Courting Catherine

Chapter Five

Insufferable. It was the perfect word to describe him, C.C. decided, and hugged it to her throughout the rest of the day.

By the time she got home, the house was quiet and settled for the night. She could hear, faintly, the soft and haunting notes of the piano from the music room. Turning away from the stairs, she followed the music.

It was Suzanna, of course, who sat at the lovely old spinet. She had been the only one who had stuck with the lessons or shown any real talent. Amanda had been too impatient, Lilah too lazy. And C.C... She looked down at her hands. Her fingers had been more at home smeared with motor oil than at the keys of a piano.

Still she loved to listen. There was nothing that soothed or charmed her more than music.

Suzanna, lost somewhere in her own heart, sighed a little as the last notes died.

“That was beautiful.” C.C. walked over to kiss her sister's hair. “I'm rusty.”

“Not from where I'm standing.”

Smiling, Suzanna reached back to pat her hand and felt the gauze. “Oh, C.C, what did you do?”

“Just scraped my knuckles.”

“Did you clean it well? When was your last tetanus shot?”

“Slow down, Mommy. It's clean as a whistle and I had a tetanus shot six months ago.” C.C. sat on the bench, facing out into the room. “Where is everyone?”

“The kids are fast asleep—I hope. Wiggle your fingers.” C.C. sighed and complied.

With a satisfied nod, Suzanna continued. “Lilah's out on a date. Mandy's looking over some ledger or other. Aunt Coco went up hours ago to have a bubble bath and put cucumber slices on her eyes.”

“What about him?”

“In bed, I imagine. It's nearly midnight.”

“Is it?” Then she smiled. “You were waiting up for me.”

“I was not” Caught, Suzanna laughed. “Exactly. Did you fix Mr. Finney's

truck?”

“He left his lights on again.” She yawned hugely. “I think he does it on purpose just so I can come over and recharge his battery.” She stretched her arms to the ceiling. “We had lobster and dandelion wine.”

“If he wasn't old enough to be your grandfather, I'd say he has a crush on you.”

“He does. And it's mutual. So, did I miss anything around here?” “Aunt Coco wants to have a séance.”

“Not again.”

Suzanna ran her hands lightly Over the keys, improvising. “Tomorrow night, right after dinner. She insists there's something Great-Grandmother Bianca wants us to know—Trent, too.”

“What does he have to do with it?”

Suzanna brushed at C.C.'s bangs. “If we decide to sell him the house, he'll more or less inherit her.”

“Is that what we're going to do, Suzanna?” “It might be what we have to do.”

C.C. rose to toy with the tassels of the floor lamp. “My business is doing pretty good. I could take out a loan against it.”

“No.” “But—”

“No,” Suzanna repeated. “You're not going to risk your future on the past.” “It's my future.”

“And it's our past.” She rose, as well. When that light came into Suzanna's eyes, even C.C. knew better than to argue. “I know how much the house means to you, to all of us. Coming back here after Bax—after things didn't work out,” Suzanna said carefully, “helped keep me sane. Every time I watch Alex or Jenny slide down the banister, I remember doing it myself. I see Mama sitting here at the piano, hear Papa telling stories in front of the fire.”

“Then how can you even think of selling?”

“Because I learned to face realities, however unpleasant.” She lifted a hand to C.C.'s cheek. Only five years separated them. Sometimes Suzanna felt it was fifty. “Sometimes things happen to you, or around you, that you just can't control. When that happens, you gather up what's important in your life, and go on.”

“But the house is important.”

“How much longer do you really think we can hang on?”

“We could sell the lithographs, the Limoges, a few other things.”

“And drag out the unhappiness.” She knew entirely too much about that. “If it's time to let go, I think we should let go with some dignity.”

“Then you've already made up your mind.”

“No.” Suzanna sighed and sat again. “Every time I think I have, I change it. Before dinner, the children and I walked along the cliffs.” Eyes dreamy, she stared through the darkened window. “When I stand there, looking out over the bay, I feel something, something so incredible, it breaks my heart I don't know what's right, C.C. I don't know what's best. But I'm afraid I know what has to be done.”

