“You okay?” His honeyed voice seeped through her skin.
“Sure.” She smiled uncertainly. “Unless you’d rather be dancing with your new girlfriend.”
“My girlfriend?” He tilted his head sideways and narrowed his eyes. “You mean Amy?”
“Is that her name?” Cat fought to conceal the bloom of envy. “Sorry Jackson stole her and stuck you with me.”
Hank paused, still staring at her. “I doubt many men would consider themselves ‘stuck’ with you. I think I can survive a dance or two, but your concern is touching.” A faint grin stretched across his face and, in a lightly mocking tone, he added, “I didn’t know you cared.”
She couldn’t be sure whether or not he’d meant to be sarcastic-funny or sarcastic-serious, but she hated feeling off-balance. If she must suffer discomfort, then he should, too. Nuzzling closer to him, she rested her cheek on his shoulder.
Tactical error extraordinaire. The strength in his broad shoulders and solid chest offered bedrock into which she could tunnel for security.
To her horror, she heard herself emit a small hum of pleasure. His body stiffened in response.
She knew she should back off, but it had been months since she’d had a man’s arms around her, let alone the arms of a man who knew how to kiss. A man who looked this good in a cheap suit, and who smelled like a little bit of heaven.
Without thinking, she swept her hand along his chest. He caught it with his own before she could bury it inside his jacket. God clearly had no mercy, because the song ended before she could protest.
Hank promptly stepped away, leaving a chill in his wake. Ever the gentleman, he nodded politely. “Thank you. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
Without further comment, he abandoned her on the dance floor. She watched him hustle to the bar at the opposite corner of the tent—virtually as far as he could wander without actually leaving the party.
Cat had never handled rejection or humiliation well, and tonight proved to be no exception. Her ears burned as she turned toward her table, but she summoned her catwalk strut and smiled.
Along the way, she chugged another glass of champagne, enduring the bubbles stinging her throat as punishment for her lapse of control. For allowing desire to dominate her behavior yet again.
Would she never learn?
Prior entry continued
Tell me, Mom, what man would want to date a menopausal woman my age? An infertile woman who could become sick from hormone treatments, lose her hair, and suffer hot flashes, dry skin, decreased sex drive, and mood swings? Would any man choose adoption or egg donors rather than simply find a healthy woman who can give him kids? Based on my experience with love, it seems unlikely. Please, God, don’t make this my fate.
CHAPTER THREE
After the bartender handed him a seltzer with lime, Hank immediately swallowed half the contents of the glass. The hint of citrus tasted good as it slid down the pipe. Exactly what the doctor ordered to sober him up, which he needed to do pronto. Being even slightly buzzed made him too vulnerable, and he refused to fall for Cat’s phony flirtations again. He’d already learned the hard way she had no real interest in him or his relatively humble lifestyle.
Scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he tried to rid himself of the yearning she always aroused. Like the moon caught in earth’s gravity, he couldn’t escape her hold on him. Hopeless moron.
It had all started when he’d first seen her pictures in Jackson’s office, before they’d ever met. Her dramatic brown eyes had distracted him every time he sat across the desk from his boss. The fact Jackson happened to be her brother should’ve convinced him to steer clear. But he’d been too much of an infatuated dumbass to heed common sense because, even in those family snapshots, she looked like a fantasy, with her bronzed skin, shiny long hair, and perfectly chiseled face. He suspected he wasn’t the only guy in the crew who engaged in a few inappropriate daydreams following any meeting with Jackson.
He’d finally met her a few years after he’d first seen those pictures, when she attended one of Jackson’s informal get-togethers at his house in Connecticut. Hank had been too shy and tongue-tied to approach her, but then she’d surprised him by homing in on him early that evening.
“Hi! We’ve never met. I’m Jackson’s sister, Catalina.” She’d held out her graceful hand. A jolt of energy had slammed into his body from the brief contact.
“I’m Hank.” He’d managed to say two whole words, which had been a feat, considering the thoughts running through his mind at the time.
“So, Hank, what’s it like to work for my brother?” She’d placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper, “You can tell the truth. Your secret is safe with me.” Her warm breath had wrapped around his neck like a sensual caress. Then she’d slowly retreated, staring at his mouth for a heartbeat before meeting his gaze. He’d felt her eyes fondle him like a hot pair of hands, and it had nearly brought him to his knees.