14. Kate
Chapter Fourteen
KATE
I’ve never done anything like that before. Sex? Yes. Under a tree in the rain while the most gorgeous man I’ve ever been with makes my entire body scream with pleasure? No.
That was the hottest, most incredible sex of my life!
I’ve heard of such ridiculously amazing encounters. Mostly from Beau. But it wasn’t until I was biting into Drew’s shoulder and riding the wave of the most intense ecstasy I’ve ever experienced that I really got it. Talk about multiple orgasms. That never happens.
How satisfying to finally quench my thirst. Still, I have this insatiable craving for him. Just the thought of Drew drives me wild—how his touch sets my skin on fire. My stomach still flutters, and my lips are still warm from his kiss. I didn’t expect any of it to happen—the ride, the rain, the bang.
All I know is that when I opened his gift, three perfect Fredrickson sketchbooks, I couldn’t hold back. He gave me the one thing I wanted most. And by the end of the night, he gave me the one thing I’ve been missing the most.
Drew isn’t just some sexy guy with a motorcycle. He’s thoughtful. Sweet. And I want more. But it’s late, and he just dropped me off at my hotel. Now, there’s all this passion sparking throughout my entire being with nowhere to go. It’s just me alone in my room. I glance at the table where my sketchbooks are resting.
Maybe not entirely alone.
I’m too excited right now, and I can’t imagine going to sleep. But there are many, many other things I can imagine. So I grab my pencil set and a Fredrickson and jump into bed. The cushy linens billow around me like a little cloud nine of heaven. I take in my short skirt, recalling the way the leather felt sliding up my hips when Drew took me in his hands. I close my eyes, reliving the moment. Then, a flood of curious questions comes to mind.
If lingerie could embody that moment, what would it look like? What would it feel like? Would it arouse a man? Would it arouse Drew?
The tip of my noir colored pencil touches the page, gentle at first but growing in intensity. An image appears on the paper: a classic teddy of delicate black lace with a lightning-inspired pattern and sexy, sleek leather embellishments. My eyes widen as the piece comes to life, practically dancing on the page. During the Lux interview, Danika said she loved the subtle edge woven into my work.
Perhaps it’s time for Kate Golden to enhance the edge.
The sketch is done in record time, and I feel a lacy red number calling my name. With a fresh, ruby pencil, I continue to draw. Excitement blooms in my belly. I haven’t felt this inspired in so long.
I take in my new creations and imagine modeling them for Drew while he gazes with that hungry look in his dark eyes. It’s a look that unearths something inside me. I fantasize about his touch, his hands peeling back the lacy layers and revealing all of me. I don’t know how, but I have to make this daydream real. I keep sketching. And sketching. And sketching.
No idea where the energy and ideas are manifesting from, but my muse has finally come out to play. It’s three in the morning when I put the final touches on the sixteenth piece. After a deep breath, I let out a long exhale and stretch my arms overhead.
“Wow.” I flip back through the pages, hardly remembering what I just drafted. Every design feels fresh. They’re alive. Pulsing with a heartbeat. Each embodies a deep passion, stunning beauty, and fierce boldness. Peppered with naughty and nice elements, this is some of my best work. I settle against the pillows and reflect on the last year. My rock bottom burnout, how difficult it was to design a single piece, and wondering if I could even do it anymore.
And I just did. A full collection in just a few hours.
And it’s good.
No, it’s great!
“Yes!” I say, pumping my fist and kicking my heels into the mattress. “Yes, yes!”
Ladies and London Gents, Kate Golden is back! And it’s all thanks to Drew Blake—the man who brought me back to life.
Then I feel an unexpected urge to tell him, to text him in the middle of the night and gush about what I’ve done and how freaking amazing I feel. I pick up my phone and pull up his contact. My thumb hovers over the message button, and then reality sets in. Drew may be my inspiration, but he’s also just a fling. He can’t be the guy I call when something good happens. But I have to tell someone.
