Worth the Trouble (St. James #2) (12 page)

Cat didn’t know how to respond without making things worse. She
held her breath, glancing at Hank, seeking some kind of cue.
Say yes.

His eyes remained trained on Jackson. He gripped his waist before glancing at her and over to Jackson. “Keep your damned card. I’ll pay for my own meal, thanks.” Then he nodded toward the door. “Come on, Cat, I’ve got your drawings laid out on the conference table.”

“Are you two okay?” she asked quietly once they entered the hallway.

“It’s best if you stay out of the cross fire,” Hank mumbled.

“But I’m responsible.” She fidgeted with her hair. “I manipulated Jackson into pressuring you. Don’t blame him. He’s just being a good brother.”

Hank made no reply as they walked into the conference room. He halted at the edge of the table and turned to her. “I figured as much, but I understand your reasons. And this isn’t the first or last disagreement he and I have had. Don’t worry, though. We always get it all done without bloodshed.”

His gracious attitude only increased her guilty conscience, but she kept quiet while he sorted through his hand-drawn sketches.

A carpenter
and
an artist—what could be hotter? A sudden surge of desire produced a gentle ache in her core. The constant twinges of awareness he generated were addictively delicious, but dangerous.

“This is what I’ve worked out.” He presented two separate drawings: one for the three-piece armoire unit, and one for the conversion of the existing closet. “I know you preferred a stand-alone armoire, but this wall unit maximizes storage. I can make the front look like custom furniture, but this is the only way to create enough storage for
all
your stuff.” When he grinned at her, her insides melted. “You needed lots of hanging space, so I’ve dedicated this entire unit to hanging rods, with the exception of some shelving at the top for out-of-season things.”

Hank kept describing the details, but she’d become too mesmerized by his enthusiasm—and watching his lips move—to hear the rest of his explanation.

“It’s wonderful.” Cat scrutinized the detailed drawings more closely to discover how carefully he’d considered her needs. “What about the exterior?” She pointed at another pile of drawings on the corner of the table. “Can I see your vision for that?”

“I kept the basic design simple with a slight curve to the bench seat unit beneath the window. You could go a few different ways.” He spread out the various sketches for her to view. “We could build the front frame and doors from bird’s-eye maple to match your existing furniture. Or you might prefer a basic maple, or something richer, like cherry. Either way, we could insert some kind of mottled glass or mirrors in the face of the doors to add more light in the space. Mirrors would be practical, too.”

Hank stared at her as if watching for her approval. His plans exceeded her expectations, and she’d never been a slouch when it came to setting high expectations. When she rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek in appreciation, he immediately flushed. His reaction to her touch made her entire body tingle. She burned for him to hold her, kiss her, take her—anything to relieve her sexual frustration.

“I’m speechless, Hank. It’s beautiful and practical.” She reluctantly withdrew and studied the drawings more closely. “I like this best.” She pushed her favorite image, one with narrow, full-length mirrors, toward him.

“Okay.”

She liked his boyish grin almost as much as she liked the fact she put it there.

He collected all the drawings and rolled them together before sitting in front of the computer. “I bookmarked a few pages of wood samples from nearby suppliers. The maple in your bed had heavy eye, but in a unit of this size, it might get too busy.”

Cat leaned over Hank’s shoulder as he opened the laptop and clicked through various images from the different vendors. Suddenly, concentrating on anything other than his musky scent became an impossible task.

The heat radiating from his skin warmed her cheek, but he seemed unaffected by her presence as he toggled through various websites. Yet as she brushed against him to take a closer look at the screen, his quick intake of air proved—thankfully—that he, too, felt an electric attraction.

“It’s a little overwhelming.” She kept her cheek within inches of his. “Which would you choose?”

Hank kept staring at the screen. If only he’d turn toward her, their lips would practically touch. Even as Cat scolded herself for her own immaturity, she longed for him to share her desire.

“This one would be beautiful,” he finally said, his voice huskier than earlier.

