Нора Робертс - Courting Catherine

“Not particularly graceful,” Trent mused. He rose and went over to retrieve the ball himself. Scratching the dog's belly, he glanced over. The first thing he saw was a pair of very slim black heels. Slowly his gaze traveled up a long, shapely pair of legs. With the breath backing up in his lungs, he sat back on his heels.

There was a sparkle of scarlet, snug and sleek over a curvy feminine form. “Lose something?” C.C. asked as his eyes fixed on her face.

Her lips were curved and red and slick. Trent ran his tongue over his teeth to be certain he hadn't swallowed it. On unsteady legs, he rose.

“We were having dinner tonight, weren't we?” “We...yes. You look wonderful.”

“Do you like it?” She turned a circle so that he could see the back of the dress dipped even lower than the front. “I think red's a cheerful color.” And powerful, she thought, still smiling.

“It suits you. I've never seen you in a dress before.”

“Impractical when it comes to changing fuel pumps. Are you ready to go?'' “Go where?”

Oh, she was going to enjoy this. “To dinner.” “Right. Yes.”

She inclined her head the way Suzanna had showed her and handed him her cape. It was a service he'd performed hundreds of times for dozens of women. But his hands fumbled.

“Don't wait up, Aunt Coco.”

“No, dear.” Behind their retreating backs, she grinned and raised her fists in the air. The moment the front door shut, the three remaining Calhouns exchanged high fives.

“I'm glad you talked me into going out tonight.”

C.C. reached for the door handle before she remembered to let Trent open the car for her.

“I wasn't sure you'd still be willing to go.” He closed his hand over hers.

“Because of the house?” As casually as possible, C.C. slid her hand from under his and lowered herself into the car. “That's done. I'd rather not talk about it tonight.”

“All right.” He closed the door, rounded the hood. “Amanda recommended the restaurant.” He had his hands on the keys but continued to stare at her.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” Unless you counted his nervous system. After starting the car, he tried again. “I thought you might like dining near the water.”

“Sounds fine.” His radio was on a classical station. Not her usual style, she thought. But it wasn't a usual night. C.C. settled back and prepared to enjoy the ride. “Have you heard that rattle again?”

“What rattle?”

“The one you asked me to fix yesterday.”

“Oh, that rattle.” He smiled to himself. “No. It must have been my imagination.” When she crossed her legs, his fingers tightened on the wheel. “You never told me why you decided to be a mechanic.”

“Because I'm good at it.” She shifted in her seat to face him. He caught a drift of honeysuckle and nearly groaned. “When I was six, I took apart our lawn mower's engine, to see how it worked. I was hooked. Why did you go into hotels?”

“It was expected of me.” He stopped, surprised that that had been the first answer out of his' mouth. “And I suppose I got good at it”

“Do you like it?”

Had anyone ever asked him that before? he wondered. Had he ever asked himself? “Yes, I guess I do.”

“Guess?” Her brows lifted into her bangs. “I thought you were sure of everything.”

He glanced at her again and nearly ran off the road. “Apparently not.”

When they arrived at the waterfront restaurant, he was used to the transformation. Or thought he was. Then he went around to open the car door for her. She slid out, rose up. They were eye to eye, barely a whisper apart. C.C. held her ground, wondering if he could hear the way her heart was pounding against her ribs.

“Are you sure nothing's wrong?”

“No, I'm not sure.” No one, he was certain, this impossibly sexy was meant to be resisted. He cupped a hand at the back of her neck. “Let me check.”

She eased away the instant before his lips brushed hers. “This isn't a date, remember? Just a friendly dinner.”

“I'd like to change the rules.”

“Too late.” She smiled and offered a hand. “I'm hungry.” “You're not the only one,” he murmured, and took her inside.

He wasn't sure how to handle her. The smooth moves he'd always taken for granted seemed rusty. The setting was perfect, the little table beside the window with water lapping just outside. As the sun set away in the west, it deepened and tinted the bay. He ordered wine as she picked up her menu and smiled at him.

Under the table, C.C. gently eased out of her shoes. “I haven't been here before,” she told him. “It's very nice.”

“I can't guarantee the food will be as exceptional as your aunt's.”

