by Sorcha Grace
“Are you saying you’re not?”
“Well...” He grinned his little boy, mischievous grin. “Maybe in another life I was, Miss Catherine, but I left the band a long time ago. I’m reformed.”
“What reformed you?”
He turned back to the smoker. “I suppose I fell in love. Head over heels.” He glanced at me, his eyes serious. “I would have done anything for her, but she broke my heart,” he said softly. “And there hasn’t been anyone since.”
I gaped at him for a long moment. I think I was waiting for the punch line. When it didn’t come, I said, “Seriously, Hutch?”
“Cross my heart.” He made a little X on his chest.
“No one?”
“No one. Is it that hard to believe?”
“Maybe I’ll believe no serious relationships, but you have to have gone on dates or had hook-ups. I mean, nothing?”
He shook his head.
“Have you sworn off women? Hey, if you have, I know a really great guy I could fix you up with.”
Hutch guffawed loudly, the laughter echoing off the building. “I haven’t switched teams, don’t you worry. I’ve just directed my energies elsewhere.”
But I still didn’t get it. “So what are you saying? You haven’t been with anyone? No one?”
He spread his hands.
I pointed my finger at him. “I don’t believe you. I mean,” I gestured toward him, “look at you.”
He looked down at himself, his mouth curved in a grin. “You like, Kitty Cat?” Hutch asked in a seductive tone. “I’m glad to hear it.”
I knew he was just playing around but God, when he called me Kitty Cat like that he reminded me so much of Jace...of Jace and me having sex. I’m sure my face was positively beet red as I smiled and shook my head. “Women must throw themselves at you all the time. I’d throw myself at you, if it wasn’t for...” I closed my mouth. What the hell was I saying that for?
“Well, I’m flattered you’d even considered me. A woman like you might be exactly what I need. But really, it’s not about opportunities. You’re right about that. There’s no shortage.” He looked away as though he was considering his next words carefully. Finally, he looked back at me, his voice low. “It’s a conscious choice. Today is day 817, actually.”
My voice wouldn’t even work. I couldn’t wrap my head around this. “800...you mean days? That you haven’t...”
“It’s been 817 days since I’ve been with a woman, and yes, I count.”
I didn’t know what to say. Hutch, this gorgeous specimen of a man, hadn’t had sex in over 800 days? On purpose? I figured I should say something, but my mind was completely blown. 800 days? That must have been some break-up. I wanted to ask him about it. When Jace had died, I’d been heartbroken, at my lowest point ever, and I’d sought comfort with Jeremy. That hadn’t been the best choice, no question, but I hadn’t denied my sexual needs. But I had learned from that mistake. There hadn’t been anyone else until I’d met William.
I glanced at Hutch again. Maybe it hadn’t been a break-up that devastated Hutch. Maybe he’d lost someone too.
“Why?” I asked finally. It seemed the most straightforward question.
“Well, that’s a story to tell over cocktails. But let’s just say I thought I had it all, and it turned out I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
While I puzzled over that, he checked the Tasso again. “This is about done. I’ll grab some help so we can get this unloaded and ready to cure.” He walked inside and left me standing beside the smoker completely dumbfounded.
Had he intentionally left me curious and wanting to know more? What drives a man to become celibate for over two years? What the hell had happened to Hutch?
* * *
George had been tapped to drive me home from Morrison Hotel. Five minutes with him made me miss Anthony. George and I never talked much, and I always had the impression he didn’t like me. I would have been perfectly happy to stare out the window, but the silence inside the car felt too deafening.
I cleared my throat, and in the rearview mirror I saw George’s eyes land on mine. “Is William home yet?”
“No. Mr. Lambourne is still at his office. He said to expect him about seven.”
I checked my phone. It was almost five now. William typically worked until seven and sometimes later, so that wasn’t anything strange. What had been strange was coming home yesterday and finding him drunk. And then we’d had some of the most intense sex of my life, and this morning he’d barely said a word to me. I had no idea how to interpret any of this.
I scrolled through my emails. Nothing from William. No texts or missed calls either. I didn’t expect him to check in with me throughout the day, but he usually did. This was weird.
Disappointed, I was about to stash my phone back in my purse when it buzzed. Mom and her number displayed across the screen. I sighed—I wasn’t sure I was in the best state of mind for a long chat with my mom, but I answered anyway. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. How are you?”
We went through the usual small talk and questions about work. I told her about Hutch and Morrison Hotel and the cookbook and she seemed genuinely impressed. And then my mom said, “I called your landline a few times, but it just kept going to voicemail. Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”
Oh shit. I hadn’t even thought about the phone at my condo. I should have had it disconnected or at least forwarded to avoid pointed questions from people I wasn’t ready to tell about William and me living together and why. “Oh, probably seeing a client,” I told her, hoping that would be enough for her to drop the subject.
“On a Sunday afternoon?”
“Maybe I was walking Laird.”
“You never called me back. I left three messages, honey.”
