How Cat Got a Life

by Tatiana March

  “Ready?” Brock said and curled his arms beneath her shoulders to anchor her in place. The hard lines of his face reflected an intense focus, the effort he made to hold in check the urgency that drove him on.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He rose on his elbows. In one smooth thrust, he buried himself inside her.

  Impossibly deep, he stretched her, poised above her to allow her to get used to his size and shape, the fierce penetration that demanded that she accommodate him.

  Her body pulsed around him, holding him in.

  He slid back out, slowly, inch by inch, only to surge back inside and halt there once more. This time the pause was restless, with short jerks of his hips that sought to embed him deeper, make her take all of him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Cat nodded. Her lungs wouldn’t obey and breathe. A violent trembling seized her legs around him. Blood hammered in her ears so hard the sound deafened her.

  “Don’t let me hurt you.” He lowered his shoulders to press a light kiss on her mouth, a sharp contrast to the hard invasion inside her.

  Raising his head, he looked at her. “Beautiful,” he said. “And mine.”

  He braced his weight up on his arms, lifted away from her, withdrew once more and thrust back inside, then repeated the motion. Over and over again he surged in and out of her, forging a pounding rhythm that rocked her on the bed, would have pushed her up along the mattress if she hadn’t used her legs to lock her in place, to stay close to him.

  Inside her, the tight muscles flexed and throbbed, trying to hold onto him as he withdrew, inviting him back as he returned. Higher and higher, she soared into the mindless abandon that she had told him she craved. Increasingly frantic in pace, his advance and recoil pushed her toward release. He gave her no choice, no respite, even when the tension inside her ratcheted so tight that she feared she’d go mad when it finally broke.

  And then it happened. The orgasm burst inside her, gripping her in its current and buffeting her like a leaf. She was only dimly aware of how he arched above her, arms locked at the elbows, head thrown back, his mouth open in a roar that echoed around the bedroom, as primal and powerful as their coupling.

  The waves of pleasure continued to ripple through her. Cat felt her inner contractions, felt the spurts as he emptied himself inside her. Above her, Brock remained frozen, eyes closed, his face a mask of agony. Then he collapsed, not down on top of her, but by her side, rolling her with him, so their bodies didn’t separate.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, the apology muffled as he buried his face in her hair. “I didn’t mean to be so rough. It’s just that…well, depression kills the libido, and I didn’t want to be unfaithful. It’s been a very long time for me.”

  She lay languid in his arms. “You didn’t hurt me. It was…” She sought for the right word, then gave up and shrugged her shoulders. “Wonderful.”

  Brock rolled over on top of her, sliding out of her. He cupped her face between his hands and met her gaze with a taut smile. “Wonderful, huh? That’s good news, because I have a feeling I’ll want to do it again.” He pressed his mouth on her lips. “And again.” He paused for another kiss. “And again.”

  ****

  The ringing sound tore Cat from deep sleep. Brock had already reached over and picked up the cell phone he’d placed by the bedside. He snapped on the light and sat up on the edge of the bed. Squinting against the brightness, Cat watched his face harden as he talked.

  “Yes…how many…who’s there…?” He rattled out a series of questions. As he spoke, he rolled to his feet and pulled a uniform out of the closet with one hand while holding the cell phone to his ear with the other.

  “What is it?” Cat asked as soon as he ended the call.

  “Someone tried to hold up the all night gas station. No fatalities, but Lester Silverton was shot in the shoulder. He’s on his way to the hospital.”

  “Oh?” It seemed such an inadequate thing to say, but her listless mind couldn’t come up with anything else.

  “I’ve got to go over, take statements and try to apprehend the shooter.”

  Her brain awoke slowly and focused on the situation. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Yes.” Brock finished dressing and bent to press a quick kiss on her lips. “You can stay here and answer the phone if anyone calls on the landline. Tell them that I’m at the scene and dispatch can get me on my cell. If you need anything, here’s the number.”

