A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series)
Page 15
When he pulled out, my knees buckled, but William caught me. Tenderly, he cleaned me and himself, then shut off the water and dried me. I sat on the bed for several minutes, wrapped in a towel and waiting for my legs to regain their strength and my heart to stop racing. William, seemingly unaffected, dressed slowly, and I admired his body as he went through the mundane chore. Why had I ever doubted I was in love with him? I felt safe with him, complete with him, and I knew I would never get enough. I couldn’t even stand, and still I wanted more of him.
I wanted to tell him how I felt. I wanted to share that with him too, whisper my love, press my heart to his, hold him. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Finally, I got up and got dressed. We left at the same time, and he gave me a toe-curling goodbye kiss at the door to my building. “Come over for dinner tonight,” he said.
“Tonight?”
He put a finger on my lips. “You haven’t been to the penthouse for a while and I have something I want to show you. So yes, tonight.”
“Ok.”
He kissed me again and was gone. I closed my eyes and sighed, the secret I carried feeling heavier than ever.
***
I headed over to Beckett’s, taking the L to Lakeview so I didn’t have to dig my car out of a snowdrift and then drive on the slippery roads. Normally I checked email on the train, but today I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jeremy and my morning with William. I almost missed my stop. At Beckett’s apartment, he and I worked for most of the morning on the shots for Fresh Market. Finally, we were satisfied—and I reminded Beckett again that his “cherries in the snow” idea was positively brilliant—and we decided to take a break before going over the images one last time and hitting send. Beckett called Alec to make plans for the evening, and when he was through, he sat beside me on his couch. “Everything doesn’t have to be so complicated, Cat.” He set a bottle of water beside me and sipped from his own.
“Jeremy makes it complicated,” I answered, clutching one of Beckett’s pillows to my chest and staring out the bay window. He lived in a cute courtyard building. His one bedroom was small but he’d made great use of all the vintage features, playing them up so the style was classic but still modern and comfortable. On the wall across from me was a framed black and white of Beckett and me at high school graduation. We looked so young and fresh-faced. That was before Jace and Jeremy.
“Jeremy is a minor complication. Can’t you just forget him?”
“I wish I could. But…I didn’t tell you everything the other night. There’s more.” I then proceeded to confess all, about Jeremy and his lame apology for his mother, and then about his saying that he wanted me back. And I filled him in on my fight with William, about Anya, about William’s security people secretly trailing me to the airport, and how he said I shut down and ran before I ever gave him a chance to explain himself. “And the topper was that he thinks I was intentionally with Jeremy, talking to him about Jace, because I still can’t let Jace go. Like leaving me at his house for a few days upset me so much that it drove me back to being a grieving widow who couldn’t get over her dead husband. And then he promised me he’d always come back and that he’d never leave me. How about that?”
Beckett just looked at me for a minute. “Seriously? He really said all of that?”
“Yeah, he did.” I waited for Beckett’s response, which wasn’t instantaneous.
“He’s totally got you pegged. I’m impressed.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe Beckett said that. “Shut up! He does not! It wasn’t like that at all. And that’s not what I am. I care about William, and I want to be with him.”
“But, Cat, you told me on the phone less than an hour after you got to Napa that you weren’t ready. His fabulous manse wigged you out so badly that you were about to throw in the towel then and there. And you were upset that he left you. That’s all you’ve been talking about for days. How William abandoned you at his luxurious Napa Valley estate and left you all by yourself and didn’t call you. Maybe you didn’t seek out Jeremy to console you about Jace, but come on. You had the dream. That means something. And you were obviously scared to be alone. Not haunted house scared, but definitely not comfortable on your own. You freaked out, right? So maybe he has a point. Maybe you aren’t all in.”
I was speechless and didn’t even know how to respond.
“Remind me again how Jeremy makes this more complicated?” Beckett added.
I took a deep breath. “Because I need to tell William the truth about Jeremy. I don’t think it’s fair to keep it from him. I can’t lie to him, Beckett. Not after that, not after what he said. Besides, I don’t think it would take his team much digging to figure it out, so it’s just a matter of time anyway. He deserves to hear it from me.”
“I don’t buy that. William never had his guy investigate you, so why would he start now? Plus, you haven’t played the let’s-tell-each-other-our-number game—which, by the way, is always a game without a winner—so you’re just omitting one tiny detail about Jeremy. Do you want William Lambourne telling you about all the women he’s slept with? Do not start that conversation.”
“Jeremy wasn’t just a number. He was my brother-in-law. I should tell William.” I buried my face in my hands. “And I don’t know how I’m going to. It’s so awful.”
“Cat, it’s not that awful. You were twenty-two and grief-stricken. You made a bad decision and it was just sex. Give yourself a break. People make bad decisions in crisis times. It happens. Get over it.”
I sipped the water and turned the bottle in my hands, considering. “It was more than just a bad decision.”
“Ok, so it was a bad decision that lasted a few months or so.”
