Earth Angel (4 page)

“No. Why?”

“Because you keep asking questions! And I didn’t bring the codicil up because they know about it already. So why didn’t you mention it, if you thought I was hiding it?”

“Because I didn’t know if you were. Since it wasn’t in Allan’s bank things, what will you do? Oops, another question. I beg your pardon.”

“Keep searching,” she answered anyway. She rubbed her forehead, feeling the headache that had come with her lack of sleep growing fiercer. “Look, I’m sorry about the question thing. I really have to go, Miles. I have several appointments this morning …”

He rose from the chair. Finally. “And I still have a bank to run.”

She hurried around her desk to the door, the headache almost vanishing in her eagerness to have him gone. As she passed him, he took her arm.

She stilled.

“I’d like to make up for dinner last night,” he said.

She couldn’t look at him. She was afraid to.
Every nerve in her body was screaming for her to look, while every shred of common sense was telling her no. The latter was winning out … so far.

But his hand was warm and firm on her arm, and his fingers held more strength than she’d expected. His body was only inches away. One slight movement on her part and she would be against him. The sharp clean scent of him surrounded her, spinning her senses into a cyclone.

“I’d also like to talk to you more about Allan’s codicil,” he went on. “And this morning’s meeting. How about if I pick you up at eight?”

“Eight?” she repeated, her voice hoarse. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of his shirtfront. Unable to resist, she tilted her head to get a better look.

“Nine?” he asked.

“For what?”

“Dinner. Just the two of us this time. I promise.”

Mesmerized, she stared at his chest. The dark area was definitely no Bart Simpson T-shirt. But she still couldn’t tell if the chest hair was silky like Alec Baldwin’s, or curly like Tom Selleck’s.

“Catherine, you haven’t answered me.”

“What?” she said, blinking. She looked up, and that was her mistake.

She was caught in a sensual gaze that stripped away every shred of hidden emotion. His mouth was a bare inch away. Awareness thundered through her. She knew it showed in her face, but she couldn’t control her reaction.

Miles muttered her name and pulled her to him, his mouth capturing hers in a deep kiss. Her control shattered, and she opened to him, entwining
her tongue with his. He let go of her arm and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Every inch of her was finally and satisfyingly against him. Her blood pulsed at the feel of his hard body. Desire long suppressed swirled inside her. She wound her arms around his shoulders, her fingers digging into his jacket.

His tongue teased and tortured her, easing away and surging back over and over again, until she was moaning helplessly. She tasted and teased and tortured him back in feminine repayment. Everything swept through her in seven different directions all at once. She knew no other man would ever tie her up and turn her inside out with one kiss the way Miles did.

Unconsciously, she smoothed her hand down his chest, groaning at the feel of silk and hard muscles. And chest hair. She had never been so fascinated with what was under a man’s shirt before, and she was gratified it was everything her fantasy wanted it to be.

Miles finally lifted his head. He buried his face in her hair, his breath hot against her ear.

She moaned into his chest. Some corner of her mind was trying to warn her about something, but the waves of desire coursing through her washed the voice away.

“Catherine,” he whispered, his hands caressing her back.

“Miles.” His name was as sensuous as the rest of him.

“Catherine.”

She shivered and rubbed her hands against his shirtfront. Silky all the way.

He stepped back from her.

Disoriented, she opened her eyes. He’d left her drained and wanting.

He smiled a knowing smile. “It’s my turn to make a grand exit. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

He walked out of her office before she could blink.

As soon as the door shut behind him, everything came crashing down. Catherine cursed her shameful reaction to him … and his ego. Like hell, she’d meet him at eight that night.

Like hell.

“Is there really a codicil?”

Miles watched his grandmother nibble on a paté sandwich before replying. He had taken her to afternoon tea at the elegant Barrymore Room atop the Bellevue for some answers to his growing questions. He had quite of few where Catherine was concerned.

Lettice finally set down the sandwich. “Do you know that your cousin Rick did not once take me to afternoon tea at the Ritz in London when I was there a few months ago? We went to Madame Toussaud’s instead.”

