Four
Brett was glad that Kate nodded off halfway through the flight. At least while she was sleeping, he didn’t have to see the wounded look in her eyes.
God. Why on earth had he agreed to take this case?
She’d asked the question, but he hadn’t answered. Because he didn’t have one. Any more than he had an answer to the insanity of letting Kate accompany him to Boston.
The flight attendant came by and refilled his coffee from a silver carafe. He looked at the china cup, sitting on the tray next to the case files he’d been reviewing.
Kate was like that cup. She was china. He was a foam cup.
She was champagne. He was a cold bottle of beer.
She came from a family whose name was synonymous with old Texas wealth and power. The man that left his mother alone and pregnant had been a drunk and a felon.
He looked over at her. Her coral-colored dress probably carried some fancy designer’s name on it, even though it was nearly severe in its plainness. Just narrow straps over her lightly golden shoulders, a square top that hinted at the shadow between her breasts, and a brief length that displayed her long, sleek, bare legs. Even the simple ponytail she’d pulled her hair back into looked elegant and full of style.
She looked like the cover of some glossy magazine and he hadn’t even bothered to shave that morning.
Well, he could drink his coffee from a china cup, and he’d learned to taste the difference between good champagne and bad. His firm even held season tickets for the ballet and the symphony. But he’d finally realized that no matter how much of the world he traveled over, how fat his bank account had become, or how much respect he’d earned, those basic differences in them would never change.
So it was probably just as well that Kate had chosen to marry good ol’ Hamilton instead of Brett. If the two of them, both from the same social set, hadn’t been able to make a marriage work, then it was a damn good bet that Brett and Kate together would’ve been one pure disaster.
The flight attendant came around again and collected his coffee cup, and Brett realized he’d been staring at Kate for so long that the plane had begun its descent.
He closed his briefcase and nudged Kate’s arm with his. “Wake up, princess.”
She murmured and shifted, curling up against his side, as if the armrests between them didn’t exist.
He realized he was inhaling the scent of her like he’d never breathed before. “Kate,” he said sharply, annoyed with himself for getting into this situation, annoyed with her for smelling as sweet and fresh as a cool morning.
Her soft lashes lifted and she looked at him with a hazy expression. Her lips curved sleepily. “Brett.”
That sleepy, sexy smile was like a jolt straight to his gut. The job, he reminded himself, coldly. Remember the job. “We’re landing. In Boston.”
Her eyes suddenly cleared and her cheeks went pink. She pressed her fingertips to her temple as she straightened in her seat.
He didn’t know anyone anymore who blushed. Except Kate. “That stuff you take really knocks you out,” he muttered.
“Mmm.” She busied herself with her purse, not looking at him.
The plane touched down, engines screaming as it slowed. Brett released his seat belt and started to stand, but Kate touched his arm.
He waited.
“Brett, I think it would be…beneficial, if we agreed to keep our minds on finding Madelyn.”
“You’re telling me to keep my mind on the job?” His lips twisted at the irony. “Hold me down. I think the world might’ve just stopped spinning.”
“I realize that might sound odd coming from me. But that’s just my point. We still view each other as the people we were. If we could leave our—” she moistened her lips, hesitating “—our past in the past and concentrate on the present, on what we’re trying to accomplish, our time here might go more smoothly.”
“Act as if we’re strangers. Who’ve just met.”
“Well…yes.”
The plane stopped moving and he got up and retrieved Kate’s tote bag before the aisle filled with passengers. Then he looked down at her. “Can you do that?”
She rose, smoothing her palms down the skirt of her dress. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his. “Yes, I can.”
Liar. She could no more look at him and not be aware of what had once been any more than he could. “All right, then. Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
She stepped out into the aisle in front of him and walked off the plane. He followed behind, wondering just how long she’d be able to make it last.
“We’re not renting a car?” Kate stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Why on earth not?”
They were outside the bustling airport, standing in line, waiting for the next cab. He looked at his watch. “Thirty-three minutes,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Look, Kate. Have you ever been to Boston?”
“No. But—”
“I have. Renting a car is a headache we don’t need. There’s construction all over the place and parking is a pain. We can walk to most places, and when we can’t, there’s the T and cabs.” A taxi pulled to a stop in front of them and Brett pulled open the door for her. “Well? Are you gonna trust me, or do you want to go back inside the airport and catch a flight back to Dallas?”
She lifted her chin and for a long, drawn-out moment, he thought she was going to argue. And if she did, he would make sure she was on the first flight back to Texas, and he would have some hope of peacefully going about his job. But her mouth stayed shut. She slipped past him and climbed into the cab.
He blew out a noisy, muttered oath, tossed the bags in on the seat and folded himself in beside her. He told the driver which hotel and sat back.
He hoped to hell they hit it lucky with the first few galleries. Otherwise, it was shaping up to be a hell of a long trip.
Kate pushed the bags around between her and Brett until they were right side up. One look at his profile was enough to tell her he was praying for the moment when he could pack her up and ship her away, out of his hair.
Well. She didn’t want to give him any grief; she just wanted to help find her mother. She needed to help. She had to take some action, if only to help her live with the reality of her father’s horrible lies.
She swallowed and gestured toward his briefcase. “Do you have a list of the art galleries we’ll be visiting?”
“Yes.”
“Soooo…do I ever get to see it?”
He
