The Wicked Wife (Murder in Marin Book 2) (5 page)

She rose from her chair. Taking his hand, she pulled him in closer.
 

William looked desperately into her eyes and kissed her more deeply.

After a lingering embrace, Willow said, “It’s a little late for flying home tonight, don’t you think?”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“I didn’t think to bring a nightgown,” Willow said with feigned innocence.

“That’s all right; I promise to keep you warm.”

William was certainly not the raging power that Viktor was, nor did he have the hot brute force of so many of the professional athletes and young actors she had taken to her bed. But she did find it exhilarating to be the one who brought William back to the living, and helped rekindle passion in his life. What had not occurred to her was that raw passion like this was something William had never experienced.

After a breakfast served on the upper sundeck, they held hands and looked out on a gentle blue mid-winter sky. Both were feeling satisfied with the night they had shared.

William and Willow concluded that this magical twenty-four hour getaway had accomplished both their goals; he, to hold her in his arms and experience her grandeur; she, to discover if it was indeed possible that she might become the next Mrs. Adams.
 

Both returned to San Francisco satisfied that they had accomplished their goals.

CHAPTER FIVE

Three days after their night of passion aboard the Romantique, Willow gave Kozlov his notice of termination.
 

She waited until the restless Russian had left California to begin rehearsals for a weekend appearance with the Cleveland Orchestra before having her personal assistant contact his personal assistant to arrange for his things to be removed from her condominium. Anticipating his angry call in response to his termination, she had his cell number forwarded to her personal assistant, who explained that, in regard to their relationship, “Miss Wisp has chosen to go in another direction.”

Kozlov, Willow had decided, was part of a period in her life she now thought of as, “Wistful Willow.” This new creation was someone she thought of as, “Wiser Willow,” a far more mature woman ready to face the challenges of her thirties and beyond.
 

She resolved that every aspect of her life would now be reinvented and, certainly, there was no one better man to have at her side at this time than the brilliantly successful William Adams.
 

William’s attributes were strikingly dissimilar to the parade of tabloid cover men who had previously filled her life. First, and most obvious, his financial assets gave him an air of relaxed authority that Willow found intoxicating.
 

In fact, with the exception of such renowned businessmen as Warren Buffet, Bill Gates, Larry Ellison, or those with the inherited wealth of, say, the Walton clan, there were very few wealthier than the man she began to think of as, “my dear, sweet William.”
 

Still, she disciplined herself to remember that beyond his wealth, there was his brilliance, kindness, and considerable charm.
 

“There is so much more to William,” Willow gushed to her small circle. “He is far more substantial than any man I have dated! He’s a real name in the world of both law and venture capital. He’s not just a shooting star. He’ll be around long after all these athletes and celebrities have flamed out and been forgotten.”
 

More importantly, stars and athletes, she thought, nearly all find idiotic ways to burn through most, if not all, of their wealth. Not her William. His fortune, to her endless amazement, was so great that not even she could imagine enough ways to spend it all.
 

To those who insisted she was under the spell of some sort of father complex, she quickly dismissed that suggestion with a laugh. “If you knew my father, trust me, you’d never say that.”

Henri in particular took a jaundiced view of the idea of her relationship. “It’s no more than a passing fling,” he sniffed.
 

Then again, he knew the great love his Willow had for money. And when he did an online Wiki search for William Adams, it dawned on him that he might indeed lose his muse to the one love more lasting then flesh or fame.
 

William was uncomfortable describing his relationship with Willow to anyone. But when cornered, he simply explained, “I’m just having some fun for a change.”

His small clique of Belvedere golfing buddies, who met for lunch two Mondays a month at the St. Regis Yacht Club at the base of Beach Road, teased him endlessly about all the online and in-print tabloid reports of his involvement with the famous international model. His answer was comfortably dismissive. “Since when do you believe anything you read in the gossip columns?”

He also had to contend with James and other law and business associates, who were just as curious. In all cases, William consistently downplayed the relationship. “Believe me, there is more gossip than fact. More smoke than fire. I don’t deny that I’m very fond of the girl—God only knows she’s a great beauty—but I’m not running off and marrying a woman nearly half my age.”

