Pulling in a deep breath, she forced herself to be serious. This guy does talk too much. Her eyes followed a filtered ray of sunshine highlighting dust motes and her heart lodged itself somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Tyson was staring right at her from the pew beside the window.
A small curve tipped up the side of his mouth. Kat wondered if he saw Mia carrying on. He was taller than all the other parishioners. The monotone rumble of the reverend’s sermon echoed to her right as they stared at one another, as if connected by an invisible string that made it impossible to turn around to face the front.
Half of his profile shined under the ray of sun streaming from the window. He looked like an angel. He winked and her belly swooped like a trap door swung open.
She licked her suddenly dry lips, tasting the artificial flavor of strawberries in her gloss. She could swear he watched her do it. His soft gaze unblinking, and incredibly heavy weighed on her like a physical touch.
The choir started to sing and she turned, doing her best impression of indifference, but there was no ignoring the storm of emotion swelling inside of her. No one had ever had such a potent affect on her.
As the service ended her lagging footsteps carried her to the back of the church. The mixed scent of old lady perfume and clinical old man cologne tickled her nose and made their escape all the more urgent. She held Mia’s hand and wedged her way through the clogged double doors.
When the fresh spring air hit her face she took a long deep breath. The lawn was littered with people dressed in their Sunday best. Mia ran off to where three small children played in the shade.
“Who’s that gentleman talking to Mia?” Mrs. Bradshaw asked in a gin and tonic rasp.
Kat knew before she turned. There, speaking to Mia—all charm and tall, sexy goodness—was none other than Tyson Adams. The same rolling feeling took over her stomach when he smiled at her. She swallowed. Her mouth went from dry to too wet to dry again and her skin heated yet covered with goose bumps at the same time. She pulled in a deep breath and slowly released it. “That’s our new neighbor.”
He was wearing a black suit that cut along his muscles like it was custom made for his body. She couldn’t decide which was sexier, Tyson in work boots and jeans or Tyson in a suit. Either way, he was incredibly devastating.
A mixture of trepidation and irrepressible excitement filled her. She casually pressed her clammy palms into her stomach to slow the fluttering of nerves. “Would you like me to introduce you?”
“Honey, the day I stop wanting to meet men of that caliber, is the day I’m dead. Yes, introduce me.”
She led Mrs. Bradshaw toward Mia, each step causing her heart to beat a little faster.
The smell of his rich cologne over the sweet scent of Easter flowers nearby made her dizzy. He turned the moment they approached and sprung that devastating smile on her.
“Hello, Kat.”
His deep voice that sunk into the depths of her belly, stealing the last of her breath. “Hi.”
He glanced at Mrs. Bradshaw and Kat introduced them. “This is Mrs. Bradshaw, a dear friend of Mia’s and mine. Mrs. Bradshaw, this is Tyson Adams.”
“A pleasure, Mrs. Bradshaw.” He nodded and that oh so yummy dimple appeared.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Adams. Mia speaks well of you. She tells me you’re doing wonderful things to the old Thornton house.”
“Thank you. We’ve been busy. Hopefully the rain’s finished for a while so we can begin the landscaping. And, I believe Mia and I have a doghouse to build.”
“How charming. Mia’s a magnificent helper and lovely, too, just like her mother.”
“You have no argument from me there.”
He sent her a pointed look and suddenly her whole body felt awkward. A fluttering laugh, unlike anything she’d ever done before, slipped past her lips. She didn’t know what to say.
“Thanks for fixing my sink.” The impulsive gratitude spewed from her before she could stop it. You are such an idiot.
A soft smirk curved his lips. He seemed to watch her with covert curiosity that had a way of unnerving her.
Looking back to Mrs. Bradshaw, she informed, “Tyson fixed our sink.” Thank you Captain Obvious. Stop talking now.
But the meaningless chatter continued to flow as if she had some sort of disorder. Her faltering tongue clumsily folded over words before she gave them much thought. “Good thing it stopped raining. April showers bring may flowers.” Oh my God! Stop!
