A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series) (5 page)

“Money.”

He nodded, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Exactly. Wyatt Lambourne could be produced for the right price. All of these men were discredited and one of them was arrested after we discovered he planned to kill me if I didn’t pay him. You’ve asked me about George before, Catherine. This is why I need him. He worked for my father and stayed on as head of my personal security detail. He has been involved in every investigation. Every single one.”

His lips grazed my knuckles. “After high school, I was sick of living my life in the shadows, but that didn’t mean I could disregard security. I had to agree to certain…measures to protect myself. And George is part of that protection.”

I thought back to the portfolio I had found on Jenny Hill at William’s penthouse.
Certain measures
meant having his dates pre-screened and investigated. It made more sense now, though the screening still went further than I was comfortable with. I wished he’d have told me this before. I wish he could have trusted me. It would have made our relationship so much easier.

“I planned to go to Northwestern, where several generations of my family went before me, but I couldn’t start college until I knew more about the accident. I had to investigate it myself. I was so young when it happened and so much was kept from me. That was as it should have been at the time, but I wasn’t a kid any longer. I wanted to know, for myself. I wanted to find the wreckage…or them. I wanted closure, I guess.”

I nodded. I understood that. I remember needing the closure of saying goodbye to Jace at the funeral. Seeing his body, devoid of any life, made his death real to me, but William never had that. There would always be a small kernel of hope and disbelief in his mind.

“Initially, my Uncle Charles was against another investigation, but eventually he consented.” William’s eyes, stormy grey now rather than steely, met mine. “As you know, Catherine, when I want something, I won’t give up until I get my way.” He gave me a knowing smile that caused heat to rush between my legs. I shifted, and his brow arched as though he knew.

“So you went to Alaska,” I said, trying to keep my focus on the conversation, rather than all the sinfully wicked things I was aching for William to do to me.

“I spent over a year there when I was eighteen, right after I graduated from high school. I reopened the investigation and went over everything—the model of the plane, the pilots, everyone who saw or touched the plane that day. I wanted to be certain sabotage hadn’t been overlooked. Everything, down to the smallest, most minute detail, was scrutinized. I hired experts to analyze the weather and flight patterns. We re-traced the search efforts and I learned everything I could, down to the types and sizes of the nuts and bolts, about the plane my family had been on.

“For nothing.” His shoulders slumped. All of these years later, he was still disheartened. “It didn’t change a God-damned thing. It’s still unbelievable to me in this day and age, when the world seems so much smaller and instantly navigable, that an entire plane full of people could just disappear without a trace and never be found.” He sat back and ran his hand through his hair. He stared at the sky and said, almost to himself, “But Alaska is a very big place and, believe it or not, planes disappear there all the time.” His words sounded rehearsed, as though he’d heard them uttered a thousand times. Perhaps he had. I’d read similar statements when I’d scanned the articles on the Internet about the crash.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what happened,” he added.

I leaned forward. “Pretty sure?”

He lowered his gaze to focus on me, as though he’d forgotten, for a moment, I was there. “I believe in logic and reason. But as much as logic and reason say that weather or equipment failure or some combination thereof caused the plane to go down—as much as logic and reason tell me no one survived the crash—there’s a minuscule possibility something else happened.” He ran a hand over his face, looking sad and weary. “I know it’s not probable. But it’s...something, you know?” His gaze met mine. “I don’t hope they’re still alive, but I hope someday I’ll know exactly what happened. No matter what, a part of me can’t stop wanting that.”

I reached out and took his hand again, stroking it because there really wasn’t any other comfort I could give. I understood what he wasn’t saying. What William really wanted was absolution—to know there was nothing he could have done to change the course of events. To know he was not responsible.

It made no rational sense. Of course an eleven-year-old boy, thousands of miles away at summer camp, couldn’t have been responsible for a plane crash in Alaska, but I knew all too well that rational sense had nothing to do with it. There was nothing rational about a broken heart. I knew because my own heart had been broken once too.

I rose from the table, walked to William, and sat in his lap. I put my arms around him, this big strong man who harbored a lost little boy somewhere inside. I kissed him tenderly, held him, and whispered, “I understand. I understand all about hope.” I held him for a long moment, feeling some of the tension leave his muscles, feeling his body melt into mine. “So this latest Wyatt is just another scam, right? And George is on it.” I hoped I sounded confident, as William clearly needed my reassurance that he had everything under control. After all, this was why we were in Napa. This was why I’d dropped everything to be here with him.

The silence between us lasted so long I was half afraid he hadn’t heard. But he had heard perfectly. I felt his shoulders stiffen, and he drew out of my embrace. “It’s a little more complicated this time. And I’d rather keep you out of it. You don’t need to know.”

