by Sorcha Grace
I thought the night couldn’t get worse, and then I saw William’s dinner companions. On one side sat a twenty-something, attractive blond who greeted him as though they were old friends or lovers. I suspected the latter. On William’s right was a petite older woman, cougar written all over her and obviously a socialite. She wore a low-cut strapless gown and a necklace of diamonds that showcased her remarkable cleavage and her latest face-lift. As the first course arrived, I watched the socialite exercise her flirting skills. She did everything but hop in William’s lap to get his attention. Her hand was rooted firmly on his arm, and she had him chatting and smiling. It was a polite smile, but more than I’d garnered all night.
Meanwhile, the man on my left was engaged with his companion, and the woman on my right was busy texting. So I took solace in my wine. It was good wine. The champagne had been good as well, so at least the night had that going for it.
The courses arrived, one after another. They were small and artful, and if the blini Ben fed me earlier was any indication, delicious. But watching William and the socialite killed my appetite. I took a few bites to be polite, but nothing appealed to me except the wine. Between brief, polite exchanges with the guests on either side of me, I sipped my wine and watched William.
I would have preferred not to watch, but I found myself stealing glances. I couldn’t help but notice how his hands looked when he held his flatware. He had large hands, but I happened to know they were anything but clumsy. Watching him maneuver his fork and knife was like watching an artist paint. William held them delicately, balancing them elegantly between the proscribed fingers. I watched his hands manipulate the utensils and thought about how he manipulated my body with those same fingers. And then he placed a piece of beef tenderloin in his mouth. He had a sexy mouth. His lips were full and sensual, and I knew they could tease and excite. His mouth closed on his fork, and he took his time to appreciate the morsel. I watched him chew and couldn’t banish the image of his mouth on my breast and between my legs.
I really should have looked away, but William was not an easy man to ignore. I kept looking back, noting his chiseled jaw, the way a lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, and of course, those stormy eyes, trained alternately on the blond or the socialite. Never on me.
He was incredibly sexy. I didn’t want to be drawn to him, but I couldn’t help it. He was a walking sex god. And that thought made me want another swig of wine. And another.
Finally, dessert was served, and I felt like rubbing my hands together in glee. I wasn’t about to turn down dessert. I’d tasted Ben’s desserts, and I wagered Emil LeClerc’s would be just as delicious. But even as slabs of decadent cake arrived on small plates—the server said it was chocolate cherry with rum ganache—I noticed that the other guests were leaving the table and drifting toward the dance floor. I didn’t get it. The dessert looked absolutely delicious. Why would they leave it untouched?
And then I remembered where I was. Of course, these calorie counters didn’t eat dessert. Nary a chocolate-covered carb ever passed their lips. What was I thinking?
The orchestra began to play, and the audience applauded. The musicians were playing old standards, which I loved. Really, if I’d been here with anyone else I would have been enchanted. The setting was lovely, the music was perfect, and the food was delicious. But all I could think about was how much I wanted to leave. I was bored and disgusted. Maybe the way William was treating me was the norm. Maybe it was exactly what any woman who dated William Lambourne—notorious commitment-phobe and billionaire playboy—signed on for. But I wasn’t having fun, and I’d foolishly expected more.
I’d taken a chance, stepped out of my comfort zone, accepted a date I wasn’t quite ready for, and now I was hating every moment of it. I wanted to just go with it, but I couldn’t. Besides, I told myself, it was better to nip this thing in the bud sooner rather than later. My kitchen, the nuzzling in the SUV—it was all too much, way too soon. I’d tell William good-bye and call it a night, but first I had to find the ladies’ room. I’d drunk too much wine and champagne, and it was catching up with me.
I grabbed my clutch and began to rise, but William was behind me, pulling out my chair. I must have looked startled because he took my elbow to steady me and pulled me close. “We need to dance,” he growled.