  He pulled a pad from the bedside chest, wrote a string of digits on the top sheet, tore it off and handed it to her.

  “Should I give the number to anyone who calls?” she asked.

  “No. I don’t want reporters and concerned relatives blocking my line. Tell them to call the dispatch, and they’ll put through anything important.” He straightened and looked down at her. “Will you be all right on your own?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She forced smile. “Just be careful.”

  Brock nodded and strode out. Cat heard the front door close, and the car back out of the drive. Then silence closed in around her. She lay down again and tried to go back to sleep. For a while, her mind drifted, reliving the night they had shared and the passion that had soared between them. An edgy longing began to race along her skin, and Cat made an effort to shut away those thoughts.

  She wanted to get up, find something to do, but she only had an evening gown to wear. Feeling awkward by her intrusion, Cat got up and peeked into the closets until she found a gray sweatshirt and draw-cord pants. She pulled them on, tightened the cord on the pants and rolled up the legs and the sleeves on the garments that swamped her.

  The bathroom contained no clutter, but she found a disposable toothbrush in a wicker basket on the shelf and used it.

  Downstairs, Cat drifted through the rooms, switching on the lights and turning them off again after admiring the antique furniture. Finally, she settled down in the kitchen. The cupboards were nearly bare, but she found some eggs and cheese and bread. She prepared the table for breakfast, assuming Brock would return before the morning.

  As she busied herself with the chores, Cat couldn’t stop her mind from building daydreams, imagining it was just one of many nights she’d wait up for Brock. It might just be a fling between them, but if she had her wish, something more would come of it, something solid and lasting.

  ****

  Brock parked in the drive and unlocked the front door quietly. Lights shone from the kitchen.

  “Cat?” he called out.

  “I’m here.” She patted down the hall, her feet muffled in huge socks, her body dwarfed in his gray sweats. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I raided your closet for something to wear.”

  “Looks good on you.” He bent to kiss her lips.

  “How is that man…Lester?” Her brows knotted as she searched her memory for the name.

  “He’s fine. They got the bullet out. Flesh wound, no permanent damage. His wife is with him.”

  “Did you catch the shooter?”

  “No. We have footage from a surveillance camera, but I’m not sure how much help it will be.’ He scrubbed his face, tired and angry at the defeat. ‘He was driving a stolen car and wore a baseball cap low over his head.”

  “Do these kinds of incidents happen often?”

  Brock sat down and reached out an arm to pull Cat into his lap. “When you’re with me, there’s always a possibility that I’ll have to leave in a hurry. Dinner out, movies, shopping…making love…anything can get interrupted.”

  “Heavens. Does that mean that we need to take two cars every time we go out?”

  “No.” He smiled. Some of the tension eased out of his muscles as he realized she wouldn’t complain about being neglected, at least not tonight. “But sometimes you might have to get a cab home.”

  Cat nodded. “Okay.”

  “Does that bother you?” He wound a strand of her hair around his finger and nuzzled her neck.

  �
��No. But I want to learn more about how everything works. Emergencies, dispatch, that sort of thing. So that I can be of some use if people call when I’m stranded in your house.”

  Brock studied her expression as she spoke. She seemed calm. No signs of panic or anxiety. She offered him support and warmth, instead draining the last of his energy. What would it be like to always come home to a woman like that?

  “Did you go back to sleep?” he asked.

  Cat shook her head. “I was too edgy. I roamed about the house. Where did you get the furniture from?”

  “My grandparents. This house used to belong to them.”

  “I puttered about a little. Cleaned in the kitchen and set up things for breakfast. You’ll have to show me where you keep your laundry. I like to do ironing when I can’t sleep at night.”

  “Ironing, huh?” He blew into her ear. “Can’t you think of anything better?”

  “Not anything that I can do alone.”

  “You’re not alone now.” He pushed up to his feet, holding her in his arms. “I vote we go back to bed.”