I recoiled as though slapped. “What? What do you mean I don’t need to know? I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to know, Catherine,” he said in that deep, dominant tone that clearly indicated his mind was made up and he wasn’t to be questioned. “Just trust me. It’s being taken care of and it will all be over soon enough. Don’t worry about it.”

He pushed me gently off his lap. Left with no other choice, I stood beside him. He rose as well and stretched. He really wasn’t going to say any more, and I stared in stunned disbelief, reeling from the emotional whiplash.

William had just opened up to me more than he ever had before and for those few moments, I felt so emotionally connected to him, so in love with him. And now, he was shutting me out. Just like that. Just because he wanted to. What the fuck?

I wanted to call him on it. Bad. I wanted to have a knockdown, drag-out fight, right here, right now, and scream that he couldn’t just ice me out because he felt like it. But I knew that wouldn’t get me what I wanted. I couldn’t make him open his heart to me no matter how loudly I demanded it. Still, a part of me rebelled against giving him a pass. He was acting as though nothing had changed between us and that everything was perfectly normal. It was frustrating and maddening and confusing as hell.

I was still trying to process what had just happened when William put his arm around me and pulled me close. I was torn between punching him and burying my head against his chest and sobbing.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” His breath was soft and warm against my neck and a delicious shiver of yearning raced through my body. No matter how angry he made me, his touch still had the effect of bringing every part of me immediately into awareness. His lips grazed my ear teasingly. “I want to share Casa di Rosabela with you. Why don’t we have dessert upstairs? I have a special treat in mind.”

Heat flared in me at his words, and I sighed in anticipation of what was to come. A pass it was. There’d be no more talk about William’s secrets tonight.

Someone had already prepared the master suite, as the lights were dimmed, romantic jazz played softly in the background, and a dozen or so candles flickered throughout. I hadn’t noticed the terrace earlier, but now the doors were open, and the soft fragrant breeze gave me the chills. A small pitcher of honey and a plate of
sopapillas
sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon sat beside a bottle of champagne and two flutes on a side table.

William came up behind me, his hands trailing from my waist to my shoulders. “You’re tense,” he said. “How about I give you a massage?”

If I was tense, it was his fault, but I refrained from mentioning that. “I should be the one massaging you,” I said, turning to him. “I know you have a lot on your mind.”

“You’re the only thing on my mind right now. Let me take care of you, Catherine. I like taking care of you.” His hands kneaded my shoulders.

How could I argue? I was tense and tired, and a massage sounded wonderful. “Alright,” I agreed. I felt his hand slide down the zipper of my dress and I stepped out of it and stood facing him in just my kitten heels and my pretty pink lace and silk bra and thong, which I had found in my closet of couture delights.

William’s eyes went immediately dark with desire, that molten grey color I loved. I wanted to see more of that look, so I slowly brought my hand to the front clasp of my bra and unsnapped it. I’d done a sexy fantasy striptease for him last night at the hotel and he’d just about come undone. I wanted that reaction again. I let my bra tumble to the floor, feeling my nipples harden and pucker as they were freed. William watched me as I touched myself.

“I love your breasts, Catherine,” he said, voice husky. I could see the outline of his thick erection straining against his jeans.

“Show me,” I said. His look said he was humoring me and my demands. He stepped closer, putting his hands on my shoulders and sliding them tantalizingly down my flesh. He cupped my breasts, his thumbs rubbing across my sensitive nipples, making them harden until it was almost painful not to be touched. His thumbs plucked and teased until I was breathless, and then he bent and replaced his fingers with his hot, wet mouth. He stroked my swollen point with his tongue and then took it in his mouth, drew it out, and sucked. Wantonly, I pushed myself against him as I ran my hand down his tight abdomen and across his hardness. I felt him twitch and pulse in response. Then his lips released and he pulled his head up and moved back, leaving me incredibly turned on.

“Lie down on the bed,” he ordered me. My thong was damp and I knew I was already slick and slippery with arousal. I wasn’t sure how much of a massage I could take, but I was willing to try. I complied and got on the bed, leaving my shoes on. William shook his head. “On your stomach. I’m giving you a massage, remember?”

I turned over, angling my head so I could see him behind me. He withdrew a bottle of oil from the bedside table and warmed some in his hands. Then he straddled me and began slow, deep strokes across my shoulders and back. I groaned in appreciation and in pleasure too. William had me pinned, but I couldn’t stop my hips from rocking ever so slightly back and forth, and I knew he could feel my telltale movements. I tried to focus on the massage and then I noticed the scent was familiar.

“Is that oil the same as the perfume you gave me?”

