by Nadia Lee
“Sign here.” Unlike the last time, the package was slim.
She took the pen but didn’t sign. “Who’s it from?”
He scowled and squinted at the label. “Says Amandine Lloyd.”
Catherine swallowed. Was she being served or something? But why would Amandine get involved? Ethan wouldn’t stoop low enough to use her cousin’s name.
She scrawled her name and took the envelope. Huffing, the delivery guy walked off. She was about to shut the door when she saw Blaine’s truck pulling into her driveway.
He crossed the distance in a few wide strides and kissed her on the mouth. “Hey, baby.”
“Hi, Blaine.”
They went inside together. He looked at the envelope curiously. “What did Archie have for you?”
So that was his name. “Something from my cousin.”
“Must be important. He works for a special courier company.”
“I guess.” She tapped one corner of the stiff Tyvek. The last time she and Amandine had spoken, the latter had been pregnant and about to divorce her husband. But they’d eventually reconciled, and Amandine had delivered a healthy baby boy. What did Amandine want? Her cousin had thought for a long time that Catherine had ulterior motives when it came to her husband. Silly girl. Catherine was through with the Lloyd men. And Gavin was crazy about his wife.
“You gonna open it?” Blaine said. “I know you want to.”
“I didn’t realize I was that easy to read,” she muttered then ripped the envelope open. A couple of sheets and another envelope, this one elegantly white and expensive, fell into her open palm.
Dear Catherine,
I hope you’re doing well. I heard from Aunt Olivia you were missing. Of course I assumed she was exaggerating, but when I tried to call I couldn’t get through to you at all. Anyway, I had to use Pattington. I hope you don’t mind.
Catherine frowned as she worked her way through the letter. Paddington, the Lloyds’ family sleuth. The man was obviously good at his job, and famously discreet. Catherine had seen how her in-laws relied on him to take care of delicate matters.
I don’t know if you heard, but I had a baby boy. We named him Jeremy, after Gavin’s father. He’s so precious. We want you to come meet him when you have a chance.
The other reason I’m writing is because Ethan has been trying to reach you. The audit’s finally finished at the company, and he said it was important for him to talk to you. I thought I’d let you know so you can call him when you get a chance. His number is…
Her hands trembled. Did she want to call Ethan? Whatever he wanted to talk about couldn’t be pretty. Their last face-to-face meeting had gone ugly, one of those rare occasions when she’d lost her composure.
Also Kerri (you remember Ethan’s fiancée, don’t you?) wants to invite you to their wedding in Thailand. Barron Sterling himself has taken over the planning, and apparently it’s going to be the wedding of the century.
If Barron Sterling had taken over, Amandine’s description probably wasn’t exaggerated. A ruthless billionaire curmudgeon, he had a reputation for getting what he wanted, no matter who he had to crush to get it. Catherine was sure he was determined to give his only granddaughter the greatest wedding money could buy.
“Hey,” Blaine said. “How long is it going to take you to read that thing?”
“Shh.”
You should come. All the Sterlings and Wilsons, not to mention the Pryces, the Reeds and all the other families are going to be there. The perfect occasion to be seen and mingle and bounce back. There will be dozens of eligible bachelors, and many of them make Jacob look like a sad little beggar. You deserve this after what you’ve been through. Aunt Olivia said it would be the best place to find a suitable man for you, and if you’re looking, I agree. If not, then just come out and have some fun.
Of course, Olivia did. She was probably dreaming of becoming Barron Sterling’s in-law.
So long as Ethan didn’t toss Catherine in jail, yes, the wedding would be the perfect opportunity for her to find the kind of husband she needed. And if Kerri wanted Catherine at the wedding, Ethan might relent and let her be.
Catherine re-read the letter slowly and carefully to ensure she hadn’t misunderstood anything while Blaine fidgeted. But she didn’t find anything that seemed off. It was as Amandine had said. If she wanted, she could go to the wedding and see if she could spot some husband material.
