“Oh my God, you are such a food perv!” I laughed, but I loved that he seemed as excited about doing more work for Fresh Market as I was. It felt great, too, that things seemed back to normal with us.
We kept talking and I told him all about Hutch Morrison and my upcoming meeting with him. Beckett promised to come over and help me get ready beforehand. I never knew what to wear and he had such a great eye for what looked good on me. He had absolutely saved me from numerous fashion disasters. If he hadn’t been a pastry chef, he could easily have been a stylist.
By the time we’d hashed out our plan, Alec had joined us. He went to get a beer, and I took my last chance to grill Beckett. “So really, why haven’t you called me lately? What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “Oh, you know. The usual.”
Actually, I didn’t know the usual. Why was Beckett being so weirdly evasive? “Is it your secret project again?”
No answer.
I tried again. “You’ve clearly been spending a lot of time with your new lover.” I reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m really happy for you. Alec is a lucky guy.”
Beckett’s face lit up. “I’m loving every minute of it. Cat, Alec is amazing. Seriously amazing.”
“Should my ears be burning?” Alec asked, returning with beers for all of us.
“No, Beckett was just saying how amazing you are.”
Alec smiled. “In that case, don’t let me interrupt.”
By eleven I realized I’d drank one or two too many pints of Coup D’Etat, so I started on water. I took a cab home and stumbled in, almost tripping over Laird, just after eleven-thirty. I wasn’t messy drunk, but I was definitely buzzed. And I missed my man. Why did William have to work tonight? Why wasn’t he here for me to ravish? After a few drinks, I was most definitely in the mood.
I took out my phone and frowned at it. No calls or texts. He worked way too hard. He needed to have a little fun. Maybe I could help him with that.
I stripped off my jeans and T-shirt, shimmied out of my underwear, and pulled on a lace-trimmed, silky black robe and lace thong William had picked out for me. I hadn’t had a chance to wear them yet. When I reached up to pull my hair back into a ponytail, the silk felt cool and sleek against my skin. I’d definitely be wearing this again. I grabbed my tablet, propped some pillows behind my back, and got comfortable in bed. With a grin, I called William on my videochat app.
He answered right away, looking serious and professional with a pair of glasses on his nose. Glasses? I didn’t even know he wore glasses. And was he in his office? I looked down at my watch. I wasn’t wrong. It really was almost midnight. What was he still doing at work? Didn’t billionaires get to sleep?
“Hello, Catherine,” he said. His silky voice vibrated through me, sending heat straight to my core. I squirmed, pressing my thighs together.
“Hi, yourself. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other that I forgot what you looked like. Love your bifocals, Grandpa.”
He sat back and grinned. “They’re not bifocals. I wear them for eye strain after long hours on the computer.” He pulled them off and tossed them on his desk. I’d been in his office once before, and now I remembered that his desk itself seemed to serve as a tablet. He must have a webcam set at an angle so anyone who video-conferenced with him would look directly at him.
“Likely story,” I joked.
He smirked—yes, it was definitely a smirk—and said, “What have you been doing tonight? Not staying home, I take it.”
“I was out with Beckett and Alec at Resolution—no, that’s not right—Revolution Brewing.”
His brow rose. “Catherine, are you drunk?”
“No,” I said a little too forcefully.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Okay, just a little.” I waved my hand. “But that’s not why I’m calling. It’s 11:42, William.”
“It’s 11:53, actually.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. The point is that I’m supposed to look at my watch at 11:42 and think about you touching me.”
He paused for a minute before answering. “I do remember something to that effect. But I believe I said every day at 11:42 a.m.”
I giggled. “Well, whatever time it is, I’m thinking about you touching me now.”
His dark, hooded eyes smoldered on my tablet screen, and his smirk changed to a hungry grin. He was liking my game. “How am I touching you?” His voice was lower now, seductive. “Show me.”
