Forever in Love (7 page)

Catherine asked for a refill. The Line was important to Blaine, no doubt about it. There was pride in the way he kept the old place in tiptop shape.

When a woman wanted to get close to a man as quickly as possible, there were two methods she could use. The most obvious was sex. It was the quickest and easiest way provided the guy felt attracted to her. That option was off the table; Catherine refused to whore herself, not even to earn Salazar’s gratitude and stay out of jail. The next time she slept with a guy, it would be out of desire—hers. So that left the second: help the man out of a jam.

“I could give you a hand if you like,” Catherine said.

“Bartending?” Blaine tilted his head and regarded her. “The crowd can get a little rough in here, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” His inflection made the word anything but an endearment. “And how do you know I can’t get rough back?”

He looked at her with amusement. “Got a bartender’s license?”

“No.”

“It’s a legal requirement, you know.”

“You mean like not stealing someone else’s property? Seems like you people don’t really worry too much about legality around here.”

Blaine laughed. “You’ve got a point. Still…”

“Look, I know almost every cocktail recipe there is.” She’d had to learn them during her marriage. Jacob liked complicated drinks with names like “Southern Apple Pie” and “The Slivopolitan”, and he usually preferred she make them. When they occasionally entertained a few close friends, she made most of the cocktails before dinner.

“Ever held down a job?” Blaine asked.

“A job? No.”

“Bartending here on a Saturday night isn’t like making a couple drinks for you and a boy toy. It’s hard work. Appreciate the offer, but I can manage alone.”

Sudden fury exploded inside her. How dare he presume to know her? How dare he act like she was some useless thing? Not just him, but everyone around this place. “You know what? You’re an idiot. People in this crappy little town believe I’m capable of running a cartel drug operation, but I’m not competent enough to
bartend?
Just because I’ve never held down a job before doesn’t mean I can’t help out.” Maybe she should’ve stayed with her mother in Charleston. At least her mother didn’t think she was a felon!

“But why would you want to help? This has nothing to do wi—.”

“I’m tired of people judging me on my looks, which won’t even last more than a few more years.” She threw a ten-dollar bill at Blaine. “You know what? Fuck you. Fuck your small town Mayberry bullshit, your holier-than-thou attitude, and your thievery!”

* * *

Catherine stormed out. Blaine blinked a few times.

A voice came from over on the left. “I guess a blowjob’s out of the question.” There was general laughter.

“Shut up, Bob.” She hadn’t said those things to create some rich-girl drama. Blaine had been looking into those whiskey-colored eyes: everything she’d said had been from the heart.

Everyone returned to their conversations and food. The show was officially over.

Mimi reappeared beside him. “Wow. Pretty scary.”

“You shut up, too, Mimi. What do you know?” Blaine said.

“I know she can be scary. I’m worried about Willie Rae now.”

“She shouldn’t have taken the damn purse in the first place.”

“Well, yeah. But nobody ever does anything about it, so…” Mimi shrugged.

Blaine swallowed a curse. As it happened, he’d brought the subject up once, but Willie Rae had tearfully told him that all her friends hung out at The Line and he hadn’t had the heart to ban her from the place. Seemed like a piss poor way to thank a patriotic woman whose son had made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Well, she won’t be coming back,” Mimi said, looking at the door.

“Guess not.” Blaine’s heart twinged with guilt. She probably wasn’t good at bartending, but he didn’t have to be a jackass when she’d offered to help.

On the other hand… If she was good and actually did help him out, that would prove he was wrong about her.

He stacked the morning’s receipts absentmindedly. He didn’t want to be wrong about her. Something told him she’d be trouble if he let her get to him.

Shoving the thought of Catherine out of his head, he tried to focus on running his business. If Willie Rae didn’t return the purse by the end of the weekend, he’d go have a chat with her. That should be enough to make up for what had just happened…right?

* * *

Two hours later, he found himself standing in front of the Blue House. Blaine cursed under his breath, then hit the doorbell before he talked himself out of it. He wanted to apologize to her, that was all. Admit that he’d screwed up. It was the right thing to do.

