Worth the Trouble (St. James #2)

by Jamie Beck

  “To David and Vivi,” answered the collective voices of the guests.

  Vivi blew Hank a kiss for his chivalry. Once again tonight, Hank’s quick thinking had spared Vivi undue embarrassment. In that moment, the appeal of a good guy struck a little too close to Cat’s heart, causing her heart rate to soar.

  But it would pass.

  She’d make sure it would pass.

  After the main course, Cat excused herself from the table to find the restroom. She reapplied her plum-colored lipstick, adjusted the strap of her dress, and then drew a deep breath. She hadn’t heard from her agent this week to confirm whether her fragrance endorsement contract had been renewed. Cat was bracing for it to go to someone younger, or some up-and-coming actress, which made each day of waiting for news seem an eternity.

  A week ago she might not have cared as much. But yesterday’s doctor’s appointment had awakened her, had sharpened the teeth of apprehension. Having lost control over her own body, she now needed to take charge of something in her life. It may as well be her career.

  She leaned closer to the mirror and traced the fine lines around her eyes with her fingertips. The bronzed complexion she’d inherited from her mother now showed the subtlest signs of aging—signs that would accelerate if, in fact, she were menopausal.

  As she studied her face, she couldn’t help but compare herself to the fresh new talent so eager to replace her. Soon enough they’d shove Cat aside, just as she had others a decade earlier. The fierce competition produced a paranoid mindset, hardening her and making genuine friendship a rare gift. She wouldn’t miss that aspect of the industry whenever she did finally call it quits.

  Yet, having walked away from college without a second glance, modeling was her sole accomplishment, the only thing she really knew. Who would she become when she was no longer young and beautiful—when she was no longer a cover girl?

  Her spine stiffened in response to the pathetic moment of fear and vanity. She smoothed her long, dark hair and straightened her shoulders. Screw it. Time to go have fun.

  Three of David’s colleagues stopped her as she passed by the bar. Their alert, hungry eyes temporarily boosted her ego, so she spent several minutes with them while downing yet another glass of champagne.

  Years of runway experience had trained her to recognize their Brunello Cucinelli and Armani suits, Fendi shoes, and Prada cuff links. Cat adored fine things, whether clothing, jewelry, or furniture. Yet it was Hank who, in his off-the-rack attire, made her skin feel tight and tingly whenever he passed by.

  Why now, after all this time?

  Determined to stop tracking his every move, she excused herself from the other men and retreated to her table, which suddenly seemed a million miles away.

  David and Vivi started dancing to Ben Folds’s “The Luckiest.” Jackson slid his chair closer to Cat while keeping his eyes on the newlyweds.

  “I still find this all a little hard to believe, but they’re damned happy.” He slung his arm around Cat’s shoulders. “Good for them.”

  An undercurrent of melancholy simmered beneath his tone. Naturally, he refused to acknowledge or discuss it. Standard St. James behavior.

  “You haven’t been traveling as much lately,” Jackson said, turning his attention away from the dance floor. “What’s up with that?”

  Cat lifted a fifth glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and sucked it down. “I’ve been working closer to home.” She feigned a carefree smile to avoid a deeper conversation about her career. “I’m starting to consider some different opportunities.”

  “Different opportunities. We could all use those, huh?” Jackson’s smirk and remark caught her by surprise.

  “Really?” She’d envied his autonomy—the utter control he exercised over his destiny—so his tone of dissatisfaction caught her off guard. “What changes would you make?”

  But he merely shrugged a shoulder before changing the subject. “Speaking of changes, how’s the new condo?”

  “It’s okay.” She sighed when Jackson turned and waited for her to go on about the Lenox Hill unit she’d impulsively purchased in order to move before the restraining order against Justin expired. “Not enough closet space. When I brought you to see it before I made an offer, I’d assumed your home-building expertise would keep me from making a bad purchase. You failed me.” She playfully cocked her brow.

  He threw back a large swallow of his drink. After setting the tumbler on the table, he covered her hand with his own. “You’ve got increased security there. That’s what matters to me.”

