Her Knight in Black Leather (19 page)

She ran her hands along his forearms and took in his reflection. Taking in the dark blazer that somehow accentuated the width of his shoulders, with the white dress shirt beneath, open at the collar. “You’re looking pretty good yourself, Mr. Brant. I’ve never seen you in anything but jeans and leather.”

He cocked a brow, amused and playful. “Do you approve?”

“No.” She bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. God, what was it about this man that made her insides quiver? She couldn’t get enough of him. “Take it off.”

“Keep that up,” he leaned into playfully nip at her shoulder, “and we may never actually make it to the party.”

At the mention of the engagement party, her amusement deserted her. She turned to their reflections, her mind twisting off in a fear-filled direction.

“It’s been over a week.” Nine days since Lisa ended up in the hospital and their charade began. Nine days of what should have felt like freedom. “We haven’t heard a peep from her.”

Everything had suddenly stopped. The phone calls, the threats. The police hadn’t been able to track down the stalker yet. They’d turned her apartment upside down but hadn’t found anything except Lisa’s blood on the bed sheets. No fingerprints. No stray hairs. Nothing to tell them who threatened her. Cat felt as if she waited on a razor’s edge for the next strike to come.

A very palpable somberness settled over Michael, telling her his thoughts followed hers. “My mother invited a couple of people from the paper to the party tonight. She wants it announced first thing Monday morning.” His body tensed against her back. “Front page.”

Cat couldn’t stop the cold shiver that ran through her. Fear settled like a rock in her stomach, making her nauseous. Lisa’s face had barely begun to heal. So far, Cat had managed to ignore her fear by losing herself in Michael, getting caught up in the charade. The emotion came back with a vengeance. Something Michael must have caught, for his arms tightened around her.

“Hey.” His head came down beside her ear, his voice warm and reassuring. “I’ll be with you every second. I’m not leaving your side until they catch whoever this is. If they come after you again, they’ll have to go through me first. Okay?”

His gaze met hers in the mirror, his sober and strong, and the knot in her stomach eased. She nodded. “Thank you.”

He released her and took her hand. “Come on. My father’s car is waiting out front. Let’s go enjoy ourselves.”

• • •

A couple hours later, Cat managed to find a moment alone and stepped into the line of brightly colored rose bushes. Their lovely scent perfumed the air. Cat drew in a deep breath and let the aroma calm her trembling nerves.

Over three hundred people mingled in the Brants’ backyard. Photographers, friends of the family, distant relatives. So far tonight, she and Michael had put on a show. Pretended to be madly in love. It was a constant barrage of touches and smiles and kisses for the camera. Every touch, every tender caress, every kiss, felt a little too real. On top of it all, the possible danger that might erupt tomorrow left her stomach tied in impossible knots. It was taking its toll on her sanity, and she’d snuck away to catch her breath.

Footsteps moving through grass sounded behind her, a second before familiar, strong arms encircled her waist from behind. Michael’s tall, masculine form pressed against her back, enveloping her in his scent of soap and man and fresh air.

“Finally, I have you all to myself.” His soft lips skimmed the side of her neck.

Cat shivered, unable to resist leaning back into the familiar warmth of his body, but couldn’t summon the same desire. Her heart was at war with itself. Instead, she slid her arm along his. “Hi.”

He seemed to understand something was wrong, for he leaned his cheek against hers. “You okay?”

She shot a smile over her shoulder and hoped it didn’t look as tight and forced as it felt. “Yeah. Just needed some air. The crowd’s a bit overwhelming.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. For the last hour, they’d been caught up in mingling with the party guests, people who’d come to congratulate them on their engagement, some who’d come to gawk. She was caught in his mother’s snare as the woman whirled around the backyard, introducing her to the guests.

Like the first night she’d had dinner with his family, however, Michael hovered close by. The charade only seemed to fan the blaze that sparked between them. When they weren’t together, they watched each other from across the yard, a potent hunger flaring between them that had her ready to combust. It was the tenderness in his eyes, however, that had her tied in knots. Those eyes told her that whatever was happening between them wasn’t one sided.