I snap photos of my sketches and send them off to my stepmom, Lisa.
KATE
How’s this for a comeback?
Not five minutes later, she calls. “Kate, these are fantastic!”
“Really?” I ask, finally considering that I could be delirious after the mind-blowing sex and no sleep.
“Yes! Where did these come from?”
My mind wanders to Drew, and I smile. “I don’t know. I just felt inspired.”
“The lace pattern on the first one is gorgeous. It almost makes me wish I were a model again,” Lisa says.
“You know I’d be happy to make you the face of Kate Golden Lingerie.” This is a proposal I bring to her every year but she always refuses.
“No, those days are long gone. Plus, aren’t you the new face of the brand?” she asks, referring to my Lux Magazine spread.
“It’s a feature in one magazine, not an ad campaign.” I refute the idea of being a model again, even though my recent activities seem to fit the bill. The experience is fleeting. Tonight is confirmation that I belong behind the sketchpad.
“Well, I bet it’s fabulous. So when are you going to launch this new line?”
I flip through the pages again. “I wish I could launch these looks at the fashion show next week. They’re so much stronger than what’s on the rack now.”
“So why don’t you?” Lisa makes it sound like it’s no big deal to magically create sixteen new lingerie pieces with custom lace in five days.
“Because it’s impossible. The lace alone would take days.”
“Not if you have help.”
“Who? My seamstresses are in L.A., and I need to be hands-on. Especially with such short notice. There’s no way. It’ll have to wait until fall fashion week.” The reality of waiting to show these is the low point of the night. But I don’t want to go there. “I may still see if I can put at least one of these together.” I’m thinking the red one will make Drew explode in his pants.
“If you’re going to do that, might as well try for the rest. You’re in London. And you have so many contacts. I’m sure you have a few favors to call in.”
I consider her proposal. “Hmm, these designs would make a bigger splash. Plus, the investor’s coming to the show. If I move some things around and delegate, maybe it could happen.”
“No, Kate, it will happen.”
“It’s not crazy?” I ask, thinking it’s a pretty big undertaking. Then I close the leather cover of my sketchbook, embossed with a classic serif “F.” If Drew could get these hard-to-find, out-of-stock sketchbooks and have them delivered to my door at exactly eight o’clock, then maybe I could make the impossible possible too.
“It’d be crazy not to.”
I wish her a good night and finally surrender my date clothes to the floor while the shower heats up. The warm water is soothing until it trickles around my back. Ouch! That stings. Twisting around, I spot a rug burn-like scrape about three inches long right above my ass.
“Ooh,” I say. Is that a sex injury? I close my eyes, putting myself back there against the hard, wet . . . tree. I should’ve known I wouldn’t get out of a night with Drew unscathed.
Bang. Bang. Bang!
A pounding at my door jolts me awake.
Bang. Bang. Bang!
I rub the sleep out of my eyes and squint at the side table clock. It’s after ten. Who could be banging at my door? Drew is the first person to come to mind. This whole scene is very reminiscent of yesterday morning when I showed up at his place unannounced. Would he do the same thing?
I hope not. I doubt I look as scrumptious in my pajamas as he did in his boxer briefs. I peek through the peephole, my heart pounding as hard as my visitor’s fist.
“Kate? Are you in there?” Beau’s nose covers my view.
I relax a little and open the door. “Girl, what’s with the rude wake-up call?”
“Does this look rude to you?” She hands me a coffee. “He’s not here, is he?”
“No.”
“Well, you didn’t answer your phone, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I yawn. “Yes, I’m fine. I just had a late night.”
Beau grins. “Oh, yeah . . .”
“Yeah, I sketched until three in the morning.”
“Sketched?” Her expression crumples. “What about your date?”
“What about it?” I pinch my lips sealed.
“C’mon, Kate. Don’t make me beg.”
