How Cat Got a Life Page 4

  “I have an occasional beer, but I don’t like the brand they serve.”

  She lowered her glass to the table, then leaned her head back and inhaled deep breaths, closing her eyes. “It’s lovely in here. I can smell the flowers, but I don’t know what they’re called. I’ve never had a garden. Those birds must be robins. I wish I had some breadcrumbs to scatter. They seem quite tame.”

  Watching her made Brock feel lightheaded, as if the evening air carried a narcotic or someone had spiked his drink.

  “The music will start at eight,” he told her, and picked up the box of matches to light the lantern on the table. “The lights will go off, except the ones by the canopy for the players.”

  She glanced at him, her green eyes veiled and mysterious. He moved his chair closer, on the pretext on repositioning it for a better view of the musicians who had arrived and sat down to tune their instruments. When the darkness fell, candlelight flickered in her hair. The tension that had centered in his groin all week spread to his chest. He reached out and draped his arm over the back of her chair, idly stroking her shoulders, sliding his fingers into the nape of her neck. With a sigh, she leaned back and made the contact firmer.

  The comment that had troubled him since he picked her up at the hotel rattled inside his head. When she had first spoken, the idea had caused him mild annoyance, but now the feeling hardened into anger.

  Cat had implied she’d only agreed to the date to please her stepson.

  Before the night was out, he wanted to make her admit that she’d lied.

  ****

  “Do you go every Thursday?” Cat asked and almost groaned out loud as she heard her words. Couldn’t she achieve anything more original…more…daring?

  Brock steered the car down the street through the evening darkness. The only light came from the controls on the dashboard. Shadows swept across the hard planes of his face. His hands gripped the wheel, strong and sure. A shiver raced down her skin at the memory of how those hands had explored the nape of her neck while they were listening to the music.

  “I check the program before deciding. If it’s classical, I try to make the time.”

  Cat curled her fingers over the lapels of his jacket as she tried to think of something else to say. He’d noticed her crossing her arms for warmth when the evening breeze cooled. Without asking, he’d shrugged out of the light wool blazer he wore and draped it over her shoulders. His body heat clung to the fabric, surrounding her like an embrace. The need to get closer to that heat, to feel those hard muscles against her naked body had soared inside her with every plaintive note of the cello and the clarinet that had floated in the fragrant air.

  “I…I could offer you a cup of coffee.” A fierce blush stung her cheeks. He might think that she had invited him into her hotel room. She closed her eyes, pictured the desk with the single chair. Although the room was spacious, the only place for both of them to sit down would be the edge of the bed. “They have a little pantry with coffee and tea in the lobby,” she added. “It’s quite pleasant.”

  “We’ll go to my place.”

  A fireball of heat exploded in her belly. We’ll go to my place. Just like that. No questions, no hesitation. She swallowed, awkward and uncertain. Was she really broadcasting her willingness so loud and clear?

  Brock didn’t look at her as they covered the short journey. A sense of purpose clung to him like an aura. Cat’s heart pounded, as if trying to break out of her chest. They swung into a narrow drive outside an old house with a wraparound porch. She waited. Brock pulled her door open and offered his hand to help her out. She stared at him, trembling with a mix of anticipation and panic.

  He didn’t smile. Something hard and dark had settled over his features. He released her elbow and led her up to the front door. A soft whoosh in the air skimmed by her cheek. Cat cried out, grabbing his arm.

  “Bats,” Brock explained as he unlocked the door. He made no attempt to use her clinging as an excuse to pull her into his arms. He pried her fingers loose and strode on ahead. She followed, glimpsing into a living room and dining room as she hurried past. Dark oak armoires and heavy stuffed sofas created a formal feel, like echoes of a genteel past.

  “Do you mind instant coffee?” he asked. “That’s all I have.”

  “I thought cops lived on coffee.”

  “They do. I get mine out in town.” He poured water into a kettle and set it to boil. Then he turned to face her. He propped his hips against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest. As he surveyed her, the hard and closed look returned to haunt his face.

  “What do you want from me, Cat?” he asked. His voice was silky soft.

  “I…I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I…” Cat swallowed and closed her eyes. She should be blushing, but instead she felt the blood draining from her face.

  “Whatever it is, I can’t give it to you,” Brock said.

  She blinked her eyes open. “I just want to…feel alive again. For so long, I’ve been surrounded by death. First I nursed my mother, then my husband. I want to do something totally and utterly selfish. Hedonistic, if you will. I want the experience the sort of mindless abandon I’ve read about in books.”

  Surprise flickered across his face. Slowly, in complete control of every move, he closed the two steps that separated them and stood in front of her.

  “Mindless abandon?” he murmured. Raising one hand, he dragged a fingertip over the hollow of her collarbones.

  Her head tipped back. Her eyes drifted shut. She felt his hands curling around her upper arms and his mouth coming down against the side of her neck. Hot. Burning. He kissed her with a savage hunger, all the more startling since no hint of his intention had passed between them. He nipped her skin with his teeth, his lips roaming and feasting on the sensitive curve of her throat.