“It hurts.” “I know.”

C.C. sat beside her, rested her head on Suzanna's shoulder. “Maybe there'll be a miracle.”

Trent watched them from the darkened hallway. He wished he hadn't heard them. He wished he didn't care. But he had heard, and for reasons he didn't choose to explore, he did care. Quietly he went back up the stairs.

“Children,” Coco said with what she was certain was the last of her sanity, “why don't you read a nice book?”

“I want to play war.” Alex swished an imaginary saber through the air. “Death to the last man.”

And the child was only six, Coco thought. What would he be in ten years' time? “Crayons,” she said hopefully, cursing rainy Saturday afternoons. “Why don't you both draw beautiful pictures? We can hang them on the refrigerator, like an art show.”

“Baby stuff,” Jenny said, a cynic at five. She hefted an invisible laser rifle and fired. “Z-z-zap! You're zapped, Alex, and totally disengrated.”

“Disintergrated, dummy, and I am not either. I threw up my force field.” “Nuh-uh.”

They eyed each other with the mutual dislike only siblings can feel after being cooped up on a Saturday. By tacit agreement, they switched to hand

to-hand combat. As they wrestled over the faded Aubusson carpet, Coco cast her gaze to the ceiling.

At least the match was taking place in Alex's room, so little harm could be done. She was tempted to go out and close the door, leaving them to finish up themselves, but she was, after all, responsible.

“Someone's going to get hurt,” she began, in the age-old refrain of adult to child. “Remember what happened last week when Jenny gave you a bloody nose, Alex?”

“She did not.” Masculine pride rose to the forefront as he straggled to pin his agile sister to the mat.

“Did too, did too,” she chanted, hoping to do so again. She scissored her quick little legs over him.

“Excuse me,” Trent said from the doorway. “I seem to be interrupting.”

“Not at all.” Coco fluffed her hair. “Just some youthful high spirits. Children, say hello to Mr. St. James.”

“’Lo,” Alex said as he struggled to get his sister into a headlock.

Trent's answering grin struck Coco with inspiration. “Trenton, might I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“All the girls are working today, as you know, and I have just one or two quick, little errands to run. Would you mind terribly keeping an eye on the children for a short time?”

“An eye on them?”

“Oh, they're no trouble at all.” She beamed at him, then down at her grandniece and grandnephew. “Jenny, don't bite your brother. Calhouns fight fair.” Unless they fight dirty, she thought “I'll be back before you know I'm gone,” she promised, easing past him.

“Coco, I'm not sure that I—”

“Oh, and don't forget about the séance tonight.” She hurried down the steps and left him to fend for himself.

Jenny and Alex stopped wrestling to stare owlishly at him. They would right tooth and nail but would unite without hesitation against an outside force.

“We don't like baby-sitters,” Alex told him dangerously.

Trent rocked back on his heels. “I'm already sure I don't like being one.” Alex's arm was around his sister's shoulders now, rather than her neck.

Hers slipped round his waist “We don't like it more.”

Trent nodded. If he could handle a staff of fifty, he could certainly handle two sulky children. “Okay.”

“When we went back to Boston last summer for a visit, we had a sitter.” Jenny eyed him with suspicion. “We made everybody's life a living helL”

Trent turned the chuckle into a cough. “Is that so?”

“Our father said we did,” Alex corroborated. “And he was glad to see the back of us.”

The infant profanity was no longer amusing. Trent struggled to keep the burn of anger out of his eyes and merely nodded. Baxter Dumont was obviously a prince among men. “I once locked my nanny in the closet and climbed out the window.”

Alex and Jenny exchanged interested glances. “That's pretty good,” Alex decided.

“She screamed for two hours,” Trent improvised.

“We put a snake in our baby-sitter's bed and she ran out of the house in her nightgown.” Jenny smiled smugly and waited to see if he could top it.

“Nicely done.” What now? he wondered. “Have you any dolls?” “Dolls are gross,” Jenny said, loyal to her brother.

