Courting Catherine

  “I think we'd like to make the move quickly.” Suzanna glanced around the table for confirmation. “As soon as we can find another house.”

  “If there's anything I can do to help you—”

  “You've done enough,” C.C. interrupted coolly. “We can take care of ourselves.”

  “I'd like to add a condition.” Lilah leaned for­ward. “You're purchasing the house, and the land. Not the contents.”

  “No. Naturally the furniture, heirlooms, personal possessions remain yours.”

  “Including the necklace.” She inclined her head. “Whether it's found before we leave, or after, the Calhoun necklace belongs to the Calhouns. I want that in writing, Trent. If anytime during your reno­vations, the necklace is recovered, it belongs to us.”

  “All right.” The little clause would drive the lawyers crazy, he thought. But that was their problem. “I'll see that it's put in the contract.”

  “Bianca's tower.” She spoke slowly, afraid her voice would break. “Be careful what you do with it.”

  “How about some wine?” Coco rose, hands flut­tering. “We should have some wine.”

  “Excuse me.” C.C. made herself stand slowly, fighting the impulse to race from the room. “If we're all through, I think I'll go up. I'm tired.”

  Trent stared after her, but Suzanna stopped him. “I don't think she'd be receptive right now. I'll go.”

  C.C. went to the terrace to lean out over the wall and let the cold wind dry the tears. There should be a storm, she thought. She wished there was a storm, something as angry and as passionate as her own heart.

  Pounding a fist on the wall, she cursed the day she'd ever met Trent. He wouldn't take her love, but he would take her home. Of course, if he had accepted the first and returned it, he could never have taken the house.

  “C.C.” Suzanna stepped out to slip an arm around her shoulders. “It's cold. Why don't we go inside?”

  “It's not right.”

  “No.” She gathered her sister closer. “It's not.”

  “He doesn't even know what it means.” She dashed the angry tears away. “He can't understand. He wouldn't want to.”

  “Maybe he doesn't. Maybe no one can but us. But it's not his fault, C.C. We can't blame him because we couldn't hang on.” She looked away from the gardens she loved, toward the cliffs that always drew her. “I left here once before—it seems like a lifetime ago, but it was only seven years. Nearly eight now.”

  She sighed. “I thought it was the happiest day of my life, leaving the island for my new home in Boston.”

  “You don't have to talk about that. I know it hurts you.”

  “Not as much as it once did. I was in love, C.C., a new bride with the future in the palm of my hand. And when I turned around and saw The Towers dis­appearing behind me, I cried like a baby. I thought it would be easier this time.” As tears threatened, she closed her eyes. “I wish it were. What is it about this place that pulls us so?” she wondered.

  “I know we can find another house.” C.C. linked fingers with her sister. “I know we'll be all right, even happy. But it hurts. And you're right, it's not Trent's fault But...”

  “You have to blame someone.” Suzanna smiled.

  “He hurt me. I really hate to admit that, but he hurt me. I want to be able to say that he made me fall in love with him. Even that he let me fall in love with him. But I did it all by myself.”

  “And Trent?”

  “He isn't interested.”

  “From the way he looks at you, I'd say you're wrong.”

  “Oh, he's interested,” C.C. said grimly. “But love has nothing to do with it. He very politely refused to take advantage of my—my lack of experience, as he called it.”

  “Oh.” Suzanna looked out toward the cliffs again. Rejection, she knew, was the sharpest blade of all. “It doesn't help much, but it might have been more difficult for you if he hadn't been—sensible.”

  “He's sensible, all right,” C.C. said through her teeth. “And being a sensible and a civilized man, he'd like us to be friends. He's even taking me to dinner tomorrow so he can be certain I'm not pining away for him, and he can go back to Boston guilt free.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Oh, I'll go to dinner with him. I can be just as damned civilized as he can.” She set her chin. “And when I'm finished, he's going to be sorry he ever set eyes on Catherine Calhoun.” She whirled toward her sister. “Do you still have that red dress? The beaded one that's cut down to sin?”

  Suzanna's grin spread. “You bet I do.”

  “Let's go take a look at it.”

  Well, well, well, C.C. thought. What a difference a day and a tight silk dress could make. Lips pursed, she turned in front of the cracked cheval glass in the corner of her room. The dress was just a smidgen too small for her—even with the frantic alterations Su-zanna had made. It only made more of a statement.

