She's a tramp, his conscience exclaimed in a loud voice. No, he answered. Did living with a man make her a tramp… ? No, it made her unlucky in love. But there were more men than the papers could count! Not proven. Besides, where did he get off judging another person's love life? Hadn't he had a very active one himself? Don't let that act of hers fool you! That's why she's here, to make a picture and put her acting skills to work! But what if she wasn't acting tonight? What if she really was sweet, beautiful, sad and very, very vulnerable…?
"Damn!" he muttered, opening his eyes and standing up. It didn't matter what he thought of her because he wasn't going to see her again. A man would have to be stupid to fall purposely into a viper pit.
3
Three days went uneventfully by and Catherine reveled in it, never having had such peaceful solitude since she had begun her crazy career over seven years ago. And now, thanks to finishing a recording session earlier than usual and not having the movie script for another few weeks, she had all the time in the world. She slept, cleaned, sewed, cooked and even weeded in the beautiful gardens at the protest of the gardener who came twice a week to keep it properly manicured.
She woke late in the mornings, put on old jersey shorts and a large sweat shirt with torn neckline and sleeves, and did what she wanted. She hadn't touched a lipstick brush, makeup sponge or a mascara wand since the night Sam had come to dinner. She washed her hair every day, letting it dry in the sun before separating it into two sections and wrapping rubber bands around them. She wore them like children wore pigtails, and she loved it. It was cool with the hair out of her eyes and off her neck.
She purposely kept her mind off topics that bothered her. Topics such as work, recordings and Sam Lewis. She didn't want to delve too deeply into her instant and unexpected reaction to him. It was easier to try not to think of him than it was to judge his actions so far. Whenever thoughts of him crept into her head, she would remind herself that he was an enigma of a man, but he was still a man…
Her agent, Tommy, called twice, checking to make sure she was all right and that she was resting. Both times he questioned if the insurance company had any information concerning her necklace. Both times she was amazed to find herself thinking that she didn't care whether they found it in a pawnshop or never found it at all. The necklace, as beautiful as it was, was part of someone else's life. It represented the life of Catherine Sinclair, not Kitty Slovak. Kitty was born in poverty, raised in decadence. In the past few days her life had grown into one of peace and solitude, cooking, cleaning and sewing. At night it was filled with old TV movies and interesting fiction that she hadn't had the time to read before.
Catherine Sinclair's life had its beginning shortly after running away from home. Not knowing where to go and only knowing that she had to leave, she wandered around until finally hitting Nashville. There she had taken a job emptying ashtrays and cleaning floors in an old rundown recording studio. Listening to every small piece of information that every professional singer was told by his manager or coach in the studio, she then adapted it, applying it to herself. She mimicked others, getting their musical style down pat before her own style was honed enough to come forth. She copied arrangements that seemed to fit her better than the singers who sang them. She had worked damn hard and still nothing had paid off. No one knocked on her ratty apartment door with a contract for her to sign.
Two years later she met Noah Weston, and everything that Catherine had done since was slanted toward climbing the ladder of success to make sure she was never poor or neglected or relegated to nothingness again. Her dreams were wrapped up in designer dresses and diamond necklaces, wealthy men as escorts and elegant parties given by the right people, which went on till all hours of the night. Since then everything in Catherine's life was measured by money and contacts.
One morning, Catherine posed the question to herself that had been lying on the back shelf of her mind all week. Which of those women was really her?
She didn't have the answer, and it frightened her.
Sam Lewis sat at his desk and watched his partner walk the floor in agitation. He grinned at her anger, for it was always quick to die.
"I don't want to have to entertain these movie moguls with myself as the only person not in show business! I can't cook, I don't keep house and I don't know a darn thing about making movies!"
"The days of the movie moguls are over, April. They have been since the late forties."
"Don't you believe it!" April said sharply. "They may have changed their style of clothing and even their image, but they're still there, acting like little tin gods, just as they always did."
