Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking (16 page)

BOOK: Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking
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“How are you?” His deep and slightly accented voice took me straight back to the ski lodge, lying on his bed, one hand clutching the sheets, the other in my mouth to stop from screaming my orgasm, his head moving between my thighs.

“Fine, good.” I finally found my voice. “How are you?”

“Great! Uh, I’m going to be in London in two weeks. Are you free for lunch?”

“Oh!” I breathed, strongly ambivalent. Part of me leaped in anticipation, delighted at the possibility, but another equally strong part that dealt with survival felt fear at his coming. If I met up with him in my home city, it wasn’t just a holiday fling—it was an affair. This was where I lived and people knew me, and the risks of being discovered skyrocketed. I had escaped detection once, but this was reckless.

“Sure,” I said, seemingly on automatic. I hadn’t finished thinking it through!
Why had I said that?
I mentally slapped myself on the head.

“I’m staying at the Mayfair. Come up to the Amarillo suite. There’s a dining room in the suite so we can order some lunch and eat in privacy.”

“That sounds nice,” I said noncommittally.

“I’ll leave a key with the concierge for you so you can get up to the suite without having to show ID. I’ll make up a name and text it to you. I’m booked in under a different name myself.”

“That is very…sensible.” The media in this country were nuts, and it made sense not to use our real names, just in case. “What day?”

“Whenever you’re free.” Damn that meant I couldn’t say I was busy, but I didn’t really want to say no, even though I definitely should. Still, lunch in his room was unlikely to be seen by anyone I knew and was the safest possible option.

“How about Tuesday?”

“Tuesday is perfect. See you then.” He hung up after we said goodbye. The conversation was far from romantic, so either he did just want to catch up for lunch on a purely platonic basis or he was simply after sex. I wasn’t sure how I felt about either of those options.

Without thinking it through too much, I started preparing for seeing him like I would for a major event. I ate more oily fish for a good complexion, cut out treats, and worked out a little harder at the gym and with Bats. Two days out, I went to the beautician for some waxing, even going a bit further than I usually did on the intimate areas. I gave way too much thought, though, to what I was going to wear, wanting to look spectacular without, of course, looking as if I had tried. I had a facial and got my nails done.

By the time I left the house in a red and cream printed Celine shift dress with pale leather heels, matching belt, and my cream Chanel jacket, I was as buffed and polished as I got. Hopefully the statement the outfit made was dressy but not overdone. Considering I was going to lunch with a man who probably wouldn’t notice anyway, I should just have worn jeans, but fashion was like armor, and it gave me the confidence, knowing I looked good, to meet him with the minimum of nerves. Great plan, but the nerves grew the closer I got to the hotel, and the further up my esophagus the butterflies flew until I felt I was about to vomit winged insects. Sheer determination that I wouldn’t damage the Chanel kept everything down.
You don’t have to do this,
I reminded myself.
Walk away and tell him you don’t want to see him again
. I couldn’t imagine him being too upset. Or I could just have lunch and decline anything further. There was no pressure on me to do anything. It was just lunch with an acquaintance. I really wanted to see him, so I took a deep breath, blew it out, and then walked into the lobby and looked around for the concierge.

“Hello, I think there is a key here for me. Ursula Andress?” I felt silly just saying it and looked around to see if anyone had heard to compound my embarrassment. No one was paying me the slightest attention until I started staring at them, so I concentrated on the concierge. I realized, then, how suspicious I was looking and tried to relax and look less like I was about to rob a bank or engage in some other nefarious activity, like start an affair. The concierge looked completely unruffled and ignored my discomfort. This must be an everyday thing for him. How odd.

“Certainly, madam. Here is your key.”

I took it and scampered for the privacy of the lift.

Anders opened the door and kissed me on the cheek in greeting, waving me inside. His hair was shorter and neatly combed flat, which made it look darker. He wore a white T-shirt with blue horizontal stripes, dark blue fitted jeans, and no shoes, the warmer weather clothing changing him into someone younger, trendier, and faintly nautical. He looked like something out of a Ralph Lauren catalog. More than just clothing, it was selling a lifestyle.
Was Anders the lifestyle choice I wanted to make now?
I wondered.

The suite was tastefully opulent. Anders stood behind me as I looked around for a moment, not sure where to go. He moved out from behind me and placed his hand on the small of my back, intending to guide me toward the sofa. Wound up as tightly as I was, I started involuntarily. He dropped his hand, and awkwardness descended. He went and sat on the large three-seater couch at one end, and I took the other, folding my knees to the side, feeling prim and overdressed.

“I have some menus. Shall we order now? It will take a little while for the food to arrive.”

“That would be lovely,” I said as he handed me the menu. I could pick up no intimation from him that he expected anything. Maybe I had been too speedy in my assumption that he wanted to take up from where we were before. Even in my head, I couldn’t call it an affair. It was possible that it really was just catching up for lunch. I felt some chagrin that I hadn’t seriously entertained the possibility that I was just someone he knew in town and I was saving him from eating alone. How strange to try to be “friends” with him now! I really didn’t know him at all, even though I’d licked the most intimate parts of him.

Years ago, I was living in a flat in a row of apartment buildings, and a neighbor had caught sight of me naked through a bathroom window accidentally left open. There was only a gap of a few meters between our apartment buildings, so as I stood in the shower, I looked over to see him watching me as he did the washing up. Somehow, it was rather funny, more than a little uncomfortable, but less so after I caught him vacuuming and dancing in his boxer shorts shortly afterward. Bumping into him at the local shops or on the street, we nodded to each other in greeting, never actually speaking to each other beyond a casual hello. We had seen each other in unguarded and intimate moments that probably even our close friends would never see, and it led to a weird sort of intimacy, though we never knew each other’s name. The situation—“affair?” I wasn’t sure of the taste of that word—with Anders was like that, only much more.

