by J. R. Ward
Really.
Like, not at all.
“And that doesn’t bother you,” she said absently.
“What? That you’ve got a date with some singer? Christ, no. I don’t care if you were here to meet … Channing Fate-um or whoever that stripper dude is. The only thing that would stop me would be a husband, and you don’t wear a wedding band.”
“What if I told you I had a boyfriend? A partner?”
“Then why are you going out with the singer.”
“I’m not meeting you in the middle of the night. I don’t know you—and the fact that you gave me two random names and offered your palm doesn’t change that.”
“Google me.”
“Not helpful.”
The man, Duke, whoever he was, leaned in again. “Bank on this. If you come over after my shift, I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me. And then I’ll show you the more important stuff.”
Cait licked her lips. “And what would that be.”
“You’ll find out. If you think you can handle it.”
With the smooth move of an all-man type, he walked around her, his body shifting with barely reined-in power. As he passed, he didn’t touch her, brush her arm, lay a hand on her. But he didn’t have to.
He’d already left his mark.
“Damn it,” she whispered as she stared over her shoulder and watched him leave.
Chapter
Twelve
“There you are, Cait!”
As Cait heard her name, she turned around. G.B. was weaving in and out of the crowd, waving his hand at her, making progress even as he was recognized and stopped by people.
Forcing a smile, she struggled with a ridiculous sense of guilt as she waved back at him and met him halfway.
“I’m a hugger,” he announced, holding his arms wide.
She went in for the clinch out of reflex. In reality, she could barely concentrate—but as their bodies came together, the woodsy scent of his cologne and the feel of his chest cleared out some of the cobwebs.
Boy, did he smell good.
And close up? He was even more handsome … and that hair was softer than it looked as it brushed against her cheek.
“Hey! G.B.!”
Someone broke up the embrace, and that was all right with her. As she pulled away, she needed a minute.
With a vague thumper starting up behind her eyes, Cait went to rub them—and stopped herself just in time. She had makeup on, so unless she wanted to do this date thing raccoon-style, she’d better chill with the scrubby-scrubby. And it was hard to keep still as G.B. chatted with some woman, her hands fiddling with her purse, the collar of her coat, her hair as she played bystander.
The idea that another man had just come on to her, and that she’d been seriously attracted to him … seemed like something she had to confess—but come on. That was bullcrap. Number one, she was not in a relationship with G.B. Number two, she hadn’t asked tall, dark and wow-are-those-pecs-real? to show up. And number three, even if she decided to meet a stranger at a public place and get to know him in a very “personal” way? That was her choice as an unattached, adult woman.
She wasn’t living under her parents’ roof—or their closed-minded value system—anymore. And she and G.B. had a long way to go before they knew whether there was a future ahead of them.
In fact, if she wanted a chance with Teresa’s favorite singer? The one guaranteed way to screw it up was to start babbling about what was essentially a nothing-at-all.
“So come on back,” G.B. said, taking her arm. “I’ve got you a pass to the green room. We just have to pick it up in the office.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, but really, you didn’t have to go to any trouble—”
“And listen, forget about the penguin suit, okay?”
She glanced over at him. She’d been so rattled, she hadn’t even noticed he was wearing a tuxedo. “Very nice … and you have nothing to be embarrassed by. Trust me.”
“Is that a compliment?” he asked as he punched open a door marked, STAFF ONLY.
“It is.”
G.B. looked across his shoulder as he led the way into a concrete corridor. Lids dropping low on his eyes, he murmured, “Well, thank you. I’m glad you like me in it.”
“But you also look good in jeans.”
“Really? Tell me more.” As they laughed, he offered her his arm. “Will you let me be a gentleman?”
“Yes,” she said, tucking a hold on to him. “I will.”
As they walked along, they passed by a placard that read, THEATER OFFICE, with an arrow underneath pointing in the direction they were headed.
He pulled her even closer. “I haven’t told you how good you look tonight.”
As his voice deepened some, she was reminded of the way he’d sounded from his bed this morning.
“Do you sleep in the nude?” she blurted out.
“Yes …” His eyes shifted to hers … and they were intense, a deep blue that seemed to offer both a soaring height and a safe place to land. “I do.”
In that moment, it didn’t take much imagination to picture him lying back in some sheets, head on a pillow, arms stretched out, tattoos glowing on his skin.
“Oh…”
“Good or bad,” he prompted.
“What?”
“Is that ‘oh’ a good or bad one?”
“It’s … good.”
“Then can I ask you the same question?”
She hesitated, wishing she had more sophistication going for her. “Well, I hate to be a buzzkill, but I’m not a birthday suit kind of gal.”
“Silk is good on a woman.”
As he wagged his brows—like he was trying to put her at ease, Cait laughed. “Yeah, no, not that.”
“Satin, maybe?”
“Try flannel.”
He nodded sagely, like he was performing a complex analysis in his head. “Hmm, soft. Warm. Can come in patterns other than plaid. Total winner—on you, that is.”
