine, especially when someone else is footing the bill. But not when it means having to see Anthony Bridgerton outside of the office, wearing a cream-colored three-piece linen suit that’s not at all like the utilitarian grey and navy suits he wears during the week. It’s complete with a tie and a pocket square, for God’s sake, and a pair of sunglasses perfectly framing his stupid face. The whole ensemble makes him look debonair and expensive, and Kate is furious that it works for him.
Which is probably why she spends the entire afternoon trading barbs with him, not about case law or billing codes, but about serve speeds and foot faults, as their colleagues look on in fascination.
“So they’re just always like this?” Kate hears one of the junior associates ask another after she’s stomped off to get another drink.
And then, before the day is out, she has to go and make it worse.
When the last match of the day is winding down, she and a few other colleagues are making plans to meet up later in the evening. It’s her sister’s birthday, and she’s already committed to making an appearance, even though the club scene hadn’t been hers even when she’d been Edwina’s age. Maybe if she brings along some people from the firm, she won’t feel quite as much like the old maid shoehorning in on her younger sister’s fun.
Kate feels Anthony behind her before he speaks. “After party?” he asks as her shoulders tense. Shit. Two of the partners are within earshot, and it wouldn’t do to advertise just how immature she’s capable of being where he’s concerned.
Kate takes a deep breath. Fine. “Anthony, it’s my sister’s birthday and we’re all meeting up later, if you would like to join.” She shoots him a poisonous smile and lowers her voice. “Unless you’re planning on coming down with a flesh-eating disease between now and then, that is.”
“And deprive you of my company, Ms. Sharma?” he asks, his tone pleasant and his smile as barbed as her own. “Never.”
–
Kate Sharma is the most obstinate, headstrong woman Anthony has ever met, and that includes all four of his sisters, who are no shrinking violets themselves. He’d thought Eloise was the limit until Kate joined the firm and immediately took him to task over something or other within five minutes of meeting him. He can’t even recall what sin he had supposedly committed, or what her objections had been, but he knows that first barbed interaction had set the tone for their entire acquaintance, and it’s far too late to right that particular ship.
Much as he might wish otherwise, at times. Especially whenever she leans across his desk with that frown on her face, the one she saves just for him, and he finds himself fighting the reckless compulsion to kiss the disapproving vertical line between her eyebrows.
Anthony groans internally at his first sight of her at the match, her head thrown back in laughter at something Penelope has said. If he’d thought he wanted her before, it is nothing to the immediate punch of desire he feels now, seeing her in a sundress the color of flames with her hair floating around her head like a crown. The straps of the dress crisscross over the smooth expanse of her shoulders, the deep neckline leaving her long, graceful neck and her sharp collarbones bare. He wants to tear those straps off with his teeth.
Her smile is breathtaking, her peals of laughter drifting on the wind toward his ears, and he finds himself wishing with a sudden, blinding intensity that he could ever be the one to make her light up like that.
He clocks the moment she sees him from across the row, and it’s truly incredible how he can actually feel her eyes narrowing from such a distance.
Not a chance, Bridgerton.
He knows she only invites him out with everyone to save face in front of the partners; knows he should do the gentlemanly thing and beg off. But if this is all he’s ever going to have of her, stolen moments where he can look at her across the room in between arguments, then he’s not about to miss out on a single one.
–
Kate is returning from the bar with an overpriced drink in either hand for her and Edwina when she sees Anthony enter, his eyes scanning the floor.
He’s still wearing that damn outfit from before. And sure, she hasn’t changed either, and this dress isn’t exactly club attire, but she’d had to run about fifty errands before Edwina’s birthday dinner at Mary’s and hadn’t had a chance to go home. What’s his excuse?
He’s done away with with the tie and the outer layers, at least, but he’s also rolled up his fucking sleeves, and oh, that’s just not fair. Forearms that good on one’s work nemesis should be against the law. And honestly, who wears a pinky ring anymore? She scowls as her eyes travel down to his hands. It should look ridiculous, but she finds herself thinking…thoughts. Like how the cold metal might feel against her skin, skimming along the valley between her breasts. How it might tangle with her hair if he pulled her head back -
Kate feels her skin grow hot as she shakes her head to clear it, a quick fuck no, and tosses back her whiskey. Don’t go there, Sharma.
She realizes with a start that he hasn’t come alone. A brunette in a jumpsuit hangs off his elbow, and Kate feels a hard knot of something unpleasant start to burn in her chest. But before she can think anything beyond what the fuck, the girl he’s brought lets go of his arm and makes a beeline for…Edwina?
Anthony heads in Kate’s direction. Her head spins with questions, but she settles for raising an eyebrow and greeting him with “Bridgerton.”
“Sharma.” Anthony gestures to where Edwina is enthusiastically hugging the brunette. “It appears our sisters are friends.”
Kate swears. “Edwina’s new best friend from uni is Eloise Bridgerton? How many of you are there?”
“Eight,” he says, like that is a totally normal number of children to have in a family.
Kate sips at the drink she’d purchased for Edwina. She’ll get her another. “Your poor mother.”
“She would probably agree with you on that.”
They’re interrupted by Edwina shouting for Kate to come meet Eloise, who takes Kate by the arm. “Thank you for keeping Anthony humble, I know it’s rough work.”
He has clearly vented to his siblings about her as much as she has to Edwina about him, which pleases Kate in ways she doesn’t want to think about.
His seven siblings. She hadn’t known there were so bloody many of them, but she had heard him mention in passing that he needed to transfer his little brother’s tuition, or how his sister had taken years off his life practicing for her driving test. And in those moments, when she’d looked at him and caught fleeting glimpses of something human, something she understood, it had been just a little harder to hate him.