  He paused, as if waiting for her to protest. When she remained silent, he resumed the contact. His tongued traced the shell of her ear, dipped inside, eliciting a low moan of pleasure from her. His arms slid around her and crushed her into him, molding her body to his. She could sense how the hard muscles that pressed against her quivered with need.

  His lips found hers, drank deep. She reached up to tangle her fingers into his hair, anchoring him close. His tongue probed inside her mouth, delivering a bold hint of a more intimate penetration.

  Too much. Sensations bombarded her. A wild pleasure streaked along her nerves. Low in her belly, desire twisted in a knot that pulled at her, reached down between her legs and made her breasts tingle and tighten.

  Brock lifted his head, and she could see his eyes glittering with arousal. The heavy bulge in his groin pressed into her abdomen. Lips ajar, breath ragged, Cat stared up at him. Not thinking, acting on instinct, she rose on tiptoe to better fit his erection in the notch of her thighs. Her hips rocked in the ancient invitation between a man and a woman.

  A growl tore from his chest. His hands traveled down, bunched her skirt around her waist and lifted her in the air. With a curse ground out between gritted teeth, he surveyed the kitchen, then carried her out and lowered her to sit on the edge of the glossy mahogany table in the dining room.

  The moon had risen, and a faint glow fell in through the uncovered window. Oblivious to the prospect that someone might see them, Brock nudged her legs apart and settled to stand between them. His head bent to her mouth for another fevered kiss. One of his large hands cupped the back of her head to lock her in place, while his other hand dealt with the buttons on her silk blouse.

  As soon as the front fell open, his hand slid up her skin. With an impatient sound, he broke off the kiss and pushed her bra over her breasts to free them, one side first, then the other. The elastic scraped over her puckered nipples.

  Excitement rippled over her, like liquid fire.

  Not hesitating, never pausing to ask for permission, he curled his hand over her left breast, caught the nipple between his thum
b and forefinger and rolled the tight bud. Cat arched her back and cried out. He repeated the action on the other side, his mouth returning to savor the sensitive spot on her neck.

  His head sank lower before her, and the wet heat of his lips dragged down past her tangled bra to her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth and suckled hard, his teeth closing around the peak. Pleasure arrowed down her spine and fed the heat that throbbed between her legs. She leaned back, planting her hands on the tabletop behind her for support.

  A whimper rose in her throat and the sound floated in the air, constant and uncontrollable as he wrought a barrage of reactions from her. Finally he eased away from her breasts. Dark and unfathomable, his eyes skimmed over her features, lingered on her exposed breasts before drifting past the skirt that bunched around her waist.

  Curling his hands over her knees, he urged her to open wider. One hand rose to play with her breasts, gently now, cupping and kneading, the rough pad of his thumb stroking the peaks. The other hand found the centre of her panties, feeling her intimate folds through the fabric. Up and down, the teasing finger stroked. Moisture pooled between her legs, and the heat grew into a mindless pulsing fire. Her whole world shrunk. All she could focus on was that single finger, chasing the elusive release from the tension that made her so frantic she wanted to scream.

  He never said anything. No soft whispers, no roughly murmured words of encouragement. With a stony mask of control on his face, he continued to torment her, stroking, circling. His touch was so maddeningly light through the thin fabric that a sob of frustration caught in her throat.

  She wanted to beg. The words hovered on her tongue. Inside. Touch me. Instinct warned her that he might ignore her plea, and she couldn’t face the humiliation if he refused. She kept silent and braced her arms against the dining table, hair streaming down her back, legs wantonly wide, clothes in disarray.

  Soon, the rhythm of that searching finger altered. Instead of the slow glide up and down, other fingers joined it and closed around her swollen bud. Harder, bolder, they rubbed and kneaded, feeding the storm that gathered inside her. His other hand descended from her breasts and resumed the slow stroking, lower now, circling her opening, then pressing inside as far as the flimsy barrier allowed.

  It caught her like a volcano, the eruption of pleasure that seized her. Waves of ecstasy crashed over her, making her body buck on the table. Brock slipped his arm around her waist and held her, her shoulders bent back over his strength as he sheltered her through the slowly subsiding contractions that rocked her on the hard timber.

  Still he didn’t speak.

  Her lids lifted, heavy and listless in the aftermath of the shattering release. She saw Brock’s throat move as he swallowed. A flush tinged his cheeks, and a muscle leaped at the side of his jaw. Beads of perspiration shone on his skin. Every fiber of his being trembled, and suddenly it dawned upon Cat what incredible control he must exercise over his body and mind.

  The passion that had swept her along reached out for him, sought to share, give as well as take. She raised one hand, languid and dreamy, and brushed her fingers in a feathery touch over his straining erection.

  “No,” he said. Then he released her and stepped away.

  Cat flinched, as much from the sharpness of his tone as from nearly toppling over on the table when he withdrew the support of his arm.

  “I…why…?” She shook her head, confused. Cool air bathed her burning skin, and suddenly the dark square of the window reminded her of the world outside.

  “I can’t,” Brock said. “I don’t believe in sex outside marriage.”

  “You don’t believe in sex outside marriage?” Anger stirred.

  “No.”