  Cat nodded, although the anonymous “love” letters, e-mails, and tweets she received from men never spooked her as much as the real-life nightmare she’d experienced with Justin.

  Apparently Jackson sensed her discomfort and, once again, swiftly changed the subject with a devil-may-care grin. “Shall we take over the floor and show them how it’s done?” He tugged on her hand.

  “Sure.” She rose from her chair. Oooh, was the floor crooked? “But promise you won’t dump me for another partner once you get me out there.”

  “Let’s take it one step at a time.” He winked and broadened his toothy grin. “You know I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Besides, Vivi invited some cute friends. Don’t deny me the pleasure of making their acquaintance.”

  She pinched his shoulder and followed him into the crowd, gripping his solid arm for balance. The band was playing an upbeat Bruno Mars song when they first hit the floor.

  Her brother danced better than any guy she knew, so within minutes the two of them had taken over the floor. Thumping music pulsed around them, seeping into every nook and cranny of her mind as her hands circled the air above her head. Then Jackson twirled her twice and donned a self-satisfied smirk, which made her giggle.

  When the band shifted into a slow song, Jackson held out his hand and pulled Cat in for a hug. He kissed her cheek and murmured, “You ought to be here with someone special, sis. It’s time you get on with your life. Don’t let that bastard Justin steal your future, too.”

  “Pot, meet kettle,” she said wryly.

  “Hey, I go out with plenty of women.”

  “That’s worse than not going at all,” she answered. “Ever since Alison, you’ve gone from being a serial monogamist to bordering on becoming a man-whore.”

  “Ouch!” Thunderclouds briefly dimmed the light in his golden-brown eyes then scattered when he deflected by grinning. “I’m not that bad. Just keeping things light while I’m building my business so no one gets disappointed. So, let’s call a truce before we spoil the night.”

  “Okay, but only because I love you,” she teased.

  “Love you, too, sis.” He kissed her cheek and dipped her.

  It was the first time in months he’d broached the subject of her nonexistent love life, and she was grateful he’d been willing to let it go. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her potential diagnosis. If her family learned of it, they’d suffocate her with sympathy and reassurance.

  Cat abhorred that kind of attention.

  Feeling slightly light-headed, she rested her chin on Jackson’s shoulder and sneaked a peek at David and Vivi, who clung to each other as if they’d been sculpted from a single block of clay. Cat had never known that depth of safety or closeness with any man.

  Jackson suddenly pulled away to tap Hank on the shoulder. “Switch partners, pal.” Before Cat could object, he continued. “Don’t make me slow dance with my own sister like some pathetic loser.”

  Cat would have smacked him for the insult, but that fifth glass of champagne she’d consumed had slowed her reflexes. The ground pitched, as if she’d tried to stand too soon after jumping off a merry-go-round. She reached out one steadying hand before willing herself to look up at Hank. Habit then took over, yanking her to the safety of cool detachment.

  Hank hesitated, but Jackson prodded him further. “Come on, Hank. You aren’t afraid of a little competition, are you?”


  Before anyone could reply, Jackson swiped the other woman’s hand, stealing her from Hank’s grasp and into his own arms. He flashed a victorious smirk at Hank before spinning his new partner toward a distant spot on the floor.

  The heat creeping up Cat’s neck added to her increasing wooziness. Hank’s gorgeous, jade-colored eyes bore into hers, making her feel dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with champagne. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until he shrugged his shoulders and held out his hand.

  Part of her wanted to turn away, but the naughty part she’d kept locked away for months longed to drag her hands through his honey-colored hair. He had thick, sexy, bedhead kind of hair. She remembered its silky texture from the one time she’d played with it.

  He took her hand and gently snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her a little closer while never taking his eyes off her face. A ripple of alarm curled through her thoughts from the way he seemed determined to see through her mask.

  She cast her eyes downward, but since Hank still stood an inch taller than her despite her spiky shoes, she then had a close-up view of his lips. She remembered them well, too, especially his full bottom lip.