I pulled my arm away. “I don’t think so. I’m going home.” I stepped back, planning my escape. Better just do it now. “Thank you for…an interesting evening,” I began, “but—”
Ignoring my protests, William artfully captured my arm again and pulled me close, steering me onto the dance floor. The man obviously didn’t take no for an answer. I could tell by the set of his jaw there was no point in resisting, so I resigned myself to one dance. Maybe it would help my buzz from the wine would wear off.
The orchestra struck up Cole Porter’s “Night and Day,” and I smiled. My dad always loved Frank Sinatra, and I’d probably heard Ol’ Blue Eyes sing this song a thousand times.
“You’re smiling,” William said. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”
“It means I like the music. My father used to play this song.”
“He has good taste.” William turned me expertly. “I always wanted to sing like Sinatra, but I can’t carry a tune.”
“You mean you have flaws?”
He arched a brow. “One or two.”
It seemed appropriate that this song played for my dance with William. He was just a little too intense and jealous, and “Night and Day,” was the perfect anthem for obsession.
Even as I had the thought, William pulled me flush against him. His warm hand on my bare back sent electric currents rippling through me. It annoyed me that he could do this. His touch alone could turn me on. He moved with me—he was a great dancer, so I added that to his many talents—and my nipples hardened as our bodies rubbed together. I didn’t want to want him, but my body had a mind of its own. He pressed his pelvis into my belly, and I felt him stirring. He wanted me. It was gratifying but confusing as hell. Why had he ignored me all night?
“I love that I can do that to you, Catherine,” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot. “I love that I can make your nipples instantly hard.”
Pleasure spiraled through me. Oh, shit, I thought as my head spun from the wine. I could feel my body reacting to his closeness and the sultry sound of his voice.
“I’ve been thinking about your mouth all night. Those red lips. I imagined you kneeling in front of me, your lips sucking me, and your perfect tits rubbing against me.”
No.
I didn’t want to get hot and bothered again, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. We swayed elegantly to the music, and I’m sure no one watching could have guessed all the dirty things he whispered in my ear. I thought about breaking away, but he held me possessively, his fingers drumming and caressing the bared skin of my lower back. His hand was so low that if he dipped it another fraction of an inch, he’d be able to touch the lace of my thong. I took a shaky breath and realized I wanted him to touch me there. I wanted him to do so much more.
“Every man here wants you, Catherine,” he said. “It’s those scarlet lips and your damn fuckable mouth.”
I wanted to argue, but between the music and the wine and William’s hard body against mine, I couldn’t think. I was thankful the music was loud enough that no one could hear his words. They were purred for me alone. Against my better judgment, I closed my eyes against the dizziness I felt and reveled in the feel of William’s arms around me. If I hadn’t drank so much, if I’d eaten something, I could have made witty comebacks. I could have put him in his place. But all I could do was to keep dancing and resist the urge to ask him to take me right then and there.
“I want to fuck your mouth, Catherine. I want to see my cock between your red lips.”
Yes. I wanted that too. I was already wet for him. If he’d pulled me off the dance floor and into a private room, I would have sucked him off without protest. He could make me do an
ything he liked.
“I moved your place card,” he said, bringing my attention back to the dance and the fundraiser. “The speeches will start in a few minutes, and I want you sitting next to me. No more taunting me from across the table.”
I pulled back and looked up at him. “Can you do that? Just move the place cards?” If he could simply pick up a place card and move it at will, then why hadn’t he done it earlier? Why had he made me sit across the table from him? A punishment? Or was it because he wanted to keep me at a distance? Or maybe he wanted to get close to someone else. The blond came to mind, but I didn’t voice my thoughts.
“I paid twenty-five thousand dollars a plate for that table,” he growled in my ear. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
I did the quick math in my head. Twenty-five thousand a plate meant the table alone cost a quarter of a million dollars. How many of these did he go to in a week, a month, a year? I couldn’t fathom that kind of money or that kind of power. It turned me on. This man who could have everything wanted me.
The song ended, and we were near the edge of the dance floor. Before he could lead me into another dance or take my hand and escort me to the table, yet another business-type vying for his attention approached him. William gave me a frown, but I put my hand on his arm. “I have to find the ladies’ room. I’ll see you at the table.”