“No one cooks like Aunt Coco. She'll be sorry to see you go. She likes cooking for a man.”

“Will you?” “Will I what?”

“Be sorry to see me go.”

C.C. looked down at the menu, trying to concentrate on her choices. The hard fact was, she had none. “Since you're still here, we'll have to see. I imagine you have a lot to catch up on in Boston.”

“Yes, I do. I've been thinking that after I do, I may take a vacation. A real one. Bar Harbor might be a good choice.”

She looked up, then away. “Thousands think so,” she murmured, relieved when the waiter served the wine.

“If you could go anywhere you liked, where would it be?”

“That's a tough question, since I haven't been anywhere.” She sipped, found the wine as smooth as chilled silk on her tongue.”Somewhere where I could see the sun set on the water, I think. Someplace warm.” She shrugged. “I suppose I should have said Paris or London.”

“No.” He laid a hand on hers. “Catherine—” “Are you ready to order?”

C.C. glanced quickly at the waiter who hovered beside them. “Yes.” She slid her hand from Trent's and picked arbitrarily from the menu. Cautious, she kept one hand in her lap as she lifted her wine. The moment they were alone again, she started to speak. “Have you ever seen a whale?”

“I...no.”

“You'll be coming back occasionally while you're—while you're having The Towers converted. You should take a day and go out on one of the whale-watch boats. The last time I managed it, I saw three humpback. You need to dress warmly though. Even in high summer it's cold once you get out on the Atlantic. It can be a rough ride, but it's worth it. You might even think about offering some sort of package yourself. You know, a weekend rate with a whale-watch tour included. A lot of the hotels—”

“Catherine.” He stopped her by closing a hand over her wrist before she could lift her glass again. He could feel the rapid, unsteady beat of her pulse. Not passion this time, he thought. But heartache.

“The papers haven't been signed yet,” he said quietly. “There's still time to look for other options.”

“There aren't any other options.” He cared, she realized as she studied his face. It was in his eyes as they looked into hers. Concern, apology. It made it worse somehow, knowing he cared. “We sell to you now, or The Towers is sold later for taxes. The end result is the same, and there's a little more dignity doing it this way.”

“I might be able to help. A loan.”

She retreated instantly. “We can't take your money.” “If I buy the house from you, you're taking my money.”

“That's different. That's business. Trent,” she said before he could argue, “I appreciate the fact that you'd offer, especially since I know the only reason you're here is to buy The Towers.”

It was, he thought. Or it had been. “The thing is, C.C., I feel like I'm foreclosing on those widows and orphans.”

She managed a smile. “We're five strong, self-sufficient women. We don't blame you—or maybe I do, a little, but at least I know I'm being unfair when I do. My feelings for you don't make it easy to be fair.

“What are your feelings?”

She let out a little sigh as the waiter served the appetizers and lit the candle between them. “You're taking the house, you might as well take it all. I'm in love with you. But I'll get over it.” With her head tilted slightly, she lifted her fork. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

When he took her hand again, she didn't pull back, but waited. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said carefully. How well her hand fit into his, he thought, looking down at it. How comforting it was to link his fingers with hers. “I'm just not capable of giving you—of giving anyone—promises of love and fidelity.”

“That's sad.” She shook her head as his eyes came back to hers. “You see, I'm only losing a house. I can find another. You're losing the rest of your life, and you only have one.” She forced her lips to curve as she drew away from him. “Unless, of course, you subscribe to Lilah's idea that we just keep coming back. This is nice wine,” she commented. “What is it again?”

“Pouilly Fume.”

“I'll have to remember that.” She began to talk cheerfully as she ate the meal without tasting a thing. By the time coffee was served, she was wound like a top. C.C. knew that she would rather take an engine apart with her fingernails than face another evening such as this.

To love him so desperately, yet to have to be strong enough, proud enough to pretend she was capable of living without him. To sit, greedily storing each gesture, each word, while pretending it was all so casual and easy.

She wanted to shout at him, to rage and damn him for stirring her emotions into a frenzy then calmly walking away from the storm. But she could only cling to the cold comfort of pride.

“Tell me about your home in Boston,” she invited. That would be something, she thought, to be able to picture him in his own home.