A Taste of You (11 page)

“Whatever,” I said, waving a hand. I was tired of trying to figure William out, and our date had turned into a major disappointment. I wanted it to be over.

Unfortunately, that was the moment we were called to dinner.

We walked upstairs to the Millennium Park Room, which was airy with a high ceiling and a spectacular view of the surrounding park, twinkling with lights tonight. I counted more than twenty tables of ten seats each and the room was far from cramped. William led me to our numbered table, and we searched for our place cards. I realized we weren’t sitting together. Earlier tonight I would have been disappointed. Now, I wished Ben and his date were seated at the table. At least I’d have someone to talk to.

William escorted me to my seat and pulled the chair out. As I sat, he leaned down, and his breath feathered my ear. “That’s the last time you’ll open your mouth to another man,” he said, his voice husky and seductive. I couldn’t stop the tremor of pleasure that raced through me at his sexy tone. “From now on, I’m the only man who feeds you.” My skin where his breath touched it fired in response, and I squirmed in my seat. His closeness and his voice turned me on, but I didn’t appreciate his warning. Who the hell did he think he was? Did other women tolerate this sort of behavior? Why did he think he could get away with the constant shifting from cold to hot and back again?

I thought the night couldn’t get worse, and then I saw William’s dinner companions. On one side sat a twenty-something, attractive blond who greeted him as though they were old friends or lovers. I suspected the latter. On William’s right was a petite older woman, cougar written all over her and obviously a socialite. She wore a low-cut strapless gown and a necklace of diamonds that showcased her remarkable cleavage and her latest face-lift. As the first course arrived, I watched the socialite exercise her flirting skills. She did everything but hop in William’s lap to get his attention. Her hand was rooted firmly on his arm, and she had him chatting and smiling. It was a polite smile, but more than I’d garnered all night.

Meanwhile, the man on my left was engaged with his companion, and the woman on my right was busy texting. So I took solace in my wine. It was good wine. The champagne had been good as well, so at least the night had that going for it.

The courses arrived, one after another. They were small and artful, and if the blini Ben fed me earlier was any indication, delicious. But watching William and the socialite killed my appetite. I took a few bites to be polite, but nothing appealed to me except the wine. Between brief, polite exchanges with the guests on either side of me, I sipped my wine and watched William.

I would have preferred not to watch, but I found myself stealing glances. I couldn’t help but notice how his hands looked when he held his flatware. He had large hands, but I happened to know they were anything but clumsy. Watching him maneuver his fork and knife was like watching an artist paint. William held them delicately, balancing them elegantly between the proscribed fingers. I watched his hands manipulate the utensils and thought about how he manipulated my body with those same fingers. And then he placed a piece of beef tenderloin in his mouth. He had a sexy mouth. His lips were full and sensual, and I knew they could tease and excite. His mouth closed on his fork, and he took his time to appreciate the morsel. I watched him chew and couldn’t banish the image of his mouth on my breast and between my legs.

I really should have looked away, but William was not an easy man to ignore. I kept looking back, noting his chiseled jaw, the way a lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, and of course, those stormy eyes, trained alternately on the blond or the socialite. Never on me.

He was incredibly sexy. I didn’t want to be drawn to him, but I couldn’t help it. He was a walking sex god. And that thought made me want another swig of wine. And another.

Finally, dessert was served, and I felt like rubbing my hands together in glee. I wasn’t about to turn down dessert. I’d tasted Ben’s desserts, and I wagered Emil LeClerc’s would be just as delicious. But even as slabs of decadent cake arrived on small plates—the server said it was chocolate cherry with rum ganache—I noticed that the other guests were leaving the table and drifting toward the dance floor. I didn’t get it. The dessert looked absolutely delicious. Why would they leave it untouched?

And then I remembered where I was. Of course, these calorie counters didn’t eat dessert. Nary a chocolate-covered carb ever passed their lips. What was I thinking?

