Slade (BBW Bear Shifter Moonshiner Romance) (120 Proof Honey Book 5) (45 page)

“Yes. But it’s been ten years.”

She heard him sigh.

“I lost my oldest sister, Jenny, when she died in childbirth,” he said. “It’s been almost twenty years, now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still miss her.”

Kitty swallowed hard and turned back to him. “I’m sorry.”

His smile was rueful. “You didn’t know.”

He closed the photo frames and returned them gently to her desk. When he stepped away, she leaned against her desk once more, gripping the edge on either side of her.

“Won’t you at least tell me why your nephews refuse to play the big venues? They are so good. And with the addition of the women—Addy and Candace?—they’ve reached an even higher level. I’m not just saying this to get them to cooperate. They really are that good. But no one is going to know outside of old Nashville, if they’re not willing to spread their wings a little.”

He raised a knowing eyebrow at that. “A little? The Grand Ole Opry isn’t exactly little.”

“Okay, so maybe The Grand Ole Opry is more than they want to bite off for their first time on a big stage, but give me a break, here, Bart. I’m under a lot of pressure to show off Konstantine’s best band, and you’re not helping any.”

He sighed once more. “Would it help if I told you it’s a matter of ‘can’t’ rather than ‘won’t’?”

She didn’t try to suppress her snort of disbelief this time. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are they hiding out? Is one of them wanted by the police? The F.B.I., maybe? Maybe one of them is in a witness protection program, or something? Because believe me, if it’s anything less than that, we can find a way around it.”

Bart just looked at her without blinking, as though looking inside her mind. “The old man is making things really hard for you, isn’t he?”

She crossed her arms over her breasts once more and managed to shrug. “Even if he is, that’s not why I believe in The Four Saints. They’re good. They’re more than good, actually. And I want to help them to get to the top—in spite of their reluctance to shine. Is that a crime?”

“No. Only you don’t understand.”

“Then enlighten me, for heaven’s sake!” she said, throwing up her arms in exasperation.

He narrowed those golden eyes, but after a long moment of consideration, he finally nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nodded again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“What?” She must have heard wrong.

“You heard me,” Bart said. “Have dinner with me tonight, and I’ll tell you why the boys can’t play on the big stages.”

“You have to be kidding.”

Bart shook his head. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You want to know the truth, I’ll tell you, but I can’t do it here.”

Kitty rubbed at her now-throbbing temples. “Where then?”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

She looked up sharply. “I’ll meet you.”

“If you want the truth, you’ll let me pick you up.”

“I’ll need my car after,” she protested.

“I’ll bring you back…after,” he said.

She felt a tingle deep in her belly and began to wonder what she feared more: that he wouldn’t bring her back, or that he would. Still, if there was a chance…

“Why?” she finally asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to have dinner with me?”

He stared hard at her once more, then in a move so smooth she would forever wonder why she hadn’t seen it coming, he stepped close to her, and taking her face between his warm, powerful hands, he laid his lips on hers. He didn’t push her hard, only probed gently, but in another moment, she opened her mouth under his and their kiss deepened. She gripped the edge of her desk in a desperate attempt to ground herself, as he deepened it further, leaving her breathless and hot with a new kind of yearning.

When he stepped back at last, she gasped for breath. He continued to hold her face gently, until she finally managed to raise her eyes to his and refocus. He held her gaze for another long moment, then without a word, he turned away and headed for the door.

“Bartholomew!”

He glanced back, and this time she saw the smile in his eyes. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

With that, he opened the door and left her, closing it softly behind him.

She waited just a beat then covered her face with her hands.

“My God, what have I done?” she whispered.

Trembling, she made her way to her private bath, and flicking on the lights, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her once smooth chignon she always wore to work was coming loose, and her lipstick was gone. There was no doubt about it: she looked as though she had been thoroughly kissed.

“Well, you have, you twit,” she said, turning on the water and splashing her face. She gulped handfuls of the cool water then turned it off and reached for a towel.
 

Studying herself in the mirror once more, she considered her position. She wasn’t going to try to fool herself. Bart had asked her to dinner, but she suspected he likely would expect “afters.” The crazy thing was, she really hoped he did, because she wanted him, too—and, she realized suddenly, it had absolutely nothing to do with his nephews’ band.

“So, where are you taking me to dinner?” Kitty asked, as Bart handed her into his car. She recognized the blue, mid-sized sedan as belonging to Mel, which Kitty appreciated, because she knew Bart usually drove the family’s big SUV, and she had no illusions about being able to get in and out of that big black behemoth gracefully in a straight skirt and heels.

“You’ll see,” he said, waiting for her to pull her skirt clear of the opening before he shut the door firmly behind her.

Kitty didn’t say anything more when he got in beside her. Refusing to be dragged into a game of twenty questions, she simply buckled her seatbelt and sat back while he did the same then started the engine.

“You’re a stubborn woman, Kitty Konstantine,” he said as he drove them out of the parking lot, and she thought she heard humor in his voice.

“Not really. I just refuse to beat my head against an immovable object.”

He chuckled, then. “This from the woman who’s been hounding my nephews and me for over a year, now, trying to get them to play in the big house?”

“A lot of good it did me,” she said.

“Not your fault,” he said, surprising her.

“Not to hear my father tell it,” she said, before she could stop herself. She knew she sounded bitter but didn’t care.

