Isn't it Romantic?

by Ronda Thompson

  She would have turned to see why Trey had called her name, but two men came slamming into the wall directly in front of her. In horror, Katrine watched as either sweat or spit, she wasn’t sure which, flew from the combatants’ bodies and sprinkled her sweater, and her refreshments.

  “Oouh!” Linda squealed, shielding her drink with her hand.

  “Give him a taste of your fists, Dallas!” the annoying man behind Katrine shouted.

  A loud smack sounded. Gloves were thrown to the ice. Where there were only two men swinging at each other a second prior, now there were six. Katrine heard the grunts of pain as punches were exchanged, smelled the blood from broken noses and slipped right over the edge of sanity.

  “Kill them, Thunder!” she exploded.

  “Katrine!”

  This time she glanced past a pale Linda toward Trey. She felt an urge to giggle. His face was bright red.

  “You’re yelling for the wrong team!”

  She widened her eyes in mock distress. “I am? But I like the other team’s colors better,” she explained.

  “Hey, Blondie, your boys are getting red all over their pretty uniforms,” the bald man guffawed.

  “Stick a sock in it, Baldie!” she turned to shout, past the limits of her patience with the man. Katrine felt a measure of satisfaction when his eyes bugged and his mouth fell open.

  He pointed a shaky finger at her. “Hey, I saw you in the parking lot. You flipped me off!”

  “Hold on a minute, Buster!” Trey squeezed around Linda, whose velvet-brown eyes had grown quite large. “Katrine has more class than that!”

  “You must be the idiot driving the red Jag,” the man accused.

  Trey seemed momentarily confused, then he smiled. “You must be the too slow Toyota hornblaster.”

  The man snorted. “You jocks are all alike. Just because you can afford a fancy sports car you think every driver on the road should bow down and kiss your feet.”

  “At least I can see my feet,” Trey countered dryly. “I’d like you to apologize to Katrine.”

  “Are you saying I’m fat?”

  Trey lowered his gaze to the man’s bulging belly. “No, I didn’t say it. Now, if you’ll apologize to Blondie, I mean, Katrine,” he quickly corrected. “We’ll drop the matter.”

  “And what if I don’t?” the man goaded. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Trey,” Linda said. “Maybe she did, you know, do something with her hand. Why don’t you just forget this nonsense and watch the game.”

  “Yeah, Pretty Boy, why don’t you mind the little woman and leave this argument to me and Blondie?”

  “You’re asking for trouble,” Trey warned. “This isn’t my little woman and if she were, I damn sure wouldn’t take orders from her. Why don’t you do what Blondie suggested and stuff a sock in it!”

  “All right, I’ll stuff a sock in it,” the man sneered, and punched Trey square in the jaw.

  When Trey stumbled back a step, Katrine gasped, “Oh my God, are you okay?”

  With a nod, he said, “You and Linda get out of the way.” He lunged for the man behind him. The intended victim moved and Trey’s fist connected with a tall cowboy who’d been watching the exchange with amusement.

  The cowboy wasn’t amused.

  After Trey came stumbling back again, reeling from another blow, Linda stomped her foot.

  “Just look what you’ve done!” she screamed at Katrine. “I’ve never seen Trey get in a fight. He’s not behaving rationally!”

  Katrine wasn’t listening. She was too busy watching a chain reaction take place. Trey’s blunder caused a snowball effect. When the cowboy had drawn back his fist to hit Trey, he’d elbowed the man behind him in the stomach. The man in turn shoved the cowboy, who shoved him back into another man … she lost track at that point, but fists were flying all around them.

  “Oooh, I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life!” Linda fumed. “Trey Westmoreland, stop it this instant!”

  “Better listen to her, Pretty Boy,” the bald man taunted. “Otherwise, you ain’t gonna be so pretty anymore.”

  A fist in the face was the man’s answer.

  “Hit him again, Trey!” Katrine encouraged, caught up in blood lust.

  “You, you hussy,” Linda sputtered. “How dare you cheer him on! Don’t you realize how humiliated I am?”

  “Will you shut up!” Katrine ground out.