More of their colleagues arrive as the music starts to pick up and the floor gets crowded. Kate glances over and sees Anthony talking to another man, taller, but with unmistakably the same coloring as Anthony and Eloise.
Oh, God, there’s another one, she thinks, tossing back the rest of Edwina’s drink.
–
“So, that’s Kate.”
Anthony snaps his attention toward his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Benedict says with a shrug. “Just that a lot of things are starting to make sense.”
Anthony watches as Kate hugs Tom Dorset, a colleague from the third floor and someone he’s known since his Oxford days. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, internally reminding himself that Dorset is a friend and it wouldn’t do to rugby tackle a friend over a woman that neither of them is dating, no matter how much he might want to.
“You’ve been complaining about her for months, Anthony, and not once did you say how beautiful she is. That feels like a willful omission to me.”
“Of course she’s beautiful,” Anthony says, because there’s no point denying it. Beautiful doesn’t even cover it, but he’s not about to tell anyone, even his brother, all the other adjectives he’s thought of over the months. “She’s also unyielding, aggravating as hell, and she hates my guts.”
“And it’s that last part that really burns you, isn’t it?”
Anthony’s shoulders drop. You have no idea, he wants to say. “Isn’t your boyfriend supposed to be around here somewhere, can’t you go bother him?”
Benedict slings an arm around Anthony’s shoulders. “He’ll be here later. Right now I’m much more interested in hearing about the one woman Anthony Bridgerton hasn’t managed to charm.”
“Get off me,” Anthony says, struggling free of Benedict’s grasp and pointedly ignoring his brother’s laughter as he heads for the bar.
–
It turns out that Penelope is also good friends with Eloise and knows all the Bridgertons, having grown up down the road from their family home. Kate would really like to know how a city of millions could turn out to be so small. The universe is clearly conspiring against her.
Kate half-listens to the flow of conversation as she watches Anthony talking to the bartender, who is tiny and blonde and seems to be doing her level best to shove her tits into his face. Probably just his type, Kate thinks peevishly. If the stories circulating at the firm are to be believed, he doesn’t really have a type beyond “willing” and “available,” but this girl certainly seems to fit those criteria.
Not that it’s any of Kate’s business.
Eventually, Anthony extricates himself and moves to rejoin their group. He bends down to kiss Penelope on the cheek, and Kate averts her eyes and tries to make it look less like she’s been mentally calling him a slut for the past five minutes.
“How was the tennis?” Eloise asks, linking an arm through Edwina’s.
Penelope turns her head to glare at Kate and Anthony on either side of her. “These two argued for twenty minutes about who was the greatest tennis player of all time. And also, some blokes played a game on the court.”
Edwina and Eloise chortle in unison.
“It was fifteen, tops,” Anthony says.
Kate gestures with her empty glass. “And I still don’t understand why that was even a conversation when we live in a world where Serena Williams exists.”
Anthony leans forward to see around Penelope, which is unnecessary, as both he and Kate tower over Penelope’s head by several inches. “As I told you before, you’ll get no argument from me on Serena being the greatest living player, I simply think it’s prudent to consider other players in the history of the sport, if we’re meant to be deciding the greatest of all time.”
“Of course you would say that, as most of them were men.”
“Too fucking right,” Eloise cheers.
“Okay, we are not re-litigating this,” Penelope says, putting a hand up between them like a shield. “I’m getting a drink.”
“Oh, Ant got table service,” Eloise says, and Kate blinks in surprise.
“That’s lovely,” Penelope says. “I would still like to go get a shot.”
Anthony scuffs a shoe against the floor, looking almost…embarrassed? Anthony Bridgerton? That’s not right. “Eloise insisted,” he says.
“No, I didn’t,” Eloise stage whispers to Kate behind Anthony’s back as he leads them to their table. “He offered.”
–
“Girlfriend?”
Anthony looks up from his phone to see Kate sitting in front of him. The rest of their group had left for the dance floor while she’d gone to settle her tab at the bar, so now it’s just the two of them at their table in the corner.
Kate nods at his phone with a small jerk of her chin. “Or is it girlfriends? To hear the associates tell it, you’ve got a whole rotation going.”
Jealous? he nearly asks, but he doesn’t feel like seeing the disdain in her expression as she responds with something like not in a million years.
Sure, he had seen the look on her face when he’d shown up with Eloise on his arm, before he’d introduced her as his sister. That spark of irritation that he’s all too familiar with, mixed with something he can’t quite name. Doesn’t want to name, because there’s every chance that he’s wrong.
“My baby sister.” He angles the screen to show his messages, a photo of Hyacinth pouting and a text that says please Ant please please please I’ll never ask for anything ever again.
His reply is terse. We both know that’s not true, but ugh, fine.
Kate bites away a small smile, but he catches it nonetheless. “How old is she?”
“Twelve,” Anthony says, and Kate winces.
“I remember twelve. And what blood sacrifice has she demanded of you?”
He sighs. “I’m taking her to Harry Styles.”
Kate bursts into laughter. “Oh, please take pictures.”
“You will never see them,” he says darkly.
“We’ll see what my new friend Eloise has to say about that.” Kate leans back, crossing one leg over the other, and Anthony’s hand clenches into a fist under the table at the flash of her calf. “So you were, what, eighteen when she was born?”
“Around that. I had to leave uni for a bit, after my father…” He shakes his head. Not the time. “Anyway. Hyacinth is spoiled as hell, and there’s no one to blame but myself.”
Kate looks at him, her eyes dark and sympathetic, as if she’s heard what he hasn’t said. “She’s lucky to have you,” she says.
It’s probably the first kind word she’s ever had for him, and his chest glows with it.
