After dinner, in the middle of making small talk with one of the hospital’s bigger benefactors, Blake shifted slightly to bring Katie into his view. She’d been cornered by Selina Harrington and from her stiff posture and the flush in her cheeks, the conversation wasn’t going well. Excusing himself, he strode over and slid a hand against her waist, smiling at her when she looked up with a slight start.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Parker was asking about the plans for expanding the orthopedic wing. If you wouldn’t mind, you’re better with those details than I am.”
She thanked him with her eyes. “Of course,” she said, glancing to Selina. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“You two seem very cozy,” Selina commented once Katie was gone. Her smile was brittle, a gesture that didn’t extend beyond the movement of her carefully painted mouth. “All this togetherness and solicitous concern is so unlike you, Blake.”
“Obviously you don’t know me as well as you seem to believe,” he drawled, the deliberate sardonic cast he put to his words causing her face to tighten. Despite it being three years past, Selina had never forgiven him for turning down her invitation to a casual affair. Selina, former model turned trophy wife, had her attractions but he’d made it clear to her then he never got involved with married women. She, though, had chosen to take his refusal personally.
“Obviously,” she snapped. “I thought you had this rule you didn’t—how did you so charmingly put it?—take second place when it came to your lovers. Apparently that doesn’t include your brother’s leftovers.” The gibe stung and Selina nodded in satisfaction at his scowl. “So it’s true, Katie Whitcomb-Salgar didn’t waste any time substituting one McCord man for another. I’d love to know her secrets. Any woman that could convince you to be your brother’s replacement must have something special.”
He made himself smile, but it was as hard as his voice. “Katie is something special. She’s a beautiful, intelligent woman and a friend. But much as I hate to disappoint you and the rest of the gossips who are apparently bored for lack of a scandal, I’m not Tate’s replacement and am never going to be.”
“Honestly, Blake,” Selina said with a harsh laugh, “do you expect anyone to believe that? You spend most of your time looking at her as if you’re thinking of everything you want to do to her once you get rid of the rest of us.”
Selina’s husband coming up to claim his wife saved Blake from a less than honest answer. But rejoining Katie and the conversation of Parker’s intended contribution, he couldn’t easily discount Selina’s observation as pure spite. It made him hyperconscious of his expressions, his gestures around Katie, wondering how much he was betraying without being aware of it.
Even more grating was the idea that he was considered Katie’s second choice after Tate. Worse was the unwelcome thought that Katie might look at him that way, as a substitute for the man she loved and desired but couldn’t have.
He was still dwelling on it, hours later, when he and Katie said their goodbyes to the last of the guests.
With a sigh, Katie leaned her back to the door. “I always have a hard time enjoying these things. They’re too much like work.”
“It was quite a success, though. Parker in particular agreed to double his contribution. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Yes, that will certainly make a difference,” she said slowly. She looked closely at him, frowning slightly. “What’s wrong?”
“As you said, these events are too much like work.” Aware of the shortness of his tone, he tried to amend it. “It’s late and I’m sure you’re tired. I should be going.”
She ignored his attempt to avoid subjects best left alone. “Selina said something to you, didn’t she, about me taking up with you on the rebound from Tate?”
“She said something along those lines, but it’s hardly an issue, is it?”
“Apparently not,” she said quietly. Straightening, she turned away from him. “You’re right, it’s late. Thank you for coming, Blake.”
“Katie—”
“I can’t stop people from talking.” she spun back around. “All I can tell you is they’re wrong.”
“Are they?”
“Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”
A volatile mix of frustration, banked desire, doubt and anger cracked his facade of indifference and he eliminated the distance between them, grasped her shoulders and covered her mouth with his. He took advantage of her lips, parting in surprise, to kiss her deeply, his tongue sliding along hers in intimate possession. She matched him with a throaty moan that spiked his need and urged him to take what he wanted, what he’d wanted for months, for years but had refused to acknowledge to himself.
He couldn’t deny it now. But he hated the idea Katie might be comparing him to Tate; hated more the uneasy feeling that he might not care, that he might be willing to sacrifice his pride if he could have her.
Abruptly, he broke off, breathing hard. “I won’t be second-best. Not now, not ever.”
Before she could confirm or deny it, he strode past her and out the door, not sure which of them was more shaken by the complete loss of his prized control.
Chapter Four
It was the price they had to pay.
Katie sighed to herself, listening alongside Blake as Pearl Kennington droned on about Katie’s broken engagement to Tate and any other tidbit of McCord or Foley gossip she could latch on to. In order to be privy to a showing of possible artworks for donation to the hospital charity ball auction, Blake and Katie were destined to endure luncheon with Pearl. Hal, short for Halbert Kennington, was to join them later.
On her part, she was ready to put up with Pearl for the sake of the children’s hospital. It was Blake that worried her. He’d never been easygoing and that he was under pressure was obvious, but she’d never seen him so tense. The way he’d snapped that night at her house had given her a glimpse of the demands he put on himself and hinted at something more unsettling, that he was angry she might compare him to Tate and find him lacking. If he only knew how many times it had been the other way around.
