Page 38 of Courting Catherine
A few moments later, Lilah called from the base of the stairs. “Amanda! Phone!”
“Tell them I’ll call back.”
“It’s the hotel. They said it’s important.”
“Damn.” She set down the glasses before sending Trent a narrowed look. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He waited until the sound of her rapid footsteps had finished echoing. “She’s very protective.”
“We stick together,” C.C. commented, and set a paper on a pile without a clue to its contents.
“I’ve noticed. Catherine...”
Braced, C.C. flicked him her coolest glance. “Yes?”
“I wanted to make certain you were all right.”
“All right. In what way?”
She had dust on her cheek. He wanted, badly, to smile and tell her. To hear her laugh as she brushed it off. “After last night—I know how upset you were when you left my room.”
“Yes, I was upset.” She turned over another piece of paper. “I guess I made quite a scene.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“I did.” She forced her lips to curve. “I guess I’m the one who should apologize this time. The séance, all that happened during it, went to my head.” Not my head, she thought, but my heart. “I must have sounded like an idiot when I came to your room.”
“No, of course not.” She was so cool, he thought. So composed. And she baffled him. “You said you loved me.”
“I know what I said.” Her voice dropped another ten degrees, but her smile stayed in place. “Why don’t we both chalk it up to the mood of the moment?”
That was reasonable, he realized. So why did he feel so lost? “Then you didn’t mean it?”
“Trent, we’ve only known each other for a few days.” Did he want to make her suffer? she wondered.
“But you looked so—devastated when you left.”
She arched a brow. “Do I look devastated now?”
“No,” he said slowly. “No, you don’t.”
“Well, then. Let’s forget it.” As she spoke, the sun lost itself behind the clouds. “That would be best for both of us, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes.” It was just what he’d wanted. Yet he felt empty when he stood up again. “I do want what’s best for you, C.C.”
“Fine.” She studied the paper in her hand. “If you’re going down, ask Lilah to bring up some coffee when she comes.”
“All right.”
She waited until she was sure he was gone before she covered her face with her hands. She’d been wrong, C.C. discovered. She hadn’t nearly cried herself dry.
Trent went back to his room. His briefcase was there, stacked with work he had intended to do while away from his office. Taking a seat at the scarred kneehole desk, he opened a file.
Ten minutes later, he was staring out the window without having glanced at the first word.
He shook himself, picked up his pen and ordered himself to concentrate. He succeeded in reading the first word, even the first paragraph. Three times. Disgusted, he tossed the pen aside and rose to pace.
It was ridiculous, he thought. He had worked in hotel suites all over the world. Why should this room be any different? It had walls and windows, a ceiling—so to speak. The desk was more than adequate. He could even, if he chose, light a fire to add some cheer. And some warmth. God knew he could use some warmth after the thirty icy minutes he’d spent in the storeroom. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be able to sit down and take care of some business for an hour or two.