It clearly unsettles her to be nice to him, because she shakes her head as if to clear it and says, “I should go find Edwina.”
Anthony gestures toward the dance floor. “They went that way.”
As Kate nods and rises, Anthony takes a breath and gives in to impulse. “For the record,” he calls after her, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Kate shoots a hooded, unreadable look over her shoulder. “Noted,” she says, and then she’s gone.
–
For the record, I don’t have a girlfriend.
What is she supposed to do with that?
Kate shoves the conversation to the back of her mind as she dances with Tom, one of the guys from work that she actually likes. He’s nice, always refills the kettle in the staff kitchen, and backs up her contributions in staff meetings - a low bar, yet one that men regularly fail to clear.
There are times when she can tell he’s working up the nerve to ask her out, and she sometimes thinks she should just take pity on him and make the first move. They’d have fun, she’s sure. But she’s also absolutely sure that she’d be too much for him, in the end. Kate has spent a long time avoiding putting herself in that position, of being made to feel that she’s too tall, too assertive, too rigid, just…too much.
Tom’s nice, and she’s a piece of work, and it could only end in tears. So she shakes her head when he asks if she wants to go to the bar, opting to stay with their group on the dance floor.
A few songs later she’s dancing with Eloise’s brother - the taller one, Ben something? There’s yet another one running around somewhere; he’d briefly said hello before stealing Penelope for a dance, but Kate can’t remember his name either. She’ll have to ask Eloise for a family tree later.
Anyway, whichever Bridgerton this is, he happily slings one arm around Kate and the other around his sister, jumping to the beat and howling off-key to Rihanna.
When the track shifts and Eloise spins away toward Edwina, her brother leans his head toward Kate. “I get it now,” he shouts in her ear.
“Get what?” Kate shouts back.
His grin is pure mischief. “Why my brother is so into you.”
Kate’s head spins. “What,” she starts, but is cut off by Anthony himself making a path through the crowd toward them.
“Benedict,” Anthony says to his brother, wariness in his voice.
Benedict - of course, that’s his name, and the other one starts with a C, and oh, she is putting some things together in real time - takes her face in his hands and smacks a swift kiss on her cheek. “Clearly I have said too much,” he says, not seeming the least bit sorry. “Cheers.” A mocking salute to Anthony and he’s gone, swallowed by the sea of people.
Anthony watches him go, murder in his dark eyes. “Disregard everything he says,” he tells her, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ll kill him later.”
Is she imagining the tinge of pink on the tips of his ears? It’s hard to be sure, in this lighting. But if he’d heard what Benedict had said, and if there’s any truth to it…
There’s no way, she tells herself.
Isn’t there? says a small, traitorous voice in her head.
For the record, I don’t have a girlfriend.
“He’s fun,” Kate says, pitching her voice over the music that has kicked up.
“He’s drunk and has no filter,” Anthony grumbles.
Kate suddenly realizes they’re standing stock still amidst a horde of writhing bodies. “I’m gonna-” she says, cocking her head toward the bar. She needs to retreat and process some things, preferably with a glass of alcohol in hand, because, what.
She takes a step and feels Anthony’s hand on her arm, his fingers lightly circling her wrist. It can’t even be called a hold, she could easily break free, but it’s enough to stop her in her tracks.
“Wait,” he says, his thumb moving over her pulse point almost imperceptibly. “Dance with me?”
Kate’s eyes flicker from their hands, to his face, and back again.
Anthony huffs a breath. “Come on, Kate. One dance. I won’t bite.”
He’s said her name before, of course, but never like this. There’s no frustration or vitriol to it, just the slightest note of uncertainty, like he fully expects her to break loose and tell him to fuck off.
Kate shakes her hair back over her shoulders. “I might,” she snipes. She feels entirely too thrown by the last two minutes, by the way his hand feels on hers. At least arguing with him is solid ground.
Anthony’s teeth flash. “I’m counting on it.”
He pulls her in by the wrist, draping her hand around his neck as they start to move. A remix of some Calvin Harris song thumps out of the speakers, the bass reverberating in her chest. With a quick check-in with his eyes, Anthony reaches for her waist, rolling his body into hers.
There is no accounting for the sudden swoop in her stomach at the feel of his hand on her hip, a light touch that nonetheless feels like a brand. No accounting for how much she likes the way the hair at the nape of his neck feels under her fingers, surprisingly soft and curling in the heat. This close, she can see the flushed pink of his skin, the faint reflection of the multicolored strobe lights in his dark eyes. That fucking mouth, which would probably taste of salt and Patron and a hint of lime, a remnant of the shot she’d watched him down earlier.
Kate spins around to avoid looking at his face, as it’s clearly too much for her to handle right now. But this immediately presents a new set of problems as her arse inadvertently presses against his front, the crush of dancers around them leaving her much less room to maneuver than she’d realized.
She should move away. But the brush of his legs on the back of her thighs as they dance has her leaning back into him, just a bit. His hand is hovering over her hip again, and she grabs it and brings his forearm to band around her midsection. He flexes his arm, bringing her in even closer, and she sucks in an unsteady breath that she hopes to God is covered by the pulsing beat.
Anthony’s face leans into her hair, and she swears she feels him inhale.
Kate angles her chin back to find him still staring, always staring. Being under his gaze is something that she’s used to; she’s considered, more than once, snapping at him to take a picture rather than constantly trying to bore holes in her skull with his eyes. She’s always thought it must be some bullshit intimidation tactic, another way to get in her head and throw her off.
But on the dark, crowded dance floor, with his arm firm around her belly and his other hand running up and down her bare shoulder, the way he’s looking at her just feels…electric.