“I simply can’t imagine your mama’s disappointment, Katie, dear,” Pearl was still going on. “I mean after all these years of hopin’ and plannin’ on your life with Tate. Oh, my, poor Anna. I haven’t had the courage to call her. After all, what does one say to a dear, old friend on such a sad occasion?”
“Tate is much happier and so am I,” Katie managed, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. “Mother understands that.” It was a white lie, but one she had to tell in order to stop the hemorrhaging of gossip and guilt.
“Well, of course that is all anyone ever wanted for the both of you,” Pearl said with a slight sniff. She raised her delicate teacup, pinky properly uplifted, and glanced absently toward the silver tray of finger cookies.
Blake had sat mostly in silence throughout the ordeal of lunch and dessert. Now, Katie noticed him restlessly drumming his fingers on the arm of his oversize chair. As was the case with every room in the Kenningtons’ mansion, furnishings and trappings were overdone. Bigger than life—Texas style—Katie’s mother, Anna, had once commented. Anna, who favored elegant understatement in everything from her clothing to the design of her estate, told Katie long ago that the Kenningtons’ lifestyle gushed with the same excess as their numerous oil wells did. Nonetheless the two couples had been friends for decades, Anna keeping a polite distance throughout.
A fact that had driven Pearl to near madness. On occasions such as this, she used every moment to go for the social jugular.
“Juanita.” She clapped as she called for her maid who stood silently behind them at the ready. “I believe we’re finished. Please refresh my guests’ coffee so they can take it along on our little tour.”
“Sí, ma’am.” The girl nodded, her eyes bowed.
“I am anxious to view your collection,” Blake said, helping Pearl from her chair. “I’ve heard a lot about the controversial sculpture by that Frenc
h artist who recently passed away. LeDoux was it?”
“Why yes, such a tragedy. So young. But you know those French…”
Katie scrunched her nose and caught Blake’s barely concealed smirk. Standing behind Pearl as she rose, heavy gold bracelets clanking, a serious look swept his expression clear of anything but a studied interest. “Oh, yes, those French.”
“Precisely,” Pearl echoed, satisfied her guests caught her meaning.
Katie fell in beside Blake, who, gallantly, had taken Pearl’s arm. They walked, rather nearly crawled, down a seemingly endless corridor, the walls lined with a wealth of paintings to rival a moderately sized city art museum.
Pearl prattled on, shuffling from room to room, describing in tedious detail her proud collection and pointing out a few pieces she might consider donating to the auction. “But, ya’ll understand, the final decision is up to Hal.”
“Naturally,” Blake agreed, continuing to ask politely interested questions while Katie struggled to resist looking at her watch. Then one work in particular caught her eye. She examined it closely, turning to find Blake mesmerized by the same painting.
“This is astounding,” she said distractedly.
Blake stepped closer to her and to the painting. They stood in silence several long moments, though within that silence passed a communion of spirit as the painting’s effect permeated their hearts and minds.
“It’s so simple, yet so profound,” Katie said at last.
“I know.” Blake’s voice had lost it’s usual assertiveness, as though humbled by the impact of the artist’s rendering of a small child bending to save a lone, wounded duckling from the shore before a rush of water was about to sweep it downriver.
Pearl moved closer to the twosome. “My, my, why, I never would have imagined you two would fancy that little ole watercolor. How odd that you both took to it so.”
Katie pried her eyes from the painting to examine Pearl. She found her eyes still piercing, despite the wrinkles that nearly engulfed them. “Why?”
Pearl lifted a thin shoulder and dropped it. “Well, it’s simply not that impressive a work to most people. It’s by a little-known eighteenth-century Russian painter who died in obscurity.”
“And poverty, no doubt?” Blake turned to Katie. “Like most artists.”
“Yes, it’s hardly fair, is it?”
“Well, this one might have made a living at his work, but he painted so few, even if he had sold them all, he couldn’t have supported himself. The ones that survived the revolution are worth quite a bit, however.”
Blake glanced at Katie, who knowing what he was thinking, replied with a small nod. “I don’t suppose you could part with this one, for the auction?” Charm was layered in his voice, his smile subtly sexy enough to melt a woman’s resolve at any age.
“Well, now,” Pearl said, eyeing them both speculatively, “it seems the two of you are sharing some private affection—for the painting, that is. I’m sure it has nothing to do with any more than that, now does it?”
Katie bristled. So, lunch wasn’t the only price today. If they were to earn their auction donation, they were going to have to pay with inside information. Which of course, she wasn’t about to dole out.
“Pearl, Blake and I are friends. I don’t know what you’ve been hearing that might be to the contrary, but I’m here to tell you it’s not true. Isn’t that right, Blake?”
Blake nodded, letting Katie’s eyes only see his fingers crossed behind his back. She swallowed the smile tugging at her mouth.
“Absolutely. Katie and I go way, way back, as you know. That’s why we were both drawn to this painting, I’m sure. We’re kindred spirits of a sort.”
“Hmm…” Pearl replied doubtfully. “Well, as I told ya’ll, the final decision is Hal’s.”
