by Nadia Lee
And he suddenly couldn’t remember what he was going to say.
Chapter Seven
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.
“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.
Chapter Eight
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 b
lack 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.