That had been the idea all along. I propped my tablet on the bedside table, angled it, and ran my fingers up and down my neck. “Like this. I love it when you kiss my neck, especially when you haven’t shaved. Your stubble tickles my skin and makes me shiver…” I could hear my voice turning breathy as my fingers traced my flesh, mimicking William’s skilled lips caressing my neck.
“Where else, Catherine?”
I heard the arousal in his husky voice. I wanted him to feel as turned on as I was, to want me as badly as I wanted him.
“Here,” I said, opening my robe slightly, giving him a peek of bare skin, just enough to tantalize. I stroked my fingers up and down, from the base of my neck to the curve of my breast. I glanced at him from under my lashes, feeling bold. “I know how much you love my tits, William.” Oh, I was definitely feeling bold. Tits instead of breasts seemed way dirty to me, and William’s eyes were molten grey now. He liked it when I talked dirty, and tonight I wanted to be a little naughty.
Or maybe a lot.
“Open your robe wider.”
I slowly pulled the material aside, inch by inch. William didn’t speak, but he was riveted to the screen. I pulled one side of my robe open, then the other, and allowed the material to slide down my breasts, tantalizing them with the silky material and exposing them to William’s hungry gaze.
“Touch your breasts for me, Catherine,” he said softly.
I palmed them, their heavy weight aching for him. Leaning back, I arched my back and plucked and rubbed at my nipples until they were dark pink and hard, needy points.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Mmm, that feels so good. I wish you were here now. I want your mouth on my tits. Do you like it when I say tits?”
“It’s fucking hot. I love your tits.” His voice sounded breathy and hoarse.
Still circling my swollen flesh, I purred, “I love it when you suck my nipples. Hard.” I looked at the screen directly. “Like you did on the jet, William.”
“I know you do. Show me where you feel it when I suck you.”
“I can feel it all the way…” I stroked down my abdomen.
“Lower,” he ordered.
I stroked my hand across the front of my thong, slowly. I had imagined me seducing William, but I was slowly losing control of this seduction. He was taking command, telling me what to do, and I loved it.
I kept rubbing my fingers across the scrap of lace between my legs. “I’m wet for you already. I can feel it through my panties. Just thinking about your mouth does that to me.”
He groaned and shifted in his chair. His right arm moved, and I smiled. I had a pretty good idea where that hand was going and I thought I heard the sound of a belt unbuckling and then of a zipper. “You look so unbelievably sexy right now, Catherine. Show me where else you want me to touch you.”
“Are you hard for me, William?” I teased. “Are you thinking about me touching you? Are you imagining me stroking you, running my hand up and down your big, thick cock? I love your cock, you know.”
“Fuck,” he hissed. “I’m rock hard for you. Don’t stop. Tell me. Where else do you want me to touch you?” His breath came in pants, and my own was just as ragged.
“Here.” I feathered my fingers across my lace panties again.
“Show me.”
I pushed my thong aside and slid a finger over the moist skin. “I’m so hot here. So swollen,” I panted, pressing my finger to my clit.
“Think about my tongue on you. You k
now you love it when I lick you hard and make you squirm and scream.”
“Yes.” I closed my eyes and could easily imagine his mouth there, imagine him teasing me to climax. I moaned as a shiver raced through me.
“Move your tablet,” William demanded in that deep voice that made me weak. “I want to see you.”
“Now who’s being naughty,” I said, though I felt my cheeks heating. I might be embarrassed about this in the morning, but I couldn’t refuse him. I moved my tablet so it was pointing more toward my lower half. “But then you’re always naughty.”
“Open your legs a little,” he said, and it was like he was in the room with me.
“Why?” I asked, wanting him to say it.
“You know why,” he growled. “Tell me, Catherine.”
“You want to see my—you want to see me?” I was so turned on now and my heart was racing as I parted my legs.
He grinned at me, eyes so large and dark I could hardly make out their color. “I want to see what’s mine. More.”
I opened my legs wider and ran my fingers along my clit. “Is this good?”
“That’s perfect. Now show me what just thinking about me does to you.”
