A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series)

by Grace, Sorcha

  “A word, Mr. Lambourne.”

  William shot me an apologetic look. “Give me just a minute.” He kissed me lightly on the cheek and stroked my upper arm, then stepped away with George. They walked as they spoke, heading toward the second group of two or three people. I stood there alone, feeling momentarily uncertain, and then moved toward the first group, where Anthony smiled at me and William’s executive assistant, Parker, stood scrolling through a Smartphone. As I approached, she glanced up, gave me a quick smile, and asked, “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Kelly?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine,” I said, distracted by watching William and George reach the second group of people, who were only a few feet away from us. With the roar of the jet engines, I couldn’t make out anything that was being said.

  “Just let me know if you change your mind, Miss Kelly.” Parker added.

  “Please, it’s Catherine. And I don’t need anything, thanks,” I replied as I kept watching. I didn’t recognize anyone in that group, and then I spotted a beautiful, statuesque, dark-haired woman. I didn’t recognize her either, but she was hard to ignore. She wore a tight black skirt and a matching jacket, with four-inch stilettos accenting her already long, lean legs. Generous cleavage swelled at the V of her jacket, and she had the famous California tan I missed seeing when I looked in the mirror. Her wide, dark brown eyes were fastened unapologetically on me, and she didn’t look away when our gazes clashed. I didn’t recognize her, but William obviously did. He enfolded her in a warm embrace then kissed her on the cheek.

  Jealousy stabbed through me and I had to look away. I’d spent years with Jace on beaches all over the world, surrounded by women in bikinis who were more than happy to attempt to entice a famous surfer. But I never worried about Jace and I’d never felt even so much as a twinge of envy when he talked to one of his fawning, flirty fans. But everything between William and me was so new. I never thought I was a jealous person, but I’d already had moments of jealousy with him and now I was having another one. I needed to get a grip, but I had a thousand questions, most importantly: who the hell was this woman and who was she to William?

  I returned my gaze to William and watched as he seemed to linger beside her. She was perfectly comfortable touching him, stroking his shoulder and placing her hand possessively on his forearm. In fact, she seemed to touch him as much as possible, even making certain her breast rubbed against his arm when she stood beside him. I shifted impatiently, waiting for William to walk back or call me over and introduce us, but after a few moments, it became clear that wasn’t going to happen. After yet another embrace, she moved away, leaving William to exchange a few more private words with George.

  What the hell was that? I thought as I clenched my hands by my sides. My heart was racing and I felt nervous and jittery all over. How could William be so solicitous, so attuned to my every need in the bedroom and then forget something basic like introducing me, his girlfriend, once we arrived? I stood awkwardly and unsure on the tarmac, my face heated with embarrassment and anger.

  I tried to be discrete, but I kept looking over at her. She was tall and willowy—I’d bet money that she was a former something, actress or model. I could totally see it.

  I tried to reassure myself. William had brought me. He’d said he needed me. Not an hour ago, we’d been pleasuring one another on his private plane. It was me he’d had his mouth and hands on just minutes ago. It was my hand that had made him come. I clenched my hands again and willed all these ridiculous insecurities away. It felt like the Art Institute all over again—my worst first date ever—but instead of Chicago ice princess socialite Lara Kendall, a brunette California version was staring daggers at me from just a few feet away. Great. William still hadn’t spilled the details of his previous relationship with Lara and that still irked me, though he’d made it clear there was nothing and had never been anything serious between them. He’d probably tell me the same thing about this woman. If I asked. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  With nothing else to do but stew and imagine the worst, I stood in place, alone, and peered about the airport, inhaling the sweet, familiar air and staring at the mountains in the distance. I’d missed the jagged landscapes of California. Illinois was so flat, the vistas unrelieved except by an occasional glimpse of the lake. But as much as I longed for this home, that ball of dread was rolling around in my stomach. I remembered leaving California. Vividly. It felt like another life, and like I’d been another person. And I had been. I was Cat Ryder then, not Catherine Kelly. So much had changed in the last year.

  Finally, William looked as though he was wrapping up. He nodded to George and then strode to me. “Come on,” he said with a smile, taking my hand and squeezing it. “I have something to show you.”

  As we walked toward the small terminal, he pulled me close to him, close enough that I could smell the lavender body wash from his quick shower on the jet after our fooling around. I smiled back at him, his anticipation contagious, but as I looked over my shoulder at the plane we’d just exited and at his people now scattering across the tarmac, I couldn’t help but feel that making this trip was a big mistake.

  ***

  “Your luggage is already on the way to the house,” William said once we entered the terminal. Another one of the perks of traveling like the super rich, I supposed.

  “What’s it like, this house of yours?” I asked as we walked through an empty waiting area. William’s penthouse was majorly impressive, so I had no idea what to expect in St. Helena. He didn’t answer, so I kept chattering. “You haven’t mentioned anything about it and I’m so curious.” I was trying to keep things light and cheerful and I really was excited, but I was also doing everything I could to not ask about the sexy brunette in his welcoming committee. He just smiled and led me to the exit.

