She smooths a hand over her stomach. “Oh.”
She’s wearing a dress.
I’ve never seen her in a dress.
It’s a flowy, floaty fabric that caresses her body—a white background and yellow buttercups decorating the material. It’s demure, innocent, and unassuming. There’s not one thing sexy about her attire. Not one.
But I want to lift the hem, pin her against the wall, and take her.
I raise a brow. “Are you expecting someone?”
She scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip, a habit I’ve noticed she has when she’s nervous.
She clears her throat. “A group is coming in from New Orleans. They’re considering us for one of their restaurants.”
“Sounds promising.” I meet her eyes.
She shifts nervously before waving a hand over the bottles. “I’m getting ready.”
“I can see that.”
Silence stretches between us, but I don’t fill it in.
That blush still stains her cheeks.
I want to kiss her again. I want to make her mouth swollen and red, so she doesn’t look so proper.
She tilts her head and a lock of hair falls behind her shoulder. Her hair is partially pulled back, worked into soft waves. She looks very southern today, like she should be sipping a mint julep and lunching with the garden club. It’s a look she wears well, but it doesn’t quite fit the wantonness she displayed the night before.
I wonder which one is more real. Maybe they both are.
She takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. “Can I help you?”
At her prim, businesslike tone, I cock a grin. “Did you sleep well?”
Her spine straightens, and her gaze darts around the room. “Is how your boss sleeps of any consequence to you?”
Ah, calling attention to her position over me, wanting to distance herself.
I shrug. “I was merely being polite.”
Her shoulders square as she becomes more and more a proper southern lady by the second. “I slept fine, thank you.”
I take a few steps closer to the bar that separates us.
Her gaze widens, like a startled deer.
“I was just checking, since you didn’t answer my text.”
She smooths her dress again. “It didn’t require an answer.”
“True.” Another step and I’m at the edge of the counter. I lean over and place my hands on the glossy wood.
She points to me. “I just polished that.”
“It shows.” I let a smirk slide over my lips. “I hope all your…”
Her expression turns downright horrified.
I repress my laugh. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t fucking help twisting the knife.
I skip down her body before returning to meet her desperate gaze. “…hard work paid off.”
“Time will tell.” Her voice is a creak.
“I find if you keep at something long enough, good things are bound to come.”
Her fingers toy with the neckline of her dress. “Can I help you, Caden? Because I have a lot of things to get ready before the group arrives.”
“Nope. I just wanted to see how you were feeling this morning.” I dip my gaze to her lips. “If blowing off all that steam relaxed you.”
She can’t hide the gasp. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“At the bar last night.” I grin.
“Of course.” Her words are quick, breathless.
“So we’re on the same page.”
She waves at the door. “You can go now.”
“Fair enough.” I straighten. Point to a stray smudge on the bar. “You want me to rub that out for you?”
“No!” Her voice is a shriek.
I’m horrible. I know that.
In fairness, I never claimed to be a good guy. Repressing my true nature is clearly starting to strain. I shrug. “All right, no need to get your feathers ruffled.”
“Get out!” Clearly she’s lost her patience.
“I’m going.” A man knows when it’s time to exit, and my time has come. “Good luck. Be sure to tell me how it goes. Although I’m sure you’ll wow them and have them eating out of your hand.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She glances pointedly at the door. “Things to do.”
I look her up and down. “You seem tense. Maybe you need to take the edge off.”
“Get the hell out of here!” she yells, practically stomping her foot.
I chuckle, turn, and walk toward the exit before swinging around one more time. “Oh, and Cat?”
“What?”
She sounds like she’s on the edge of smacking me.
Excellent. I smile at her. “You look very pretty today.”
She jabs a finger at the door. “Get out or I swear to God…”
“Swear to God what?”
“You’ll pay,” she sputters.
“So you can’t think of anything?”
“Leave. Now.” Her hands are clenched into fists. “Before I start throwing things.”
“That sounds fun, but maybe it’s not the best time.” And with that, I turn and walk out the door.
10
Cat
Somehow I managed to keep myself together and finish what I needed to before the restaurant owners arrived. Greeting them was a welcome distraction from my run-in with Caden, and I threw myself into the meeting. My brother and I are a well-oiled machine by now, and by the end, I think we managed to sweet talk the prospects. Nothing is set in stone, and with business nothing is ever final until the paperwork is signed, but our time together went as well as could be expected.
Now Wyatt and I are cleaning up in companionable silence, and Caden’s pushing at the edges of my mind, demanding entry. Somehow my fantasy has mixed with a nightmare. I’ll never confront him, but I’m 99.5-percent sure he saw me last night. All that time I’d been frantically wishing he was watching me—and working myself into a frenzy at the thought—he’d been doing just that.
But goddamn it. It’s supposed to be fantasy!