Then the door opened, and the imperial Catherine was looking down her nose at him, no easy feat given their difference in height. But the regal set of her expression made her seem taller and stately and absolutely stunning.

And he suddenly couldn’t remember what he was going to say.

Catherine gave Blaine a hard stare. “Well, well.”

“Catherine.”

“Blaine.” She didn’t move to invite him in. He was too damned tall, and definitely too good-looking. Resentment filled her as she took in his arresting features. Why couldn’t Georgia Love have been an ugly woman who’d given birth to a toad? On the other hand, if she’d been ugly, Catherine wouldn’t be in this town doing a favor for Salazar in the first place. He might have a horrible eye for art, but he was a connoisseur when it came to women.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Blaine scuffed a spot on the porch with his shoe. “Ah… This is awkward.”

“Then go back to The Line. Nobody asked you to come.”

“Look, I apologize.”

She narrowed her eyes. She should be more gracious, but she was too angry to care.

“I shouldn’t have been so nasty to you. You were just trying to offer some help.”

“Which you said was worthless.” How astute of him to figure that out so soon. Except for looking beautiful, there was nothing she could do well. It hadn’t taken long before Jacob had discovered that also and turned his family against her. She would have given up her looks to be half as smart as Kerri, who’d gone to Ivy League schools. Catherine had graduated from high school only because she’d known how to milk her teachers’ sympathy.

Blaine’s lips pressed together briefly. “Did you mean what you said? About helping out?”

“What do you think? That I go around and offer to bartend when I
don’t
mean it?” She crossed her arms. “In case you haven’t realized, I don’t need to work.” What she needed was a husband. A really rich husband who wouldn’t mind that the only thing she was great at was looking good on his arm.

“Yeah, I kind of did get the impression. Look, I’m sorry. Okay? And if the offer still stands, I’d be more than happy to have your help.”

“I see.” She wanted to tell him no, but she
had
offered. More to the point, she still needed to figure out an angle Salazar could use—she was
not
going to jail for something she hadn’t done—and couldn’t accomplish that by staying away from Blaine. “What time?”

“Six would be good. Place doesn’t really start hopping until 7:30 or 8:00, but it’ll give me time to show you where everything is.”

“Then I’ll see you at six.” She shut the door.

* * *

As evening approached, the dread in Blaine’s gut intensified. What the hell had possessed him to ask her to bartend for him? He hadn’t been drinking, so he couldn’t blame anything except his own stupidity.

Catherine probably wouldn’t show, which was fine by him. Bartending was hard work, and she seemed like she’d never done anything more strenuous than pick up a glass of wine. But if she showed up, it’d probably go badly. What if she was just as horrible as he expected?

He hated to be the guy who said, “I told you so.” Especially if he was telling himself.

On the other hand, he wouldn’t have to say a word for her to understand that she sucked. She didn’t seem like the oblivious type.

Catherine came in a little before six. She was in the same outfit she’d had on earlier, but her makeup was darker, her lips fully crimson and her eyes lined like an Egyptian pharaoh. The effect was striking.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low and a little hard. Maybe she was still pissed off about him being a jerk earlier. “So you want to show me where everything is?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Blaine gave her a quick tour of the shelves of liquor and mixers behind the bar, pointed out how to operate everything and took her into the storage room to see where all the extra supplies were kept. She seemed attentive enough, asking occasional questions. Then, back at the bar, he watched as she plugged a pourer into a new bottle of vodka and upended it for a four-count into a 12-ounce tumbler. When he took the glass and emptied the contents into a shot jigger, the liquid came right up to the top and was held there by surface tension.

“Impressive,” he said.

“Told you.”

Despite his earlier protestations, he probably wouldn’t have been able to manage on his own. Even if all she could do was pour shots and beer it would help. He should focus on that rather than how badly she was going to fail.

Within an hour, Catherine proved Blaine wrong. She was a fantastic bartender. She knew dozens of recipes, and men loved her—well, the way she looked at least.