I was panting now, hardly able to hold the orgasm back. Still, I knew I wouldn’t let myself come without his permission.
I closed my eyes again and I reached down and rubbed, sliding one finger inside. “I’m so wet for you. I want you inside me.”
“Use two fingers.” I let his voice caress and command me.
I dragged two fingers down, slid them inside. “Like this?”
“Just like that. Don’t stop.”
My hips were writhing, and I could hardly remember to speak. I slid my fingers in and out, in and out. I could imagine him stretching me, filling me, pounding me. I let out a low moan. “I’m so close, I want to come for you,” I said between gulps for air.
“Not yet. Keep touching yourself for me. Tease me. Make it last, Catherine.”
My hips pivoted, my body moving in the rhythm he and I knew so well. Finally, he said, in a strangled voice. “Come for me. Now.”
My hips bucked, and I pressed my hand hard against my sex as my muscles shuddered around my fingers again and again. “That’s right,” he said in approval. “Come for me, beautiful girl.”
A few minutes later, I opened my eyes. I must have dozed off for a sec. I looked at my tablet screen and he was still there, watching me and looking just as satisfied as I felt. I smiled at him. “I’ll have to call you again at the real 11:42 a.m.”
He laughed. “I won’t get any work done, waiting for your call. And I’m definitely not going to get any more work done tonight.”
“You should go home and get some sleep,” I said as I yawned. I needed sleep too. I was totally exhausted and I could already feel the effects of my buzz wearing off.
“I will. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” His warm, velvety voice wrapped around me. “Good night, girlfriend.”
I smiled lazily. “Good night, boyfriend.”
His face was the last thing I saw before I fell asleep.
Sixteen
I heard a buzzing sound and pried my eyes open. Sunlight blazed into my bedroom, and I squinted and reached for my phone, the source of the sound that had woken me. I had a text from William.
Good morning, video vixen. You were incredible last night. Can’t wait to see you later and sample your cooking.
I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head. I was never drinking again. Not only was I hung over, I was mortified. What had I been thinking? Drunk dialing William? Or had it been a drunk booty call? It wasn’t even a call. It was an e-booty call. The whole incident was sort of a blur, but some details were definitely very, very clear. I groaned into my pillow again.
I had never done anything like that before. Clearly the alcohol had relaxed—no, eliminated—my inhibitions. Had I really—?
I pulled the pillow tightly over my head and wished I could go back to my peaceful drunken slumber. The things I’d said! I couldn’t believe I’d been so…well, dirty. But I also couldn’t believe how hot it had made William. How hot it had made me. Maybe if I could summon the nerve, I’d try it sober.
I pushed the pillow off my face and texted William back.
Excited about tonight too. XO
And I was excited. Tonight was finally going to be the night I said I love you.
After a shower and a very large cup of coffee, I called Beckett. I hoped he was feeling better than I was. He’d promised to help me with dinner for William tonight. I hadn’t been drunk enough to think I could cook something edible without a little—or a lot—of help. Beckett answered right away, which I took as a good sign. “Hey, how are you feeling today?” I greeted him.
“Great! How about you?”
“Not as great. You will not believe what I did—”
“Hold on a second, Cat.”
I frowned. Usually Beckett was all about juicy tidbits from my life—or anyone else’s. He had a subscription to the National Enquirer. I heard what sounded like a timer going off and a clatter of dishes. Was Beckett cooking?
“Hey, I’m back,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“Um, yeah. Can I call you later?”
I felt a nervous flutter in my belly. “Yeah, but I’ll see you this afternoon, right?”
He hissed in a breath. “Uh…”
“Oh, no! Beckett, you cannot bail on me.” The nervous flutter escalated to mild panic. I felt flushed and my heart thumped.
“Cat, I’m so sorry. Something came up, and I can’t get out of it.”
I waited for him to explain or elaborate.
“You’ll be fine. Just make something simple. You can do this, Cat.”
