“Immensely,” I responded, smiling.
And, boy, had I ever.
Still in a daze from the champagne, the strawberries, but mostly the kisses, I barely noticed as we made our way from the plane to a sleek, black limousine that was waiting for us on the runway. As we pulled away from the jet, I heard Adam instruct the driver to take us to some exclusive, members-only dinner club that was located in a skyscraper in downtown Boston. I’d heard of it before but had never been there.
The club—which took up the entire upper floor of the tall building in which it was housed—was all dark wood paneling, maroon carpeting, brass adornments. Oil paintings in the style of the Old Masters lined the walls. Everything about the place screamed old money, power, prestige. It was obviously a place for only the absolute wealthiest of the wealthy.
The maitre d’ led us through the main dining room and back to a private dining area. As we stepped into a room, decorated in the same dark wood and maroon palette, Adam informed me he had reserved the whole area just for us.
I glanced around. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed for the lights of downtown Boston to sparkle before us. Classical music played softly in the background, and the soft glow of candlelight flickered all around. “Adam, this is very,
very
nice,” I remarked as we took our seats.
“I’m glad you approve,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips.
Just then a wine steward entered the room, and Adam engaged him in a quiet discussion. I nervously fumbled with my napkin while they spoke. When the wine steward left, Adam directed his attention back to me. “Maddy, I have a bit of a request.”
“And what would that be?” I asked quietly, somewhat distracted by how painfully gorgeous Adam looked in the warm glow of the candlelight—shadows playing across perfection.
“I’ve ordered a special vintage for us, which I think you’ll enjoy.” Adam paused. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d also like to take the liberty of ordering dinner for the both of us.”
I’d never had a man order dinner for me before, but Adam had impeccable taste, so, trusting him, I said, “Of course. That would be fine.”
A waiter came in with a set of menus, but Adam ordered without even opening one. Observing the interaction between the two—the waiter listening attentively and respectfully as Adam commanded his full attention—I felt the obvious power Adam held over so many people. It was truly impressive, and it allowed me to see why he was so successful.
After the waiter left, the steward returned with the wine and poured a small amount into a glass. Adam took a contemplative sip and nodded to the steward, who then poured us each a glass before leaving the room.
I took a small taste and found it to be, as promised, quite delightful. Curious as to what exactly I was drinking, I leaned across the table, albeit awkwardly, to try to read the label on the bottle which was resting in an ice bucket.
Adam cleared his throat, and I glanced up to meet his amused stare. “Oh, sorry,” I said, quickly leaning back in my chair.
He chuckled amusedly. “It’s a Bollinger Vieille Vienes Françaises, 1999, Maddy.”
“Mmm.” I finished the last of the fine vintage and put down my glass. “Well, I have to say, it’s quite tasty.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Adam replied, smiling as he poured me another glass.
I was already feeling a little heady, but whether it was from the alcohol—or my date—I couldn’t be sure.
The waiter arrived with our first course, foie-gras-stuffed morels. Not surprisingly they were a perfect complement to the wine Adam had chosen. As we finished up, and before the entrees arrived, the waiter placed tiny, dainty liqueur glasses filled with sorbet in front of each of us.
Adam placed his small spoon in my glass and scooped a small amount of sorbet onto it. “May I?” he asked, holding the spoon to my lips.
I said “uh-huh” and allowed him to place the icy, lemony treat on my tongue. I closed my eyes and was instantly reminded of the strawberry on the plane and how that had led to kissing Adam. A tiny sigh escaped my lips at the memory. I opened my eyes and glanced at Adam, who was smiling surreptitiously while spooning more sorbet onto the tiny spoon.
“Adam, why are we having dessert
before
the main course?” I inquired quietly, while glancing at the doorway to make sure the waiter was not within earshot.
Adam laughed. “Maddy, it’s not dessert. The sorbet is to cleanse your palate
before
the main course.”
“Oh,” I giggled, licking the icy goodness from the spoon Adam again raised to my mouth. I actually knew that, had seen it in a movie, but the wine was making me silly and giddy. Besides, it was just too much fun to play with Adam.
And it seemed Adam was all set for
his
next move, for he dipped my spoon into his own glass of sorbet and licked it, just as I had done. Only he did it very, very slowly. Our eyes met, and I melted a little at the playful, but utterly seductive, sparkle in his blue, blue eyes. He held my gaze as he dug the little spoon into the last bit of my sorbet, preparing to feed it to me, once again.
