Caterina

by Patricia Paris

When Caterina got to the door, she slipped outside, closing it behind her. If she knew the latecomer, wouldn’t she have invited him to come in and join the party?

  His curiosity getting the best of him, he strolled across the room, past the door, and stopped on the other side of the front window. He could hear voices, but they were muffled. He couldn’t make out what they said, but it sounded like they were arguing.

  Trying to be casual, he looked out the window and saw Caterina and a man standing at the foot of the front steps. The man grabbed her arm and she flung it off. The guy spun toward her, and Liam got a look at his face. Mitch Gregory.

  Gregory took a step toward her, and she held up her hands, as if fending him off. Without thinking about why, Liam made for the door.

  He slid out as quietly as she had, not wanting to cause a scene if his gut was steering him wrong. He saw Gregory grab Caterina by the wrist and yank her forward.

  “I told you to keep your hands off me, Mitch!” She tried to break his hold again but failed this time.

  He got right in her face, sneering. “You owe me, Caterina. You left me high and dry at Caulfield’s. It’s your fault business is down and that two of my best servers quit. You can’t try to ruin me and walk away as if that’s the end of it.”

  “I didn’t try to ruin you. If Caulfield’s is suffering, it’s your own fault. Maybe you should try spending more time there managing the place, instead of pursuing other interests,” Caterina said.

  Gregory bristled. “No one double-crosses me and gets away with it, Caterina. I found out about your big plans to open a restaurant. Would be a real shame, putting a lot of money into it just to fail. Restaurant business is a tough industry to survive in. It’s extremely competitive.”

  “I’m not worried about the competition. Now let me go, Mitch.”

  Liam didn’t know the situation or whether Caterina would be upset if he got involved, but he knew he didn’t approve of the way Gregory was manhandling her.

  He walked across the porch, stopping at the edge. “You heard the lady, Gregory. Take your hands off her.”

  The two turned sharply to look up at Liam, Gregory letting go of Caterina as they did.

  “Liam.” She gasped, her surprise evident.

  “Well, well, well. Liam Dougherty. Fancy seeing you here. Don’t tell me we have something else in common,” Mitch said.

  Liam flexed his fingers. “You and I have nothing in common.”

  Gregory was here. It didn’t appear to Liam that Caterina had invited him, but if by chance they were in an on-again, off-again relationship, in which the guy thought he could just show up, the smart thing would be to stay out of it.

  Liam’s relationship with Caterina was already strained. He darted her a glance. The way she looked back made his decision.

  “Do you want him to leave?”

  Caterina nodded. “Yes, I told him to go. I don’t want a scene. I didn’t want anyone else to have to get involved this time.”

  “Really, Cat?” Gregory asked, dripping sarcasm. “You don’t want to call your sisters out here to insult me the way they did the last time I tried to talk to you?”

  Liam descended the steps. He walked up next to Caterina and crossed his arms. “She said she wants you to go.”

  Gregory stared back at him, and Liam rolled his jaw. Let the bastard come at him. He’d love the chance to plow a fist or two into the guy’s gut, but he wouldn’t make the first punch. He never had, and if it was within his power, he never would, no matter how much he might want to.

  Liam narrowed his eyes. Gregory took a step back, then another. “You’ve been warned, Caterina,” he said, as he continued backward. When he got to the end of the walkway, he sneered at Liam.

  “Too bad about Sylvie. We had some good times before she went off the deep end.”

  It took everything Liam had not to go after him. He had no proof, but he knew Gregory had been the one to give Sylvie the OxyContin she’d OD’d on, and his comment almost snapped his control. Liam hadn’t loved his wife, although he’d tried to make things work at first for his daughter’s sake, but if he’d found Sylvie in time, he would have done everything in his power to save her.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Liam said through gritted teeth.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. I should have known someone would come running out to fight for her if I came here. Never expected you, though, Dougherty.” He droned on as he turned and then made for the parking lot.