She doesn’t register making the decision, can’t say who leans in first or further. But one second they’re dancing, eyes locked, and the next they’re kissing.
–
At the first press of her lips to his, Anthony’s mind goes suddenly, blessedly quiet. Never mind the people crowded in arse to elbow all around them, the shitty music pounding loud enough to shake the sticky floor under their feet. For all he knows or cares, he and Kate might as well be on a deserted island, the only two people left alive under a sky full of stars.
Something inside him says yes. This.
He’s neglected it for so long that he doesn’t immediately recognize it, but if pressed, he might say it’s his heart.
Then Kate whips around in his arms, pressing fully against him and clutching his face in both hands, and all of his senses come roaring back in technicolor and surround sound.
He buries a hand in her hair, grabbing her arse with the other. Her lips part and he strokes his tongue inside, an electric shock zipping down his spine when she curls her tongue around his. She tastes like whiskey and spearmint and Kate, and he can’t get enough.
They’re jostled off balance by some douchebag in a snapback, and Kate jumps back as if she’s been scalded.
“Shit,” she breathes, her eyes wide. Anthony reaches a hand out to her, which she slaps away. “Shit!”
Heard you the first time, Anthony thinks as she turns to shove her way off the floor.
He considers letting her go, letting them both chalk it up to a tipsy makeout that they’ll avoid mentioning come Monday morning. This thought lasts for approximately two seconds before it’s drowned out by fuck that, and then he’s shouldering through the crowd after her.
He’s grateful that she’s tall enough for him to keep her in his line of sight as she heads toward the sign advertising the toilets. He follows her to the back hallway, calling her name. Kate looks over her shoulder and curses in a language he can’t understand.
“I’m fine,” she says, avoiding his eyes and holding up a don’t come any closer, stay where you are hand. “Just one too many.”
Anthony ignores the hand, takes a step toward her. “You’ve only had one in the last hour.”
She tosses her head back defiantly. “Well, maybe I did five shots before you got here, you don’t know everything.”
“Kate.”
Kate crosses her arms over her chest. “What the fuck was that?” she snaps.
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes, I’m asking you. You kissed me-”
“Excuse me-” he interjects, because what kind of revisionist bullshit is that, but she continues on.
“And I know you’ve hated me for months, so whatever game this is-”
Anthony laughs bitterly. “Hate you? God. I wish.” It comes out louder than he had intended, stops whatever she’d been winding up to say next.
Kate stares at him, her eyes questioning. Fully aware that he’s taking his life in his hands, he steps closer until he’s directly in front of her, her back pressed to the wall.
“You frustrate me,” he says. “You hate me, and I’ve never known why.” And he’s never been able to figure out why it hurts so damn much. Every time they’ve ever argued, even when she’s pissed him off so badly he’s seeing red, he’s always been fighting the urge to drop to his knees and beg her to tell him what he’s done wrong and how he can fix it.
“But you…you mesmerize me.” He raises a hand to her face, the backs of his fingers grazing over the curve of her cheek. “I think about you too much, and dream about you too much, and it never ends. I’ve tried to stop, but there’s nothing for it.”
“Bullshit,” Kate scoffs, but he can see in her eyes that she’s not at all sure about that.
“I don’t fucking dance, Kate,” he bites out, desperate to make her listen. “I only went out there because I saw you dancing with Dorset and I didn’t like it.”
Kate’s eyes flash. “It wasn’t for you to like.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I don’t have any claim on you, and Dorset’s a good mate, and I still wanted to put my fist through a wall.”
She sniffs. “I’m surprised you noticed, with that blonde bartender’s tits blocking your line of sight all evening.”
A small spark of hope ignites in his chest. “Why, Kathani. That almost sounded like jealousy.”
“You wish, Bridgerton,” she says snappishly, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the way her pulse has picked up, the heat in her gaze.
“Every day.” He presses his hands to the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. “Tell me I’m out of line and I’ll back off.”
“If you’re fucking with me, Anthony, I swear to God,” she says, and then her hands are tugging his hips forward and her mouth is on his.
–
Kate distantly realizes that they are very much in public, and people are passing them in the hallway on their way to the toilets.
She just can’t bring herself to give a fuck, especially not when Anthony palms her thigh and hoists her leg to wrap around his waist.
Kate rocks against him as he kisses the living daylights out of her, his teeth scoring at her lip and his tongue stroking the roof of her mouth. It’s feral and wet and too much and not enough, all at once.
Anthony breaks away from her face with a tortured groan. “Okay, okay, we can’t do this.”
Kate’s stomach drops. Even though he’s just told her, quite eloquently, how he’s wanted her for months, her immediate, sinking thought is he’s changed his mind. Of course. “Right.”
He must hear the shift in her voice, because he leans in for another deep, consuming kiss. “Here. We can’t do this here,” he says emphatically. “I am not going to fuck you in the toilet of this scummy club with both of our little sisters on the premises, even though everything inside of me is screaming at me to do just that.”
Kate’s limbs flood with warmth, the image of it playing in her mind.
Anthony leans his forehead into hers, breathing heavily. “Believe me, Kate. I always want you. Everywhere. It’s really fucking inconvenient.”
Kate exhales, fumbling for something to say to that and coming up with “oh.”
He chuckles. “Oh, she says, after I’ve bared my soul. Straight for the jugular as always, Sharma.”
There’s a quality to his voice that sounds like it had when he’d asked her to dance, slightly unsure and entirely unlike the cocky, insufferable man she’s been going toe-to-toe with for months. She finds she doesn’t care for that shit at all.
For once, Kate pushes back against every instinct she’s ever had to play her cards close to the vest. “I think about you too,” she whispers, her breath puffing against his cheek. “I want you too.”
