Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel (20 page)

“It’s neither. It’s a rehabilitation. I’m bored and need something to work on. You were after me before I left for El Capitan to wrap up this design. You should be thrilled.”

“You’re definitely coming back to Seattle by the end of the summer?” Richard didn’t sound thrilled; he sounded worried.

“That’s still my plan.” His reassurance would have felt more solid if doubts weren’t shooting holes in his words. “I would be an idiot to screw up what we’ve built up there.”

“You would,” Richard said with a hint of warning and another tink of ice.

“Will you see to sending the clothes and the latest design?”

“First thing in the morning.”

“Thanks, Richard.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get eaten by a gator.” The phone beeped.

Cade tapped the phone against his chin, unease binding him. While he hadn’t exactly lied to Richard, he certainly hadn’t been as forthcoming as usual. It wasn’t a matter of trust. Richard had proven himself loyal time and again. He had been Cade’s guide into an alien world.

When the Cottonbloom’s city limits sign faded in his rearview mirror, he’d assumed he’d also left the insular, divided mind-set of the town behind. But like the river mud caked on his boots, he only tracked it into the next city and the next. Even to Seattle.

The same socioeconomic barriers that had kept him apart in Cottonbloom threatened his success in Seattle. In fact, they were more subtle, more dangerous, because instead of being marked by a physical divide like the river, the roadblocks moved, snuck up on him, surprised him.

It was only when he’d learned to play dirty that the barriers no longer barred him from his goals. He played a cutthroat and ruthless game that would make even a banker gasp.

He had success. He had money. The elite welcomed him into their fold like he was born into it. Yet something was still missing, and he wondered if everything he’d learned so far would be of no use in obtaining the missing key to happiness.

It seemed to lie in the hearts of the people he cared about. His funny, fierce sister and his resentful, brilliant brother and his laid-back, irresponsible uncle. And Monroe. Too much seemed to hinge on her. Fear pervaded his unease. His well-guarded independence was being eroded like the river slowly, but surely, reshaped the land around them.

He sat there a long time, his usual decisiveness absent. When he finally went to bed, he opened the window and let the rich, loamy night-cooled breeze from the river sneak memories into his dreams.

Chapter Fourteen

Nerves had Monroe shifting on her strappy heels. Her feet would be hating life tomorrow, but right now the confidence the extra inches gave her was comforting. She’d gone back to try on the sexy cocktail dress in the shop window, and as soon as she’d seen herself in the mirror she’d done some mental calculations in order to justify buying it.

Andrew’s eyes lit up when he’d met her at his parents’ front door, but she hadn’t bought it to impress Andrew. She’d stared at her reflection, wondering what Cade would think of it, and he wasn’t even coming to the party. Another red flag that he had worked even deeper into her psyche.

Mrs. Tarwater, dressed in a floor-length beaded gown in gold, greeted her with a kiss that didn’t quite touch her cheek. She bustled off to direct the caterers while Mr. Tarwater stood at the mantle with a whiskey, looking like he would rather be getting a liver transplant.

“I’m in charge of getting the bar organized. Will you be fine alone for a few minutes?” The sense of ownership and entitlement in Andrew’s smile rankled, but she only gave him a tight-lipped smile drilled into her during hours of cotillion practice.

“I’ll be fine.” When he leaned in to presumably buss her cheek, she bobbed backward in an instinctive defensive move.

He gave her a funny look but headed off. The two-story living area had been turned into an open gathering area with buffet tables and a bar along the wall and a mini–dance floor in one corner.

If tonight went well, she could book a meeting space and get a counselor in on a regular basis to discuss a roundtable of issues facing the girls. All Monroe had to do was smile and talk up the program for a few hours. A small sacrifice. Her thoughts drifted back to Kayla. Still no word from the girl. Worry took up space in her stomach.

Regan swept in the front door in a little black dress that molded to her curves but covered her from neck to knees. “You went back and bought the dress.” Regan hugged her, the delicate floral scent of her perfume enveloping Monroe.

“I wish I hadn’t.”

“Why on earth not? You look hot.”

