Caught in the Act (The Davenports) (6 page)

And it was no one’s business whom he kissed.

Or didn’t kiss.

But he still stepped back out of the shot. This was her show.

“I’m sorry your friend canceled.” Cat’s soft words registered as the lights went up in the theater. “It was a terrific play.”

Brody looked to his side, where she stood smiling hesitantly up at him, her hair once again swept up and behind her head, but this time into a looser, sexier knot. It made her look years younger than she was. Everyone was on their feet clapping, the actors were taking their final bow. He forced the tension in his jaw to relax.

“No big deal,” he said, trying hard not to let his irritation seep into his voice. And it hadn’t been a friend who’d canceled, but the producer he’d been working on since January. Though Cat didn’t realize that. “But thanks.”

At this point, he had no doubt Cat was lying through her teeth about the play. Nothing about it had been terrific. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong had.

At the last minute, the producer—actually, the
assistant
to the producer’s
assistant
—had e-mailed, saying Mr. Searcy was sorry that he wouldn’t be able to make it tonight after all. Then there had been the emergency call from Clyde. Their lead actress would be in tonight’s play, but she’d just found out about a family emergency back home. In Iowa. A sickness that would keep her out the remainder of the summer.

And they didn’t have a backup.

Of course, with the girl worrying about what she’d find when she got home, and frustrated that there was no flight out until the next day, the actress’s mind had been on everything but the play.

Then his mom had caught sight of him sitting in the crowd with Cat and had missed her cue. She had eight lines in the whole damned play, and she’d missed her cue. Twice.

He felt his jaw clench again, and this time left it that way. What a night.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Cat said. He could hear the note of trepidation in her voice. She had no clue what to say to make it better.

He didn’t either.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to pick you up,” he said. Yet one more thing that had gone wrong. His mother’s car wouldn’t start so he’d had to make the hour drive to her house to get her, only to arrive and find that her neighbor had just finished fixing it.

The alternator had gone out.

“It’s not like this was a date or anything.” Cat laughed lightly, which only set him more on edge. She bit her lip as she watched him.

No, it wasn’t a date.

She’d been perfectly “friendly” all evening. Clearly, since going up on her toes the other night—her mouth inching toward his—she’d had second thoughts. As had he. And third thoughts. And fourth thoughts.

He should not kiss her. He knew that.

Yet when he’d seen her walk into the playhouse tonight wearing a sundress covered in bright red cherries, along with her sexy, strappy heels, he’d wanted to rush to her side and finish what they’d started.

He’d wanted it to be a date.

She reached up and touched his hair, smoothing her fingers across it, then a shocked expression popped onto her face. “I’m sorry.” She snatched her hand back. “It was standing up. You kept running your hands through it tonight.”

Brody caught her hand in his as she flushed with embarrassment.

“You must have been nervous,” she whispered.

He nodded. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Yeah. Silly, huh?”

“Not silly.” The cool blue of her gaze heated. “It means a lot to you. I remember the play you wrote that summer. What was it called?
Much Ado about Dyersport
?” Her light laughter pinged through his body, hitting all the hot spots. “You had it bound, but the thing was falling apart; you’d carried it around and worked on it so much.”

Her words started a buzz inside him. She remembered his play? “It was the first one I’d ever written.”

“I know.” Her free hand landed on top of his. “I was so impressed. I’d never known anyone who’d written a play before.”

The actors began mingling with the crowd, and he caught sight of several people handing out bouquets. Opening night was always exciting. His mother reappeared on the far side of the room and headed their way.

“I think you were just easily impressed,” he muttered as he turned her hands loose. He didn’t want his mother to interrupt, yet he knew there was no way of getting out of it. Plus, he had flowers for her.

Cat shifted around in front of him then, catching his full attention as she tilted her head back to stare up at him. Her lips parted slightly and he couldn’t help but take in the red lipstick that perfectly matched the cherries in her dress. Her bare throat arched and he found himself wondering if her skin was as soft as he remembered it.