  “I second the proposal.” She opened the top button on is uniform shirt and kissed his chest. “I could get used to this, you know.”

  “So could I,” Brock said as he set off to carry her upstairs.

  Chapter Seven

  “Mrs. Bridgewater!”

  Cat halted by the reception desk on her way back from her extended sentence of community service. She’d snuck into the hotel early that morning, wearing her evening dress and high heels, and rushed out again after hastily showering and dressing for the office.

  “We put a charge through for your first week on your credit card. Could I take another imprint, please?”

  “Of course.” She stepped up to the young man behind the counter.

  He took her Visa card and swiped it. Frowning at the display, he keyed in the number manually. “I’m afraid it’s not going through,’ he said. ‘Do you have another card?”

  Her lungs stopped working. “No. Could I…write a check?”

  “You don’t have to pay until you leave. Perhaps you can speak to your credit card company tomorrow and find out what the problem is.” The young man handed the card to back her, not appearing particularly concerned.

  Cat’s legs barely supported her as she made her way to the cramped business center and sat at the computer. She logged on to her account. Oh God. She’d maxed out on her credit card. The car rental company took prepayment, and she had upgraded her flight home to a flexible ticket, and bought that horrendously expensive dress. Her hands shook as she entered the password to her checking account. The balance stood at just under two hundred dollars. She transferred it all to her credit card. The amount would cover the previous night at the hotel.

  A shudder ran through her as she read through her emails and learned that the accountant dealing with the closure of Tim’s business had found another unpaid invoice. The small safety net she’d relied on was gone, the last of their funds depleted, leaving her with nothing to fall back on.

  Cat pulled herself together and returned to the counter. Quietly, she explained to the young man that she had a problem at home that needed taking care of. His eyes grew cool, but he had enough compassion to let her check out immediately and not charge her for the coming night. She rushed upstairs and packed her things. The evening dress didn’t fit in her trolley case. She considered trying to take it back for a refund, but she’d cut off the tags, and fifty people had seen her wearing the outfit.

  Feeling numb, Cat went over her options. She could sleep on the floor in Dalton’s dorm room. No. Her mouth compressed into a hard line. It would break all the college rules, and if her Mrs. Robinson remark had been repeated around town, she couldn’t be seen mixing with young men.

  Go to Brock. Ask him for help. Temptation whispered in her ear. She crushed the idea at once. He’d been out of the office all day, but he’d called her to let her know he was thinking of her and would see her tomorrow. His words filled her mind. I’ve got a reelection to think of next year. Consorting with a woman of dubious morals could ruin my campaign. The rumors about her moral corruption could be written off as a joke, but if she stayed, she’d end up writing bad checks.

  There was only one answer. She’d have to go home. She had a few pieces of jewelry she could sell, and they would have to give up the condo Dalton had inherited from his father. She’d fly home tonight, get a realtor in tomorrow, and call Brock in the morning to explain.

  Cat called the airline from the room, cursing the fact that she hadn’t replaced her broken cell phone. Bitter laughter caught in her throat—more like a sob really—when she realized she couldn’t afford a new phone anyway. She got a seat on the last flight and called Dalton. He wasn’t picking up, and she left a brief message to say she was flying home tonight and would call in the morning. At least she had upgraded to a flexible ticket. If she hadn’t, she might be stuck on a park bench while she tried to raise funds.

  It took her two trips to the car, one with her luggage and another with the evening dress folded over her arm in the protective plastic bag from the store. She paused at the reception and paid for the telephone calls.

  Tears of panic stung her eyes as she sat, listless, in the rental car. They were broke, totally and utterly broke. Like a train hurtling down the tracks, the disaster had been looming down on her, but she had ignored it, always hoping for some last minute miracle.

  She should have known better. Miracles didn’t happen in real life.

