All she knew was she’d had it with men, and she needed some Advil stat. She headed from the kitchen to the bathroom, which was off the front hall. On the way, she noticed a wallet and phone sitting next to her keys where she’d placed them on the polished antique hall table her mother kept underneath the arch of the staircase.
Preston’s. They were still sitting there from when he’d stopped to give Nick the business card. A family portrait taken when she was sixteen sat above the table. Life had seemed so simple then. She glanced from her newly-without-braces smile down to the objects on the table.
Lacey’s voice sounded in her head again. If you don’t believe me, check his wallet.
Cat wasn’t a snoop. She’d never read her sisters’ diaries or flipped through their desk drawers.
What was it Liz had just said? That honesty was the cornerstone of any relationship. Had Preston’s pride trumped his ability to be honest? He was a proud man who hated to show weakness of any kind. Opening that wallet could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one she was certain would never come again. If there was a chance something in there could explain the contradiction between his feelings and his actions, she was going to take it.
Her hand hovered over the wallet. The flip side was that it could lead to more disappointment when she found nothing amiss. Besides, if there had ever been anything in his wallet having to do with her, it had likely been removed long ago.
But still.
With trembling hands, she lifted the smooth soft leather square, turned it over in her palm, noted its slightly worn edges. The public part of Preston always was so perfectly put together, the thought that his wallet was a little rough around the edges made her smile. A noise made her jump and almost drop it—the tumble of ice cubes from the ice maker into the bin in the freezer. She had to act fast. So she opened it.
Her eyes scanned quickly over the typical male wallet contents. Credit cards, a ticket stub, his driver’s license. Nothing spectacular. She was just berating herself for violating his privacy when something caught her eye. Tucked behind a sales receipt in a clear plastic window was a photo. With trembling fingers, she pulled it up enough so she could see it.
It was a photo of her from last September, taken at a wedding of two high school friends. She was dressed in a strapless cream-colored silk dress, holding a clutch, and grinning widely for the camera, the concrete steps of the church behind her. She’d just walked out of the church and was about to join the crowd to wait for the bride and groom.
She barely remembered it being taken. Preston had captured her at a perfect moment—caught up in the joy of the wedding, forgetting the fact that she’d come without a date—she’d tagged along with Derrick and Jenna. Still upset over her recent breakup, she hadn’t wanted to be seen, to be confronted by well-meaning friends, but she’d forced herself to go, and the day had turned out to be unexpectedly fun. Preston had been snapping pictures all day using his fancy new camera lens, and he’d been joking with her, teasing her. What had he said? Hey, beautiful, turn and smile for the camera.
That last night before he deployed, they’d walked out together from the wedding. They’d been dancing, every single dance. He’d walked her to his car. There under the full moon, the moonlight casting bluish ethereal beams through the magnolia branches overhead, he took hold of both her hands and pulled her up from where she was leaning against the car, up, up, and into his strong arms. And then he kissed her. A spectacular, magical kiss that began featherlight and breezy and turned into something completely different. He slid his hand around the nape of her bare neck and pulled her against him, and she’d clutched at his back, feeling the taut planes of muscle, the strength, the soft, wonderful feel of his lips on hers.
Their lips met, at first tentatively, and then suddenly joining with a hunger she’d never known. At the time, she’d attributed it to the relief of finally letting go of Robert. And the champagne, and the fact that she hadn’t had sex since a month before she and Robert had broken up.
She’d wanted to taste every part of him, and she opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue, met it with her own and pressed herself against his rock-hard body.
She tugged at the lapels of his tux. “Take me to your hotel,” she said boldly. His new house on the lake wasn’t even finished being framed yet, she couldn’t offer to bring him back to her parents’ place, and time was short. He was leaving at 5:00 a.m. for the airport, and she didn’t want to spend another minute tiptoeing around how much she wanted to be with him.
He kissed her again, hard, and she ran her hands down the densely corded muscles of his back. She felt free, freer than she had since Robert had bailed nearly two months earlier.
Preston pulled away, holding her at arm’s length. Stroked her cheek with one finger. His touch was so gentle, just like the look in his eyes. She didn’t want the fairy tale to end. For her dress to turn to rags and for him to be gone, thousands of miles away, when they’d finally found each other.
She reached up and grasped his arms. “Let’s not waste any more time,” she said, tugging on him.
“I-I can’t, Cat.”
“You—don’t want me?”
“More than anything, but not like this.”
“I haven’t had that much to drink,” she said.
“It’s not that. It’s too soon. I don’t want to be your rebound.”
“You’re not my rebound,” she’d said. A part of her had loved him forever, and being with him now seemed like the most natural—and the most brazen—thing she’d ever done. She wanted to tell him it didn’t have anything to do with the strange spell a wedding casts, that it went far deeper than that.
There was something else, too. She didn’t want to admit she was afraid for him. That she wanted him now, before he left, because God only knew what lay ahead of them.
