A Taste of You (16 page)

There was one last link, and I clicked on it. The article talked about William not taking full ownership of his company until he turned thirty, which was nine months away. Certain divisions had been held in trust, but he was the sole heir to everything. And from what I could gather, the holdings for WML Capital Management were vast, all but unimaginable. I was dating one of the richest men in America. I clicked on the next page, and my eyes widened.

In perhaps the most telling display of Lambourne’s tenacity and determination, he deferred acceptance to Northwestern University to spend a year in Alaska, searching for evidence relating to the disappearance nearly a decade earlier of a bush plane his family had hired to transport them to a remote fishing village. Sources close to the family revealed that Lambourne had the investigation of the crash reopened, employed every resource available, and spent millions of dollars in an effort to find answers or locate his missing family. Though extensive efforts were made to locate the plane and recover any wreckage, Lambourne found nothing.

I felt his grief when I read that. I knew how determined and single-minded he could be. He would not have given up until he’d exhausted every avenue. And I understood, too, the hope he must have felt that there had been some mistake, that his family was still alive. After the accident that killed Jace, I had those feelings. I wanted it to be a bad dream. I wanted it to be a mistake. But I’d had to identify Jace’s body, fly from Hawaii to California with him, and I’d known there was no mistake. I buried Jace, but William never had that closure.

I didn’t know if reading the articles helped me understand William better, but he didn’t feel like a closed book anymore. And I understood why he was hesitant to share his life. I was willing to bet he no more wanted the piteous looks he’d received when he mentioned his family’s plane crash than I wanted those I received when I mentioned Jace’s death.

My phone rang, startling me, and I picked it up, expecting William. It was my mother. “Hi, Mom? Are you still in St. Barts?”

“Hi, baby. No, I came home early.” The Texas accent was gone, and she sounded like my mother again. “It wasn’t working out with Bob.”

“The art collector?”

“Ha! That’s what he said he was, but the man knew less about art than I do. I’m so tired of the dating scene. It’s impossible to get past a person’s mask.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Do you? Have you made good on your resolution and gone on a date?” Now she sounded motherly.

“Actually, I did.”

“Well, who was the lucky guy? Tell me about it.”

I could see her pushing back in her chair, propping her feet up, and settling down to listen to all the details. But I wasn’t ready to introduce William to my mother quite yet. “Just a guy I met here. We’ve gone out a few times. In fact, we have a date tonight.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Serious?” I chewed my lip. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, honey. I know you’re still grieving for Jace, but this doesn’t have to be complicated if you don’t let it be. It’s about honesty. Be honest with your feelings and with him. If you two are meant for one another, the problems will work themselves out.”

I didn’t subscribe to that rose-colored glasses philosophy, but my mother was right that I did make things more complicated than they needed to be. Look at her. She’d met a guy, followed her heart, and went to St. Barts with him. When it wasn’t working out, she didn’t question it or analyze it, she came home. There was something to be said for simplicity.

Maybe part of the reason things were so complicated with William was because I was keeping so much of my past a secret. I really needed to tell him about Jace.

*****

I knew William would be punctual, so I was ready at quarter to seven. I’d chosen jeans dyed the color of eggplant, black boots, and a cowl-necked black sweater. Underneath, I wore a sheer black bra with Chantilly lace arranged strategically over nude tulle. I’d paired it with matching nude and black Chantilly lace panties. I was a little nervous about telling William about Jace, but it didn’t have to be the first conversation of the night. We could go out, have fun, and I’d tell him at the end of the evening. That way, if he wanted an out, he had one.

William knocked on my door at precisely seven. “Laird, sit,” I ordered then opened the door. When I saw him, my heart thudded. He looked good in jeans, a fitted sweater, and a black leather jacket. “You look good enough to eat,” I said.

He grinned. “So do you. I hope you’re hungry.”

I was. I hadn’t known how hungry I was until he mentioned food. I’d forgotten the microwave meal. It was still sitting in the microwave. I wrapped a dressy cashmere scarf around my neck and donned a long wool coat. As soon as I stepped outside my door, I realized I’d forgotten the new gloves William had given me.

