by Rie Warren
We broke apart, both of us breathing hard.
“You still wearing the same piercings?” I asked.
“No.”
“Lemme see?”
“Nick!” She slapped my hands away and her gaze narrowed into sharp ice picks. “We’re on a date. Pretend you’re a gentleman.”
Dang, so no hopes for a hot and heavy repeat of Halloween night.
An hour later, we fought the winding line of traffic inching through the gates of the Coastal Carolina Fair. The frigging place was mobbed, and we parked in the back forty of the back forty on the final night of the county fair. Cool weather created a soft frost that glowed in the carnival lights beyond the chain-link fence beside us.
We herded with about a hundred other people toward the towering fairground gates. Waiting in line to buy tickets, we joined hands. Our breath mingled and our lips touched as we shuffled along through the pen that would deliver us to ultimate fried pickles/butter/Snickers/funnel cake heaven . . . or death by cholesterol overload.
As we surged with the crowd toward the midway of South Carolina’s biggest fair, I mentioned, “Ya know, this is the perfect place for a zombie apocalypse.”
“A zombie what?”
“Zombie Doom. Think about it. People already screaming on rides, high fences, huge crowds and no way out—excellent undead feeding grounds.”
She continued to give me the crazy eye. “You truly are strange.”
“C’mon. Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about.” I did the zombie shuffle-grunt and felt like a total tool until she clasped my hand and planted a kiss on my cheek.
“Must be a writer thing.” She smiled.
I liked this side of Wildcat—playful, flirty, freakin’ hot. We decided to hit the rides before the food because nausea and green face were not good first date ingredients. People crushed around us on the thoroughfare. The lights were blinding. The ride lines long and twisting, and carnies drew attention to their games booths with ear-bashing rock tunes.
It was awesome.
Holding hands with Cat while we waited for the Flying Bobsleds, I murmured in her ear, “So you really have all my books?”
She rolled her eyes and nodded.
“Hardback?”
“Hardback, Mr. Love.” She was breathy, sexy, seductive . . .
“And you still don’t want my autograph?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Hmm. A little? You weren’t saying that last week.”
“Maybe you can sign something for me . . .” Her hand brushed the front of my jeans just enough to wake up my cock and put it on high alert. Scandalous . . .
I loved the way her hair flipped all over the place, and the grin on her face was as permanent as her throaty laugh and high screams when we did the carnival circuit from the Gravitron to the Pirate Ship to the Ghost Train. All the fair ride classics.
In the Ferris wheel, we stalled out at the top. I stopped noticing the cool bite of the air when Cat draped one leg over mine. Her thigh nudged the long stretch in my jeans that quickly formed a solid erection.
“I like you this way, Nick.”
I leaned my neck back when she started stroking the strained cords of my throat with her tongue. I stared at her through low lids. “How’s that?”
“Relaxed.” Her palm slid along the curve of my hard-on and up over my drum-tight stomach. “Really sexy.” She nipped the line of my jaw, rasped her tongue against the stubble. “Rugged.”
With a twist of her fingers through my hair, she brought my face to hers for a deep and demanding kiss.
“Not feeling so relaxed anymore, darlin’,” I bit out when she broke the kiss.
She laughed and whooped when the Ferris Wheel began its descent.
Over a shared lemonade and gyros from the Greek refreshment stand—fairground food at its finest—Cat asked, “So, are we going to get mobbed here?”
“By zombies?”
“By fan-chicks.”
I raked my hands through my hair. She chased the movement with hungry eyes. “I usually only get swarmed when I do an event.”
“Unless it’s Pandora?”
Oh, there was an edge to her voice. If Cat weren’t jealous, I’d eat my own socks for supper. “She’s a bit of a problem,” I admitted.
“How much?”
“One we don’t need to talk about.” I leaned across the table for a long drugging kiss. “’Sides, I was gay, remember?”
“Your performance in bed tells a different story.” She slowly licked along my bottom lip.
“You liked that, huh?” Christ, I was almost groaning, grunting, ready to do some rutting.
