A Woman's Choice

by Rita Clay Estrada

  "Why, hello, Mr. Lewis," she said gaily, opening the door wider to allow him entrance. "My, you look handsome!" Her gaze roamed appreciatively over his tall, lean form. He was wearing gray slacks with a white knit, open-collared shirt that sported an alligator on the pocket.

  She touched the alligator with a long nail; "Are you sure that thing won't bite?"

  "No," he answered, his brown eyes narrowing as he watched the mischief flitting across her beautiful face.

  "No, it won't bite, or no, you're not sure?" she teased as she walked to the bar and held up a bottle of wine, silently asking him if he cared for some. He nodded, his brows still drawn together in a frown that told her of his confusion. A giggle rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down as she turned her back and poured him a drink. Then carefully, she picked up her own, a long-stemmed glass of lemon water. It looked for the world like white wine.

  "Are you feeling all right?" Sam asked, his voice low, his concern showing in the golden light of his dark-brown eyes. "Is everything going well?"

  Catherine turned, that impish smile back on her lips. "I'm fine, better than ever. Everything's going very well, thank you."

  "My secretary said that you called several times. I'm sorry I couldn't get in touch with you, but there were some extenuating circumstances…" He let his voice drift off, expecting her to fill in with her answer.

  "Oh, think nothing of it," Catherine said with a grin. "You had told me to dress casual, but you didn't give specifics. I was just worried about what to wear and thought you might know. But—" she shrugged "—since I couldn't ask you, I just decided to wear what I had and not worry about it."

  "That was all?" His brows rose in wary disbelief. Her outfit was stunning as well as being perfect for the informal California occasion. A pure white harem jump suit, the front yoke was latticed to give a peek at the deep cleavage of her breasts, while the thin spaghetti straps barely seemed to hold the lightweight, gauzy material up. It was a striking, very sensuous outfit as well as being almost virginal in appearance. The woman was full of contradictions.

  She nodded, sipping on her chilled drink. "That was it," she said breezily. The giggle began to form again at his doubting but confused expression, and she took another sip until it passed.

  Sam placed his glass back on the bar and turned toward the door, his irritation barely kept in check. "Are you ready? We don't want to be late," he said, leading the way to his car.

  Quickly she placed her glass on the table and grabbed her purse, her small legs working twice as hard to keep up with his long ones.

  When they reached the bottom step of the front garden, she stopped. Sam was around the front of the car before he noticed her standing there.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I'm waiting for my escort to do just that: escort me from my house to the car door. It's usually the gentlemanly thing to do, isn't it?"

  His stiffened shoulders slowly relaxed, his frown turned into a small, rueful smile. He walked toward her, stopping only when he was almost touching her. Their heads were level, their lips a tiny space apart. His hand reached for and grasped hers, holding it in the warmth of his. "I'm being rude, aren't I?"

  Catherine nodded,' suddenly feeling breathless and unexpectedly excited at his nearness.

  "And you're being sweet and charming."

  Catherine shook her head at that statement. Once more a smile formed around her mouth and she chuckled. "No, I was being a real stinker, only you didn't recognize it." She tilted her head to the side and stared at him. "Are you always so trusting of a female's attitude?"

  It was his turn to chuckle. "Not normally, but ever since I met you, I've had a hard time fitting you into the mold of the 'usual female'."

  Anyone else could have said those words to her and she would have brushed them off. But when Sam said them, she felt flattered. "Why?"

  "Because you aren't."

  "Why?"

  "You're one of the few women I know who plays at being self-sufficient and is really sweet and vulnerable. Most women do it the other way around," he said huskily, staring into the blue of her eyes while trying to control the almost overwhelming urge to kiss her senseless.

  "Sam?" she whispered.

  "Uh-huh?" he answered. His eyes darted down to her lips, staring at the sweetness of her mouth as she formed his name.

  "If you don't kiss me, I think I'm going to have to kiss you."

  "Go ahead, beautiful."