Cait grinned. “You’re being charming again.”
“Still only honest.” He put his hand over his heart. “Just keeping it real over here in tuxedo-land.”
As she laughed again, they rounded a corner, approaching a glass-enclosed reception and office area. “Figure you might as well know up front that I’m not a lingerie girl.”
“Guess what?” Coming up to the see-through door, he opened the way in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “That’s even hotter than anything from La Perla.”
“What’s La Perla?”
G.B. laughed so hard, he threw his head back, and the deep rumble attracted the attention of the young woman sitting behind the receiving desk. As she looked up, he put his arm around Cait’s waist and led her over.
“Hey, Jennifer, I’m here to pick up the backstage pass for my friend here.”
“Jennifer” focused on Cait, and yeah, wow, time to take a step back. Talk about an unwelcome mat—the receptionist or office manager or whoever she was clearly did not appreciate some part of this. Like maybe that whole arm/waist thing?
“I don’t have the credentials,” Miss Thang snapped. “I gave ’em to Erik.”
G.B. cleared his throat and moved in front of Cait, as if he were attempting to shield her from those death rays. “Do you know where he is?”
“He left for the day.”
There was a beat of silence. Then G.B. turned around. “Cait, I’m so sorry, could you excuse me for a minute?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely. But please—don’t worry about me. We can just meet up afterward?”
G.B. shook his head and took her back through the door. In a quiet voice, he said, “Give me a sec to deal with this.”
As he disappeared back inside, Cait pivoted away so that she wasn’t eavesdropping—except although that meant she couldn’t see them, it didn’t do a thing to drown out the rising voice of that woman as it promptly got higher. Louder. More shrill.
And the arguing went on forever.<
br />
From time to time, someone would walk by and she’d give them an awkward smile—even though they were never looking at her. Nope, they were craning for a peek into that office, seeing what sure as hell sounded like a grudge match—at least on the girl’s side. G.B., when he was able to get a word in edgewise, kept things much, much quieter and more reasonable.
It was impossible not to get the gist. G.B. had taken the girl out and that had led to certain expectations on her part. When those hadn’t been met, as evidenced by G.B. showing up on a date, looking for the backstage pass? Cue the drama.
When he finally emerged, he helped the door ease shut behind him, and nodded in the direction they’d come from. “Ah, listen, can we…”
Considering Cait could feel the woman’s stare all the way out here in the corridor? “Sure, absolutely.”
He led her back around the corner, stopping when they were out of eyeshot. “I’m so sorry. You need credentials to go backstage—and they’ve … disappeared.”
Cait touched his sleeve. “It’s okay.”
“No, see, it really isn’t.” He pushed a hand through his hair, those luxurious waves shining even in the dull fluorescent ceiling lights. “Look, I want to be honest about what’s going on. I hooked up with her—it was totally casual. We were out with friends, and it just happened. She thought it was a start to something. On my side, I wasn’t thinking like that. I probably could have handled things better. It just didn’t dawn on me that she’d take it so seriously.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s none of my business.”
G.B. gripped her shoulders. “But it is. I didn’t ask her on a date—it’s nothing like … well, this stuff between you and me is different, okay? I just don’t want you to think I go around banging random chicks and then treating them like hell because I can.”
She so could not doubt him. Not with the steady way he was meeting her in the eye. “I appreciate your saying something. And I could kind of tell that the problem was on her side.”
“I swear it.” He looked around. “Now, about the rest of tonight. I’ve got to go warm up, and there’s still a ticket waiting for you at will-call—we probably should have picked it up first, actually.” He cursed under his breath. “I’m really sorry…”
“So you mean the worst has happened”—she smiled up at him—“and all I get to do is listen to you perform with an incredible singer and watch you do something you love. Oh, the horror.”
He seemed momentarily nonplussed. “I can’t believe … you.”
“Good or bad.”
G.B. laughed tightly. “Good … very, very good. You’re just being really cool about this.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“No,” he said with an edge. “I can assure you it’s not. And I better get going. I’ll just walk you back to will-call—”
“It’s only down at the end here, right? Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself.”
G.B. paused again, his eyes roaming around her face. Then in a quick move, he dropped down and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thank you so much. The ticket’s under your name. Just give them your driver’s license.”
Man, he smelled good. “I’ll see you afterward?”
“Go to the lobby and wait—I’ll find you. After the event, they sometimes loosen things up and I might be able to sneak you back then. It depends on how cool her staff is.”
“I’ll be there, and take your time. I don’t mind people watching.”
“And then we’ll have drinks, yes?”
“You can bet on it.”
For a split second, she was convinced he was going to kiss her again—this time on the mouth: He focused on her lips and tilted toward her. But then at the last minute, he pulled away and blew out an exhale.
“I gotta go,” he said ruefully.
“Break a leg—or is that only for actors?”
“Coming from you, it works for me, and that’s all that matters.”
On an impulse, she reached out and squeezed his hands. “See you in a bit.”