Being with him this way felt natural. Like waking up in the morning and taking a breath. Or watching the sun rise. That knowledge left her hovering at the edge of a terrifying reality. As soon as the sheriff caught whoever threatened her, Michael would go back to his life. All too soon, he wouldn’t have a reason to stay in Crest Point. He’d leave, taking her heart with him. She’d known that from the very beginning.

His arms tightened around her, his voice a low, concerned hum in her ear. “What’s the matter, baby? Is it the newspaper reporters? We can leave if you want.”

“You’re leaving, Michael.” She whispered the words, the pain caught in her throat.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his body so still behind her it was as if she could feel him thinking. “You could always come with me, you know.”

Cat’s chest tightened. Her heart overflowed and broke at the same time. She yearned to turn and throw her arms around his neck. Realizing she’d fallen in love with him hit her hard. She was positive she was only a fling to him. She’d tried to prepare herself for the moment when she had to let him go. To know, to hear, the connection between them wasn’t one-sided, that he felt it, too, made her heart want to burst.

“I can’t.” She shook her head, swallowing past the lump rising in her throat.

Tears burned in her eyes and her heart pounded, but an impossible hope expanded in her chest, and Cat clung to it. She slid her hands along his arms, wrapping hers tightly over his. The words that would make him understand left her mouth on a desperate wing and a prayer.

“When the whole fiasco with your grandfather went public all those years ago, my mother was paid to leave town. From that point on, she became a nomad. We moved all the time, sometimes as often as two or three times a year. Mom got bored. One day she got bored of
me
. Two weeks before my seventeenth birthday, she dumped me in my father’s lap, told me she was sorry and left. I never heard from her again.”

The painful memories filled her mind, bringing back all those hopeless feelings.

Michael remained silent, simply listening.

“People treated me differently. I was a novelty. Boys wanted me to put out the way my mother had. I hated it. As soon as I turned eighteen, I left. But I missed my father. I came back when his wife, Judy, got sick. I can’t leave him again. He’s all I’ve got.” She hesitated, swallowed hard, then let the hope-filled words go. “You could always stay, you know.”

He stiffened, his arms releasing her, and straightened. “I can’t. I’ve created an entire life in L.A. One I’m proud of because it’s mine. Not my father’s, but mine. I built it, from the ground up, with nothing but my hands and a dream. I’m not ready to leave it.” He was silent a moment, his fingers stroking along her shoulder and down her arm. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready to come home yet. It hurts too much.”

• • •

Cat put the last of the books on the shelf with a sigh. It was late. The bookshop had closed an hour ago, the town long since having quieted, but she stayed to shelve new products and clean up the store a bit. She needed something, anything, to do. Michael didn’t want her going back to her apartment without him. The repercussions of the engagement party had yet to be seen. She didn’t want to go to his place, either. Not yet. Her mind wouldn’t stop turning, wouldn’t stop rewinding back to the night before.

After their candid conversation at the engagement party, something shifted between them. Michael went through the motions, but he’d closed himself off. He didn’t look at her the same way, didn’t touch her the same way, wouldn’t look her in the eye.

When they got back to his place, however, he reached for her with an almost desperation. They’d made love last night with an intensity that left her shaken. She couldn’t shake the feeling he was somehow telling her good-bye. It left her torn between wanting to cherish the last of their time together and needing to put distance between them.

The chime over the door rang, announcing the entrance of a customer.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed.” She set the last book on the shelf and stepped out into the aisle.

She immediately recognized the woman standing in the shop. It was Mrs. Hartman. Trish Hartman’s mother.
Michael’s
Trish. The older woman had become a repeat customer in the last few weeks. She stood inside the front door, looking slightly lost, wearing, of all things, a long tan trench coat. Entirely too warm for the humid weather.

She smiled at the older woman as she moved up the aisle to the front counter. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs. Hartman. I’m afraid I forgot to lock the front door.”

For a moment, Mrs. Hartman didn’t move. She remained silent, her hands in the pockets of the coat, her face impassive. Finally, she moved toward the front counter.

“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” A touch of restrained animosity trembled in her voice.

