A Sip of You(82)

I felt a little naughty in the crotchless underwear, but I felt sexy too. William was going to love it.

He buzzed at two minutes to seven, and then was upstairs and knocking on my door moments later. Laird woofed, but I waved him back and opened the door. I stood for a moment, framed in the doorway, but he barely glanced at me. He leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Catherine.”

Okay, so maybe the leather didn’t do it for him. I stepped aside to allow him to pass, and watched as the delicious smell of pizza hit him. “Smells good,” he said. “What are we having?”

I smiled. “Pizza.”

He gave a short laugh. “Pizza? Great.”

Something was obviously bothering him. Maybe work hadn’t gone so well. Or maybe something new had surfaced with the Wyatt situation. “Can I get you a beer? There’s wine too,” I added. “I thought we might have that with dinner, but I can pour you a glass.”

“A beer would be fine.”

I felt his gaze on me as I walked to the kitchen. He looked great in dark jeans and a leather jacket. He’d probably shaved before he’d come over. He didn’t have a five o’clock shadow, and his hair was smooth and perfectly in place. When I returned to the living room, he hadn’t moved or taken off the jacket.

I handed him a beer and he drank without even looking at the bottle.

“I hope it’s okay that I got pizza. There’s this little Italian place around the corner. They make everything from scratch.”

“It’s fine. Take-out is fine.” He shifted and then his gaze met mine. My heart seemed to slow and slam into my chest. His eyes were a cold blue, no trace of warm grey in them at all. “I need to tell you something. Show you something.”

He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a large manila envelope. He opened it and slid a photo out. I stared at it for a long moment, not certain what I was seeing. And then I gasped. It was a black and white photo of Jeremy and me standing on the street in front of my car. Jeremy was kissing me.

For a moment I didn’t understand. Jeremy hadn’t kissed me…and then I remembered the goodbye kiss. It hadn’t meant anything. It had been completely innocent, but it didn’t look that way in the picture. It didn’t look that way at all.

“Want to tell me exactly what’s going on?” William asked, voice cold.

I shook my head. “It’s not what you think.” It sounded so cliché, like I was some sort of philandering husband. I tried again. “That picture. It’s not…Listen, don’t read anything into it. It was just a kiss. It wasn’t…how it looks.”

“I’m not stupid, Catherine.” He threw the photo down, and I watched as the image of me and Jeremy fluttered to the floor. Oh my God, this was bad. Very bad. William wasn’t stupid. How was I possibly going to explain? “That guy wanted you. I knew it that night, and I know it now. All the picture does is bring into question your feelings. Do you want him?”

How could he even ask me this after last night? Didn’t he know by now how much I wanted him? Did he think I had e-sex with just any guy? “No, I don’t want him.” I shook my head. “Not at all. Not even a little. That kiss? It so doesn’t matter.”

He was watching me, his expression dubious. He didn’t know if he believed me. That was fine because I had my own questions. “Want to tell me how you came by this picture? Do you have me under surveillance or something?” I couldn’t help but think of the dossiers I’d seen in William’s office. Photos and records of women he’d dated or planned to date. He’d said he’d never made one for me. But what was this? If he wasn’t keeping tabs on me, where had this come from?

“You haven’t answered all of my questions yet,” William said.

“I did answer them. I told you this photo is nothing. I want you to answer me. Are you having me followed? Are you having George or one of your other henchman make a”—I didn’t want to say dossier—“file on me?”

“I think you’re avoiding talking about that kiss.” He pointed to the photo on the floor, and I wished I could jump on it. Tear it up. Crumple it and throw it in the fire. But the image was in William’s mind now. It was too late.

“You want to know about the picture?” I said, hands on hips. “Then tell me about who took it and why.” God, I hoped this was just a turn in Minerva’s figurative roller coaster ride because right now I really didn’t feel so in love with William. Right now I wanted to smash him over the head with that beer bottle.