A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series) (4 page)

“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, thoughtfully 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.”

“I’m not even done.” I sat up and folded my legs, Indian style. “The views are amazing. I knew Napa was gorgeous, but I had no idea. And the art. I’m afraid to get too close to it. It’s everywhere and it must be worth millions. I mean, I think I saw a Monet in the living room. A
Monet
, like the kind you see in a museum. Can you fucking believe it? I could get lost in this place, it’s so big. I guess it’s really an estate. And it has a name. Casa di Rosabela.”

Beckett sighed. “I’ve always wanted to live on an estate with a name and a Monet. Can I come and visit? I promise not to pee in the pool.”

I rolled my eyes. “Beckett, I’m seriously a little freaked out right now. I knew William was wealthy, but I didn’t
know
, you know?”

“No.”

I laughed.

“Cat,” Beckett said, his tone turning serious. “So what if the guy has two private jets—”

“Five.”

“Okay, five—
five
? Seriously?”

“Yes! And a villa—I mean, a mansion.”

“I thought we were calling it an estate.”

“Whatever. I haven’t even told you about the vintage Porsche or the closet stocked with designer clothes and shoes all for me.”

“And I want to hear all about them, but first you need to calm down. So what if the guy has more money than I don’t know, Oprah or somebody. You’re into him, not his stuff. Right?”

“Right.” I knew that much absolutely. “But how do I separate the two?” I really didn’t know how much of
William the Man
was intertwined with
William the Wealthy Magnate
, and I hadn’t really thought about it until right this instant. I could feel my chest tightening—all my old insecurities were lurking just under the surface. “Beckett, honestly, what do I have to offer William? He can have anything and anyone he wants. I don’t know if I’m ready for all this. I told you weeks ago, I’m not ready.” What little I had to offer seemed pretty inconsequential compared to the spoils of William’s empire.

“Cat, you know what I’m going to say, right?”

I sighed. “Stop thinking so much?”

“Exactly. You’re smart, beautiful, successful, and really, really nice. And you’re more than ready. You
know
that. Hold on a sec.”

Someone said his name, and I narrowed my eyes. Once again, I heard music in the background and the sound of voices. “Where are you right now?”

“Just checking on your condo.”

“Are you having a party?”

There was a pause. “A little one.”

“Are you celebrating or something?”

Another pause. “Sort of. I’ve got a lead on a work thing, but I don’t want to say anything yet. I might jinx it. And this is just a teeny, tiny dinner party. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to use the AGA.”

I sighed, happy for Beckett but not thrilled about my condo being used for his ‘teeny, tiny’ party. But I knew I could trust Beckett and besides, as a pastry chef, he got more out of my giant cast-iron gourmet cooker than I ever would, given that my culinary tool of choice was my microwave. “Just clean up after, okay?”

“Absolutely. And you stop worrying so much. Have fun at your billionaire boyfriend’s estate with a name, Cat. Why don’t you take a bubble bath and have a glass of wine? He makes it there, right?”

The idea actually sounded pretty good. I had to stop turning everything over in my mind because it was only freaking me out. I might wish things could be simple with William, but they weren’t. Nothing was or would ever be simple with him. He needed me here and I couldn’t be his rock if I was preoccupied with my own issues. Beckett and I hung up and I got off the huge bed and headed to the bathroom, intent upon taking his advice though I’d skip the wine for now. I needed a clear head.

The bathroom was an amazing study in white marble and was wonderfully inviting. The huge sunken tub, in particular, beckoned. I ran the water and, while I waited for the bath to fill, I opened drawers and cabinets. The vanity was stocked with most of my favorite toiletries and even some of the make-up I usually used. I was flattered that William knew what I liked and had made sure it was available for me, but it was also a little off-putting. How did he know so much about me? I spotted an unmarked vial of amber liquid, opened the stopper, and sniffed. It was the same perfume William had sent me before our first date at the Art Institute. At least he was consistent.

When the tub was almost full, I added some bubbles and climbed in. Leaning back, I closed my eyes and let the warm water soothe me. One thing I knew for certain: I loved William Maddox Lambourne and I wasn’t going to let what he owned get in the way of who he was in my heart. If he had nothing, I’d feel exactly the same way about him.