His eyes close for a long moment, and there’s no mistaking the relief in them when they open again. “God. Kate.” He steps back, smoothing her dress down her thighs, and holds out his hand. “Will you let me take you home?”
Just this once, she thinks of saying, trying to draw that line in the sand.
Instead, she slides her hand in his and says “Yes.”
They agree to meet out front after they’ve found their respective siblings and made their goodbyes. Kate cranes her neck over the crowd until she spots her pint-sized sister at the end of the bar, talking with one of her uni friends.
“Hey, Bon,” Kate says, hooking her chin over Edwina’s shoulder. “I’m leaving, are you good?”
“You’re not going home already?” Edwina cries, thunking her drink on the bar and turning to face her sister.
“No, I, uh.” Kate gestures in the approximate vicinity of where she’d left Anthony. “Anthony, you know, Eloise’s brother?”
“I’m familiar,” Edwina says dryly. “I’m fairly certain I’ve heard you refer to him as 'the spawn of Satan’ a time or two.”
“Yeah, well.” Kate has never particularly enjoyed the taste of crow, so this is going to hurt. But she can’t lie to Edwina. “We’re going to go hang out, leave the youths to their debauchery.”
Edwina’s face freezes in processing mode for just a moment before breaking into a huge grin. “Didi,” she gasps, simultaneously looking scandalized and proud.
“Don’t,” Kate says emphatically, pointing a finger right in Edwina’s face as her little sister starts to laugh.
“Oh, Kate, I can’t help it. I love this for you.” Still chuckling, Edwina throws her arms over Kate’s shoulders in a boozy, affectionate hug. “Have so much fun,” she says. “You deserve it.”
The pure love in Edwina’s voice makes Kate grip her back a bit tighter than necessary. Kissing her cheek as she pulls away, she says, “Happy birthday, Bon.”
“Well, it is now,” Edwina cackles, giving her a little shove. “Go.”
As Kate walks away, she hears Edwina shouting across the bar to Eloise, “Fine, you were right, I owe you ten quid.”
–
Anthony paces back and forth outside the club, having found Benedict (“I helped! You’re welcome!”) and Eloise (“She is entirely too good for you, I hope you realize this, but thanks for the tenner”) in record time. Colin and Penelope had apparently fucked off ages ago, so he takes out his phone to text them both (to Penelope: lovely to see you, hope you got home safe x; to Colin: goodbye to you too, wanker) and then resumes pacing.
He’s trying to decide if he should call an Uber and have it waiting. He’s fully prepared to offer the driver an outsized cash tip for their time, but he’s not sure if that would seem too eager, too presumptuous.
What if she changes her mind?
It’s a recurring thought that he is trying very hard not to examine too closely. He swears and calls a damn Uber.
The car arrives, and Anthony is just ducking his head down into the open window to talk to the driver when a flash of red catches the corner of his eye. He looks up to see Kate walking towards him, a small but genuine smile on her face.
Huh. So that’s what that’s like.
“Hi,” he says, trying to smile back while schooling his face into any expression other than “human heart eyes emoji.” He gestures to the car. “Uber,” he says, completely unnecessarily.
“So it is,” she says, a playful light in her eyes. She brushes by him to slide into the car, her perfume, the one that drives him crazy, lingering in her wake. He grips the door, sternly reminding himself to keep it together for the ten minute drive to his place, before ducking in after her.
The driver pulls off into the street and Anthony slides his eyes to Kate. “You found Edwina?”
At her nod, he says, “I’ve told Eloise to give Edwina my number and address, just so she won’t worry.”
Kate rolls her eyes. “Overbearing arse.”
“I’m an overbearing arse with four younger sisters, deal with it.”
She looks at him contemplatively for a moment, the street lights intermittently illuminating her face. Then she completely knocks him on his arse by saying, “It’s kind of hot. The older brother, family responsibility thing.”
Anthony shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “You are probably the first person to think so.” He’s heard, more than once, how his dedication to his siblings is a hindrance, not a help, in the romance department.
Kate shrugs one of her shoulders. “Yeah, well. I’ve basically raised Edwina since she was twelve, I get how hard it is.”
Another piece of the Kate Sharma puzzle settles into place as he takes that in. He thinks of how she insists on being right, and rarely trusts anyone else to do what needs to be done. How competitive she is about things that don’t matter, like that one vicious round of office trivia, and things that do, like human rights and pro bono cases.
He can hear a voice in his head, one that sounds remarkably like Benedict’s, asking if any of this sounds at all familiar.
“I didn’t know that,” Anthony says. He reaches a hand to where hers is resting in her lap, needing to touch her somehow.
Kate lets her fingers entwine with his. “You never asked.”
“Kate.” He shoots her a look. “When were we supposed to have a cozy little chat about our family histories, before you threatened to throw a stapler at my head? Or after?”
She raises her eyebrow, granting him the point.
“You hated me.” When she opens her mouth to speak, he interjects, “And please don’t say you didn’t, because if I’ve been wrong this whole time, it might break my fucking heart.” He’s barely trusting the concept that she does not seem to completely hate him at this moment. If he finds out there had ever been the hint of a chance before now, he might do something completely batshit, like rip his clothes off and howl at the moon.
She runs her fingers lightly over his palm, catching on the metal of his ring. “I mean. I didn’t always hate you,” she qualifies.
He angles his body towards her, fascinated. “Now this I have to hear.”
Kate groans. “Ugh. Fine. When I was interviewing with the firm, they had me sit in on one of your court cases, and, well…I thought you were fit,” she mumbles.