As she turned away, he said, “Cait.”
She glanced back at him. “Yes?”
“That woman in there … she’s not you, all right? I don’t want to scare you off.”
“You haven’t.”
He smiled a little. And then he lifted his hand in a wave and strode away, rounding that corner with his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants and his head down like he had no intention of engaging with Jennifer again.
Making her own way, Cait went back to the lobby, his last words lingering with her. As she got out her driver’s license and stood in line in front of will-call, she thought … he wasn’t the type who was going to scare her off.
That other man was.
The two were opposite ends of the spectrum, for sure—and it was so much healthier to focus on the latter instead of the former…
When it was her turn up at the Plexiglas window, she put her ID in the sliding drawer and leaned into the microphone that was mounted in the glass.
“Cait Douglass,” she said. “I believe there’s a ticket for me?”
The man on the far side nodded, his voice tinny through the little speaker. “Sure thing, Miss Douglass.”
Cait glanced behind her, searching the faces of the late arrivals who were rushing to get to the ushers.
“What was the name again?”
She refocused. “Cait? With a C? The Douglass has two Ss?”
The guy went back to a box that held a lineup of envelopes, leafing through with deft fingers that had clearly gone through that motion a number of times. “Nope. Nothing by that name.”
She put her purse on the marble ledge. “G.B. was supposed to leave it for me?”
All she got was a shaking head. “I’m really sorry. There’s nothing in your name.”
“Are there any tickets I can buy?”
“The event’s sold out, I’m sorry.”
Cait opened her mouth. But what could she do? There were people who were waiting behind her, and it wasn’t like she could negotiate with No Vacancy.
As he pushed the sliding drawer back to her, she took her license and moved free of the line.
Stalling out, she thought … okay, not what she had planned.
Chapter
Thirteen
“Take me to my parents. Please.”
At the sound of Sissy’s voice, Jim came awake like a rubber band, consciousness snapping his neurons alive, his body jerking out of its slump on the floor. From habit, he checked his watch. Ten o’clock.
Sissy was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, dressed in the jury-rigged outfit he’d laid out for her, nothing but a button-down shirt of his, and a rolled-up pair of his sweatpants to cover her up and keep her warm. Her hair was smoother than it had been, probably because she’d brushed it with her fingers. Her feet were in the pair of tennis shoes he’d found in the back of a closet downstairs.
Damn him, he thought for the hundredth time. What had he brought her back to?
And she’d asked him a question, hadn’t she…
“Yeah, I’ll run you over there.” Jumping to his feet, he was ready to go even though he’d been out like a light a moment ago. “Give me five.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs.”
As she walked by him, the calm that surrounded her was disturbing. Too expressionless. Too removed. Too opaque.
A zombie without the limp-and-snarl routine.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he went to his room, grabbed a change of clothes, and hit the shower out in the hall.
By his watch, he still had twenty-five seconds to go as he jogged down to the foyer. Sissy was by the front door as promised, her slender form bent over so she could pet Dog, that hair of hers falling down and veiling her face. As she straightened and looked Jim in the eye, her stare was that of an adult.
She might be going “home” to her parents’, but she was not a child.
“Do
you want a coat?” he asked, wondering what he could give her if she said yes.
“I’m fine. I don’t feel anything.”
He could believe that—and he was the same way. “We’ll take my truck. It’s parked around back by the garage.”
That was the extent of the conversating as they left Dog behind to guard Adrian, Eddie and the house. Outside, the night was not all that old, but it was utterly dominant, no trace of the sun left, what little warmth there had been during the day having faded into another forty-degree chill.
Was spring never coming this year, he wondered.
Maybe it was waiting to see who won the war.
As they approached the F-150, he wanted to help her with her door, but she got there first and took care of herself, shutting things up, yanking her seat belt into place. Left with nothing to do for her, he went around to the driver’s side, got in, drove off.
“They go to bed early,” she said as she stared out the window next to her. “My parents. They always … went to bed early.”
“It’s after ten o’clock.”
“They’ll be asleep.”
“You want to go in the morning?”
“No.”
When she fell silent, he let her stay that way—even though the silence made him want to curse on every exhale.
“You know where I live?” she said after a while.
Looking over at her, he measured the way the headlights of oncoming cars illuminated her face in brief flashes. “Yeah, I do.”
And he got them there in record time, cutting crosswise out of the old estate section of town, speeding through darkened suburban shopping areas, heading into a more modest neighborhood of houses that were set back among big trees.
As he drove them down the correct street, and then came to a stop in front of her house, he felt like he had kept his promise to her mother—but only in theory. What had he brought back for the family, really? It wasn’t like their daughter was going to slip into her old role, filling the horrific void, reversing the agony and the grieving.
Turning off the engine, he glanced across the seat. Sissy was staring out of the side window, her chest pumping up and down under his shirt. As she lifted her hand up to the glass, her thin fingers shook so badly they skipped across the surface.