Jackson popped his head through the conference room door, causing Cat to straighten up.

“I’m off.” He smiled at Cat and then slid his gaze to Hank. “Sure I can’t convince you to take me up on my offer?”

“No need, brother,” Cat interjected. “I’m taking Hank to dinner as a thank-you for his thoughtful work, and for graciously agreeing to do it for me.”

She
wanted
to thank him. But more importantly, his magnificent designs reaffirmed her intention to press for a business partnership. Hank clearly loved the work, and she desperately needed a new direction in her life. A challenging goal, but more importantly, a unique one. Something that stood out, something special and unlike the products models typically licensed.

She needed Hank to make it happen. To give her a chance to walk away from modeling before she was shoved out. And, she admitted to only herself, to give her something other than a child to nurture.

Surely he must want autonomy, too. This idea would be a win-win.

“Like I always say, he’s the best I’ve got.” Jackson flashed Hank
a contrite look. “Forget about the Caines. I’ll supervise Doug more closely over there.”

“Thanks.” Hank calmly stood his ground.

In the past, she’d misjudged Hank’s lack of machismo and unassuming way as weakness. But ever since the wedding, she was coming to see that Hank wasn’t a pushover, not by a long shot.

Goose bumps fanned out over her skin in response to her newfound perspective, and the conference room suddenly felt like a sauna. If Hank agreed to her proposition, she’d need to suppress her longing for some kind of personal relationship. All the better, since getting intimately involved with him would mess with her head, or worse, her heart.

“Lock up, okay?” Jackson slapped his hand against the door frame twice before leaving.

Cat faced Hank once they were alone. “So, will you join me for dinner?”

“You’re already overpaying me for this project, Cat.” He sank back into his chair and stretched out his legs while studying her. “You don’t need to humor me with a dinner.”

“I’m not,” she said, hedging. Her plans would take finesse, not a steamroller. “I’m too hungry to wait until I get back to the city, and I hate to eat alone. My brother did blow me off, as you saw.”

He smiled. “I suspect you don’t get snubbed too often.”

“You Connecticut boys seem to be making a habit of it lately.” She wondered if he’d pick up on the reference to his behavior on Block Island. Although grateful he didn’t take advantage of her that night, part of her burned for his touch.

He stared at her, clearly considering his options. Finally he gestured toward his dirty work boots and clothes. “I need to shower first.”

“Is that an invitation?” Cat lifted a single brow and waited for his reaction to the flirtatious remark, enjoying the buzz she got from teasing him.

His face filled with color before he crossed his arms in front of his chest and narrowed his gaze. Sweet warmth flowed through her veins like melted caramel. Then she remembered that, as much as she loved the flirtation, she’d have to quit it if they became partners.

“Why do you get such a kick out of taunting me?” he finally asked.

“I like the way you blush.” She grinned, waiting for the appearance of the dimple on his left cheek. “Keeps you honest, and reminds me of Vivi. Neither of you hides your emotions well.”

“Unlike you?” His green eyes shimmered.

“Unlike me.” Her reserved mask suddenly tightened like a plastic bag, depriving her of oxygen.

“You should know something, Cat.” He stood up and leaned in close, placing his palm against the conference table so his chest grazed her arm. A heady combination of testosterone and anticipation made her dizzy. “You don’t hide your emotions as well as you think.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, the golden flecks in his green irises blazing. To break the spell, she forced a sigh. “Now you have X-ray vision?”

“Like Superman. So you should know you’re not always cloaked in lead.” He dropped his gaze to her lips. “But you do surprise me now and then.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated, afraid to reveal more. “So, shall I follow you home? Let’s take my car to dinner since I doubt I can climb into your truck in these heels.”

Hank’s reaction to the sight of her four-inch-high Jimmy Choos reminded her of a
Scream
mask. She’d have scoffed, but she was too busy praying he’d accept her proposal.

Silence stretched between them while he appeared to be wrestling with the decision. Finally he tugged at his earlobe. “Fine. Follow me and think about where you want to eat.”