  Liam faced Caterina, his expression still hard. “Antonio told me you were mixed up with that bastard a while back, but that you’d broken things off.” It wasn’t any of his business, and he should leave it alone, but he asked, anyway. “Have you been seeing him again?”

  “No. He just…he just showed up. He’s…” She stopped, shook her head as if it wasn’t worth explaining, then looked at him again and swallowed. “What did Mitch mean about you two having something else in common, and when he said you used to have good times together?”

  She hadn’t understood what her old boyfriend had been referring to, but Liam wasn’t in a mood to enlighten her. She’d just said she wasn’t involved with Gregory anymore, and he believed her. He shouldn’t care, but he did. He’d fought the pull that drew him toward her with little success, and now, he didn’t know if he had the will to keep fighting.

  “I have to get back inside. If Riley noticed me missing, she’ll be wondering where I am.” He took a few steps toward the porch, then looked back over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes,” she said, although it was barely a whisper, and started after him.

  LIAM PULLED INTO his driveway and turned off the car. The clock on the dash read 10:18, long past Riley’s bedtime. He glanced into the backseat. She hadn’t lasted ten minutes after they left the party before passing out. She’d had a ball—his little organizer.

  He grinned at the mental image of her passing out candy canes to the other kids and telling them, almost verbatim, Caterina’s story about the children who wouldn’t be able to reach them if they were hung too high. She’d even come up with the idea that they should get on their knees to hang some, because a one- or two-year-old was very short. Spoken like a true four-year-old, he supposed, amused.

  After getting out of the car, Liam opened the back door and unstrapped Riley from her car seat. She stirred when he lifted her out.

  “I’ve got you, princess.” He hiked her up against his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. “Close your eyes and go back to sleep.” He brushed the dark, silken curls away from her face and tucked them behind her ear, curving his hand over the top of her head.

  He bumped the car door shut with his hip, then pressed the lock button on the key fob.

  As he turned toward the walkway, a dark-colored Jeep he didn’t recognize from the neighborhood cruised past his drive—black or navy, he couldn’t be sure. It pulled over and parked on the street a few houses down from his. Someone getting a late-night visitor. He watched a moment, but no one got out…probably texting or talking on their phone. People were so damned tied to their devices. He shook his head, readjusted Riley, and continued into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom.

  After getting her settled, Liam went back downstairs. He got a beer from the refrigerator, then stopped next to the kitchen table on his way out to the living room. Setting the beer down, he picked up the stack of mail that had piled up over the last few days and shuffled through it. He saw nothing that needed attention; no bills, no payments, and much to his relief, no more letters from Sylvie’s parents or their lawyer threatening to try to take Riley away from him.

  Liam tossed the mail back on the table and snorted. How they thought they stood a chance of getting custody blew his mind. If they truly loved Riley, they’d put her best interests first, instead of pursuing some vengeful suit that would land her smack in the middle of a custody battle.

  They’d never been able to reconcile with Sylvie’s death. How does one co
me to terms with their only child committing suicide? He could understand how difficult it had to be for them. Any parent would be devastated by the loss of their child, no matter the circumstance. He could even understand them blaming him, so they didn’t have to accept the truth about Sylvie’s true character.

  Liam closed his eyes and swallowed. It didn’t matter what he understood because no one would ever take Riley from him. He might not have been the perfect husband, but he was a good dad. Riley was happy, and he wouldn’t let anyone threaten that happiness. It wouldn’t matter how much money they spent, how many lawyers they hired, or how hard they fought—he’d fight harder.

  They have no case, not without just cause. His lawyer had assured him Sylvie’s parents wouldn’t be able to gain custody. They could still file a suit and try, but Liam hoped they’d received the same counsel he had and realized they stood no chance. The only thing moving forward with the suit would do, would be to create more animosity between him and Sylvie’s parents.

  Liam rolled the tension from his shoulders. He hoped this was a case of no news being good news, but even if it wasn’t, there was nothing to be done unless they went through with their threat. Getting worked up about it at this point served no purpose.