Her pride chafed at the fact that thanks to her mother, her cousin knew how much she needed a rich man who could take care of her. When they were growing up, Amandine had always been the poor cousin, not her. How the mighty have fallen, she thought.
Still, it would be foolish to waste this kind of opportunity just because of her pride. Putting the letter and invitation back into the envelope, Catherine looked at Blaine with a mixture of sadness and longing. She’d thought he was just some rough around the edges guy in a small backward town. But of the two of them, he was the smarter, more resilient and self-sufficient one. If she’d had even half the will and brains he had, she would’ve never been in her current situation or stayed in a toxic marriage and let Jacob destroy what was left of her self-esteem.
She went to Blaine and held his face between her hands. His blue gaze seemed fathomless and infinite. If she got lost in there, he’d pull her out. The question was, as he did so, would he find the woman she’d been before she’d married Jacob or would he find the pretty but brittle shell that she was now?
Their breaths mingled in the small space between them. Her heart staccatoed, and the heat from his cheeks warmed her palms. She wanted Blaine to find her, help her see what he saw. He wasn’t like all those men who wanted a young, beautiful and socially skilled wife who would look good on their arms. He wanted something far more basic—a woman.
She closed the distance.
Their kiss was all liquid heat and tangling of tongues. It was as she remembered, hot and uncontrollable. He devoured her, taking her deep into a maelstrom of emotions she couldn’t identify but brought tears to her closed eyes anyway.
Impatient, she tugged at his shirt, pulling it out of his jeans. He wrapped his hands around her wrists. “Wait.”
She blinked up at him. “What?”
“Catherine, stop. Stop.”
Chapter Thirteen
A part of him wondered why the hell he was putting a stop to a gorgeous woman ripping his clothes off. But even as heat seared through his every nerve ending, Blaine knew this wasn’t Catherine. There was desire and need, but there was also something reckless and savage in the way she reached out to him.
Something in the letter had affected her. She’d spent so long, and taken such care, reading it that he’d almost thought she’d lost somebody dear to her.
As much as he wanted to be buried inside her, he wanted her with him one hundred percent. He wanted to understand what brought on such a change in her.
“What happened?” he asked. “What was in the letter?”
“Nothing.” She swallowed. “My cousin had a baby.”
That might be true, but that wasn’t all of it. “Congratulations. Babies are great,” he said, watching her closely.
She nodded. “They certainly are.” Sharp pain glazed her eyes, but she blinked it away. “I got invited to a wedding. My brother-in-law is getting married.”
“That sounds like good news, too.”
This time it was apprehension darkening her gaze. “Yes. Of course.” Hugging herself, she took a few steps backward then turned around and went to the kitchen. “You want some coffee?” she asked, avoiding his eyes.
“Sure.” He wasn’t sorry to stop her from having sex with him for wrong reasons, but he was sorry she was pulling away. Whatever was in the letter was something nasty, and he wished she’d share with him what was wrong. He wanted to fix it for her, like he had with her purse. But the letter was most likely more complicated than the situation with Willie Rae.
Catherine pushed a mug toward him
and poured herself a glass of water. “Can I ask you something?” she said, her voice tight and raspy.
He shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“What do you see in me?”
“Huh?”
“Why do you bother? Why did you have sex with me? Why did you take my side against Willie Rae? You didn’t really like me that much. I know that much from the way you mocked my offer to help bartend.”
Blaine sipped the coffee and considered. It was clear that his answer here was going to matter a great deal, and he didn’t want to screw up. “I didn’t take your offer at first because I thought you were just slumming for fun. Maybe even cheating on your husband. I’ve seen women like that, and I don’t have a very high opinion of them.”
The muscles in her jaw tightened. “Okay.”
“But you really wanted to help. I realize that now. If you’d been the kind of shallow woman I used to know, you would’ve quit after half an hour. Maybe not even.” Setting his mug on the counter, he caressed her cool cheek with his index finger. “And I did what I did with Willie Rae because I wanted to stand up for you. Kind of felt ashamed that I let what she did go. As for sleeping with you…well, what can I say? I wanted you. I still want you, Catherine.”