Shit, shit, shit, and more shit. Most of my calls, including work calls, went to my cell. I couldn’t remember the last time I checked the voicemail on my home phone—since my parents and a hoard of telemarketers were the only ones who ever called that number.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say I was just really busy, and then I figured, screw it. There was no reason to be evasive with my mother, plus I was too tired to lie anymore. She had the right to know what was going on with me and maybe it would do me some good to talk to her about it. I took a deep breath. “I didn’t get the messages,” I said. “I’ve actually been staying at my boyfriend’s place.”
“Boyfriend?”
I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Good thing I hadn’t mentioned the billionaire part.
“The last I heard it was casual, and you were just going out on a date.”
“Well, that date turned into another, and...” There was no turning back now. She was going to hammer me with questions until I told her everything anyway. I gave her the highlights of my relationship with William, leaving out the drama. I played it up as a whirlwind romance, which it was, and I didn’t mention threats or bodyguards. I wanted to be honest, but I didn’t want to worry her.
“Honey, I’m so happy for you! Now, when am I going to meet him?”
I should have seen that coming, but then I realized that I hadn’t seen my mom since New Year’s. Hell, she didn’t even know that I had been in California a few weeks ago. “I don’t know. I guess that depends on when you’re coming to visit.”
Now that she knew about the boyfriend, I half expected her to say tomorrow. Instead, she said, “I had been thinking about coming for Easter. Would that work for you?”
“Sure. I’d love for you to come. And you know Beckett is going to die when I tell him you’re coming to town. He’ll be so excited. Patisserie LeClerc will be open by then, and he’ll want to show it off. Get ready for a sugar rush.”
My mom laughed and I found myself happily looking forward to her visit.
“I have some news too,” she said.
This was the part I’d been waiting for, the part where she told me about her new boyfriend. It must be
the third in the last six months.
“I’m seeing someone new.”
I tried not to roll my eyes while my mom described the new man she’d met and how perfect he was. Finally, we were at William’s building, and I said goodbye as George pulled up in front. Asa was waiting, and he stepped forward to open the car door for me and escort me upstairs. I could only hope all the security would be unnecessary by Easter. How was I going to explain bodyguards to my mother?
* * *
Since I had almost two hours until William would be home, I decided to organize my new darkroom. Everything had been moved inside and mostly unpacked. I changed into my ratty darkroom gear—stained cargo pants, a ratty sweatshirt, thick socks, an old pair of Converse—and went to finish the job.
I started by unloading my bag from today, putting away my gear and plugging in my back-up batteries. As I did so, my mind drifted back to Hutch.
800 days. 800 days without sex. It didn’t seem possible for a man as jaw-droppingly hot as he was. Was there seriously no woman gorgeous enough to break his resolve? No drunken night that ended with a supermodel in his bed? How could he manage it? And more importantly, why? As I ran through the possible scenarios, I organized. I knew where I wanted everything, and the darkroom was spacious enough that I could spread out.
By the time I was done, I was eager to use some of the equipment. Now would be the perfect time to work on the nyotaimori prints for William. William. He was such a contrast from Hutch. I wondered if William would ever do anything as drastic as deny himself physical pleasure to heal a broken heart—if that was, in fact, what Hutch was doing.
I found one of the rolls of film I was looking for. I had actually used my best digital camera, the one I used for work, on the night of the sushi dinner. But I had decided to try a new technique for this project. Before the break-in, I’d printed the digital images and then photographed them with my vintage Leica. Lots of photographers were wed to digital and didn’t like the hassle and expense of real film. But I loved the dynamic range of film, how it retained details in highlights and shadows, how I could manipulate the print process. I liked to make prints—just like William liked to make wine.
As I began processing the roll, I thought about that night, which had only been about a month ago. William had insisted I bring my camera and he’d been right. For a food photographer, the nyotaimori had been fascinating. The marriage between the nude models’ bodies and the placement of the food was so artistic and so, so sensual. I remembered how caught up I’d been in capturing all the angles and colors and designs, studying the curve of a model’s breast and the way the sushi seemed to caress and enhance the most beautiful elements of the female form.
William had watched me react that night, knowing that photographing the models would turn me on. How could it not have? It had been one of the most sexually charged, erotic displays I’d ever seen. He’d done his part too, feeding me sushi still slightly warm from a model’s body while his eyes devoured me. I remembered the feel of his mouth on my neck, his hand on my back, the anticipation I’d felt as I’d snapped pictures, knowing he would soon strip me naked and feast on my body.
And he had.
Just looking at the pictures and thinking about William brought it all back and put me into a state of low arousal. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and my breasts were tingly and achy as my now-hard nipples brushed against my old sweatshirt. I felt a familiar heat between my legs and knew I was swollen and wet and ready. I let out a long, frustrated sigh.
Fuck. Just thinking about him did this to me. There was no way to deny how hot we were for each other. Which made me wonder again how could Hutch do—or not do—it? Wasn’t there someone out there who elicited this primal reaction from him? I was lost in thought about Hutch, again, when I heard a light knock.
“Catherine?”
I blinked, William’s voice snapping me back to the task at hand. “I’m in here. I’m developing film, so don’t come in.”
“I’ll be in my study.”
“Okay. I’ll come find you in a few minutes.” I made sure all the prints were stable on the drying racks, cleaned up the supplies, and washed my hands, then headed back into the light.
