by Jamie Hill
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Total-e-bound
www.total-e-bound.com
Copyright ©2008 by Jamie Hill
First published in 2008, 2008
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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A Total-e-bound Publication
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www.total-e-bound.com
Convincing Cate
ISBN # 978-1-906328-99-3
©Copyright Jamie Hill 2008
Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright December 2007
Edited by Janice Bennett
Total-e-bound books
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks.
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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2008 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
CONVINCING CATE
Jamie Hill
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About the Author
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Dedication
To Janice Bennett, who encourages me to find my inner sizzle!
Thanks for all your hard work.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
She was pretty enough to be a high-priced call girl, but he didn't think she was. Vince Mason stood back and surreptitiously watched the woman seated at table twenty-nine in the restaurant where he waited tables. She was a beauty, with deep, chocolate-brown eyes and full, red lips. Stylish, short brown hair framed her face. He usually preferred longer hair on a woman, but in this case, the style suited her. There wasn't one thing he'd change about this woman. Catherine Reynolds.
He knew her name because table twenty-nine was his table, and she entertained guests at the restaurant at least twice a week. That's what she appeared to be doing, anyway. She was with different people every night. Usually men, occasionally women, but Miss Reynolds always paid the ticket with her credit card.
Vince called her Miss Reynolds out of respect, and hoped one day she'd say, 'Call me Catherine'. She hadn't yet, but he still hoped.
Another waiter brushed past him from the kitchen and mumbled, “Watch out, man!"
"Sorry.” Vince stepped out of the way, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the swinging metal door. Unkempt, curly brown hair was the first thing he spotted. Probably the first thing anyone spotted when they first saw him. He always thought the hair made him look about fifteen, and apparently others agreed. He was often asked to show identification when he bought beer or nudie magazines, even now at the age of twenty-three.
He'd tried a super-short razor haircut once, but friends agreed it wasn't his best look. He was blessed, or cursed, with a head full of curls. Vince's mother called him cute. He wasn't sure about that, but he knew starting around his junior year in high school, and all through college, he'd had no trouble attracting girls. Now graduated, he worked at the restaurant full-time, while on the side, perfecting his true love, painting.
He had plenty of dates. Women seemed to love a starving artist and many offered to pose nude while he painted them. He hated to tell them still life wasn't his thing. Vince greatly preferred landscapes, and his favourite subjects were beaches and lighthouses. But the ‘Thomas Kincaid’ route didn't get him laid nearly as often as the willing, young models did, so he at least attempted still life on a regular basis.
Another glance at Catherine Reynolds had his cock tenting his khakis, and he tried to think about anything to make the bulge go away. His thoughts kept returning to her and he glanced over, noticing her proper business jacket and skirt.
In his fantasy, they were alone in the restaurant. They both knew what they wanted and weren't going to be shy about getting it. She watched his face while peeling off her jacket, revealing a lacy chemise underneath. Vince eyed her hungrily. Dropping his gaze to her full breasts, he reached out and trailed a thumb over one nipple. It poked out seductively through the silken blouse. He imagined ripping the soft white fabric from her body and burying his face between those two luscious mounds of flesh. When he'd had his fill, nipping and sucking each nipple to firmness, he'd lower her skirt and the tiny thong underneath. She'd lie back on the table and squirm with pleasure as his mouth and tongue explored every inch of the soft flesh between her legs.
Vince groaned. The bulge in his pants throbbed, and his daydream didn't help. She was damn gorgeous, and deep down he knew that being with her was an impossible fantasy. Catherine was perfection, grace and style like he'd never seen before. For a brief instant, Vince wished she was a call girl, because then, once they'd agreed on the price, she'd be his, for a night, anyway. But he didn't really want that. He simply wanted her.
"She wants you."
"Huh?” Vince shook his head back to reality and looked at Tony, the bartender.
"The classy broad at table twenty-nine. She's making eyes at you."
He glanced over and saw Miss Reynolds trying to get his attention. “Oh yeah.” Vince pulled her ticket from his back pocket and headed her way, his erection and dreams deflated. “Have you saved any room for dessert tonight?” he asked cheerily.
"No, just the check, please.” She looked right through him.
He handed her the ticket and she glanced over it absently before returning it with her credit card. “Here you go."
"Be right back,” he replied, and sauntered to the bar where he could ring up the ticket on the cash register.
"She's a looker,” Tony commented.
Vince ignored him. Catherine was his dream woman, and he didn't want to discuss her with anyone. He picked up her sales slip and credit card and returned to the table.
"Here you go, Miss Reynolds.” He set them in front of her and watched her sign the slip.
"Thank you.” She smiled briefly at him before returning her attention to her guests.
