The Wicked Wife (Murder in Marin Book 2) (4 page)

“Sounds wonderful, I’ll join you,” William said, as he headed over to a cabinet bar, hoping there was a bottle of sherry inside. There was, and William quickly poured their drinks. He sat back down just as the lit aged hard hickory began to be fully consumed in flame.

“I want to know all about you,” William said, determined not to be the least bit shy. It had been a very long time since he’d been in such an intimate setting with another woman. Actually, it had last occurred when he and Fran spent that fateful anniversary weekend at their Lake Tahoe home.

But there should be no dwelling on that terrible time now, William told himself. Although his suffering had lasted what by now seemed like an eternity, he was in the presence of a woman he found utterly beguiling, and his turning morbid would do nothing but put a very quick end to their evening.
 

As Willow sat back into the soft embrace of one of two lovely Queen Anne chairs positioned ideally to enjoy the fire’s warmth, she graced William with a sweet smile and said, “Let’s see, all about me. Where should I begin?”

She launched into a story she had told many times before. “I got my very first modeling job at eighteen. One of my high school girlfriends dared me to go on the audition.”
 

That was her first lie. Willow didn’t have any high school friends. She had stolen far too many boyfriends for any of the girls who admired her in freshman year to still be speaking with her by the time they began their junior year.
 

She then told of how she caught the eye of a top fashion photographer in just her sixth month in the business.

“It was amazing,” she related, in the retelling of a story that had grown more polished over the last ten years. “He took me under his wing and recreated my portfolio. He was a genius! An amazing photographer, very gay, and very brilliant.”
 

William gave a warm, knowing smile, completely unaware that this second part of Willow’s creation had several lies.
 

Yes, Michael Pierce, was a top fashion photographer, but Willow plotted all that would occur in their relationship, beginning with how they met. In little time, she seduced him. She drained him not only of his creative energies, but a long list of contacts as well—all of who helped form her carefully constructed ladder of success.
 

The very top rung was reached with her seduction of Henri LeBon, a man who previously was uninterested in taking a female lover.

Their liaison was intermittent, and mutually beneficial. LeBon never objected to Willow’s propensity toward other lovers, like the Viennese maestro, for example. In fact, he met many of his future partners through his relationship with the woman he faithfully insisted was his muse.

Of course, much was left out of the true story of Willow Bukowski. Perhaps of greatest interest to William would have been the three-year relationship she had with his partner, James.
 

The two had enjoyed an on-again, off-again affair, but James was perfectly happy with that. He was certainly wise enough to know that Willow was a woman to be enjoyed whenever the rare opportunity presented itself, and discretion was a must for both her career and his marriage.

And, as such, he had a selfish motive in putting Willow and William together. If there was a chance that she might become the next Mrs. Adams, his opportunities to savor the delicate delights of her mystical charms might dramatically increase. After all, why spend half a year traveling around the world promoting a perfume when you’re married to one of the world’s wealthiest individuals? In James’ view, every additional day she spent in the Bay Area increased his chances of luring her back to his bed.
 

As for her motivation for having him as a lover, he was quite certain that Willow’s passion for him was based on the occasional insider stock recommendations he would pass her way, all of which helped to grow Willow’s three million-dollar nest egg: first to six, and then doubling again to twelve. James could have been disbarred and faced imprisonment for sharing his clients’ information. But unlike Martha Stewart, he reasoned, Willow was not a particularly attractive target for federal investigators looking for cases of insider trading.

James was so taken with Willow that he put his professional reputation, his marriage, and his twenty plus year relationship with William all on the line, just for those few intoxicating occasions when the stars aligned and he found himself with his arms enfolding this amazing creature.

Either the fire needed to be stoked again, or it should be allowed to burn out. In any event, Willow suggested that it was late and she should be getting home. A part of William hoped that she would spend the night in his bed wrapped in his embrace. But Willow, who read men far better than they could read themselves, learned years ago that in the heat of passion, men love the explosive ferocity of a whore, but in marriage, they first and foremost want a Madonna.
 

Thus far, in her relationships with men, she’d had all she could ever need, want, or imagine. But in William, she found a man who could serve a completely different purpose in her life. To Willow’s way of thinking, fortune had put her in William’s path because he was the man who would place her on a pedestal, adore her, and make her rich beyond what she had ever imagined.
 

But it would start by saying goodbye.

CHAPTER FOUR

Willow had no doubt that she and William would have a tryst, and that it would come sooner than later. She suspected he thought of her as a passing interest, but she had grander ideas than a wonderful fling followed in a month by a sudden and simple goodbye.