“You mean the nonstop orgasms and the way you fucked me?” She kissed me one last time. “Yeah.”
Damn it. As if I need a reminder. I’m tryin’ to be a good boy here.
We didn’t get mobbed, but we did run into just about every Tom, Dick and Harry we ever knew . . . and Josh. There were fist-bumps, bro-hugs, and backslaps between him and me while he cast an eye over Cat, who started up immediately with the chatter with Leelee. JJ swung from one of Leelee’s hands and one of Josh’s, his hazel eyes wide and dazzled by the sights and sounds.
“Is this a date?” Josh quietly asked.
“Yeah.” With a big ass toothy grin, I wrapped a possessive hand around Cat’s waist.
“Of course it’s a date.” Leelee smiled over at her man. “Didn’t I tell you we might run into them here?”
“No. No one told me they were datin’.” He glared at Leelee and me, cutting Cat some slack.
Leelee tsked at him. “’Course we did.” Then she turned her back on him.
Josh’s mouth dropped open. “Did she just—”
“Yep. Looks like she gave you the back, hoss.” The back was so much worse than the hand in terms of chick-tude.
“I am so gonna beat her ass with my cock when we get home.” He grumbled. Good thing I’d muffled JJ’s ears just in time.
Leelee sent a smoldering glance over her shoulder. “I heard that. And yes, you are. I can’t wait.”
“You’re gonna eat those words later, too,” he threw back at her.
“Did that before, if you remember, sug. Got no problem doin’ it again.”
So this was how Josh got all the ladies. Pure caveman-style. That approach had always worked for me before, too, until Cat came along.
“Uncle Wicky! We just saw Wittle Winda!” he pointed at the curtained-off sideshow next to us.
The recording had been playing on loop in the background, seeping its weird monotone message into my head:
Little Linda, the world’s smallest woman. The tiny lady from Haiti. Bring Mommy, bring Daddy, it’s a show for the whole family. Little Linda is just twenty-nine tiny inches tall.
I coughed, “Talk about an oxymoron.”
Josh punched my shoulder. “Hey, who are you calling a moron?”
You can actually pick her up. You can talk to her. She’s living and breathing inside this tent.
“You went in there?” I asked Josh.
“Yeah. It was kinda fucking weird. There was just this little midget—”
“Small person,” Leelee and I corrected him.
“Whatever. Linda the small person just sat there, texting on her iPhone. I said ‘hi’, she waved and went back to her cell phone.”
“Wittle Winda’s too wittle to go on the rides.” JJ bounced on his feet like a pogo stick.
“So are you, kid. Besides, I don’t want you blowing chunks everywhere.”
Face smeared with ketchup. Fingers sticky from cotton candy. That was when the little dude-man decided to make a beeline for Cat. He started yammering a mile a minute. Hunkering in front of him, Cat gave him one hundred percent of her attention. She made all the appropriate, overly dramatic facial expressions he responded to.
Good with the kid, a helluva hot ride in bed. Totally fucking gorgeous. Yeah, real good thing I’m not looking for a long-term relationship. Right.
When I started to feel like I might be the one blowing chunks, I guided her to the shooting galleries. I was determined to win a neon-pink stuffed gorilla the size of a house for her. Cat heckled me, cheered me on, and made sure to destroy my concentration every single chance she got with the barest of touches on my arm, my back, my ass.
Finally handing over the second largest gorilla—not the biggest but goddamn close—I narrowed my eyes. “Evil.”
“Thanks, hon.” She stroked her hand up my arm, squeezing when she hit my bicep. “Nice shooting.”
I’ll show her nice shooting. Soon as we get home.
I lounged against the booth and hooked my arms around her waist. “So tell me, what did Catarina Steele want to be when she grew up?”
“A dancer.” Her eyes lit with that special glow of cool blue ice melting.
“A dancer, huh?” That made sense considering the mind blowing moves she’d shown me at the Halloween party.
“Not traditional or ballet though.” Her lips tilted in a wicked little smirk. “I was aiming for something a lot naughtier. Vegas showgirl—that was my dream.”