That quick smile warmed his heart more than her generous thirty percent tip. She was a knockout, and he could stay there staring at her all night. But she was scooting out of the bench and standing, and her guests were leaving. Vince stepped back, reluctantly watching them go.
"Can we get some more iced tea over here, please?” A woman from the next table spoke up.
He turned his smile and attention to her. “You bet. I'll be right back."
When he glanced toward the door, Catherine was gone. So was his excitement for the evening. Now it was mundane, routine work. Sometimes he m
ade it bearable by chatting up the older women customers. They enjoyed it and left better tips. The one woman he was really interested in had departed, and all he could do was wonder when she'd be back.
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To Vince's great pleasure, Catherine returned the following evening. He didn't usually work Saturday nights, but another waiter had asked him to trade shifts. When she walked in and was seated at her regular table, he wondered if the weekend visit was normal for her. He realised he didn't know.
"Good evening, Miss Reynolds,” he greeted her cordially.
"Hello Vince.” She didn't seem to be in a very good mood.
"Nice evening,” he commented, hoping to draw her out.
"It would be if I wasn't working.” She appeared irritated.
Happy or not, Vince still thought she looked beautiful.
"Yeah, I don't usually work Saturdays, either. There's a big mud wrestling thing going on over at Hooters.” He grinned at her hopefully.
She chuckled. “Which you're missing, or it's the reason you're working?"
Vince felt his face redden with embarrassment. “It's the reason I'm working. Another waiter friend of mine wanted to go. I wouldn't have gone. It's not my—” He started to say it wasn't his style, but how would that sound? What guy wouldn't like to watch half-naked, beautiful women rolling around in a mud pit? He didn't want to imply he was gay.
She held up a hand. “It's okay, I understand. Wrestling has never been my ‘thing’ either. I'm into less violent contact sports."
When she licked her lower lip, he reached out for the table to control his swoon. “Can I, uh, get you a drink to start with?” Vince desperately needed to change the subject before his burgeoning erection became obvious.
"Yes, vodka martini, please. The couple I'm meeting are late. I might as well have a drink to pass the time."
"Yes, ma'am.” He nodded and hurried off to the bar. Tony fixed her drink and Vince set the martini down in front of her. “There you go, Miss Reynolds."
She took a long gulp of her drink and looked up at him. “Thank you, Vince. If my clients aren't here in ten minutes, bring me another, will you?"
"Of course.” He checked his watch and served meals to two other tables. Twelve minutes later he returned to table twenty-nine. “Another vodka martini,” he said, setting it down and removing her first, empty glass.
"I despise waiting,” she muttered, and started in on the new drink.
"I'm sorry your clients aren't here."
"Yeah, thanks.” She pulled out a cell phone.
He took the hint and left. Vince got busy with his other tables and the next time he checked twenty-nine, it was empty. He glanced around quickly, amazed that she could have left without his noticing. He spotted her at the bar and breathed a sigh of relief.
Tony said something to her, and she laughed flirtatiously.
Not a good thing, Vince thought, and as soon as possible he stepped up to the bar. “You disappeared on me,” he said teasingly.
"You were busy. My clients cancelled, so I decided to move to the bar and let Tony take care of me."
"Happy to do it,” Tony said in a smooth voice.
Vince shot the bartender a dirty look, but the man didn't seem to notice. Tony had the reputation of being a ladies’ man, and routinely left with different women. It seemed tonight he had his eye on Miss Reynolds.
She spun to look at Vince and almost fell off her barstool. Laughing, she clutched the bar.
Tony patted her hand. “Easy there."
"Are you all right, Miss Reynolds?” Vince asked, genuinely concerned. Tony had his own agenda, and getting her tipsy was probably part of it. But Vince didn't like seeing her that way.
"I'm fine,” she slurred. “Vince, do you suppose you could stop calling me ‘Miss Reynolds’ and ‘ma'am'? It makes me feel so old."
"Of course...” he trailed off, not sure how to address her.
"Call me Cate,” she offered, and batted her eyelashes.
"Cate,” he repeated. The nickname suited her. More fitting than Catherine, even.
Tony rubbed her hand intimately. “So Catie, I'm closing up in another hour. How about I see you home safely?"
"That would be lovely,” she slurred again, barely able to remain on the stool.
"I don't know, Cate,” Vince grasped her arm and righted her. “I'm not sure you can make another hour. I'm off now, and I'd be happy to see you home."
Tony tossed a dagger-sharp glance his way. “Not a problem, kid. I can handle it."
Vince removed the book of blank tickets from his back pocket and slapped it on the bar. “No problem for me, either. If you'd be so kind as to punch my time card, I'll get her out of here.” He helped Cate stand and she smiled at him. She didn't seem to care who took her home, and that worried Vince.
