It's In His Kiss (12 page)

 He came directly to Janice and laid a hand on her shoulder.  "Janni, sorry I'm late," he said. "The governor went on and on about his grandchildren. Not that they're not cute, but I'd rather be here." He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, then held out his hand to Cat. "Hi, I'm Hank Blair."

 Cat took his hand, which was callused and warm, and stared at him.
Blair. Blair!
"Oh--my--God! You're Williams Blair, the architect."
Oh, brother. Way to go, Miss Sophisticated Lady.
 

 Hank laughed. "Guilty. And you must be Catherine."

"Please," she said, doing her best to put on a smile. "C-call me Cat."

"Okay, Cat. I like that name." He sat down next to Janice. "Have you two been waiting long?"

 Jan shook her head and placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. "No, not at all. I was just telling Catherine about you."

 Cat watched them, with something that almost bordered on horror. Her forty-six year old mother was dating Williams Blair, one of the one hundred most successful young men in the country, according to Fortune Magazine. Not only was he a renowned architect, but he was a vocal advocate for environmental preservation. He couldn't be over thirty-five.

 But then, Cat's mother didn't look forty-six, so it was possible that Hank was older than he looked, too. She mentally shook her head. What had her mother gotten herself into this time?

 They ordered, and Janice and Hank talked about the new house he was designing. Cat watched and listened, as she slowly absorbed all the changes in her mother since she'd last seen her. How long had it been, two months, three?

Not only had she changed her hair color, she was using much less makeup, and, although her nails were manicured, they looked real, not like the silk talons she'd sported for the past several years. Her mother really did look younger, years younger.

 "What happened to your nails?" Cat blurted out when the waiter began to serve their salads.

 Janice held out her hand. "Hank pointed out to me that I would find it difficult to backpack with silk nails."

 "Backpack?"
Backpack? Janice?
 

 Hank picked up his wineglass and tasted the wine, then nodded at the waiter. "Your mother and I are going backpacking in a couple of weeks. She wants to see the Smokies for herself. Also, I'm considering buying some land, and I want Janni's opinion first."

 
The world-famous architect wants
Janni's
opinion first.
Cat was speechless. Sensory overload, she figured. Too much was coming at her at once. "Uh, Moth--Janice?" 

 Hank shot her a curious glance. Cat tried to ignore him.

 "Yes, dear?"

 "Aren't you allergic to the outdoors?"

 Her mother laughed. "You wouldn't recognize me. Hank and I have been walking every morning, and we work out in his gym most afternoons. Besides, he's promised me at least one night in a hotel, after we've finished our backpacking trip." She touched Hank's arm. "I'll be right back, hon."

 Cat watched helplessly as her mother walked off to the bathroom and left her alone with Hank.

 He put his elbows on the table and steepled his elegant fingers. "You have a very expressive face, Cat."

 "I'm sorry?"

 He smiled. "I can tell what you're thinking."

 Cat eyed him with suspicion, daring him to read that look.

 "You're wondering who that woman is and what I've done with your real mother."

 The words were so close to the truth that Cat almost did a spit take. Swallowing quickly, she coughed a couple of times. "Well," she said grudgingly, "I do recognize enough to be relatively sure she's my mother."

 He took a healthy bite of his salad and then pointed at her with his fork. "I've wanted to meet you for weeks, but Janni's been hesitant. Now I think I see why."

 Cat frowned. "You do?"

 Hank nodded as he took a sip of wine. "Yep. You two don't get along all that well, do you?"

 
No shit, Sherlock
. "I suppose you could say that. What was your first clue?" She didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but he answered civilly enough. 

 "She calls you Catherine and you want to be called Cat. You call her Janice but you'd rather call her Mother. You haven't seen her in two months although you live less than five miles from each other. How am I doing?"

 A chill traveled up Cat's spine. "Remarkably well. What makes you think I'd rather call her Mother?"

 "You almost said it just now."

 Cat looked down at her plate. "Did I?" she mumbled as she picked through her salad looking for the perfect crouton. "Just habit." Hank Blair was a perceptive son of--

 "I'm thirty-seven."

