Forever in Love (3 page)

“Nothin’ like that. The new tenant said I could go early. She’s a real looker, yes she is. If I was just a little bit younger…” A wistful sigh escaped her thin lips. “I remember how I looked when I was that age. Woulda given her a run for her money.”

Blaine smiled. Irene said that about every woman under the age of forty. “Did you offer to make her one of your killer steak burritos?” She made them for anybody who stayed at the Blue House as a “welcome to town” dinner.

“Offered, but she said no. Wanted to eat out and meet the folks around here.”

Huh. That was interesting. Rick came over and set a plate with a cheeseburger and fries on the counter in front of Irene. “Maybe she’d like to try our specialty.”

“I dunno.” Irene finished her beer and signaled for another. “Honestly, she don’t look like the bacon-cheeseburger type. A little too skinny.” She started nibbling on the butter and garlic fries. “A woman’s gotta keep some meat on her.”

“Amen to that,” Rick said and went away with her empty glass.

“Poor girl is all bones. At least her car’s nice.” Irene’s gaze grew speculative. “So what you up to, Blaine? Word is you’re getting an awful lot of fancy letters from people in California.”

Aw jeez. Not even the mail was secret in Cooter’s Bluff. “It’s junk mail,” Blaine said. “Somehow they got my name.”

“What do they want you to buy?”

It’s not exactly like that
—they
want to buy
me. “Nothin’ I’m interested in.”

Irene shook her head. “That danged junk mail. Such a waste of paper.”

“Hopefully a waste of their money, too.”

The door to his bar opened, and a woman walked in. Blaine glanced in that direction and did an honest-to-god double-take. Conversation around the place petered out as people started to notice her.

Curly hair fell over her shoulders like a dark waterfall, framing whiskey-colored eyes and lips that he found it hard to look away from. A black leather coat was belted at the waist, revealing an hourglass body that belonged on a pinup poster girl. She was so flawless in appearance, the symmetry of her features so perfect, that she almost didn’t look real. It was like god had taken the most beautiful woman in the world and then made her a little better.

It had to be Irene’s new tenant. Blaine knew every good-looking woman within fifty miles, and he had never seen this one before. He had the most absurd desire to touch her, even as his brain warned him it would be a terrible idea. A woman this beautiful was always bad news. An exterior that nice usually hid something nasty underneath.

Janey walked up to her. “Would you like a table, ma’am?”

An instant of frown crossed the stranger’s face. “A seat at the counter’s fine. Thank you.”

“That’s her,” Irene said, swallowing a bite of her burger. “Catherine.”

Blaine rolled the name on his tongue. It was as regal as the woman.

“Hey, Catherine,” Irene called out, waving.

Catherine’s eyes zeroed in on her, then moved to Blaine. The impact of her gaze hit him like a boxer’s punch.

She made her way across the bar, seemingly oblivious to the stares she was getting, and took the stool next to Irene. “I thought you’d go home.”

“Would have, normally, but I figured I’d treat myself. This here is Blaine. He owns the place.”

Catherine tilted her head and gave him a soft smile that revealed teeth as perfect as the rest of her. “Catherine. A pleasure.”

Her voice reminded Blaine of finely aged bourbon. “The pleasure’s mine. Welcome.”

“I’d like to see a menu if you don’t mind,” she said.

He handed her one. “Where are you from? California?” Something about her accent made him think of the golden state.

She regarded him over the menu for a moment. “No. I was born in Savannah.”

Had she somehow given herself away? Despite Olivia’s disapproval, Catherine had gone to junior high and high school in California because of her father’s business interests on the west coast. Catherine had wanted to see Blaine without him knowing where she was from or—more importantly—who’d sent her. And California was a connection to Salazar.

She studied Blaine under her eyelashes. She’d thought maybe Salazar’s picture had been overly kind—the Pryce men tended to be photogenic. But it didn’t look like that was the case with Blaine. His features lacked the refinement Salazar’s other children had, but there was something arresting about the casual, confident way he moved and talked. And his lips… He had the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen on a man. It was the kind meant to sing ballads, recite sonnets and steal a woman’s breath away with a kiss.