He nodded, and while the music started again, I watched as hot, sexy William Lambourne walked toward a group of powerful men, where he would probably hold court.
I took an uneasy breath and headed for the restrooms. I wasn’t leaving after all. Maybe the night would turn out okay. Maybe we’d just gotten off to a bad start.
I’d barely made it off the dance floor when the blond seated beside William at dinner sidled up next to me. “Hello, Catherine,” she said over the music.
“I’m sorry. Have we met?”
“No.” The tone in her voice indicated that not only had we not met, I was fortunate to be meeting her then. “I’m Lara Kendall.” She said her name as though I should have heard of her. She was definitely the ice-princess type—the kind who probably grew up with every privilege and advantage and dedicated herself to volunteering, shopping, lunching, and exercising. I disliked her immediately and wondered what her connection to William could be. Was she a former lover? A current lover? A man would have to be dead not to be attracted to her. She was tiny, one of those size zeroes, but curvy in the right places. She was a classic beauty with porcelain skin, large blue eyes, and that corn silk blond hair most women could get only from a bottle. I felt huge and drab beside her. My freckles, so perfect for the beaches of California, felt ugly and common. And though I was a size six, she was so slim that I felt fat and bloated.
I took a deep breath and decided to get through this quickly. “I’m Catherine Kelly, but you seem to know that already.”
“So you’re here with William.” Her gaze flicked to the other end of the room. He was ensconced in—if the looks on the men’s faces were an indication—a serious conversation. “How long have you been together?” Lara asked.
I laughed. I didn’t know if we were together. “Not long.” Feeling self-conscious standing beside the Ice Princess, I tucked a stray tendril of hair that had come loose from my bun behind my ear. Great. I hadn’t checked my hair or makeup all night. I probably looked a mess.
Before I could lower my hand, Lara grabbed my wrist. “What a lovely bracelet.” But her voice and the look on her face didn’t match her words. She gripped my wrist tightly, twisting my arm to get a better look. The angle was uncomfortable, as awkward as having this woman I didn’t even know touching me.
“It was a gift,” I said, trying to gently pull my arm back. Lara didn’t let go.
She smirked. “I’m sure it was. William does love to spoil his women.”
I must have jerked in surprise at her words because she tightened her hold.
“If I had to guess, I’d say this was platinum, about ten carats.” She looked directly into my face. “Wow. You must have extraordinary skills.” Her gaze settled on my lips, and suddenly, they felt overly done, too heavily rouged. She smirked, and I yanked my arm away, stunned by the cutting comments that rolled off her tongue with her smile.
“Excuse me,” I said coldly. “I need to find the ladies’ room.”
“Oh, good idea,” Lara said. Then she leaned close and fake-whispered loudly, her smile still plastered on her face, “You have a bit of lipstick on your teeth. Nice to meet you. And have a good night.” Then she turned and strutted away.
My head reeled, and I stood dumbfounded, seemingly rooted in place. The band finished the song they’d been playing with a flourish and launched into another of my father’s favorites, “The Lady is a Tramp.”
I shook my head as the singer sang about a woman too hungry to wait for dinner and arriving unfashionably early for the theater. That was why the lady was a tramp.
How fitting, I thought, because that was exactly how I felt. Like a tramp.
I scanned the room and found the group of men William had been chatting with, but he was nowhere to be found. As the band sang about the woman who wouldn’t dish the dirt with the rest of the broads, I pulled off the platinum and diamond cuff bracelet, walked to the empty table, and set it beside William’s place card. As promised, my card was beside his, but I wouldn’t be joining him. I left the dining room, hurried down the steps to the empty Griffin Court, and stopped to get my wrap at the coat check.
I walked into the frigid night. Hailing a cab was easy in my formal wear, and I told the driver to take me home to Lincoln Park. Then I sat back, closed my eyes, and fought the sting of tears.
