There was no doubt Hutch Morrison was a sexy bad boy type. He had the bedroom eyes, the slow, sexy smile, and the hard body—a nice canvas for the tattoos. I was intrigued at the thought of meeting him. I bet he was just as hot in person; guys like him always were.
I’ll give him a call tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Don’t forget. Big chance for you, don’t miss it.
Right. See you soon.
I put my phone in my purse, then pulled it out again and stared at the picture of Hutch Morrison. I’d call his publicist tomorrow or later in the week. It might be interesting to do some shots of this guy’s food. Or of the man himself.
My mind was going around and around in circles and I was too. After I passed the same wine bar three times, I decided to take a break. Coffee and work sounded perfect.
With Darius right on my heels, I went in a café called the Bean and Brew, dropped my bag on a couch, and went to the counter. I studied my choices and ordered my old standard—café latte. The coffee shop wasn’t busy, and my drink was ready quickly. I carried it back to the couch where I’d left my laptop as the door to the café opened.
I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the man who walked in. I heard someone—probably me—emit a small cry and then I felt hot liquid splash on my feet. The mug I’d been holding smashed on the floor. Jace was standing in front of me.
Eight
Seeing Jace’s face again, seeing him live and in the flesh, sucked the air right out of me. I gripped the back of a chair for support and struggled to gasp in a breath. My whole body shook, and my knees felt like they were about to give out. I had to lean heavily on the chair to stay upright.
Of course, I knew it wasn’t Jace. He was dead. I’d seen his lifeless body on the table at the morgue in Hawaii and then I’d buried him outside of Atherton. This wasn’t my husband. Of course it wasn’t. And there was only one other person who looked this much like Jace: his brother.
“Jeremy,” I stuttered.
He looked as shocked to see me as I was to see him. “Cat?”
I nodded, blown away by how much his voice sounded like Jace’s. I heard that voice in my dream this morning—or a version of it—but it had been so long since I’d heard it for real. So long since I’d seen Jeremy, not since…I didn’t want to remember that.
I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to hug him and another part just wanted to run. Jace and Jeremy weren’t twins. Jeremy was almost a year younger than Jace, the same age as me, but the resemblance was striking. I remembered remarking on it the first time I met him. I tried to focus on the little differences between the two brothers now. Jeremy’s hair had always been darker than Jace’s and his eyes were a little closer set. He didn’t have the surfer tan Jace always sported, and though he and Jace shared many of the same expressions, the one on his face now wasn’t one of Jace’s. I thought of it as Jeremy’s smug look.
“What are you doing here, Cat?” Jeremy asked, stepping closer. Clearly, he could see I was shocked, but he wasn’t going to give me any room.
“I…”
“God, it’s good to see you, babe.” Jeremy pulled me into his chest in a warm embrace. I had two options: I could push out of his arms and make an excuse to go, or I could let it happen. I could go with it and take a step back into the world I once knew.
Yesterday I probably would have made a beeline to the exit, run right back to Casa di Rosabela, and told William everything. But William wasn’t there waiting for me and I didn’t know where the hell he was. I was confused and in desperate need of a friend. Right now, Jeremy felt like home.
“Do you want to sit outside and have a cup of coffee?” I asked.
“Sure.” He nodded to the one I’d dropped on the floor. “Let me get you another. Latte, right?”
“Right.”
He moved to the counter, and with a mumbled apology to the barista cleaning up my mess, I moved outside and sat at a table in the sun. I shouldn’t be with Jeremy right now. If Beckett knew, he’d tell me to get the hell out of here.
And he’d be right.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about the way William was behaving. He’d completely ditched me for basically three days in a row, and I didn’t understand why. I’d felt closer to him these past few days and, sexually, we couldn’t get any hotter. Whatever distance was between us now was all his doing, for reasons he refused to tell me. And it hurt. It wasn’t as though he could throw stones. He was probably sipping coffee with Anya Pierce right now.
I hadn’t wanted to come back to Northern California—for good reason—but I’d done it because William asked me to, because he said he needed me. But ever since we stepped foot off his plane on Sunday night, he hadn’t seemed to need me at all. And now I was in the exact situation I most feared, without any backup.