Anthony’s jaw drops. “Is it Christmas? It feels like Christmas.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “And then, on my very first day, I round a corner and there you are, complaining to one of the partners about ‘incompetent new solicitors trying to usurp your cases.’” She doesn’t actually do air quotes, but he very much feels that they’re implied.
“Oh, I didn’t,” he laments, dropping his head into his hand.
“You extremely did,” Kate responds.
“And that’s why you called me a pompous, entitled trust fund baby on day two,” he surmises. And then they’d been off to the races, each of them finding new ways to provoke each other with each passing day.
Anthony tightens his hand on hers. “Hey. You know I think you’re brilliant, right? You have to know that.”
Kate’s eyes warm. “And you,” she says, jerking on his hand for emphasis, “are absolutely still as pompous as that very first day.”
He has heard Kate Sharma insult him dozens of times by now, but this is the first one that’s ever felt simultaneously like a compliment. You’re pompous and I like you.
It’s stunning how much he wants that to be true.
“Here we are,” the driver calls from the front seat, pulling over on Anthony’s street.
“Here we are,” Kate echoes.
After tipping the driver, Anthony leads Kate to his front door, holding her hand the whole way. He feels like a teenager, more than he had when he’d actually been one, walking the girl he fancies home from a night out.
“Nice,” Kate says, eyebrows raised in faint surprise as he swings the door open and flips the light in the entryway.
Daphne had bulldozed her way into his place the moment he’d moved in, armed with fabric swatches and paint chips and artwork, and he’d decided to let her live her interior design dreams. He really ought to send her flowers.
Kate leans on his shoulder to undo the straps on one shoe, followed by the next. She kicks out of them, bringing her to his eye level. He loves everything about the heels she wears, from the truly fantastic things they do to her legs to the way the added height makes her look even more like an Amazon. But being able to look her in the eyes, head on, is a rush he hadn’t expected.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks, toeing off his own shoes. “Glass of wine, cup of tea-”
Kate backs him into the wall of the entryway. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Anytime,” Anthony says faintly. He feels his pulse skip a beat as she grabs his hand and lifts it to her face.
“This stupid fucking ring,” Kate says, lightly sinking her teeth into the side of his hand, just below the band of metal on his pinky.
“You like my ring.” You like me.
“I admit nothing.” Kate brings his hand to rest on her collarbone, where he can feel her heartbeat under the tips of his fingers. “Anthony.”
“Kate.”
“I think you should put your hands on me now.”
He does not need to be told twice. He hooks his fingers into the strap of her dress, using it to yank her closer as he fuses his mouth to hers. It’s been half an hour, tops, since he last kissed her, and that feels like an unacceptable length of time.
He walks her backward until they’re stumbling down the hall, kissing and laughing in turn as he narrowly saves her from hip checking the side table or crashing into a mirror. He finally decides to make life simple and grabs her arse, encouraging her to hop up and wrap her legs around his waist.
“Anthony, I’m too tall,” she laughs when he stumbles briefly under their combined weight.
Anthony scoffs and hitches her higher. “Not for me.” You’re perfect.
He carries her into his bedroom without further incident as one hand fumbles at the back of her dress, searching for a zip and coming up short. “How does this bloody dress work?” he grumbles.
Kate sets her feet back on the ground. “Buttons,” she says, reaching for where the straps of her dress are fastened to the neckline. She thumbs the buttons open and the straps fall from her shoulders. Then she grabs his hands and places them on her skirt, motioning for him to pull the dress up and over her head as she lifts her arms.
Once he’s dropped the dress to the floor, he skims his hands up over the warm, smooth skin of her torso. She’s not wearing a bra, and it’s all he can do not to drop to his knees in supplication. Instead, he ghosts his thumbs over her nipples, relishing the shiver this elicits, and drags his nose right up the side of her neck, inhaling her scent like a wild animal. He’ll never be able to look at a bouquet of lilies in a flower shop again without embarrassing himself.
He nips at the lobe of her ear as she arches her tits into his hands. “I want to go down on you, Kate, can I?” he asks quietly.
Kate swallows. “Yeah. Yes.”
He guides her to sit on the edge of the bed, and she leans back on her elbows, spread out on his duvet like a veritable feast.
Anthony has spent years fearing mortality, certain his own end is lurking around every shadowy corner. But right now, at this moment, he feels like he could die with very few complaints.
He reaches for her hips, hooking his fingers into the sides of her underwear. “Okay?” At her nod, he pulls them down and off her legs before spreading her knees wide to kneel between them. Lifting one leg, he presses a kiss to her knee before guiding it to rest on his shoulder. He glides his mouth up her thigh, leaving goosebumps in his wake.
“Any time now, Bridgerton,” she says when he repeats the move on her other thigh. He’s about to make a retort, but then he looks up at her and momentarily loses all power of speech. She’s magnificent like this, her eyes blown wide with want and her pulse rabbiting in her throat. It makes him want to do anything she asks, everything, forever.
He nips at the crease of her thigh as he reaches his hand up and just slightly parts the lips of her pussy, thumb resting on her clit.
“Fuck, Anthony,” she says, sounding halfway wrecked already. She grips his hair, and he has to close his eyes and brace against the wave of lust that goes directly to his dick.
“I smell you everywhere,” he says, leaning his head in and nosing against her folds. “In the break room, the lifts. Even when I haven’t seen you in hours, that scent…it haunts me.”
“Creepy,” she says, her voice shaking. Her grip on his hair relaxes the smallest bit, her fingers stroking his scalp, and he leans into the touch.
“For you? Certifiable.” Unable to wait any longer, he presses his mouth to her and licks a stripe up her cunt.