I turned the water bottle to and fro, sick at the memories assaulting me. The first time Jeremy and I hooked up was after Jace’s memorial service. What kind of wife sleeps with another man on the day of her husband’s funeral? Me, that’s who. I’d been drunk, but that wasn’t an excuse. I knew it was wrong. And not just wrong because my husband had died only days before and I had just buried him. It was wrong because Jeremy was Jace’s brother. That was wrong on a whole other level.
It didn’t take a psychoanalyst to figure out why I did it. I was out of my mind with grief and in serious denial. Jeremy looked so much like Jace, and he had so many of the same expressions and mannerisms. He was my friend, too, and the closest thing I had to my dead husband.
That first time I think I was genuinely a little confused. Jeremy had driven me home from the horrible memorial service, made all the more horrible by that fucking Mrs. Ryder, and I’d turned to him. He should have rejected me, but he didn’t. We ended up in bed—in Jace’s and my bed at our place by the beach—and the next day I just felt numb. Those days right after the accident were a total blur and I was exhausted and overwhelmed and so very lonely. Jeremy helped me forget, for just a little while, the horrible turn my life had taken. But that didn’t last very long.
Jeremy wasn’t a bad guy. I didn’t think he planned to seduce me, and it hadn’t been like that. He’d been hurting too, and I’d wanted to believe we were using each other for comfort. That was my justification, though even then I’d known it was weak. And I’d known it was a lie. Jeremy wasn’t using me. I was using him
Alcohol was usually involved, I was often the pursuer, and the sex between us was never very good. But to me, it was better than being alone. I’d missed Jace so badly my bones hurt and the pain was made even worse by my guilt. I’d been driving the car, I’d been drinking at the beach before I got behind the wheel, I hadn’t seen the pick-up truck barreling toward us until it was too late. I was the one Jace’s parents and most of our friends blamed for his death. I was lucky the police didn’t blame me too, but the driver of the pick-up truck, a chronic alcoholic with a long list of previous DUIs, had been drunk off his ass and the accident was deemed his fault. He too had died at the scene, which left me the only one who walked away.
I was so distraught and emotionally drained that I didn’t have the strength to even offer Jeremy an explanation; I just stopped talking to him. I cut him out of my life like a cancer. I stayed away from him, kept my head down, and focused on trying to get myself back together. After about a year, I left Santa Cruz and moved to Chicago. Jeremy wasn’t the only reason, but he was a big motivator. And, as fate would have it, Jeremy was the person I ran into in Napa. It was like the universe was having the last laugh or punishing me for the horrible way I’d acted. And even after I was such an asshole to him, Jeremy still wasn’t over me. He was engaged, and he was willing to throw that away to be with me. That was its own unique torture.
“You can beat yourself up about it all over again,” Beckett said, “or you can leave it in the past, where it belongs.”
“Once William knows—”
“Why does William need to know? It doesn’t matter anymore. I know you feel some sort of responsibility to come clean about this with William, but no good can come of that. Trust Papa Beckett on this one.”
I smiled briefly. “So…what? I keep Jeremy a secret?”
“You keep one tiny aspect of your relationship with him a secret, and you move on with your life. You enjoy your rich boyfriend and his mansions and vineyards and private jets—I still cannot believe he has five. That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re just jealous because you haven’t been on one.”
“Yet.” Beckett raised a finger. “I have faith you’ll wrangle an invitation for me. Maybe a little jaunt to…oh, I don’t know…Paris?”
“Oh, sure.” Beckett was right. I needed to let the whole Jeremy affair go. It was over and it didn’t matter, and I should stop worrying about it.
Beckett was waxing poetic about spring in Paris when I heard my phone. I dug in my purse, pulled it out, and frowned at the number. “No idea who this is,” I murmured but answered anyway. “Hello, this is Catherine Kelly.”
“Catherine Kelly,” a man repeated in a sexy Southern twang. “You’re exactly the woman I was trying to reach.”
Beckett was looking at me expectantly, and I gave him a bewildered look. “Do I know you?” I asked.
“Not yet, but we can rectify that quick enough. This is Hutch Morrison,” he drawled. “I believe my assistant called a few days ago.”
“Oh my God. Yes. I am so sorry I haven’t called back.” I pointed to the phone and mouthed Hutch Morrison.
Beckett gave me a look filled with horror. “You didn’t call back?” he hissed. Then he practically sat on my lap to press his ear to the phone.
“Don’t worry about that now. I like a woman who plays hard to get, and I also like a woman with the kind of talent you have. I’ve seen your work.”
“Oh, great.” It was lame, but I never knew how to respond to compliments.
“Those cock kabobs for Fresh Market were inspired.”
“I—” How did one respond to that sort of compliment? I looked to Beckett for help, but he was doubled over laughing.
“And your work in Chicago Now impressed me as well. I think you’re perfect, Miss Catherine Kelly.”
“Um, perfect for what?”
“That’s what I’d like to meet with you about. I’m working on a little e-book project. It’s what I’d call cutting edge. I need someone who can pull off cutting edge. I think you’re the girl I want to get in bed with on this. Say you’ll meet with me.”
“I…um…”
“Don’t turn me down and break my heart before you’ve even met me in person. I don’t bite. Well, I don’t bite very hard.”
