Caught in the Act (The Davenports)

by Law, Kim

  He turned his back to her and closed his eyes against the sound of her feet heading down his deck stairs.

  “I wouldn’t call it ‘back,’ ” he finally muttered into the phone.

  At four o’clock that afternoon, Brody was sitting in his cramped office at St. Mary’s, the small television that was attached to the wall in the corner tuned to a national news station. He was still steaming from his argument with Cat.

  He couldn’t believe she’d walked out.

  He couldn’t believe he’d thought she might change.

  But she had left. And she hadn’t changed.

  An hour after she’d crossed their yards, he’d watched her car back out of her garage. She’d still been wearing his hoodie. And every single vehicle parked on the street had pulled out after her.

  Irritation with himself had him muting the TV in his office. He needed to put her out of his mind. Probably he should have left the school hours ago. Found something else to do. Maybe someone else to do. He certainly didn’t need to continue sitting there, waiting to see what Cat’s family planned to say. Or to see Cat standing there with them.

  He needed to accept that the two of them were over.

  Because if she came back . . . and if he took her back . . . it truly would be just for the sex.

  He picked up his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. He needed to call Clyde. Make sure Cat hadn’t forgotten to let him know she was gone. Laura would have to step into the lead role tonight, which meant Laura’s role would now be left empty.

  He and Clyde had talked about that potential, and Clyde’s wife was a possible backup. The woman usually took part in the plays but had decided to sit this one out. She’d wanted to spend the summer at the beach with the grandkids instead of at the playhouse with her husband. But she was the director’s wife. She’d step in during their time of need.

  Brody only hoped that Laura was ready for her new role. Because this poor play had stood about all the ups and downs it could take.

  Such as his latest rejection. He’d sent an updated copy to his dream agent earlier in the week, but it had failed to impress. The man had passed.

  Additionally, there had been no further word from Ben Searcy. No matter what Cat had said, Brody hadn’t wanted to use her name to entice the man up here. Looked like that had been a wise decision, given that she’d left town.

  He gritted his teeth.

  When the full-screen view of the reporter pulled away to allow a picture to appear in the top corner of the television, Brody turned the volume back up. Cameras were positioned in front of a stately front porch where a podium and microphone were set up. The on-air reporter was making small talk about the Davenport home as she waited for the press conference to begin.

  He found Clyde’s number and hit the button to make the call.

  “And joining us from Portland, Maine . . .”

  Brody whipped his gaze back to the television. Cat was on the screen now, her public face in place as she nodded politely to the camera. She was in another inset box, this one in the lower corner.

  “She’s still in Maine,” he muttered.

  “Hello?” Clyde said on the other end of the phone. “Brody? Who’s still in Maine?”

  Brody realized his call had connected. “I’m sorry. I’ll, uh . . .”—he couldn’t take his eyes off the TV—“call you back.”

  “Oh-kay.” Clyde sounded as confused as Brody felt, but Brody didn’t give himself time to worry about it. He disconnected and once again grabbed the remote.

  At the noticeably higher volume, the department receptionist leaned back in her desk chair and stared into his office. Her head was tilted down so she could see over her bifocals, and she wore a seriously perturbed expression. He got up and shut the door.

  Then he walked backward to his desk, never taking his eyes off the TV.

  Emma and JP Davenport stepped out onto the porch, followed immediately by JP’s wife. The screen switched so the Davenports filled the space. Cat remained in her own box.

  She wasn’t with them.

  Brody’s heart raced as he wondered what that might mean.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had on a green dress that complemented her blonde hair flawlessly, and she looked softer than he’d ever seen her. She still wore her Davenport air, but she somehow seemed more like the girl he’d known nineteen years ago. Not the daughter of Senator Emma Davenport.

  She looked more solid in herself. As if she finally had a foot stuck firmly outside those lines that gave her so much trouble, instead of both being planted directly within her mother’s reach.

  The three in Atlanta stood quietly as cameras in the audience flashed, then the crowd hushed. Emma Davenport stepped to the podium. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. And thank you all for being here. We’ll make this brief. There have been allegations about my late husband that have been brought forward in the past week, and it pains me to say that unfortunately, we now believe some of these allegations to be true. Jackson Senior was involved in a brief relationship during his last campaign. He was riddled with cancer, and it was very poor judgment on his part, but that did not change the stalwart man that he was. The man who did decades of good for this country.”

  Brody tuned her out. He didn’t care to hear her words, because that’s all they were. Words. What he was interested in was Cat. And knowing why she was in Maine.

  She looked amazing.

  “Since we’ve learned of the child,” Emma said, her voice droning into his brain once again, “we’ve done everything for him and his mother that we can. My son has set up a trust for the boy’s education.”

  “It’s lies.”

  Brody jerked his gaze to the door. Cat stood there. In the same green dress she wore on TV.

  “What’s lies?” he asked. He could barely speak from the adrenaline roaring through him.

