The Winemaker's Dinner: Entrée (17 page)

No stone unturned…

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Damian assured her. He picked up her purse. “Let me take you home and put you to bed.”

“Okay?” Jaden conceded, standing unsteadily and still unsure what to do.

Next thing she knew, Damian was leading her by the hand to the back exit of the hotel, through the parking lot, and to a waiting black Mercedes Roadster, the twin of the one the network had provided for her. Her heart pleaded with her as she slid into the front seat, but her mind—drunk on martinis and well-placed words—ignored the requests. After ensuring she was buckled in, Damian slid into the driver’s seat. With a flick of the key, the Roadster roared to life and eased out of the parking space, leaving Stacey, Kevin, the party, and her last shred of dignity behind.

The car screamed down the highway toward…her place? Damian’s? He wasn’t asking for directions, and she couldn’t tell. Her lazy mind decided not to care. His hand found its way to her thigh, smoothing her skin with long strokes and every so often sneaking beneath her dress. She relished the feel of his cool hand against her heated flesh, and the world outside the car began to disappear. With every twist of the road and turn of the steering wheel, her mind became more and more consumed with Damian. His hand crept farther up her leg, then retreated, as if he were working up his courage, testing the waters. He was intimidated by her! She smiled to herself. He was like a nervous high school boy. How sweet—and hot…

The car slowed and came to a stop in front of a house Jaden didn’t recognize. It must be his.
I need this
, she told herself, taking a deep, unsteady breath.
I want this
. What if Ivan was out with some other girl? What if the distance had become too much for him? What if it was too much for her?

She needs this.

She isn’t missing
anything. She has
everything.

She doesn’t want
any regrets.

Maybe Damian was right. Maybe she needed to experience more before she settled down with one man for the rest of her life. Now the battling voices in her head seemed to be saying the same thing.

If she sleeps
with Damian, she’ll know.
She’s doing this
to know for sure.

She needed this. It was justified. And it might be nothing Ivan wasn’t already doing. Without warning, Jaden leaned across the seat and crushed her lips to Damian’s, tasting every inch of his greedy mouth. She could feel him grin against her lips and increase the fierceness of the kiss. Then suddenly his door was open, and he disappeared, only to reappear moments later and open her door. Supporting her weight, he claimed her in a lusty embrace.

Her mind had shut down, no more voices of any kind, and she was now running on pure instinct. Live in the moment. They headed up the path to Damian’s townhouse, laughing and tripping over each other’s feet as they clung together. The front door unlatched and a spine-tingling gush of cold air flooded out of the darkness. Jaden felt her body shiver, although she couldn’t tell if it was Damian or the cold air causing it. The door slammed shut behind them, and he once again took her hand to lead her inside.

There was nothing but the sound of a lock sliding into place and the giggling of a girl about to leave no stone unturned.

“Criminal”

T
HE
B
ANGING
O
F
H
ER
H
EART
echoed in her ears. Her temples felt as if a vice was tightening around her head. Darkness, utter pitch black darkness, surrounded her because she literally could not open her eyes. The air that filled her lungs carried with it a cloying aroma. Far from her favorite in a cobalt blue bottle, this was too sweet, too much. Her stomach rolled as she struggled to place the scent, to grasp its meaning. Then her conscience reminded her of its source.

Oh fuck!
A jolt of disdain, the likes of which she’d never known before, resonated through every cell in her body. Her hangover was shoved aside by a desperate feeling that spread through her body. How could she forget? That same sickening scent had accompanied him to every taping of the show this year. It belonged to the man who stood beside her every day, preening in her spotlight and contributing minimally to the actual cooking. It was Damian’s cologne, and it clung to her like a parasite.

Oh my God,
what has she done?

She did it.
She needed to.

No, she didn’t.
It was a horrible mistake.

Jaden forced her eyes open to find an empty bed and an even emptier feeling. The evening was a blank—a hazy, throbbing blank—in her memory, but she didn’t have to lift the covers to know her clothing was missing. She lay under the down comforter wearing only her bra and panties. The pink dress she’d worn the night before now lay on the floor, a wrinkled mass of silk, satin, and regret. She grasped the beads of her tiger-eye rosary, both comforted and horrified to find them around her neck, and tried to force the tears from her body. She was incapable of producing them. Her chest constricted. All her body would allow was an occasional gasp of air. Guilt coursed through her veins and pressed down on her chest. Seconds turned to minutes as she lay paralyzed, not knowing what to say or do.
What have I done?

Finally a sound outside the door diverted her attention. Then there was a clang that sounded like a pot or pan.
What do I do? What do I do?
If she grabbed her clothes and made a run for the door, where would she go? She didn’t have a car, nor did she know where she was. Praying that her phone was close by, she slid out from beneath the covers and tiptoed over to the dresser to search for her purse.
Shit! Not there.
Glancing around the room, she saw the shiny strap peeking out from underneath the bed.
Thank God!