  She took her hand out of his and placed both hands on his tall shoulders. With infinite care, she stood on tiptoe and very carefully, almost shakily, touched his mouth with hers. The contact was electrical.

  Sam stiffened, then his arms moved quickly, wrapping around her small waist and back, almost crushing her to him as he made their contact more intimate. Every emotion she had ever felt was buried under a mountain of exploding need. Her mind froze, and only the heat of his lips and hands were allowed to give fire, the rest of her was numb. A low moan surfaced from his throat as he parted her lips with an urgency he hadn't known he was capable of and took the honey of her mouth with his darting tongue.

  Her hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his neck, pulling him ever closer in a crazy, whirling moment of sheer madness. Her head spun from his touch, her body felt alive and shouting with needs that had to be met and satisfied. She absorbed the hard leanness of his chest and ribs, the heavy fabric of his slacks as she pressed against him to imprint his maleness on her abdomen and revel in that feeling. She moved, side to side, and another moan echoed between them, but she didn't know from whom.

  His grip on her didn't lessen as his lips left hers to travel from her mouth to her cheek, finally to rest by the side of her ear. "My God!" he whispered, almost to himself, in awe of the intensity of feelings they had just created by merely touching.

  Catherine closed her eyes and tried to control her wildly beating heart. "Ditto," she murmured shakily, hoping there was a small sound of laughter in her voice so that he wouldn't know just how traumatic his kiss had been.

  Slowly, she pulled away. Where was her wall of defenses she had worked so hard at building? Where was her cool reserve that froze most men out? Where was her fierce pride and self-sufficiency? And why this man? Her mind kept churning with questions, but for the life of her she couldn't have come up with the answers. Her brain seemed to be in a chaotic state even as she tried to retain a measure of her usual thought processes. It didn't work. She was stunned.

  Pulling away from Sam's touch was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do, but she finally summoned enough energy to accomplish it. She turned, head down, and walked slowly toward the car.

  Sam stood where he was, his head turned to watch her. "Catherine?"

  When she reached the car door, she looked at him, her brows raised, her nose pinched with the effort. "Yes?" Her voice was tight, her face barren of expression.

  "Nothing," he snapped. "Just Catherine." And with that he joined her, opening the door and allowing her entrance before walking around to his side and seating himself as close to the door as was humanly possible and still be able to drive.

  The engine roared to life and they pulled down the drive in silence.

  Catherine sat rigid in her seat. She had asked for that kiss. She was stupid enough to have asked.

  Then she had responded as if she had been starving for love. Her only consolation was that he had been as shaken as she was. It was going to be a tension-filled evening…

  She'd ignore the entire situation tonight, making sure that Sam realized he had no hold on her. That would put him in his place. Then, after tomorrow, she vowed silently, she'd never see him again. Sam Lewis, for whatever reason, was too volatile for her system.

  4

  Catherine was afraid to admit that with each mile the car ate she was becoming more nervous of meeting his friends. She had never been the type to have friends— acquaintances and business contacts, yes. But hardly ever friends.

 
; They pulled into the driveway, and she tried to concentrate on the massive, one-story hacienda before her, but all it did was increase her tension.

  She didn't do well with women. She never had. She didn't even know why. She should have stayed home, rejecting Sam at the door rather than let her sense of pride get in the way. Perhaps she should invent some excuse.

  Sam killed the engine and reached for her clenched hands. "You'll like April," he said softly, as if he knew what she was thinking.

  "I'm sure I will." Her eyes widened as she painted a smile on her face. With a deep breath she realized that it was too late to do anything but brazen it out. One miserable evening wasn't going to kill her as long as she didn't think about all the other miserable evenings she had regretted.

  Before Sam could reach for the doorbell, the door was opened. "Hi! Come on in!" April said cheerily, waving Catherine and Sam through the entrance and into the large tiled hall. The dark-haired woman's white, frilly apron was slightly askew, her finely boned face filled with obvious delight at seeing her partner. "Since you're the first ones here, I can put you two to work. Jace is in the wine cellar, deciding what goes with anything burned."

