Impasse (16 page)

Katherine hesitated. It was a test. He was making her tell him whether she wanted him to come inside with her. “If I'm going to buy it, I might have questions.”

“Guess I'll have to come with you then.” He threw open his door and swung his big body out.

The footpath to the front entrance was heavy natural stone, expensive. The Bolt Construction sign declaring it
ANOTHER HIGH-QUALITY BOLT PROJECT
was still stuck in the as-yet unlandscaped dirt. Dugan narrated the exterior features as they approached.

“Double-pane argon windows. Fifty-year roof. Fiber cement siding. All the best.”

But Katherine wasn't listening. She ignored the front door and strode to the corner of the home to peek around back, where she stopped in her tracks and gasped. Behind the house, Buzzards Bay pressed up against a thirty-foot ribbon of light-colored sand that snuggled up to the property like a lover. It wasn't as good as her SAC friends' homes; it was
better
. She took a deep breath as she felt, rather than saw, her two-hundred-and-fifty-pound escort nestle up behind her to share the moment.

“This house is on the beach,” Katherine said, allowing him to press against her. “Right
on
the beach!”

“Yep,” Dugan said, smiling over her shoulder like a boy showing off his hot car to a date.

“I hate to ask…”

“Right around a million. Still want me to take you in?”

Two days earlier she would have felt silly accepting a private showing of a million-dollar home. Reggie would have seen her eyes flicker away with the embarrassment of not being able to afford it. But today she had a million-five on the way and, if she played it right, two hundred grand per year more coming. Today she felt like a little girl with the keys to the candy store being dangled in front of her. Instead of glancing away, she turned to look straight up at Reginald Dugan. He really wasn't a bad-looking man.

“Absolutely,” she said.

Ten minutes later Katherine was seated on the edge of the model home's five-thousand-dollar leather couch. The view of Buzzards Bay from the living room was jaw-dropping, and she couldn't help but peek out of the corner of her eye at the full 180 degrees of waves thrusting themselves ashore with a persistent rhythm.

She took a deep breath, filling her nostrils with salty air, and felt more alive than she had in years. It was everything Clay had promised, with one exception: Dugan stood waiting before her with his pants around his ankles.

 

CHAPTER 19

Katherine lay on her back on the living room carpet with her knees pulled up to her chest, one set of toes pointing up at the chandelier and the others toward the skylight on the far side of the room. She pumped her hips and squeezed her butt as tight as she could in an urgent rhythm.

“Almost there, almost there…,” she grunted.

Panting and grunting wasn't ladylike, but she didn't care, and the only other person in the room certainly didn't. Besides, she was almost finished and she couldn't hold out much longer.

“Done!” Jill announced finally, and Katherine went limp, dropping her shaking legs to the carpet, exhausted. Jill consulted her watch. “Thirty minutes in the books, and you look fucking fabulous.”

Katherine took a few slow, deep, warm-down breaths. “Thanks. I don't think I've ever felt better in my life.” She rose, caught the towel that Jill tossed at her, and noted that it was the second time in two days that someone had said the word
fucking
to her. It was raw and jarring. And she liked it. She wiped sweat from her dripping hair.

“I'll get my checkbook. One hundred, right?”

Jill looked apologetic. “Sorry. We can always arrange the group workout, which splits the cost.”

“Money's not a problem,” Katherine said, pausing to savor the words. For the first time in her life she meant it. “Holly always slows things down, and Margery talks through the entire session. This is good. I was totally focused today.”

“I'll say. You're an ass-kicker.”

Katherine smiled. “I am now.”

“What's changed?”

The doorbell rang.

Katherine hurried off to answer the door. On the way she paused at the entryway mirror. She was still sweaty, but the crystalline beads of perspiration only highlighted her bulging arms and glowing face. She
did
look fucking fabulous. She didn't bother straightening her hair, but simply strode to the door sweaty and threw it open.

Clay leaned against her porch rail. He wore a leather dress jacket cinched at the waist over jeans. His eyes ran over her spandex-wrapped body, and she allowed it. He finished with her feet and worked his way back up until he was looking her in the eyes.

“Busy?” he said, frowning.

“You don't call?”

“I should ask you the same.” He walked past her into the living room. “Can I come in?”

“Uh, make yourself at home,” she said as she closed the door and trotted after him.

He stopped abruptly and whirled. She nearly ran into him and tried to step back, but he caught her by the wrist. “I was expecting some word about your little trip to the model home yesterday. I arranged it special for you, but apparently my efforts were forgotten.”

“I didn't realize it was such a chore for you.”

“I don't think you understand. I got you in the back door. They're not going to show that property publicly. When they put it up for sale, there will be multiple bidders, people of privilege who don't go through the normal channels. You can be one of them. And, if you play your cards right, you could be the only one.”

“It was nice,” she said, squirming to try to free her wrist.

He squeezed harder until she stopped resisting, but his expression didn't change. “Do you want it?” His dark eyes were calm, and they never left hers.

“I like it,” she said finally.

“I know. Your pulse is pounding at just the suggestion of it.” He tapped his finger on her wrist and grinned.

Her heart
was
beating hard, although she wasn't sure it was due to the house on the water.

“I think you should let go now,” Katherine whispered.

“Why is that?”

“Hello?” Jill said, poking her head into the living room.

Clay released Katherine's wrist.

“Clay, this is Jill from the club,” Katherine said, stepping away from him. “Jill, this is Clay.” When Jill stared, Katherine patted Clay's shoulder to show that nothing was amiss.

“Oh,” Jill said. “You're Stu's partner.”

Clay smiled. “And his good friend, yes.” He stepped to Jill and extended a hand. “Clay Buchanan. And judging from your lats, you must be Katherine's personal trainer. Those are a neglected muscle among ordinary women, you know.”