He was amazed that he remembered what she felt like. But he did.

Every last inch of her.

She studied him carefully, her eyes hiding her thoughts, and he wanted to wrap his arms around her and drag her off backstage.

This friendship-only thing was not going to last.

“I apparently still am,” she finally murmured. Her gaze dipped for a brief second to his mouth, and his dick twitched in his pants. Friends shouldn’t look at friends like that.

“Can I take you home tonight?” he asked, his voice coming out scratchier than he’d like, but hell, Cat was staring at him as if she wanted him for a midnight snack.

“But my car—”

“Will be fine here. We’ll get it tomorrow. I want to take you for a ride in my car.”

Didn’t that sound naughty?
Come here little girl, I have some candy for you.

“I’ll put the top down,” he coaxed.

Surprise lit her features. “Oh,” she breathed. “Your car. The red one.”

“The Chevelle,” he said drily. Good Lord. It wasn’t “the red one.” He shook his head, somewhat offended. “It’s a 1970 Chevelle SS. It’s the first car I ever owned,” he added. “The actual car I owned, not one like it. I managed to find it last year and paid a hefty price to have it restored.”

Cat snickered. “Touchy about your car, Brody?”

“He’s touchy about a good many things.” His mother joined them. She smiled widely at him before looking from him to Cat. “Don’t you want to introduce us, dear?”

“No,” he said. “Not really.”

But Cat turned and gave his mother a warm hug. “You were so good up there, Ms. Hollister. What a pleasure to meet you.”

His mother made eye contact with him over Cat’s head. Her look seemed to be saying
What the hell? Is she blind?

He returned the look.
Yeah, you stunk.

His mother frowned at him.

Cat pulled back and Brody retrieved the bouquets of roses he’d stashed under his seat. He held one out for his mother. “Undeserving this time, Mom, but here you go.”

“What do you mean, undeserving?” Cat squawked like any good mother would. “She was terrific.”

“She had eight lines and she missed her cue both times.”

“I was caught off guard,” his mother stated. “I didn’t realize you’d be here with a date.”

“Oh.” Cat brushed the words off and slipped her arm through his mother’s. “We aren’t on a date. We’re just neighbors.” She grinned broadly at Brody. The look came across a little too bright. “Friends.”

His mother stared at her. Cat was several inches shorter, but with the heels, they were almost the same height. His heart squeezed at the sight of the two of them standing arm in arm. At fifteen, he’d wanted to introduce her to his mom. He’d thought they had the kind of love that lasted forever.

Funny how things turned out.

“Annabelle Hollister,” he finally said, clearing his throat and inclining his head toward his mother, “I’d like you to meet Ms. Catherine Davenport Carlton.”

Cat beamed and squeezed his mother’s arm tighter. She really seemed to be having a great time tonight. “Please,” she said. “Call me Cat. I only get called Catherine when I’m in trouble with my mother or when the media wants to make me out to be more important than I am.”

His mother’s eyes widened slightly. “Cat it is, then. And aren’t you just the cutest?”

“
Mom.
” Good grief. “Please.”

His mother made a face. “Women love compliments, Brody. Even if it is by an old woman instead of a young man.”

She shot him a look he found hard to interpret. If he wasn’t mistaken, he would swear she was giving him the go-ahead with Cat. As if he needed her permission. Yet it had been only two days ago that she’d been warning him off.

Cat’s power to turn a person’s head apparently wasn’t restricted to boys and men. She could also wind mothers around her little finger.

“Cat stole a bloom out of my yard the other night,” he told his mother, at a loss for what else to say, but finding himself shocked at “tattling” on his neighbor. But she knocked him off balance. “One of the ones you’re named after.”

At the mention of the hydrangea, Cat’s relaxed expression tightened and she put a couple of inches between her and his mother. It was barely noticeable, yet he seemed to be unable
not
to notice everything about her.

“Is that right?” his mother asked. “They do look great in a vase, don’t they? I have several bushes of them at my house, too. I cut them and bring them in all the time.”