A bright sheen coated her eyes, and she blinked rapidly. “Why? What do you see in me?”
“There’s the fact that you’re frickin’ gorgeous, but I’m sure you know how you look in the mirror, so…” He shrugged. “That’s not the only thing. I wish it was, so things would be simpler, but it’s not. Deep down, you’re a nice person.”
She laughed an ugly laugh, and it broke something in his heart.
“It’s true. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. And I could tell you really wanted to get nasty with Willie Rae, but you let it go.” She turned away, but he wanted her to listen. This was important. “I can tell you don’t think too much of yourself, and I don’t know why, but you deserve the best in life, Catherine.”
When she faced him again, tears had streaked her cheeks. He ran his fingers over them, hurting for her.
“Baby, it’s true,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. “I wish I knew who made you doubt yourself so I could kick their ass. You have no idea how amazing you are.”
Blaine held her closer and crooned softly. Her tears wet his shirt, and he wished he could do something—anything—to take away her pain. He’d always thought of himself as capable, but there was something so difficult and helpless about his inability to make things right in Catherine’s world.
So he continued to hold her and hoped that somehow it gave her some comfort.
* * *
Catherine didn’t know how long she stayed in his strong arms. When was the last time somebody was this sweet to her? If she could, she’d stay like this forever, but as her survival instincts kicked in, she squirmed and pulled away.
How embarrassing to lose control like that? To act so pitiably, almost demanding some kind of reassurance that she was an okay person…perhaps even a lovable person.
“Sorry, I’m a mess,” she said without meeting his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
Before he could say a word, she slipped into the powder room and locked the door. She put a hand over her mouth to muffle a horrified yelp at the sight of herself in the mirror. The carefully applied mascara had smudged, making her look like a depressed clown. She should’ve bought a water-proof tube, even if it did irritate the delicate skin around her lashes. Her eyes were tinged red, and so was her nose. She shook her head. Disgusting.
She pulled out drawers and found a few cotton swabs and tissues. She’d have to manage. Thankfully she was excellent at repairing damage. Within a few minutes, her eyes looked smoky rather than smudged. She was a bit pale, but otherwise presentable. After finger-combing her hair, she went outside. Blaine had poured himself a new cup of coffee.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Sorry about that. It’s the baby. It just got to me, since I wanted one at one point.” That’s right, Catherine. Mix a bit of truth in with the fudging. “How about you? Have you ever thought about creating a mini-Blaine?” she said in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Not just one. A house full of ’em.”
“Really?” She could see Blaine’s face change as he warmed to the topic and gave a silent sigh of relief.
“But I gotta find the right woman and marry her first. I don’t want my kids growing up like I did.”
He wasn’t going to be like Salazar, cheating on his wife and creating “accidents.” Had his mother—Georgia Love—poisoned him against his father? “Tell me about your parents,” she said.
“Ma was great. Just the sweetest person I know.” His lips curved into a lopsided grin that did funny things to her heart. She didn’t think he was even aware of smiling. There was a faraway look in his eyes. “She was always such a riot, never letting anything get her down, always smiling and looking at the bright side of things. But when I got in trouble, she made sure I knew not to do it again.”
“How?”
“Let’s just say she didn’t believe in sparing the rod—or the spatula.”
Catherine couldn’t imagine it. Her mother had never exerted herself that way. A stern lecture with the most disapproving voice was the extent of her discipline, and it had been more than enough to make Catherine toe the line.
“I don’t think I would be where I am today without her love and support. It couldn’t have been easy to raise a boy by herself with the small amount of money she made from waitressing and cleaning people’s homes.”
“Your father wasn’t in the picture?” she probed gently.
“What father?” The fond expression was gone now. His eyes were as hard as ice. “I never had one. He got Ma pregnant and never came back.”
