A Sip of You
Sorcha Grace
One
“You doing okay back there, Miss Kelly?” Anthony’s voice got my attention as I blinked out my window at the view of Chicago’s Northwest side. We were speeding up the Kennedy toward O’Hare. Traffic was light, and the big black SUV seemed to glide effortlessly in an open lane. I glanced down at my fingers entwined tightly in my lap, and loosed my white-knuckled grip.
“It’s Cat, Anthony.” I caught his smile in the rearview mirror. He hadn’t forgotten that I’d asked him to call me by my first name. In his small way, he was trying to take my mind off this trip and help me relax. He’d taken on an impossible job. I was nervous and giddy all at the same time.
“Of course, Miss Cat. We’ll be at the executive terminal in less than ten minutes.”
“Great.” But my voice sounded tinny and false. How had I gotten myself into this?
William. No one but William Maddox Lambourne could have convinced me to go back to California. Well, maybe Beckett could have, but not likely. I’d moved from Santa Cruz to Chicago barely nine months ago and I’d had no plans to go back. Ever. Until this morning, when William told me the incredible news that his brother, presumed dead for nearly twenty years, might be alive.
It was the stuff soap operas were made of and I still couldn’t quite get my head around it, but the look of desperation on William’s face had been achingly real. He’d only had to say the words come with me and I was lost. I would have done anything for him and when he’d added that he needed me at his side, which was a first, I knew I’d go. In that instant, my petty hang-ups about going back to California were set aside in favor of supporting William during whatever shit storm was brewing out west. So here I was.
William had sent Anthony to drive me to O’Hare and from there we were taking a private plane to California. Like everything else he did, William traveled in style. I, Catherine Kelly, connoisseur of cheap seats in coach, was about to fly on a billionaire’s private jet to his vineyard in Napa Valley. It seemed so utterly ridiculous—but it was so fabulously exciting too.
This entire day felt surreal. This morning I had woken up in William’s arms at The Peninsula Chicago after the best night—and the best sex—of my life. Last night, when we’d come back together after our break-up—a break-up that had totally leveled me and gutted me to my very center—everything had changed, and I was still riding high from our reunion . Images of my sexy striptease, William’s stormy eyes on me, and his hot mouth on my body were still very fresh in my head. I’d cried at the orgasm he’d given me. Yes, cried. I’d never felt anything as intense before and it had been fucking amazing.
And then there’d been the sweetness of sharing jelly beans, of talking for hours, which had been amazing too. Finally, William had started to open up to me and I felt closer to him now than I ever had. After everything I’d been through in the past few years, I never imagined I could feel this way about someone again. William and I had only known each other for a short time, and yet he’d already changed my world completely and I had fallen for him. Hard.
We’d been standing in my kitchen late this morning, kissing, his tongue tasting sugary and sweet from Beckett’s cupcakes. We were getting ready to spend a lazy Saturday together. I glanced down now at the watch William had placed on my wrist, a gift he had brought me from London several days ago. Anthony must have seen me and thought I was checking the time because he called out, “Almost there, Miss Cat. Just a few more minutes.”
“Thanks, Anthony,” I answered back.
But I wasn’t concerned about the remaining minutes of our drive. The Patek Philippe on my wrist was excruciatingly accurate and my insides knotted and fluttered as I remembered William’s instructions for me to think about his touch at 11:42 every morning. He had very specific ideas about my regularly checking my new expensive timepiece and, as he’d shared them, he had tickled my neck with hot kisses and trailed his hand down my body, palming my breast then cupping my sex, feeling through my clothes the inferno that blazed between my legs whenever he put his hands on me. But then his phone rang and that call had ruined everything. And now, in a few hours, I’d be back in California. Back home. Well, not exactly home, but only a hundred and fifty miles away.
I leaned my head back against the seat cushions, closed my eyes, and sighed.
Mentally, I went over my checklist one last time. It had been a hectic afternoon. I’d had to pack, find a dog sitter for Laird, and make sure my condo was taken care of. Thank God for Beckett, who never let me down. Since I worked freelance, work was coming with me. This trip was open-ended, so I hadn’t even known how much to pack. I’d argued that I needed more time to get ready, but William assured me that everything would be taken care of.