“You know, a girl could get used to being pampered like this,” I remarked.
“Could you?” Adam asked, setting down the spoon.
I searched his face, not sure if this was all part of Adam’s seduction strategy—which was
really, really
effective, to be honest—or if he was genuinely interested in me, Maddy Fitch. My heart tightened in my chest, because, of course, I wanted to be pampered like this by Adam Ward. I wanted desperately for him to have more than a passing fancy for me
.
But I was worried that my heart could end up broken. I didn’t want to be his new Lindsey, so I answered, “Maybe,” as I cast my eyes downward.
“Maddy,” Adam sighed, his tone serious. I waited for more, but the main course arrived, effectively silencing whatever he’d been about to say.
Adam had chosen a turbot with lobster sauce. Turbot, he informed me as we ate dinner and engaged in less serious banter, was a type of fish. And I found it to be surprisingly good. After dinner and a dessert of red velvet petit fours, Adam slid open one of the glass panels, and we walked out onto a large balcony overlooking the city.
For late September it was unusually warm, and I savored the mild, ocean-kissed breezes as they swept over me. Walking to the iron railing encircling the balcony, I was astounded by the amazing view of downtown Boston. “Wow,” I mouthed to myself.
Adam came up behind me, and wrapped his arms around me. I leaned back into the warmth of his body, relaxing into him as his lips began to ghost along the side of my neck. But then he stilled. Turning me around to face him, fingers splayed out over my hips. I placed a hand on his chest and looked up into his inquiring eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Um…” I glanced away, and then down. “I think.”
Adam chuckled a little. “Guess that’s a start.” He lifted a hand from my hip and nudged my chin up so that I was looking at him. “I’m going to be honest with you, Madeleine.” Was this what he’d been about to tell me at the lighthouse? “I was attracted to you back in high school, and I should have dumped Chelsea and asked you out.” My heart skipped a beat. “But I was young and naïve.”
I moved my hand to trace the smooth contours of his face. “I would have loved to have gone out with you back then, Adam,” I admitted.
“What about now?” he whispered, his lips lowering to mine.
“Better late than never.”
Adam kissed me, softly at first and then with more passionate. His hands moved slowly over my curves. I moaned into his mouth and pushed my breasts into his chest.
Adam’s mouth moved to my neck—sucking, kissing, nibbling. I groaned, and he pulled me closer to his body. I could feel the clear outline of his substantial hardness close to my own heat, and, throwing caution to the wind, I gasped, “God, let’s get out of here.”
Adam pulled back, eyes ablaze. “Are you sure?”
A quick image of Adam seated on one of those oversized leather chairs on the plane, hiking up my dress while I stood before him played through my mind, and I hastily answered, “Yeah, I’m absolutely positive.”
We left the dinner club hurriedly, and Adam and I pretty much made out like we were kids back in high school during the limo ride to the plane. There was a lot of groping and grinding, but apparently, he wanted to wait as much as I did until we got into the air for the real fun to begin.
As we boarded the plane, Walker gave us a knowing smile as we tried, unsuccessfully, to keep our hands to ourselves. “Guess I’ll be keeping the cockpit door
closed
?” I heard him say quietly to Adam as I continued to my seat. I didn’t hear Adam’s reply, but he spent a few extra minutes talking with Walker, so I could only imagine.
“Do I have time to go to the restroom before we take off?” I asked once Adam settled in next to me.
“Yeah, sure, it’ll be a few more minutes before we take off.”
I grabbed my clutch and went into the airplane lavatory, closing the door behind me. Fumbling through the contents, I finally found some gloss to apply to my lips, deliciously swollen from all the kissing. When I threw the tube back in, my cell blinked. I had several missed calls, all from my dad.
The voicemails he’d left said variations of things like “Maddy, call me back; it’s important,” or “Madeleine, this is your dad. Where are you? Call me
now
.” I really didn’t want to call my father back, not now, but it sounded urgent. So, sighing, I dialed his number.
“Maddy!” my father exclaimed upon answering on the first ring. “Where in the hell have you been? I was—”
“Dad,” I interrupted, keeping my voice low. “I can’t really talk for long, but what’s going on? Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just calling to tell you I tracked down those records from the pay phone at the bank here in town.”
“Oh?
Ohhhh
,” I said. “So what did you find out?”