Fifteen minutes later, Cat parked along the curb in front of a cute, beige Dutch colonial set upon an immaculately manicured, emerald-green lawn. The window boxes contained a variety of flowers and ivy. Neatly pruned boxwoods and rosebushes filled the flower beds.

Black shutters flanked each window, and the brick-red roof provided a nice contrast to the tableau. The 1950s television show scene lacked only the white picket fence. Yet it had a feminine quality she couldn’t quite align with Hank, who was 100 percent male.

Hank stood beside his truck waiting for her. As she walked along the driveway, a petite blond woman jogged toward him from behind the house.

“You’re late, Hank,” she said. “Now
I’m
going to be late.”

“Late for what?” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

“Class!” She scowled until she noticed Cat halt in front of them.

Cat’s mind blanked. Who was
this
pretty woman? Blond like Amy, but younger.

“Oh, hell. It’s Thursday.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I totally forgot, Jenny.”

Jenny
. Cat cleared her throat before extending her hand. If Hank had been messing around with Amy behind Jenny’s back, then he wasn’t the man she believed him to be. It shouldn’t be a surprise, considering her lousy instincts, but her heart still deflated like a tire crossing a spike strip. “Hi, I’m Cat.”

“I’m Jen.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“No, we haven’t.” Cat smiled—a fortunate reflex of her career—despite her blackening mood.

“Cat is Jackson’s sister. You’ve probably seen her in a magazine. She models clothes and stuff.” Hank’s nonchalant tone suggested her relative fame didn’t impress him much. A novel—and welcome—experience with a man. “Cat, this is my baby sister, Jenny.”

Sister.
Vaguely she recalled Vivi having mentioned something last summer about Hank raising his sisters. Cat hadn’t realized he still had one at home. A wave of relief crashed over her that she hadn’t misjudged him.

Hank tossed Jenny his keys. “I assume Helen’s gone. Is Meg available tonight?”

Jenny’s eyes widened. “Are you two going out, like, on a date?”

“Not a date,” Hank replied too quickly. “It’s a work thing. I’m building her some furniture.”

“Oh.” Jenny’s shoulders drooped. “Well, I have no idea if Meg is free. Give her a buzz. I’ve got to run. Nice to meet you, Cat.”

“You, too.” Cat waved as Jenny bounded into the driver’s seat and backed Hank’s truck out of the driveway.

“Who are Helen and Meg?” Cat smirked. “Part of a harem?”

“Hardly.” Hank’s expression turned somber. “Helen’s a caregiver who helps with my mom. Meg’s the only other one of my four sisters who lives nearby.” Hank sighed. “If she’s not available, I can’t go out tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t leave my mom alone.” Hank rubbed his hand along his jaw as he walked toward the house. “She’s got late-stage Alzheimer’s.”

“Oh,” Cat replied, only beginning to comprehend the enormous responsibility Hank shouldered. How had she not noticed this strength sooner? “I’m really sorry, Hank. That must be hard.”

“You have no idea.” Then he opened the back door and waved her inside.

Mom,

If I complained to you about the fact that any admiration I’ve received from modeling has been distant, superficial, and based on a false perception of who I am, you’d probably wag your finger and remind me that I helped create that perception. And you’d be right.

Well, now I’d like to be admired for something real before I die. How’s that for a bucket list?

C
HAPTER
N
INE

H
ank sensed Cat’s hesitation, knowing she’d stepped into more than she’d bargained for with her simple dinner invitation. He still wasn’t sure why he’d said yes.

Ever since her drunken confession on Block Island, thoughts of her messed with his head with growing frequency. The attention-seeking teasing she’d turned into an art form hypnotized him, convincing some part of his brain that she might actually be interested.

“Give me a second to track down Meg.” He dialed his sister while watching Cat’s eyes scan the kitchen and living room. Unlike her condo, his humble home contained nothing elegant or expensive, yet he’d worked hard for every scrap. He tried to read her thoughts, but her picture-perfect face offered no hints.