So he wasn’t even going to explain? “Beckett, seriously, I don’t care about dinner. What is going on with you? What’s with all the secrecy?”
There was a long pause. “I told you. I can’t talk about it yet.”
“Did I do something? Are you pissed off at me?”
He laughed. “No. Not at all. It’s just work stuff. I can tell you soon, and it’ll be good for both of us. You know I always look out for you.”
That was true. “I’m trying to look out for you too, Beckett,” I said. “I don’t understand why you can’t tell me. I can keep a secret.”
“Just be patient. Everything will be revealed in time,” he said in an overly dramatic voice. “In the meantime, I have to go. Have a fab dinner!”
That wasn’t likely without Beckett’s help. I laid my head on the table, hoping it might stop aching for a few moments. I needed water. I needed a plan. I was so not a cook. Why had I told William, Mr. Gourmand, that I would cook for him? Why was I even pretending I could cook something more than a Lean Cuisine? I sat and downed another gulp of coffee, trying to ignore the way my stomach rolled. Cooking was not rocket science. I could do this. I just had to figure out what to make.
Pasta? My throat tightened, and I swallowed back nausea.
Okay, maybe Mexican. My stomach clenched in revolt, and I had the feeling I’d have a distinctly greenish tinge if I looked in the mirror. I doubted much was going to sound very appetizing to me this morning. William knew I wasn’t a cook. He wasn’t going to expect a three-course dinner.
And then I had an idea. I almost smiled—except my head hurt too much. I really thought it would work, but I was going to need help. Beckett was doing his James Bond routine today, so I was going to have to go with my second choice: Minerva.
I pulled on a sweatshirt and shoes and headed downstairs. The Himmlers, Minerva and Hans, lived in the condo under mine. I hadn’t seen much of them lately, but other than Beckett they were my best friends in Chicago. Minerva had been an opera singer in her day, but it was her talents in the kitchen I was after right now. I knew first-hand that Minerva’s desserts would curl any man’s toes.
I knocked on Minerva’s door, and she answered a few minutes later,
looking like she was ready for her close-up in a long black silk robe with feathers at the neck and wrists, her hair in a neat chignon, and her make-up perfect. She looked like she belonged in Hollywood. A delicious aroma wafted into the hallway through her open door.
“Catherine! How lovely. I just baked some Pfeffernüsse, traditional German cookies. They’re Hans’s favorite. You will have one with coffee, ja?”
She cooked in that outfit? Obviously, I had come to the right place. “Actually, Mrs. Himmler, I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something today.” I explained that William was coming for dinner, and I wanted to make him something wonderful for dessert.
“Smart girl,” she said with a nod. “The way to a man’s heart is definitely his stomach. Come inside. We will decide on a recipe sure to make him fall in love with you.”
“Thank you!”
Minerva’s condo was laid out much like mine, but hers had a very European feel and was filled with antiques and memorabilia from her opera career. Hans sat in a comfortable chair by the fire reading the paper. He looked up and smiled at me, but Minerva waved him back down when he tried to rise. “We will be in the kitchen.”
I gave Hans an apologetic look and followed Minerva. We perused a few of her cookbooks, which were all written in German, but I could study the pictures. We decided on a Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, which was several layers of rich chocolate cake with whipped cream and cherries between each layer, decorated with chocolate shavings and more cherries. It looked decadent and delicious and Minerva promised me it would make William my slave forever. I made a list of the ingredients, and Minerva and I agreed to meet back at my condo in an hour. She wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to use my AGA.
I’d barely unpacked all the groceries when Minerva showed up, wearing a frilly apron to protect her black slacks and red blouse. She bustled into the kitchen and got right to work. I helped with the simple things like sifting the flour and measuring the dry ingredients, but Minerva handled the whipping and mixing, and the stirring and folding. As she worked, she hummed happily, the tune undoubtedly from some aria she once sang on stage in front of thousands of adoring fans. I knew the look of contentment on her face. I’d seen it on Beckett’s a hundred times. On William’s too.
A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series) Page 21