A Sip of You(7)
I still found it hard to believe that a girl like me was with a man like William Lambourne. He had everything. He was gorgeous, with all that thick mahogany hair, those stormy blue-grey eyes, and that ripped body. And he was rich. I still had difficulty fathoming the extent of his wealth. His penthouse was the kind of place someone like me only read about in magazines. I had no idea how many business ventures he was involved in, but WML Capital Management seemed to have more than its share of global interests. Hell, we were going to his vineyard on his private jet, and the watch I was wearing was worth more than my yearly income. And though he could be infuriatingly bossy and demanding and downright thickheaded at times, he was also sweet, caring, sensitive, and passionate about so many things, including food. I’d eaten more with William and in front of William than I had with any other man in my entire life. And I’d loved every bite of it.
But he had his drawbacks too. If I was being romantic, I’d say he was mysterious, but really he was incredibly secretive. He’d already amassed a track record of withholding information from me when he felt like it. Important information about things like his socialite ex-girlfriends or spontaneous overseas trips, and, of course, about his family and the accident that had claimed their lives. The reason for this trip fell under the “Secretive” category, but I was letting it slide because of how obviously upsetting the situation was. Plus, I had reason to believe he was going to change his mysterious ways. It couldn’t just be sex between us. I needed more, and I knew William wanted more too. We’d talked about that.
An hour and a half later my movie ended, and I was bored and annoyed, flipping through an old magazine I’d found. Apparently even flights on private jets weren’t exciting past the first few minutes. The co-pilot had come out earlier to check on me, which was nice. When I’d told him William was sleeping, he hadn’t seemed surprised.
“He usually sleeps,” he’d said. “He hates to fly.”
I’d wondered if the co-pilot knew about the Xanax too. Sometimes it seemed like everyone knew William better than me.
“It should be a smooth flight. We’ll be there on time, if not a few minutes early,” he had said before shutting himself back in the cockpit.
“Great,” I’d said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
In truth, a ball of dread formed in my belly when I thought about returning to California. I didn’t know how I was going to avoid being reminded of Jace and the life we shared there together. Santa Cruz seemed like forever ago, but parts of it were still so raw they might have happened yesterday. And those parts still ripped at old and tender wounds. I pushed all of that out of my mind and focused on the real reason for the trip: William. We were going to be spending our time at his vineyard in Napa and that was far, far away from anything that could hurt me. But it would have been nice if William had been here to distract me from my worries.
I shivered, noting that, just like a commercial airliner, it was too cold. I checked the cupboards and couldn’t find a blanket. Now would have been a great time for a flight attendant to appear. But I was on my own, and I wasn’t helpless. The blankets were probably stored in the bedroom. Quietly, I opened the door and tiptoed inside. I stopped in my tracks, staring at William in shock.
He was out. I’d rarely seen him sleep, much less sleep so deeply. I moved closer so I could see his face, which was turned toward me. His strong features were slack, but his brow was drawn with tension. Despite his light snoring, I didn’t think his slumber was peaceful.
He stirred a little when I closed the door, but then he quieted again and his breathing became regular. One arm was thrown up over his head, and a blanket was twisted around his legs. He wore a T-shirt and boxer briefs, the black clothing and the swirl of his dark hair like a stain on the white sheets. His body was perfect, his biceps making the T-shirt’s sleeve bunch, and the lines of his flat abs were visible where his shirt had pulled up slightly. He was a fallen angel asleep in his winged chariot, and I couldn’t resist him.
What the hell? I thought. Why should I resist him? He was my fallen angel. I quickly stripped down to my ivory bra and panties, which were embellished with delicate lace. I felt almost virginal in them, especially with William wearing all that black. I climbed in bed beside him; it was plenty big enough for both of us.
“Catherine,” he murmured, shifting slightly onto his side. I pulled the blanket up to cover us and spooned behind him. Did the man ever get cold? The heat radiating from him immediately warmed me. Neither of us had slept much the night before, and I felt my body relax and melt into his. He sighed and pulled my arm tighter around him. This was home, I thought. Even though I was in-between worlds—somewhere between my first home and my new home—William was my anchor now. I snuggled into him, putting my head behind his shoulder and breathing in his strong, masculine scent. My eyes drifted closed and, wrapped in his warmth, I fell asleep.