  “So, what was this?” She swept a hand across her body. Awareness of her disheveled state dissipated the hazy aftermath of satisfaction. She sat up and pulled her bra down to cover her breasts.

  “It was…foreplay,” Brock replied, but his voice lacked conviction.

  “Foreplay?” Cat made an unladylike snort. “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand that you don’t want me? Before you…”

  “Before what?” His face darkened. “Before I gave you an orgasm that made you scream with pleasure and writhe in my arms?”

  Fury, shame and disappointment fought inside her. “Karen should have warned me that you have such antiquated principles.”

  “Karen? How the hell would she have known? I don’t discuss my sex life with my deputies.”

  “It’s the sort of thing that becomes known in a small town.” Cat huffed out an angry sigh and began to button her blouse. “God, I can just see people snickering at me, for trying to seduce the local pillar of virtue.”

  “I’m not a pillar of virtue.”

  “Then why…?” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “I’d like to know why. This is the second time this has happened to me. In the case of my late husband, he refused sex before marriage because he didn’t want me to find out he was impotent. What’s your explanation?”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” Brock turned to pace the room, raking his fingers through his hair. He threw her a look mixed with anger and defeat. “I might be many things, but by now you should have discovered that impotent isn’t one of them.”

  “I think you owe me an explanation,” she said softly.

  He shot another glance at her, then stopped in front of the dark window and stared outside. “I was brought up with old-fashioned values. When I went to college, I discovered a different world. I brought that world home with me. I’d never slept with my high school girlfriend before, but when I did, I came face to face with the fact that she still lived in that old-fashioned world. She expected me to marry her, and so did everyone else. I caved in to pressure, and for the next ten years I paid for my mistake.”

  “Oh Brock,” Cat said in an aching whisper, but he didn’t turn around.

  “I tried my hardest to make her happy. Money was always a problem because of the medical bills, and I had to take all the overtime I could. In the end it just wore me out. I felt almost as much relief as grief when she died.” He turned to her now, pain burning in his eyes. “I swore that I’ll never put myself in a position again where I’m expected to marry someone just because I’ve slept with her.”

  Pity unfurled inside her. The only way of soothing his pain Cat could think of was to share her own miserable history.

  “I gave up my job when I was twenty-nine to nurse my mother who had cancer. She died two years later. I took a holiday after the funeral. I’d done rock-climbing at college, so I did an outdoor activity course. Dalton was fourteen. He was on the same course, and we were paired on climbs. Despite the age difference, we hit it off. Dalton is an enchanting mix of high intelligence and old fashioned good manners and naïve innocence. He introduced me to his father. I was swept off my feet and three weeks later we were married. Tim, my late husband, hadn’t told me he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. He’d tricked me into marrying him. I had told Dalton that I’d nursed my mother, so Tim knew I could handle caring for someone about to die, and he knew I got on well with his son. He married me so he would have a companion for the final stages of his illness and someone to take care of Dalton after he was gone.”

  “When did you find out?”

  “He told me on our wedding night. Partly to explain why he was impotent, and partly because he’d had a pang of ill conscience and thought he’d give me a chance to back out.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “How could I?” Cat exhaled a tired sigh. “Dalton’s mother died when he was small. He had no relatives who could take him in. I couldn’t just walk away and leave him to care for his dying father and then be shut away in a children’s home.” She tried to smile at Brock through the haze of tears. “Or maybe I was just too used to being needed, too afraid to resume my life after my mother passed away. Whatever the reason, I chose to stay, but I felt chained into a marriage that didn’t
give me anything it was meant to. I have absolutely no desire to get married again. And if I ever do, I’ll insist on sleeping with the man beforehand to make sure he can satisfy my needs.”

  She slid down from the table and straightened her skirt. “And now, I suggest that you take me home. I won’t be in tomorrow. You can tell Karen and Walter goodbye from me.”

  Brock gave an awkward shrug. “I have to be at court tomorrow. You’ll be safe from my presence in the office, in case you want to drop by.”

  While he drove her back to the hotel, Cat sat in silence beside him, her back rigid and her face expressionless. Only when she got to her room did her composure crack. She threw herself on the bed and burst into bitter tears of humiliation, frustration, and loneliness.

  Chapter Four

  “I hear Brock took you to the concert at the library last night.” Karen bit into a chicken wrap. “The town’s all agog.”

  Cat stirred milk into her coffee. Unable to suppress her sense of duty, she had come to work as usual, knowing she wouldn’t need to face Brock. “There’s nothing much to be agog about,” she replied. “My stepson bullied him into asking me. Dalton is petrified that I’ll cling to him and stop him from enjoying the debauchery of student life. He thought Brock might be a suitable distraction.”

  “That he certainly is—a distraction.” Karen rolled her eyes, something she liked to do when words failed her.

  Cat managed a smile. All night, she’d battled to regain her equilibrium. Her nerves still grated raw, and her hands didn’t feel quite steady. Disappointment and shame lurked beneath the surface, but her impeccable manners and willpower helped her to present a calm front.

  “A distraction even to a married woman with a newborn baby?” she asked.

  “Being married doesn’t make me blind. I can still admire, in a platonic way.”