“Did you give him hell for being negligent?” Miles asked, amused by her aggrieved tone.

“Better than that,” Lettice said. She smiled in satisfaction. “I married him off.”

“And if I believe that, you’ve got a bridge to sell me, right?” Miles said, laughing. He’d heard family grumblings for a year or so about his grandmother meddling in his cousins’ private lives. Naturally, she’d never get away with it with him. “Now what
about this codicil of Allan’s? I wanted to ask you last night, but you left shortly after Catherine did.”

“That’s what you get for that mess of a dinner, Miles.”

“Grandmother,” he prompted.

“Allan showed the codicil to me months ago.” She sipped her tea. “He’d had it drawn up by a new lawyer. He said his own were in cahoots with Byrne.”

“Can you remember who the lawyer was?”

She shook her head. “That name eludes me. Catherine’s been after me to remember, and I’ve racked my brains with no luck. Are you going to help her find the codicil? She can save Wagner Oil with it.”

“Knowing the family, they would contest it.”

“You mean Byrne. But there’s enough of them who wouldn’t want the scandal. They would stop Byrne.” She arched her eyebrows. “I see you already had one scandal this morning.”

Miles grimaced. The media were having a field day with the company’s “No comment.” “Catherine couldn’t get them to see reason. Neither could I.”

Lettice poured more tea into her cup. “You like Catherine.”

He grinned, remembering the kiss in her office … and the results. He still didn’t know how he’d kept his control. “I’m taking her to dinner tonight.”

“How surprising,” Lettice murmured. “It’ll make up for last night’s fiasco.”

He frowned. Something in his grandmother’s expression bothered him. Did she know about the kiss in the garage? How could she? He couldn’t see Catherine telling her.

“So where are you taking her?” Lettice asked.

“A very intimate restaurant.” He smiled, anticipation building inside him. This time, the evening would be perfect. He had seen to that. “She’ll love it,” he added.

“I am pleased.”

It sounded like Lettice’s seal of approval, Miles thought in amusement.

“You would hardly know Devlin is your twin,” she murmured.

Miles shrugged. “Dev does as he pleases. So do I. What brought him up, anyway?”

“A thought.” Lettice shrugged, then changed the subject. “You know, if you do help Catherine find the codicil, she would be grateful.
Very
grateful.”

Miles steepled his fingers together. His grandmother just might be on to something.

She was making the worst mistake in her life. Maybe.

Catherine gazed into the full-length mirror and grinned at her reflection. She knew she shouldn’t be going out with Miles. But it was too prime an opportunity to resist, and she was glad she’d realized that. Miles was used to elegant women, so she had a pretty good idea what the date would be like.

She had just ensured he wouldn’t get it.

In fact, she’d guaranteed that Miles would never ask her out again. Much better than not showing up in the first place, she decided, and mentally patted herself on the back for her shrewdness.

Still, Miles was the most dangerous man she’d ever encountered. He seemed to have a control over
her body that she just couldn’t shake. And if he found out about Earth Angel …

Catherine shuddered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

The doorbell to her Center City town house rang. A regiment of butterflies immediately invaded the pit of her stomach. She grabbed the hair spritzer and sprayed it on her hair, scrunching up the strands in a last-minute lift. The image in the mirror restored her confidence in handling Miles.

“What the heck,” she said out loud. “You only live once, so it might as well be on the wild side. And I can’t wait to see his face.”

The door had no sooner opened than Miles felt all his breath whoosh out of his lungs.

Catherine was … not the Catherine he’d been expecting. She was dressed in a black leather mini and an off-the-shoulder blue knit top that clung to her torso. No bra, he thought as shock shot through him. The black patterned stockings and very high heels had his chest squeezing in an invisible vise. She’s topped her outfit off with clunky bead jewelry and a hairdo that was artfully tangled in windblown fashion. He vaguely remembered hearing the term “big hair” somewhere. It certainly applied here. Her makeup was heavier than he’d ever seen before, and she’d done something to emphasize one eye.