“Off with their heads!” Alex shouted, sending her into giggles. He sprang up, flourishing his imaginary sword. “I'm the evil pirate, and you're my prisoners.”

“Uh-uh, I had to be prisoner last time.” Jenny scrambled to her feet. “It's my turn to be the evil pirate.”

“I said it first”

She gave him a hefty shove. “Cheater, cheater, cheater.” “Baby, baby, baby,” he jeered, and pushed her back.

“Hold it!” Trent shouted before they could dive for each other. The unfamiliar masculine tone had them stopping in their tracks. “I'm the evil pirate,” he told them, “and you're both about to walk the plank.”

He enjoyed it. Their children's imagination might have been a bit bloodyminded, but they played fair when the rules were set. There would have been any number of people he knew socially who would have been stunned to see Trenton St. James JJI crawling around on the floor or firing a water pistol, but he could remember being closed in on rainy days himself.

The play went from pirates to space marauders to Indian rampage. At the

end of a particularly gruesome battle, the three of them were sprawled on the floor. Alex, rubber tomahawk in hand, played dead so long he fell asleep.

“I won,” Jenny said, then with her feather headdress falling over her eyes, cuddled against Trent's side. She, too, in the enviable way of children, was asleep in moments.

C.C. found them like that. The rain was patting gently at the windows. In the bath down the hall, a drip fell musically into a bucket. Otherwise there was only the sound of gentle, even breathing.

Alex was sprawled on his face, his fingers still clutched over his weapon. In addition to bodies, the floor was scattered with miniature cars, defeated action figures and a few plastic dinosaurs. Avoiding the casualties, she stepped inside.

She wasn't exactly sure what her feelings were at finding Trent sleeping on the floor with her niece and nephew. What she was certain of was that if she hadn't seen it for herself, she wouldn't have believed it.

His tie and shoes were gone, his hair mussed, and there was a streak of damp down his linen shirt.

The tug on her heart was slow and tender and very real. Why, he looked...sweet, she thought, then immediately jammed her hands into her pockets. That was absurd. A man like Trent was never sweet.

Maybe the kids had knocked him unconscious, she mused, and leaned over him. He opened his eyes, stared up at her for a moment, then made some kind of sleepy noise deep in his throat.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I'm not completely sure.” He lifted his head and looked around. Jenny was tucked into the curve of his arm, and Alex was down for the count on the other side. “But I think I'm the only survivor.”

“Where's Aunt Coco?”

“Running a few errands. I'm keeping my eye on the kids.” She lifted a brow. “Oh, I can see that.”

“I'm afraid there was a major battle, and many lives were lost.”

C.C.'s lips twitched as she went to Alex's bed for a blanket. “Who won?”

“Jenny claimed victory.” Gently he slipped his arm out from under her head. “Though Alex will disagree.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“What should we do with them?”

“Oh, we'll keep them, I suppose.”

He grinned back at her. “No, I meant should they be put in bed or something?”

“No.” Expertly she flipped open the blanket and spread it over both of them where they lay. “They'll be fine.” She had a ridiculous urge to slip an arm around his waist and lay her head on his shoulder. She squashed it ruthlessly. “It was nice of you to offer to look after them.”

“I didn't offer precisely. I was dragooned.” “It was still nice of you.”

He caught up with her at the door. “I could use a cup of coffee.”

C.C. hesitated only a moment. “All right. I'll fix it. It looks like you've earned it.” She flicked a glance over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. “How'd your shirt get wet?”

“Oh.” He brushed a hand over it, faintly embarrassed. “A direct hit with a death ray disguised as a water pistol. So, how was your day?”

“Not nearly as adventurous as yours.” She turned into the kitchen and went directly to the stove. “I only rebuilt an engine.”

When the coffee was started, she moved over to light a fire in the kitchen hearth. She had rain in her hair, Trent noticed. He wasn't a lyrical man, but he found himself thinking that the droplets of water looked like a shower of diamonds against the glossy cap.

He'd always preferred women with long hair, he reminded himself. Feminine, soft, wavy. And yet... the style suited C.C, showing off her slender neck, perfectly framing that glorious white skin.