She bit her lip, forcing herself not to say another idiotic word. Tyson grinned at her with the same elusive charm that accompanied every expression he made. Luckily, Mrs. Bradshaw stepped in to save her from making more of a disgrace.
“Tell me, Mr. Adams, do you have any family? A wife? Or perhaps some children?”
“No ma’am. I’ve never been married, nor do I have children. But if I’m lucky one day I might.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Bradshaw coyly smirked. “Well, Mr. Adams, I must be going, but it was lovely meeting you. Perhaps I’ll see you again soon.”
“I look forward to it, Mrs. Bradshaw.” He turned to Kat. “I’ll see you later?”
She nodded, but didn’t chance a word and he turned away.
As they walked back to the car, Kat wondered if he meant I’ll see you later as in “of course I’ll be seeing you around because we’re neighbors” or if he meant he intended to make a point to see her again.
When they approached the car Mrs. Bradshaw rolled down her window and smiled. “Well, Kat, it seems your life just got a little more interesting. Do keep me posted.”
With the enthusiasm of a funeral procession, Kat backed out, and headed to her parents’ house. A familiar, watermelon sized, knot of tension slid into the pit of her stomach as they approached their destination.
She wasn’t surprised when a man in an understated tuxedo answered the door. Her parents were in the habit of hiring temporary staff for all of their affairs and family holidays were no different. She nodded her thanks to the butler for holding the door while they stepped inside the foyer.
The doorman took her wrap and Mia’s backpack that Kat had filled with things to keep her occupied. This would not be an abbreviated visit. No, this would be long and about as fun as a root canal. For Mia it would be worse.
The level of formality her parents sought for holiday dinners was always somewhat tedious for a three-year-old, but Kat always came armed with coloring books, crayons, and a few quiet toys.
Affluent, lilting voices echoed down the hall as they walked in silence, their dress shoes clicking like an ominous bell tolls. The scent of dinner slipped from the kitchen doors as they passed. At least the food would be good.
They were escorted into the parlor where other guests mingled. A grand piano dominated the formal room and eight-foot windows accented the ten-foot ceilings. From the Parisian carpet to the crown molding, the space was as luxurious and antiquated as a museum.
Her parents had money, but their events were always a gross exaggeration of their wealth. She couldn’t stand it. Pasting on a plastic smile of serene blandness, she looked for her mother.
Trails of Shalimar perfume and lemon polish tinged the air. She didn’t know what wore more lacquer, the women with their pungent perfume and red lips, or the heavily polished woodwork.
Small settees and glossy tables dotted the room and an ornate bar graced the corner, neatly set with champagne flutes, snifters, and various decanters. Her mother immediately noticed their entrance and zeroed in on her with the focus of a hawk.
Kat grinned with borrowed grace as she approached. Vivian’s eyes glistened with cloying sweetness. “My darlings!” she cooed as she kissed Mia on the cheek.
Her mother—always the performer—complimented their appearance with calculated admiration. “You look beautiful as always, Katherine. And Mia! Such a charming little angel you are.”
This was the insecure—nauseating—truce she and Vivian shared when in the presence of others.
; “The Easter Bunny came to my house, Grandma!” Mia said.
“Hello, Mother,” Kat greeted, kissing her mother’s cheek as expected.
As Mia chattered about her morning, Vivian covertly eyed Kat making sure that she’d followed orders and worn the right, pre-chosen outfit.
It wasn’t that the outfit was unattractive— it just wasn’t her style. The tanned pencil skirt was conservatively cut an inch below her knee with a matching silk camisole and a dusty sage cashmere sweater with pearl buttons. The sweater, Vivian had informed her, was necessary to hide her ‘undesirable soft spots’. She’d been given strict instructions that it should stay on her shoulders at all times.
The most unfortunate thing about the whole ensemble was that she had to shop with her mother in order to get it. Five hours of trying on dresses while her mother frowned and critiqued her flaws was enough to drive even the sanest person to drink.