“It is,” he murmured in affirmation, his fingers like magic on my tired muscles. “I have a friend who’s a perfumer. I had it made for you. You’re the only one in the world who smells like this.”

“I like it,” I groaned again as he started to work on a knot beneath one of my shoulder blades. I closed my eyes and allowed the sweet scents of vanilla and ginger lily to wash over me. Then I felt his strong hot hands stray downward to my ass and thighs. His fingers moved slowly, caressing me, kneading me. I felt heat rising, and I tingled everywhere in response. This was not relaxing—his touch was making me more and more tense. His thick fingers brushed closer and closer to my sex, and I held my breath. Just when he was right there and I should have felt him on the most intimate part of me, his hand slid away. I sighed into the pillow and tried to keep still.

“Turn over,” he told me.

I obeyed. Once I was face up and settled, he continued to massage me, though his strokes were less therapeutic and much more teasing. His hands slid up my legs, over my belly, until he lightly kneaded my breasts. His fingers brushed lightly over my nipples then skirted away. I couldn’t help the little grunts of pleasure that escaped from my lips every so often. Oh God, I wanted more. I wanted his mouth on me, his body pressing me into the bed, his touch urging me to pleasure. His caresses turned more erotic as his hands skimmed my warm flesh, pausing on my belly, then my hips, dipping lower and then moving away.

“I know how turned on you are right now,” he said. “You’re already wet, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” I reached for him, wanting to pull him to me, wanting to feel the pleasant weight of his body on top of mine.

“Stay still,” he said, though his hands roved maddeningly over my sensitive flesh. “Keep your arms at your sides.”

“William—”

“Just relax. I want to awaken your senses. And I want to explore you in a new way. I want to know every facet of you.”

That sounded promising. I wanted William to know every facet of me too, especially the parts that were already wet and swollen and waiting to be conquered.

“Remember the night I returned from London?”

“How could I forget?” I still flushed when I saw a grape and felt the icy chill on my hot clit as he pressed first the grape to my skin, then his hot, wet mouth.

“Remember our dinner and champagne?”

My body remembered even better than my mind. I writhed in anticipation of a repeat performance. The way William had fed me, had played on my senses—smell, taste, touch—aroused me like never before.

“Remember I blindfolded you? And then I tied your hands?”

I remembered how he’d used his grey and black striped tie that night, though it wasn’t the first thing that came to mind. Still, there was a part of me that had loved him restraining me. With my wrists tied above my head, not being able to touch him had been maddening at first, but then I’d come so hard the second his mouth was on me. That part of me ached for him now.

I didn’t know how much more of this massage I could take. Need rushed through me, making my breath come short, and my body moved to make his hands go where I wanted them.

“Would you like to do that again?”

A flutter of nervousness raced up my spine, but it was nothing compared to the heat flooding my core, to the steady pulse of need I felt between my legs. “What did you have in mind?” I asked.

“Something a bit different, but nothing you can’t handle.” His hands continued to stroke me, keeping me in a highly aroused state. “We can stop at any point. Anytime it’s too much.”

I swallowed nervously. Part of me wanted to say no. I wanted more emotional commitment from William before we went further sexually—we’d already gone farther than I ever had before. But another part of me wanted to be a sexual adventurer and see what pleasures lay ahead. William would be my guide.

“Okay,” I breathed. “But do we need to have a safe word?” I knew enough about sex games to know about safe words and I wanted to be able to stop this if I didn’t like it.

He laughed. “Would you feel better if we had a safe word?”

“I guess,” I said. “I’m not into pain or anything, William.”

“Neither am I, Catherine. This is something else entirely. And I promise, you’ll like it and I’ll never hurt you. But if you’d feel better with a safe word, why don’t you pick one?” He looked at me, waiting for my answer.

I thought for a second. “Rosé. That’s my safe word. Rosé.”

William chuckled again. “Rosé it is. If you say rosé, everything will immediately come to a stop. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I said breathlessly. “Thank you.” I smiled up at him. I was still incredibly turned on and more than ready for him to pleasure me however he wanted.

“Let’s get started then.” He smiled and reached for the nightstand. He withdrew a long red silk scarf and, very slowly, he tied it about my eyes. Everything went dark, and I became hyper aware of the sound of my harsh breathing and the warmth of William’s body beside mine. I heard another sound, and then he gently stretched my arms above my head and guided my fingers until they grasped the ornately carved wood headboard. Something soft and furry snapped around first one wrist then the other.

“These are handcuffs,” William told me. “They’re fur lined, so they shouldn’t pinch.”

“Handcuffs?” I teased. “Now this is getting kinky.”