  “Catalina?”

  His voice snapped her out of her dreamy daze.

  “Hmm?” She dared another look into his eyes then nudged a little closer. He smelled clean and fresh, not overly perfumed like so many men she knew. Suddenly the reasons she’d sworn off men or, more precisely, Hank, vanished. Refraining from brushing her nose against the bristly hairs of the two-day stubble he’d cultivated required every ounce of willpower she possessed.

  “You okay?” His honeyed voice seeped through her skin.

  “Sure.” She smiled uncertainly. “Unless you’d rather be dancing with your new girlfriend.”

  “My girlfriend?” He tilted his head sideways and narrowed his eyes. “You mean Amy?”

  “Is that her name?” Cat fought to conceal the bloom of envy. “Sorry Jackson stole her and stuck you with me.”

  Hank paused, still staring at her. “I doubt many men would consider themselves ‘stuck’ with you. I think I can survive a dance or two, but your concern is touching.” A faint grin stretched across his face and, in a lightly mocking tone, he added, “I didn’t know you cared.”

  She couldn’t be sure whether or not he’d meant to be sarcastic-funny or sarcastic-serious, but she hated feeling off-balance. If she must suffer discomfort, then he should, too. Nuzzling closer to him, she rested her cheek on his shoulder.

  Tactical error extraordinaire. The strength in his broad shoulders and solid chest offered bedrock into which she could tunnel for security.

  To her horror, she heard herself emit a small hum of pleasure. His body stiffened in response.

  She knew she should back off, but it had been months since she’d had a man’s arms around her, let alone the arms of a man who knew how to kiss. A man who looked this good in a cheap suit, and who smelled like a little bit of heaven.

  Without thinking, she swept her hand along his chest. He caught it with his own before she could bury it inside his jacket. God clearly had no mercy, because the song ended before she could protest.

  Hank promptly stepped away, leaving a chill in his wake. Ever the gentleman, he nodded politely. “Thank you. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

  Without further comment, he abandoned her on the dance floor. She watched him hustle to the bar at the opposite corner of the tent—virtually as far as he could wander without actually leaving the party.

  Cat had never handled rejection or humiliation well, and tonight proved to be no exception. Her ears burned as she turned toward her table, but she summoned her catwalk strut and smiled.

  Along the way, she chugged another glass of champagne, enduring the bubbles stinging her throat as punishment for her lapse of control. For allowing desire to dominate her behavior yet again.

  Would she never learn?

  Prior entry continued

  Tell me, Mom, what man would want to date a menopausal woman my age? An infertile woman who could become sick from hormone treatments, lose her hair, and suffer hot flashes, dry skin, decreased sex drive, and mood swings? Would any man choose adoption or egg donors rather than simply find a healthy woman who can give him kids? Based on my experience with love, it seems unlikely. Please, God, don’t make this my fate.

  CHAPTER THREE

  After the bartender handed him a seltzer with lime, Hank immediately swallowed half the contents of the glass. The hint of citrus tasted good as it slid down the pipe. Exactly what the doctor ordered to sober him up, which he needed to do pronto. Being even slightly buzzed made him too vulnerable, and he refused to fall for Cat’s phony flirtations again. He’d already learned the hard way she had no real interest in him or his relatively humble lifestyle.

  Scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he tried to rid himself of the yearning she always aroused. Like the moon caught in earth’s gravity, he couldn’t escape her hold on him. Hopeless moron.

  It had all started when he’d first seen her pictures in Jackson’s office, before they’d ever met. Her dramatic brown eyes had distracted him every time he sat across the desk from his boss. The fact Jackson happened to be her brother should’ve convinced him to steer clear. But he’d been too much of an infatuated dumbass to heed common sense because, even in those family snapshots, she looked like a fantasy, with her bronzed skin, shiny long hair, and perfectly chiseled face. He suspected he wasn’t the only guy in the crew who engaged in a few inappropriate daydreams following any meeting with Jackson.