“Hey, Hank.” Meg sounded harried. “What’s up?”

“Can you come watch Mom tonight?”

“Sorry. I’m covering a shift until eleven.”

“All right.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead, frustrated. “Talk to you later.”

“Maybe next time.” Meg’s earnest tone didn’t soften the blow.

“Sure. See you this weekend.” He stuffed his phone in his back pocket.

“Did you make this, too?” Cat pointed at the dining room buffet, which he’d built from mahogany and quarter-sawn sycamore. The streamlined design included a bowed profile, tapered legs, and a band of incised carving above the drawers. Although he rarely used a high-gloss lacquer, he’d opted for it on that piece. “It’s really interesting.”

Cat’s slender fingers traced the carving instead of touching other things in the house—like him. When she glanced up, her smile shot to his heart . . . and other places. “I love the light and dark woods, and the high sheen.”

“Thanks.” Yanking his thoughts from the gutter, he recollected Cat’s furnishings and wasn’t surprised she liked the shiny topcoat. “I built it about five years ago.”

“You built the dining and coffee tables, too, right?”

“How can you tell?” Most people didn’t notice, let alone take an interest.

“They have a similar appeal—visually strong, yet airy, too. Clean lines,” she began, then shrugged. “At least, that’s what I see.”

Her admiration brightened the room and his spirits. “You’ve got an eye for detail.”

“Must be from years of studying photographs and clothing design.” She then smiled broadly, lifting a framed photograph of his two-year-old nephew. “Is this you when you were young?”

“No, that’s my nephew, Eddie. He does look like me, though. See?” Hank pointed at another photograph—one of him and his mother when he was three or four.

“That’s uncanny.” Cat set Eddie’s photo down, her expression more sedate. “Do you like being an uncle?”

“Love it. Meg brings him by when she stops in to check on our mom. It’s pretty cool to see family traits come out in this whole new little person. I suspect, with David and Vivi’s recent marriage, you’ll be an aunt soon enough.” Hank chuckled to himself. “Maybe they’ll get lucky and have a girl who looks like you.”

Cat’s halfhearted nod surprised Hank. She sighed. “Sounds like you’re looking forward to fatherhood yourself.”

“Some day. Boys, hopefully, to even out the odds around here.”

Cat clasped her hands together, her faraway gaze momentarily taking her elsewhere. With her gaze averted, she quietly said, “You’ll make a great dad.” Her body language screamed “end of discussion.” Didn’t she like kids? Not that it should make any difference to him.

Then she snapped back to the present. “Why don’t you go shower so we can eat.”

“About that. I can’t go out tonight. Meg’s working at the hospital—she’s a nurse.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip and looked up at him through the thick lashes of her bewitching eyes. “We could order pizza.”

“You eat pizza?” The shock jerked him from his lusty haze. He’d never seen her plate filled with much more than lettuce and fruit.

“Hardly ever,” she admitted. “I need a good excuse to binge on junk food. Being blown off by my brother and your getting stuck here gives me two good excuses, right?”

My God, when she grinned, he revved up like a Porsche running at full throttle. Would his longing ever subside?

“You’re the boss,” he answered.

A beat of silence settled between them while she appeared to weigh her next words.

“You don’t like that about me, do you?” Her hurt tone singed his lungs like polyurethane fumes.

“That’s the second time you’ve accused me of not liking you, or not liking something about you.” He gripped his hips and tilted his head. “What’ve I ever done to give you that impression?”

“The cold shoulder last summer and at the wedding spring to mind.” Cat glanced toward the candlesticks on the buffet, avoiding eye contact. Her obvious struggle to be open reminded him of David’s remark about the unfortunate St. James family trait. “The way you clam up around me, like you’re biding your time until you can escape.”

