by Sorcha Grace
Later that day, I took Laird for a quick walk then drove to Willowgrass to show Ben and Amanda the images I intended to submit to Chicago Now. Outside, the street was empty, but when I stepped inside, the place was a hive of activity, and I was momentarily bewildered. Men and women moved purposefully about, shouting orders, and rushing here and there with clipboards, crates of fresh produce, and cases of wine.
“Catherine!”
I looked up to see Amanda waving from the loft dining area. She looked calm and beautiful in winter white cashmere. I waved back and wished I’d worn something cuter than dark-wash jeans, boots, and an oversized sweater with a T-shirt underneath. At least I had a filmy scarf tied around my neck.
“I’ll be right down.”
I waited, looking around as unobtrusively as possible. I didn’t think there was much chance William Lambourne would be there, but that didn’t stop me from secretly hoping. Amanda waved me to the bar, and I made my way around decorators, electricians, and stagers. I had a proof sheet printed, as well as the images on my tablet, and as soon as I opened the digital file, Amanda swiped through them. She scanned each photo carefully before she gave a nod and moved on to the next. Finally, she finished and handed the tablet back with a huge smile. “These are fabulous. Perfect! You’re a genius!”
“Well, the food was beautiful, and that made my job easy. And please, keep the proof sheet.”
Amanda clutched my arm. “Thanks. You should come to the opening party tomorrow night.”
I hopped off the barstool. “Oh, you don’t have to invite me.”
She shook her head, and I could see I was not going to dissuade her. “Beckett is coming, and I want you there, so we can introduce everyone to the fabulous photographer who took these gorgeous shots. Besides, I wouldn’t want to disappoint our investors.” She winked.
I gave her a perplexed frown.
She leaned into me. “William Lambourne asked about you after the shoot. He was that tall, dark-haired man in the grey suit? You must have noticed him. He seemed quite taken with you.”
“Really?” I tried to act nonchalant, but I felt a spark of fiery heat flare in my belly. “I don’t even know him.”
“How romantic! You have to come to the party and meet him officially then. I’ll introduce you myself. It starts at eight.” And then she melted into the crowd of workers.
And that’s how I ended up standing in front of my closet on Friday night, trying to figure out what to wear to a restaurant opening party—what to wear to see William Lambourne again. I heard my cell ring in the living room and called, “Beckett, will you get that?” Beckett was fetching wine, even though there would be plenty at the opening. I needed fortification beforehand. He knew I wasn’t comfortable at big parties, so he’d shown up with a bottle of white in one hand and a bottle of red in the other.
“Sure!” A moment later, I heard him answer, “Well, hello to you too, Jill! How are you?”
Ugh. My mother. I was so not in the mood for her flakiness. I could put her off, but it would only prolong the inevitable. And there was no hoping she’d call back at a more opportune time. She always called at the worst times. She had some inborn sense of when I felt insecure and harried.
Beckett’s voice grew closer, so I opened my bedroom door and held out my hand. Beckett made a circling sign, indicating my mother was going on and on, and then finally he said, “Oh, Jill, here’s Cat. Bye, now. Kisses!”
“Hi, Mom.”
Beckett breezed past me and peered into my closet, immediately shoving dresses aside and shaking his head.
“Hi, baby.” My mother’s voice was too loud and too bright. And too… southern? “How are you?”
“Good. I’m sort of getting ready—”
“Oh, good, good! Catherine, honey, I told you about Bobby Parsons, didn’t I?”
I should have known she wouldn’t want to hear about me. Why did I even try? “Bobby Parsons? Um, I don’t think so.”
Beckett held up a red dress I’d bought ages ago. It still had the tags on it. I shook my head and mouthed, no red.
“He’s the art collector? From Texas?” That explained the fake accent. My mother was like a chameleon, never uncomfortable in any situation. She just changed herself to adapt.
“Still doesn’t sound familiar, Mom.” I sipped my wine. Between my mother and Beckett, I might need more than one glass.
“Oh, honey, I told you!” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Remember—he’s rich and divorced?” Not surprisingly, this description did not help. Rich and divorced described every one of my mother’s boyfriends.