“I wouldn’t dream of turning you down, Mr. Morrison.”
“Mr. Morrison is my daddy. Call me Hutch.”
“I’d love to meet with you, Hutch.”
“Wonderful. How about next week at Morrison Hotel?”
“Great.” I frowned at Beckett who had my laptop open and was furiously typing something into the browser.
“I’ll have my people get with your people to arrange schedules.”
“I am my people.”
“See, I knew I’d like you. I’m half in love with you already. I’ll see you soon, Miss Catherine.”
I set the phone down and shook my head. What the hell had that been? On the computer, Beckett had pulled up an image of Hutch Morrison. It was similar to the one he’d texted me—a tattooed, muscled guy who was sexy as hell. Beckett grabbed my hand. “Tell me everything.”
“He’s working on a cutting edge e-book project, and he thinks I’m perfect for it.”
“Of course you’re perfect for it!”
“He’s seen my work—the Fresh Market billboards and the spread in Chicago Now.”
Beckett fell back on the couch. “I cannot believe this is happening. I’m so lucky!”
“You?”
“Yes! If you meet Hutch Morrison and work with him, it’s just a matter of time until I meet Hutch Morrison, and look at the guy. He’s fucking hot.”
“What about Alec?”
“Alec will have to find his own celebrity chef crush. Hutch is all mine.” Beckett gave me a serious look. “Besides it’s just a crush.” His fingers were flying over the keyboard again. “You have to get this job, Cat. You have to. Hutch Morrison is the shit. Look at this.” He’d pulled up some sort of curriculum vitae and read the highlights. “Hutch Morrison is thirty-three, an internationally known culinary genius. Look at this.” He jabbed a finger at a list of awards.
“That’s impressive.” I didn’t know a lot about cooking, but I recognized some of the awards. James Beard, Food & Wine, Michelin…
Beckett was going on and on, but I couldn’t help wondering if William had anything to do with Hutch Morrison’s interest in me. Did WML Capital Management have a stake in Morrison Hotel? The meeting next week would definitely be interesting, and not only because Hutch Morrison was charming and sexy. I was already intrigued by the project he’d alluded to.
“Don’t worry, Beckett, if I’m brought on board and they need a food stylist, I’ll recommend you.”
“Oh my God. I could come just thinking about it.” He fell back in mock orgasm, and I shook my head. Beckett was playing around, but I knew when he was genuinely excited. If Hutch Morrison got Beckett this worked up, he was someone I wanted to collaborate with.
“Wait until I tell Alec,” Beckett said, grabbing his phone.
“You’d better tone it down a little. Alec will be jealous.”
“Ha! Alec will want an introduction to Hutch too. He has excellent taste.”
“Obviously.” I gestured to Beckett.
“And if I piss him off, I know how to win him back.”
“How?”
“He has a weakness for my flourless chocolate cake.”
“What’s that?” I’d never had Beckett’s flourless chocolate cake, and usually he tried out his new desserts on me.
“It’s something new I’m working on. I use espresso in it and I infuse it with orange peel, bergamot, and just a hint of cinnamon. It’s to die for.”
“Why flourless? Does Alec have a gluten allergy?”
Beckett shifted and looked back at my laptop. “No, but it’s good to diversify. A lot of people have allergies.”
I got the feeling Beckett was evading my questions again.
He was so mysterious lately. “But you don’t have to cook for a lot of people.”
“You’re right.” He waved a hand. “Let’s take a last look at these photos and email them. I’m starving.”
“Okay.” We looked over the shots for Fresh Market one last time. They looked great, which was good, because I was still puzzling over Beckett’s secretiveness. It really wasn’t like him. He usually over shared.
We sent the email, and Beckett stood. “Kuma’s for lunch?”
“Sure,” I said. “I could go for a burger.” Now that William was back in town, my appetite had returned.
Twelve
I was standing in front of my closet trying to figure out what to wear when William texted me to remind me to bring my camera. I’d actually forgotten he’d even said I’d need it in the first place. That was the effect shower sex—and just about any other kind of sex—with William had on me. I couldn’t think straight, and it made it so easy to forget everything else. Flashes of our morning ran through my head. His growling, “Let it happen” in my ear, his voice dark and choked with need as he pounded me hard from behind, had tipped me over into an orgasm that radiated all the way to my fingertips. I had been powerless to do anything but surrender to the pleasure, to his raw desire for me, and I had loved it. That was the feeling that was starting to become addictive and dangerous. If letting him call the shots was what it took to make me feel like that, I wanted more.
I looked down at my watch. Shit, I was going to be late. I picked an outfit, threw on some lip gloss and a spray of perfume, then packed up my best digital camera and headed outside to where Anthony waited to drive me to William’s penthouse. I could have driven myself, but the roads were still icy and tonight I appreciated his thoughtfulness in providing me with his driver.
The drive down Lake Shore Drive to the Gold Coast was quick and before I knew it, I was zooming up the private elevator to William’s penthouse on the fifty-sixth floor of one of Chicago’s most impressive buildings. I stepped off the elevator into his foyer, and William was waiting for me, wearing a wide smile. “There’s my beautiful girl.”