Caught in the Act (The Davenports) (13 page)

There was no one around to see her, but that didn’t keep the zip of excitement at bay. She hadn’t been naked in public since the last time she’d been with Brody. It was heady stuff. Even though it was highly irresponsible, and she
had
just laid out all the reasons why they had to be careful.

“Brody,” she pleaded. “I’m practically naked. Anyone could see me.”

“I know.” His words dropped lower, making him sound even more animalistic. Making her barely care about her state of undress. “But we’re still at our houses,” he said hotly. “So this is not a public display of affection. Only a little coloring outside the lines.”

He lifted her higher in his arms and the other side of her robe slithered away. She was completely exposed.

And she didn’t care.

A couple of hours later, Brody came within sight of his house and his feet kicked into a higher gear. Sand sprayed up behind him. After making love to Cat in his own bed, then feeding her breakfast—which had included licking strawberry jelly off places strawberry jelly had likely never been—he’d taken a quick shower and headed out for his run. He would have to get to work on his play soon, if he was going to get it to Clyde in time to rehearse with the cast before tonight’s performance. But he needed to clear his mind of Cat first.

Like that was possible. Throughout the miles, she had been front and center in his mind.

The night before had been incredible. The morning even more so.

But the clock was ticking on their time together, and that bothered him. He could already tell that twelve days wouldn’t be enough. He would prefer the whole summer. Or more. But he was nothing if not pragmatic.

She had kids. She had a life.

He was merely a blip.

Which he was okay with. Being a blip worked for him. Even keeping it a secret wasn’t so bad. It grated on his nerves, but he could see her point. Plus, it meant Thomas wouldn’t get the opportunity to dissect them, looking for something he could use.

But damn, it would be hard to walk away without a backward glance this time. At least this parting would be of their own doing, though, and not from someone else’s manipulations.

Thinking of her mother made him wonder if he should tell Cat the role Emma had played in their past. If it was him, he’d want to know. But then, he didn’t live his life devoted to a name. And Cat most assuredly did. He wasn’t sure she’d want the reality of dealing with the truth about her mother. Not for a two-week fling.

A twelve-day fling.

Damn. He already knew he was going to miss her and they were only on day one.

His house grew larger as he continued up the beach, and he let his gaze settle on Cat’s place. He’d dragged her out of there so fast that morning that they hadn’t even locked up. Given who she was, that hadn’t been an intelligent move. Yes, there was a security gate at the end of her driveway, but that was there to keep sightseers from being too nosy. It was not true protection. And it wouldn’t stop anyone from parking at the road and walking straight into her yard if they wanted to.

Given the number of cameras attached to strangers he’d seen around town lately, he suspected there were plenty of people around who would like to do just that.

The only positive was that he hadn’t actually seen any of them near their houses. Apparently the locals were keeping their mouths shut on Cat’s whereabouts. They liked her being a part of Dyersport and they were used to the Davenports coming and going every so often, so they were being protective of her. For now. But there was limited time on that holding steady. Cat was a public figure. And she was now in the local play. That alone would lead to talking. Which could lead to revealing her rental location, whether intentional or not.

He
had
stopped by her house before heading out for his jog, though. He’d closed it up, grabbed her cell and keys, and dropped them off at his house. But he hadn’t bothered to pick her up any clothes. He liked the idea of keeping her naked and to himself for a few more hours. He’d eventually have to head to the college. He had class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But for now, his feet ran a little faster because of what awaited him at home.

Two minutes later, he entered his house to find Cat pacing in front of the bookshelves lining his family room wall. Her eyes were closed and her lips moved, light whispers coming from her as she ran through her lines. Her fingers fidgeted in front of her.

He didn’t interrupt, instead taking in the three stacks of books piled neatly on one end of his coffee table. Those books had previously been scattered over the couch, several having been on the floor. Similar piles of newspapers stood on the opposite end of the table. He hadn’t realized there had been that many papers in here. Normally he took them to the recycle bin before they piled up that high. His glasses were perched in the dead center on top of the papers.

This room was where he spent most evenings, either reading or grading papers. Or catching up on national news. He could—and did—use the Internet for news, but he still loved to hold newsprint in his hand. And he loved the time spent simply sitting by himself and reading the paper.

He didn’t worry too much about tidying up when it came to his books because he was always pulling one down to look something up. His office at the college was the same way. But it was kind of cute the way she’d cleaned up after him.

And she looked cute right in the middle of it all.

Except she now had clothes on. He frowned.

He must have made a noise, because she stopped walking and lifted her lashes. Clear, blue eyes the color of a Maine sky on a low-humidity day stared back at him.

“You have on clothes,” he accused.

She glanced down at the sundress, which covered her but did leave her pretty shoulders bare. “I couldn’t very well sit around naked all day.”

“Why not?” he yanked his sweaty T-shirt over his head.

“Because . . . I . . .” she stammered as her gaze traveled south. He smiled.

“You what?” He wiped the shirt across his brow and purposely tightened his abs. He’d discovered her fascination with his abs the night before, and he wanted to do everything he could to help her out with that.

She licked her lips and her eyes went soft, and damned if she didn’t swoon while standing right there in the middle of his books. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually had a woman swoon for him before. He liked it.