The orchestra began to play, and the audience applauded. The musicians were playing old standards, which I loved. Really, if I’d been here with anyone else I would have been enchanted. The setting was lovely, the music was perfect, and the food was delicious. But all I could think about was how much I wanted to leave. I was bored and disgusted. Maybe the way William was treating me was the norm. Maybe it was exactly what any woman who dated William Lambourne—notorious commitment-phobe and billionaire playboy—signed on for. But I wasn’t having fun, and I’d foolishly expected more.

I’d taken a chance, stepped out of my comfort zone, accepted a date I wasn’t quite ready for, and now I was hating every moment of it. I wanted to just go with it, but I couldn’t. Besides, I told myself, it was better to nip this thing in the bud sooner rather than later. My kitchen, the nuzzling in the SUV—it was all too much, way too soon. I’d tell William good-bye and call it a night, but first I had to find the ladies’ room. I’d drunk too much wine and champagne, and it was catching up with me.

I grabbed my clutch and began to rise, but William was behind me, pulling out my chair. I must have looked startled because he took my elbow to steady me and pulled me close. “We need to dance,” he growled.

I pulled my arm away. “I don’t think so. I’m going home.” I stepped back, planning my escape. Better just do it now. “Thank you for…an interesting evening,” I began, “but—”

Ignoring my protests, William artfully captured my arm again and pulled me close, steering me onto the dance floor. The man obviously didn’t take
no
for an answer. I could tell by the set of his jaw there was no point in resisting, so I resigned myself to one dance. Maybe it would help my buzz from the wine would wear off.

The orchestra struck up Cole Porter’s “Night and Day,” and I smiled. My dad always loved Frank Sinatra, and I’d probably heard Ol’ Blue Eyes sing this song a thousand times.

“You’re smiling,” William said. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“It means I like the music. My father used to play this song.”

“He has good taste.” William turned me expertly. “I always wanted to sing like Sinatra, but I can’t carry a tune.”

“You mean you have flaws?”

He arched a brow. “One or two.”

It seemed appropriate that this song played for my dance with William. He was just a little too intense and jealous, and “Night and Day,” was the perfect anthem for obsession.

Even as I had the thought, William pulled me flush against him. His warm hand on my bare back sent electric currents rippling through me. It annoyed me that he could do this. His touch alone could turn me on. He moved with me—he was a great dancer, so I added that to his many talents—and my nipples hardened as our bodies rubbed together. I didn’t want to want him, but my body had a mind of its own. He pressed his pelvis into my belly, and I felt him stirring. He wanted me. It was gratifying but confusing as hell. Why had he ignored me all night?

“I love that I can do that to you, Catherine,” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot. “I love that I can make your nipples instantly hard.”

Pleasure spiraled through me.
Oh, shit
, I thought as my head spun from the wine. I could feel my body reacting to his closeness and the sultry sound of his voice.

“I’ve been thinking about your mouth all night. Those red lips. I imagined you kneeling in front of me, your lips sucking me, and your perfect tits rubbing against me.”

No.

I didn’t want to get hot and bothered again, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. We swayed elegantly to the music, and I’m sure no one watching could have guessed all the dirty things he whispered in my ear. I thought about breaking away, but he held me possessively, his fingers drumming and caressing the bared skin of my lower back. His hand was so low that if he dipped it another fraction of an inch, he’d be able to touch the lace of my thong. I took a shaky breath and realized I wanted him to touch me there. I wanted him to do so much more.

“Every man here wants you, Catherine,” he said. “It’s those scarlet lips and your damn fuckable mouth.”

I wanted to argue, but between the music and the wine and William’s hard body against mine, I couldn’t think. I was thankful the music was loud enough that no one could hear his words. They were purred for me alone. Against my better judgment, I closed my eyes against the dizziness I felt and reveled in the feel of William’s arms around me. If I hadn’t drank so much, if I’d eaten something, I could have made witty comebacks. I could have put him in his place. But all I could do was to keep dancing and resist the urge to ask him to take me right then and there.

“I want to fuck your mouth, Catherine. I want to see my cock between your red lips.”

Yes
. I wanted that too. I was already wet for him. If he’d pulled me off the dance floor and into a private room, I would have sucked him off without protest. He could make me do anything he liked.