  We stepped outside and William paused, then veered me toward a stunning vintage silver Porsche convertible parked at the curb. I looked up and his smile had broadened into a wide grin

  “Wow,” I said as I stopped and admired the car.

  William walked to the passenger side and opened the door for me. “Get in,” he said.

  I did and he waited until I pulled my legs in and buckled my seatbelt before he closed the door. He’s being so sweet, I thought as I watched him round the front of the car. He was still all smiles, his gait easy. He seemed more relaxed here, more comfortable, while I was trying not to let on that I was anything but.

  Once he was in the driver’s seat, he turned and asked, “Will you be warm enough? I’d like to keep the top down, but I’ll put it up if you want.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I smiled. “Top down. Definitely.” I was wearing a sweater, and after witnessing William’s welcoming committee, I could use a little cooling off.

  “Excellent choice. Ready?”

  I nodded. William smiled again and then started the engine. The car turned over with a purr and we pulled away. The clear sky was streaked with the colors of the setting sun as we sped out of the airport, and my heart felt too full when William took my hand and entwined his fingers with mine.

  The wind was whipping my hair around my face and I wished I had a ponytail holder, but it wasn’t too loud to talk. “So this is a Porsche, right?” I asked. Of course it was a Porsche, but I also couldn’t help but notice that he seemed particularly proud of it and I wanted to know why. As wealthy as he was, I hadn’t seen him act so attached to a thing before, so this was new.

  “Yep,” he answered. “This is my California car.”

  “It’s the perfect car for here,” I said. “When did you get it?”

  “It was my father’s, actually.”

  I swallowed my surprise and attempted to act nonchalant. William so rarely talked about his family. I knew there was something special about this car.

  He nodded and continued, “It’s a 1969 Speedster. My mother gave it to my father for his fortieth birthday. I was about five and I remember what a big deal it was. My father
loved this car. He kept it at our lake house and only drove it in the summers. It was put in storage after they died.”

  My heart clenched. This was why I came to California. This was the side of William I wanted to see. “Why did you get it out of storage?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to drive it. I wanted to drive it my whole life. After I bought the vineyard in Napa, I had it restored and shipped out here.” Then he smiled. “It is the perfect car for California.”

  And he looked perfect in it. His dark hair whipped back from his face, showcasing his strong cheekbones and straight nose. He had the most beautiful profile of any man I’d ever met, especially with the golden light of the early evening flickering across his skin. He looked a whole lot more comfortable and relaxed driving the Porsche than he ever did behind the wheel of his black Range Rover in Chicago.

  William squeezed my hand again before releasing it to grab the gear shift. “Hang on. It’s about a forty minute drive.” He shifted, and the car jumped smoothly forward.

  I laughed from sheer pleasure, and he laughed with me. Neither of us had forgotten the reason we were in California. Wyatt was never far from my thoughts or, I’m sure, William’s, but already he seemed happier here. I’d never seen him smile or laugh so much. Maybe it had been a good decision to come with him after all. I started to relax a little too.

  The drive was amazing, even for a native Californian like me. I’d been to Napa before, but I never paid much attention to the rolling hills and green square fields, divided into rows and rows of grapes. I wanted to grab my camera and shoot a few landscapes, but I knew I’d have time for that later. William threaded his fingers through mine or rested his hand on my thigh when he didn’t need to shift, and his touch helped keep me warm.

  Finally, William turned into a drive lined with trees. “We’re almost there,” he said. The drive was long and straight, slightly uphill, and the trees formed a canopy overhead until we finally emerged. Set among lush bushes and more trees was a very large Mediterranean-style stucco house with a vivid red tile roof. “This is home,” William said.

  I glanced at him, surprised. This house was the antithesis of everything I’d known of William so far. In Chicago, his penthouse, his office, everything about him was sleek, modern, and minimalist to the point of being cold and impersonal. This place was the exact opposite.

  He was looking at me, so I cleared my throat and tried to think of something to say. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Welcome to Casa di Rosabela.”

  The house had a name? Was I in the Twilight Zone? William owned a house with a name. I don’t know why this surprised me, but it did.

  “It was built in the 1920s,” he said as he slowed the car and pulled around the circular drive to stop in front of the door. “I didn’t name it. The Italian man who built it and established the vineyard here named it for his wife.”

  “That’s so romantic.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” He climbed out of the car and though I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the door, he was there before I could open it. He helped me out, then rested his hand lightly on the small of my back and guided me toward the house.

  I couldn’t help but stare at the house and manicured grounds and marvel. I wondered how much something like this went for. Ten million? Twenty million maybe? Caught up in my astonishment, I missed half of what William was saying and finally tuned back in when he led me through the front door. “It’s eleven-thousand square feet with about thirty acres dedicated to grapes plus an olive orchard.”

  I nodded, mutely, as he led me by the hand into a large open living room. The floors were tiled and the high ceilings had exposed wooden beams. Huge windows overlooked the sloping vineyard with its perfect rows extending as far as I could see. Beyond them, in the last light of dusk, sat majestic hills, stately sentinels of all they surveyed.

