Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel (21 page)

“I occasionally get gussied up and paraded around to potential investors and companies interested in licensing my patents.”

“Just how rich are you?”

Coming from any other woman, the question would have put him on guard and have him seeking the nearest emergency exit. But Monroe had tossed the question out with a vagueness that told him she didn’t really care. It was simple curiosity.

“I have enough money to do what I want. Travel. Have fun.”

“Like helping Tally get her gym off the ground?”

He clenched his jaw and debated whether to deny it. Normally, he didn’t have a problem twisting the truth to fit his agenda, but Monroe had awakened his long-dormant conscience and it loomed like a Titan in his mind. There was no doubt in his mind they were in negotiations. He just wasn’t certain what was at stake. “She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”

“She didn’t. Shockingly,
I’m
not a dummy.” Her teasing drawl made him smile.

Something he never did during negotiations. This negotiation felt like the most important deal of his life. He never allowed any deal to become so important he couldn’t walk away, yet nothing short of an explosion was prying him away from her right now. Alarms sounded dimly.

“Shockingly, I’ve noticed.”

“What else have you noticed?” Was this how the phrase “undressing him with her eyes” originated? Because he could almost feel the tug on the knot of his black silk bow tie.

How far was she willing to take their flirtation in a room with her social peers? He tested her by letting his gaze follow the deep vee of her dark-blue cocktail dress. She didn’t shy away. Her shoulders flattened against the pillar and her back arched in a pose of complete confidence and ease with her body.

The cut of the dress emphasized the shape and fullness of her breasts unmarred by a bra. A hint of her nipples peaked against the fabric made him achingly aware he could slip the dress off her shoulders and expose her to his eyes and mouth. He settled a hand on the pillar above her head and leaned closer, not touching her in any way. Her scent wove around him, sensual and alluring.

“I’ve noticed you’re all grown-up and like to play with fire, Monroe.”

Her gaze dipped as she played with the pendant hanging between her breasts.

His voice turned even huskier. “I can’t stop thinking about the way you went wild on me down by the river.”

Her eyes flared and her fingers stilled. He was honestly as surprised as she was to hear the words come out of his mouth. He’d laid all his cards on the table instead of protecting his trump.

“Maybe it was the situation.”

“Which was?”

“You know, dark and dangerous.”

The thought of another man on his back with Monroe straddling him and driving him insane with her kisses made Cade’s teeth grind. “So you would have kissed Andrew Buttwater like that?”

“That is the most juvenile nickname I’ve ever heard,” she whispered on a spate of giggles.

It had been completely juvenile. The old nickname had jumped from his head to his mouth. He’d learned early on to fight the Andrew Tarwaters of the world with words, not fists. Usually, his technique was more refined, but the man gigged Cade something fierce.

“You laughed,” he said in a slightly embarrassed, defensive voice.

“Well, I’ve never claimed to have a highbrow sense of humor.” She winked at him.

The feelings tumbling in his stomach as if they were in a dryer were disconcerting and unfamiliar. He took a deep breath and grounded himself by glancing around the room.

Andrew held court, surrounded by half the Junior League. Regan Lovell stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out into the dark, pensive and in her own world. Holding his drink in both hands and looking tortured, Mr. Tarwater had been cornered by the Church of Christ preacher and his wife, probably on the hunt for their own donation.

Cade recognized a few townspeople straight off, the only visible changes a few more gray hair and thicker bodies. Some he couldn’t name, although something about them would trigger recognition. Time had marched across Cottonbloom like Sherman’s army.

“Everyone here is writing you a check for your program?”

“I suppose so. I’m grateful for anything, to be honest. I can teach the girls to defend themselves, but you saw what happened with Kayla. She’s still not returning my texts. I worry something worse will happen.”

“Worse?”

“Date rape is disgustingly common. Lots of times the girls blame themselves. They don’t tell anyone. They think because the guy is their
boyfriend—
” she air-quoted the word “—that makes everything okay.”

“Was it like that when we were growing up?”

“Can’t you remember?” She graced him with a small smile. “You know, I always wondered if you had a girlfriend back then but was too shy to ask.”