I tried to relax and clear my mind, but that rarely worked for me. Instead, I ran my hands across my breasts and pinched my nipples, which were still sensitive after William’s oral ministrations on the plane. I could feel a pull between my legs as I rolled my nipple between my fingers and I thought for a split second about checking out the water pressure of the gleaming, silver handheld shower sprayer, but I didn’t. I wanted to save my pleasure for William.

Only William.

I found William in the kitchen. He greeted me with a long, hungry look and a lingering kiss. His mouth was warm and tasted of cilantro and lime, and the citrus spiciness tingled on my lips. When we broke apart, I saw Fernanda smiling at us. “It smells delicious,” I told them, savoring the feel of William’s body still touching mine.

“We’re having Mexican tonight.” William smiled. “My favorite. Did you rest and relax?”

I nodded. “You?”

“I had a quick workout then showered and started cooking.” He gestured to the kitchen. “This is the best form of relaxation.” He gave me a wicked smile. “Well, the second best. You look breathtaking tonight, Catherine.”

I looked down and blushed as my belly did a slow roll, like it always did when he looked at me that way. I almost wished we could skip dinner. But I was hungry now that I was surrounded by the smell of the food. And I knew William well enough to know he believed in savoring a meal and building anticipation for what was to come.

The work out explained why his hair was still a little damp and curling about the nape of his neck. I loved it when it looked like that. He wore a pair of faded jeans that were slung low on his hips and a dark blue shirt that made his eyes look more blue than grey. He moved confidently between the prep area and the stove.

“What are you chopping?” I asked.

“Tomatillos for the salsa. We have a big farm garden so most of the vegetables we’ll eat tonight were picked right here. Everything else is local and organic.”

“Can I help?”

“Well, I’ve already chopped the onions, so I’ve think I’ve got everything covered.” William gave me a bemused smile, but there was no mistaking the hungry gleam in his eyes. I could feel myself heating up as he looked at me. The last time we had cooked together, his instructing me on how to properly chop onions had led to one of the most sexually decadent nights of my life. He could tell I was thinking about it. 

“Great!” I replied a little too cheerfully, trying to regain my focus. “So what’s on the menu?”

“Well, the ceviche is in the refrigerator, and Fernanda and I are just finishing up the rest.” On his way back to the stove, he handed me a bottle of rosé. “This is one of mine,” he said in my ear. A zing of pleasure raced through me at his soft voice.

Back at the stove, he put some ingredients into a pan, and a few seconds later my mouth was watering from the smells that filled the kitchen. William turned and said, “The table is set under the pergola. Why don’t you go check it out?”

Carrying the bottle of rosé with me, I wandered outside, feeling the soft breeze ruffle my hair. There were a million stars in the sky and a crescent moon looking down on me. Lights in the trees twinkled and reflected in the pool, and outdoor heaters ensured I wouldn’t get cold. Beyoncé played on hidden speakers, and a fire crackled in the outdoor fireplace, filling the air with the smell of burning wood. A moment later Fernanda brought a bowl of warm homemade tortilla chips and the salsa William had made and beckoned me to sit at the table.

I realized belatedly I’d forgotten to bring out any wine glasses, but William showed up a minute later with two. He poured the wine and held his glass for a toast. I followed, smiling. This was all so unlike him.

“To dining
al fresco
,” he said, “with the most beautiful woman I know.”

I grinned. I was loving romantic William tonight and I felt again like I was the luckiest girl in the world. My nervousness at the airport, at William’s wealth on display, was slowly fading into the background of this perfect evening.

We clinked glasses and moments later Fernanda brought out a tray heaped with the most beautiful Mexican food I’d ever seen. Tacos and burritos were staples of the surfer diet and I’d eaten Mexican food for most of my life, even in Mexico, as I’d spent time on just about every major beach in Baja. But this was Mexican
haute cuisine
, and on a whole different level. There were small glasses of ceviche bursting with big, pink shrimp and a platter piled high with crispy fish, cabbage, and a white sauce that looked a bit like sour cream. There was a bowl of steaming rice and I detected the heady aroma of cilantro. There were beans and fresh tortillas, fresh guacamole, and a dark mole sauce that William said was made with chocolate. It was casual food but beautifully presented, and it smelled incredible.