Beckett pulled out an orange dress and shook it enticingly. I covered the receiver. “No way!” What had I been thinking when I bought that? I’d look like a pumpkin in that thing. “Listen, Mom, I need to wrap this up. Can you tell me why you’re calling?”
“Of course.” She sounded cold now. I was an expert on my mother’s moods, but anyone would have known she was annoyed at my dismissal. “I can see you have more important things to do.”
“Mom…” I sipped more wine.
“I’m leaving tomorrow for St. Barts with Bobby. I didn’t want you to worry.”
I almost choked on the wine. “Not worry? I don’t even know this guy! How long will you be gone?”
“Just ten days.” She sounded as though she was smiling. She loved nothing better than to shock.
Ten days! How serious was this? I wasn’t exactly shocked, but I hadn’t seen this coming.
“There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll email you with the travel details.”
“Mom, no. I really don’t think this is the best idea.”
“Catherine, really. Learn to live a little!”
I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see—especially because she couldn’t see. Beckett pulled out a beige dress with a black geometric pattern and made a face.
“Have you followed through on your resolution?”
The stupid New Year’s resolution. I knew I shouldn’t have spent New Year’s Eve with my mother. “Mom, that was your resolution for me. Not mine. I don’t want to date right now.”
Beckett’s head snapped up, and he pointed as if to say, listen to your mother.
“Don’t want to date?” To my mother, the idea was ludicrous. A woman without a man was like a ring without a diamond. “What are you waiting for? You’re an intelligent, successful, attractive young woman. It’s time you got back out there. Jace—”
“Mom—” I had a good idea what she would say next, and I didn’t want to hear it, so I cut her off. “I’m going out tonight, so I really have to go.”
“Wait a minute. You’re going out tonight? Why didn’t you say so?”
“I did say so!”
“Who are you going out with?”
I sighed. “Beckett. We’re going to a really hip restaurant opening party. Lots of eligible guys will be there.” Including William Lambourne. “And I’ll think about going on a date. Soon, okay?”
“Promise me, honey.” And the accent was back again. I wanted to remind her she had been born in Southern California, not South Carolina, but I kept my mouth shut.
“Sure.”
“Ya’ll take care now.”
“We will. Bye. Love you.” I flopped down on my bed. I looked at Beckett and whined, “Do I have to go? Can’t I make popcorn, sit on the couch, and watch a movie instead?”
“You have to go.” Beckett pulled me up. “I’m not seeing the perfect outfit in this closet. Tell me you’ve already chosen it and are waiting to surprise me with the big reveal.”
“That’s it, exactly.” I walked to my closet, thumbed through hanger after hanger of black and pulled out a classic cashmere sweaterdress. It had a high neck and would keep me warm, plus the black would ensure I blended with the crowd.
“Oh, no! I would accuse you of joking, but I know you too well.” Beckett shoved the dress back in my closet. “You are not wearing that. That’s for traffic court or
for a job interview at a cardboard box factory. Totally not appropriate for a sexy, restaurant opening party for the hottest new chef in Chicago. No, no, no.”
“I thought you were the hottest chef in Chicago.”
Beckett grinned. “Flattery will get you everywhere—except into that dress. You need something sexy. Show off that rockin’ bod. The billionaire might be there…”
“I really don’t care if he is. I have nothing to say to the jerk.” I couldn’t look at Beckett when I said this because I knew he’d see through me in an instant.
“You haven’t even thought about him?”
“Not even once.” Bald-faced lie. I hadn’t not thought about Stormy Eyes for more than five minutes—his voice, his lips, his hard body. How much I would have liked to feel that body pressed against mine again.
I want to fuck you.
Beckett raised his brows. “Your cheeks are pink, Cat. What are you thinking about? Rather, who are you thinking about?” He held out the red dress.