“I moved your place card,” he said, bringing my attention back to the dance and the fundraiser. “The speeches will start in a few minutes, and I want you sitting next to me. No more taunting me from across the table.”

I pulled back and looked up at him. “Can you do that? Just move the place cards?” If he could simply pick up a place card and move it at will, then why hadn’t he done it earlier? Why had he made me sit across the table from him? A punishment? Or was it because he wanted to keep me at a distance? Or maybe he wanted to get close to someone else. The blond came to mind, but I didn’t voice my thoughts.

“I paid twenty-five thousand dollars a plate for that table,” he growled in my ear. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

I did the quick math in my head. Twenty-five thousand a plate meant the table alone cost a quarter of a million dollars. How many of these did he go to in a week, a month, a year? I couldn’t fathom that kind of money or that kind of power. It turned me on. This man who could have everything wanted me.

The song ended, and we were near the edge of the dance floor. Before he could lead me into another dance or take my hand and escort me to the table, yet another business-type vying for his attention approached him. William gave me a frown, but I put my hand on his arm. “I have to find the ladies’ room. I’ll see you at the table.”

He nodded, and while the music started again, I watched as hot, sexy William Lambourne walked toward a group of powerful men, where he would probably hold court.

I took an uneasy breath and headed for the restrooms. I wasn’t leaving after all. Maybe the night would turn out okay. Maybe we’d just gotten off to a bad start.

I’d barely made it off the dance floor when the blond seated beside William at dinner sidled up next to me. “Hello, Catherine,” she said over the music.

“I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“No.” The tone in her voice indicated that not only had we not met, I was fortunate to be meeting her then. “I’m Lara Kendall.” She said her name as though I should have heard of her. She was definitely the ice-princess type—the kind who probably grew up with every privilege and advantage and dedicated herself to volunteering, shopping, lunching, and exercising. I disliked her immediately and wondered what her connection to William could be. Was she a former lover? A current lover? A man would have to be dead not to be attracted to her. She was tiny, one of those size zeroes, but curvy in the right places. She was a classic beauty with porcelain skin, large blue eyes, and that corn silk blond hair most women could get only from a bottle. I felt huge and drab beside her. My freckles, so perfect for the beaches of California, felt ugly and common. And though I was a size six, she was so slim that I felt fat and bloated.

I took a deep breath and decided to get through this quickly. “I’m Catherine Kelly, but you seem to know that already.”

“So you’re here with William.” Her gaze flicked to the other end of the room. He was ensconced in—if the looks on the men’s faces were an indication—a serious conversation. “How long have you been together?” Lara asked.

I laughed. I didn’t know if we
were
together. “Not long.” Feeling self-conscious standing beside the Ice Princess, I tucked a stray tendril of hair that had come loose from my bun behind my ear. Great. I hadn’t checked my hair or makeup all night. I probably looked a mess.

Before I could lower my hand, Lara grabbed my wrist. “What a lovely bracelet.” But her voice and the look on her face didn’t match her words. She gripped my wrist tightly, twisting my arm to get a better look. The angle was uncomfortable, as awkward as having this woman I didn’t even know touching me.

“It was a gift,” I said, trying to gently pull my arm back. Lara didn’t let go.

She smirked. “I’m sure it was. William does love to spoil his women.”

I must have jerked in surprise at her words because she tightened her hold.

“If I had to guess, I’d say this was platinum, about ten carats.” She looked directly into my face. “Wow. You must have extraordinary skills.” Her gaze settled on my lips, and suddenly, they felt overly done, too heavily rouged. She smirked, and I yanked my arm away, stunned by the cutting comments that rolled off her tongue with her smile.

“Excuse me,” I said coldly. “I need to find the ladies’ room.”

“Oh, good idea,” Lara said. Then she leaned close and fake-whispered loudly, her smile still plastered on her face, “You have a bit of lipstick on your teeth. Nice to meet you. And have a good night.” Then she turned and strutted away.

My head reeled, and I stood dumbfounded, seemingly rooted in place. The band finished the song they’d been playing with a flourish and launched into another of my father’s favorites, “The Lady is a Tramp.”