“Here,” he said, holding an identical pair.

I took them, frowning. “Thanks. How many pairs did you buy, or should I ask?”

“Don’t ask.” He put his arm around me, and we walked downstairs. It felt good to be with him, comfortable and easy. And I actually forgot my worries about Jace for a while. William was relaxed and smiling, his good mood infectious.

Anthony drove us to a wine-tasting at a funky new place in River North. The wine was great, and so were the appetizers. I knew I’d have to take Beckett. He would have loved it there, especially when the band started to play. They were a mix between alternative and classic rock. They played a few covers and their own stuff, too. By the end of the set, William and I were singing along to the songs we recognized.

“I think I found something you don’t do well,” I told him, leaning over so I could be heard.

“What’s that?” he said smiling.

“Singing. You’re awful.”

He laughed. I mean, he really laughed. It was such a surprise to see him let loose. I couldn’t speak for several seconds.

“I told you I can’t carry a tune,” he said. “I chose choir as my elective in middle school, and at the end of the semester, the director recommended I try art. So I did, though I’m no artist.” He took my hand. “Not like you. But I did gain an appreciation for which I am grateful.”

“And I’m sure ‘moody artist’ was more appealing to the girls than choirboy.”

“True,” he conceded. “But before I changed classes, I did learn the entire score of
Cats
. How many men can say that?”

I laughed. “I’m glad it wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. “Nothing is ever a waste of time. Every experience is a lesson, even your failures.”

“Mr. Lambourne? I’m sorry to interrupt.”

We’d been staring into one another’s eyes, and I’d almost forgotten that we were in public. William was seriously hot, and perhaps the interruption was a good distraction, because I was having rather warm feelings toward him.

William pulled his gaze away, and we glanced at the man in the chef’s uniform. “I’m John Levin, the head chef. I want to thank you for coming by tonight.” He held out a bottle of wine and a box.

“What’s this?” William asked.

“My favorite wine and an assortment of pastries. If you enjoy them, I’d love to hear from you.”

“Of course. Thank you.” William shook his hand, and the man returned to the kitchen.

“Does that happen often?”

William shrugged. “I invest in restaurants. As you know, I also have a winery. I’m sure he hopes I’ll love it and invest in him.”

“It’s a tough job, but I suppose someone has to be the test subject for wines and desserts.”

He grinned. “My job has its perks.” He stood. “Why don’t we take our wine and pastries to my place? I’d like to sample these in private.”

I stood and took his hand. “Great idea, but let’s go to my place tonight.”

On the ride home, William and I didn’t unclasp hands. We didn’t want to stop touching one another, and I knew I would have to bring up Jace right away if I wanted to say something before our clothes came off.

We walked into my apartment, and William took me into his arms and kissed me. I was immediately lost in his touch, his mouth, his warm body. He pulled away, gently, and said, “I’ll open the wine.”

We were in my condo, but he didn’t hesitate in the kitchen, finding the corkscrew and opening the wine. It was a red, so he let it breathe while he arranged the pastries on a plate. They looked delicious. I lit candles in the living room and curled up on my couch, smiling when he brought me a glass of wine and the pastries. I sipped the wine. “This is good.”

“I agree. Here, try this.” He held out a square of what looked like tiramisu, and I opened my mouth, allowing him to feed me. The dessert was sweet and delicious.

“This is delicious too,” I murmured.

“You’re delicious.” He leaned over and nuzzled my neck. I shivered in anticipation. His hand on my knee made lazy circles, and I really wanted him to keep going. But if we had sex, we wouldn’t talk, and I needed to talk.

I hated ending a perfect night with a discussion of my former husband, but I would hate myself in the morning if I avoided the topic. “William,” I said, between kisses. “Stop.”