“If anything, we had a mutual cold-shoulder thing happening last summer, which is understandable considering how you blew me off after we first met.” Taking a page from Vivi’s playbook, he waited for Cat to meet his gaze before continuing. “As for the wedding, you can’t honestly accuse me of not caring when I went out of my way to keep you from getting hurt.”

Although Hank stood three feet away from Cat, the heat they generated fused them together with some kind of invisible glue. He noticed her pulse throbbing at the base of her neck, her breath falling shallow. Only her troubled expression stopped him from kissing her.

She swallowed hard before replying. “What did you mean that morning when you said I was the reason you left my room?”

Any sense of victory he might’ve felt about his remark making her think these past several weeks vanished at the sight of her suffering.

Having this conversation hadn’t been something he’d planned. However, his mom had always taught him an honest question deserved an honest answer.

“You like to play games and wield the upper hand.” He stepped a little closer. “I don’t have room in my life for games, Cat. I’m a man, not a puppet.”

Cat’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an
O
. Before she replied, his mother staggered into the living room with the walker, wearing her pajamas over her other clothes.

“Hey, Mom. Where are you going?”

“Rick?” His mother scowled at him. She drew back while jabbing her finger in Cat’s direction. “Who?”

Her brittle voice stopped him in his tracks. Helen had mentioned his mother’s more frequent angry outbursts. Of course they’d flare up now, in front of Cat.

“It’s me, Mom. Hank.” He held his hands up slowly and backed up. “What do you need?”

His mother clutched the fabric above her chest, still pointing at Cat. “Fssht!”

“Mom,” Hank began, ignoring her inarticulate last word, then Cat interrupted.

“Mrs. Mitchell, I’m Hank’s friend, Catalina.” She spoke in even, calm tones. Her smile didn’t falter, nor did she reveal any discomfort. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

Still, his mother’s eyes narrowed into a confused scowl. “Why . . . you?” She tangled one hand into her hair and shuffled toward the kitchen. In a softer voice, she mumbled something he didn’t understand.

Hank winced, avoiding Cat’s gaze as he followed his mother, but Cat called to him.

“Hank, I hear something,” she said. “Sounds like water.”

He strained to listen while keeping an eye on his mother. The faint rush of water from an open faucet hissed from the master bedroom. “Can you check her bathroom? I’d rather not leave you alone with her to go check myself.”

Cat nodded before crossing the living room and disappearing into the master bedroom. Her unruffled response to the circumstances surprised Hank, proving how little he really knew about her—things he wanted to discover.

His mother reached the kitchen, stopping at the table. She stared blankly at the refrigerator and released the fabric she’d been groping, which was now smudged with toothpaste. Her hands fell to her sides while he waited quietly.

“Mom,” he whispered, his heart wrung out like a tattered dishrag. “It’s me, Hank.” He wet some paper towels with warm water and began wiping her hands to remove the toothpaste. “Are you hungry?”

She turned as if startled to see him and picked at her clothes, shivering.

“You’re cold? Let’s go change these pajamas and get you warmed up.”

Like a child, she pushed her walker beside him as he led her back to her bedroom. Somewhere along the way she slipped into a trance. Once he helped her back into bed, he removed the pajamas and let her lie there in her housedress rather than risk upsetting her again. After pulling the covers up, he kissed her head.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before going to her bathroom. Cat was kneeling on the vanity—shoes tossed aside—cleaning toothpaste off the mirror with a washcloth.

She’d thrown a towel on the floor to sop up a puddle that had somehow ended up down there. Glamour girl didn’t even seem put out, perched up on the sink. Silently, he grabbed another washcloth and worked alongside her to clean up the mess.

Dammit
. After witnessing this little episode she’d surely bolt back to her fun, easy life. When they finished, he took the rag from her hand, picked up the soaked towel, and turned off the light. Cat quietly trailed behind him to the living room.

“I’m sorry.” He threw the towels aside. “Not sure what to say except thanks for helping.”

“Don’t apologize, Hank. I shouldn’t have just barged in on you tonight.” She groped her ponytail while the look in her eyes grew distant. “I remember watching my mother wither away, but cancer never robbed her of her memory. At least she always knew who I was. I can’t imagine losing that connection. I’m so sorry.”

