Call Me Cat (6 page)

MY HEART STALLED
and my head spun. Everyone stared at me expectantly, Ash most of all. I pulled my hand out of his, the feel of his lips still burning my skin. "No. Catelyn, please."

Mrs. Beaumont
's laugh rang like bells. "Catelyn has never gone by a nickname, not since we've known her."

Bridgette
raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me, likely confused by my deer in the headlights behavior.

Ash broke the tension with his own laugh, deep and sexy. "Catelyn it is. I met a Cat recently who reminds me of you somehow, though I'm sure the two of you couldn't be more dissimilar. No offense meant."

Ha! No doubt. I'm the angel and devil all wrapped up in one.
I recovered myself. Surely, he couldn't suspect me of being his phone sex operator. So I plastered a smile to my face. "None taken. It's been a challenging night. I'm just a bit overwhelmed at the moment and not entirely myself." I realized if Ash was at this party, he was likely a huge contributor to the charity, and I didn't want to spoil things for the Beaumonts after they'd been so kind.

His brow furrowed in concern. "Nothing too awful I hope?"

Mrs. Beaumont put a hand on my arm. "Poor dear came home to her apartment broken into. But we'll sort it all out, won't we dear?"

I nodded. "Yes. Thank you for your help."
But you don't have to go around telling people.

Ash's face darkened. "Were you hurt? Are you alright?"

The intensity of his gaze frightened me, but no one else seemed to notice. Mrs. Beaumont excused herself to greet more guests, taking Bridgette with her because "there's someone here who wants to meet you, dear," leaving me stuck with Ash and an overwhelming urge to cry, which pissed me off.

We
stood by the staircase, the hall around us buzzing with the comings and goings of guests dressed in their finest. Servers in jackets with long coattails carried polished silver trays filled with hors d'oeuvre
s
and bubbling glasses of champagne. My stomach rumbled loud enough for Ash to hear, and I realized I hadn't eaten all day.

"I wasn't hurt," I said, after far too long a pause. "My cat was, though." I shuddered, remembering the way Crackhead h
ung from the wall, his blood splattered everywhere.

Ash clenched his jaw as if he wanted to say something, but instead held out his arm. "Would you care to join me?"

With no ready excuse to take my leave, I took his arm, his substantial muscles bulging under the expensive tux jacket. He covered my hand with his, burning away my chill with his body heat and making me feel safe for a moment.

"I'm surprised you wanted to come to a party tonight, given how your day has gone," he said, leaning down so I could hear him.

"We didn't know about the party until we got here." I gestured to my dress. "Bridgette dressed me like a doll and dragged me down."

Ash laughed again, though I failed to see what was so funny. "You're a refreshing woman, Catelyn Travis. So how do you and
Bridgette know each other?"

Knowing a conversation about higher education would bring on a repeat argument, one he
'd already had with Cat, I pulled away, nearly stumbling on my—Bridgette's—dress and shoes. "I should go find Bridgette, see if she needs rescuing from her mother."

His eyes flickered to
Bridgette, surrounded by handsome men laughing. "I don't think your friend needs any rescuing. She looks like she's enjoying herself. You might want to try that."

I flashed a scowl at him. "I'm not really in the mood for enjoyment, after today, if you'll excuse me."

I stormed away, a fool for overreacting, but needing to escape the heady intoxicating scent of his cologne, the feel of him close to me. Getting involved with him would be dangerous on so many levels, and I had enough danger in my life. I didn't need more.

The patio was empty, likely due to the freezing cold evening, but I didn't care. I relished the quiet, inhaling the clean, cool air. By day, the view overlooked mou
ntains and hills and trees, now all covered in snow. By night, the sky filled with stars that didn't have to compete with streetlights and cars and city distractions, but commanded all attention.

I was hugging myself to stay warm, lost in thoughts, when someone cleared
their throat and I turned, startled.

A handsome man with
familiar eyes smiled at me. "I'm Jonathan Davenport. The First, if it matters. But I go by Jon."

"Davenport?" He looked nothing like Ash, who was dark and smoldering to this man's blond and boy-next-door look
, though they couldn't have been too far apart in age and had similar body builds—tall and muscular.

"Ash's younger brother. I saw you talking to him earlier, then you stormed out here. I assume my brother's renowned lack of tact upset you in some way. I came to apologize on behalf of my family."

There was a lot of apologizing for other people going around tonight. I nearly lashed out at him, but he seemed so sincere I pulled in my claws.

He offered me a glass of champagne and I took it, sipping slowly. Even this amount of alcohol could fuck me up on an empty stomach. "No need to apologize," I said.

Jon leaned against the railing, and we both gazed at the stars while sipping our champagne and not talking for a few moments. I didn't mind the quiet, but other people often got restless with too much of it. Jon was no exception. He turned to me, his glass empty, though mine was nearly full.

"I haven't seen you at any of the other events around here. Are you new to the area?" He meant the Boston blue blood events, of course.

I shook my head. "I grew up here. I'm a friend of Bridgette's."

The conversation stalled, neither of us knowing quite what to say. When I shivered, he offered me his coat, but I declined.

My silence had been ruined, and my stomach rumbled once again, reminding me I needed to eat. "I think I'm going to head back in, Jon. Thank you for the drink. And the company."

He smiled and opened the patio door for me. "Ladies first."

I didn't want to be constantly aware of Ash, but it seemed my body had other ideas. The moment we walked back in to the ballroom, I felt his eyes zero in on me. When he saw Jon, he frowned and began walking toward us.