  Don't you wish you had me, it said quite clearly. C.C. ran her hands over her hips. And he could wish until his head exploded.

  The dress was a form-fitting glitter of flame that licked down from its plunging neckline to the abbre­viated hem. Suzanna had ruthlessly slashed it off so that it hit C.C. midthigh. The long sleeves ended in points over her wrists. And she'd added Coco's rhine-stone ear clips, with their wicked sparkle.

  The thirty minutes she'd spent on makeup seemed to have paid off. Her lips were as red as the dress, thanks to Amanda's contribution. Her eyes were shad­owed with copper and emerald, thanks to Lilah. Her hair was as glossy as a raven's wing and slicked back a bit at the temples.

  All in all, C.C. thought as she turned, Trenton St. James III was in for a surprise.

  “Suzanna said you needed some shoes.” Lilah walked in and stopped in midyawn. The shoes dan­gled from her fingertips as she stared. “I must have passed through a parallel universe.”

  C.C. grinned and spun a circle. “What do you think?”

  “I think Trent's going to need oxygen.” Approv­ing, she passed C.C. a pair of spiked snakeskin heels. “Kiddo, you look dangerous.”

  “Good.” She pulled on the shoes. “Now if I can just walk in these without falling on my face.”

  “Practice. I've got to get Mandy.”

  A few moments later, all three sisters supervised C.C's walk. “You'llbe having dinner,” Amanda put in, wincing at each wobble. “So you'll be sitting down most of the time.”

  “I'm getting it,” C.C. muttered. “I'm just not used to heels. How do you work in these things all day?”

  “Talent.”

  “Walk slower,” Lilah suggested. “More deliber­ately. As if you have all the time in the world.”

  “Take if from her,” Amanda agreed. “She's an expert at slow.”

  “In this case—” Lilah gave Amanda an arched look “—slow is sexy. See?”

  Taking her sister's advice, C.C. walked with a cau­tious deliberation that came off as slinky. Amanda held out her hands. “I stand corrected. What coat are you wearing?”

  “I haven't thought of it.”

  “You can wear my black silk cape,” Amanda de­cided. “You'll freeze but you'll look great doing it. Perfume. Aunt Coco's got some of that smoldering French stuff left from Christmas.”

  “No.” Suzanna shook her head. “She should stick with her usual scent.” Tilting her head, she studied her sister and smiled. “The contrast will drive him crazy.”

  Unaware of what was in store for him, Trent sat in the parlor with Coco. His bags were packed. His calls were made. He wished he could come up with a rea­sonable excuse to stay another few days.

  “We've enjoyed having you,” Coco told him when he'd expressed his appreciation for her hospitality. “I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again soon.”

  Her crystal ball didn't lie, she reminded herself. It still linked Trent up with one of her nieces, and she wasn't ready to wave surrender.

  “I certainly hope so. I have to say, Coco, how much I admire
you for raising four such lovely women.”

  “Sometimes I think we raised each other.” She smiled mistily around the room. “I'm going to miss this place. To be honest I didn't think it mattered to me until...well, until now. I didn't grow up here as the girls did. We traveled quite a bit, you see, and my father only came back sporadically. I always thought it was the fact that his mother had died here that put him off. Then, of course, I spent my married life and the first few years of my widowhood in Philadelphia. Then when Judson and Deliah were killed, I came here for the girls.” She sent him a sad, apologetic smile. “I'm sorry to get sentimental on you, Tren­ton.”

  “Don't apologize.” He sipped thoughtfully at his aperitif. “My family has never been close, and as a result, there was never a home like this in my life. I think that's why I've begun to understand what it could mean.”

  “You should settle down,” she said, cagily, she thought. “Find a nice girl, make a home and family of your own. Why, I can't think of anything lonelier than not having anyone to go home to.”

  Wanting to avoid that line of thought, he reached down to throw the ball for Fred. They both watched as the dog bounded after it, tripped himself up and went sprawling.

  “Not particularly graceful,” Trent mused. He rose and went over to retrieve the ball himself. Scratching the dog's belly, he glanced over. The first thing he saw was a pair of very slim black heels. Slowly his gaze traveled up a long, shapely pair of legs. With the breath backing up in his lungs, he sat back on his heels.