Cat’s dewy eyes and compassion didn’t feel anything like pity, and for that he was grateful.

“It pretty much sucks,” he admitted.

Cat stepped forward and squeezed his hand in comfort.

He squeezed back, wishing he could tug her closer. “You probably want to get going now.”

He smiled, hoping he didn’t look disappointed as he prepared for her polite good-bye. She cocked her head, biting her lip.

“Actually, I’m starving. If you don’t mind company, let’s still order pizza.” She withdrew her hands and tucked her thumbs inside her pockets. “Maybe you could even show me where you build furniture.”

Another curveball.

She wanted to stay. Hope reached inside his chest and pumped his heart.

“Okay. Pepperoni and mushroom sound good?”

An hour later they’d finished an entire extra-large pizza. To be fair, he’d eaten ninety percent of it while she’d eaten a salad and one slice.

Now she sat with one leg tucked up under her butt and her elbows on the table. Seeing her so relaxed reminded him of how she’d behaved at Jackson’s last year—the version of Cat St. James he liked best. He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone other than her family, Vivi, and now him, ever had the privilege of seeing her this way.

She set her chin in her palm. “Tell me how you got involved in carpentry.”

“When I was eleven, my Uncle Joe had me help him build a garden bench. After that, I worked alongside him each summer.” Hank had loved those hot summer days spent woodworking while listening to classic rock, each year taking on more responsibility and more complex projects. “The last piece we built together was a desk for my aunt. It’s weird to look back now and realize those skills I learned from him ended up supporting my family. And the closeness I had with my uncle softened the blow of losing my dad so young. Life can be funny that way—you never know which little decisions today will make a big difference tomorrow.”

“Funny or scary, depending on your perspective.” Cat leaned forward, apparently rapt. “Do you and your uncle still build things together?”

“No. He moved to Florida eight years ago, but we’re still close.”

“Sounds nice.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. Her graceful manner made even such common gestures appear sophisticated—an unwelcome reminder of how she’d never truly fit in his mundane life. “Can I see your workshop?”

“Sure.” He tossed their paper plates in the trash, hooked the video monitor to his belt, and opened the back door. “Follow me.”

Anticipating her reaction to his private world chased away the sense of calm he typically experienced crossing the lawn.

Although the evening sky still shone with lilac-and-rose-tinted light, he flicked on the overhead lights in the garage. “This is it. It’s not much, but—”

“This is where the magic happens,” she said on a breath. Her eyes scrutinized every detail as she spun on her heel. She meandered around the small studio, touching various tools and wood planks without speaking. Moments later, she asked, “This is who you are, isn’t it? This is what you love, what you want to do with your life.”

“Maybe one day.” He dug the toe of his right shoe into the ground and noticed he was still wearing his work boots.
Aw, hell
. In all the chaos, he’d forgotten to shower.

“Why wait?” She turned toward him wearing an enthusiastic smile. “Why not start now? Like I mentioned before, I could use my connections to help.”

“You make it sound easy, but it doesn’t work that way.”

“What way does it work?”

“It’s a slow process. A highly efficient builder might max out at around eighteen pieces per year. I can’t afford all the equipment I’d need to work at that pace, and this space is too small.”

“So we rent space, we buy equipment.” Her unconcerned grin reminded him of Jackson, who also had no aversion to risk. Of course, unlike Hank, neither of them supported dependents. “What else?”

He chuckled until he realized she was dead serious. “Cat, what exactly are you proposing?”

She stilled, looking uncharacteristically shy for a minute. “How about a partnership, fifty-fifty? You’re the talent, and I’ll handle the branding and sales.”

“When?” He chuckled. “In between photo shoots?”

She squared her shoulders—friendly rapport retreating behind the façade. Clearly his joke had insulted her. “You know, a lot of companies would pay
me
for my name and social reach.”