“I’m fine, thank you,” she said tightly, checking to make sure Chika was still intent on her knitting. No one, in all the history of the world, had ever been more so. “I used to ride horses all the time when I was younger, so I’m used to it.”
“You rode horses?” Julian seemed genuinely interested. “That’s awfully rustic for someone like you.”
“Well, it’s not like I was blazing any trails,” Kate confessed. “Riding lessons were part of my education in grace.”
“That’s ridiculous. You can’t teach grace. You either have it or you don’t.”
Kate laughed out loud. “Tell that to my mother. She was cursed with a daughter boasting not two left feet, but three or four. Most of my childhood was spent with her trying to hack the extra ones off.”
Julian’s mouth turned down at the corners, but he didn’t say anything else. He just sat there looking calm.
“So…don’t you want to see what’s in the paper?” she tried.
“Not really. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Kate scowled. If he didn’t see what she’d done, the plan lost at least ninety-five percent of its efficacy—not to mention her joy in delivering it. “You’ll be very pleased, I think.”
“Oh, believe me, Kate. I’m already quite pleased right now.”
He certainly looked it, the jerk. Only the worst kind of rogue would use his mother as a shield. And with such obvious delight.
“It’s only that I’ve been feeling so bad about everything.” Kate tried for a syrupy-sweet voice, cocking her head at him with wide-eyed innocence and placing a hand on his thigh, which was hard and tense. That got his attention. He sucked in a sharp breath, low enough so only she heard it.
“Oh?”
“I’ve been practically drowning in guilt.” She moved her hand higher.
“Guilt? Is that what you and Jada were drinking?”
Kate started to laugh but forced herself to stop with a heavy cough. “I decided the only thing to do is to make amends. Publicly.” She let go of his leg and nudged the paper again.
He took it this time, opening the pages and scanning the interior. He peered around the side, one eyebrow cocked. “I don’t see it.”
“Page five. The sports page.”
That was enough to get him going. He flipped quickly through, not stopping until he reached the thick middle section that highlighted both local and national sports scores.
She gave him a moment to take it all in. It was, after all, a half-page ad. An expensive half-page ad, even with Jada’s ample cleavage discount.
He didn’t emerge from the pages right away. In fact, he didn’t emerge at all, even when his knuckles grew pale with the effort of clutching the paper.
“Are you talking about the ad for the Games, dear?” Chika asked amiably. Kate whipped her head around to look at her. The woman was still furiously knitting and didn’t bother looking up. “I saw that this morning. It’s not exactly how I would have done the marketing, but it should draw an interesting crowd.”
Interesting. Yes, it would definitely be that.
It was a master stroke, if she did say so herself. The Scottish Highland Games, the ad read in big, bold letters, where big boys play in tiny skirts. DRAG yourself in for a good SHOW. The picture depicted a man wearing only a kilt, suspenders and a pair of thigh-high leather stiletto boots Jada professed a slavish jealousy over. The man was hugging a short, thick caber resting vertically against a wall, his leg wrapped around it like he was about to go for one heck of a splintery ride.
Julian was not amused.
Chika finally pulled her knitting down to her lap and looked over at Julian with mild amusement. “Jules, you ought to do something nice to thank this young lady. Lunch, I think. Why don’t you take her to that cafe over on Garland?”
“Lunch?” Julian echoed. Finally, an action. A reaction.
Apparently, a rather big one. After casting the paper to the side and practically leaping to his feet, Julian stomped all the way to the front door. He pushed it open with so much force it caused the front windows to rattle.
“Outside. Now.”
Kate looked nervously between Julian and his mother. “Er…inside is nice, I think.”
His lips were drawn into a tight line, and his eyes smoldered with the fury of a thousand black holes. He didn’t move as he spoke. No, not spoke. Seethed.
“What I have to say to you is not fit for my mother’s ears.”
“But they’re fit for mine?”
“They’ve been chosen especially for yours.”
He stood there holding the door open for what felt like ten minutes, not moving, not making a sound. The only break in the heavy silence was the snap of Chika’s needles, which had picked up again at a frantic pace.
Kate had no choice but to follow him.
He waited only until the door clicked into place behind them before grabbing her by her upper arms. Pressing her up against the wall of the porch, he brought his head down to hers, closer and closer. For the briefest second, she thought he was going to kiss her, his breath coming short and fast, his entire body tense and hard against hers.
Her own lips parted as he neared, and she arched her back to bring their bodies closer together. It was the only movement she could make, she rationalized, pinned as she was to the wall. It was either that or cower—and she wasn’t about to do that.
Last week, perhaps. Last week’s Kate would have been horrified to see to what depths she’d fallen over a silly plot of land. This week’s Kate didn’t care.
This week’s Kate really, really wanted to fight back.
She forced her eyes to meet his and held them there. She and Julian were alpha dogs, one large and intimidating and sexy as hell, the other standing on a front porch without her shoes.
With a sound halfway between a groan and a roar, he shoved himself away from the wall, balling his hands into fists at his sides. For the briefest moment, Kate thought that meant she won.