Monroe looked around, but Mr. Tarwater didn’t seem interested in anything except emptying his glass. “Because Andrew assumes I wore it for him. I’m pretty sure he’s considering this our first date. I feel like a fraud. Like I’m doing something dirty for the money. Like his mother is buying me for her son.”

Regan sighed and waved her hand dismissively around the room. “Ultimately, this is not about you or Andrew. It’s all about Mrs. Tarwater. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wants you to name the group after her. The Tarwater Girls or some such.”

“So I shouldn’t feel guilty about this?”

“You’re ensuring all these people will sleep better tonight knowing they’ve helped the less fortunate among us.” Regan’s teasing cynicism held more than a seed of truth. “All you have to do is avoid being alone with Andrew the rest of the night, which should be simple. Then, next time he calls politely decline another date. Did you invite Cade?”

“I invited Tally, but she’s not coming. Why would I have invited Cade?”

“He would have been a nice, big shield between you and Andrew. And although you were reticent about what went on after you disappeared the other night, you came back covered in greasepaint.”

Heat rushed up her neck. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I noticed; I just didn’t want to say anything in front of Nash.”

Deflection was Monroe’s defense of choice when avoiding topics. “What happened between you and Sawyer?”

“Nothing.” Regan’s cheeks flushed, making her light freckles stand out. “In more exciting news, guess who got pulled over for DWI?”

“I won’t even hazard a guess.”

“Sam Landry.”

A wave of numbing tingles passed through her body. “When?”

“Last week sometime. Not a mile from the Rivershack Tavern by the Cottonbloom Parish police.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“No clue. I don’t know if I even have the authority to force him off the town council. I got at least two dozen calls from concerned citizens.” Regan air-quoted the last two words and injected a shot of sarcasm. “As if they really care about the town. They were sniffing after information. I suppose he’ll be here tonight.”

“He’s invited?”

“He and old man Tarwater are golfing buddies, and he generally shows up to any social function with an open bar. Now that he’s back in town and single, he’s got the look of a man on the prowl.”

Ironic to think about Sam giving money to help her cause when in a twisted way he was the reason for its existence. She forced her mind to stay in the moment and not slip into the past.

The first guests arrived and cut off her and Regan’s ability to have a private conversation. Andrew approached with a toothy, lopsided grin that Monroe supposed was boyish and charming but also seemed insincere.

“You look gorgeous tonight. Did I tell you?”

“Thank you. You’re looking rather dapper yourself.” That at least was the truth. Andrew was a good-looking man who wore a tuxedo with the ease of Cary Grant.

“Mother wants you to greet guests with us.”

Monroe gritted her teeth behind her smile but allowed Andrew to guide her to stand between him and his mother. She wished for the power to teleport herself down to the edge of the river where the water flowing in the darkness would soothe her frazzled nerves.

Guests arrived in a steady flow over the next half hour. The buzz of noise increased to a near roar, echoing off the marble in the grand entryway. A tight, uncomfortable feeling in her chest grew, ratcheted higher every time Andrew placed his hand on the small of her back, his thumb subtly caressing the skin at the top of the low vee. Finally, after several minutes with no new arrivals and with her cheeks growing sore from her cartoonish smile, she excused herself for a drink.

Clutching a glass of chilled champagne, she nodded and made small talk with a slice of Cottonbloom’s elite. She’d grown up with her feet firmly planted in this world, but it was like she was wearing a pair of shoes that were a size too small.

The woman she was making inane small talk with wandered away to chat with a group of women surrounded by a pungent cloud of Chanel N
o
5 and holding Gucci bags.

Monroe ducked behind one of the faux pillars, her untouched glass of champagne sloshing onto her hand. Maybe she needed some liquid courage. She took a too-big gulp. The champagne burned the back of her nose, and she put the glass on a nearby table.

“You look like you need another glass for survival’s sake.” The deep rumbly voice close to her ear startled her around. Her senses went into overdrive cataloging the man in front of her. Her ears had concluded the man was undoubtedly Cade Fournette, but her gaze roved over his neatly trimmed hair, clean-shaven face, and impeccably tailored tuxedo unconvinced.