  "Wine cellar?" Catherine murmured, glancing around. It was a big, sprawling, contemporary house, but didn't seem the type to sport such a prestigious item as that.

  April chuckled. "A temperature-controlled closet actually, but it sounds so much better the other way. Especially when I'm trying so hard to impress someone."

  Sam sniffed the air. "Anything burned? I thought I advised you to get a caterer, April. Jace may like your burnt offerings, but think of the rest of us who haven't cultivated a palate for your efforts!" Sam glowered at the lovely girl who was supposed to be old enough to be his law partner. His hands were on his hips, his face wore an angry scowl. At first Catherine was afraid he had lost his temper and a bolt of fear ran down her spine. Then she noticed the beginnings of a smile denting his mouth.

  April reached up to plant a careless kiss on his cheek, not at all put off by his cold glare. "I did, Sam. I did. But I decided I wanted to make the hors d'oeuvres. What Jace doesn't know is that they're grapes, cheeses and crackers. Just to teach him a lesson, I burned some butter on the stove. He thinks I'm burning stuffed mushrooms!" Her giggle was infectious.

  Catherine watched the banter only two good friends could participate in and felt more alone than she had in a long time. It was so obvious that they were good friends with a wealth of small, private jokes between them. Why else would they laugh at burned butter?

  "Don't you think so, Catherine?" April said, turning to her.

  "I'm sorry?" Catherine started, her mind once more coming back to the present. Her brows rose haughtily as she tried to put distance between herself and the other woman. Never make friends, especially with women, was her motto.

  "I said I thought the least Sam could do is act as bartender until the real McCoy got here. After all, friends are supposed to help out. Right?"

  "Are you sure? Knowing the only mixed drink I can make with complete accuracy are deadly margaritas?" His hand touched Catherine's arm as he slowly, but purposefully, led her into the large, bright living room. Her skin tingled as they walked across the carpet to the impromptu bar set in the corner.

  "Ugh." April's voice showed her opinion of his specialty. "Just do the best you can."

  "Right," Sam said. "I know what April wants to drink, but what will you have, Catherine? White wine?"

  "A fruit drink, please," she said stiffly. Sam raised his brows but he did her bidding.

  The moment she reached the end of the room, Catherine turned and took a few steps, away from Sam's side. It was hard enough to be in the same room with him, let alone so near him. The air around him sizzled with electricity. He was too potent for her to feel completely relaxed.

  April continued her teasing, and Sam countered by making fun of her apron, the only sign of domesticity he had ever seen her in. Catherine smiled as they chuckled, her mind already separating from them to dwell in her own quiet world. It didn't pay to get close to people. It was too risky.

  A loud crash, cursing and a yell brought Catherine back to the present with a thud.

  "Damn! April! Where's the broom?" A voice boomed through the house. "I broke my best bottle of cheap wine, thanks to that blasted tabby cat you rescued from a very deserved death!"

  April's eyes widened knowingly as she turned to Catherine. "Excuse me, won't you? My lord and master has just had another major battle with the cat… and lost again!" she said with a giggle.

  As soon as April rounded the corner toward the back of the house, the smile was gone from Sam's eyes. "What's the matter, Catherine?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. She stared back, almost daring him to be nice.

  "Not a thing. Why? Aren't I friendly enough for your friends?"

  "You won't hurt my friends' feelings, only mine. Now, what's the matter? Don't you like April?"

  She evaded the answer by changing the subject. "Why would someone purposely burn butter?"

  "Because that 'someone' can't cook worth beans. She and Jace eat out or order out most of the time. She just doesn't have the knack, and Jace is always afraid she might try. It's become a joke between them." He gazed down at her. "But that still doesn't answer my question. Don't you like her?"

  "She's very nice," Catherine replied stiffly, wishing she had obeyed her first instinct and not come at all.