  Seconds thereafter, she received a slap to the cheek. Linda’s eyes were wide as saucers. She brought a hand to her mouth, obviously stunned by her actions.

  Katrine’s gaze narrowed on her. She balled her fists at her sides, telling herself Katrine Summerville would not involve herself in a catfight. Kat Summers, maybe, but only on paper. “Say you’re sorry,” she suggested softly.

  The brunette’s lips tightened. “I will not.”

  “Hey, gorgeous, are you gonna take that from her?”

  Glancing toward the ice, Katrine noted the players were no longer fighting, but appeared to be enjoying watching the spectators scuffle amongst themselves. She realized the question had been addressed to her. One glance at Linda, who stood with her perfect chin tilted snootily toward the ceiling, and Katrine sighed. It was a tough job being a real-life heroine, but someone had to do it.

  ———

  “Jerry? It’s Trey. I’ve got a problem … I’m not mumbling, I have a swollen lip. Well, yeah, that’s what I’m calling about. Could you come down to the police station and bail me, Katrine and my ex-wife out of jail?”

  He held the phone from his ear when Jerry began shouting. “Caldwell, I’m not in the mood for this. No, I didn’t see Elise Pennington at the hockey game. No, I don’t think we’ve been recognized. Jerry, just come get us out. I don’t have enough cash on me to pay the fine on all of us. Oh, that. Disturbing the peace.”

  When he heard the phone click and a dial tone, Trey assumed Jerry was on the way. After all, his two hottest commodities had landed themselves in the slammer.

  “Come with me, sir,” the officer ordered.

  Trey followed the policeman down a hall and into the processing room. Katrine and Linda sat on a long bench against the wall. Of the two, his ex-wife looked the worse for wear. A small scratch stood out starkly against her pale cheek, and the expensive blouse she wore had one sleeve ripped clean from the shoulder. One corner of Katrine’s mouth showed a small cut, but other than that, she looked sound enough. Sound in body, he corrected, if not in mind.

  What possessed her to act the way she had? The ingenuity of inviting his ex-wife on a date with them would understandably upset her, only because he’d met her challenge. But pouncing on Linda? My God, Katrine had been a spitting she-cat. It almost appeared as if she was … jealous. His heartbeat increased. Did Katrine care for him, the way every logical bone in his body resisted the feelings he’d developed for her?

  “Well? Did he say he’d come get us out?” Linda demanded.

  Grateful for an intrusion into his damning thoughts, Trey nodded. “He’ll be here.”

  “Thank goodness,” she sighed. “I swear Trey Westmoreland, I’ve never known you to act so irresponsibly. Getting yourself in a fistfight over a strumpet. Why did you have to insist that man apologize to her? Why didn’t you just drop it and watch the game? You were so—”

  “Impulsive?” he interrupted. “Illogical? Unpredictable? Spontaneous? I thought you liked those qualities in a man, Linda.”

  “I–I do,” she stammered. “I mean, I believed I did. Now, I’ve decided I liked you better before. At least you were safe to be around.”

  “I’m not the same man you married, after all,” he said softly. “If a person can’t change, he can’t grow. There are certain things in life logic can’t explain away and rationality can’t battle. Safe?” He laughed. “No one is safe.”

  Linda thrust out her bottom lip. “Why, Trey Darling, that was almost literary. Next thing I know, you’ll be writing fiction.”

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nbsp; Her barb went wasted on Trey. He’d glanced at Katrine and was captured. Her stare held question, confusion, hope? Damn, why had he revealed so much of himself to Linda? Did Katrine understand the change in his life was because of her? More importantly, did the soft glow in her eyes reflect a shared desire to give love a second chance?

  “I don’t care for this new you,” Linda decided. “I’m sorry, Trey, but I can’t see the two of us becoming involved with each other again.”

  Unconsciously, he smiled. Linda finally understood there would be no reconciliation between them. Odd as it seemed to him, his ex-wife resurfacing in his life was the best thing that could have happened. Trey now realized he hadn’t failed at their marriage, he’d only married the wrong woman. Linda was the type who would always want the opposite of what she had.