I ordered a chicken salad, having the ridiculous notion that if I didn’t ruin my diet, then all else would be forgivable. Anders chose fish and a bottle of Australian white wine.

“To make you feel at home,” he said with a smile, and I was touched by the thoughtful gesture. It had been many years since Jack would have thought of something like that, if ever. He wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, so it would probably not have even occurred to him. Making a conscious decision then not to think of Jack, I looked over at Anders on the other end of couch. It felt odd to be sitting here alone with him again, but in completely different circumstances. He was so familiar, but not. Like an ex-boyfriend from years ago, but without the angst from breaking up lurking in the background. I felt nervous but excited too, a slight quivering in the stomach.

“So, how have you been?” I asked inquiringly.

“Good,” he said, his eyes focused on my face. “You?”

“Really well. My second book is selling well, and the TV show looks like it might be going ahead,” I said brightly. To stop myself from babbling on, I glanced around the room. It was hard to keep looking at him. He was staring at me so intently, but I didn’t know what exactly we were doing here. Did he want to be friends? Lovers? I just couldn’t tell, and it was starting to drive me nuts.

“What brings you to London?” I asked politely.

“Work, doing some publicity for the show,” he said dismissively. “Boring stuff. How is Jack?” he asked, his voice deepening slightly.

“Fine,” I said slowly, not sure where this was leading.

“So, you’re still together?”

“As much as ever,” I answered somewhat cryptically, though it was the best possible description. I was starting to feel a bit warm and stood up to take off my jacket and hang it over a chair. It was also a convenient excuse to move away from the couch and have some space to think. I was puzzled. His look was intimate, too intense for a “just friends” lunch, but asking me about my husband was surely not going to be the start of anything. Reminding someone about their spouse was the last thing you’d do if you wanted to sleep with them.

“Why did you call me?” I asked softly, searching his face, just wanting the truth out there. I didn’t know how I was supposed to act, and it would be easier if I just knew what he wanted.

“Truly?” He stood, walked over to me, and reached down to pick up my hand. “I kept thinking about France. It was distracting.” Looking into my eyes, he brought my palm to his lips and kissed it gently. It sent a shock of desire down to my toes, and my lips parted in a soft exhalation. Such a simple thing and already I wanted to sleep with him again. But who was I kidding? I’d wanted to sleep with him again the moment I walked in the door. Or was it the moment I’d heard his voice on the phone?

“Oh?” I asked a little breathlessly. “What about it?”

“You. Naked. Me inside you.”

“Ohh…” It came out as a sigh. He was still only holding my hand, and I was already melting into a puddle of lust and need.

“I wanted to see you again to see if it was still the same…” He paused, seeming to drink me in with his eyes. “Yes, I am still on fire for you.” He raised his eyebrow questioningly and moved closer. “Have you thought about me?”

“Yes,” I whispered, feeling unaccountably exposed with that admission. Then there were no more words as we almost collided in our rush to each other. When our lips met, it wasn’t tentative, neither of us holding back. We kissed like teenagers, as if we were desperate and drowning. We were in bed again long before lunch arrived.

Afterward, we were facing each other, our legs entwined, my head on his shoulder as he gently stroked my back. The sex with Anders was simply mind-boggling, and this latest time was even better than before, if possible. We seemed to fit together; there was no other way of explaining it. My body was still thrumming as we lay there.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said.

“Sure.” I nuzzled his neck lazily. He smelled so good, clean and masculine with just a hint of aftershave.

“You said you’d never slept with anyone other than your husband.”

“Umm, well, yes, I have. I wasn’t a virgin when we married.”

“No, I mean after you were married.” He rolled his eyes, looking adorable.

“Okay, no, not since I met Jack.” I wondered why we were talking about this.

“So, why now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why with me?”

I sat up and looked at him, his eyes showed his concern about this. “I don’t know. I was attracted to you, and it just kind of happened. Thinking isn’t my strong suit around you.”

“You’re not some mad fan or anything?” he asked, anxiety tightening his eyes.

“Err, no. I like the show, and I admit that I did have a few fantasies about you.” He raised his eyebrows, and his smile was a little self-satisfied as I continued. “But I can distinguish reality from fiction. I’m not here because you’re some actor on TV. That’s awful of you to say.” I playfully whacked him on the arm.

“So, I’m not your screensaver or anything,” he said, pulling me on top of him and laughing up at me, looking relieved.

“No, that would be my children!” I said in mock indignation.

“I’m glad,” he said, serious again. He reached out and pulled me down for a deep kiss.

It gave me a moment to think about it, and there was an explanation of sorts. “They say you have to be looking to have an affair, and to be honest, if you hadn’t been someone I was aware of and fantasized about a bit before, I wouldn’t have
seen
you, if you know what I mean. But that wasn’t the reason I gave in to your roguish advances.” I gently pushed the hair back from his forehead.

“Then, why did you?”

“Because I found you interesting and funny, as well as gorgeous. Something seemed to click. It wasn’t a surface thing; it was more fundamental than that. It felt right, even though it was wrong.”

He nodded in agreement. “This is too good to have ignored.”

“Okay, well, what about you? Why me?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?” He tucked my hair back behind my ears.

“Absolutely!” I laughed. “But seriously, you’re so good looking and have all these
women
who follow your every move and comment about it on the Internet, as well as the screaming fans at those events. How can I possibly compete with that adulation, let alone the amazingly beautiful women you meet every day for work?”

BOOK: Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking
10.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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