He looked at me, his expression confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I mean—you’ve done nothing wrong. I have to tell you something…”

Thirteen

William sat back, his expression curious but guarded. “What is it?” He took my hand. “You can tell me anything, Catherine.” I saw the flicker of fear in his eyes. Before I might have thought it annoyance, but now, I knew better. A man who had his world shattered in an instant does not like surprises. And so, I would be succinct.

I took a deep breath. “It’s about my last relationship.” I took another breath. “It was serious. Very serious.” William stared intensely, his eyes locked on me, and I couldn’t hold his gaze. So I looked down and blurted it out. “I was married, William.”

Silence. After what seemed like an eternity, I looked up, and William’s brows were drawn, his eyes ice-blue. He was obviously carefully considering how to respond.

“
Was.
You’re not married now, right?” He spoke slowly, methodically.

“I’m not, but it’s a bit more complicated.” I hedged. I knew I was hedging.

“What’s complicated? Is your ex moving to Chicago or something? Is this going to be an issue?” He pulled his hand from mine.

“My husband died. William, I’m a widow.” I never thought I could shock William Lambourne, but clearly, I just had. As I watched him closely, there was a split second flicker, and then it was gone. I’d seen it, and I knew no matter what he said or did now, I was suddenly different in his eyes. I waited for William to speak, but he was quiet. The romantic mood, the easiness between us, was gone.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said finally.

If only I had a dime for every time someone had said that to me.

“How did he die?”

“It was a car accident. We were in Hawaii and had been at a party. I was driving. A car came out of nowhere, and he was killed instantly.”

William squeezed my hand. I appreciated the gesture.

“Had you been married long?”

“Only six months, but we’d been together since freshman year of college. We got married after I graduated.”

Another awkward silence. I felt like I had dropped a lead weight, and we were trying to figure out how to maneuver around it. I wished I had kept my mouth shut. This was uncomfortable. William had finally opened up, and now, I’d shut everything down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not really.” I hoped that we could move on and regain the relaxed vibe from earlier in the night.

“How long has it been?” William asked. “Am I the first person you’ve been with since?”

“A little over three years, and…no.” I’d considered that William might ask me that question, and there were two ways I could answer. I could leave my answer at
no
and stay on my careful path of avoidance, or I could take a chance and put myself out there. I swallowed. “But you’re the first person I’ve been interested in.”

I expected William to be thrilled at this revelation. After all, he’d told me over and over how different I was and how he wanted to be only with me. Instead of showing happiness and relief, he released my hand and rose. I watched as he ran a hand through his hair then paced back and forth. “William?”

He turned to face me abruptly. “So you’d still be with him then? If he hadn’t died?” He sounded petulant.

“Of course I would. Jace was the love of my life.”

His eyes turned stormy.

“I didn’t say this because I want to bring up old relationships. I want to be honest, and I needed to tell you.” I rose. “I thought you would understand after all you’ve been through.”

I could see the mask descend as his features went carefully neutral. His eyes turned colder and harder, devoid of warmth, like we were back at the Art Institute. He didn’t speak. He looked at me, and the silence grew. I raced to fill it, make it less uncomfortable.

“I know about your parents and your brother.” I crossed to him. “I’m sorry for
your
loss. I can’t imagine how hard it was, and you were so young…” I tried to put my arms around him, but he moved away. His look was stern, unyielding. We might have been negotiating a business deal, rather than talking about the deaths of our loved ones, although I was the only one talking.

“I need a glass of water,” he said, voice flat. “Would you like one?”

“No.”

He was already walking to my kitchen.

I stood alone in the living room, wondering what the hell had happened. I hadn’t expected this to go well, but in my worst imaginings, I didn’t see William acting pouty. He’d seemed annoyed that my marriage had been happy. I was prepared for William to return from the kitchen with some excuse for leaving. I’d crossed an invisible line, and he probably couldn’t wait to get away. To his credit, William came back with a glass of water and sat on the couch. I raised a brow. Perhaps he was going to stay?

He leaned forward and surveyed the assortment of pastries. “I read Chef Levin’s cheesecake is delicious. Come and try it.” He lifted it and held it out.