“Just tell me this,” he asked, his voice strained from what must have been immense self-control. So far, he had yet to use even a single word that might have brought a mother to blush. “Was it your idea to turn this into a public spectacle, or was it Jada’s?”
The question wasn’t fair. First of all, the advertisement had been plotted under the influence of several martinis as well as one or two shots of tequila. It might have been the bartender’s idea, for all Kate remembered. Secondly, she was getting a little tired of Julian assuming she was unable to make a decision without Jada perched on one shoulder, prodding her along with a miniature pitchfork in her ear. She could very well play the villain in her own melodrama—it was a fact she was coming to delight in.
“I’m capable of rational, independent thought, thank you very much. Jada didn’t make me do this—you did.”
“I made you do this? Me? Everyone in Spokane is going to see this ad. You have no idea how fast word will spread—the SHS is a pretty small group of people. Athletes. Vendors. Sponsors. This could ruin everything.”
Obstinate, obtuse man. That was the whole point.
“You still don’t get it, do you, Julian? That first night, you made the mistake of assuming you could dictate my actions to me. My whole life, everyone has assumed the same thing. Kate’s small. Kate’s quiet. Kate comes from a good family.” She ticked her fingers off as she spoke. She could keep going for hours. Sweet Kate. Nice Kate. Call-her-a-whore-and-she’ll-make-you-breakfast Kate.
She was tired of it. For the first time in her life, she was standing up for herself and for a project she cared about. It was the most fun she’d had in a long, long time.
And her pleasure in it had absolutely nothing to do with her opponent. Making this man so angry he hovered over her, all righteous fury and passion, his body tense and hot and so close—that was hardly her objective.
Hardly.
“All you have to do is move to a different location, and I’m out of your life forever,”
she added.
“It’s a tea party, for Christ’s sake. You’re fucking with my livelihood over a tea party!”
A silence fell over them both, heavy and full of pressure, like they were descending from an airplane too fast.
Kate was the first to break it. “Don’t you dare call it a tea party again.”
He took a predatory step forward, planting his leg between hers. “Tea party.”
“Don’t.”
“Tea.” He leaned in closer, almost whispering the words. “Party.”
She thought for sure he was going to kiss her this time, and she had to force her hands to remain at her sides to keep them from winding around his body and holding on for dear life. She wouldn’t be the first to move. She wouldn’t.
She won. He was the first to move, but it wasn’t at all in the direction she’d been hoping for. He whirled around and stormed back through the front door, moving so fast he was almost a blur to Kate’s slightly bewildered eyes. The door slammed, shooting a gust that blew her hair and clothes in a ripple of cold air.
She stood there for a moment, blinking at the door, waiting for something to happen.
“Uh, Julian? My shoes?” She wasn’t sure whether or not to knock. There was no graceful way to demand one’s footwear after that escapade. “Mrs. Wallace?”
She turned at the sound of the large bay window overlooking the front yard being pulled open. She wasn’t able to see Julian from her place on the front porch, but she saw her beautiful Steve Madden shoes sailing through the air. They landed on the sidewalk, one making a scraping sound that was downright painful to her ears.
“Tea party!” he yelled one last time before drawing the window shut.
With as much dignity as she could muster, her head held so high she might have been stargazing, Kate walked down the pathway to grab her shoes. She fingered the angry scuff mark with a frown.
“You ruined them, you beast!” she yelled, shaking the offending item at the window. “I love these shoes.”
“Do I detect a lady in distress?” a voice behind her asked. It was a cultured voice, each syllable carefully wrought. Kate immediately recognized the result of years of speech training. That too had been part of her childhood education in grace.
She turned to find a sleek, red sports car idling almost silently in the street, the driver peering out the window at her through a pair of dark sunglasses.
“I’m fine, thank you. Just…getting my shoes.” She held a hand up to her eyes to shield the glare from the car’s side mirrors. “Really, there’s no problem.”
The car’s engine purred to a stop, and the man slid out. Kate knew in a moment he was one of the Highland athletes. There was a certain feral grace to all of them, like they had to knowingly contain their power and speed when consorting with the mortals. Plus, it was hard to imagine any man with such a perfectly triangular shape, all broad shoulders and tapered waist, not being some sort of powerhouse of human might.
Ash-blond hair swept mischievously over the man’s forehead, and he had an almost cherubic smile, with soft, supple lips and a dimple in one cheek. His eyes were large, his nose a perfect slope, his clothing in keeping with the car he drove, tailored and immaculate.
Kate was certain a more perfectly beautiful man had never before existed. It almost shamed her to be seen standing next to him.
“I couldn’t help but notice your altercation with Wallace. I thought I might be able to help. The name’s Duke. Duke Kilroy. The third.”
He grabbed her hand and bestowed a light kiss on its surface. In any other man, it would have seemed silly—theatrical, almost. But not him. From the top of his perfectly side-swept hair to his wingtip shoes, he was a born gentleman.
Her heart, full of clichés and rainbows, fluttered.
“I’m Kate,” she replied, mesmerized by the ice blue eyes that appraised her with painstaking calm. “But it wasn’t an altercation.”