Cat didn’t say anything. Likely because she hadn’t cut the bloom to put in a vase. But he wasn’t about to tell his mother it was now christening the exact location where their teenage selves had once thought they’d found forever.

The look on Cat’s face made it clear she wouldn’t be admitting that, either.

“Come on, Mom.” Brody reached out an arm to her, slipping her hand over his elbow. “Go with me to give the other roses to Kristi.” Kristi was the lead in the play. “This is her only night to perform.”

“What?” Cat lifted her gaze from where it had fallen to the second bundle of roses he held. “Why? She’s perfect for the part.”

“An emergency.” And yes, she was perfect for the part. But then . . . it wasn’t as if he could get an interested party anywhere within three hundred miles of the place, anyway. “We’ve had to cancel the show for the next two nights, hoping to get someone else up to speed to replace her. But I’ve stressed over this all afternoon; no more about it tonight. Right now I’m taking you both over to talk to Kristi,” he said, then pointed a finger at Cat, “and then I’m going to show you what my ‘red car’ can do.”

CHAPTER SIX

C
AT LAUGHED OUT
loud, her face lifted toward the clear night sky, as she and Brody drove down the highway in his pride and joy. His car purred and vibrated beneath her, adding to the excitement of the ride. When they’d walked out of the playhouse earlier, amid claps on the back and congratulatory handshakes on another play well written, he’d stopped before opening the car door and looked her up and down with a deadpan expression. She’d accused him of wanting her to take her shoes off before letting her inside. He’d shut her up by picking her up and plunking her down in her seat.

“I can always vacuum the floor mats tomorrow,” he’d teased, leaning into the car with her.

She’d grinned up at him, letting him buckle her in, while feeling like a teenager going out on her first date. Thankfully, no one was at home waiting for her return.

She’d been afraid he’d simply take her home. Or give her a quick pass through town and
then
take her home. But instead he’d snaked through back roads for a while before heading out to Highway 1, where he’d been pushing the speed limit ever since.

She had her hands at the back of her head now, holding her hair out of her face and trying to maintain some sort of order to the messy bun she’d spent way too much time perfecting earlier that evening. But the bun couldn’t be contained. Wildly blowing tendrils continued to escape and whip around in front of her face.

“I’m freezing over here!” she shouted into the wind as they sliced through the damp night air. It wasn’t cold out, exactly, but fifties in June—with the top down and her in a sundress—was not quite what she was used to in Atlanta.

“Such a Southerner,” Brody teased. He glanced at her. His left hand was on the steering wheel and the right was casually fidgeting with a plastic water bottle held against the side of the vinyl seat. He flashed his white teeth at her and her belly quivered. He was so handsome in his charcoal suit that her mouth watered every time she looked at him.

“Want me to pull over and put the top up?” he asked. “We can roll up the windows and turn on the heat.”

She could barely see his eyes through the lenses of his glasses, with only the lights from the dash as a backdrop, but she shivered as he looked at her. It felt like he was mentally undressing her, which heated her right back up.

She shook her head. “Not on your life.”

Giving up on her hair, she pulled the remaining pins out. So much for the stylish look. Driving with the top down was more about freedom and fun anyway. She might as well go with it.

She sank her fingers into the depths of her hair and shook it free, and the bottle in Brody’s hand crackled with a pop.

“Where were the glasses tonight?” he asked. He’d turned his gaze back to the road ahead, but leaned closer to talk above the roar of the wind.

“You mean the ones I had on yesterday?”

At his nod, she patted her clutch. “I have them, but I wear my contacts most of the time. The glasses only come out for special occasions.”

He shot her a quick glance. “Like when you want to appear all professional?”

“Exactly. Most of the time I don’t look my age, and though most people would be glad of that, it isn’t always a good thing. The glasses help.”

“I like them,” he said.

She studied his profile. “Because you’re stuck with a pair yourself, so you think everyone should wear them?”

“No.” He straightened and put both hands on the wheel at ten and two. “Because you look naughty in them instead of professional.”