I mean, I guess if I’d thought it through properly I’d have realized the folly of masturbating in full view of his house. And some people might suggest my open display was a way to get exactly what I’d wished for. I sigh. My only excuse is I forgot myself, and the idea that Caden could’ve been watching made things so much hotter.
All my silent begging for him to be in the shadows came true.
And now he’s torturing me.
Worst of all, I can’t even call him out. Now I’ve got all this energy, all this frustration, and nowhere to put it. I’m left with mentally berating my stupidity, agonizing about my wanton display, and fuming about how Caden’s arrogance will be out of control now.
“You okay over there?” Wyatt asks, startling me.
“What?” A bottle clangs. “Yeah, great. How’d you think it went? Are you happy?”
He’s washing out glasses at the sink. We have people that can do this for us, but sometimes it’s good to do something mundane to allow your mind to wander. My oldest brother and I are the same that way.
Thinking time, as our mama used to call it.
“You’re getting good at this, Cat.”
High praise coming from Wyatt, who’s a man of few words. My brother is the epitome of the strong, silent type.
“Thanks. They seemed suitably impressed. I think they’ll sign, and then we’ll be one step closer to our goals.” Once the business became more than a pipedream, and we weren’t living on mac and cheese, ramen, and PB&J any longer, we sat down and created a business plan. We’re five years into our ten-year goals, and at the end we want to be national. The idea is to replicate the success of IPA breweries, but with rum. Both Wyatt and I are pragmatic and realistic. We were conservative in our growth projections, and last year we exceeded expectations.
“You know I don’t count on anything until the ink dries.” Wyatt mimics my earlier thought.
“I don’t either, bu
t I know when things go well, and they did.”
“They did.” He chuckles, throwing a towel over his shoulder. “You know that Phillip Lawry was smitten with you.”
He names the youngest VP at the meeting, a clean-cut, good-looking guy with dirty blond hair and green eyes who wore his suit like it was custom made for him, which it probably was.
I shrug. “You know I never mix business with pleasure.”
There’s silence—not his normal silence, but a heavy one that tells me he has something to say and is debating whether he should.
I sigh and turn toward him. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s none of my business.”
I roll my eyes. “If you really thought that, you’d never make me ask in the first place, so out with it.”
He leans against the counter, one hip resting on the edge. He’s in a white dress shirt and tan pants, a look that’s all wrong for him. He belongs in jeans, with cotton stretched across his broad chest. He and Jackson are built the same way—all tall, lean, and sinewy, with sharp cheekbones and penetrating eyes. Wyatt should never wear tan; it’s far too bland for him. But I tried to give him fashion advice once and was promptly told to fuck off, so I keep my mouth shut.
“I just wonder…” he trails off.
“Wonder what?” I stiffen.
He’s about to play big brother. I get that he can’t help himself, especially since we have no parents, but I’m not in the mood. Way back when, with Jackson trotting all over the world, for a long time it was just the two of us. We had a lot of dark, barren days. He can’t turn off being overly protective just because we’re no longer desolate.
Just like I can’t stop looking over my shoulder, waiting to see if the lights have been turned off when I wasn’t looking.
Poverty is hard to escape. Even when you’re thriving, you know how fragile financial security is—how it can be taken at a moment’s notice, sending the whole world crashing down.
He rests his hand on the bar. “Why don’t you?”
“Why don’t I what?”
“Take a chance and mix business with pleasure.”
I scowl at him. “You want me to go out with a potential buyer?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not saying that. But if they sign, and the deal is done, when he asks, why don’t you say yes?”
I can’t exactly tell my brother I didn’t give the guy a second thought because my farm manager has worked me into a state of lust that can’t be competed with.
So, I settle on the obvious. “Since he hasn’t asked, and almost certainly won’t, it seems a moot point.”
“But if he does, it doesn’t hurt to go out on a date.”
I shake my head. “What are you, my grandma? This isn’t the eighteen hundreds. I don’t need a man to be fulfilled.”
His brow furrows. “I’m not saying you do, but you deserve to have some fun as much as the next person.”
“I have fun.” There’s a knot in my stomach. “I went out on Friday night two weeks in a row.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong, but you don’t seem happy to me.”
Defensiveness blazes a path across my skin. I hate that he noticed. I want it to be invisible, so I don’t have to think about it.
I evade, crossing my arms over my chest. “Of course I’m happy. We have a thriving business, Jackson is back on track doing what he should be doing and getting married, and Natalie is making progress. I’ve got my work and my family, which is more than most people ever get. I’m lucky.”
He studies me in that way he has, like he’s an all-knowing being and I’m a mere mortal. “What about you?”
“What about me?” I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’ve got too much on my mind already.
He gives me a small smile. “I remember back when we were kids, you were so wild and carefree, like a walking, talking tornado of chaos. I miss that Cat.”
I experience a pang of loss for the girl I once was, because I know just what he’s talking about. Too much life has happened, though. She’s gone forever and not coming back.
I think of my abandon with Caden—both in the car and on my balcony last night. He’s the only thing in too many years to count to make me wild, but it always ends in disaster.