“In some ways, your old man reminds me of Meg’s,” he said, referring to his youngest nephew’s new wife. “They both want to claim ownership of a daughter without making any effort whatsoever to be worthy of being called a father. Of course, Meg’s old man at least recognizes her talent, whereas you’re father is clueless about the talent you have.”

“I don’t have any musical talent.”

“I didn’t say ‘musical,’ darlin’. I just said talent. And you are—without a doubt—one of the most talented negotiators I’ve ever met. It takes someone special to be able to talk people from all over the place into seein’ things your way—and to then think what they’re seein’ was their idea in the first place.”

“Everyone but you,” she said, turning her head to study his profile.

He smiled. “Yeah, well, I’m special, too.”

Kitty found herself smiling in spite of herself. “You are that,” she murmured, though his grin said clearly that he’d heard her.

Bart didn’t respond but instead made a couple of quick turns then pulled into an alley between the back yards of houses.

“Where are we?” she asked, feeling the first hint of alarm.

“Home,” he said, pulling in behind a two-story structure.

It was an old Victorian house in a neighborhood full of them. Like its neighbors, it was clearly a part of the movement to preserve and renovate these old beauties.

“You didn’t say anything about taking me to your place,” she said, nervous in spite of her resolve.

“I said I was takin’ you to dinner,” he said, getting out of the car.

“But…!”

He closed his door with a firm hand then came around the hood of the car to open her door for her.

“Dinner usually means a restaurant,” she said, making no move to get out.

He sighed. “But tonight is all about tellin’ you the truth, darlin’, and I can’t do that at a restaurant any more than I could at your office.

“Don’t worry,” he added. “I haven’t poisoned anyone, yet.”

Kitty hesitated another moment then took his offered hand and stepped out of the car. Looking around, she noticed the house across the alley was three stories, and she recognized the black SUV and the white van.

“Your nephews?” she asked, gesturing across the way.

“Mel was living in the top floor apartment when we met her. We were able to buy the house from the owner right before she and Matt were married. Then Addy came along, and this place came up for sale. It was a mess, but John and I moved over here when Luke and Candace married. Then John found Meg, so we spent all our time on the upstairs apartment. My space was only finished about a month ago.”

The whole time he was talking, he was gently herding Kitty into the apartment, and by the time he finished with the explanation, she was standing inside the back door, staring around at the kitchen, stunned by what he had done.

“I have to say, it’s not what I’d expected, but this is incredible,” she said, moving around the room, touching various surfaces.
 

The kitchen and dining area beyond were traditional in design, though the open floor plan and high-end finishes took it a step beyond. Closer inspection showed it leaned more toward the simplicity of mid-century modern in the furnishings, but blurry water-color paintings of mountains and forests harkened back to the past. The lighting was mostly hidden, the furnishings comfortable-looking. The small round table under a simple hanging lamp was set for two, complete with wine glasses and candles ready to light. Bart crossed the room to touch a switch, and a cheerful gas fire began to burn brightly in the fireplace.

“Confident, weren’t you?” she said, gesturing toward the set table.

Bart grinned. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

After tapping a button on the microwave oven, he opened the big oven and brought out a pan of bubbling lasagna.

“Italian?” she asked. “You continually surprise me, Bartholomew.”

“Don’t worry. I put it together, but it’s Mel’s red sauce.”

“Ah.”

He placed the glass pan in a woven tray, carried it to the table, then returned to the refrigerator and brought out what looked like a spinach salad, which he proceeded to toss with vinegar and oil dressing.

“The bread’s in the microwave,” he said.

When the oven dinged, she opened the door to find a loaf of sliced Italian bread in a basket. Pulling it out, she smelled the garlic in the butter.

“Wine?” he asked.

“I might as well,” she said.

Bart grinned and poured red for them both before reaching into a drawer for a lighter and lighting the candles. Setting the lighter aside, he flicked off the kitchen lights.

“I guess that’s everything,” she said.

“Not quite.”

Before she could move past him to the table, he took hold of her arms, backed her against the kitchen counter, and reached up to pull her hair free of the chignon. She heard the pins hit the countertop and hardwood floor as he combed his long fingers through the heavy waves, and she was shocked to feel the ripple of desire run through her from her scalp to her toes. When he was through, he held one thick lock to the light.

“It’s not really red, and it’s not really brown, is it?” He smiled. “Chestnut, maybe.”

Kitty had to swallow, before she could speak. “It mostly depends upon what color I’m wearing—and the lighting,” she said.

“And you often dress in black, don’t you?”

“It’s professional,” she said tightly. “If you’re through playing with my hair, now, I’m hungry.”

Bart grinned. “Right.”

He surprised her once more when he pulled her chair out for her. Then he was serving her lasagna, and passing her the salad. Nothing more was said as they began to eat what turned out to be a delicious meal.

“You were going to tell me the truth,” she said, when she finally came up for air long enough to sip her wine.

“After dinner,” Bart said. “I want you to enjoy your dinner, first.”

“That sounds ominous,” she said, wishing she could make a joke about it.

Bart shook his head and drank some wine. “Nothing of the sort, but you may want to leave right after, and I want to enjoy our dinner, first.”

Kitty sighed and started on her salad.

When she looked up a moment later, he was smiling at her, and she felt her face heat.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothin’. Only it’s good to see a woman enjoyin’ her food. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bought dinner for a lady only to have her pick at it.”

Kitty shook her head. “Just lucky, genetically speaking. I have a very high metabolism that lets me enjoy food without worrying about putting on the pounds.”