  He also knew, whoever Katrine Summerville really was; protective mother, sultry seductress or spitting she-cat; she wasn’t in the least like Linda. Katrine was a well, deep and mysterious. He suddenly longed to see beneath the water’s surface—to know about her life, her loves, her dreams.

  “Hey, I just recognized the two of you!” The bald man who’d started the trouble leaned forward in his seat.

  Trey glanced down the row of people waiting to answer for their part in the disturbance. The cowboy, boasting a shiner the size of silver dollar, also leaned forward, obviously curious to hear what his pot-bellied cohort had to say.

  “You’re T, West and Blondie there is Kat Summers. Hot damn, if I’d known it was T. West I was pulverizing, I’d have shook your hand instead. I hate that romance crap. My wife reads that trash morning, noon and night.”

  “Maybe you should read a few yourself,” Trey suggested sarcastically. “You didn’t pulverize me, and you never apologized to Kat for wrongly accusing her.”

  “He didn’t wrongly accuse me.”

  His head swiveled toward her so fast his neck popped. Trey noted the flush to her cheeks and the shameful lowering of her eyes. “What?”

  Katrine took a deep breath. “I did, you know, do something with my hand.”

  “You did?”

  She nodded. “I–I felt a little out of sorts. I think it was an allergic reaction.”

  “An allergic reaction?” he repeated. “To what?”

  Her gaze slid subtly to Linda. “Passion.”

  “A romance writer who’s allergic to passion?” the cowboy asked in a disbelieving tone.

  “The perfume, ‘Passion’,” Katrine explained.

  “That’s a relief,” Trey injected softly. When Katrine looked at him, he smiled, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes. Warmth flooded her. He wasn’t angry. His expression was blatantly sexual.

  “Maybe I’m allergic to passion, too. I’ve been out of sorts since the night I first laid eyes on you.”

  “Oh pa-lease, Trey,” Linda said. “If you have to flirt with her, save it until later. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re in jail.”

  “Hey, I guess Blondie’s the one who owes me an apology,” the bald man said.

  “No she doesn’t,” Trey muttered. “You’re a jerk.”

  “Amen,” the cowboy agreed.

  “Oh no, not again,” Linda whined.

  The bald man got to his feet. “You called me a jerk.”

  Trey sighed, turning to Katrine. He lifted a brow. “Later?”

  Indecision warred within her for a moment. Did she dare believe the warmth reflected in his eyes spoke of commitment, of a beginning for them? Trey had fought for her tonight. He’d made it plain there wasn’t anything left between him and Linda. Could she trust him? Did she dare give her heart again, only to have it broken? She fought the insecurities that had kept her a prisoner for years, lifted her chin and met his stare without shame or fear.

  “Later,” she promised.

  Chapter 17

  As Trey eased the Jag into a covered parking space, Katrine questioned her brave decision. She’d agreed to go to his old apartment for a ‘drink’, knowing full well his offer had only been a polite way of setting the stage for what would follow. Keeping their hands off each other until Jerry Caldwell could bail them out had been difficult enough. Now that they were alone, Katrine was scared to death.

  “Here we are.” Trey also sounded nervous. “I’ll warn you ahead of time, the place is a mess. Half my stuff’s at my new house, and the rest is in boxes over here. About the only furniture left in the apartment is in the bedroom.”

  Suggestive silence.

  Katrine swallowed loudly. “I don’t mind sitting on the floor.”

  “Well, let’s do it.” Trey opened his car door. His face flushed slightly. “I mean, let’s go.”

  While Katrine waited for him to open her door, ‘do it’ echoed around her head and increased her worries. Would Trey expect her to be experienced the way Carl had? Would he be disappointed in her lack of creativity in bed the way Carl had? Would he—

  “Katrine?”

  She glanced up. The door stood open. Trey waited. Fighting her fear of inadequacy, she bravely left the safety of the car. When he took her cold hand in his warm one and squeezed lightly, she immediately felt better. She knew Trey wasn’t the type to pounce on her the moment they entered his lair.