Reluctantly, I sat beside him and opened my mouth obediently. I wasn’t going to refuse cheesecake. It was delicious.Then William poured us more wine, and we regained some of the ground we’d lost with my revelation. By the time we’d finished the second glass of wine, he was nuzzling my neck again.

He stood and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go to bed.”

I didn’t argue as he led me to my bedroom, undressed me, and sat me on the bed. He kissed me, touched me, did everything right, but it was different. Before it had been explosive. He hadn’t led me to the bedroom—he’d carried me. The sex was still hot. He made me come with his mouth twice before he entered me and thrust until I came again. But something was off.

We didn’t talk when it was over, and I think he was dozing when I turned to him again. Sunday night he’d been insatiable. I didn’t think men could perform over and over like that. Now, I wanted to see how much he wanted me. Did he still find me tempting or was once enough? I kissed his chest, and he moaned approvingly. I saw his sex stir and grow hard, and that turned me on. It didn’t hurt that his chest was the kind a girl usually only saw in firefighter calendars. I worked my way down his body until I fastened my mouth on his erect member. He grabbed my hair and guided my head, showing me what he liked. “That’s right. Suck me hard, Catherine. Make me come.”

I looked up. “Oh, I will, but not like this.”

He raised a brow, and I straddled him.

“I like this view,” he said, taking my breasts in his hands and massaging my nipples until I panted. I took his cock and rubbed it against my clit until I was wet. Then I inserted the head into my sex and clenched around him.

He groaned. “You’re torturing me.”

“I think it’s only fair. You’ve teased and tortured me plenty.”

I slid him out and then back in, taking another half inch. In and out, in again, until finally, he filled me. It was so deep like this. I was impaled on his long, thick erection, and I moved my body up and down his glorious length, taking all of it. His hand came between us and massaged my clit, causing me to moan in pleasure. He was fully embedded now, and I could feel my orgasm mounting as I rode him.

He grabbed my hips, steadying me and thrusting. “It’s too much,” I said breathlessly, even as I opened myself to take him again.

“You can take me,” he answered, thrusting again and filling me. He pulsed inside, his huge cock swelling. And then, I felt his hot release, and I convulsed and shuddered. I would have fallen to the side from the strength of my orgasm if he hadn’t held my hips steady as he came. I arched back, and he touched my clit again, shattering me.

Finally, I grabbed him. “Enough.” We collapsed together, sated and exhausted. I dozed and tried not to think about what it was that was off between us. The sex had been excellent. Better than excellent, but…

I fell asleep with William spooning me. His arms were warm and tight around me. I felt safe and happy, but when I woke, I was alone.

I sat and pushed my hair out of my eyes. “William?” No answer. The bed sheets where he’d lay were cold. I checked the nightstand and then wandered into the living room, where I’d left my phone. No note, no text, no message.

He was gone.

*****

“I knew it,” I muttered to myself. “I knew something was off.” Still, he couldn’t say good-bye? He walked away? Maybe it was for the best. I wasn’t ready for this anyway, but that didn’t stop me from being royally pissed.

I was holding my phone, and I decided I wasn’t letting him off easily.

Not even a good-bye?
I texted. I waited and stared at the screen.

Didn’t want to wake you.

I waited. Was that all? No flirtation? No sexy comment?

Another message popped up.
I’ll be in touch later.

I stared at the phone then threw it down in anger.

I’d opened up. I’d made myself vulnerable, and this was the payment I received. But really, what could I expect? I was a twenty-five-year-old widow, and that was too much baggage—probably for most men.

Maybe William’s family history made it harder.

Maybe being with me reminded him of the family he’d lost.

Maybe he was an asshole who’d totally dumped me.

Everything I’d feared had come true. Before I started sobbing I grabbed my phone again and called Beckett. It was early, but he’d understand. The phone rang three times before he answered. “Hey, Cat.” He sounded sleepy but not angry.