A cold shiver ran up Cat’s spine, unease twisting in her stomach. “I’m sorry?”

Mrs. Hartman’s face twisted in fury, and she pulled her right hand from her pocket to reveal a small black handgun, the muzzle pointed at Cat. “I warned you to stay away. That you’d pay for your indiscretions if you didn’t, but you didn’t listen.”

Cat froze. For several moments, chaos spun all around her, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as her mind raced a million miles an hour. “Mrs. Hartman, please, put the gun down.”

“I know who your mother was. You’ve been just like her since you moved back into this town. You sleep with anything that walks upright. It’s disgusting. Did you really think you could just waltz in here and take him? Did you really think I’d let a little tramp like you undo all our hard work?” The older woman sneered at her, her voice rising in pitch as she waved the gun, her finger startlingly shaky on the trigger.

Mrs. Hartman’s words hit like a lead ball straight to her chest. Scenes from her life flashed through Cat’s mind. The little girl she’d once been, watching her mother drag her around from town to town like baggage, too busy living her life to bother with her. Leaving her alone for hours on end, only to bring home man after man. Some who were nice, some who peered at Cat in a way that made her feel dirty.

The sixteen-year-old girl, a newcomer in town, fending off yet another guy who assumed she’d “put out” and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

All the nights of crying herself to sleep, wishing she could be anyone else.

In those memories rose the anger, the resentment. It boiled up from the pit of her stomach, spreading outwards like wildfire over a dry field, consuming everything in its path, until her hands curled into fists at her sides. No. This was the last time.

Squaring her shoulders, she met Mrs. Hartman’s glare with one of her own. “I haven’t seen or heard from my mother since she abandoned me to my father nine years ago. I am not now, nor have I ever been her. Nor am I to blame for your daughter’s failings. Michael is a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. I’ve slept with all of three men in my entire life. Whatever stories you’ve heard were spit out by boys with big egos who couldn’t handle being told no.”

As the words exited her mouth, they left in its place a sense of strength she’d never had before. From this day forward, she was just Cat. With a lift of her chin, she stood her ground but sent up a silent prayer Mrs. Hartman would come to her senses and put the gun down.

Mrs. Hartman’s face twisted in anger. She let out a primal scream and surged forward.

“You stupid little whore!” Her voice rose in pitch as she waved the gun. “He doesn’t belong to you, do you hear me? You are nothing! Nothing but a gold-digging little tramp, who — ”

“Enough.”

Cat pivoted in the direction of the voice. Michael stood inside the entrance, one hand holding the door open. Her heart lurched and swelled at the same time, a mixture of relief and fear drumming within her. If she had to choose who she wanted to show up right then, it would’ve been him.

Except Mrs. Hartman whipped around and aimed the gun in the direction of his chest. Cat’s heart stopped as fear rose like a tide within her.

“Don’t move!” Mrs. Hartman spat the words, her voice shaking with fury.

Michael released the door, sending the bells tinkling again, concern lighting his eyes. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and wished she could run to him and wrap her arms around him. “I’m fine.”

He turned back to Mrs. Hartman. “What are you doing?”

Mrs. Hartman’s face twisted in fury. “This is
your
fault. My daughter paid the price for loving you. With her life. My poor Trish.” Her voice cracked, grief flooding the woman’s face, and for a moment, the gun lowered a tad. A breath later, however, she squared her shoulders and re-aimed the gun. “Now it’s your turn to pay. You took something from me, now I’m going to take something from you.”

With the older woman’s attention off her, Cat took a chance and ran to the other end of the counter. She managed to pick up the phone when Mrs. Hartman jerked the gun back in her direction. “Say good-bye to her, Michael.”

The instant she turned, Michael lunged for Mrs. Hartman. He grabbed her wrist and yanked, pulling the gun’s muzzle away from Cat. Startled, Mrs. Hartman pulled back and twisted toward him. Her face contorted as she howled in rage. She closed her fingers over the trigger, waving her arm around to loosen his grip. He swore, fighting to gain control. Somewhere in the struggle, the crack of a gunshot rang through the shop, the smell of gunpowder filling the air.