“No, Beckett. No red. I don’t want to scream for attention. I want to blend with the crowd, you know?” But did I? Did I really? It had been a long time since I’d dressed for a man. I’d forgotten how exciting it could be—the sexy lingerie, the flirty outfit, the anticipation of his response. I secretly wanted to wow William Lambourne. I wanted his jaw to drop, and Beckett was right. The black sweaterdress wouldn’t do it. Still, I protested. “I’m not interested in William Lambourne’s attention,” I said and tried to make myself believe it. Lie, lie, lie.
“Honey, you could wear a paper bag, and that man would notice you. You’re gorgeous, and it’s obvious he wants you. He told you he wants you. How more obvious can you get?” Now, he leaned closer and raised his brows conspiratorially. “Why not torment him a little? Make him sorry for his obnoxious come-on at Willowgrass?”
It was the perfect incentive because Beckett knew I had a competitive streak and could be a little vengeful—not in a Fatal Attraction kind of way, but in a you-got-me-but-I’ll-get-you-back kind of way.
Beckett reached in my closet and pulled out several items, holding them up to form an outfit. “How about this?”
I had to admit that the outfit had potential. “I don’t know…” I could feel my lips curving into a smile. I could see what Beckett was going for, and it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t bad at all.
*****
An hour later, I walked into Willowgrass looking hot. I didn’t need anyone to tell me. I knew it. Beckett had impeccable taste, and his styling was always spot-on. Even I couldn’t argue with his choice for the evening. I’d slid into the sleek, fitted leather pants I had worn only one time since I bought them, the tissue-thin, metallic silver tank top, and the vintage man’s tuxedo jacket like I’d worn the outfit a thousand times. To top it off, I wore black stiletto booties. I never in a million years would have thought to put these pieces together, but when Beckett did it, I looked amazing.
What Beckett didn’t know—or maybe he did—was that underneath I was equally sexy. I had on my favorite dove grey La Perla bra with embroidered cups that had the added advantage of pushing my breasts up, giving me notable cleavage. Yes, my girls were really standing out tonight. I had on the tiny matching thong that went with the bra. If Stormy Eyes could only see me in this… not that I cared what he thought. Much.
Willowgrass was crowded and loud and filled with beautiful people. Music reverberated through the space, and the bass blended with the voices of Chicago’s hippest as they mingled and celebrated Ben Lee’s new venture. Beckett yelled above the roar that he would find me a drink and disappeared into the crowd.
I shifted from one foot to the other, never sure what to do at these events or whom to talk to. Handsome waiters circled with trays of Ben’s creations. I recognized all the dishes, and my stomach growled. Now that I wasn’t working with the food, and Beckett wasn’t spraying it with chemicals to make it shiny, I definitely wanted to taste it again. Then the hair on my arms prickled, and I gave a slight shiver. When I turned, I found William Lambourne standing beside me. He just appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He gave me a wolfish grin, and his grey eyes were full of… hunger. I couldn’t stop my gaze from sliding over him. He looked amazing in a classic, slim black suit. I could tell without seeing the tag that it was expensive. Very expensive. He’d paired it with a blue spread collar shirt and a meridian blue tie that set off his stormy eyes. I made the mistake of looking into his eyes then and caught my breath.
Those gorgeous eyes looked particularly turbulent, so much so that I had trouble catching my breath. I really couldn’t remember seeing a man I would have called beautiful, but that’s what this man was. He was beautiful. I had the fiercest urge to reach out and caress the plane of his cheek, trail my fingers down his arm, and feel his hard, toned bicep flex and release. Even as I had the thought, he acted.
This happened in about thirty seconds, so to anyone observing it must have looked like I was standing there, staring. “I’m so glad to see you here tonight, Catherine. Why don’t you come with me?” He purred this into my ear, and then he kissed me gently on the cheek. It was unexpected and almost sweet, and the gesture turned me on as much as it stunned me. And then I caught his scent. This time I could identify it—a heady mix of smoky whiskey and cinnamon on his breath. I had never smelled something so delicious. I was already slayed, liquid inside, and ready to do whatever he asked.