  The entire place was meticulously and very expensively decorated in what I’d call California chic, traditional but with a clean modern flair, and complimented by a gorgeous art on just about every wall. I didn’t know where to look first. William led me on a tour and I saw the screening room, the gym, and the small tasting room, and peeked at the outdoor area, fully equipped with a pool, fireplace, outdoor kitchen, and dining area. William told me there were two guest casitas and buildings for the work of the winery. It was late, and he promised to show me those tomorrow.

  “And this is the best room in the house,” William said, pulling me by the hand. He had yet to release my hand and had smiled and studied my reaction to everything in the house. But for the first time, he seemed to look for my approval. He led me around the corner and through an arched doorway. “This is the kitchen.”

  I laughed. I’d half expected—maybe wanted—him to show me the bedroom. But, of course, William’s favorite room would be the kitchen. And I could see why he loved it. It was a real chef’s kitchen, equipped with all the top-of-the-line appliances Beckett was always going on about. But unlike William’s sterile kitchen in Chicago, this one was warm and vibrant with colorful painted tiles, rich wood cabinets topped with dark stone counters, and gleaming copper pots of all sizes hanging from a big iron pot rack. Still no refrigerator magnets or silly pictures of bicycle-riding chefs, but this room felt warm and welcoming in a way his penthouse kitchen never could.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Do you like my house?”

  I didn’t know what to say. It was overwhelming. I knew William was rich, but knowing something intellectually was different than being surrounded by it, by such unimaginable wealth. And it was so unexpected. This place was so different from what I’d known of William so far. My head spun. William was still looking at me and his hand tightened on mine.

  “It’s incredible,” I told him. “I love it—really, really love it. I feel…I don’t know…comfortable here.”

  “Good. I want you to feel at home. Tomorrow I’ll show you the vineyard. I’m focusing mostly on whites, including champagne, but I have a small area for reds and our first bottling of a very special rosé is finally ready. I can’t wait to show you the barn and the wine cave tomorrow too.” He sounded so excited, which made me smile.

  “Wine cave? Is that like a bat cave?” I laughed. “I don’t know much about wine.”

  He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’ll teach you.” His gaze moved away from mine, and he smiled and nodded. I turned to find a petite Hispanic woman standing in the doorway. “Catherine, this is Fernanda, my cook and housekeeper.”

  I reached out to shake her small hand. Her eyes were large and deep brown. “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “We’ve been expecting you, Miss Kelly.” She nodded at William. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Lambourne. I’ve prepared everything as you requested.”

  “Thank you, Fernanda.” William smiled at me. “I’ll be cooking dinner for us.”

  “Ring me if you need me, Mr. Lambourne.” Then she turned and walked into what I guessed was the pantry.

  William took my hand again. “One more room, Catherine.” From the velvet tone of his voice I had a feeling I knew where we were going. Finally.

  He took me up a set of stairs and guided me down the hall to the master suite, which was more like the master wing. The rooms—plural—were huge and luxuriously furnished in rich, dark tones, and the bedroom contained the biggest bed I’d ever seen.

  “Is this a bedroom or a small country?” I joked as I bounced on the bed with my feet dangling off the edge.

  William gestured to the closet. “Your luggage has already been unpacked.” He opened the door, then pulled me up and led me inside a closet that was bigger than my living room. The few clothes I’d brought hung in the front, but there were also clothes I’d never seen before. I glanced at William, and he couldn’t contain his grin. “I told you I’d make sure you had everything you needed.”

  I gaped at him as I ran my hand over the racks of clothing, feeling the sensuous fabrics. There was a small, thoug
htfully planned wardrobe here—everything from jeans to two evening dresses—and though it didn’t favor my favorite color, black, it seemed to suit me. I wondered if William had picked out all of this himself and if so, when. I didn’t know about this. “These are all for me?”

  “Of course they’re for you,” William said, but I was hardly listening. I moved into the closet and stared at racks of shoes and a whole section of drawers filled with lingerie. Really top notch lingerie, the kind I drooled over.

  “William…I-I…this is too much,” I managed.

  “Nothing is too much for you. And I told you I’d take care of everything.” He gave me a tender kiss on the lips and cupped my face with his hands. “Relax. Freshen up. Come down when you’re ready. Dinner will be at eight.”

  I nodded, my heart pounding and my head spinning as I watched him leave.

  As soon as I was alone, I flopped back on the giant bed. Holy shit. For a few moments I was simply too stunned to do more than lie there. And then I seriously needed to talk to someone.

  I grabbed my cell and called Beckett. He answered on the second ring, and I heard music in the background. “Is this a bad time?” I asked.

  “Of course not! I’ve been dying to talk to you. Are you in Napa?”

  “Yes. And get this, Beckett.” I told him about the private jets and our fooling around at thirty thousand feet.

  “Cat, I would seriously hate you if I didn’t love you so much.”

  I laughed. “I would hate me too, and I haven’t even told you about the house yet.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “It’s incredible, Beckett. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a mansion—like a straight-out-of-the-rolling-hills-of-Tuscany kind of mansion.”

  “Listen to you, auditioning for HGTV or something.”