I swallow all my emotions, and when I speak, my voice is calm, almost toneless. “People grow up, Wyatt. We change. Am I doing something you’re not happy with?”
He straightens, shaking his head fiercely. “No. You’re perfect. I couldn’t ask for a better sister or business partner. I just want you to be happy.”
He always calls me his partner, even though we both know it’s not really true, but I love him all the more for his effort. The least I can do is ease his mind.
“I am happy.” I’m done with this conversation. I wave toward the door. “Can you finish up? I’ve got things to take care of.”
“Sure thing.” His expression is troubled.
Obviously I’ve failed, but I can’t deal with it now—not with the weight pressing down, threatening to crush me. I turn away, leaving as fast as I can.
I race down the hall, turn the corner, and smack right into Caden.
The air whooshes from my lungs and I stumble, but he catches me around the waist. “Where’s the fire?”
Irrationally, I can’t help thinking this is his fault. I was perfectly content before he showed up. Now he’s stirring everything up, and I don’t like it.
I push at his arms. “Not now, Caden.”
I rip myself away, skirt around him, and race outside, hoping the fresh air will finally let me take a deep breath.
The bright sun and humidity hit my face. The wind picks up, plastering my dress to my body.
I’m on the verge of tears, and I hate it.
I need to escape.
I run as fast as my heels will carry me on a dirt road and climb into my car. I kick off my shoes and toss them in the backseat before speeding away.
I don’t care how hard he chases; I won’t let the devil catch me.
11
Caden
By the time I catch up with Cat, she’s gone. All I see is the dust from her car, leaving a path in her wake as she speeds down the treelined drive. I frown, not sure where she might have gone.
I want to follow her.
Wyatt comes to stand next to me, looking off in the same direction.
The question that comes out of my mouth is telling, but I can’t stop it. “Do you know where she’s going?”
Wyatt shoots me a sidelong glance. “Is it any of your business?”
“Nope.” That’s honest, because it’s not. Except it feels like it is, like maybe I’m partially responsible for her distress. My jaw clenches. I made a mistake provoking her this morning. Now I need to rectify it. “But I still want to know.”
Wyatt shifts, addressing me directly. “And why’s that?”
Why is that? It’s a valid question. One I don’t have a good answer to, so I make a statement instead. “She’s upset.”
“Yeah.” He squints at me. “Do you think you can change that?”
“Probably not.” I’ll probably make it worse.
“Then why should I tell you where I think she’s gone?”
Brothers aren’t something I’m used to contending with, especially ones as protective of Cat as Wyatt and Jackson are. Again, I go for honest. “Because I think I can help with her struggle.”
“By making it worse? How does that work?”
I shrug. “Sometimes things have to get worse in order to get better.”
“Fair point.” He raises a brow. “Is there something going on between you and my sister?”
I slide one hand into my jeans pocket. Don’t have a great answer to that, but he’s already at the truth anyway, so what does it matter? I give him a sharp nod. “Yeah.”
“I thought so.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “One of the VPs at the meeting took a liking to her.”
At his wor
ds, my gut tightens. “Can’t say I blame him.”
“You should have seen her back in the day.”
The statement niggles at me, and I chase it down. “Care to explain?”
“Not really.” He flashes me a grin. “I told her if the guy asked her out, she should go for it.”
I grind my teeth at the prospect of her dating someone. Of his hands on her.
“And how do you feel about that?” His head tilts.
“Not great.”
“I’ve got to admire your honesty.”
“It’s all I have to my name at this point.” Not entirely true, but close. My evasions have nothing to do with honesty. It’s just the way it has to be.
“She’ll be back.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“But you don’t want to wait for her?”
“Nope.” I’d rather get to her now—away from this place so we can talk.
He falls silent, and we both turn, looking out at the sugar cane blowing in the breeze.
Just when I’m sure he’s not going to tell me, he sighs. “Usually when she’s upset she goes to visit our mother at the cemetery.”
Relief loosens my tight muscles, and I’m already plucking my keys from my pocket. “Where’s that?”
“Old Country Road, about a mile past Main. Can’t miss it. My mom’s buried in the fifth row on the left.”
“Got it.” I start walking, but he calls after me.
“Caden.”
I turn back. “Yeah?”
He gives me a hard look, one I’m sure brothers have been wearing since the beginning of time. “If you hurt her, if you make her cry, you’ll be forced to deal with Jackson and me.”
Since we’re being all open and shit, I state the obvious. “You know I can’t promise that.”
“I know. But you’ll still have to answer.”
“Fair enough.” Because it is. It’d be smart to stay away and do the job they’re paying me for, but I can’t. I need to make sure she’s okay. Her being upset did something to me, and I can’t let it go.
My fatal flaw.
I can practically see the path laid in front of me, along with the implosion at the conclusion, and I still can’t let it be.
Arrogant Bastard Page 11