  “Everything she’s saying.”

  Of course it was. He could have told her that much. He rose from his seat but stayed behind his desk.

  Cat glanced at the receptionist—who was, no doubt, leaning an ear in their direction—then quietly closed the door. They stood looking at each other from across the room.

  “Not about the school,” she continued. “JP is paying for that. The kid has severe dyslexia. JP suffered from the same so he understands the need for specialized tutors and the right schools. I would have helped, myself, if he’d bothered to tell me about Daniel when he first found out.”

  “When did he find out?”

  “Last year.” She moved farther into the room, a tiny scowl creasing the spot between her eyes as she edged a heeled foot around a pile of books on his floor. “Actually, JP found out last year. My mother has known about Daniel since before my dad died.”

  Brody was floored by both the pronouncement and the fact that Cat was sharing it with him. “Your mother knew the woman was pregnant?”

  “Girl. Woman.” Cat nodded. “Whatever you want to call her.”

  Oh God, he couldn’t be hearing this. He was the enemy.

  Only he wasn’t.

  He was Cat’s lover.

  He was the man who wanted to be a whole lot more than a lover.

  “When did you find out?” he asked.

  She reached the spot directly in front of his desk and her solid gaze landed on his. “Right before I came to Maine.”

  He was beginning to understand why she was staying in a rental house instead of the family home. She may not be ready to admit it, but she was distancing herself. She was trying to break free.

  His chest burst with renewed hope.

  “She also wrote a fat check,” Cat added. “Eight years ago. With the instructions that Lexi was to stay quiet. Forever.”

  “Ah, shit.”

  “Right.” She smirked. “Just wait until that one
comes out.”

  “Hopefully it won’t.”

  Her eyes held pain. “I’m not sure I even care if it does.”

  That was a change. And he wasn’t sure he believed her. But she was here. That had to mean something.

  The voice on the TV changed to Cat’s, and Brody shifted his gaze to watch her make her statement. She was saying all the right words, but he knew her better now. Whereas before he would have thought she believed everything she was spouting, he now saw deeper. He saw that she was hurting inside. She hadn’t wanted to say those things. She didn’t believe them.

  “Why are you here, Cat?” He could feel his pulse pounding in his neck.

  “I prerecorded my statement earlier in Portland. That way I didn’t have to be at the station live.”

  He nodded. Not the question he was asking. “Why are you here? In Maine. Why did you change your mind about going home?”

  “Oh,” she whispered. She looked away then, her eyes seeming to focus on something that wasn’t in the room, before they cleared and returned to him. She pulled her shoulders back. “I couldn’t do it,” she stated bluntly. “I got back to the house, and everything you’d told me out on the deck kept running through my head. Yeah, it was in the past, but that’s who my mother is. That’s who she’s always been. And, I suppose, that’s who I thought I was. Do whatever it takes to protect the family.”

  “You don’t think that now?”

  “I think I don’t want to be that person. Not to the extent of hurting people, lying to them. I’m not sure who I am anymore, but I don’t want decisions made solely due to public opinion to be what my kids witness for the rest of their lives. It’s not what I want them doing themselves. Plus, I didn’t want to go home. I’m on vacation. And I have a play I have to be in tonight.”

  He circled his desk and gathered her in his arms. “I am so proud of you.”

  “Me too.”

  He kissed her then, hoping it would be okay, because he couldn’t wait any longer. He hadn’t lost her. Not yet. And maybe he wouldn’t have to. He would tell her who his father was, though. The air needed to be cleared between them before they could figure out what came next.

  But not today.

  Not when she’d already been through so much. He just wanted to hold her right now.

  “Thank you for coming here,” he murmured as they separated. “To the school.”

  He brushed a hand over her hair and kissed her forehead. What he left unsaid was that by showing up at the college, people would have seen her on campus. Probably had witnessed her entering the history building. They could put two and two together.

  He kissed her again. They wouldn’t stay a secret much longer. He hoped she was prepared for that.

  “I was worried I’d have a hard time finding you,” she said into his neck. She’d snuggled tight up against him. Right where he liked her to be. “But then I saw your red car in the parking lot.”

  He sighed. “You kill me with that. It is so much more than a red car.”

  “Maybe.” She kissed him on the cheek. “But I’ll bet the backseat has never been appropriately broken in.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE BACKSEAT HAD now been broken in.

  Cat blew out a breath of air as she pushed off Brody’s chest and sat up, resting her shoulders against the back of his front seats. She stared down at the man between her thighs. He sat bare assed on the uncovered seat, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon.

  But it wasn’t a marathon he’d participated in.

  Unless there were competitions for quickies.

  She grinned at him as she leaned forward and planted one last scorching kiss on his mouth. Their chests were slick with sweat as she rubbed against him. This whole backseat thing had been an excellent idea.

  “Your garage isn’t quite the romantic location I’d envisioned for this,” she pointed out.