He glanced at her, and she hurriedly returned to the menu, cheeks a little hot.
Smooth
,
Catherine
.
Very smooth
.

She sighed. The menu had too many pages, and it’d take forever to read. “Do you have a recommendation?” she asked.

“Bacon-cheeseburger. With garlic and butter fries,” Irene said, holding up a fry that glistened with grease before popping it into her mouth.

From the looks of what was left on Irene’s plate there were at least a thousand calories in the order. “Other than that.” No way Catherine was touching that stuff. The waitress—Janey—had called her “ma’am,” reminding Catherine of her mother’s comment about how she was now a fossil. But it hadn’t just been the “ma’am.” It was Janey’s youth. The girl couldn’t be more than twenty-two. There was an exuberance in her face, which was as round as a dinner plate.

“Pan-fried trout’s pretty good.”

Catherine pursed her mouth. “Any salads?”

Irene guffawed. “Oh hon. You don’t come to The Line to get salad.”

“Why?” Catherine asked. “Are they that bad?”

Irene made a show of glancing around conspiratorially. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she said in a low voice, “but this here’s a bar.”

“And a restaurant.” Catherine pointed at the restaurant section of the place.

“Don’t they have any good food where you’re from?”

Apparently Irene wasn’t going to be much help. Catherine turned to Blaine. “Can you do a grilled chicken salad, no cheese or croutons, dressing on the side?”

“What kind of dressing?” he asked.

“What do you recommend?”

He gave her an assessing look. “House vinaigrette? Low on calories, high on taste.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Catherine felt Irene shake her head. Maybe the older woman could afford to eat cheeseburgers and fries every day, but not Catherine. Her body required a careful diet and strict regimen of exercise. She didn’t fit into the clothes she fit into and look the way she looked by eating a bunch of junk food, no matter how tasty. Beauty was the only really worthwhile thing about her, and she wouldn’t dare do anything to lose it.

Irene finished her food and went off to gossip with some newcomers. Catherine sat and watched Blaine work behind the bar. Neatly rolled-up sleeves revealed strong forearms dusted with dark hair. He had big hands, the fingers long and thick. She followed the intriguing patterns his veins made under his exposed skin and felt something warm curling in her belly. Good lord, all she had to do to get turned on was watch a guy’s hands flex. But then it’d been a long time. Blaine didn’t shy away from washing the dishware and tidying up. A vivid contrast to her former “husband” Jacob, who would’ve had somebody else take care of the tasks that he deemed beneath him.

Maybe it was the difference in their upbringings. Jacob had been born into material comfort, while Blaine hadn’t. The bar and restaurant seemed to be doing well enough, but its interior—the wood counters, railings and fixtures—was old and shopworn. And his clothes, while neat enough, certainly didn’t say “rich”. They were plain cotton, stuff you could buy at any big box store. He probably didn’t own a single thing made in Europe.

That could change in an instant if Blaine accepted Salazar’s money. He was offering more than Blaine would make from this bar and restaurant in a lifetime, and all Blaine had to do was come into the Pryce family fold.

Why say no to fifty million bucks?
The man didn’t seem stupid. He had to know what that kind of money could do for him. There had to be something driving him to refuse it, and Catherine was certain once she found out what the reason was, it would be easy enough to persuade him out of it.

* * *

Blaine served Catherine her salad, then went to the opposite end of the bar and did his best to ignore her. The woman was married for god’s sake. He closed his eyes briefly, wondering how he’d missed the giant rock on her ring finger when she walked in.

Because it was the little head thinking
. The big head knew she was one of those uptown rich girls…one who was probably slumming. Cooter’s Bluff would be an amusing little diversion for her before she moved on.

She gave him a few speculative looks during the evening. His awareness of her made the muscles in his jaw ache. He let Rick banter with her and had Janey take her orders. Rick was so whipped by Janey he wouldn’t hit on Catherine no matter how hot she was.

If she wanted to cheat on her husband with Blaine…well, she wouldn’t be the first woman to want to do that, and he wasn’t going to say yes. He had his rules, and married women were off-limits.

She cast him a final look, then took off her coat and strolled over to the pool table. There she smiled and flirted with a few of the guys—they were eating out of her hand in moments—and joined the next game.