He played with the pencil on his desk, making it stand end-on-end over and over again. "Then why don't you invite a few other people and have a small, informal cocktail party, followed by a buffet?" he asked calmly.
She stopped walking and stared at him, wonder in her bright blue eyes. "Sam, you're a genius! Great idea! I can have a bartender in for the drinks and cater a buffet and clean-up crew! Wonderful!" She plopped down in the chair across from him. "I knew I was smart when I made you a partner. You're not only great for the firm, you're great for my marriage!" Her expression suddenly became more subdued. "I'm just afraid I might do something that would make Jace feel embarrassed."
"Jace?" Sam exclaimed, dropping the pencil. Jace, her husband, was a well-known actor whom women clamored after, but the only one he'd ever had eyes for was April. They had lived together three years before taking the giant step into marriage, and Sam couldn't think of two people who had been happier to make the commitment. "Not on your life. Jace would love you if you walked the streets of L.A. at night. He'd be angry, but he'd still love you."
"Somehow, my loyal friend, I doubt it," she said with wry authority. "After all, it took him three years to get used to the fact that next to him, my best friend was you."
Sam gave an endearing grin. "Really? You said that before, but I assumed you were just teasing. I always thought he saw no competition from this end."
"Huh!" April groaned. "If you only knew!" She leaned forward. "But do you think it would work? The party I mean."
"Yes, if you got the right crowd and the right caterer," Sam mused. "You could find the right caterer from Jace's secretary. But the right crowd? I don't know…" he teased.
"Okay, okay. Tell me your plan, Machiavelli."
"You have three men coming for dinner, right?" At her nod he continued, "Then invite your secretary, my secretary, Jace's secretary, myself and my date. That should give them someone to talk to about their business and someone to talk to who makes sense."
April grinned. He was right. Sam was usually right, as well as usually being a dear friend. "That sounds great. Now, who's the lucky girl you're taking out this week?"
He hesitated. "I don't know if she'll accept."
"If who will accept? At least give me a clue, Sam!"
"Catherine Sinclair."
April's shocked expression was enough to make Sam look away.
"Who?" she said softly, leaning forward, obviously hoping she had misunderstood.
"You know, the Country and Western singer. You said you loved her last song, remember? Something about finding love in the most unlikely place. You drove me nuts humming that thing for weeks."
"I remember, but I didn't mean that you should date the woman just because she sings a great song." April stared at him, her furrowed brow showing her concern. He glanced at her, then back down to his desk. He knew what was coming, but he didn't want to hear it. Knowing April though, she wouldn't let it go so easily.
"My God, Sam, that woman is lethal if only half of what the papers print is true! She dines on genuine dragons! You aren't even an appetizer for a woman like her!"
"I said that I didn't know whether she'd accept, April. But if she does, that's who I'll bring," Sam said in a low tone, finally staring at her to make sure she understood his resistance to her criticism.
April stared back, her
blue eyes troubled, before she eventually shrugged her shoulders in defeat. "All right, if that's what you want."
"It is," he said quietly, but with grim determination.
No matter how many times he told himself that Catherine was poison, he still wanted to be with her. He didn't understand it, for he had never been this way about a woman before. But Catherine… well, Catherine was different. She was street-wise, yet so very vulnerable. She was. sophisticated, yet he sensed that it was an act. She was beautiful, yet not seeking flattery. She was a mystery. A puzzle he wanted to figure out. Perhaps after he did so, his attraction for her would disappear…
Sam left the office at four so he could drive to Catherine's and ask her in person. The phone was too impersonal and that made it easy for her to turn him down. She could act over the phone, but somehow he knew that she couldn't act that well when he was standing in front of her. Her eyes, her movements would give him a clue as to what she was thinking. He could be wrong, but he didn't think so. It was a weak hunch, and the only one he had to play.