“What are you staring at?”

He blinked, shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry, I was just thinking. It's ah., there's something comforting about a fire in the kitchen.”

“Ktam.” He looked weird, she thought. Maybe it was the lack of a tie. “Do you want milk in your coffee?”

“No, black.”

Her arm brushed his as she walked to the stove. This time it was he who stepped back. “Did Aunt Coco say where she was going?”

Maybe there was static electricity in the air, he thought That would explain the jolt he'd felt when he'd touched her. “Not exactly. It doesn't matter, the kids were entertaining.”

She studied his face as she handed him a mug. “I think you mean it.”

“I do. Maybe I haven't been around children enough to become jaded. Those two are quite a pair.”

“Suzanna's a terrific mother.” Comfortable, she leaned back against the counter as she sipped. “She used to practice on me. So, how's the car running?”

“Better than it has in months.” He toasted her with the mug. “I'm afraid I didn't notice anything was off until after you'd worked on it. I don't really know anything about engines.”

“That's all right. I don't know how to plot a corporate takeover.”

“I was sorry you weren't there when I came around to pick it up. Hank said you'd gone to dinner. I guess you had a good time—you didn't get in until late.”

“I always have a good time with Finney.” She turned around to raid the cookie jar, then offered him one as he tried to ignore the little nip of jealousy.

“An old friend?”

“I guess you could say so.” C.C. took a deep breath and prepared to launch into the speech she had practiced all day. “I'd like to straighten out the business you brought up yesterday.”

“It isn't necessary. I got the picture.”

“I could have explained things without being so hard on you.” He tilted his head, studying her thoughtfully. “You could have?”

“I like to think so.” Determined to wipe the slate clean, she set the coffee aside. “I was embarrassed, and being embarrassed makes me angry. This whole situation is difficult.”

He could still hear, very clearly, the unhappiness in her voice as she had spoken with Suzanna the night before. “I think I'm beginning to understand that.”

Her eyes came back to his, and she sighed. “Well, in any case, I can't help but resent the fact that you want to buy The Towers, or that we might have to let you—but that's a separate thing from Aunt Coco's maneuvers. I think I realized, after I stopped being mad, that you were just as embarrassed as I was. You were just so damned polite.”

“It's a bad habit of mine.”

“You're telling me.” She waved half a cookie at him. “If you hadn't brought up the kiss—”

“I understand that was an error in judgment, but since I'd already

apologized for it, I thought we could deal with it reasonably.” “I didn't want an apology,” C.C. muttered. “Then or now.”

“I see.”

“No, you don't. You certainly don't. What I meant was that an apology was unnecessary. I may be inexperienced by your standards, and I may not be sophisticated like the women you're used to dealing with, but I'm not foolish enough to start weaving daydreams out of one stupid kiss.” She was getting angry again and was determined not to. After one deep, cleansing breath, she tried again. “I'd simply like to put that, and our conversation yesterday behind us, completely and totally. If it turns out that we will have business dealings, it would be wiser all around if we can be civilized.”

“I like you this way.” “What way?”

“When you're not taking potshots at me.”

She finished off her cookie and grinned. “Don't get used to it. All Calhouns have hideous tempers.”

“So I've been warned. Truce?”

“I suppose. Want another cookie?”

He was staring again, she noted, and her own eyes widened when he reached out to brush his fingertips down her hair. “What are you doing?”

“Your hair's wet.” He stroked it again, fascinated. “It smells like wet flowers.”

“Trent—”

He smiled. “Yes?”

“I don't think this is the best way to handle things.”

“Probably not.” But his fingers trailed down through her hair to the nape of her neck. He felt her quick shudder. “I can't quite get you out of my mind. And I keep having these uncontrollable urges to get my hands on you. I wonder why.”

“Because—” she wet her lips “—I irritate you.”

“Oh, you do that, without question.” He pressed those fingers at the back of her neck and had her moving forward an inch. “But not simply in the way you mean. It's not simple at all. Though it should be.” His other hand skimmed over the collar of her denim work shirt, then cupped her chin. “Otherwise, why would I feel this irresistible need to touch you every time I get near you?”