Not an altercation. A triumph. If they were keeping score—and they were—she was currently in the lead.
“Well, Kate, I hope you won’t use Julian’s bad manners against all of us.” The man, Duke, flashed her a charming smile and leaned against his car. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”
Part of her considered taking him up on the friendly overture. Absconding with Julian’s visitor would be a good way to get a little rub in before she left, and this man certainly looked like he wouldn’t be a hardship to travel with. But adult responsibilities beckoned on the horizon, and she had to get to work.
“Thank you for the offer, but my car is around the corner. Besides, if you were going in to see Julian, I don’t want to keep you.”
“Oh, it’s nothing that can’t wait. How about a cup of coffee? Or dinner? I hate to let you walk out of my life like this.”
Again, she hesitated, chewing her lip in contemplation. It hardly seemed like a good idea, what with the Fauxhall Gardens to plan and all the energy she’d been expending on the Julian front. But Duke was smiling at her with such warmth, and there was such a benign air about him, she felt a profound urge to take him home and cook him a pot roast.
Before she could respond either way, Duke gave a friendly wave toward the house. Kate could just make out Julian standing in the window, holding back the curtain and watching the exchange.
Seconds later, the curtain fell and the door pounded open. Julian obviously wasn’t happy to see her still standing there, but his walk was controlled as he made his way down the sidewalk. Too controlled—Kate could feel the power behind it from several feet away.
“Is there something I can do for you, Kilroy? My mother wasn’t expecting the delight of your company.”
“Oh, I was passing by,” Duke replied. “I saw the way you were treating this lady, and I thought I’d stop and see if I could offer my assistance.” He moved closer to Kate’s side, and she thought for a moment he might put an arm around her waist. But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled himself into a firm, upright position, all tensile strength that seemed like it might snap at any moment. Julian echoed the movements. It was like standing in front of a pair of elk posturing at the height of the rutting season.
Kate laughed, trying to dispel some of the tension. “I’m sorry, Duke, but I think you’re laboring under a misapprehension. You’re supposed to be directing your anger at me. I’m the enemy—not Julian.”
Duke looked her over with a sweeping gaze. He didn’t seem to think anything of her shoes—in fact, Kate sensed approval of all types. It was a nice change.
“If you’re the enemy, then I think I want in on the war.”
Kate couldn’t help it—she gave a girlish giggle. Nothing loosened her tongue and her resolve like a little urbane flattery. She was about to reply with an equally coy rejoinder when Julian stepped forward, pushing her back with one of his outstretched arms.
“It’s nothing. She’s not your concern, Kilroy.”
“I beg your pardon?” Kate’s spine stiffened in a bit of posturing of her own.
“So that is which way the wind blows,” Duke murmured.
Kate wasn’t done with her anger yet. “I’m nothing?” she asked Julian. “You’re currently the toast of the drag-show town, and you think I’m nothing?”
He didn’t respond.
Kate was all at once struck with the difference between the two men standing on either side of her. Julian, dark and his face set in an unreadable mask. Duke, fair and never once losing his charming smile.
Julian muttering, “Don’t be ridiculous, Kate.”
Duke adding, “Such a thing could never be possible.”
It was like comparing night and day. Beelzebub and Gabriel.
She’d have been lying if she said a thrill didn’t run through her at standing between the two of them, their hostility in her hands like clay she could mold any way she wanted. These were big men, strong and capable, and although she wasn’t deluded enough to think she was anything more than a pawn in an animosity that existed long
before she ever came onto the scene, it still felt good to be the source of so much contention. Great women always caused strife. Just look at Helen of Troy.
“Well, I’m sure it was lovely to meet you, Duke, but I’d better be going.”
Duke grabbed her hand. “And about my offer for dinner?”
Kate was about to politely demur when she caught a glimpse of Julian’s face. Flushed with displeasure and most decidedly set in a scowl, his expression offered a rare glimpse into the cogs and wheels of the industry behind it. He really didn’t want her to go with Duke.
Consorting with the enemy suddenly seemed like a very good use of her time.
“I’d love to!” she chirped, flashing Duke what she hoped was a dazzling smile. “Are you free tonight?”
Though a slight bit of shock registered on his face, Duke was much too educated in the ways of gentility to let the look linger. If not for her belief that this was a man who could handle any situation with aplomb, she’d almost feel sorry for him. He was about to get swept up in a situation that was growing rapidly out of control, a situation she wasn’t even sure she knew the ideal outcome of any more.
All she knew was that she wanted to win, even more than she wanted Cornwall Park. Kate had never been the competitive sort before. It was easier to bury her nose in a book or hide behind Jada’s enthusiastic fervor for action and sex and grabbing life—or men—by the balls than to fight over something she didn’t particularly care about one way or the other. Competition was for people who were passionate, whose lives were so tied up in the outcome that it was all they could breathe or eat.
Although she loved the JARRS group, she wouldn’t say she was passionate about it. She wasn’t passionate about anything. Twenty-six years of life on this earth, and she had yet to find anything that filled her with such vehement longing she’d sacrifice everything to get it.
Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 Page 10