No stodgy cummerbund or pleated white shirt for Cade. The man might be auditioning to play James Bond. He looked years younger and sophisticated without the beard. He was the sexiest thing Monroe had ever seen.

“Here.” He held out one glass of champagne and took a sip of the other.

She took it like a robot, still blinking against the radiance of manhood in front of her. “I’m surprised you’re not drinking a martini.”

“Shaken, not stirred?” He smiled, his lips more expressive without the frame of hair. “The invitation did say black tie.”

“Sure did,” she said inanely while staring at his perfectly tied bow tie. Obviously not a clip-on. She tried to look away but only got so far as to notice the width of his shoulders in the black well-fitting jacket. “Is Tally coming, too?”

“Nope, but she sends her best.”

The cologne he’d applied filtered through the air and drew her closer for a deep, shuddery breath. Her thong was no match for the delicious spicy scent obviously formulated to disintegrate women’s underwear.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like champagne?” He’d finished his glass while she’d been staring at him.

“I don’t drink.” The ease with which the words came out surprised her. Not that it was a deep, dark secret, but she had gone through college and afterward with a camouflaging drink in her hand. It had seemed easier than going into the reasons she was a teetotaler.

He hummed, took the glass out of her hand, and set it down. “Because of your mother?”

People milled, not close enough to overhear but too close for a discussion she didn’t want to have in the first place. She nodded, and he moved into her space. With him near, it was easy to get distracted.

“You shaved.” Without instruction from her brain, her index finger trailed down his strong cheekbone and across his bottom lip.

His eyes flared and his stance turned predatory, all charm and good humor wiped from his face by her touch. He looked like he might devour her right there in the middle of Cottonbloom’s finest. She was no mouse to his cat. Maybe she’d jump him first, wrap her legs around his hips, and beg him to find a horizontal surface. Or maybe even vertical. Could he see the intent in her eyes?

Why was he here? Certainly not because he had taken up her cause. Maybe to thumb his nose at the people who’d never given him the time of day years ago? Maybe to prove he was as good as they were? Or had he come for her?

She needed to steer them back onto solid ground and out of the engulfing waves of desire flowing and ebbing between them. She cleared her throat but still sounded unusually husky. “Why did you come tonight, Cade?”

Chapter Fifteen

He’d walked into the room, drawn to her like a ship seeking a safe harbor in the storm. Not that he was nervous exactly, but a chord thrummed off-key and disorienting in his chest. The sight of her calmed him. He’d grabbed two drinks and stalked her. From behind he took in the expanse of white exposed by the low plunge of her dress and the sexily mussed artful updo. Yet under the soft, seemingly delicate skin of her back was toned muscle.

He was a natural hunter, studying his prey, exploiting weaknesses, applying the necessary leverage to achieve his goal—whether it was to trap or annihilate. The mentality contributed to his success and solidified his reputation as a ruthless negotiator.

Monroe wasn’t playing a game. Her gaze was hungry, and he found himself wanting to match her candor. Why pretend? This was what he’d come for. To see her. To have her see him. To show her he was as comfortable in this world as he was on the river. That he could compete with and beat the Andrew Tarwaters of the world.

“I’m here representing the Fournettes. That okay?”

“Of course. I just wasn’t expecting…” Her gaze trailed down his body.

Her dismay made him smile, as had the reaction of the parking attendant who’d gotten the pleasure of parking the old truck. Cade was enjoying flaunting the juxtaposition of his youth and what he’d made of himself.

“You look beautiful. That dress should come with a warning label.”

The blush suffusing her fair skin started at her chest and reached into her cheeks. And he could tell because the front plunged nearly as deeply as the back. The clutch pressed under her arm and the blue-stoned pendant that hung between her breasts discreetly emphasized the soft curves. He wanted to touch her but was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” she said with a sultriness that was unbalancing.

The black Armani suit he wore had been tailored for him. Off-the-rack suits never had enough give to comfortably contain the breadth of his shoulders, and he’d learned from Richard that packaging mattered. Especially to the group gathered tonight.