She got a lungful of cold air and realized her mouth was hanging open. She had no reply to that. She’d never been told she looked naughty in her glasses.

The car began to slow.

“Where are we going now?” she asked, ignoring his comment. It was exhilarating, just getting in the car and going wherever he took her. Not her norm, but she’d always trusted Brody. Seems that hadn’t changed.

“There’s a spot up ahead I want to show you.”

The road grew darker and added curves, and she could tell they were heading back toward the ocean. “Awfully secretive, Mr. Hollister. Keeping me in suspense for a particular reason?”

His body language took on a more serious tone.

“What?” she asked, the word barely slipping out. The cool air swept over her upper chest, where the sweetheart neckline of her dress started, and she shivered. At least the dress had sleeves. Otherwise she’d be a Popsicle by now.

“Nothing.” Brody shook his head. “Just thinking about secrets.”

She didn’t want to think about secrets. She had too many.

And she was having to cover up even more. Another phone call had come from her mother earlier that day. Apparently they were continuing to defend their father’s honor. They didn’t believe he’d done anything wrong. No affair. It was a fabrication. Of course, no one would come right out and say that in front of a camera in case they got caught in a lie later on, but it was the impression Cat was to give if questioned.

When questioned.
Because someone
would
ask her about it.

Thankfully, yesterday’s press conference had remained primarily focused on the park, but there was no way that would last. Not with all the tabloids and even some national papers now picking up the story.

In the next instant, a flash of light caught her attention and she held her breath. They were driving out to a lighthouse.

“You remembered,” she said softly. She’d once told him that she and her dad had both shared a fondness for the nautical buildings. When she’d been six, they’d taken a father-daughter trip along the coast, where they’d visited as many lighthouses as they could fit into a five-day span.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Just like you remembered that I’d written a play.”

She chuckled. “I did remember that. In fact, it had a big impact on me.”

Brody pulled off the road into a gravel lot and parked so they were facing both the lighthouse and the ocean. He turned off the car and all went dark. Stars covered the sky. The sound of waves crashing into the rocks fifty yards away hit her ears, and she inhaled a deep breath, catching the sweet scent of the lilac bushes along the walkway to the lighthouse.

It was gorgeous there. And they were the only two people in sight.

Brody shrugged out of his suit jacket and held it out for her, and she leaned forward, letting him slip it over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She snuggled into the pristine white bucket seat, the heat from his jacket wrapping around her.

“You’re welcome. I should have thought of it before.” He slipped low into his seat and faced forward. His dark hair was a stark contrast against the back of his seat, and his hand once again began to fidget with the plastic bottle. He tapped it against his thigh. “Tell me how my once-pitiful excuse for a play could have had a big impact on you,” he said.

The sounds of the night woke up around them as they sat there, both quiet, while she silently replayed the year after she’d met him. It had been a rough time for her, and coming out of the pregnancy hadn’t been easy. In fact, she’d been on antidepressants for several months.

But when she’d returned home and had gotten back into her regular school the following fall, she’d known she had to do something to get her mind elsewhere or her grief would have eaten her alive. So she’d joined the drama club. It had felt good to pretend to be someone other than Catherine Davenport for a while.

She unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face him. When he mimicked her actions, shifting one thigh onto the seat between them, she spoke softly into the dark. “I saw how passionate you were about that play, and I wanted something like that in my life. So I joined the drama club.”

His eyebrows rose. “You were an actress?”

She shrugged. “I was in high school plays. My junior and senior year.” And she’d loved every minute of it. “My teacher said I was a natural.”

Her parents had rarely had time to come to her performances, but that hadn’t stopped her. She’d found her own passion, and she’d given it everything she had.

Brody put the water bottle in between the seats and reached for one of her hands. “That explains the look I saw tonight.”

“What look?”

He leaned closer and his voice lowered. “The one where you were almost salivating as you watched the hot mess that was happening up on stage.”