 Cat looked up. "Excuse me?"

 "I'm thirty-seven years old, I have all my own teeth, and no, I have no ulterior motive for dating your mother, who is forty-six."

 Cat shook her head in disbelief. "Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to throw me off guard at every turn?"

 "Is that what I'm doing?" Hank's gaze was keen and unrelenting. "I thought I was getting all your questions and problems out into the open so there'd be no misunderstandings."

 "The only misunderstanding here is your assumption that I care who my mother goes out with or how old they are." Cat lifted her chin and glared at him. Under the table, her hands were locked in a death grip on each other. She didn't know why this man upset her so. But she was not going to let him get to her. She wasn't.

 Hank's keen gaze softened, and he smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Cat. I've come on much too strong. I wanted to make a good impression on you, and it's obvious I've done just the opposite." He spread his hands, palm up. "Tell you what. We'll start over. How's that? And I'll back off until you're ready to accept me as a part of your mother's life."

 Cat stared. "Part of her life? Good luck. I hate to tell you that she will dump you. She's been married four times." Cat lifted her chin another fraction of an inch.

 "I know that. But this time will be her last."

 "Really? What makes you think you're the one?"

 "I know. I know that when your stepdad died, you and she were both heartbroken. She's told me everything."

 Cat's eyes were stinging, so she looked back down at her plate.

 "Cat, listen to me. I love her. She loves me too. I'm planning to marry her and be everything she has always wanted in a husband." 

 "Too late. My stepdad was everything she wanted, and he's gone."

 "Cat . . . ."

 "I'm back," Janice announced, and Hank rose to hold her chair, then he sat back down.

 Cat didn't look up right away. She couldn't. Biting her lower lip, she concentrated on not crying. She wasn't going to let either one of them see a glint of tears in her eyes. She'd rather die than be caught crying by anyone, especially Janice.

 The waiter appeared with their entrees, so Cat blinked and smiled and concentrated on making it through the evening.

CHAPTER NINE

The apartment was dark when Cat got home. Her breath escaped in a long sigh as she closed and locked the door. She deposited the carton of ice cream in the freezer, then slid her feet out of her high heeled shoes and picked them up as she headed across to her bedroom.

 "Cat?"

 Jerking her head up, she tried to place the direction of the voice.

 "Balcony."

 "Just a sec," she called, and tossed her bag and shoes into her room, then went back to the refrigerator.

 "I’ve got wine," Michael called.

 "And I need wine," she muttered, and turned up a bottle of grapefruit juice. She was thirsty. She'd barely touched the redfish, but what she'd eaten had been salty. Grabbing a wine glass from the cabinet, she stepped out onto the balcony.

Michael was on the loveseat with his bare feet propped on the balcony rail. She plopped down beside him and stretched her stockinged feet out. Michael’s knees were bent, but her heels barely hooked over the rail. He brandished the wine bottle and Cat dutifully held out her glass.

She took a sip. "Ugh. Wine after grapefruit juice. Don’t recommend it."

"I’ll remember that." He leaned his head back and drank his wine.

Cat looked at their bare feet, side by side on the rail. Hers were relatively small, and pink-toed, swathed in black nylon with lycra. His were sturdy and manly, with high insteps and straight, long toes. It suddenly occurred to Cat that bare male feet sticking out from under jeans were incredibly sexy. She swallowed hard. The silence of the evening, which had always been so comfortable between them, was now uncomfortable and fraught with meaning.

"What are you doing still up?" she asked. Don’t you have an early meeting?"

He shook his head. "Canceled. I’m probably not going to work tomorrow. I have some briefs to go over, and I can do that here."

"Must be nice." She took a long swallow of wine.

 "So how was the evening?

 "Don’t ask." Cat closed her eyes as she swallowed the cool liquid. She sighed and tried to rid her mind of all thought. It didn’t work. It wasn’t enough that she had to deal with her mother’s pre-menopausal efforts to remain young. No, she had to have a girlfriend who was trying to singlehandedly recharge Cat’s love life. With her best friend, no less. If it wasn’t so stressful, it would be funny. She took another sip of wine, then arched her neck to work out the stiff muscles. She took a long breath, let it out, leaned her head back and crossed her ankles. Nothing. She growled softly.

