A Sip of You(93)

The project sounded great and Hutch Morrison was hotter than hell. Though he wasn’t really a temptation, I wasn’t completely immune to his playful flirting, and that made me want to be with my boyfriend. The boyfriend I was lucky to have. The boyfriend I was madly in love with. The boyfriend I was ready to tell whatever he wanted to know about me.

I thought about what I was going to say to William. Whenever I was in his presence, he tended to overwhelm me. He wanted me in his bed tonight but today, I needed to have a calm, rational, adult conversation with him. No fighting. No stand-up sex in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking all of downtown Chicago—at least not right away.

I walked quickly, passing men and women in heavy winter coats, enjoying the rare sunny day in early February. For the moment, I was one of the faceless and nameless in the crowd, caught up in my own thoughts as I strode purposely toward my destination.

William and I had shared incredible chemistry from the moment we’d met. He’d pursued me, and though I’d resisted, I really didn’t mind being caught. He was gorgeous and thoughtful and really, really, really amazing in bed. I never even had a chance.

The fact that he could give me more orgasms than I could count in the space of a couple of hours didn’t make me fall in love with him. I fell in love with the man who loved to cook, who sang off-key, who made wine, and who still held on to a hope for his family, even though all seemed lost. He was loyal, protective, and tender.

Deep down, I knew I could trust him. I trusted him with my body, and I could trust him with my secrets and my heart. And I wanted to be with him. No matter what. Yes, he drove me crazy when he took off without letting me know. Yes, all of his money got in the way of our relationship sometimes. But I loved him, and that meant I would take the good with the bad. I just hoped he would give me the chance.

I wasn’t prepared to let everything slide, however. This stalker thing—having me followed on the sly and sending me the photo proofs—that had to stop. If he felt better having his security team look out for me, fine. But I wanted to know about it.

As I crossed over the Michigan Avenue Bridge, I took a deep breath of the cold air. My cheeks were tingling and my fingers, even inside my coat pockets, were numb from the cold. I was so lost in thought, I almost passed William’s building. I caught myself in time and entered through the revolving doors. The elevators were straight ahead, and I waited with several men in business suits until one arrived. I could see myself in the reflection of the elevator doors. My cheeks were pink from the cold and my hair was windblown. I didn’t smooth it or straighten my scarf. This was who I was.

Finally, I stepped in and pressed the button for the top floor. A couple of the men glanced at me curiously, but I moved to the back and didn’t make eye contact. I remembered the first time I’d come here. I’d been with William then, in his private elevator, and he’d pushed me against the wall and kissed me savagely, taking my breath away. The memory of his hard body pressed against mine, his tongue thrusting between my lips, his hands in my hair was enough to make my legs weak and my breath come in short gasps. I curled my hands into fists, eager to see him, to touch him, to kiss him.

After we talked, I reminded myself. I had the envelope with the proofs in my bag. We needed to talk about those before we touched or we’d never have the conversation.

I was alone in the elevator for the last few floors, and when I stepped off, the floor was hushed and quiet. A handsome older woman sat at a circular desk guarding the doors to the inner office area. She gave me a cautious smile as I approached.

“May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Wil—Mr. Lambourne.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I…Just tell him Catherine Kelly is here.”

The woman’s brows shot up and her eyes quickly perused my hair and clothes. Maybe I should have brushed my hair.

“Just one moment, Miss Kelly.” She lifted her phone and spoke quietly into the receiver. Then she replaced it and smiled at me again. I shifted from one foot to another, feeling awkward until the door behind the receptionist opened and Parker emerged.

“Miss Kelly. I’m so sorry not to meet you. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Hi, Parker. Call me Catherine, please. I’m here to see William. Does he have a minute?”

“Come back with me.” She gestured for me to follow her into the inner offices. She keyed in a code and opened the door. This was the area where William’s private elevator opened. Obviously he had extra security to keep unauthorized individuals out.

I followed Parker to William’s outer office, and she spoke as she walked—or teetered—on black stilettos. I wondered if her feet hurt by the end of the day. “Mr. Lambourne isn’t expecting you. He’s in a meeting right now, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”