“It was not a hot mess,” she protested. “Yeah, it could have been a little smoother in a few places, but it was good.” She paused, feeling the heavy thud of her heart against her chest as Brody slid his fingers between hers. “And I don’t think I was salivating,” she finished softly.

It almost felt like he was putting the moves on her.

And she was pretty sure she liked it.

He nodded and gave her a smile so small she leaned even closer, as if hoping to catch it with her lips. “You were salivating,” he whispered. “You were having a blast. It was almost as if you wanted to find those crayons right then and say to hell with those lines.”

She closed her eyes and bit her lip at his words. She
had
wanted to color outside the lines tonight. She’d sat on the edge of her seat for most of the night, memories of her high school days bombarding her. At times she’d almost felt as if she’d been the one up on stage.

“I
was
having a blast,” she admitted, opening her eyes. There were only inches separating them. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a community theater. But my enjoyment wasn’t just from watching the play. It was from knowing that you wrote it. That you never lost that desire.” She eyed him in the dark. “You
were
going to tell me yourself if the mayor hadn’t outed you, weren’t you?”

She’d been floored when she’d learned that Brody still wrote plays.

“Of course.” He brought his free hand up and stroked the back of one finger down her cheek. Tiny sparks were left in its wake. “I couldn’t have kept it from you even if I wanted to. My name is on the program. But I would have liked for you to see it without knowing first,” he told her. “To give me an
honest
opinion afterward.”

“I gave you one.”

“No, you didn’t.” He shook his head. “It stunk.” He dropped his hand to their joined ones and let out a little sigh as he looked out toward the sea. “This whole evening did. Kristi couldn’t concentrate, poor girl, and then the—”

He stopped talking abruptly and pulled his hands away, turning his body to align with the windshield. An emotional barrier slammed between them.

“What?” Cat prodded. “What else happened?”

She reached through the barrier and touched the hand that held the water bottle—which he’d picked back up and had started tapping against his leg again. She trapped his fingers beneath hers. “You can talk to me. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

A light breeze floated through the car and made the hair framing her face dance.

He pulled his hand free from hers, but he didn’t pull away. His voice came out low and gravelly. Almost as if he were in pain. “The ‘friend’ who didn’t show tonight was a producer. Ben Searcy. From Broadway. I’d been working to get him up here for months. Now I’m back to square one. Then again, given the many hiccups in tonight’s performance, maybe it’s best he didn’t see it.”

Wow. She hadn’t realized it meant that much to him.

“So you want to sell to Broadway? That’s great,” she enthused. “We just have to get someone else to come up. I can make some calls. Maybe—”

“No. Don’t make calls on my behalf.”

“There’s nothing wrong with letting someone help.” He’d been like that, even as a teen. Stubborn and prideful.

“Maybe there’s nothing wrong with it for some people,” he stated, his voice solid and sure. “But not for me. I take care of myself.”

“You make it sound as if you’ve always been alone or something.”

He gave her a sardonic look.

“That’s not true,” she insisted. “You have your mother.” She paused as it occurred to her that she knew nothing about his father. She couldn’t remember him ever saying the first thing about the man. Maybe he’d never had anything to do with Brody. “Your mother is so proud of you,” Cat told him, at a loss for what else to say. “It was written all over her face tonight. She would do anything in the world for you.”

The beam from the lighthouse flashed over Brody and she thought she saw anger, but the light swung on around and she wasn’t sure what it had been. This evening was not turning out how she’d expected. It was supposed to be about fun.

Finally Brody looked away. “You’re right, she would do anything in the world for me. Same as your mother, I suppose.”

That sounded like an accusation. “What do you mean?”

When he didn’t answer, she focused on the light flashing out over the water. It was a lonely place to be at night. No one was around, only the lapping waves and the seeking light. But it felt right to be sitting there with him.

He pushed open his car door. “Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested.

“Brody.” When he turned back, she held out one foot. “I’m wearing heels, and we’re parked in gravel. I’ll twist an ankle if I try to walk in the dark.”