Forever in Love (8 page)

“Knew you had to be hurting.” He continued to work on the knots, and her sole tingled. “I have no idea why women wear heels. They look like torture devices. Not very practical either.”

“We don’t wear them for comfort.”
Do I sound breathless?
“We wear them to look good.”

“You don’t need to wear heels to look good, Catherine.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m short. I have to wear heels or nobody will notice me.”

He gave her a look out from under his eyebrows. “I would’ve noticed.” He switched to the other foot.

Licking her lower lip, she watched him massage her foot. He had amazing hands, strong and controlled, his fingers firm and thick.

When was the last time somebody had done anything this nice for her? Jacob had stopped bothering years earlier, when he’d realized they couldn’t conceive naturally. He’d become so bitter.

And when Jacob was bitter about something, everyone heard about it.

“Anyway, thank you. I know you don’t like me much.” She bit her lip. What had made her blurt that out loud?

Blaine’s head came up. “Why do you say that?”

She gave him her best let’s-cut-the-bullshit look. “I’ve been around men a lot in my life, and with all due modesty, most of them have liked me. But not you. I understand why—it’s the situation with my purse. I’m sure it’s made things awkward between you, Willie Rae and that sheriff.”

“Has it now?” he drawled.

She smiled wryly. “When I had a chance to calm down and think for a moment, it was obvious which would be more important. Siding with a woman who’ll be gone soon, or staying friendly with the local law enforcement. It’s a no-brainer.”

“Well…it just so happens you’re wrong about that.”

“How so?”

Blaine mulled it over and finally said, “I just don’t care for the kind of people who drive fancy cars.”

“There was a BMW out in the parking lot last night. You didn’t seem to have any problem with the guy driving it.”

“A Beamer isn’t really fancy. You have to have some serious money to drive around in an Aston Martin.”

Meaning money like the Pryce family had. “So what’s wrong with that?” she prodded.

He shrugged. “Too rich. Too entitled.”

“So you don’t like people with fancy cars and entitlement issues?” If Blaine had problems with the wealthy, Salazar was going to have his work cut out for him.

Blaine continued to knead her foot. “Nah, I just don’t like the way they use other folks and then discard them like trash afterward. Everybody has feelings. A person doesn’t mean less because he isn’t rich.”

“I see. I’m sorry somebody hurt you like that,” she murmured.

His hands stilled. “Who said anything about hurting me?”

“Something must’ve happened. Either to you or somebody you’re close to. Regardless, you were hurt.” She pulled her foot out of his hands, slid down the table and slipped her feet into her shoes. “Thanks for the massage. That felt wonderful.”

Blaine stood up, and suddenly the bar seemed to be a little too small for comfort. “You’re full of surprises, Catherine.”

If she moved a step closer, she would be able to press her cheek over his heart. “Good. I’d hate to be predictable.”

“You weren’t supposed to be like this.” His finger brushed along her jaw line.

She shivered as her skin tingled. She should move away, but couldn’t. There was something lovely and addictive about the sensations Blaine evoked.

“You should’ve been shallow, easy to ignore.”

He said it like a rebuke, but she thrilled at the compliment. She needed this after months of humiliation and gnawing worry that her in-laws would do everything in their power to destroy her. “I thought it was my looks that made me impossible to ignore.”

“No. I can ignore a beautiful face.” He was so close, their breaths mingled. “I just can’t ignore you.” He pressed his lips against hers, fitting them closely.

Her breath shuddered out, and she tilted her head for a more intimate contact. He was so warm, his mouth sure and masterful as it moved over hers. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had kissed her like this, like she was irresistible, like she was the center of his universe. Jacob hadn’t, not even when they’d been on their honeymoon. He hadn’t been a bad lover, but she’d always gotten the feeling that making her climax was his way of gratifying his ego.

But with Blaine it was different. It was like he wanted to make her feel good because how she felt was important to him.

It was an illusion, of course. Blaine didn’t really desire her the way she longed to be loved and needed. But it was nice to close her eyes and pretend as sweet pleasure built in her belly, as her skin tingled at the heat spreading in waves from her mouth to the rest of her body.