I take a sip of the fresh coffee. I’m not sure if it’s the first drop of caffeine or the mention of my date, but I’m wide awake. I climb back into bed, and Beau curls up next to me, wide-eyed and waiting.
From the Fredrickson gift to the first kiss, the motorcycle ride beneath the moon to the rain, I spare no detail about the entire wet night. God knows I’ve sat through dozens of Beau’s blow-by-blow sex tales.
“Kate!” She squeals, hugging a puffy white pillow over her chest. “That is so hot! In the middle of Hyde Park!”
“No one could see us,” I say, hoping that’s true. There better not be a shot of the two of us in the throes of passion published on the Cheeri-Ooh! site . But strangely, I almost don’t care. It’s worth it.
“Still, the Kate I know doesn’t have sex in public places. I told you it was fun.”
“You did, and it was.”
Beau crashes back onto the bed, gazing at the ceiling. “You two must have some serious chemistry. When do I get to meet him?”
I scoff at the idea. “Meet him? He’s not my boyfriend.”
She rolls over, laying her chest on the pillow, and bats her lashes at me. “But he could be.”
I resist the urge to remind her of how many failed relationships she’s had with European flings, and instead say, “Long distance doesn’t really work.”
“But people move.” I have to give it to her. Even after her recent breakup, she’s still a cheerleader for love. I, on the other hand, am a realist.
“Are you suggesting I move to London to be with a guy whose longest relationship is with a vintage motorcycle?” If that doesn’t shut this idea down, I don’t know what will.
“No! Of course not. I can’t have you moving across the world from me. That’s ridiculous. He’ll just have to come to L.A., where he’ll have you and eternal sunshine.”
“Maybe he likes the rain.” I know I’m a bigger fan of it after last night.
She lets out a sigh. “You’re probably right. I’m thirty-two now, you’d think I’d know the difference between real life and some romantic fantasy.”
And with her long face, the subject shifts from Drew to Martino. I reach out and rub her shoulder. “I know you miss him.”
A tear puddles in her eyes. “I do. I’m just sick of this mating game.”
Sick of the mating game? That’s Beau’s favorite. “What do you mean?”
Beau shrugs, lowering her gaze, almost like she wants to hide what’s truly on her heart. “I’m ready for a real partner. Someone who loves me for me. Someone I can be barefaced with. Someone I can build a life with. Someone I can grow a family with.”
I’ve always known this is Beau’s deepest desire, though I can’t understand why she wants to give up her freedom. Her autonomy. I never want to take a risk like that. I still don’t. But seeing Beau like this, I sense she’s ready for a more mature life. And she should have everything she wants. “He’s out there. He’s probably looking for you too.”
Beau smiles softly. “You think so?”
“Of course.”
“You think he’d pound me up against a tree in the rain?”
We both bust out laughing. “I’m not sure that qualifies as husband material.”
“Only if you’re lucky. Only if you’re really lucky,” she says, and my attention flicks back to Drew. I can’t ever imagine him marrying someone willingly.
The clock reminds me that it’s getting late, and I need to get my ass in gear if I’m going to have any chance of bringing my new sketches to life. I show Beau the pieces on paper, and she gasps. When I tell her the crazy idea of manufacturing these in record time, she lets out a bigger gasp.
“Kate, you’re back to your boss-bitch self. Except better!”
“And this boss-bitch needs to do some business.” My stomach tightens at the ginormous task I’m about to undergo.
“Don’t worry, you got this. I’ll go get you some breakfast, and you start making calls.”
I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tight. “Thank you for being here.”
“Always.” She smiles, then looks back at the sketches and closes the book, running her hand against the burgundy leather cover. “He likes you, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Drew. This is a real gift. In my experience, a man only goes out of his way like this if he really likes you.”
I consider this for a second. A split second. But I can’t think about whether or not Drew likes me right now. I have to make lingerie he’ll like instead. “It’s not like that.”
She shrugs again and slides off the bed. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. But either way, you can keep that leather skirt.”