  There was a sparkle of scarlet, snug and sleek over a curvy feminine form.

  “Lose something?” C.C. asked as his eyes fixed on her face.

  Her lips were curved and red and slick. Trent ran his tongue over his teeth to be certain he hadn't swal­lowed it. On unsteady legs, he rose.

  “We were having dinner tonight, weren't we?”

  “We...yes. You look wonderful.”

  “Do you like it?” She turned a circle so that he could see the back of the dress dipped even lower than the front. “I think red's a cheerful color.” And powerful, she thought, still smiling.

  “It suits you. I've never seen you in a dress be­fore.”

  “Impractical when it comes to changing fuel pumps. Are you ready to go?''

  “Go where?”

  Oh, she was going to enjoy this. “To dinner.”

  “Right. Yes.”

  She inclined her head the way Suzanna had showed her and handed him her cape. It was a service he'd performed hundreds of times for dozens of women. But his hands fumbled.

  “Don't wait up, Aunt Coco.”

  “No, dear.” Behind their retreating backs, she grinned and raised her fists in the air. The moment the front door shut, the three remaining Calhouns ex­changed high fives.

  Chapter Nine

  “I'm glad you talked me into going out tonight.”

  C.C. reached for the door handle before she remem­bered to let Trent open the car for her.

  “I wasn't sure you'd still be willing to go.” He closed his hand over hers.

  “Because of the house?” As casually as possible, C.C. slid her hand from under his and lowered herself into the car. “That's done. I'd rather not talk about it tonight.”

  “All right.” He closed the door, rounded the hood. “Amanda recommended the restaurant.” He had his hands on the keys but continued to stare at her.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.” Unless you counted his nervous system. Af­ter starting the car, he tried again. “I thought you might like dining near the water.”

  “Sounds fine.” His radio was on a classical station. Not her usual style, she thought. But it wasn't a usual night. C.C. settled back and prepared to enjoy the ride. “Have you heard that rattle again?”

  “What rattle?”

  “The one you asked me to fix yesterday.”

  “Oh, that rattle.” He smiled to himself. “No. It must have been my imagination.” When she crossed her legs, his fingers tightened on the wheel. “You never told me why you decided to be a mechanic.”

  “Because I'm good at it.” She shifted in her seat to face him. He caught a drift of honeysuckle and nearly groaned. “When I was six, I took apart our lawn mower's engine, to see how it worked. I was hooked. Why did you go into hotels?”

  “It was expected of me.” He stopped, surprised that that had been the first answer out of his' mouth. “And I suppose I got good at it”

  “Do you like it?”

  Had anyone ever asked him that before? he won­dered. Had he ever asked himself? “Yes, I guess I do.”

  “Guess?” Her brows lifted into her bangs. “I thought you were sure of everything.”

  He glanced at her again and nearly ran off the road. “Apparently not.”

  When they arrived at the waterfront restaurant, he was used to the transformation. Or thought he was. Then he went around to open the car door for her. She slid out, rose up. They were eye to eye, barely a whisper apart. C.C. held her ground, wondering if he could hear the way her heart was pounding against her ribs.

  “Are you sure nothing's wrong?”

  “No, I'm not sure.” No one, he was certain, this impossibly sexy was meant to be resisted. He cupped a hand at the back of her neck. “Let me check.”

  She eased away the instant before his lips brushed hers. “This isn't a date, remember? Just a friendly dinner.”

  “I'd like to change the rules.”

  “Too late.” She smiled and offered a hand. “I'm hungry.”

  “You're not the only one,” he murmured, and took her inside.

  He wasn't sure how to handle her. The smooth moves he'd always taken for granted seemed rusty. The setting was perfect, the little table beside the win­dow with water lapping just outside. As the sun set away in the west, it deepened and tinted the bay. He ordered wine as she picked up her menu and smiled at him.

  Under the table, C.C. gently eased out of her shoes. “I haven't been here before,” she told him. “It's very nice.”

  “I can't guarantee the food will be as exceptional as your aunt's.”

  “No one cooks like Aunt Coco. She'll be sorry to see you go. She likes cooking for a man.”

  “Will you?”

  “Will I what?”

  “Be sorry to see me go.”