I found William in his study with his laptop and a glass of red wine. There was a second glass waiting for me. I took a sip, nodded my approval, and perched on the edge of the desk, facing him. He didn’t look up from his laptop or even lean in for a kiss, which was very unlike him.
Last night, William had been more upset—and more dominating—than I’d ever seen him. Which was understandable, as was his needing more time to let everything sink in. Having his hopes of finding answers about his family dashed with just a phone call was fucked up on so many levels, but I was determined to not let him go through it alone this time.
“Hey baby,” he said, finally looking up from the laptop. “Love the outfit.” He didn’t smile at me, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice, which gave me hope that the sweet and thoughtful man I loved hadn’t completely left the building. Maybe we were okay after all.
I’d forgotten I was still wearing my darkroom clothes. The old cargo pants and sweatshirt, now with several new stains, weren’t exactly sexy, but I was still a little flushed with arousal. I smiled. “I was working. What’s your excuse?”
William laughed, then grinned at me. Of course, he looked gorgeous as usual, and even though he’d probably put in twelve hours at the office, his suit was pressed enough that he could have stepped right off a fashion-show runway. It was good to see him laugh, and I relaxed slightly, relieved to fall into our easy banter. I was even more relieved that he seemed back to normal. The pain and grief that had been in his eyes last night wasn’t there and I wasn’t going to ask him about it now. I knew William well enough to know that we’d talk about it again only when he was ready to, no matter how many questions I might have.
He turned in his chair and pulled my foot toward him. “What were you working on?”
He flipped my shoe off, rolled my sock down and off, and began to massage my foot. I shouldn’t have been surprised that William knew exactly where to touch me, even on my foot, and heat shot straight to my core as he kneaded and pressed. Another one of his hidden talents.
“I was developing some prints for Lauren,” I said quickly, trying not to squirm as waves of arousal spiraled through me. “You know, the baby thing?” Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember I’d taken my digital camera to the baby shower. “How was work?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Oh, the same. I’m working on a deal with a German firm and had a late conference call with them.” His fingers continued to massage my foot, taking all the day’s stresses and strains away.
“The Germans now, huh? I guess you’ll have to move on to another continent, now that you own most of this one and part of Asia.”
He grinned at me. “Something like that. Where were you today? Morrison Hotel?”
I nodded and told him about the smoker. I didn’t mention Hutch’s revelation about his sex life. I knew William didn’t want to spend the evening talking about Hutch.
I slid closer to William and moved the foot he’d been rubbing onto his thigh. He glanced at it, and asked me about my plans for tomorrow. I answered, reminding him I had a Fresh Market Shoot as I moved my foot slowly toward his fly. When I was close enough to caress his hardening flesh through the material of his trousers, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. In one motion, he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, loving the way his hot mouth moved over mine. We explored each other, our mouths meeting and parting. It was delicious just to sit and kiss him like that, my soft curves rocking against his hard angles.
He slowly moved his lips to my throat and placed burning kisses there. “Are you sore from last night?” he murmured against my flesh.
I’d begun to think what happened last night was either a dream or something totally off-limits for discussion. It was nice to hear him a little
worried.
“I’m fine,” I said, reassuring him. And I was. Now. Last night had been intense but it was a relief to see him in good spirits today.
“Good,” he growled, kissing my ear. And then his mouth met mine again, and our conversation once again became lips and tongues and soft moans.
Eighteen
I had to see Beckett. After an abominable shoot for Fresh Market this morning, I needed my best friend. As soon as I’d finished at the studio in River North, I’d called Beckett, then told Anthony and Asa to take me to Patisserie LeClerc. I needed coffee or a sugary treat or just a hug from the other most significant man in my life.
I waited in the SUV with Anthony while Asa did his usual security sweep of the property. Its windows were still papered over, but the bakery would be opening in just about a week. I couldn’t believe how quickly all of this had happened for Beckett. Asa emerged from the bakery and waved me inside. Beckett was waiting and gave me a big embrace.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” he asked with obvious concern, eyeing Asa. “You sounded so depressed on the phone.”
“I am depressed,” I whined. Then I glanced around. “But it can wait for a minute. Look at this place!” The inside of the bakery looked incredible. Everything was bright and white and crisp and chic. It was like a quaint Parisian neighborhood patisserie had been transported right to Lincoln Park.
On one side was a huge glass display case built to hold Beckett’s creations. Beside it was a professional-looking coffee bar. Café tables made of what looked like antique wood were clustered around the room with adorable little chairs.
“This is amazing. Do you love it?”
Beckett grinned from ear to ear. “I adore it. But look at you. You look great. I love that you’re eating again. You look like...well, you.”
“Thanks a lot.” Leave it to Beckett to notice the extra pounds I’d put on since I last saw him—that awful day almost three weeks ago when I’d been locked in my darkroom and had my phone stolen. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen Beckett in the flesh for nearly three weeks. With the exception of when he was living in Chicago and I was living in Santa Cruz, this had to be some kind of record for us. “What’s that supposed to mean, I look like me?”