He could hardly believe his eyes when he pulled up in her driveway. Catherine—or someone who resembled her—was helping the gardener by bagging the branches he was expertly trimming from the shrubs that ran across the front of the yard, separating it from the road. She was in frayed, cut-off jeans and a torn, gray T-shirt that was emblazoned with a fast-food restaurant's logo. Her golden-blond hair shone in the sunlight and was caught up into pigtails that sat perkily over each ear. She looked as if she were a naive sixteen… and terribly content.
He stared in wonder. Something caught in his throat, and he realized he was more affected by this picture of her than the chic woman who had entered his office. His stomach tensed, his thighs tightened and his loins ached with an almost overwhelming want he didn't know he was capable of. It washed over him like a giant wave, leaving him weak and awed by its power.
He continued gazing at her, unable to do anything else. Catherine turned, apparently expecting to see someone else. She froze in midstride, her hand unconsciously going to one of her pigtails. Her smile slowly disappeared. Suddenly her chin came up and determination filled her expression. She was not going to be intimidated by being caught like this! He grinned, somehow knowing that most of her front was just that…a front.
"Hello, can I help you?" Catherine asked coolly as she leaned down to stick her head into the passenger window of his car.
"Yes, you can." Sam smiled his best smile. She didn't respond. "Sit in the car for a minute, will you?"
With obvious reluctance she opened the car door and sat on the edge of the seat.
"How's everything going? Any more break-ins?"
"None, thank you. My agent tells me that the insurance company is going to handle everything through you. Thank you. Apparently you and he were right. It must have been a one-time thing for the burglar."
"Are you enjoying your vacation?" Sam continued with the small questions, putting off the one that really mattered. He didn't want her to turn him down.
"I'm loving it." She turned her head and stared out the window at the gardener, but slowly his presence drew her eyes back to him.
They sat, turned on the seat, each looking at the other. The gardener's clippers and the sound of a far-off jet were the only noises to be heard.
Catherine swallowed. "Did you come by for something or were you in the neighborhood?"
"Both." He watched her throat move and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
She tilted her head, her eyes boring into his as if she were trying to read his mind. It wasn't working.
"And…?"
"My partner is having a small dinner party for some of the people her husband works with at the studio. I want you to be my date." That's it, Sam, just jump right in so she can say "no" instantly! His hand clenched the steering wheel tightly. It had been dumb to blurt it out like that. He should have led up to it, teased her with the fact that she could make some good contacts, meet Jace Sullivan, help her career along…
"I'd love to."
He cleared his throat, not able to look her in the eye for fear it would confirm that he hadn't heard what he thought he did. "Good. I'll pick you up around seven-thirty tomorrow night. It's kind of casual. Bring a bathing suit if you want to. They'll be having dinner around the pool." His voice was rough and gravelly.
"Will you be bringing yours?"
"I keep one at their house." He grinned suddenly and stared into her blue eyes. "I'm there a lot," he said by way of explanation.
Her mouth pursed, and the wary tension was back in her eyes. He didn't know what he had said that had put her on the defensive again, but he wasn't going to let her change her mind now.
"I've got to run," he growled, sounding meaner than he had meant to. "I'll see you then. Be careful." His hand reached for the ignition key, ready to start the car as soon as she stepped out.
"All right." She was silent as she slid across the velour upholstery to stand by the door. "Thank you for the invitation," she murmured.
"Catherine?" Sam called, leaning over the seat to get closer to her.
She bent down. Their heads were close and both eyed the other's parted lips for seconds that seemed like eons. The drone of a plane overhead was the only sound in the world. "Yes?" she whispered throatily.
"Nothing; Just Catherine," he said, losing himself in the blueness of her eyes.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she leaned forward and allowed her mouth to brush his, sending liquid heat from his lips to the rest of her body. She held her breath with the wonder of that touch, that simple, casual touch. They stared again, each caught up in the chemistry between them and wondering with their eyes where it would lead. Sam seemed to know and Catherine fought that knowledge. She pulled away, breaking the spell.