The bar had more men than usual. They all hung around, watching her work. Her slim hands moved quickly to fill orders, but she never forgot to smile and flirt with customers either.

And she raked in unbelievable tips.

How odd that two hours could shatter Blaine’s perception of her. He hadn’t thought she could do anything more strenuous than apply lipstick to her mouth. She just seemed so soft and delicate and fragile. He wasn’t even sure why she was doing this. She didn’t have to, and if she was slumming, this was going too far. Bartending wasn’t easy. Of course if you were hot, the male customers would forgive you a lot, but you’d be on your feet for a long while. And she was in a pair of torturous stilettos instead of something more sensible.

Then there was the problem of sharing the space behind the bar. It wasn’t designed to be spacious, but Blaine had never noticed how small it was until she kept brushing past him to reach for extra glasses or liquor she needed. She smelled great—and felt amazing—and his balls tightened, throbbing with want. He might have thought she was doing it on purpose, but she was too brisk and business-like to be flirting with him. Besides, she acted like she was still annoyed about his earlier crack.

That didn’t mean his body could pretend she was just like Rick. Every time she came near him, the little head perked up. Good thing nobody could see him below the waist.

Dusty leaned over the counter on Catherine’s side with a smile. He was with a coworker from his warehouse job. “Hey Catherine, make me that Bond drink. You know the one.”

“The Vesper?” she said.

“Is that what it’s called? Shaken, not stirred?”

Her lips curved into a sexy grin, and a searing jealousy pierced into Blaine’s gut. He wanted that smile for himself, not for Dusty or the other customers. “You got it, secret agent.”

Dusty poked his friend in the ribs. “Told ya she’d know. She drives one of them Bond cars. An Aston Marlin.”

She pushed the drink to Dusty, and he took a sip. She held his eyes and gave him a million watt smile, while waiting for his verdict.

“It’s great!” he said, his eyes drifting down to her generous chest, which her top displayed to its best advantage.

Blaine had an urge to put a couple of fishhooks in Dusty’s pupils and jerk them up, so he’d stop staring at Catherine’s breasts. It was ungentlemanly of him, and Blaine’s mother had always said it was important to treat women with care.

He shouldn’t give a damn as long as his customers were happy and nobody did anything dumb. But he should keep an eye on Catherine…to make sure she’d be all right to work the entire shift, of course.

* * *

Several hours later, Catherine stretched and twisted like a cat. Everything had been washed, dried and wiped down. The cleaning was new to her—she’d always had staff for that—but the bartending part hadn’t been too bad.

The only difficulty had been sharing of the space behind the counter with Blaine. Sometimes they had to pass by each other to get what they needed, and every time he brushed by her, she felt a frisson of electricity.

And now her body was humming, primed and ready.
Good god
,
down
,
girl
. It had to be from not having been with a man in a while. Two years was a long time to go without.

She cleared her throat, trying to steer herself away from the need pooling in her belly and below. “It’s amazing how much they can drink,” she said.

“It’s not them, it’s you,” Blaine said.

“What do you mean?”

“They were hanging around the bar for you.” He handed her a roll of cash. “You did good.”

She looked for a sign that he was grudging, but she couldn’t find any. “I didn’t do it for pay.”

“Well, but this is your tip. I can’t keep it. Wouldn’t be right.”

“This much?” She weighed the thick stack. She’d never gotten paid before.

“Yup. Men like their bartenders young and pretty. I appreciate the help.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” She’d actually enjoyed it. The customers had been nice even though service was slow with only two of them working.

“Maybe not to you, but it was to me.” His gaze dropped to her high heels. “Your feet must be killing you.”

“Ah, I’m used to pumps.” She wore flats only when she exercised. But still…he was right. She’d been on her feet for too long, and it seemed like every muscle below her knees ached.

“C’mere. Sit on the table.” He patted a smooth wooden surface next to him.

Arching an eyebrow, she perched her hips there. Blaine swung a chair out from under the table, seated himself on it in front of her, and pulled off her right shoe. He dug his fingers gently but firmly into her insole.

“Oh my god, that feels amazing,” she said, trying to keep from moaning.