“Never?” Had Salazar’s attorney even contacted the right Blaine? “Don’t you want to meet him?”
“Nope. He split. His loss.”
“What if he had some special situation?”
Blaine laughed humorlessly. “Then he should’ve stayed away from Ma.”
Good point since Salazar’s special situation was that he was married. “He might try to do right by you one day.”
He shrugged carelessly. “Too late. I’m thirty-two, baby. Don’t need a daddy now, do I?” He scowled then glanced at the clock. “Sorry, but I gotta go get ready for the lunch shift.”
“Okay.” He was retreating, and she should give him the same courtesy he’d given her. She nodded. “I may stop by to get dinner later.”
“I’ll reserve a table for you then.”
* * *
Blaine cursed as he stalked out of the Blue House. What the hell had possessed him to talk about that no good son of a bitch? When Catherine had asked about his dad, he should’ve just made a joke out of it instead of getting all serious. Salazar Pryce had screwed up, and he wasn’t worth even a moment of Blaine’s life.
Blaine got into his truck and started driving away. As his annoyance at having spoken about Salazar faded, he couldn’t help but wonder about the letter. Who sent a “hey I had a baby, and why don’t you come to a family wedding” letter via special courier? Archie’s company charged at least twice as much as FedEx and UPS. It didn’t make any sense that Catherine’s cousin would do that.
No. The letter contained something else, something Catherine didn’t want him to know about.
What was she hiding? What was so bad it’d made her lose control like that?
If it was some nasty threat from her in-laws who treated her badly, he wanted to know about it. He’d find a way to keep her safe. He didn’t know why, but something about her made his protective male instinct go crazy. He wanted to blame it on sex, but that wasn’t it. His former girlfriends hadn’t brought out this aspect of him. He wanted to protect Catherine from everything that could hurt her in any way.
He almost made a U-turn back for the Blue House, but caught himself.
She obviously didn’t trust him enough to tell him stuff like that yet. So he’d have to earn it. Starting now.
Chapter Fourteen
It was amazing how many things Catherine could add to her to-do list when she wanted to avoid something. Why, for example, the matter of housekeeping. Irene hadn’t come by since the day she’d dropped off the bag of money. Theoretically, she thought, I could clean the place myself if I could just find where the vacuum cleaner and other supplies are. Sadly she didn’t see them anywhere, and she’d given up after a quick look through the house. For all she knew, Irene carted them around, guarding them with the kind of ferocity that artists had for their favorite brushes.
So Catherine spent an hour getting dressed and touching up her makeup, then went out to find her delinquent housekeeper.
Thanks to some helpful neighbors, she had no trouble locating Irene’s place. It wasn’t far from The Blue House, a modest home with a nice oak door that had a diamond-shaped glass inset. She rang and waited, tapping her foot. Curtains on the second floor fluttered, and she narrowed her eyes. The white Ford in front of the house was definitely Irene’s.
“Yoo hoo, Irene,” Catherine called out. “I know you’re in there. What kind of hospitality is it to keep a guest standing outside?” When the door remained closed, she said, “Would you like me to make a scene?”
A moment later Irene’s face popped up, a pale specter in the glass pane. “What do you want?”
“It’d be nice if you’d invite me in.”
“Don’t really feel comfortable.”
“I suppose I could just keep standing out here. If you don’t mind everyone hearing what I have to say.” Catherine said, putting a special emphasis on “everyone” and “what I have to say.”
Irene’s eyes darted sideways, left and right. There was a click and the door finally opened. “Come in then, and say your piece.”
As usual, she was dressed in a mismatched sweater and jeans. Her home was surprisingly modest, with less space than it had seemed from the outside. Stacks of boxes cluttered a living room full of old, cheap furniture. It would’ve been brighter if it weren’t for the shadows cast by the cardboard towers. A fat black cat which looked more like a rug than a living animal opened one eye to glance at her and went back to sleep by the heating vent.