"Thank you for asking me," she said again politely.
"You're welcome." He turned the ignition on. "See you then."
The purr of his car engine was soon lost in the distance. Catherine stood staring at the ghost of his car as it had sat in the driveway. What in the heavens was the matter with her? Was she so tired that her defenses were down? That was it. She needed more rest. She needed to recuperate so that she could once again build that wall around her, which had served her so well. He had just caught her in a defenseless moment. She'd call him and break the date. After all, she wasn't here to play footsie with an attorney when a new phase in her career was just beginning. In fact, that was the worst thing she could do.
No, she really needed rest and relaxation so that she'd be fit to walk into the studio and begin a new and very lucrative career. She would need all her wits about her, and that meant she couldn't spend time chasing romance around. It hadn't worked in the past. It wouldn't work now.
With that decision made, she began humming a song as she picked up her bag of clippings, anxious to finish the work that only fifteen minutes ago had seemed so enjoyable.
Sam purposely didn't answer the telephone when he got home. He also didn't accept any phone calls from Catherine Sinclair at his office the following day, giving his secretary the message that as long as she wasn't panicked, she wasn't to get through to him. His answering service would take care of any calls at home.
He had seen frightened women before. He'd also seen aggressive ones. But never had he seen the combination in one woman. Catherine was both. When she had accepted his offer of a date, she had done so without knowing the circumstances, the arguments that he had been prepared to make. When she had leaned in the car and touched his lips with hers, it was as if she had been drawn in by his very thoughts and had obeyed. But when she had gotten out of the car, he sensed she had been frightened of the feeling that existed like an invisible connection between them.
She wasn't alone. He was scared as hell, too.
Women had always been there for him. They were wild, sweet, wonderful and exciting, and he had appreciated every one, but not one was favored more than another. They were all equally great. Be
sides, normally his favorite type of woman was a long-legged brunette with sexy eyes and only a mouthful of breasts and gently swaying hips that showed up in a tight walk. The average model was perfect. That certainly didn't sound anything like the blond-haired, blue-eyed, tiny version of the abundant goddess of love that Catherine Sinclair was. So what special ingredient did she have that attracted him? He didn't know, but he meant to find out, if only to prove to himself that his radar had gone out of control on this one.
Catherine dotted her brows with a light touch of brown pencil, cursing Sam under her breath as she did so. She had been reluctant to dress and ready herself for the man. She had tried to call him at least six times, and all with no success. Damn him! He was purposely keeping his distance because he knew that she wanted to cancel.
She held the pencil in midair, that thought claiming all her attention. Was she so easy for Sam to read that he had known she would try to back out? Were her thoughts and doubts so visible? Had she lowered her defensive wall so much that it was only rubble at her feet for him to step over?
Her face paled. Not No, no, no! She couldn't have. Not her. Not after years of building her wall so strong that no one, including Noah Weston, could climb it.
With shaking hands she lowered the pencil to the dressing table top and stared at herself in the mirror.
Her shoulders were slumped, her neck bent down so that her chin almost touched her breast. Suddenly she stood straight and tall. Her chin lifted with a determined tilt. Well, if Sam Lewis thought he could read her like a book, he had another think coming.
She'd fool him. After all, she was supposed to be an actress. How good was her acting ability if she couldn't fool one lone attorney?
She smiled, and the mirror reflected the impishness of her thoughts. Mr. Sam Lewis was going to be given a lesson in reading and interpreting the actions of others. The smile turned into a chuckle as she quickly put the finishing touches on her makeup. , By the time the doorbell rang, Catherine was ready for anything. The adrenaline ran quickly through her veins. She was rejuvenated for the first time in a long time. There was a sparkle in her eyes and a daring challenge to the tilt of her chin. She was alive!
A Woman's Choice Page 4