So why not sleep with him? It’d been so long. He was available, and he was obviously willing based on the thick erection pressing against her.

Because…

She pulled back. His dilated pupils turned his eyes dark. Air sawed in and out of his lungs, and she felt his heart beating fast under her palm.

She didn’t want to use him for a quick orgasm or two like he were a vibrator. It’d only prove that his preconceived ideas about people like her were correct…and for some reason his opinion of her mattered.

“Catherine—”

She put a finger on his lips. “I should go. But I can come back tomorrow, if you want.”

He nodded against her bare skin. The five o’clock shadow on his jaw scratched her finger, and she curled her hand to contain the shiver-inducing sensation.

“Okay, then.” She turned and walked out, knowing that his eyes were on her hips, her body throbbing for more contact with him. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

Propping her feet on the coffee table, Catherine looked over a portfolio sent by an art gallery owner in New York. Yelena apparently hadn’t heard Catherine couldn’t afford to buy anything anymore. Some of the pieces looked quite good, though the quality of offerings was generally uneven. The artist needed better guidance and focus in his work.

Putting the portfolio away, she sighed. She missed Theresa, the assistant who used to buy audiobooks for her. Catherine listened to at least two a month so she could stay informed about what people were reading. But right now she didn’t have the money for an assistant or the energy to figure out what to get, so she hadn’t listened to anything in a while.

The clock ticked and the big hand got closer to the large black six. If she didn’t want to be late, she had to leave by five thirty, but…

She shouldn’t have walked away the way she’d done the night before. Once she’d had some rest and sleep, it was obvious what she’d done had to have annoyed Blaine, like she was playing games or something.

Still…she’d promised to help, and she was a woman of her word. And it was only until Rick recovered.

At the bar, Blaine greeted her like nothing had happened the night before. Since she didn’t want to talk about
that
in front of others, especially the super gossips who’d labeled her a drug dealer, she treated him just the same. He even let her go early. “No need to help me clean up. Janey’s going to stay behind. You go home and get some rest.”

Catherine took a quick glance at the waitress. Janey’s round face held nothing but gratitude and friendliness.

The next night and the next the pattern continued. If she hadn’t known better she’d think Blaine was avoiding her. Which was silly.

They had to share the space behind the counter and brushed by each other. She liked the fleeting touches of his hard, muscular body against hers, even through the layers of clothes.

Blaine had probably assumed she’d rejected him when she’d walked away. That wasn’t how she’d meant it, but what could she do about that now?

On the fifth night, Janey came over to the bar during a lull. “Rick’s gonna be well enough to come in tomorrow.”

“Great.” Catherine smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Thanks so much for your help. Rick’s been worried about it and felt awful.”

“It was my pleasure, Janey.”

And it really had been. Her mother occasionally said, “We don’t serve—we are served” to show her disdain for labor. And she’d been true to her convictions; she’d chosen poverty when her husband had died and left them destitute. But Catherine didn’t mind working. It was sort of cool that she could do something as simple as making drinks and people appreciated it enough to
pay
her.

The money she’d made bartending would never be enough to give her the kind of financial security she needed, but it was nice to be acknowledged for something other than looking pretty for once.

“Anyway I guess you won’t be coming in tomorrow?” Janey said.

“No. Why?”

“Rick wanted to thank you in person.”

“He doesn’t need to do that. And I’m sure we’ll have other opportunities to run into each other before I leave town.”

* * *

Blaine stood in front of the Blue House the next morning with a bag full of groceries. There was no sign of the white Ford that Irene drove. Catherine’s silver Aston Martin was shiny and spotless, though he was certain she hadn’t had it washed after the bar closed the night before. Maybe something about the woman made her car stay extra clean.

What was he doing there anyway? He’d stayed away from her as much as he could, since that was what she seemed to want. But then when he’d overheard her talking about leaving Cooter’s Bluff, he’d felt compelled to come over.

She probably hadn’t meant she was leaving soon, but what did he know? For reasons he couldn’t figure out, he didn’t want her to just…leave.