  Taking his beer into the living room, he turned the TV on, scrolled through the channels until he found a documentary about string theory that looked interesting, and stretched out on the couch.

  Was Caterina still up? Would she be hanging out with her sisters and a few close friends who’d stuck around to admire the trees and share a bottle or two of wine? Or was she in her room, maybe reading a book, stretched out on top of the thick white comforter and all those pillows she had arranged against the headboard that he saw when he’d carried those boxes down from the attic?

  He shifted on the couch. Maybe she was asleep, swept up in a dream, her chest rising softly with each breath, lips parted slightly, full, and soft…

  Liam sat up and pushed a hand through his hair. Here he was, once again, his subconscious maneuvering him into another fantasy of Caterina Bonavera before he realized it. He took a pull on the beer, silently cursed his body for being an all-too-willing participant in adding to his discomfort whenever thoughts of her invaded his peace of mind.

  He was horny as hell. Unfortunately, his horniness centered on exploring and satisfying itself with one very specific, maddening, control freak of a woman. He’d tried to fight the attraction. But the truth was, he wanted her so badly he could taste her.

  He cricked his neck. She wanted him too. Oh, she might not want to, would probably deny it to his face if confronted with it, but he’d seen the desire. It had lurked in the depths of those dark sable eyes as he’d stared down into them, tempting him, stroking him, luring him to take what he’d been wanting for weeks.

  It had been there in their kiss—heat simmering below the surface, the steam washing over him, dizzy with it—an unquenchable need that drove him, made him want. He wanted her heat. He lusted for her heat. He wanted to feel her burn, to watch her lose control, and to know he fueled the firestorm.

  Muttering a curse, he pushed up from the couch. He was fighting a losing battle. He needed to get her out of his system before she became an even bigger distraction. He could only think of one way to do that.

  The trick would be getting Caterina to cross over the barrier that stood between them—one he’d heaped enough brick and mortar on to know it might require a lot of chiseling to break it down.

  “When you came, you were like red wine and honey,

  and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.”

  Amy Lowell, poet

  We’re usually booked a couple of months in advance for this upcoming week, but I had a late cancellation this afternoon, so you’re in luck,” Caterina heard Lucia tell the man who’d come in a few minutes earlier, inquiring about a room.

  She elbowed Eliana, who sat beside her on one of the library couches working on her laptop. El glanced up from the screen, and Cat hitched her head toward reception. “Hunk alert,” she whispered.

  Her sister turned to look and then swung her gaze back to Cat. “Oh—My—God,” she mouthed, the corners of her lips curling up sharply, and her eyes going wide as she sucked in a breath.

  She set her computer down and started to get up. Caterina grabbed her wrist, held her back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask Lucia if she needs help with anything for the open house. She’s been so busy the last few days, and with the guesthouse booked solid this week, I’m sure she could use a hand getting things ready.”

  “Umm hmm. I thought you preferred blue-eyed blonds.”

  “This may be one of those times when I’m willing to make an exception.” Eliana’s dark eyes glistened with animated interest, and Caterina wondered amusedly how good their handsome new check-in would be at handling the whirlwind that was about to sweep him up.

  She relinquished her hold on El’s wrist, tucked her legs up on the couch, and leaned against the armrest to watch the show unfold.

  El strode across the reception lobby, her gait confident. “Hey, Luch,” she said, her tone resonating with a casual drift and sisterly affection. “I’ve been meaning to check if you need help getting ready for the open house.” She smiled at the man—a genuine, charming smile that radiated the typical, open nature that was Eliana—and added, “But I don’t want to interrupt, so I’ll just wait right here until you’re through.” She stepped to the side of the reception desk.

  The man returned El’s smile, must have caught his eyes drifting downward, and checked himself from giving her a full-body scan. Smooth, Cat thought as she observed his eye-stutter. The guy had some self-awareness and, apparently, some measure of discretion.