Oh realllly? I cleared my throat. “I’d give anything to see that in action.”
“I bet you would.” She rubbed against my groin, just one slow languid circle.
There was a perfectly good countertop type thing pressed against my back and I could make full use of it if needed, but I curbed the urge. “You didn’t always plan on working in the family business then?”
“I used to be someone different, Nick. And things didn’t work out so well for that girl.”
Cat drew away from me. She tucked a corner of her lip between her teeth and shook her head. I’d just reached out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, to whisper I knew exactly what she was talking about when she flinched.
“Miss Steele,” came a feminine voice with the kickback purr of a full throttle engine.
Glancing aside, I saw one of Charleston area’s finest PD on fairground patrol.
“Officer Kingston.” Cat’s voice shook, and when I captured her hand, her palm was damp.
Officer Kingston’s smile was sweet as peaches. Cat stood stiff and frozen beside me. Okay. There was definitely a weird undercurrent working between the two women.
I held out my hand. “Nick Loveland.”
Kingston’s grasp was warm and firm. “Ashe Kingston, nice to meet you.” She sent a meaning-filled—aka confusing as fuck—glance to Cat. “Really nice to meet you.”
Paying closer attention to the cop, I noticed her bulletproof vest, combat style boots, and the Glock holstered at her side. She was a blonde with sharp gray eyes and take-no-shit practically emblazoned on her cap. She was almost as much of a looker as my Wildcat. Oh shit. Maybe they’d had a fling?
Before I could decide if that was hot or not (right) . . . Officer Kingston reached out to grasp Cat’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening, Catarina. You look like you’re doing well. I’m glad.”
As soon as Ashe strolled off, Cat dragged in huge gulps of breath.
I steadied her when she sagged. “Hey. You okay?”
“Not really. Sometimes ghosts just sneak up on you, you know?”
I knew all about that, actually.
Cat pulled away from me. “You want to know why I hated it when you called me Wildcat? It’s because I used to be one, I used to be a real wild girl not that long ago. It started when I was eighteen.”
“I didn’t know. I won’t say it again if—”
She gave me the hand. At least it was only the hand. “I got into a lot of trouble, Nick. I did a lot of things I’m ashamed of. Ashe Kingston was my arresting officer four years ago.” Cat rubbed her arms as if trying to erase the ink from her skin. “Remember I said I wanted to be a dancer? Didn’t exactly pan out that way.” A wry grin flew over her lips and fell away. “I needed money, I had a good body. I knew how to dance. I used to be a stripper.”
Fucking . . . Hell. It was my turn to gulp a few times. I probably even swallowed my Adams apple. “Oh-kay?” Maybe, I mean . . . shit. Guys used to pay money to watch her dance and take her clothes off. Fine. That wasn’t so bad. No worse than the Coverdales male book models strutting their shit. But then . . . “You can’t get arrested for stripping.”
“No, you can’t. But you can get arrested when the exotic dancing turns into working for an escort service that sells sex on the side.”
“Oh.”
Oh? Great reply, dumbass. I’d wanted to know what had tied her up so tight. Why she didn’t cut loose. Tats covered up, past airbrushed over. All about business in one unattainable body. The passion inside her had defined her, derailed her.
Cat started walking between the Carnie stalls. I kept up with her as she said, “I’m a classic case of good girl gone bad. It would be laughable if it hadn’t gone so wrong, so wrong it just about killed me.”
“Cat—” I pulled on her arm but she shook her head and trundled on.
“In the beginning, I wanted to fast track. To what? I don’t even know anymore. The stripping wasn’t bad, but I could make crazy amounts of money at the no-sex-guaranteed, date-for-a-night service. I just had to show up, not put out. I was only twenty-one when that happened, Nick. Barely legal but, God, I should’ve known better.” She stopped and those big sad beautiful eyes peered up at me. “Then the owner started pressuring me for more.
“I didn’t try to get out hard enough. I never fucked any of them—I swear—but the house was raided and I was there and . . .”