He leaned his forehead against hers. She felt the warmth of his skin, the heaviness of his breath striking her cheek. “Your brother is my lifelong friend, and I have to honor my bond to him. Doing a one-nighter with you and then leaving—it’s not right.” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks. Tipped her chin up until she looked at him and said, his voice cracking, “You’re so beautiful. I want to always remember you like this, how you are tonight, and what a perfect day this was.” He’d raised her hands to his lips and kissed every knuckle, slowly, one at a time, which sent shivers coursing up her spine. Then he’d helped her into the car.
In her parents’ hallway, Cat slipped the photo back down behind the receipt and replaced the wallet. She swiped at the tears that rolled freely down her cheeks.
She didn’t know why he still carried her photograph, but judging from its front and center position, it must have been a conscious decision. Preston was a complicated man who was courageous and brave and wounded. If left to his own devices, he’d shut her out forever, thinking it was for her own good.
She didn’t believe in fairy tales anymore. Her own had ended over a year ago, and she was smarter and wiser for it. She’d never been a risk taker, had never had a one-night stand, or even slept with another guy besides Robert, whom she’d met in college. She’d led her whole life by the book, and what had it gotten her? A job she was unhappy with and a near miss with a guy who was safe, boring, and completely wrong for her.
Maybe Preston was right. That she did secretly crave risk. That she longed to be released from the confines of convention she’d built so carefully around her own life. Choosing the most logical fiancé, the most logical job. Maybe it was time to cut the strings of everyone’s expectations about her and free-fall for once in her life.
Preston would never offer her a wounded version of himself. That was the kind of guy he was. Proud to a fault, and stubborn as a little boy’s cowlick.
She was going to bring him down.
Operation Take Down Preston was going to start bright and early.
Chapter Twelve
Preston waited for Cat in the lobby of the Lake Watchacatchee Lodge, lean
ing against one of the rustic wooden columns and watching Friday afternoon visitors roll their luggage to the reservation desk, happy and excited for a relaxing weekend at the popular getaway. When he was a teenager, in addition to his job at the shoe store, he used to be a bellhop and a busboy in the restaurant here. He’d taken all the extra hours he could to avoid being home and to make all the money he could. Sometimes he’d even slept on the couch in the supervisor’s office and showered in a vacated guest room before reporting to work the next day.
He flexed and released his shoulders, hoping to shake off the black shadows of his past. Part of him wished he could stay in the comfort of his own lake house—alone, and away from the stares of well-meaning people—but this weekend was his obligation to Nick as his best man, and he’d fulfill it to the best of his ability. Cat and he had both agreed to put their personal feelings aside and just get through the weekend for Maddie and Nick’s sakes.
He looked up to see Cat walking down the wide central staircase wearing a colorful beach cover-up, flip-flops, and sunglasses atop her head. She carried a bright orange beach bag slung over her shoulder. Her fresh beauty and wide smile made several men’s heads turn in the lobby. On instinct, he picked up his pace and joined her as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
“We’re the first ones here. Ready to get some sun?” she asked.
He wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if it were storming out, because she was all the sun he would ever need, standing right in front of him. The thought of spending time with her alone both thrilled and terrified. He weighed the decision before him. This would be his last chance to confess everything before the wedding weekend got into full swing. Tell her exactly what he thought of Brady, and tell her the truth about why he let her go.
He broke out in a cold sweat. Usually he was decisive, always knew the right course. But as far as Cat was concerned, he seemed to have lost his compass.
“Are you ready?” She linked her arm with his. She smelled of suntan lotion and some pretty, citrusy scent that made him want to gather her up and inhale big gulps of her freshness. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve just laid out and had a lazy afternoon,” she said.
He couldn’t, either. He usually detested lying around, sitting still, doing nothing. But somehow, just the thought of sitting next to her at the beach made his pulse quicken.
He offered to help her carry her load, but she said she was fine. He turned all his focus on walking, lest he trip and make an ass of himself. He made it through the lobby without too much lumbering and out on the wooden boardwalk that led to the beach. She grabbed a beach umbrella from a stack. “Let me take that,” he said, insisting, tugging on it. To his surprise, she resisted. They stood there about to get into a tug-of-war over it.
She lifted her sunglasses onto her head. “You have to learn that just for now, your priority is healing yourself. Okay?” The emerald depths of her eyes showed compassion, not pity. Her voice was gentle. Both of them made him relent.
“Okay,” he said, surrendering his hold. “You carry it down for us.”
He lagged behind as she walked, then she suddenly turned around. “And don’t think you’re carrying beach chairs, either.” She knew him too well. “I thought we could just lay out on our towels. Would that be comfortable for you?”
He nodded. Something was different about her, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was her decisive tone, or an attitude he sensed that told him she wasn’t going to take any bullshit.
They walked together to an open spot on the sand. She took his towel and unrolled it for him, and he let her, enjoying watching how she moved, how she insisted on taking charge, and somehow, he liked it. He liked being here with her, just the two of them. The desperate yearning he always felt for her seemed to be in check, held back by her attention and concern. For the hundredth time, he told himself he was doing the right thing to not tell her the full story.
He insisted on planting their umbrella, despite her protests, and he had the task done in no time. They decided to lie in the sun first, and use the umbrella for shade when they got too hot. He knew Cat didn’t tan very well, and she was already spraying lots of SPF 50 all over her legs.