Nine
I woke on Sunday morning with a headache and an empty stomach. I’d turned off my phone when I got in the cab, and when I checked the time I saw I had a slew of voice mails and texts. With a sigh, I scrolled through the texts, deleting all messages from William.
Where are you, Catherine? Are you okay? Just call me. I’m worried.
I figured the voice mails were the same and deleted them without listening. There were a few messages from Beckett, starting at one in the morning.
Are you home yet? How was it?
The latest voice mail was from eight this morning. “Cat!” Beckett’s voice made me smile. “You naughty girl. Too busy to text me back last night? I want to hear all about those bad things you did. Call me ASAP. I want the full postmortem on your fairy-tale date with Chicago’s hottest bachelor. Call me!”
I let the phone drop on the bed and pulled my pillow over my head, stifling an angry scream. I couldn’t deal with the phone messages or the texts. I didn’t want to think about the disaster that was my first date in years. I didn’t understand how it had gone wrong. It started off so well.
When I thought about the ride in the SUV, my insides fluttered and melted. Even though I was mad as hell, I couldn’t deny the chemistry between us. William had more sex appeal, more animal magnetism, than any man I’d ever met. Just thinking about him could make me hot and flushed. My body tingled, and my thoughts turned to the many ways he could make me come. I had the urge to reach down and touch myself, but I resisted. Under the desire, I also felt used. Was I just another in a long line of women William Lambourne plied with gifts, bedded, and then checked off his list?
I was confused, and my visceral reaction wasn’t helping. How could I properly analyze everything happening between us when every time I was with him, my body just reacted? What did I feel? What did I want to feel?
At the moment, all I wanted was to get past this ridiculous screw-up and move on. I shouldn’t have listened to my mother and Beckett. I rushed into this, thinking I could be fun and spontaneous. I thought I’d have great rebound sex—thank God, I hadn’t actually slept with him—and not give the matter another thought. But that wasn’t me. William Lambourne and his scene weren’t me. I was out of my league, and I shouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with a known commitment-phobe a
nd billionaire playboy. If you play with fire…
And I’d definitely been burned—in the freezer, on the kitchen floor, inside the SUV. What the fuck, Cat? I chided myself. That kind of behavior might suit my mother, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t know what I had been thinking. Was I crazed with lust? Had I hit my head and taken leave of my senses?
I rolled over and stared at the weak sunlight streaming through the slats in my blinds. And what was with William last night? He’d been charming at Willowgrass and engaging in my kitchen. He’d seemed open and relaxed in the SUV. All that charm and warmth had quickly been replaced by asshole and jealousy issues that, to me, were definite hard stops. I’d expected to attend an event with the adorable, surprising guy who’d shown up on my doorstep with fresh-baked pastries. Instead, I got Jekyll and Hyde. The guy I’d been attracted to in my kitchen was nowhere to be seen on my first date in… I did the math… seven years. What a way to start over.
With a whine, Laird poked his head in my bedroom door and climbed on my bed. He thought I had been in bed long enough and wanted breakfast and a little exercise. Poor guy. I didn’t blame him. He’d been the same way on those lazy Sunday mornings when Jace and I had lolled in bed, reading the paper, sipping coffee, and making love. Tears sprang to my eyes. I would have given anything to get those comfortable mornings back. I didn’t want to date an asshole billionaire, no matter how many diamond bracelets he gave me, or designer dresses he sent. I’d had everything I wanted, and now, it was gone. Nothing I could do or say or think was going to change that.
Laird whined again and put his nose next to mine. I patted his head, giving him the doggy love he craved. I could tell that, despite the sunshine outside, today was one of my dark days. I wanted to open my inner black box of hurt and wallow there for a while. I needed to feel something other than used and confused. There was nothing I wanted more than to curl up under the covers and indulge in my feelings of self-pity, but I couldn’t stay in my condo. I couldn’t risk William dropping by uninvited. He’d done that yesterday—and look how it had turned out. I obviously had no willpower to resist when it came to him. I had to get out and away.