“I don't know.” His fingers, light as a feather, trailed down to where her pulse thudded at the base of her throat. “I wish you wouldn't.”

“Wouldn't what?” “Touch me.”

He slid his hand down her sleeve to her bandaged hand, then lifted it to his lips. “Why?”

“Because you make me nervous.”

Something lit in his eyes, turning them almost black. “You don't even mean to be provocative, do you?”

“I wouldn't know how.” Her eyes fluttered closed on a strangled moan when he brushed his lips over her jawline.

“Honeysuckle,” he murmured, drawing her closer. He'd once thought it such a common flower. “I can all but taste it on you. Wild and sweet.”

Her muscles turned to water as his mouth cruised over hers. So much lighter, so much gentler than the first time. It wasn't right that he could do this to her. The part of her mind that was still rational all but shouted it. But even that was drowned out by the flood of longing.

“Catherine.” He had her face framed between his hands now as he nipped seductively at her lips. “Kiss me back.”

She wanted to shake her head, to pull away and walk casually, even callously out of the room. Instead she flowed into his arms, her mouth lifting to his, meeting his.

His fingers tightened before he could prevent it, then slipped down to pull her more truly against him.

He could think of nothing, wanted to think of nothing—no consequences, no rules, no code of behavior. For the first time in his memory, he wanted only to feel. Those sharp and sweet sensations she had racing through him were more than enough for any man.

She was strong—had always been strong—but not enough to prevent time from standing still. It was this one moment, she realized, that she had been waiting for all of her life. As her hands slid up his back, she held the moment to her as completely as she held him.

The fire crackled in the grate. The rain pattered. There was the light, spicy scent of the potpourri Lilah set everywhere about the house. His arms were so strong and sure, yet with a gentleness she hadn't expected from him.

She would remember it all, every small detail, along with the dark excitement of his mouth and the sound of her name as he whispered it against hers.

He drew her away, slowly this time, more shaken than he cared to admit. As he watched, she ran her tongue over her lips as if to savor a last taste. That small, unconscious gesture nearly brought him to his knees.

“No apology this time,” he told her, and his voice wasn't steady. “No.”

He touched his lips to hers again. “I want you. I want to make love with you.”

“Yes.” It was a glorious kind of release. Her lips curved against his. “Yes.” “When?” He buried his face in her hair. “Where?”

“I don't know.” She shut her eyes on the wonder of it. “I can't think.”

“Don't.” He kissed her temple, her cheekbone, her mouth. “This isn't the time for thinking.”

“It has to be perfect.”

“It will be.” He framed her face again. “Let me show you.”

She believed him—the words and what she saw in his eyes. “I can't believe it's going to be you.” Laughing, she threw her arms around him, holding him close. “That I've waited all my life to be with someone. And it's you.”

His hand paused on its way to her hair. “All of your life?”

Dreamily in love, she hugged him tighter. “I thought I'd be afraid the first time, but I'm not. Not with you.”

“The first time.” He shut his eyes. Her first time. How could he have been so stupid? He'd recognized the inexperience, but he hadn't thought, hadn't believed she was completely innocent. And he'd all but seduced her in her own kitchen. “C.C.”

“I'm thirsty,” Alex complained from the doorway, and had them springing apart like guilty children. He eyed them suspiciously. “What are you doing that stuff for? It's disgusting.” He sent Trent a pained look, man-to-man. “I don't get why anybody wants to go around kissing girls.”

“It's an acquired taste,” Trent told him. “Why don't we get you a drink, then I need to talk to your aunt a minute. Privately.”

“More mush stuff.”

“What mush stuff?” Amanda wanted to know as she breezed in. “Nothing.” C.C. reached for the coffeepot.

“Lord, did I have a day,” Amanda began, and grabbed a cookie.

Suzanna walked in two seconds later, followed by Lilah. As the kitchen filled with feminine laughter and scent, Trent knew his moment was lost.

When C.C. smiled at him across the room, he was afraid his head would be lost with it.