I could hear paper rustling on the other end of the line, just as the engines of the Gulfstream whirred to life. “Dad, hurry,” I pressed.
“OK, OK, here it is…” More rustling papers, and then, “One forty-three second call to a cell phone number. Ah, let’s see, a local number, it seems.”
“Dad!
Who
was Chelsea calling that night?” I pressed.
“It says here that the cell phone she was calling was registered to Adam Ward.”
No!
I was silent, and my dad repeated, “Looks like Adam was the last person Chelsea talked to right before she disappeared.”
This was not good, not good at all. Had those records truly been missed by the police? Or had they been buried? I knew of one person with enough money to make that happen. And it made me sick to consider it.
One thing for certain, I’d made a huge miscalculation by going on this date. To be honest, I’d misjudged everything. I had been deluding myself. You couldn’t go back in time, people change. This night was a lie. Who was Adam, really? He’d been calling Chelsea less than an hour before she disappeared. And what did that mean? Nothing good, I was sure.
Despair washed over me as I sunk to the lavatory floor. And in that moment I think my heart broke just a little.
Things were a mess. Better put, I was a mess. Over a week had passed since my date had been cut short by my dad’s discovery that
Adam
was the person Chelsea had called from a pay phone in Harbour Falls shortly before she was never seen—nor heard from—ever again. Yes, you could say that little tidbit of information put quite a damper on the evening.
The flight from Boston back to Fade Island that night had gone from awkward, once I returned to my seat for takeoff, to tense by the time we landed on the island. I’d tried to play off my sudden icy demeanor toward Adam as an unfortunate side effect of some kind of stomach upset. True, I’d been feeling rather ill but not from eating something that hadn’t agreed with me. Despite my act, by the time the plane landed, Adam had correctly suspected there was something more behind my sudden cool and distant attitude.
On the short ride back to the cottage, he repeatedly tried to get me to tell him what had caused my change of heart. After all, we’d gone from almost becoming lovers to barely speaking. The whole episode served to remind me that I’d been moving entirely too fast with Adam.
Silent at first, I eventually stated I had nothing to discuss. Trust me, I wanted an explanation for the last known phone call Chelsea had ever made, but the problem was I’d have to offer up a reason of my own for even
knowing
about that forty-three second call to Adam. I had no desire to witness his reaction if he found out I was on the island to investigate his one-time fiancée’s disappearance. And, worse yet, write a book using the information I uncovered.
Just why had Chelsea been calling Adam after midnight that night? The files made mention that they’d argued earlier in the evening. Had she called to make things right? Why hadn’t she returned to the hotel? After all, the wedding was just hours away. More importantly, why had Adam never said anything about that call to the police? Unless, of course, he had something to hide.
Adam had grown increasingly frustrated, and definitely irate, by the time he screeched his Porsche to a halt in front of my house. As I’d swung open the passenger-side door to get out, I turned back to him and said, “I’m sorry, Adam. This just isn’t going to work.”
Then I slipped off my heels and hurried to the front door before he could stop me, not that I noticed him trying. Later that night I cried myself to sleep, soaking my pillowcase with tears.
Since then I’d avoided Adam rather handily by holing up in my cottage and barely talking to anyone. It helped that he’d gone on another business trip the day after our abbreviated date. I learned of his travels from the many texts and voicemails he left, telling me he was out of town but asking me to please tell him “what the hell had gone wrong” and how could he fix it.
A part of me wanted to talk to him. After all, I still had so many questions. Apart from the whole phone-call mess, I had never gotten around to asking Adam if he was still seeing Lindsey, the woman Helena had told me about. Another reminder that I’d behaved recklessly on my date with Adam.
Helena had somehow found out about our interrupted date, probably from Nate, who I was sure had heard about it from Adam. Helena had already left almost as many voicemails as Adam himself. When I didn’t respond to any, she threatened to drive out and break down my door if I didn’t, at the very least, let her know I was OK. So I texted back that I was hanging in there, and I’d talk to her eventually, but I just needed some time to myself. That seemed to have calmed her.
Running low on food, I reluctantly placed a small grocery order online but then couldn’t bring myself to open the door when Nate knocked. Standing on one side, peering through the peephole, I waited until he finally gave up and placed the groceries on the step. “Maddy, I know you’re in there,” Nate had said. “I’m going to leave these here, but locking yourself away from the world isn’t healthy, you know.”