“I was too busy working, and with no extra money to take a girl anywhere nice. Anyway, I wasn’t exactly a catch. The girls interested in a high-school dropout supporting two kids were on the desperate side.”

He didn’t mention the pang he’d felt when all the kids in his class went to prom. He was getting off a long second shift when girls in sequins and ruffles and boys in tuxedos and colorful vests had taken over his usual haunt. Their energy permeated the plate-glass window of the late-night diner, and Cade had sat in his truck, the engine sputtering, looking from his former classmates to his grease-lined fingernails and rough hands. He’d driven off and skipped dinner.

Her tone was still light, but it sounded forced. “I didn’t date much, either.”

Although discussing his love life had been off-limits during their full-moon meetings, she’d sometimes talked about one boy or another who wanted to date her. At first Cade had felt protective, knowing how boys could be, but later on the feelings had been more complicated. He’d eventually stopped asking if she had a boyfriend, because picturing her with someone else had made him mad and resentful.

“Who’d you go to prom with?” If she said Tarwater, he would need something stronger than champagne.

Her lips twitched. “Regan made for a lovely date. Since she couldn’t go with Sawyer, we went together. There was no one in my school I wanted to go with anyway.”

“What if I’d asked you?” Why the hell had he said that?

She drew in a quick breath. “I didn’t think you saw me like that.”

“I didn’t. It was a hypothetical question.” He cleared his throat and took a step back, needing to put some distance between them. “I hope you can put my donation to good use.”

“I appreciate you taking an interest. You saw firsthand why I need the money.”

“Look, I feel bad for girls like Kayla, but don’t mistake me for an altruistic do-gooder.” His gravelly voice was full of warning and got her attention.

“What do you mean?” She narrowed her eyes on him.

“I don’t take on causes.”

Her head tilted, her look one of cautious confusion.

Did she really need him to say it? After years of watching her, protecting her, the words felt inevitable, and his voice emerged with a primal roughness. “I came for you, Monroe. I want
you
. You understand me?”

Underneath the coarse sentiment lurked something even more potent. Something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Sex was simple and straightforward and the only thing he could honestly offer her.

Instead of acting surprised or outraged or even pleased, she hardened her expression into something he recognized as determination. He saw the same every morning when he looked in the mirror.

“What if that’s not enough for me?”

A virtual gauntlet had been thrown, and Cade, for the first time in a long time, was at a loss as to his next move. What the hell did she expect from him? Promises of forever? Impossible.

He saw what he wanted and pursued it with the same single-mindedness that had kept his family together. If what he wanted was sex, he got it. End of story. He hadn’t had any complaints. Not that he stuck around long enough for a woman to fill out a comment card.

Monroe certainly wasn’t immune to him as a man. Maybe he could exploit that weakness. With her back against the pillar, a sense of false privacy emboldened him. “Your necklace is lovely. Perfect for the lines of your dress.”

Starting at her collarbone, he trailed two fingers on either side of the chain, all the way to the pendant. He fingered the blue stone, letting the backs of his fingers brush the inner curves of her breasts. Her breathing hitched, and her skin flushed, the delicate scent of her perfume becoming stronger.

She whispered his name, and he looked from his hands to her eyes. He fell into their depths, the buzz of people muting into nothing. He recognized her blazing need, was sure she could see the same in him. But there was something else. Caution.

She covered his hand, her fingers soft on his work-dinged knuckles. He stopped teasing her and took her hand in his, threading their fingers in a symbolic gesture from long ago.

“Hypothetically speaking, Cade? I would have said yes.”

The warmth that enveloped him had nothing to do with passion.

“There you are, Monroe.” Andrew sauntered up from the side, and she dropped Cade’s hand like she was ashamed. Hell, maybe she was.

Andrew slid a hand behind Monroe’s back, and Cade puffed his chest out like a territorial animal. With as low as the dress plunged, the man was no doubt touching her bare skin. The thought was nearly unbearable.