  Eliana smiled again, the picture of patience as she waited for Lucia to finish checking in their guest and, Caterina guessed, tried to get the scoop on him without being too obvious.

  “You’re all set, Mr. Roth,” Lucia said a couple of minutes later. “I have you down for five nights, starting tonight, and checking out Sunday morning. You’ll be staying in Seyval Blanc. When you bring your bags in, I’ll take you upstairs to show you where it is.”

  “Thank you. Very appropriate.” It was a toss-up which was more devastating, Cat thought, his smile or his eyes, dark as ebony and deep as any ocean. “Naming your rooms after wines,” Roth said. “I’m sure your guests like it.”

  “Most do,” Lucia said. “My sister Eliana suggested it.” She extended a hand to indicate El, standing on her right. “Eliana handles marketing for the winery and guesthouse. She also conducts most of the tastings, if you think you’d like to do one while you’re staying with us.”

  Roth looked at Eliana again. “I think I’d enjoy that very much. Is it possible to get a schedule of when they’re held?”

  “There’s a card in your room with tasting days and times,” Eliana informed him, “but we usually do one at four and six on Wednesday and Thursday. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday we run one every two hours between noon and six.”

  He looked at his watch. “Then I should be able to make the four o’clock tasting this afternoon, unless it’s full and I need to make a reservation.”

  “I think we can squeeze you in, Mr. Roth,” Eliana assured him with one of her own, most charming smiles.

  “Great. A wine tasting sounds like the perfect way to relax and settle in.” He extended a hand toward Eliana. “And call me Damien. Mr. Roth makes me feel like an old man, and I don’t think I’m that much older than you.”

  “Okay then, Damien. I’ll add you to the list and include an extra setup. The more the merrier, as they say.”

  “Unless of course it’s Marcella doing the saying,” Lucia commented, “in which case more and merry are oxymorons.”

  “Who’s Marcella?” Damien asked.

  “Another sister. There are four of us. Marcella oversees the vineyards and the winemaking. She’s an amazing vi
ntner, but she’d rather be out in the field or in the barrel room mixing wines than mixing with people.”

  Damien Roth looked between Lucia and Eliana, his expression seeming thoughtful from Caterina’s vantage point, as if he pondered something about her sisters or what they’d said. It struck her as peculiar, because for a brief flash his demeanor seemed to turn more serious. Then, as if she’d imagined it, he appeared amiable and charming again.

  “Well, I’m looking forward to it.” He reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “I’ll grab my bags, and then if you can show me where my room is, I won’t take up any more of your time right now.”

  Roth went out and came back in within a few minutes, carrying a small suitcase and a duffel bag. When Lucia showed him upstairs, Eliana practically danced back into the library and sat down. She looked like she’d just been given a wonderfully wrapped present that she couldn’t wait to open.

  Lucia returned a few minutes later. She joined them in the library, her eyes trained on Eliana. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, sister mine. Just remember, he’s a guest, so behave yourself.”

  Eliana gave a delighted laugh. “It’s not like I drooled on him.”

  “Your eyes drooled, trust me.”

  “Don’t worry, Luch. I’ll be good, but nothing ever broke from looking.” She leaned forward, her foot moving up and down like a yo-yo on a short string. “So, did you find out why he’s staying here? Work? Pleasure?”

  “He said he’s a photojournalist and that he’s working on an assignment to capture holiday celebrations in Loudoun County. This week he’s going to be covering Tastes of the Season. Since we’re one of the hosts, he thought he’d see if he could get a room here as his base of operations.”

  “I’ve never met a photojournalist,” Cat said. “Do either of you know what one does?”

  “They use pictures to tell a story,” Eliana said. “Have you ever heard of Steve McCurry? He’s a good example, and probably one of the best known. Afghan Girl is one of his photos. I know you’ve seen it; it’s iconic. You look at that image and you can’t help but wonder about who she is, what’s her story. You know the saying; a picture speaks louder than words? That’s what photojournalism’s about: capturing a story without words.”