  C.C. looked down at the menu, trying to concen­trate on her choices. The hard fact was, she had none. “Since you're still here, we'll have to see. I imagine you have a lot to catch up on in Boston.”

  “Yes, I do. I've been thinking that after I do, I may take a vacation. A real one. Bar Harbor might be a good choice.”

  She looked up, then away. “Thousands think so,” she murmured, relieved when the waiter served the wine.

  “If you could go anywhere you liked, where would it be?”

  “That's a tough question, since I haven't been any­where.” She sipped, found the wine as smooth as chilled silk on her tongue.”Somewhere where I could see the sun set on the water, I think. Someplace warm.” She shrugged. “I suppose I should have said Paris or London.”

  “No.” He laid a hand on hers. “Catherine—”

  “Are you ready to order?”

  C.C. glanced quickly at the waiter who hovered beside them. “Yes.” She slid her hand from Trent's and picked arbitrarily from the menu. Cautious, she kept one hand in her lap as she lifted her wine. The moment they were alone again, she started to speak. “Have you ever seen a whale?”

  “I...no.”

  “You'll be coming back occasionally while you're—while you're having The Towers converted. You should take a day and go out on one of the whale-watch boats. The last time I managed it, I saw three humpback. You need to dress warmly though. Even in high summer it's cold once you get out on the Atlantic. It can be a rough ride, but it's worth it. You might even think about offering some sort of package yourself. You know, a weekend rate with a whale-watch tour included. A lot of the hotels—”

  “
Catherine.” He stopped her by closing a hand over her wrist before she could lift her glass again. He could feel the rapid, unsteady beat of her pulse. Not passion this time, he thought. But heartache.

  “The papers haven't been signed yet,” he said qui­etly. “There's still time to look for other options.”

  “There aren't any other options.” He cared, she realized as she studied his face. It was in his eyes as they looked into hers. Concern, apology. It made it worse somehow, knowing he cared. “We sell to you now, or The Towers is sold later for taxes. The end result is the same, and there's a little more dignity doing it this way.”

  “I might be able to help. A loan.”

  She retreated instantly. “We can't take your money.”

  “If I buy the house from you, you're taking my money.”

  “That's different. That's business. Trent,” she said before he could argue, “I appreciate the fact that you'd offer, especially since I know the only reason you're here is to buy The Towers.”

  It was, he thought. Or it had been. “The thing is, C.C., I feel like I'm foreclosing on those widows and orphans.”

  She managed a smile. “We're five strong, self-sufficient women. We don't blame you—or maybe I do, a little, but at least I know I'm being unfair when I do. My feelings for you don't make it easy to be fair.

  “What are your feelings?”

  She let out a little sigh as the waiter served the appetizers and lit the candle between them. “You're taking the house, you might as well take it all. I'm in love with you. But I'll get over it.” With her head tilted slightly, she lifted her fork. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

  When he took her hand again, she didn't pull back, but waited. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said carefully. How well her hand fit into his, he thought, looking down at it. How comforting it was to link his fingers with hers. “I'm just not capable of giving you—of giving anyone—promises of love and fidel­ity.”

  “That's sad.” She shook her head as his eyes came back to hers. “You see, I'm only losing a house. I can find another. You're losing the rest of your life, and you only have one.” She forced her lips to curve as she drew away from him. “Unless, of course, you subscribe to Lilah's idea that we just keep coming back. This is nice wine,” she commented. “What is it again?”

  “Pouilly Fume.”

  “I'll have to remember that.” She began to talk cheerfully as she ate the meal without tasting a thing. By the time coffee was served, she was wound like a top. C.C. knew that she would rather take an engine apart with her fingernails than face another evening such as this.

  To love him so desperately, yet to have to be strong enough, proud enough to pretend she was capable of living without him. To sit, greedily storing each ges­ture, each word, while pretending it was all so casual and easy.

  She wanted to shout at him, to rage and damn him for stirring her emotions into a frenzy then calmly walking away from the storm. But she could only cling to the cold comfort of pride.

  “Tell me about your home in Boston,” she invited. That would be something, she thought, to be able to picture him in his own home.

  He wasn't able to take his eyes off her. The way the clusters at her ears shot fire. The way the candle­light flickered dreamily in her eyes. But all through the evening, he had felt as though she had blocked off a part of herself, the most important part of her­self. And he might never see the whole woman again.