  "I'm just not much into gossip and banter and women's talk, that's all."

  "Neither is April."

  "Really? She does a good job for not liking it." Catherine turned toward the window and stared unseeingly at the vista before her. Her spine was rigid, her head tilted determinedly. He was not going to get through to her. He hadn't given her the right to turn down this invitation, so he could just suffer the consequences. The tiny fact that she had decided to pretend that she wanted to come was ignored. After all, being female meant that she had the right to change her mind!

  "Catherine, look… I…" Sam ran a hand through his hair, obviously puzzled by her reaction. How many faces did Catherine Sinclair have?

  She held up her hand, turning to stave off his questions. "Please, let's just leave this for a better time?" She nodded toward the hallway. "Your, uh, friends are returning."

  It was with great effort that Sam held his tongue, and Catherine almost smiled as she watched his face draw into thin lines of resignation. If Sam found her easy to read, it was at least a two-way street.

  "Sam!" Jace boomed from the doorway, his hand extended as he took giant strides across the room. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, and as handsome as any movie sex symbol could be. His face was lined in a smile as he entered the room, not seeing Catherine or her open-mouthed stare. "It's a good thing you're here. Maybe you can tell my wife that she shouldn't be allowed anywhere near the kitchen unless she's pouring a glass of water!"

  "Jace?" Catherine whispered throatily. "Jace Sullivan? Is that you?" With a glad cry, she hurled herself into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time.

  Jace's initial reaction was one of shock, until he took a good look at the blond bundle in his arms. "Kitty? Kitty!" he exclaimed, a deep, bounding chuckle resounding through the room. "Well, I'll be damned! How on earth did you get here?"

  Her infectious laughter filled the room as he gave her another hug. "Sam brought me. I'm out here to do a remake of Oklahoma. But you! Who would have ever thought I'd find you! And domesticated! My, how the mighty have fallen!" she teased.

  "Apparently I wasn't that mighty," he said with a laugh, holding her away from him to get a better look. "Either that, or the state of grace I'm in because I found April means that I can't fall… or fail. And you? Are you still the single, swinging bachelorette that you promised you'd be?"

  "Oh, yes. When I make a solemn promise, I keep it! Too bad I can't say the same for you!" she quipped, pulling out of his arms. She gave his hands a squeeze and stared up at him as if he were still a
n apparition.

  "I've followed your career. Congratulations. You did it, babe, and all by yourself." Jace's eyes were filled with admiration.

  Sam cleared his throat to speak, but April beat him to it. "Would either of you care to explain yourselves before I hit both of you with the first thing available? After all, I'm the wife of the mightily fallen man and Sam is the high-flyer's date."

  Both Jace and Catherine looked surprised at the sudden interruption in their conversation. Then they glanced at the other two before breaking out in giggles.

  "It's simple really, darling," Jace began. "I met Kitty six years ago in Nashville when I was doing one of those low budget movies we don't talk about. I was low, she was low, and we became friends. We made lots of promises to each other over drinks, most of which we promptly forgot, except for the career choices. After I left Nashville, we kept in touch for a while, but then…" He shrugged, as if that explained it all.

  Apparently it didn't; for Catherine could sense more seeds of doubt had been planted in April's mind.

  She smiled. "Please, there was never anything but a friendship between two people on the bottom rung of the career ladders. We didn't even hold hands."

  Jace's eyes glittered with laughter. "Well, there was that hot and steamy kiss we shared when you took me to the airport," he drawled teasingly, only to have Catherine hit him solidly on the shoulder.

  "Stop that, Jace! You know better. That kiss was on the cheek and as chaste as they come. The closest you ever got to me was calling me 'Kitty' when you knew I hated that nickname! Don't you tease your wife so, especially with me. Don't I get enough of that from the press as it is?"

  "You're right, I'm sorry." Jace tried to look repentant, but the gleam was still in his eye as he glanced at his wife. "But at least it will be a week or so before April calls me a big lug again. She has a tendency to deflate my ego."