 “This looks absolutely delicious. I can’t believe you made all of this. You’re amazing. And there’s no way I can eat all of it,” I protested, but I was practically salivating.

“Fernanda is my secret weapon. I give her all the credit. I just helped.” He was trying to be modest, which was so cute, but he was obviously pleased by my compliments. “Dig in.”

When I tasted the first taco, I smiled, closed my eyes, and nodded approval. The dish looked simple, but the flavors exploded in my mouth. “Oh my God. William, this is
so
good.” I tried not to giggle. I was having what Beckett would call a “total M.O.” or mouth orgasm. He was always equating food with sex in ways that cracked me up. But that was very different from food and sex with Mr. Lambourne. I loved that William continued to dazzle me with his culinary talent. His skillful cooking and his deep appreciation of food and wine, of eating and enjoying it, were some of the most surprising things about him and I loved them. I loved
him
.

“It’s an old recipe,” William told me, still pleased with my response. “The secret is the batter. It’s made with beer.”

“It’s wonderful.” I took a sip of my wine. “I love this wine too,” I said.

“That I’m especially glad to hear. This is from our first bottling of rosé,” he held up his glass and swirled the deep pink liquid in it. “Rosés are tricky. This is
rosato
, which is what it’s called in Italy. It’s a very old kind of wine—ancient actually. We follow the traditional method, which means we press the red grapes early and allow only about a day for skin-contact. That limited maceration is what imparts the color and most of the flavor. It’s not a wine meant to be aged. The flavors are too delicate. So far, I’ve been very pleased with our results. But like I said, this is our first bottling. Who knows how next year will go.”

My head was reeling, I was so impressed. “But you said you mostly make whites?”

He nodded. “We do. Sparkling mostly, with the Chardonnay and Pinot Meunier grapes. But I’ve been trying a few reds too. Small bottlings. And of course the rosé. I’ll arrange for a tasting tomorrow and you’ll be able to sample all of it. It’s a small operation, but I’m really proud of our bottles.”

I listened as he continued to talk about the vineyard and its operations. He was animated and so obviously passionate about making wine. I wondered if he was as passionate about his other business ventures.

The combination of the spicy food, the outdoor heaters, and the wine made me feel warm and cozy, but the real warmth I wanted was from the man sitting across the table from me. I wanted more than talk. We’d been in bed at The Peninsula, making love, just over twelve hours ago and that’s exactly where I wanted to be again: in bed, with William, with his heavy muscled body pressing on top of mine and his hard cock pressing between my legs. Our petting session on the plane had been fun, but it hadn’t come close to quelling the deep ache for him I felt in my core.

William reached across the table and took my hand, and I realized I hadn’t been paying attention or speaking for several moments. His warm hand drew my attention back to him, and he gave me a tentative smile. “I know you must be wondering about why we’re here—about my brother.”

My attention snapped to his face. I knew him well enough now to see the fine lines of strain about his eyes and mouth. My lust would have to wait. This was difficult for him, and I loved him for telling me anyway. This was what I had been waiting for too: him finally opening up to me. “I have been wondering,” I said. “I know it’s hard to talk about.”

“You’ve waited long enough,” he said, his hand stroking mine. He looked down at our clasped fingers. “I died the day I lost my family. I was eleven, ready to start middle school, when my parents and Wyatt died in the plane crash.”

“Oh, William.” I wanted to hug him, but I knew I had to allow him to speak without interruption.

“I was at summer camp when it happened. That’s why I wasn’t on the plane.” His eyes met mine. They were a dark grey I hadn’t seen before. He looked sad and in his gaze I saw a piece of the little boy he’d been. “And being spared was its own kind of hell. Why me? Why was I the lucky one?” He gave a bitter laugh. “I wouldn’t even call it luck. I can’t count the number of times I wished I’d been on that plane. I wished I’d died too.”

“No.” I shook my head, feeling helpless to comfort him.