“Now, there’s a well-trained woman” came the booming voice of her Texas oil-magnate husband. Hal ambled into the library, alligator boots clicking against mahogany plank floors. “Howdy Blake,” he said, beaming, slapping the younger man’s back. Sweeping his Stetson aside, he bowed to Katie. “Lovelier by the year. Come on over here and give ole Hal a kiss, girl.”
Katie obeyed, knowing Hal to be obnoxious, but harmless. “Good to see you, Mr. Kennington.”
That won her a round of bawdy laughter. “I think we’re long past the Mr. Kennington nonsense, now aren’t we, Katie my girl?”
“I’m sorry. It’s my mother’s brainwashing.”
Pearl cleared her throat to get Hal’s attention. “Hal, they’re interested in this little Vladislava work for the auction.”
“That scrap? Hell, take it away. You’d be doin’ me a favor. Never liked that pathetic little duck hangin’ on my library wall anyhow. It’s depressin’ when I’m sittin’ down after a long day with a scotch in one hand and a Cuban in the other. Last thing I want to see is an orphaned kid and a doomed duck starin’ at me.”
Katie and Blake both laughed. Pearl huffed. “You could have told me and I would have had it moved.”
“Wouldn’t be worth the grief. Anyhow, take that one and pick out two or three more. I don’t give a damn. Got too much stuff in this place anyhow.” He waved off the painting. “Now, what I want to know, Miss Katie, is when is that fund-raiser for your uncle Peter? I’ll make sure he’s the next governor, singlehandedly if I have to.”
“He’ll be delighted to hear that. It’s coming up shortly. I’m sure there’s an invitation already in the mail to both of you.”
“We can arrange to have the Kenningtons at our table, can’t we?”
Katie stared at him. What was Blake doing? Not only did he just give Pearl the best gossip leak she’d get all year, but he was committing them to something she couldn’t promise. Was this about the auction items? It couldn’t be since Hal had essentially already given them carte blanche. It was as though he wanted to announce he would be her date.
“That would be an honor,” Pearl said, hedging. “But I can’t imagine you’d be attending that fund-raiser when you McCords have always supported Adam Trent. Will you be escorting Katie?”
“I certainly will.”
The touch of pride in his voice was at once complimentary and a little too possessive. Katie was determined to stop the runaway train in Pearl’s head before it carried them to disaster. “We’re going as friends, just as we’ve done before to other events.”
“Of course, naturally,” Blake assured, but she knew him too well to miss the mockery in his tone.
“Sounds like a shindig to me,” Hal said jovially. “We’ll look forward to hashing over next year’s policies and funding at dinner. We oil men gotta keep those regulators under control, know what I mean?”
Blake answered something vague, but Katie was too distracted with her own thoughts to hear it. She managed to move the group along, winding down their other selections and extricating them both from Pearl.
When finally they were off the grounds and on their way to somewhere yet not discussed, she shot Blake a look and let loose with what had been on her mind for over an hour.
“What was that about? I can’t promise them a seat at our table!”
“We got five donations, didn’t we, including the Russian work?” His tone was too cool, too arrogant. It infuriated her.
She turned in the seat of his car, the leather squeaking under her. “Blake McCord, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You told Pearl deliberately. Why would you do that? You know she’s going to be blabbing it to everyone and we’re going to get grief even before the fund-raiser. Do you enjoy torture or what?”
“Are you finished?” he asked calmly.
“I’m not sure.”
“If you’re pausing at least, then I’ll explain. The truth is I can’t take being treated like I’m second-best to my little brother. Call me egotistical, but it irritates the hell out of me that everyone still thinks he deserves you more than—than anyone else might. He had his chance and he blew it.”
Katie sat in stu
nned silence. This was not the explanation she’d expected. At all. She’d had no idea Blake felt this way. His seeming possessiveness, his bursts of frustration arose from a sense of inadequacy? That she never would have guessed. Not from Blake. But it touched her somehow, that he cared for her enough to want to be known as someone who was important in her life.
“I didn’t realize…”
“I know. And I’m sorry if I was presumptuous in inviting them to your family’s table. I just decided it is high time people stop seeing you as my brother’s fiancée. You could be with any man you wanted to be with now. And if you choose to go to the fund-raiser or any other event with me, then I consider myself a lucky man and I’m not going to hide that. Gossip or not.”
Again, he surprised her, showing a humility she wouldn’t have believed he possessed. “Thank you,” she said softly, reaching to lay a hand on his arm. “I’m happy you’re taking me. To heck with the busybodies.”
He smiled over to her. “My sentiments exactly.”
His BlackBerry summoned then and with an apologetic glance at her, he answered. From what she could glean, the conversation had to do with McCord jewelry store closings in California. When he hung up he seemed drawn, tired and her heart went out to him.
“Bad news?”
Blake blew out a weary breath. “An omen of things to come, I’m afraid. We’ve had to close our Boston and San Diego stores. Unless things turn around soon, this is only the beginning.”
“Oh, Blake, I’d heard rumors but I didn’t know it had come to this. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. But I’m not beat yet. I’ve got a new PR campaign underway and a few other plans in the works. If can pull everything together—”
“I’m sure you will.”
“That remains to be seen,” he said darkly.
The Texas CEO's Secret Page 4