I felt the pressure of his hand on my lower back, warm and solid, dangerously close to the curve of my ass, and the boom of the bass was drowned by the thrumming of blood in my ears. I didn’t resist and was expertly propelled forward through the packed room, the crowds parting as though we were royalty. And maybe that’s what William Lambourne was: Chicago royalty.
I caught Beckett’s eye as I was escorted to the back of the restaurant. He was holding two drinks, but he set one down and gave me an unabashed thumbs up and a huge smile. I felt my cheeks heat, but I rolled my eyes and kept walking.
William—Stormy Eyes—I didn’t know what to call him since we still hadn’t been formally introduced—directed me to an open space at the end of the bar. Wonder of wonders, there were two open bar stools. Imagine that. In a place as packed as this, two seats were waiting. I barely had time to climb into my chair before the bartender set two drinks in front of Stormy Eyes. William nodded and slid one drink in front of me. He leaned close, and there was that dizzying scent again. “It’s bourbon. Three fingers. Neat. It’s meant to be sipped,” he murmured, his voice low and velvet soft. “Let it linger in your mouth and heat up, then swallow. You’ll feel the warmth right here.” He leaned and touched my chest above the valley between my breasts. I jumped. I didn’t expect him to touch me there, and even without sipping the bourbon, I could feel the heat building in me. How did he do that? How did he make taking a drink sound so sexual? I warmed just from the sexy timbre of his voice. Part of me wanted to do exactly what he said. Part of me wanted, desperately, to see what would happen next.
Another part of me glared. Another part of me seethed, unable to believe the nerve of this guy. Billionaire or not, no man had the right to drag me through a party, corner me, and then order me to drink something I didn’t even order. Brown liquor and I weren’t friends, and when I had indulged in the past—okay, admittedly too many shots of Jack Daniel’s at a college party probably didn’t compare with whatever pricy elixir was in the glass in front of me—it hadn’t gone well. I leveled my gaze at him. “I don’t know if this is your attempt at an apology, but it sucks.” What the hell. I lifted the glass, slammed down the bourbon in one swallow—no point in wasting it—and with my eyes watering, tried to rise from my stool, intent on making this the last of my encounters with Stormy Eyes. I wasn’t ready for this or for him.
The pressure of William’s hand on my thigh halted me. Firmly, he pushed me into my seat. “I clearly offended you the other day,” he said, his fingers spreading. “Believe me when I say, I’m not usually so forward. Catherine.�
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I could feel the liquor coursing through me, and I looked at his hand, still on my thigh. “Yes, I can see you’re the shy, retiring type, Mr. Lambourne.”
He laughed, a full, rich sound that reverberated, heating me up more than the bourbon. “I admit, I value directness. Sometimes I’m too direct, but subtlety has never been my style.” Another bourbon appeared before me, but I didn’t touch it. I couldn’t look away from those eyes. “Please, call me William. Or Will, if you like. Mr. Lambourne is a little too formal, don’t you think?”
I narrowed my eyes, and he gave me an innocent look.
“I’m glad you’re here. I want you to stay.” He continued talking. “Catherine, I like you. Very much. I promise, I’m going to be on my best behavior from now on.”
How could he possibly think that he liked me when he didn’t know me? I was trying to make sense of what he’d said while feeling the effect of the bourbon, and then a voice said from behind us, “I see you’ve finally met!”
I turned and saw Amanda smiling.
“William Lambourne, this is Catherine Kelly. She’s a wonderful photographer. Catherine, this is William Lambourne, and William is...” She hesitated, “Well, William is incorrigible.”
“Thank you, Miss Lee,” William said, cutting her off before she could say more.
With a grin, Amanda strode away.
“So, is incorrigible a job description?” I asked. “Or do you have another title? I didn’t think being bad was an actual profession.” I couldn’t believe I was bantering like this, as I was more the stunned into silence type, not the witty comeback type.
He sipped his bourbon. “I have titles, but I won’t bore you. And Amanda’s exaggerating. I’m hardly beyond reform. Anyway, I’m more interested in finding out about you, Catherine.” The way he said my name made a lump rise in my throat. His tongue rolled over the word slowly. “I understand you’re new to Chicago. What brought you here?”