“I was just a little kid and I lost everything. Everything I knew and loved in my life was gone. I said goodbye when they dropped me off at camp and then I never saw them again. Ever. Of course I had my aunt and uncle. We’d always been close to them, but becoming a member of their family was a lot different than spending Christmas afternoon at their house. They tried.” His gaze was far away as though remembering. “They supported me, and I know it wasn’t always easy. I wasn’t easy. People said I
had a hard time adjusting
, and I was pretty fucked up. My life changed completely. Our house in the city was sold and everything was sold with it or put into storage. I went to live in Lake Forest, which meant I had to start a new school and say goodbye to all of my friends.

“It sucked. I went for months without really talking. I was sullen and withdrawn, not exactly the kind of kid voted most popular. And I got into fights, a lot. That went on until I finished college.”

I couldn’t imagine William being violent, but he was a big guy with an impressive physique and an even more impressive presence. I had no doubt he could more than handle himself if provoked, but that wasn’t something I ever wanted to see. “What about counseling?” I asked.

He nodded. “I went into therapy. Spent years dissecting and being dissected, but it didn’t help. It didn’t bring them back.”

We just sat there for a minute, not talking, as his story began to sink in. Finally, I said softly, “My heart breaks for you, William.” And it did. I couldn’t imagine the kind of loss he endured. Even Jace’s death didn’t compare with this.

He rose and ran a hand through his hair, staring toward the dark shape of the mountains. I missed the physical contact with him immediately.

“The first year was the worst,” he said, still looking away. “But it got better.” He looked at me then, and my heart twisted. I tried not to ascribe any significance to his words and that look, but it took all I had.

“My aunt and uncle tried to protect me. I started a new school in Lake Forest, where I didn’t know anyone. Unfortunately, everyone knew who I was. I’m sure you know that my family’s tragedy and my survival was all over the news for months.”

I had Googled him and read some of the articles about the plane crash, but I nodded noncommittally. This was his story to tell.

“The media dubbed me the
poor little rich boy
. That was when I learned money could be a curse as well as a blessing.” He began pacing, at first walking slowly without purpose, but picking up speed as he spoke. “Do you know where my money came from?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Originally the Lambourne family owned a coffee and tea business that my great-great-great-grandfather grew into the largest institutional food supplier in the United States. My great-grandfather sold it all to a huge conglomerate and since then, the only thing the Lambourne family has made is money.” He sounded almost ashamed of this, but I couldn’t see his face because he paced away from me.

“My father was particularly gifted in investment and financial management. He took his inherited wealth and grew his portfolio via his firm, which is my firm now. He was a
very
wealthy man when he died.”

I wondered what constituted
very
wealthy to William Lambourne. I had a feeling it was more money than I could imagine.

“I inherited that wealth. I was the sole heir. That wasn’t how it was meant to be, but that’s what happened and everybody knew about it.” He stopped pacing and turned to face me. “And the first extortion attempt came when I was a freshman in high school.”

“Extortion?” I gasped, all but choking on my wine. “I don’t understand.”

He gave me a sad smile. “That’s what I love about you, Catherine.”

I blinked, telling myself he hadn’t said he loved me, just that he loved something about me. Not the same thing. I set my wine glass down and stared at him. “What do you mean by extortion?”

“I mean a threat used to elicit payment. My Uncle Charles, who also happened to be my father’s lawyer, received a series of letters from a woman who claimed to be my father’s mistress. She also claimed to have had an illegitimate son with my father and she wanted her child to receive his rightful portion of the Lambourne fortune.”

“Oh my God.” A sick feeling of revulsion rose in my throat.

“There was an investigation,” William said, crossing to me and taking his seat again. He refilled his wine glass and I noticed his hand shook slightly. “Her story was easily discredited, but that was hardly the last attempt to get my money.”

I reached for his hand, wanting to comfort him. I’d never seen him so vulnerable. It scared me.

“Less than a year later, a man was caught outside my aunt and uncle’s house with a taser gun, rope, handcuffs, a hood, duct tape—all sorts of goodies.”

I shook my head as though I could make any of this go away.

“He also had three loaded guns on him and a ransom note. He had intended to kidnap and then ransom me for five million dollars. Security was increased, but that didn’t stop the Wyatts.”

I frowned at him, confused.

“At least three different men—or their, shall we say,
representatives
—have made contact through the years, all claiming to either be my brother or to know where Wyatt is. Their stories as to how Wyatt miraculously survived the plane crash have varied, but the motivation has been the same.”