Per her mother’s request, she wore her hair in a sophisticated French twist with nothing more than two pearl stud earrings and a pearl tennis bracelet. Nude stockings were a requirement, of course, because bare legs were simply scandalous. The outfit was completed with two-inch bland, brown satin pumps.
The only thing her mother didn’t choose was her underwear, so—for the simple pleasure of rebellion—Kat went with none at all.
As Mia finished telling her mother about everything the Easter Bunny delivered, her mother took her performance to an Academy level. “That’s wonderful, dear. Your grandfather and I have a little something special for you as well.”
Kat was sure their little something would be three times the size and price of her gifts for Mia, outshining even the Easter Bunny’s efforts.
Rolling her eyes, she scanned the mingling guests. There were a lot people she didn’t recognize.
Just another close-knit D’Angelo holiday.
“Now, you be a good girl and sit down here while I introduce your mother to some of our guests.”
She hated that Mia had to endure this. Crouching next to her with a reassuring squeeze on her arm, Kat whispered, “Just for a little bit, Mia, then Mommy will get your coloring books. Okay, babe? And I promise, tomorrow we’ll do something fun.”
“Like make a cake?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
Mia eagerly nodded. Kat kissed her cheek with a small smile and followed her mother toward the other guests by the bar. Her father turned from his conversation and smiled in greeting. “Katherine. How’s my granddaughter?”
“Hello, Daddy. She’s great.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Katherine, you remember Dr. and Mrs. Malone and their daughter Jennifer and her husband Christian?”
Kat greeted the two couples. Jennifer was around her age. On her left hand she wore a platinum wedding band and a three-carat canary-yellow solitaire diamond. Her belly swelled under her robin’s egg blue, tailored dress and she looked to be nearing the end of her pregnancy.
Jennifer smiled with demure composure. Her husband watched her with obvious devotion and adoration that filled Kat with an oppressive sense of emptiness. “Congratulations on your pregnancy, Jennifer,” she said, as Jennifer preened and gracefully laid her jeweled hand over her belly.
“That’s right, D’Angelo,” Jennifer’s father chimed in. “Twins! Can you believe that? Two boys!”
It still stung whenever she witnessed pride in her parents’ friend’s expressions as they spoke of their grandchildren. She never saw that kind of pride in either of her parents’ eyes. The lukewarm sentiment in which they accepted her as a mother was nothing compared to the way Jennifer’s father raved.
Words of praise paraded about, each syllable trampling Kat’s heart, and cutting her self-esteem into shreds. She mentally wrapped herself in cotton, safe from the jealousy burning inside of her. This was about the point when she let herself go numb.
Her mother directed her attention to another nearby group of men.
“Pardon me, gentlemen,” Vivian politely interrupted. “I’d like to present my daughter. Nathan Lithe, Dawson Price, this is my daughter, Katherine.”
Nathan was a short, stocky man in his late twenties with beady eyes, a receding hairline, and one of those beards that was more of a line around his jaw than actual facial hair. Guys who spent that much time on their personal grooming always freaked her out.
Dawson, on the other hand, was generically handsome. Not runway hot, but good-looking enough to be a model in a department store catalogue. He was tall, about six feet, with short, blond, wavy hair, sun kissed skin, and soft blue eyes.
This was the man her mother wanted her to meet. He definitely was better looking than her, but something was missing. He didn’t bring about any sense of excitement or jitters, feelings she never would’ve accounted for before meeting her new neighbor.
It was difficult to detect a man’s style at functions like this. They all wore the same formal jackets, dress shirts, and pressed slacks. The only variations came in khaki or black. Even the ties knotted at each man’s neck stayed in the safe family of political blues and reds.
She shook both men’s hands as she curved her lips enough to project a passable smile, hating these staged situations her parents insisted on putting her in every few months.
Dawson grinned. “Can I get you a mimosa, Katherine?”
Prepared cocktails were lined up like pretty, decorated debutants all in a row. It would be nice if she could ask for something a little stronger than orange juice and champagne. “Thank you.”
She took the glass while Nathan stared at her breasts from the corner of his beady eyes. As she sipped around the slice of strawberry garnishing the rim, she casually posed her arms, blocking his view.