  ****

  It had been one of those days—a pile-up on the highway, a brawl at Stan Merrill’s diner, and a case of theft at the metal foundry on the industrial estate. Brock didn’t get home until eight. In the kitchen, cups stood on the table, arranged for the breakfast they hadn’t had the time to stop for in the morning.

  Loneliness pressed around him. He’d barely had time to call Cat in the office for a quick hello. The urge to see her seized him. He picked up the phone and called the hotel. One thing was sure—he knew what to get for her for Christmas, a new cell phone in the same network as his.

  “Mrs. Bridgewater, please. She’s in room 335.”

  “I’m afraid she checked out today.”

  “Checked out?” His voice rose in surprise. “Did she move to another hotel?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  Brock thanked the man and slowly lowered the receiver. Concern and anger fought inside him. What had happened? Where had she gone and why the hell hadn’t she let him know?

  He found the number to Dalton’s cell phone and dialed.

  “Where’s Cat?” he asked as soon as the young man picked up. “She has checked out from her hotel.”

  “I don’t know. She left me a message an hour ago that she’s flying home tonight and will call me from there. Her flight is at ten-twenty.” The young man lowered his voice. “I thought she might have had an argument with you. Her message sounded terse, but I guess she was just in a hurry to catch her plane.”

  “Thanks.” Brock broke the connection.

  She was gone. Just like that. The worry that something had happened to Cat faded, and the fury that had been brewing inside him sprung free. She’d set out to seduce him after he told her that he didn’t approve of sex before marriage. It must have given her a thrill, seeing a reluctant man turn into a rampant bull in bed.

  He’d been nothing but a challenge to her.

  Brock’s jaw tightened. He might have thrown his own principles out of the window, but he still had law and order to uphold. She’d committed a misdemeanor, and the charges wouldn’t be dropped unless she served her full eighty hours of community service. By God, he would see that she worked every minute of her time, even if he had to drag her back himself.

  How had he allowed himself to fall in love with such a manipulative little vixen? The thought struck Brock as he rushed through the hall, reaching for his car keys on the side table. His feet rooted to the floor, and his
hand froze in the air.

  Love?

  His shoulders fell and he blew out an angry sigh. Hell, it had caught him like a hurricane, an inevitable force that brooked no resistance, gave no choice. The idea of the kind of life she could give him had simmered in the depths of his mind until he wanted that life with a ferocity that left him reeling.

  Cat had toyed with him. She was a fool if she thought he’d just let her walk away without paying the price for her actions.

  ****

  Around Cat, people settled in their seats. Businessmen, two soldiers in uniform, families with sleepy children. Anxiety pressed in her chest. Tomorrow, she’d have to explain the situation to Dalton. She’d have to remain firm, refuse any suggestions that he could give up college.

  How much should she reveal to Brock? She didn’t want his pity, or his scorn for failing to deal with the financial mess sooner.

  Cat closed her eyes and sighed.

  In a few months, when she’d sold the condo and tidied up the last loose ends of Tim’s business, she could take another trip down and see if anything remained between them. By then, a long line of beauties might have jumped in and out of Brock’s bed. His passion as a lover had given her an inkling that he might want to make up for lost time.

  So be it. She couldn’t stay and risk harming his career.

  The loudspeakers pinged. Cat opened her eyes. The seatbelt sign had come on. A stewardess walked down the aisle and bent down to her. “Mrs. Bridgewater, would you please come with me? You’ll need to take your bags with you.”

  They were going to upgrade her! At any other time she’d have whooped with joy. Now she could barely be bothered to move, but obediently she gathered her tote and paused to extract her trolley bag from the overhead compartment.

  They proceeded past the seating, to the galley at the front of the plane.

  “That’s her.” The tightly spoken words came from the open exit door.

  Cat whirled around. A startled cry left her mouth as she saw Brock looming at the top of the steps. How could he at the same time look totally expressionless and angrier than any man she had ever seen? It seemed as if his entire being radiated menace. A handgun rode in full sight at his hip, and a pair of steel cuffs dangled from his hand.