“Don't waste your charm on her,” Katherine interrupted. “She's already got a partner.”

“You can waste a little,” Jill said, and she gave him a coy smile.

Katherine frowned. Jill's body was rock hard, more well developed than her own. But she had a horsey face, and Katherine imagined that Jill welcomed any male attention she could get, however gratuitous.

“Unless you two need me to leave,” Jill offered, sensing Katherine's disapproval.

“Oh no, stay; I've got iced tea,” Katherine shot back, trying not to seem nervous. But she spoke too quickly, seeming nervous as hell. She
was
nervous, she realized, and her own visceral jealous reaction to Clay's casual flirtation with Jill surprised her.

Jill could see she was a third wheel. She hoisted her athletic bag to her shoulder and headed for the front door. “Thanks, but I actually should get going. Nice to meet you, Clay.”

“And you,” he said.

Katherine took the opportunity to walk Jill to the foyer, out of earshot. “Sorry, he thinks he's God sometimes.”

“He's right, you know.”

“About what?”

“Not many women have well-developed lats.”

Or cut bis and tris,
Katherine thought, annoyed.

When she returned to the living room, Clay was turning a crystal half globe over in his hand, making it snow on some very cold-looking miniature villagers.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can't a friend drop in?”

“Like I said, you could have called. Do you know how this looks?”

“It looks like I'm bringing you something.” His hand snaked into his coat pocket, and he produced a piece of paper folded in the shape of an origami bird, like a magician making a dove appear.

Katherine awaited his explanation without comment.

“You're curious, yes?”

“I'm mildly irritated.”

“Ask me what it is.”

“No. Just tell me.”

“Or don't. Your choice. Shall I go?”

She sighed. “Okay, what is it?”

“Weak effort.”

“
Please
tell me what it is before you get away and I die of curiosity.”

“Better. Though we'll have to deal with your sarcasm when we have a chance.”

He handed her the paper bird, and she quickly unfolded it, ignoring the artistry with which it had been created. It was an oversize cashier's check. She read it once, and then a second time, slowly, to be sure she hadn't misread it. One hundred thousand dollars.

“You got the money?”

“Not yet. This is a small advance on the settlement from one of our fine local lending institutions. We should get the real thing in a few months, but there's no need to starve until then.”

Katherine wandered to the couch and sat, staring at the figure. There were a lot of zeroes for one check.

“We're not starving,” she said.

“Figure of speech. No offense.”

“Stu wouldn't want to borrow against money we don't have yet.”

Clay slid onto the coffee table facing her, his legs wedged between her knees. “Kate, have Stu's methods been working?”

No,
she thought.
They have not.
He was right again. He was right about Jill's lats, he was right about Dugan, and he was right about success. Katherine's pulse began to pick up speed again. His eyes were very dark—cowboy eyes squinting at her from beneath a white hat. Or a dark hat. It was tough to tell. He was saying something.

“Do you want to make an offer?”

“Huh?”

“An offer. On the house.”

She glanced at the huge check. “Things are moving a little fast.”

“As they should. As they always should have, I've come to believe. Those who can move fast win the race. The question is, can you keep up?”

“I think so.”

“The house will be offered to others potential buyers next week, but I'm willing to ask Dugan if you can bid now. I think a full-price offer will deliver it.”

“Isn't it good to bargain them down a bit?”

“Only if you want them to look at someone else's offer.”

“We don't have the money yet.”

“You leverage it. Keep your cash. Let the bank buy it for you.”

“More borrowing. And I have to talk to Stu before I buy a house.”

“Nonsense. Put a contingency clause in the offer. Something about an inspection. If we can't get Stuey on board, you can nix the deal later.”

“You're sure Reggie would do this for us?”

“You're the one who spent the afternoon with him. You tell me.”

“He showed me the house. I was friendly, like you said. But we didn't talk business.”

“Did you fuck him?”

Katherine's neck felt warm. Three days ago she'd slapped Clay for suggesting such a thing. Today she only looked away.

“No. Of course not.”

“Good. Because a motivated man is most easily persuaded when his goal is just out of reach.”

“What do you think I am, Clay?”

“A woman who became too accustomed to being careful.” Then he smiled. It was an ambiguous smile, one that could mean a couple of different things.

Careful
. Katherine rolled the word over in her mouth. The word
careful
was high praise coming from Stu, but sounded like criticism coming from Clay. She wondered if reaching out to put her hands on his knees would be careful.
No,
she decided. And so she did it.

The deep blue denim of Clay's new jeans was coarse, and she could feel the muscles of his lower thighs tighten beneath her touch. It warmed her in places other than her neck. Before she could change her mind, she ran her hands farther up his legs and lifted her eyes to smile at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said.

Katherine yanked her hands away as though his jeans had burned her fingertips. “Nothing. I just—”

“I'm your husband's partner, for God's sake. He's my good friend. You yourself said it looked bad having me drop by. Do you want to screw up everything we've been working for?”

“No.” She drew back like a reprimanded child. “I just … I appreciate the life you've breathed into, uh, my life. I mean
our
life, Stu's and mine.”

“A thank-you will do for now. Just stay on task, all right?”

“All right.”

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes. I get it.”

“I'm not sure you do.” He waited.

Katherine was puzzled. “Thank you,” she tried finally.

“That's a start,” he said. “I'd better get going.”

With that, Clay stood, zipped up his coat, and started toward the door.

Katherine watched the tail of his long jacket sway back and forth for three steps, but she didn't rise to follow. When he turned, she instinctively clutched the check in her lap as though worried he might take it back.

“Cash that,” he said. “And buy yourself something nice. Don't stuff it away somewhere and wait until you're old and wrinkled to enjoy it.”