Page 21 of Courting Catherine
“I already know it stings.” C.C. let out a little hiss as he swabbed the cut. Automatically she leaned over to blow on the heat, just as he did the same. Their heads bumped smartly. Rubbing hers with her free hand, C.C. gave a half laugh. “We make a lousy team.”
“It certainly looks that way.” With his eyes on hers, Trent blew softly on her knuckles. Something flickered in those pretty green irises, he noted. Alarm, surprise, pleasure, he couldn’t be sure, but he would have wagered half his stock options that C.C. Calhoun was totally ignorant of her aunt’s romantic plotting.
He brought her hand to his lips—just a test, he assured himself—and watched what was definitely confusion darken her eyes. Her hand went limp in his. Her mouth opened and stayed that way, with no sound coming out.
“A kiss is supposed to make it better,” he pointed out and, for purely selfish reasons, whispered his lips over her hand again.
“I think... it would be better if...” Lord, the room was small, she thought distractedly. And getting smaller all the time. “Thanks,” she managed. “I’m sure it’s fine now.”
“It needs to be bandaged.”
“Oh, well, I don’t—”
“You’ll only get it dirty.” Enjoying himself enormously, he took a roll of gauze and began to wrap her hand.
Thinking it would put some distance between them, C.C. turned. As if following the moves of a dance, Trent turned as well. Now they were facing, rather than side-by-side. He shifted—there was room to do little else—and her back was against the wall.
“Hurt?”
She shook her head. She wasn’t hurt, C.C. decided, she was crazy. A woman had to be crazy to have her heart pounding like a jackhammer because a man was wrapping gauze around her skinned knuckles.
“C.C.” He taped the gauze competently in place. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“I...” She lifted her shoulders and swallowed.
“What exactly is a lube job?”
She caught the amusement in his eyes, and, charmed by it, smiled back. “Forty-seven-fifty.”
“Oh.” They were as close as they had been the night before, when they’d been arguing. This, Trent decided, was much more pleasant. “Are you going to flush my radiator?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’m forgiven for last night?”
Her brows lifted. “I didn’t say that.”
“I wish you’d reconsider.” With her hand held between them, he shifted slightly closer. “You see, if I’m going to be damned for it, it’s harder to resist the urge to sin again.”
Flustered, she pressed back against the wall. “I don’t think you’re the least bit sorry about what you did.”
He considered her a moment, the wide eyes, the tempting mouth. “I’m afraid you’re right.”
As she stood, torn between delight and terror, the phone began to shrill. “I’ve got to get that.” Nimble as a greyhound, she streaked by him and out of the room.
He followed more slowly, surprised at himself. There was no doubt in his mind that she was as much a victim of her aunt’s fantasies as he. Another woman, certainly one with matrimony on her mind, would have smiled—or pouted. Would have slid her arms seductively around him—or held him sulkily away. But another woman would not have stood with her back planted against the wall as if facing a firing squad. Another woman would not have looked at him with big, helpless eyes and stammered.
Or looked so alluring while she did so.
C.C. snatched up the phone in her office, but her mind was blank. She stood, staring through the glass wall with the phone at her ear for ten silent seconds before the voice through the receiver brought her back.
“What? Oh, yes, yes, this is C.C. Sorry. Is that you, Finney?” She let out a long, pent-up breath as she listened. “Did you leave the lights on again? Are you sure? Okay, okay. It might be the starter motor.” She ran a distracted hand through her hair and started to ease a hip down on the desk when she spotted Trent. She popped back up like a spring. “What? I’m sorry, could you say that again? Uh-huh. Why don’t I come take a look at it on my way home? About six-thirty.” Her lips curved. “Sure. I always have a taste for lobster. You bet. Bye.”
“A mechanic who makes house calls,” Trent commented.
“We take care of our own.” Relax, she ordered herself. Relax right now. “Besides it’s easy when there’s the offer of an Albert Finney lob-stah dinner on the other end.”
There was a tug of annoyance he tried mightily to ignore. “How’s the hand?”