  The condition of his apartment hadn’t been understated. It was a mess. Katrine found the clutter somehow relaxing, less threatening than if she’d stepped into a swinging bachelor’s pad. Regardless of the living area’s untidiness, the plush carpet, the few pieces of art left on the walls and a cherry wood table on which an expensive lamp sat, were a testament to Trey Westmoreland’s impeccable taste.

  “All I can scrounge up is a bottle of white wine. Is that all right?” he called from another room.

  “Although something stronger might have been more fitting to the occasion, white wine will do,” she answered. “I’ve never been arrested before.” She heard him laugh.

  “I thought you were going to take a swing at the security guard who pulled you off Linda,” he said, reentering the living area with two paper cups in hand. “Sorry, all my glasses are packed.”

  She felt her color rise while accepting the cup he offered. “I guess the violence on the ice got to me.”

  “Was that what got to you?”

  His grin made her knees weak. Should she lie? No, Katrine had vowed to be honest. “Linda got to me. I was jealous. Of you and her.”

  The smile on his lips faded. “You have no reason to be. I didn’t invite her along in hopes of making you jealous.”

  “Why did you, then?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t figure there was anything less romantic than bringing your ex-wife on a date with you.”

  “Very ingenious,” she agreed dryly. “Why did you marry her?”

  For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Trey seemed to suddenly find one of the few remaining pictures on his wall of interest.

  “I’m not sure,” he confessed, running a hand through his thick hair. “I guess I felt flattered. Linda Tate, of the journalistic Tates, wanted a poor boy like me. I assumed her childish behavior would stop once we married—once we settled in the daily routine of living. I assumed too much.”

  “And yet, you stayed with her. She left you, isn’t that right?”

  “Yeah.” Trey turned around. “It never occurred to me to leave. I wasn’t raised to be a quitter. My dad always said, once you make your bed, you lie in it. I kept hoping Linda would change. I wanted children, she didn’t. I guess I saw it as my own failure when I couldn’t make my priorities hers, as well.”

  Katrine hadn’t meant to stir up old resentments. She wanted to ease the tension discussing his marriage had created between them. “Are you sure you did a wise thing? Throwing Caldwell to the wolves, a she-wolf in particular?”

  He smiled. “To be honest, I can’t think of two people who deserve each other more. I knew Jerry couldn’t resist a woman who looks like Linda, especially when her father just happens to own the largest paper in Philadelphia.
In turn, I told her Caldwell had a very respected name in the business, a cushy job that let him goof off most of the time and make a lot of money.”

  “He’s disgusting.” Katrine shivered slightly.

  “And if Linda decides she wants him, he’s as good as caught.”

  “If Linda decides she wants him, she’ll be your editor’s wife. Have you thought about that?”

  She laughed at his horrified expression.

  “I wonder if it’s too late to get out of my mortgage loan? I’d have to quit, then I couldn’t afford the payments on my house.”

  “I’m sure after the feature ends you’ll be flooded with offers,” Katrine assured him.

  “Probably,” he agreed. “I’ve been thinking about doing something else with my life.”

  Curious, Katrine asked, “Such as?”

  A tinge of red surfaced beneath his dark complexion. “I’ve been thinking of writing a novel.”

  “T. West stooping to fiction?” She flashed him a skeptical look.

  “Murder mysteries,” he specified, then took her cup, placing both his and hers on the cherry wood table. “For some reason, I keep thinking about killing someone.”

  Her lips twitched. “Anyone I know?”

  The heat in his eyes when he pulled her in his arms, melted any misgivings Katrine might have had about becoming intimate with him.

  “Someone I’d like to know … better.”

  “Know in what way?” she teased.

  One finger traced a slow path down the front of her sweater. “I want to know you inside and out.” His lips brushed her ear. “Backward and frontward and every way in between.”

  His husky whisper turned the blood in Katrine’s veins to molten lava. The feel of his breath against her neck drove her crazy. His body pressed closer, and she felt his arousal. There were no more doubts, no fears to hold her back. She wanted Trey, had wanted him since her imagination first created him—a hero of her own to love during the dark hours between dusk and dawn.

  “Take me, I’m yours,” she whispered passionately.

  The faceless ‘specter’ who’d haunted her dreams for years drew back to look down at her.