  He’d finally met her a few years after he’d first seen those pictures, when she attended one of Jackson’s informal get-togethers at his house in Connecticut. Hank had been too shy and tongue-tied to approach her, but then she’d surprised him by homing in on him early that evening.

  “Hi! We’ve never met. I’m Jackson’s sister, Catalina.” She’d held out her graceful hand. A jolt of energy had slammed into his body from the brief contact.

  “I’m Hank.” He’d managed to say two whole words, which had been a feat, considering the thoughts running through his mind at the time.

  “So, Hank, what’s it like to work for my brother?” She’d placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper, “You can tell the truth. Your secret is safe with me.” Her warm breath had wrapped around his neck like a sensual caress. Then she’d slowly retreated, staring at his mouth for a heartbeat before meeting his gaze. He’d felt her eyes fondle him like a hot pair of hands, and it had nearly brought him to his knees.

  Since he hadn’t yet mentioned his job, he figured she’d asked Jackson about him. Her notice had made him feel damned good, too. Throughout the rest of the night, she’d continued touching his arm when she spoke, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and pretty much sticking by his side for the better part of the party.

  Of course, then, like now, she’d drunk a little too much alcohol, which explained a lot of her behavior, in retrospect. But at the time, he’d thought he’d hit the jackpot.

  Throughout that evening, he’d learned she was a loyal Giants fan, exercised ninety minutes each day but hated every second of it, loved her big-city lifestyle, considered social media a necessary evil, and never backed down from a dare.

  Even more appealing were the glimpses of tenderness he witnessed, like the way she idolized her brother. And unlike Jackson’s then-girlfriend, Alison, Cat had hastened to cohost his party by cleaning up after careless guests and extending herself to ensure shyer ones were included in conversations. The mix of larger-than-life mannerisms and thoughtful, attentive gestures had dazzled him. He’d never met any girl like her—or at least not the way she’d presented herself that night.

  As the hours ticked by, she’d decided to crash at Jackson’s rather than deal with the late-night train to the city. Jackson had left Hank and Cat alone at the end of the party in order to take Alison home.

  “I should probably head out
so you can get some sleep,” Hank had said halfheartedly, savoring the touch of her knee on his thigh as they sat side by side on the sofa.

  “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “You’re not ready for bed?” He’d grinned at her as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger.

  “Well, when you put it that way . . .” She’d playfully raised her eyebrow then leaned forward to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sure, I’m ready.”

  It was all the invitation he’d needed. She’d been priming him all night. He’d become powerless to resist her even though it meant fooling around with his boss’s sister in the man’s house.

  The next thing he knew, those plush lips of hers were glued to his. Both of his heads had nearly exploded from the desire coursing through his veins, but he’d restrained every male instinct and taken things slowly.

  If she hadn’t been Jackson’s sister, he would’ve gone as far as she allowed. But even in his lusty daze, he’d been wise enough not to cross too many lines, although they’d both been partially disrobed by the time Jackson’s headlights streamed through the living room windows. Thank God for that brief warning.

  He’d still been flying damned near the sun when he left Jackson’s house, so he hadn’t minded the blue balls. Even now he needed to loosen his tie just from remembering the taste of her mouth and silken skin.

  Cat had suggested they get together again soon, so he’d left her three messages throughout the following week. To his disappointment, she’d returned none of his calls. Looking back, he’d been foolish to consider her casual proposal a declaration of real interest. A famous model dating a carpenter? He’d obviously been drugged by those kisses.

  On top of that humiliation, he’d spent the next few weeks wondering what Cat had told her brother, and what, if anything, Jackson suspected. When Jackson later mentioned Cat had reunited with the jerk she’d been dating on and off, he’d finally realized she’d been using him as a distraction.

  Months later, he’d endured almost an entire week of watching her prance around in bikinis and silky nighties at her family’s vacation home right here on Block Island. He’d had to work hard to conceal his alternating feelings of irritation and lust so that no one else, most especially Cat, suspected his enchantment. They’d kept a polite distance with one another—he’d known she was still entangled in the yo-yo relationship with her boyfriend.