Page 15 of Courting Catherine
“I came,” he corrected, “to get a firsthand look at a piece of property. No one, least of all me, can force you to sell.”
But he was wrong, she thought miserably. There were people who could force them to sell. The people who collected the taxes, the utility bills, the mortgage they’d been forced to take out. All of her frustration, and her fear, over every collection agency centered on the man beside her.
“I know your type,” she muttered. “Born rich and above the common man. Your only goal in life is to make more money, regardless of who is affected or trampled over. You have big parties and summer houses and mistresses named Fawn.”
Wisely he swallowed the chuckle. “I’ve never even known a woman named Fawn.”
“Oh, what does it matter?” She rose to pace the path. “Kiki, Vanessa, Ava, it’s all the same.”
“If you say so.” She looked, he was forced to admit, magnificent, striding up and down the path with the moonlight shooting around her like white fire. The tug of attraction annoyed him more than a little, but he continued to sit. There was a deal to be done, he reminded himself. And C.C. Calhoun was the foremost stumbling block.
So he would be patient, Trent told himself, and wily and find the hook. “Just how is it you know so much about my type?”
“Because my sister was married to one of you.”
“Baxter Dumont.”
“You know him?” Then she shook her head and jammed her hands into her pockets. “Stupid question. You probably play golf with him every Wednesday.”
“No, actually our acquaintance is only slight. I do know of him, and his family. I’m also aware that he and your sister have been divorced for a year or so.”
“He made her life hell, scraped away her self-esteem, then dumped her and his children for some little French pastry. And because he’s a big-shot lawyer from a big-shot family, she’s left with nothing but a miserly child-support check that comes late every month.”
“I’m sorry for what happened to your sister.” He rose as well. His voice was no longer sharp but fatalistic. “Marriage is often the least pleasant of all business transactions. But Baxter Dumont’s behavior doesn’t mean that every member of every prominent Boston family is unethical or immoral.”
“They all look the same from where I’m standing.”
“Then maybe you should change positions. But you won’t, because you’re too hardheaded and opinionated.”
“Just because I’m smart enough to see through you.”
“You know nothing about me, and we both know that you took an uncanny dislike to me before you even knew my name.”
“I didn’t like your shoes.”
That stopped him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” She folded her arms and realized she was starting to enjoy herself. “I didn’t like your shoes.” She flicked a glance down at them. “I still don’t.”
“That explains everything.”
“I didn’t like your tie, either.” She poked a finger on it, missing the quick flare in his eyes. “Or your fancy gold pen.” She tapped a fist lightly at his breast pocket.
He studied her jeans, worn through at the knees, her T-shirt and scuffed boots. “This from an obvious fashion expert.”
“You’re the one out of place here, Mr. St. James III.”
He took a step closer. C.C.’s lips curved in a challenging smile. “And I suppose you dress like a man because you haven’t figured out how to act like a woman.”
It was a bull’s-eye, but the dart point only pricked her temper. “Just because I know how to stand up for myself instead of swooning at your feet doesn’t make me less of a woman.”
“Is that what you call this?” He wrapped his fingers around her forearms. “Standing up for yourself?”
“That’s right. I—” She broke off when he tugged her closer. Their bodies bumped. Trent watched the temper in her eyes deepen to confusion.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Testing the theory.” He looked down at her mouth. Her lips were full, just parted. Very tempting. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? he wondered vaguely. That big, insulting mouth of hers was incredibly tempting.