Jon noticed and grinned. "
My brother doesn't like competition."

I bristled at that. "I'm not a bone for you two to fight over," I told him through clenched teeth. Men and their stupidity.

"Of course not, I didn't mean it that way."

Ash approached and handed me a plate of food
. "You should eat."

I knew I should, but resented him telling me to as if I was a child. Still, my stomach didn't let me protest. "Thank you."

He nodded curtly. "I see you've met my little brother."

"Yes, he was kind enough to apologize for your irritating manner." I couldn't help it, these things just dripped from my lips like venom. I shoved a stuffed mushroom into my mouth to keep it from causing any
more trouble.

Ash's dark eyes narrowed at his brother. "I guess I should thank him for making sure our family name is well represented."

He didn't look that thankful, and the champagne was going to my head. I giggled, nearly choking on mushroom. "If you'll excuse me, boys, I'm going to track down Bridgette. Try not to piss on anything valuable."

They both stared at me dumbfounded, though Ash had a twinkle in his eyes that made me think he admired my raw wit. I found Brig once again surrounded by men, but when she saw me she pulled herself away. "Where have you been?"

I glanced at the Davenport boys, who both still stared.

"Oh girl, you sure know how to pick 'em. Do you even know who they are?"

I shook my head. I kept meaning to google Ash, but so much had been going on.

She grabbed my elbow and pulled me to the corner as I sampled the plate of food Ash brought me.

"The Davenports are the most powerful family in Massachusetts. Their father owns Davenport International—D.I.—which represents every major investor in the country. They're worth a fortune. Jon is set to follow in his father's footsteps. Harvard Law for now, then corner office at D.I. Ash went his own way. Got in trouble with the law several times in high school before his dad kicked him out. We all thought he'd end up an afterschool special kind of warning, but he proved everyone wrong by becoming a ridiculously wealthy hedge fund manager. He's worth billions, even more than his father, which didn't sit well with daddy dearest as you can imagine. Those two," she pointed to the brothers who were in a heated conversation judging by their faces and body language, "have been at each other's throats for years, and now you're stuck right in the middle."

THE MUSIC FROM
the party—a live orchestra the Beaumonts commissioned just for this event—bled through the door of the guest room the maid had readied for me next to Bridgette's room. My misery and exhaustion felt inappropriate surrounded by sunflower yellow walls, a wood-burning fire place encased in stone and a four-poster canopy bed with a white comforter embroidered with yellow daisies.

I slip
ped out of the dress, hung it in the closet, and pulled on silk pajama bottoms and a matching button down top Bridgette had loaned me. With my next paycheck, I would have to replace my whole wardrobe.

The room came complete with a bookshelf pac
ked with classics. I pulled a few familiar titles out until I settled on John Irving's
A Prayer for Owen Meany
.

An overstuffe
d white chair sat in the corner near the fireplace, with a complimentary ottoman. I sunk into it, ready to get lost in the pages of fiction, when someone knocked on my door.

Irritated by the interruption of reality, I rose and yanked open the door only to discover Ash holding a plate filled with various desserts including a chocolate c
overed strawberry, a slice of key lime pie and a berry torte.

He winked at me, his dimple deepening with his smile. "I come in peace. May I come in? I've brought bribes." He raised the plate
, and I opened the door wider and went back to my chair. He sat on the small stool in front of the vanity after placing the desserts on the table next to me. "You left the party."

"You have alarmingly keen observational skills, Mr. Davenport," I said dryly.

"I like your pajamas." He didn't sound at all daunted by my attitude. On the contrary, he seemed inspired by my surliness, which didn't bode well.

"They're not mine. What can I do for you? I've had a long day and I'm tired." And I kind of wanted to dig into that dessert, but not in front of him.

He glanced at the book in my hand. "You're a fan of Irving? I find his work repetitive for the most part. He uses the same archetypal characters, places and scenarios over and over until it fails to incite true emotion. You'll almost always find a Sarah Lawrence dropout and a retired wrestling coach with issues, for example."

"That doesn't make his work repetitive. He has themes he addresses,
universal themes one can't walk away from because they exist at a fundamental level in everything. And as for archetypes, those are found in all manner of books and genres. And I think this book," I held up
Owen Meany
, "is one of his most original, and certainly his best literary work."

"Even better than
The World According to Garp
?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I guess we'll have to agree to disagree." He held his hands loosely on his lap, his long fingers tapping each other.

"We seem to do a lot of that for people who hardly know each other." I gave in and took a bite of the pie, nearly moaning in delight as the tart sweetness melted on my tongue.

Ash noticed. "I've never been jealous of a dessert before, but if it can make you look that satisfied, I've got some competition."

I put the fork down. "You and your brother seem to be
suffering from the delusion that I'm a prize to be won in your pissing contest, when this is most assuredly not the case. I'm not playing your game, and I can't be had by the winner of this fictional competition you two have constructed."

He stood, str
aightening his coat. "Oh, it's not fictional, I assure you. And sooner or later, you'll find I can bring you considerably more pleasure than that pie. Until then, enjoy your dessert, Miss Travis."

When the door clicked closed behind him, I exhaled, unsure what to make of the warring feelings inside of me.

I decided to do what I should have done in the first place, and pulled out my laptop to google the Davenports. What I found didn't make me feel any better.

Ash was more d
angerous than I'd realized—someone I had to stay far, far away from. Because Ashton Benjamin Davenport the Third may have been many things.

But he was also a murderer.