The whole effect, rather than being displeasing, was extremely sexy. But this was all wrong for the evening he’d planned. La Fourchette was definitely out. She’d never get past the maitre d’. He made an
immediate mental change of plans, not wanting to embarrass her.

“Miles, come in,” she said, smiling.

“Thank you.” From somewhere he managed to find enough air to speak. His heart was thumping painfully, and he dimly wondered if he was having a heart attack. He’d always had a feeling Catherine would kill him. “You look gorgeous.”

For some reason annoyance flitted over her face. “I’ll just get my jacket,” she said, and turned toward the living room.

His feet automatically followed, as if he were under a spell. Before he knew it, he was in the middle of the room.

What the decor said about Catherine was an eye-opener. He’d been expecting … Actually, he didn’t know what he’d been expecting. But to his delight, the room was tastefully furnished in 1920s art deco, with a Chinese carpet and gilt-trimmed
torchère
lamps. The furniture consisted of intricately inlaid wood veneer tables and tapestry-upholstered chairs. Movie posters hung from the walls, and he sensed they were originals.

“Ready,” she said, breaking into his reverie.

Her black leather jacket matched her black leather skirt, and made him think she’d look right at home on the back of a motorcycle.

“Great,” he said, without blinking. “Shall we go?”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Good question, he thought. “It’s a surprise.”

It was a surprise all right, Catherine acknowledged, looking down at the steam table of gourmet fast food.

“The beef stir-fry is terrific,” Miles said as he helped himself to spinach salad. “So’s the homemade pasta.”

Never would she have thought dinner would be at Eden’s, a self-service restaurant. She should have known, though. He hadn’t even faltered over her outfit. He actually thought she looked gorgeous. Wonderful. Somehow, he was still in control of the evening, and she had no idea what had gone wrong.

The glorified cafeteria was crowded with yuppies getting a meal before heading home or before going out for the evening. She had to admit that neither Miles, in his business suit, nor she looked out of place. He stayed by her side as they went through the line, just close enough to keep her awareness on edge.

“Do you know that Styrofoam plate your salad is on will be around for at least a hundred years?” she asked as they slid their trays along the counter.

“Do they keep reusing it?” he asked in return.

“No!” she exclaimed, astonished at his naiveté.

“Good. I couldn’t imagine how they’d get the Italian dressing off. That stuff would eat through concrete. By the way, the Italian dressing is the pits.”

She shook her head. “Miles, it doesn’t biodegrade.”

“I know it doesn’t. I just said so.”

“Not the dressing. The plate.”

He looked down at it. “Oh.”

“Come on,” she said, moving ahead. Even if she was a bit disgruntled, the food smelled exotic and
wonderful, and she was starving. “You’re one heck of a date, Miles Kitteridge.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, laughter in his voice.

Later, she had to admit dinner was delicious. But the casual atmosphere of the restaurant made her relax with him. Miles surprised her by keeping the conversation light, not touching on business or what had happened that morning. They talked about their likes and dislikes, discovering they both preferred hamburgers with no cheese, swimming for exercise, and Harry Connick, Jr. They both had no understanding of art and hated sauces on anything. Miles claimed they were traitors to their sophisticated upbringing.

“Just because of those two things?” she asked, laughing.

“They’re the foundation of every snooty school the world over,” he replied. “They’d burn us at the stake for heresy, my friend.”

“I still won’t understand Picasso.”

“It’s a great investment, that’s all I know.”

“Philistine.”

“That’s me.”

To her further surprise, he took her to a rowdy nightclub after the meal.

To her horror, everyone was dancing the lambada.

Spotlights swept over the crowd, the only illumination in the smoky room. And what they illuminated! Catherine swallowed as she watched couples gyrating wildly on the dance floor, while pressed so tightly together that a dime couldn’t be squeezed between them.

“Could I have a drink?” she shouted to Miles
above the music that vibrated sensually deep inside her.

He paused in shedding his suit jacket to give to the coat check. Clearly he was readying himself for action. “A drink?”

“Yes. Liquid in a glass, with ice cubes. A drink. I’m very thirsty.” She waved her hand toward the cluster of booths, couches, and tables in the seating area.