“Kingston arrested you,” I said.
She nodded.
“Jesus Christ.” I embraced her. A thousand questions popped into my head. Why did she need the money? Why hadn’t she gone to dancing school instead of a stripper pole, most importantly, “Where the hell were your brothers? Your parents?”
Her harsh fast breaths swirled in the frosty air between us. “This has nothing to do with them. Brodie and Boomer tried to help me. My folks tried to save me. They’re dead.” Her gaze found mine. Her eyes were so fathomless with fear, so depthless with pain.
I released a breath and caught her against me once more.
Skimming my hands up and down Cat’s back, I slid my cheek against hers. “Mine are gone, too.”
We had one thing in common and still so much between us. Shared pain, self-hate, oceans of guilt, and my own secrets I wasn’t ready to give up.
We split from the fair. I wouldn’t let Cat crawl back into herself even though—yeah—her confession was a little troubling. The ride back to my place crawled with questions I didn’t ask, and even the heat spilling from the air vents inside my Jeep couldn’t quell Cat’s shivering.
She let me scoop her up in my arms and carry her into my house. Her head rested against my shoulder. In the bedroom, I set her down. I put Viper’s dog bed in the kitchen, replenished her water, and let her run around out back for a few minutes. When I returned to my room, Cat was curled on her side on the bed, her eyes closed.
At the sound of my clothes hitting the floor, a small smile crossed her lips. I joined her in bed, running my palms up her back and down her sides.
She crawled closer, half on top of me. She rested against me and asked, “Can you hold me tonight?”
I kissed her forehead. “I can do that.”
Holding her tight, keeping Cat close. I could do this.
Chapter Nine
Stripped Bare
I HELPED MIMI FROM the Jeep and plucked her hat off the back seat. She set the red-brimmed number over the long black and white braid swinging down her back, giving her the look of an Old Western frontier woman rather than one of Charleston’s famous Red Hat Society ladies.
“How’s that?” The we
athered lines on her tanned face deepened with her grin.
I ran two fingers around the brim. “Snappy as hell, as usual, darlin’. May I escort you into the restaurant?” To face the dragons.
She used my arm instead of the cane her doctor had prescribed just last week, complaining first it would be a cane, next a walker, then one of those “damn mobile toilet chairs” and an old people’s home. Tucking her hand around my elbow, I felt how strong her fingers were regardless of the spreading liver spots and the bumpy bones. She still spent hours every day in her garden, denying the fact her muscles ached from her habitual knee-cracking, back-breaking posture. She knew every plant and flower and herb by name and talked to each lovingly.
She always said, “Ain’t nothin’ a little sunshine and TLC can’t cure.”
I wished I had a cure for her, although she never asked for one. I hated this, Mimi growing old, getting frail. In many ways, for so much of my life, she’d been my compass point. In my books, people—beings—lived and loved forever. In reality, Mimi’s slow slide into old age cut out another slice of my heart.
We navigated downtown’s cobbled Queen Street until we reached the courtyard garden of Husk restaurant. My parents had picked the high-priced, farm-to-table place. As always, I couldn’t fault their taste, just their disappearing act. I only had fourteen fucking years of abandonment issues to work through.
They hadn’t been back to the States since last year’s mecca to Miss Porter’s School Ancients’ reunion. Seemed it was time again for my mother’s visit to her so almighty alma mater. The annual affaire de l’arrogance warranted an international trek on a private jet, not Mimi’s ill health—old age, Nicky, it’s called old age.
Even though I never wanted to see the pair of them again, I was about to meet my mother and father for Sunday brunch. I was trying to be the bigger man, a better man. I needed closure. I needed a future, for Cat—with Cat—not this relentless hurt that had stuck with me half my life.
Catarina Steele. She was surely made of steel considering all she’d lived through and overcome. Our night together after the fair was a lot about holding Cat and comforting her. The day after entailed hours of talking. That Sunday afternoon was a lot of something that felt closer to making love than straight-up fucking.