Andrew’s annoying fluorescent smile flickered. His gaze darted between Cade and Monroe. The man would have to be blind and deaf not to sense the undercurrents between them.

A fiftyish-year-old DJ in an ill-fitting tuxedo filled the empty space in the room with music. A Sinatra throwback brought a few couples to the middle of the great room and conversations swelled louder to compensate for the extra noise.

“Fournette. Excellent to see a Louisiana representative here, considering most of the girls Monroe helps are from your side of the river.”

A sledgehammer began decimating every polite thought and word Cade retained, sending his mood meter to “ill.” “Tarwater. I’m happy to support Monroe. And Tally.”

“This problem is not confined to race or economics, Andrew. You know I have girls from both sides of the river,” she said in a chiding tone that made Cade think she’d told Andrew several times already.

A wave of clapping crashed through the bubble isolating them from the rest of the party. A few people called Monroe’s name.

“Mother wants you to say a few words. If you’ll excuse us?” Andrew shot Cade a look that could maim. Cade held his eyes a beat longer than was comfortable and bared his teeth in the approximation of a smile.

Andrew guided Monroe to the bar area where his mother waited to hand her a glass of champagne. A speech followed. Her confidence was natural and commanding, yet Cade only half paid attention to her words of praise for the community and the listing of services she wanted to provide for the at-risk girls on both sides of the state line.

Andrew stayed glued to her side, a hand on her at all times as if she were either incapable of standing on her own or a flight risk. He stared at Monroe with a combination of puppyish devotion and very adult intentions. The man looked utterly charmed by her.

A smattering of applause marked the conclusion of her gracious speech. These people had come for a party and a tax write-off. While fundamentally they cared about stopping abuse, in reality they didn’t have time to worry about it—unless it touched them in a personal way like it had Monroe.

Andrew cupped her elbow and leaned down to whisper in her ear. He was probably breathing in the sweet scent of her skin and admiring her breasts like Cade had done. Andrew guided her to the open area and twirled her into a dance. Cade fumed, stoking the hostility bubbling through his body like lava.

A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne. Cade grabbed a glass and tossed it back in two swallows. His tie was a noose, and he untied the bow and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, letting the ends dangle.

Andrew’s mother joined Cade at the pillar. He pried his gaze away from Monroe. Mrs. Tarwater required his full attention if he didn’t want her to strike unexpectedly. Her smile was a warning. “Mr. Fournette. How good of you to come.”

He didn’t bother with a smile. He was here for Monroe. Even so, the compulsion to impress a bunch of folks who’d never given him a chance in hell of doing anything with his life weighed on his chest like a shovel full of river mud.

Mrs. Tarwater sipped a glass of champagne, the diamonds on her bracelet twinkling under the lights. She reeked of old money, good breeding, and expensive perfume. If she had been a hunting dog, she’d be a purebred pointer. Cade had always had an affinity for mutts.

“Mrs. Tarwater. It was good of you to put this fund-raiser together.”

“Yes. We adore Monroe.” She tilted her head, looking up through her lashes. An old-fashioned glance labeled “How to Manipulate Men” in the 1950s Debutante Handbook. “Andrew is enchanted.”

Cade’s gaze shot to the dance floor where Monroe was turning the magic of her smile on Andrew. Something painful crimped his heart. Was she using him for a temporary thrill until she settled down with a man like Andrew?

Mrs. Tarwater continued sotto voce. “Your donation to Monroe’s cause was very generous, Mr. Fournette, but I wouldn’t want it to cause you undue hardship. If you want me to tear up the check, I’ll make sure no one’s the wiser.”

Part of him wanted to spout his net worth, wanted to make it clear that he could outright buy their mansion if he wanted. The prideful part, the one that made sure his chin was up when he went to the food banks as a teenager, made him say only, “That won’t be necessary. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He turned his back on her and headed to the edge of the crowd. A man stood close to the bar and stared at him as if he’d like to slip a blade between Cade’s ribs. A familiarity tinged the antipathy, and Cade riffled through his memories to place the middle-aged man. It didn’t take long for the man to weave through the crowd toward him.