“Don’t sit down yet,” she said.
“Why not?” In answer, she walked over and began spraying his back with the suntan stuff. “I’m okay,” he mumbled, until she began rubbing the lotion in. Her hands felt so damn good on his skin as she ran them gently along his back. Each touch felt like little shocks of fire, and he was burning up under her kind, cool touch. His breath came heavy, and he became too choked up to even thank her.
She seemed unaffected. She handed him the can. “Would you do my back, please?” Before he could answer, she lifted her cover-up and in one swoop, tossed it off and to the ground.
He swallowed. Gulped hard. Tried to keep his eyes from bugging out of his head. Because in front of him was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, wearing the tiniest bikini on the planet.
“Do you like it?” she asked with the excitement of a little girl twirling in a new dress rather than a woman in a barely-there bathing suit, a little green polka-dot number barely held together by some flimsy ties.
“I-um-yeah.” Great, his hormones had reduced him to the pre-linguistic skills of a caveman. He focused on shaking the can instead of talking.
Then she turned around and oh, Lordy, gave him the rear view. She lifted her arms to gather up her hair and twist it into a ponytail. Which allowed him to see all along the curve of her beautiful arched back and her sweet ass, which was barely covered by a skinny scrap of material. He was not going to survive this day much less the next hour.
He sprayed but didn’t dare touch her. She turned her face, pointing to her back. “If you can, just rub it in a little over my shoulders and the middle of my back. So I don’t burn. Please.”
She sounded so innocent, but he wondered if she was playing with him. Flaunting all her amazing curves and those miles of soft skin, breaking him down.
“Cat, I—”
“Hurry, in case clouds roll in.”
Fat chance. The sky was a brilliant aquamarine blue, and the only trace of a cloud was the snowy trail of a jetliner that had sliced through it like a skywriter.
Somehow, he rubbed in a bit of the spray. He got though it as quickly as possible, trying not to notice how soft and warm and pliant her skin was under his fingers. And how much he wanted to kiss the back of her long, graceful neck, maybe even bite down playfully on the curve of her shoulder. Everything about her was amazing. Even her quirks, like making certain every square inch of her skin was covered with sunscreen. He had to look away when she sprayed under the skimpy strings that held the sides of her suit bottoms together. How could that bastard Robert have given away such a gem?
She collapsed onto her towel and spread his out evenly where the breeze had rolled the edge over. Then she patted it and looked up at him with a grin. “All ready for you, partner.”
He lumbered down in his awkward way, good leg first, arms supporting his weight as he carefully lowered the bad leg. Cat looked at the brace. While he hated her seeing him like this, he felt only her usual matter-of-fact concern as she asked, “How’s the leg?”
“My therapist says it’s looking a little less gnarly than last week. She made me see that the doctor’s report wasn’t that bad.” He just had to stick to his routine, keep doing his exercises, and not stress his leg. All of which he’d do religiously, because that word “normal” was a dream he wanted almost as desperately as he wanted Cat.
“Oh, Preston. That’s great.” She flashed him a big smile, then lay back and closed her eyes, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes. “It’s a perfect day. Sort of makes you forget your other troubles, you know?”
He lay next to her and felt the sun penetrate his skin. The breeze stirred. Gulls cried overhead, kids laughed, and somebody’s radio played a Bruno Mars tune in the background. He smiled a little, feeling the f
irst bits of tightness loosen up inside him. She was right. Staying in the moment, with her, was a balm to his soul. Until something made him open his eyes. She was leaning over him.
He startled. “What are you doing? You scared the hell out of me.” Then he realized what a great view of her chest he suddenly had, which made him ache to slide his hand under the tiny bit of material covering her breasts and touch her soft flesh. Plus she’d tipped forward against him a little, the velvety skin of her midriff touching his side. He frowned.
She lifted up her sunglasses. “Life is good, Preston. It’s still mostly good.”
He laughed out loud. “Thank you, Little Miss Sunshine. Yeah, sometimes life is still good.” What was she doing to him? His heart was hammering in his chest; he was alert and on edge, and horny as hell.
She flopped back down on her towel and closed her eyes.
He couldn’t help looking at her. She was all lean curves, pretty legs, and bright blue toenails. And—what the hell? Her belly button had a ring in it.
A ring. Prim, proper, Catherine Kingston had a belly button ring. That realization must have short-circuited his brain, because before he knew what he was doing, he’d touched it. Her abdominal muscles tensed when his fingers grazed her abdomen, and her stomach went hollow with her sudden intake of breath. She went still and turned her head toward him.
Somehow his entire body froze in place. He was totally transfixed by the feel of her beneath his hand. “W-what is that?” he managed to say.
She placed her small hand over his large one. Her pale skin was a huge contrast to his naturally darker tone. “A belly button ring, and don’t act like you’ve never seen one.”
“I have. Just not on you.”
“You don’t like it?” she asked, still not moving her hand.
“No, I-I like it. Just surprised is all.”
“I could surprise you about a lot of things,” she said. He looked at her in alarm. Was she flirting with him, or about to tell him off? Her sunglasses were too dark, and he couldn’t read the expression in her eyes.
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