It bothered William that he was continually pressed to deliver such a casually dismissive statement. He often thought about that on the mornings he left Willow’s condominium on Russian Hill, or whenever he sent his driver into San Francisco to Willow’s home so that she might spend the night with him in Belvedere.

As they snuggled in bed one Saturday morning, they realized that neither of them had any other commitments for the rest of the day. They came to the mutual conclusion that they were perfectly content just being in each other’s company.

“I’ve never known a man like you,” Willow purred.

“I’ve never known a woman like you—and I’ve never felt like this in my life,” William replied.

They hurried to dress so that they could take a long walk, winding down through the hills of Belvedere and out along the waterfront. They then walked over the short causeway into Tiburon, passing the colorful shops along Ark Row that, in less than two hours, would be busy with day-tripping tourists from San Francisco.

William wore an old baseball cap, sunglasses and a turned-up collar, hoping to avoid local acquaintances. Willow wore a broad-brimmed sunhat and sunglasses, hoping to avoid being recognized by one of her more vocal
Project Runway
fans.

Strolling along Tiburon’s waterfront park, they sat for a short time on one of the benches that directly faced the Golden Gate Bridge. East of the bridge was a perfect panoramic view of the San Francisco waterfront. With Willow comfortably tucked into the crook of William’s arm, they listened to the waters of the bay slapping the riprap along the shore just a few feet away.
 

In this state of relaxed comfort, William began to seriously consider marrying Willow. The concerns he had about their gap in age and different interests could surely be overcome.

She sensed their closeness in that moment as well, and Willow was tempted to say something, but decided to be a bit more cautious than that. She was concerned that he would somehow find the gap in their ages and their very different social and professional lives to be insurmountable differences.
 

Perhaps he’s just having fun and this is nothing more than a fling, Willow thought. But she insistently told herself that what they had was so much more than that.
 

So Willow, who viewed life as one endless game of chess, began to consider the steps that would help her to make the journey from Willow Wisp to Willow Adams.
 

Not every woman her age had the ambition to seize every opportunity for advancement. To Willow’s credit, her success was based as much on that instinct as on her beauty. In fact, in her own world, Willow’s success strategy was not at all dissimilar from William Adams’.
 

Her cultivation of Henri LeBon was a case in point. A delicate and sculpted body with striking facial features perfectly formed for the camera’s lens is unique throughout the general population, but rather common in the world of elite models. Sensing that LeBon was a designer who would rise above the crowd, Willow made it a point to study the man: his likes and dislikes, every interview he had given regarding his work, how he approached his art, and finally, what he looked for in the perfect model.
 

LeBon’s masochistic fantasies were the secret key into his world. Let him know that you’re his demanding dominatrix and he’ll set his course to pleasing you in all the ways he so dismally failed to please his mother.
 

The creation of Willow Wisp was his homage to a woman who both pleased and terrified him.
 

Undoubtedly, there were dozens of girls who could have been the face of his signature scent, but knowing he had raised Willow to the heights she demanded of him was LeBon’s secret reward for having been, “a dirty, naughty boy!”
 

If, along the way, the perfume made a small fortune, it was all to the greater success of both him and his favorite muse.
 

As for William, colleagues and admirers recognized that his investment success was based more on a willingness to work long hours in order to learn what factors would likely indicate an emerging technology company’s future success or failure.
 

It was a realization he’d shared with his new girlfriend. Willow appreciated this insight, if only because it brought home the point that to accomplish his goal of having William Adams bend to her will, neither leather nor whips—or for that matter, her mere beauty—would provide the key.
 

More research was needed. Just what were William’s dreams and desires? Billionaires, she rightly reasoned, have very short wish lists. But, ultimately, every person has unfulfilled dreams, and William, she reasoned, must certainly have one or two of his own.
 

Clearly, he took great pride in his body. At fifty-seven, he had the body of a man in his mid-forties, thanks to his passion for vigorous racquetball games, and three one-hour workouts every week with a personal trainer.