When she said nothing else, only gave him a heated look that suggested he could scoop her up and carry her off to his bed right that very minute, he made the bold decision to change the subject. Yes, he wanted to carry her off to his bed. And yes, he intended to. But first he needed to talk about what she’d done to his play. He had to get to work on the changes or he wouldn’t be able to get them over to Clyde for that afternoon’s rehearsal.

“Running through your lines?” He nudged his chin in the direction of the couch, where her copy of the play lay open on one of the cushions.

“Don’t you think I should?” She laughed drily. The sound did not come out as humor. “Did you see how many times I messed up last night?”

“You call that messing up?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t hear me saying
your
words up on that stage, did you?”

“No.” He shook his head and tossed his shirt on a chair. Then he crossed the room to her. “I heard something far superior.”

She made a face at him. “You’re just trying to make me feel better. I should have . . .” Her jaw tightened with her frustration. “I can’t believe I forgot so many lines.”

And he couldn’t believe she was upset when she’d had the entire crowd sucked into every single word she’d said. “It was your first time,” he coaxed. He reached for her hands, bringing them to his chest. “You’d also only had three days to rehearse.”

“And I should have been perfect.”

Her thumbs slipped from his grasp to rub back and forth across his chest, and his heartbeat sped up. He knew of more places she could rub. “Why?” he asked, forcing himself back to her statement. He had to keep his mind out of the gutter or the play wouldn’t get redone at all that day.

At her questioning look, he reluctantly pulled her hands from his chest and held them at her sides. He couldn’t concentrate with her touching him.

“Everyone knows you stepped into the play cold,” he explained. “Anyone else would have missed lines, too. Though I’m guessing they wouldn’t have recovered quite so well.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Why be so hard on yourself?” he asked. “Perfection on day one rarely happens. You saw what happened on Friday night, during the play’s first performance. There were a number of hiccups and the cast had been rehearsing for weeks. You guys had a couple of days.”

“Perfection for me
always
happens,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Really?

That shouldn’t surprise him so much given who her family was. “Does it have to?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation in her answer, and no wavering in the determination on her face. She was one hundred percent serious. She expected to be perfect. All the time. And, he suspected, she probably
was
expected
to be perfect.

He studied her, imagining what it must have been like growing up a Davenport. He’d lucked out when his mother had moved from DC back to New Hampshire, effectively eradicating both her and him from the Harrison name. Hearing Cat’s “yes” made him feel bad for her. It made him wish he could have been there for her when they’d been teens. That he’d already been grown and could have shown her another kind of life.

Instead, he’d had growing left to do himself.

He’d also had his own eradication to enact.

And Cat had . . . gone on to marry a man her family had no doubt approved of.

He squeezed her hands in his and kissed her on the forehead, refusing to let retired jealousy of Joseph Carlton resurface. They couldn’t go back in time, but maybe in the coming days he could show her a glimpse of another way to live. It wouldn’t change who she was at her core; he understood that. She would always be a Davenport. Always about the family name first.

And he would never be that way.

He hated that she’d asked him to keep their relationship behind closed doors, and he didn’t want to make things hard on her, but that was not his modus operandi. Maybe even within her rules, though, he could give her a small taste of something else. He hoped so. He wanted to do that much for her while she was there.

“Help me fix it,” he suggested now.

She eyed him cautiously. “Fix what?”

“The play.” He nodded toward the open copy on the couch. “Let’s make it better.”

Her eyes went wide with shock. “I don’t know anything about writing plays.”

“Honey, you rewrote half the thing last night.”

“But I was just winging it.”

“Ouch.” He pressed his hand to his heart and hung his head. “I slaved over those pages for months, and you just
winged it
and had the crowd roaring. Sweetheart.” He paused and pulled her close to kiss her on the forehead once more. This time he let his lips linger. “You may not know anything about writing plays, but you’re a born actress. And you completely shine in front of a room full of people.”

She pulled back and stared up at him for several long seconds, seeming to take in his words as if she hadn’t heard him the first time. Finally, she gave a slow up-and-down move of her head. “I did have them laughing pretty good, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

She eyed him once more, her gaze flicking over his features as if in deep analysis. “And you really want me to help?”

Lord help him, yes. He wanted her to help. He nodded.

“Hmmm,” she mused. “This must be a new thing for you.”

He was confused. “What must be a new thing for me?”

A hint of a smile finally found her lips. “Asking for help.”

Though she was laughing at his expense, he suddenly felt ten times lighter. Yeah, asking for help was a new thing. And surprisingly, it didn’t taste nearly as bad as he’d expected.

He twined his fingers through hers. “You’re quite the smart-ass, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “I can be.”

“Just so happens that I like a little smart-ass now and then,” he said. Then he released her hands, and with one of his, knocked over one of her perfectly aligned stacks of books. “I also like my books the way I had them.”

She gasped. Her gaze took in the mess, and he could tell that she wanted to pick them up.

“Leave them,” he dared her. “Perfection is boring.” Then he knocked over another stack.

She seemed to get his meaning, because she turned from the books and propped her hands on her hips. She was a half foot shorter than him, yet he would swear that she was looking down her nose at him.

“I’ll have you know that I am not boring,” she proclaimed. She glanced back down at the scattered books. “But I’m also not a slob.”

“Neither am I.” He toppled the third stack.

“Brody!” She huffed out a breath as if he’d just done a terrible injustice to her. “Really. There’s no sense in—” She cut off her own words when she caught herself bending over to right the books.