 "You sound like a house cat that's been disturbed. What are you doing?"

She wiggled a little, and crossed her ankles where they rested on the balcony rail. "Trying to relax. Damn. Relaxing is hard work."

"I'm sure it is, for those of you who are wound just a little too tight. I, on the other hand," Michael interrupted himself with a huge yawn, "am very relaxed."

"Bite me," she said conversationally.

Michael chuckled. "Why don’t you tell me about your evening."

 She ignored him. "Oohhmm--."

 Michael laughed. "Oh, excuse me. Am I interrupting your mantra, Obi Wan?"

 "I don’t think he meditated."

 "Sure he did."

 "Well, he was probably better at it than I am, then."

 "So what’s the problem?"

 "What makes you think there’s a problem?"

 "Let's see. Maybe your transparent habit of ignoring probing questions."

 "What probing question?"

 "See. There you go again."

 "You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?"

 He held up the wine bottle. "Yep. I know I do. Want some more wine?"

 "Not really."

 "I knew that." He poured himself a glass, then set the bottle down on the balcony floor. "See, I know all about you."

 "Then you know what I'm thinking right now."

 "Hmmm." Michael shut his eyes, then squinted at her. "I resent that!"

 She laughed reluctantly.

 "So are you going to tell me how dinner with your mom and the boyfriend went, or am I going to have to tickle it out of you?"

 "I don’t need to talk," she mumbled.

 "Bull. I heard you open the freezer. I'll bet you a million dollars there's double chocolate fudge ice cream in there. Does this have to do with your mother?"

 Cat held out her glass, and Michael leaned over and retrieved the bottle. He poured about two ounces before she held up her hand to stop him. She swallowed the whole two swallows in one gulp.

 "More?"

 She shook her head. "Nope. I’m about ready for ice cream."

 "So how was butt-crack Hank?"

 Cat laughed. "You’ll never believe it in a million years. Not in a billion."

 "What?"

 "Well, it seems the joke was on me. Butt-crack Hank is Williams Blair."

 Michael choked on his wine. He coughed, gasping for breath. Cat sat up and pounded his back. "Are you okay?"

 He nodded. "Are you serious? The architect?"

 "Yep, the architect. And by the way, the architect who’s nine years younger than my mother. He’s got her turning her hair back to its natural brown, and giving up silk nails, and backpacking. It’s frightening. He's like some kind of Frankenstein, who's done away with my real mother and put this natural, health-conscious monster together in her place."

 Michael whistled. "That is truly unbelievable. Your mother and Williams Blair. I play racquetball with his younger brother."

"What? His brother?"

Michael nodded. "Jimmy Rogers Blair. J.R."

"That's his name?"

"They've got a sister named Patsy Cline Blair too."

"Why did you tell me you knew his brother?"

"You didn't even know who he was until tonight."

"Oh, yeah."

"You know he was in Nashville Today magazine as one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, don't you?"

 "It’s stupid. My mother is out of her mind."

 Michael stood and leaned against the rail, facing Cat. "Why?"

 "Why? Because she’s almost ten years older than he is."

 "Your mother is a beautiful woman, Cat. What difference does it make how old she is?"

 "It’s not natural. She’s acting weird. And he’s so charming and good looking it’s downright creepy."

 "How’s she acting weird?"

 "Oh please, Michael. Think about it. This is my mother. This is Janice. Can you picture Janice out in
nature
for gosh’s sakes?" 

 "It’s not impossible to picture."

 "It kinda is."

 "You’re really upset. So what’s the big deal?"

 "You don’t think it’s a big enough deal that my mother is dating a man closer to my age than hers?"

 "I think she’s old enough to date anyone she pleases. Does he seem to like her?"

 Cat bit her lip. "That’s the really strange thing. He says he’s in love with her. And he seems to be."

 Michael bent over to pick up the wine bottle. "You going to drink any more of this?"