“We were discussing the verdict of the Triton case,” Nathan said with egocentric sentiment.
The Triton case was a local trial that wound up getting more than local attention in the media. Apparently, the woman was a victim of chronic domestic abuse. She eventually snapped and backed over her husband with their minivan. The trial had been going on for a year and last week the jury sided in favor of the husband. Mrs. Triton was convicted of manslaughter.
“You’ll have to excuse Nathan, Katherine. He’s a cut throat attorney and cases such as the Triton trial are pure catnip to him.”
In other words, he’s an unethical sleaze with money. “Oh?” she commented with feigned interest.
“That saucy bitch deserves every hour she spends in that jail if you ask me.” No one had. “She drove her husband to the brink of insanity as much as she drove that minivan the night she killed him.”
“How so, Mr. Lithe?” she asked, ignoring his inappropriate language and the sense that she shouldn’t bait this man.
“He never laid a hand on her until he caught her in bed with the neighbor. She was a harlot and the entire town knew it.”
“And you believe infidelity’s deserving of such brutality?”
Mr. Triton had been rumored to do every despicable thing from slapping his wife to throwing her down a flight of stairs and kicking her until she lost consciousness.
“I believe,” Dawson interrupted before the conversation became too heated, “that a husband should know how to keep his wife adequately satisfied in the first place. If Mr. Triton had done that, then his wife never would’ve strayed.”
Kat looked at him and caught a devilish gleam in his eyes. His suggestive comment gave her chills, but not in the way he intended. Who flirted while discussing manslaughter? This was the man her parents wanted her to date?
Kat hid her unimpressed expression behind her champagne flute and raised her eyebrows. Dawson was sure to be another trial in pacifying her mother. She hoped she wouldn’t have to take this one too far. There really wasn’t anything wrong with Dawson. He just didn’t do anything for her.
A servant announced that dinner was about to be served in the formal dining room. Kat excused herself to check on Mia.
All the guests seated themsel
ves at the large table while she found herself sitting with Dawson to her right and Jennifer to her left. Her father was at the head of the table and her mother at the foot. Mia was seated next to Vivian to ensure she was on her best behavior. Heaven forbid she do anything to wreck her parents’ special night.
The dinner was a seven-course meal with all the trimmings of a traditional Easter feast. The rack of lamb formed a cradle for the ham. Mint jelly and pineapple soufflé sat in fragile glass dishes to the left of each guest. There were candied yams and smoked salmon crudités and many other useless tasty treats created for show more than sustenance. The white-gloved service was sure to impress her parents’ colleagues. Kat couldn’t wait to leave.
“Your father tells me you work in a psychologist’s office,” Dawson said between bites.
“Yes.” She placed the linen napkin in her lap. “In New Castle.”
“And do you enjoy working?”
“I started there out of necessity, not interest, but yes, I enjoy my job. I have a great boss. Do you like what you do?”
She was trying to be polite for her parents’ sake. Dawson could have very well been a man she found interesting, but having him foisted on her triggered an instinctual aversion. Her mom was a control freak and she hated being manipulated. Who she dated—if she dated—was up to her.
“It’s interesting. Being on the board can be tedious at times, but it has its moments. I like the political aspects.”
She didn’t reply, so Dawson continued.
“Do you miss living in Parkside?”
“Not really. I rent a small cottage in Upper New Castle. Mia loves it there and that’s what’s important.”
“Mia?” he asked, tilting his head in question, but keeping his expression friendly.
“Yes, my daughter.” She motioned to Mia sitting next to her mother.
“Oh, yes, and how old’s Mia now?”
“She turned three in January. Do you like children, Mr. Price?”
“I hope to have many of my own someday and please, call me Dawson.”
Their conversation lulled as the next course was served. Throughout the meal she occasionally caught Nathan Lithe watching her. Whenever their eyes met he offered a leering smile that made her skin crawl. Dawson continued to make small talk and her mother appeared pleased giving her sidelong, approving glances from the end of the table.
First Comes Love (New Castle Book 1) Page 8