Blaine sighed. Dusty was playing her, and he supposed that was all right. Thin and awkward, Dusty was harmless. It’d make his week to hang out with somebody like Catherine.

Or not, depending on her motives.

“You said she came into town alone?” Blaine asked Irene, who had returned to the bar for a third beer.

“Yep.”

“Maybe some of her friends are coming later?”

“Ain’t what the manager said. He said just to have the master bedroom ready.” She tipped her glass toward him. “There’s just the one tenant.”

Catherine laughed at something Dusty said, putting a hand on his arm as she did so. Blaine’s eyes narrowed. The sight offended him for some reason, though he couldn’t say why. It wasn’t like Dusty didn’t understand what the ring meant.

On the other hand, it hardly seemed fair for her to choose Dusty. Out of all the men in the bar, he was the least able to stand up for himself, and not all that popular with the ladies, so he was the most vulnerable to her charms. Of course, she probably knew that. Some women had an instinct.

A fellow named Arty came over to the bar and asked for another beer. “Man, she’s pretty good.”

“Is she?”

“Been killing Dusty.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow. Dusty was one of the best pool players in town. He was probably just taking it easy on the pretty lady.

“Course, it probably don’t help that he’s been staring at her ass more ’n the balls on the table, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yep,” Blaine said.

“But the woman can shoot. Gotta respect that.” He took the beer and left.

Blaine watched Catherine make the final shot. She leaned far over the table, which accentuated her gorgeous curves and put her ass up in the air in a highly suggestive manner. His cock hardened instantly, and he bit back a curse.

She sank the eight ball and straightened triumphantly while Dusty threw his hands in the air. The crowd around them laughed, and Catherine clinked her glass of water with everyone. She hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol. And she’d barely had any of the dressing that came with her salad.

A calorie counter
, Blaine thought. One of the most miserable types of women he knew. One of his exes had been like that, and it’d been a pain to do anything with her since they could never have a meal without arguing. Everything was too high, too low, had the wrong balance between fat calories and carb calories, blah blah blah.

Catherine might not even be all that beautiful without makeup. Some women were like that. Fancy makeup could explain her unnaturally good looks.

“Think she’s pretty?” Blaine asked as Rick passed by him.

“So hot you could fry an egg on her elbow. But I prefer redheads.”

Blaine glanced over at Janey’s red hair and shook his head with a wry grin.

“Why? You interested?” Rick asked.

“Nah.” But his body said,
Liar
…

* * *

Catherine grinned victoriously. The game had been worth it. She had become part of the group around the table, and men were always willing to help her out. So she had learned a bit about Blaine while playing pool against Dusty.

One: Blaine had been born and raised in Cooter’s Bluff and never left the state until a few years ago to visit Austin, Texas.

Two: The bar/restaurant was something Blaine had inherited from his mother’s boyfriend. Which was interesting—he was more willing to take something from a non-family member than his own flesh and blood.

Three: Blaine was unattached. Something nasty had happened between him and some “rich girl” from another town, but Catherine hadn’t been able to get any details. Did the event have something to do with Blaine’s standoffish attitude toward Salazar?

“Rematch?” Dusty asked.

She smiled at him. Dusty was older than her, but somehow seemed younger. Maybe it was his height, or how baggy his clothes were on his rather thin frame. His sandy brown hair stood up, but unlike the bar manager Rick’s gel-spiked hair, it was all natural and completely unstudied. “Sorry. I think I’m done for the evening.”

“Aw, yer killing me.”

“I drove for hours today, and I’m tired,” she said firmly. “But I’ll be in town for a while, so you’ll get a chance for revenge.”

“Deal.” He grinned. “What’cha drinking? I’ll get you another.”

“It’s all right. I don’t really drink.” She couldn’t, actually, since she’d already used up the day’s allotted calories on chicken. Maybe she should’ve eaten less and bought herself a dry martini instead. She went back to her stool, reached under it for her bag and frowned when her hand hit nothing but air.

That’s odd
. She’d put it right there, hanging off the hook. She looked around in case somebody had taken it by mistake. “Hey, Dusty?”