  He chuckled tiredly as his eyes took a slow sweep over her body. “My garage was the only safe place we had.”

  Safe from the paparazzi. Yes, she would have to agree. They’d been relentless tonight.

  She and Brody were sealed up tight in the small space, sitting in the dark with the top of the car down. They’d left the key in the ignition, adjusting it so the dash provided faint illumination over the space, and if she were to be honest, it was actually kind of romantic.

  The instant Brody had turned off the engine, they’d crawled like horny teenagers into the backseat. She’d teased him with the idea all afternoon, and apparently had won him over, no matter how much “abuse” his precious car might take.

  They’d stripped articles of clothing from their bodies as they’d fought their way back, and Brody had barely gotten his pants off before Cat pushed him down and climbed on top.

  She blew out another breath. “It was fun, though.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  He dropped his head to the seat back, and she gave one more tiny grind against his lap. His fingers squeezed her hips, but nothing else moved.

  “You’ve drained me, Kitty Cat,” he mumbled. He lifted a finger to outline one side of the glasses he’d talked her into wearing for him, then let his hand drop limply by his side. She thought he might fall asleep sitting right there in the stale night air of his garage. “The entire day has,” he added.

  She couldn’t argue that point.

  The entire day had been exhausting. First was their morning argument. Lots of mental anguish had been expended on both their parts, followed by make-up hugs and kisses at the school—which had not led to a secret closet rendezvous, unfortunately. The receptionist had been a wee bit too nosy.

  On the heels of making out at the school had been dinner, then the play. Where they’d stood arm in arm afterward, as she’d greeted the crowd.

  Of course, the play had once again been a disaster.

  Not because of the acting. No one had missed any lines. But because of the paparazzi that had been camped outside. They’d been loud and obnoxious, and some of them had even managed to sneak inside before the last act had completed. They’d been bold. So much so that it had not only created a fire hazard in the small building, but it had taken Cat and Brody an extra forty-five minutes simply to extricate themselves after the show.

  It was not good for business, as no person in their right mind would want to be subjected to the craziness of the media circus that had been experienced that night.

  Between questions about her father, she and Brody had also taken plenty about themselves. It had become obvious to anyone looking that they were now a couple. Prior to the play, they’d ridden all over town, the top down on his car, as if blatantly declaring a relationship.

  Yep. She was full-fledged out in public with her man. And she was okay with that.

  She’d talked to the Carltons before leaving the house that morning, filling them in on the latest information to hit the news, and asking them not to let the kids watch anything other than cartoons on the television. She didn’t need Becca and Tyler hearing stories about their grandfather before she got a chance to have a talk with them about it. Which also meant they wouldn’t catch any pictures of her and Brody that might show up before she got a chance to explain that, either.

  Assuming there would be something left to explain by the time they got up here.

  She still had to tell him about their daughter.

  That had been the other major decision to come from her reckoning that morning. As she’d paced every room of her rental, trying to decide how she wanted to go forward in her life, what she’d concluded was, it was her life. And she should get to live it her way.

  Not only was she tired of jumping through family hoops, but she had a wrong to right. She should have tried harder to tell Brody about her pregnancy.

  If not at the time, at least when she’d found out that Annabelle had died.
<
br />   Or when she’d first seen him again here in Dyersport.

  She’d had so many options. So many times she’d failed.

  She’d behaved like her mother. Turning a blind eye to what was right. What kept her family “innocent” of any wrongdoing. Because they had done Brody wrong.

  As she’d sat on his deck before sunrise that morning, she’d known they could be more. She cared about him. How much she cared was too scary to think about at the moment, but she’d like the opportunity to see what it was. To determine how much.

  In her house later—after she’d unsuccessfully been able to get Bennett back on the phone and had sent her mother a text simply stating, “I’m not coming, I’ll record from Portland”—she’d allowed herself to think about Brody. And she’d known that to truly have the chance she wanted, she had to share their daughter with him.

  The more she’d thought about her mother’s phone call to Annabelle Hollister all those years ago, the more Cat realized she’d behaved like her mother far too much in her life. Her mother had crossed the line by stepping between them when she’d known there was a baby at stake.

  Cat had crossed that same line by not trying harder to tell Brody the truth.

  She’d been carrying his baby. He’d had a right to know.

  It was as simple as that.

  And now she had to pay for her past.

  Brody’s breathing deepened to a steady rhythm, and she caressed his cheek with her fingers. Her big, strong man was asleep in the middle of the backseat of his prized Chevelle after having hot, sweaty sex. Without putting a blanket down first.

  It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

  She reached to the front of the car and turned the key in the ignition, sending them into darkness. Then she removed her glasses and snuggled in against him. Her arms went around his waist, and she laid her ear over his heart. Then she, too, tumbled toward sleep.

  A single ray of sunlight landed on Brody’s closed eyelids the next morning, forcing him to crack open one eye and look around. That’s when he realized that he wasn’t in his bed.