“Fuck,” she says loudly, bucking against his face. He holds her hips in place and moans into her, impossibly turned on as he fucks into her with his tongue. Eating pussy is something he’s always enjoyed, and he’s been told he’s reasonably good at it, but this is beyond, because it’s Kate. He’s afraid she’s already ruined him for life, and she hasn’t even touched him yet.
He fastens his lips around her clit and sucks. She swears again, the heels of her feet digging into his back hard enough that he thinks he might end up with twin bruises, when this is all said and done. Worth it.
Anthony looks up from between her thighs and she’s leaning on one elbow, squeezing her breast with the other hand. Her nipple peeks between her fingers, taut and brown and begging for his mouth, and, fuck, that’s an image he’s not going to forget any time soon.
He slides two fingers inside her as his tongue works her clit. He feels her cunt pulsing around his fingers, hears the hitch in her breathing that tells him she’s almost there. “Come on, Kate, please,” he says. He’s not sure if it’s the “please” that does it, but she tenses and shatters, moaning brokenly while she rides it out on his hand and tongue.
He gentles his mouth, soft, slow licks as she shudders. “Fuck,” he groans when her hips finally collapse to the bed. “That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“It didn’t suck from up here, either,” she snarks, chest heaving as she catches her breath.
This glorious woman, acting cool as a cucumber and giving him an attitude like she hadn’t just come on his face thirty seconds before.
He is never, ever getting over her.
–
Anthony Bridgerton gives great head had not been on her work bingo card.
Sure, she’s imagined it before, on Friday nights alone with her vibrator after one Pinot too many and hours of staring at his insufferable, smug mouth from across a conference table, wanting to give him something to do with that mouth that might finally shut him up. But she’d been fully prepared to take that to her grave.
Kate flops on her back and waves her hand in his general direction. “Get up here.”
Anthony crawls up onto the bed, lying to face her and settling one warm, sure hand over her bare hip. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” she echoes. She’s extremely aware of the fact that he’s still mostly clothed and she’s naked as the day she was born. It should be awkward, should make her feel vulnerable or overexposed. But the way his eyes are sweeping over her with something akin to reverence just makes her feel…desired. Powerful.
Hooking her leg over his, she leans forward and kisses him, a simple touch of her lips to his. But then his clothed erection presses between her legs, where she’s still sensitive, and his shirt drags against her nipples, and it turns heated very quickly.
Kate breaks away and says, “If you tell me you don’t have any condoms, I swear to God-”
Anthony grasps her hips and rolls onto his back, bringing her to straddle him as his hand flails out toward the drawer of his bedside table. “Thank Christ,” he says with feeling when he finds what he’s looking for. He tosses the box on the bed next to them.
She fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, suddenly desperate to strip him bare. She unintentionally shifts in his lap and Anthony bites back a curse. “Stop that,” he grits out.
Kate smirks and does it again, rolling her hips with purpose. “Or else?” she asks sweetly.
Anthony rears up to bring his face close to hers, his hand fisting in her hair. “Or else,” he says, his eyes dark, “I won’t last long enough to fuck you, which I’ve been dreaming about ever since the first time you told me to go to hell. So, if you don’t mind.”
“Well,” she says breathlessly. “When you put it like that.”
Anthony releases her to finish taking off his shirt, and she busies herself with the zipper on his trousers. He tries to lift his hips to help her take them off, but his legs get tangled in hers and he ends up knocking them both off balance. She comes toppling down onto his chest as his head thumps against the headboard. Kate shrieks with laughter and he buries his face in her neck, his own laughter reverberating against her skin.
“We’re doing great,” she huffs as he shifts to a sitting position, leaning his back against the headboard and kicking his legs free of his trousers, a task made more difficult by his refusal to let her climb out of his lap.
“Ten outta ten, no notes,” he says, shoving his boxers down and off his legs. Kate watches his cock spring free, but before she can do much more than look at it, Anthony draws her in and starts peppering kisses across her chest. His mouth travels over the swell of her tits, skimming down her sternum, until he finally lowers his head and takes one of her nipples in his mouth. Kate throws her head back, gripping his hair to hold him in place as his cheeks hollow and he sucks, the sensation going directly down her body to pulse between her thighs.
“Anthony,” she pants, reaching out blindly to wrap her hand around his cock. “Condom. Please.”
He hisses as she jacks him loosely. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” He rips a packet open and rolls the condom over his length. Kate lifts herself up on her knees, lining him up with her entrance and slowly sinking down to take him in.
“You good?” he asks hoarsely, his body vibrating with the effort to stay still and let her stretch around him.
“Yeah. Shit.” She’s not about to give him the satisfaction of telling him that it’s been a while, or stroke his ego by commenting on his size. But…damn.
“You are so gorgeous like this,” he says, his ab muscles tensing as she sits down on him fully. “Feels so good, Kate, fuck.”
Kate barely touches her lips to his as she lifts her hips a few inches and drops down again. Their breath trembles in unison when she repeats the motion, and then again, and then Anthony grabs her arse in both hands, wordlessly urging her to ride him faster.
She does, fucking herself on him until her thighs are trembling with the effort. He thrusts up to meet her, and his dick hits a spot inside her that makes her see stars.
His mouth latches on her neck, firm wet pressure just above her pulse point, and it is doing all kinds of good things for her. “Anthony,” she pleads. “Touch me.” She grabs at one of his hands, guides it toward her clit.
“Fuck yes,” he growls into her skin, pressing two fingers firmly against her. “Use me, that’s it.” His fucking mouth, his cock, his fingers rubbing her clit - it all becomes too much. She rocks into him as her orgasm builds, gasping his name when the wave crests and she comes hard, digging her fingers into his arms.