I heard a quiet laugh. “Oh, Catherine, you have no idea.” He moved away from me, slightly, and I shifted to get a sense of where he was. The handcuffs had enough give to allow me to move my arms, but just barely. I didn’t know what he was doing or what would come next.

From the moment I’d met him, I knew he had a dark sexual side. It alternately thrilled and unsettled me. Jace and I had been completely vanilla. I’d never thought of myself as someone who wanted to be tied up, who wanted to be dominated—let’s face it, that’s what this was. William made no secret he liked to be in control and I was submitting to him. More than willingly. That was something to think about later.

The silence continued, and in my nervousness, I reached to fill it. “So what is this? Handcuffs in the nightstand? Do you chain women to your bed often?”

He laughed, but it sounded more devilish than reassuring. “No, I bought these specifically for us. I’ve thought about having you like this since the day I licked chocolate off you in your kitchen. Do you remember that?”

I nodded. My thighs tensed as I recalled the feel of his tongue on that sensitive skin.

“Since that day, I’ve fantasized about this over and over.”

The bed sagged, and I felt his warmth beside me again. The bare flesh of his thigh rubbed against my torso. He’d obviously gotten undressed. He didn’t touch me but just his nearness was enough to make my hips arch involuntarily again.

“We can stop at any time you don’t like it, but you look so fucking hot, cuffed to my bed, so turned on and at my mercy. What’s your safe word, Catherine?”

My breath hitched in and I felt a gush of dampness between my thighs. I was more turned on than I could ever remember being, and he hadn’t even touched my sex yet. “Rosé,” I managed to say. My heart was hammering in my chest as I waited in anticipation. I felt him shift and then his mouth pressed gentle kisses on my belly, and I gasped and moaned. “Oh fuck. William. Don’t stop.”

 He laughed quietly as his tongue, wet and warm, swirled over my flesh. He nudged my knees apart, probably sensing how close I was to coming. I was soaked and pulsing and could have made myself come so easily if I pressed my legs together.

“Please don’t stop,” I begged. I wanted to push his head to my sex but my raised arms strained against the handcuffs instead. “Please, please, please…”

“I’m just getting started.” But then his hands left my body and he got up off the bed. I whimpered. And then for a long moment I felt and heard nothing.

“William?”

Then the bed shifted and he was back again. “Relax and try to open yourself to every sensation, Catherine. Don’t anticipate or second-guess. Just feel. Do the cuffs caress your wrists? Is the fur silky? Is the wood on the headboard warm under your fingertips?”

I hadn’t noticed all the tiny sensations. When I concentrated on them, I felt my body come more alive. I was aware of the cool breeze from the open terrace door skating over my flesh, of the way it flicked over my nipples and teased the end of my hair. My shoes pinched my toes slightly, my knee itched, and I could just make out a sliver of light where the blindfold covered my nose. But mostly I felt the heavy warmth in my belly. My thong was soaked with my need, my sex swollen in anticipation.

Something light and soft touched my shoulder, and I jumped.

“Relax. I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you. This will always be about pleasure, never about pain.”

I felt the sensation again, and this time it tickled up my arm to my wrist and over to the other side. It disappeared and then I felt that light flutter on the slope of my breast and over my nipple. I moaned again, my buds hardening.

“I can see you like that.”

The fluttering dipped lower, tickling my belly, and if I hadn’t been so aroused, I would have giggled. “What is it?” I asked.

“What do you think?”

I concentrated on the airy sensation as it glided over my thong and skated across my thighs. I couldn’t help but part them. “A feather,” I said suddenly. “A long feather.” I could picture it in my mind, see its weightless fronds teasing my skin.

“That’s right. Let’s try another.”

My body was already aching for him, and I still felt pouty and petulant from being shut out after dinner. I wasn’t sure how much I liked surrendering control right now. “Can’t you just fuck me?” I asked.

“I like it when you talk like that,” William growled hoarsely. I knew I was getting to him. “Say it again.” His hands slid down my belly, and his fingers slid under my thong.

“I want you to fuck me.”

I lifted my buttocks as he slid my thong down and I felt every single sensation involved in removing it. Then I felt him between my legs, his knee nudging me to open even wider. “I’m looking at you, Catherine, all pink and swollen and glistening wet. You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” I was writhing now, knowing his gaze was devouring me. I felt his knee press against my sex, and then the feather fluttered over my clit. I groaned, my muscles clenching, begging for release.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me.”

His finger slid inside me, penetrating me and then sliding up to circle my clit. My breathing came shallowly and my hips rose off the bed. I was close, so close.

And then his touch was gone. “No,” he said, moving away. “Not until I say.”

I cried out in protest. My body wanted to jump over the cliff. I jerked my hands, my instincts telling me to touch myself, but I was cuffed to the bed. “William!”