“Hey.” My voice cracked, and I could almost see him awaken and sit.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just—I really need to talk to someone.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Thanks.” I felt guilty about making him run over so I could dump on him, but I felt better when I remembered we had to discuss the Fresh Market account anyway. It wouldn’t be a total dumpfest.

I threw on sweats and took Laird outside for a quick walk then showered and dressed in leggings and a long sweater. As I pulled my damp hair into a ponytail, Beckett called. I buzzed him up and opened the door to the smell of coffee. He held out the tray. “You sounded like you needed this.”

“Thanks.” I took a cup and sipped, knowing Beckett had doctored it to my preferences.

“I don’t suppose you have anything to eat,” he said, walking inside and giving Laird a pat on the head.

“Actually, I do.” We sat at the table, eating the profiteroles and cream puffs in the bakery box William and I had brought home. They were delicious, but I hardly tasted them. Beckett raved about how good they were for five minutes then leaned forward.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

I told him everything, how William and I had a great date, how we’d come back to my place, how I’d got up the nerve to tell William about Jace.

“Did he run?” Beckett asked without preamble.

“No, he slept over part of the night. He was gone when I woke up.”

“That explains the early morning phone call.”

“Sorry.” I stared into my coffee.

“I’m glad you called. You took a big step last night. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah. It worked out great.”

“You don’t know how it’s going to work out.” He rooted in the bakery box. “Do you want this tart?”

I waved my hand, indicating permission.

“Cat, you can’t change your life. You loved Jace. He loved you. And he died. You are still alive, and you can’t stop living because Jace isn’t here. I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it again, it’s okay to fall in love. Maybe this guy isn’t the one.”

“You think?”

“But…” He held up a finger. “But maybe he is. Give him a chance. If he really cares about you, your past won’t matter.”

“I know you’re right.” And that was why I’d called Beckett. He always knew what to say. “Since you’re here, we might as well discuss Fresh Market.”

We went over the meeting and our ideas, comparing notes. We had a couple great shots in mind. I told Beckett he could contact Alec with the questions. I could see he was looking for a reason to speak with the cute assistant art director. “So what are you up to the rest of the day?” Beckett asked.

I shrugged. “Work, I guess.”

“How about I come over tonight and make you dinner? I scored some beautiful organic duck breasts last night, and I’ve got this great recipe for a mushroom truffle polenta that I want to try.”

“Glad you’re so excited about breasts.” I couldn’t help it and cracked up.

“Ha ha, Cat.”

“Okay, sorry. It sounds fabulous. I’ll get some wine.”

“Perfect. I’ll be here at six to start cooking.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and left.

I ambled around and worked for a few hours, feeling sorry for myself, and then I remembered the film I’d taken on my Leica on Sunday. I pulled the camera out, changed into ratty old clothes stained with developer fluid and smelling of stop bath. I threw an apron over everything, pulled my ponytail into a messy bun, and headed into my darkroom.

I didn’t need the darkroom for work. Just about everything I did in that arena was digital. Yet there was something amazing and inspiring about seeing an image develop before my eyes. That feeling of creating with my own hands made me cling to the old art form of developing my own prints. And for me, working with my hands, coaxing the image onto the paper, rinsing the chemicals, and watching them dry was cathartic. It took my mind off whatever was bothering me. I’d done a lot of work in my darkroom in Santa Cruz right after Jace had died.

I didn’t even hear the knock on the door at first. And when I did, I swore, pulled my gloves off, and slid behind the black drape before opening the door to my pantry. I glanced at the clock, worried it might already be six, and I hadn’t picked up wine for dinner. But I had plenty of time.

I pulled the door open and stared in wonder at William. He was wearing a slim-fitted, blue pinstripe suit, and he looked dashing, like he was born to wear it. I, on the other hand, was a mess.

He raked his eyes over me and gave me a bemused smile. “In the middle of something?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“I came directly from the office. I wanted to see you, but I did pick this up.” He held a small brown shopping bag with handles.

“What’s in the bag?” He never showed up empty-handed.