Anthony’s thrusts become faster, more erratic, as Kate shudders around him with aftershocks. “So good, Kate, fuck, I’m gonna-” He throws his head back and Kate leans down to bite at his neck as he comes with a strangled shout.
Kate slumps against his chest, breathing like she’s run a marathon. Her legs splay out behind her, having officially given up the ghost of holding her upright. “Fuck,” she says.
“Fuck,” Anthony agrees, his hands spanning her back. “That was fucking magic.” He presses a kiss to her hair, then another to her forehead.
They lie in silence for a moment as their breathing slows; she thinks, somewhat smugly, that she’s finally succeeded in shutting him up.
Eventually, Anthony sighs and slides out from under her to go take care of the condom. Kate lingers for a minute more, but finally pushes herself up and off the bed, sternly telling her wobbly legs to get with the program as she crosses the room toward the en suite.
After handling her business and washing her hands, she leans on the counter and looks at her reflection. She barely recognizes herself, her hair spiraling out in every direction, her lips kiss-swollen and a faint mark on her neck in the shape of Anthony’s mouth. Running a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it, she takes a tremulous breath.
What just happened?
“Kate?” Anthony taps on the door, and she jumps, pressing a hand to her heart.
“Yeah?”
He cracks open the door to hand her a folded shirt. “Grabbed this for you to sleep in.”
She takes it from him, the shirt unfolding to reveal the faded logo of his university on the soft, well-worn fabric.
An image comes to her, clear as day, of being curled up with him in that big bed on a sleepy Sunday morning, wearing his shirt and burrowing into his arms for added warmth. They talk and kiss and listen to the rain, a light drizzle, no thundercloud in sight.
She wants it so much that for a moment, it knocks the breath out of her.
Twelve hours ago, she would have sworn that she hated him, that the single-minded focus she’s had on beating him, getting a rise out of him, has been in service of that hatred and nothing more. And sure, it would have been a lie, but it’s one she’s been comfortable telling herself for quite some time.
But now he’s gone and told her that he dreams about her, that he’s wanted her all this time. Looking back at the last three months with that new perspective, this thing between them feels enormous, like a tidal wave that threatens to swallow her whole.
Magic, he’d said.
Is it? She’s had so little magic in her life, it’s hard to be sure.
But whatever it is, it scares the shit out of her.
Kate realizes she’s been staring at his shirt for far too long when he eases the door open further and enters, wearing tracksuit bottoms and an increasingly worried frown.
“You’re freaking out,” he says flatly. It’s not a question.
“I am not freaking out,” she says.
She is totally freaking out.
Anthony approaches her like he might a spooked horse, gently taking the shirt from her and pulling it over her head. “I cannot have this conversation with you naked,” he says, guiding her arms through the sleeves and letting the hem drop over the tops of her thighs. Steering her back out into the bedroom, he points at the bed and says, “Sit.”
She sits.
He sits beside her and says, “Talk.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” she bursts out, crossing her arms over her stomach.
“‘This’ being…”
“This! Us! Yesterday you were the bane of my fucking life, and now you’re kissing me in clubs and I’m wearing your uni shirt and - I know how to fight with you, Anthony, but I have no idea how to…”
“Date me?” Anthony offers.
Kate crinkles her brow. “Is that what this is?” It feels like they’ve leaped over approximately fifty steps in the span of an evening, but none of the other words that come to mind feel appropriate, either.
Anthony shrugs his shoulders in a small fuck if I know gesture. “Point of order, though,” he says mildly. “You kissed me first.”
She bares her teeth, ready to argue, but he holds up a hand. “And a follow-up question, to clarify: you don’t know how to date me, or you don’t want to?”
Her heart clenches. “Anthony,” she says softly.
“Because if you don’t want to, if you’d rather this be a one-time thing and we never talk about it again…” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I’m not going to force something on you that you don’t want.”
Kate imagines scrambling for her clothes and calling an Uber, his eyes following her as he watches her walk to the car from his doorstep. She could call in sick on Monday, avoid him in the halls, and maybe, eventually, it would be like this never happened.
God, she’s so tired of being a coward.
Anthony’s hand covers her knee in a feather-light touch. “But if you feel like you don’t know how, well, that makes two of us.”
He leans his head to rest on hers, and she lets herself lean back into him, just a bit.
“We can take it slow, and figure it out together. Or maybe we fuck it up together, I don’t know.”
Kate barks out a short laugh. “You’re really selling this.”
“Closing argument, two parts,” Anthony says. “One, I’m pretty sure you couldn’t stop fighting with me if you tried, Sharma, so I don’t see why that’s mutually exclusive with dating me. And two…” He reaches over and nudges her chin with his thumb so she’s forced to look at him. “I must reiterate that you absolutely kissed me first.”
Kate stares at his face, waiting for the panic in the pit of her stomach to settle. It doesn’t disappear, not entirely, but it becomes something she thinks she can control, if she tries.
For the first time in her life, she wants to try.
“You,” she says primly, fighting a smile, “are as delusional as ever, Bridgerton.” Then she tosses her legs over his knees and curls up into him, locking her arms behind his back. His chest rises and falls under her cheek as he exhales one long, relieved breath and grabs her thigh to haul her even closer.
She’s not sure how long they stay like that, his hand threading through her hair and his heart beating steadily under her ear, but at some point Anthony tips back so they’re horizontal, pulling the edges of the duvet around them, and Kate drifts off to sleep.
When she wakes, much later, to the weak, grey light of day and the patter of rain on the windows, she holds her breath, waiting for the crack of thunder that will send her spiraling. But it never comes. Anthony stirs behind her, banding his arm around her to draw her back toward his chest, just like she’d imagined the night before.
Maybe, she thinks, there is some kind of magic in that after all.
end