Soon after he rang, the door opened and Catherine peered at him. She looked fresh and young in a thick bathrobe and minimal makeup on her face. Her hair had been dried but not styled. He liked this relaxed, approachable side of her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d stop by.” Thoughts flashed through her unblinking eyes. He hefted the paper bag with a disarming grin. “I come bearing gifts.”

Her lips curved slightly. “Well, in that case. Come on in.” She moved aside and let him through the door.

Blaine had never been inside the Blue House before. The townsfolk sometimes gossiped about it. Unlike every other house in town it was owned by a corporation instead of an actual human being, and there was something suspicious about a name that ended in LLC. People wanted first and last names, where the owner was from, how long they’d been around—in generations, not years—and how many branches of the family lived in the surrounding area. They couldn’t even call it
so-and-so’s place
…just
the Blue House
.

Despite the neighborly middle-class exterior, the interior felt like money. The furniture was solid mahogany and gorgeously crafted, and couches and love seats were made of real leather that you could just tell would feel as soft as warm chocolate. Expensive-looking rugs covered the hardwood flooring, and a few fancy landscape paintings hung on the pastel blue and cream walls.

“Nice place. Like the art,” Blaine said.

She wrinkled her nose. “You do?”

“You don’t like them?” He gestured at the framed oil paintings.

“They’re…okay.”

“Huh.” Maybe rich people saw something he didn’t. But if they were just okay, why hang them in the living room?

“You want some coffee? It’s not as good as what you serve, but I think it’ll do,” she said, pouring a cup.

“Yes, thanks.” Her coffee wasn’t bad at all, if slightly girly. It was a little milder than the bar’s version, with hints of hazelnut and vanilla.

“So. What’s in the bag?”

“Breakfast. Irene’s a meat-and-potatoes woman, I’m sure she stocked the fridge with a bunch of stuff that you wouldn’t normally eat.”

“Unless you brought yogurt, I doubt there’s anything I can eat in the bag.”

“Ta-da.” He fished out a cup of yogurt and handed it to her. “But if you wait, I’ll whip up a bowl of fruit salad and some eggs.”

“I don’t eat eggs.”

He gave her a look. “Everyone eats eggs.”

“Too fattening. But thanks for the offer…and the yogurt.” She raised the plastic cup and spooned out the low-fat dairy. “And I’ll take you up on the fruit salad.”

“Okay then.” He washed and chopped apples, pears, kiwis and strawberries while his eggs cooked. If Catherine had wanted some, he would’ve made a complicated omelet, but since she didn’t he settled for a couple of fried eggs, sunny side up. She offered to help, but he waved her off. There was something very satisfying about making a meal for her, even if it was something as simple as fruit salad. He added a dash of fresh mint to the mix and handed her a small bowl. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” As she took it, her wedding ring flashed in the morning sun.

What kind of a man married a woman like Catherine and then let her go to some small town where she had no friends or family and spend time bartending? Or was she in hiding?

“When is he joining you?” Blaine asked, trying for a casual tone.

“Who?”

“Your husband.”

The softness in her expression vanished, replaced with something hard and cold, and it immediately reminded Blaine of Ceinlys. Something inside him twisted, and he wished he hadn’t asked. He took the eggs off the stove and slid them onto a plate.

Why did he care about Catherine’s marital problems? Whose business was it but her own?

Except they’d kissed. And a part of him felt guilty and annoyed about it, that he’d stooped so low that he’d want a woman who was already taken. After his experience with Zoe, he’d sworn he’d never get involved with a woman who had a significant other, no matter what the woman said. Zoe had claimed her boyfriend was abusive and often hurt her in order to gain Blaine’s sympathy. Except she’d lied about everything. She’d just wanted to use sex to gain an ally, one who could hurt her boyfriend because they’d fought over some stupid stuff nobody remembered anymore. Then she’d ended up marrying the guy after high school graduation.

And then there was Ceinlys. Who was obviously cut from the same social cloth as Catherine, and who had shown up out of the blue after Blaine’s mother had died, visited her grave and then gotten drunk and frisky. She had actually tried to seduce Blaine before he told her who he was.
That ended real well
, Blaine thought sourly as he recalled the incident.