"G'night, Tony.” She waved to the bartender, and they headed for the door.
Tony tossed him one last evil glance, but he merely smiled and nodded. “Night, Tony.” He held Cate's arm firmly and led her to his car.
She settled into the front seat comfortably, clutching her purse. Vince realised she probably had a tab to pay. She'd also have a car to pick up. He felt sure she'd take care of everything the next day.
Fastening her seatbelt before his, Vince started the car. “Where do you live, Cate?"
"Downtown,” she replied, giggling.
He sighed. He could check her driver's license if he had to, but didn't really want to go through her purse. “A little more information, please?"
Still chuckling, she answered, “Twelve-thirty-seven Starlight Drive, number three."
Nodding, Vince said, “Okay. I know where that is.” He glanced sideways, wondering if this was a new thing or a regular thing for her. “So your clients cancelled on you. Does that happen often?” He wanted to know what type of clients she had.
"No, it doesn't. These people were a special case my boss wanted me to take on. He made me work on the weekend. Then they didn't even show. I was not a happy camper."
"What kind of work do you do?” He realised he was holding his breath.
"Mutual funds, investments, insurance. I can set up the perfect porfholio for anybody."
Relief washed through him, and he smiled. Deep down he knew she wasn't a hooker, but her behaviour tonight had his thoughts wavering. “I have no doubt that's true,” he told her. “But tonight, you can't even say portfolio."
"What do you know about portfolios?” She yawned.
It was a good thing her apartment was close, she was almost asleep. “I'm an artist, so I work with a different kind of portfolio."
"An artist?” She perked up. “I thought you were a waiter."
"Waiting tables pays the bills. Painting's what I love.” He pulled into a parking space and stopped. “I believe this is you."
Cate peered around. “Oh, yeah. How did we get here?"
"Magic.” Vince helped her out and up the stairs to apartment three. “Keys?"
She thrust her purse at him, grasping the wall with one hand and her head with the other. “I don't feel so well."
"I should think not.” He delicately searched her purse, pulled out keys and unlocked the door. “Go ahead."
She rushed in and headed straight for the bathroom. Vince looked around for a paper and pen and wrote her a note. He explained what happened in case she didn't remember and left his phone number. Stopping at the bathroom door, he called, “You okay, Cate?"
"Yeah,” she said in a throaty voice. “But I'm sorry, I don't think—"
"I'll be going then,” he cut her off. “I left my phone number on the kitchen table. Call me tomorrow if you'd like a ride back to your car."
"Oh,” she sounded surprised. “Thanks."
"Get some sleep. Goodnight.” He touched the door gently and then walked away.
Glancing around her apartment, Vince realised it was nice but not extravagant. The way she dressed led him to believe she'd live in a much fancier place. Lock
ing the door behind him, he headed back down to his car and home.
It was late, and he was tired. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nothing compared to what Cate was probably experiencing, he thought wryly. It saddened him to see her drunk and ready to go home with the first guy who offered. He wondered if she'd be disappointed when she woke up alone.
Vince's apartment was a mere ten minutes from Cate's, but the neighbourhood was older. He couldn't afford much, and the small one room studio suited his needs. He locked the doors to his old car and went inside. Not that anyone would want that hunk of junk. It was rusty, needed a fender and a new heater. But he'd be hard pressed without it.
A red flashing light blinked from his answering machine. After pushing the play button, he began to unbutton his shirt. He opened the refrigerator door and removed a bottle of water.
"Hi honey, it's Mom,” a familiar voice came through the machine. “How was your day? You're not home, so I hope you're on a date having fun. Oh geez, you might still be on the date! I'm sorry! Why are you checking your messages while you're on a date? Okay, I'll let you go. Call me. I love you. I shouldn't have said that. Oh well, it's true, I do! Deal with it! Call me."
Vince laughed as he sank into his easy chair. His mother was great. They'd always been close, even before his father's untimely death at the hands of a drunk driver. Vince had been six and pretty much the only thing his mother had left.
She'd taught him to paint, filling the lonely hours with something she enjoyed and he grew to love. They discovered he had a real talent for it. His mother was also talented, Vince knew, but she only painted for herself. He had loftier goals.
He wanted to see his work hanging in galleries. He hoped to make a name for himself in the art world. His mother encouraged him, and they were both optimistic that it might happen one day.
The one thing Marissa Mason complained about was Vince's love life. He was her only child, and she wanted to see him happy. She also reminded him constantly how much she'd love grandkids. He knew her feelings and promised, as soon as the time was right, he'd welcome children into his life. He needed to find the perfect woman first.