She would do all that she could to make sure that their relationship would last a lifetime, whether that was his intention or not.
 

Willow returned from the Adams mansion well after midnight. Kozlov, who had exhausted himself pouting earlier that night, was fast asleep. The following morning, she awoke alone in her heart-shaped bed. He had slipped out quietly for a ten o’clock rehearsal at Berkeley’s Zellerbach Hall, where he was preparing for a weekend performance.
 

A text message on her private number from the front desk at her condominium informed her that twenty-four long stemmed yellow roses arrived for her. They came with a handwritten note that said simply:

The beauty of these roses pales in comparison to you! Thank you for a memorable evening.

William

Not only was she pleased by the beauty of the flowers, she was particularly pleased that William was paying attention when, during their fireside chat, she shared with him that her very favorite color was yellow. This was a very good sign.
 

For the next hour, she relaxed in a warm tub, enjoying the gentle fragrance of lavender bath salts, while contemplating her next move.
 

Following her bath, and after a long and well-practiced routine of moisturizing, Willow noticed a text message from William suggesting dinner on Saturday night. Given the fact that this was Friday, it was clear to Willow that William was now in full pursuit.
 

Should she be available on such short notice or not, she wondered before replying. She had planned to go to Viktor’s performance in Berkeley, but she was only too happy to set that commitment aside, so she texted back, “I have a commitment, but I think it can be moved. Let me check with my personal secretary and get back to you shortly.”

She had no intention of passing up a dinner invitation from William Adams, but she waited ninety minutes before responding, “I’ve cleared my calendar.” She teasingly added, “What do you have planned, Mr. Adams?”

William’s plan was to pick Willow up by limousine, take her to a private jetport just south of San Francisco, and fly her to San Diego for a catered dinner on a yacht for which he had a time-share, although he had not used it in two years. Fortunately, it was available on short notice.
 

After dinner in the yacht’s massive dining room, they could decide to share the craft’s private master bedroom, sleep in separate accommodations, or return late that night to San Francisco.
 

It was ridiculously extravagant, but William was determined to impress.
 

When he shared with Willow his plans, she knew her billionaire had very serious intentions regarding their future.
 

The only anticipated bump in Willow’s day would be sharing with Viktor the disappointing news that she would not be at his Saturday night performance. Her excuse was that she’d been booked for a private engagement, and that it might require her being out of town for the balance of the weekend.

It was not at all surprising to her that Kozlov was furious when she broke the news to him. He hurriedly made plans to have the car and driver that had been assigned to him take him to the empty suite booked for his use at the Claremont Hotel near the Berkeley campus.
 

“You will much miss me, for I will not be back!” With that, he stormed out of Willow’s bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
 

All of which was fine with Willow, who at the moment was consumed with happy fantasies of one day being a billionaire’s wife.
 

On the ride to the private jetport, William plied Willow with champagne as he promised her a memorable evening. She had never before contemplated a long-term relationship with a man nearly thirty years her senior, but considering William’s wealth, she was more than willing to expand her horizons. He didn’t have the fire, the power, or the dashing good looks of Viktor—or for that matter, any one of her thirtysomething athletes or celebrity admirers—but he had something else that was perhaps more attractive. Above and beyond his staggering wealth, there was a calm dignity about William that Willow found both attractive and enticing.
 

Their seventy-five-minute private jet flight to a limousine awaiting their arrival had them dockside at the San Diego Yacht Harbor in minutes. The captain and her staff graciously welcomed them as they stepped aboard the Romantique, a 125-foot, Italian-built luxury craft, featuring a full sundeck, beautifully appointed staterooms, and a mahogany lined formal dining room. This ten million-dollar pleasure ship also came with its own entertainment deck, complete with a private screening room.
 

Within the circles she traveled, Willow had seen her share of private jets and comfortable yachts. She knew, however, that as a Saturday night date goes, this was quite extraordinary.
 

William was a perfect gentleman. Throughout dinner, he was a charming host as they enjoyed an expertly prepared and presented dinner. After a light dessert, they went to the yacht’s rear deck and sat in two comfortable outdoor chairs that looked out on a moonlit calm sea and the lights of La Jolla, just a few miles north of San Diego.
 

William was so desperately in need of affection that he was tempted to pour his heart out to her in those tranquil moments. Words escaped him, but he responded to his rising desire hold her close to him. There could never be a better time than this, William reasoned. So he leaned over and kissed Willow softly and tenderly on the lips.