Блейз Клемент - Even Cat Sitters Get The Blues

I said, “How do you know so much about who owns the Kurtz property?”

The chill in my voice made him look up with a question in his eyes. “I served as escrow agent for the shell company.”

That was even more suspicious, because Ethan wasn’t a real estate attorney.

He must have sensed my withdrawal, because he almost blurted out an explanation.

“I met an attorney in London a couple of years ago, and we exchanged business cards. You know, in case I ever needed a contact in London or in case he needed one in Sarasota, the kind of networking thing people do. I never expected anything to come of it, but he called me about this time last year and asked if I’d handle this transaction here on Siesta Key. His client wanted to buy an existing house to tear down and put up a new one, but they didn’t want any public notice of the purchase. I filled him in on Florida realty laws, told him they’d have to retain thirty percent of the existing house to avoid zoning changes and public postings. To keep their name out of it during construction, the sale would have to be a land contract rather than the usual possession-at-funding deal. That way, the seller retains title until final payment is made.”

“So you handled it?”

“Yeah, it was just a favor to the guy. I might need his help in London someday.”

“When was final payment made?”

“It hasn’t been made yet. It’ll be finalized on January first.”

“In two weeks?”

“Right.”

All my nerve endings were standing up waving red flags, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I was still a little suspicious of Ethan or because what he’d said pointed to something that was important.

I said, “How’d you know the company you dealt with was a shell company?”

“Because the check they sent was cut by BiZogen Research, and the company buying the property was Zogenetic Industries.”

An icy trickle crawled down my spine. “Do you know anything about BiZogen Research?”

“Not a thing, do you?”

I shook my head. I didn’t, but I intended to find out.

The waiter brought our salads, and for a few minutes we filled time nodding yes to an offer of fresh ground pepper and then watching with faked rapt attention while he turned the pepper mill. You would have thought we were aboriginal people who’d just newly arrived in America and had never seen such an astonishing thing before. That’s when I realized that Ethan was just as nervous as I was, a realization that hit me like a thunderbolt. I’d known all along he was interested in me, but not that he was that interested. It was such a pleasant surprise that I smiled sweetly at him, the way you smile at a baby who’s doing something especially cute. Nothing like knowing a man is nervous in her presence to make a woman feel powerful.

His shoulders relaxed and we both began to talk about safe things—the chill weather and wasn’t it a shame that all those tourists weren’t enjoying the beach, the salads and wasn’t the house dressing just the best, the music playing and wasn’t it smooth. The waiter whisked away our empty salad plates and replaced them with plates of grouper grilled exactly the way I like it, plain, with just a squeeze of lime and no yukky sauces to hide the fresh sea taste. With it we had what the menu had described as a “medley” of grilled vegetables—zucchini and snow peas and some broccoli flowerets. None of it was as good as what Michael makes on his prize grill, but then not many chefs cook as well as Michael.

I had long since polished off my margarita and switched to water, and I noticed that Ethan had done the same. I liked that in him. Too many men guzzle down alcohol like they have to have it in order to boost their spirits or their nerve or their egos. The fact that Ethan was cool without booze made him go up another notch in my estimation.

The musicians had moved from light listening music to dreamy dance music, and a few couples were on the dance floor.

Ethan said, “Care to dance?”

All my newfound feeling of female power went flying into space.

“Dance?”

“You know, the thing where two people stand with their arms around each other and move to music.”

I hadn’t danced since a New Year’s Eve party just before Todd and Christy were killed. I hadn’t thought I’d ever dance again, hadn’t thought I’d ever be in another man’s arms again.

I felt the old familiar tug of loss and grief and hopelessness—and let it go. I do not honor my husband or my child by living as if I had died with them.

Ethan was looking at me with a dark shadow in his eyes. “Something wrong?”

“No, I just spaced out for a minute. I couldn’t remember if I left water out for the last cat I saw today, but I did.”

He nodded, eyes hooded, not believing me for one minute but letting his disbelief go to the same place I’d sent my sadness. Some things are better left unsaid. Some old wounds are better left under their scabs. I was glad we both understood that.

I said, “To tell the truth, I haven’t danced in a long time. I’m pretty rusty.”

“Then it’s time you did it again.”

I rubbed my sweaty palms on my black leather thighs and tried not to look terrified. I wanted to ask Ethan if I could have time to think about it. I wanted to tell him I couldn’t get that close to him yet. I wanted to run to the ladies’ room and sit on a toilet and cry.

In a bitsy voice that barely reached my own hearing, I said, “Okay.”

He stood up and reached for my hand, and I allowed myself to be elevated to my feet and led to the dance floor, where Ethan took me in his arms and moved so gracefully that I forgot I was rusty at dancing and moved along with him. They say you can tell a lot about a man by the way he dances. Ethan danced like a man comfortable with taking the lead, like a man always mindful of where his partner was, both physically and mentally. Like a man who enjoyed his body. In a few minutes, my own body had learned him so it knew what he was going to do before he did it, knew by the flexing of his muscles when he was going to move this way or that, knew it was safe to let him lead me wherever he wanted me to go.

I was an astronaut floating in space with a disconnected tether, moving through vast potential without any control over my next move. Even in the midst of all the music and laughter and sounds of dishes clinking, I felt as if I were in an eternal quietness where the only sound was a cosmic heartbeat. Or was that my own heartbeat? Or perhaps his? If I turned my cheek to lay it against his chest, I couldn’t be sure whose coursing blood sang under my ear. The only thing I could really be sure of was that I never wanted to move, never wanted to break this contact of flesh and breath and pulse beat. No doubt about it, I was in trouble.

He tightened his arm around my waist and drew me close. Leaning to nuzzle my hair above my ear, he said, “Could I lure you to my place, right now?”

Only God knows how much I wanted to say yes.

I pulled back and looked up at him. “Not tonight, Ethan.”

He grinned. “Does that mean I can try again?”

I laid my finger on his lips to shush him, and he grabbed my hand and kissed it.

Oh, my, when a man as handsome as Ethan Crane kisses your hand, it makes you feel like a fairy princess who’s just found a way out of the tower.

We went back to the table, where I got my purse and Ethan picked up the bill that had been left while we danced.

I said, “I think I’d better head home now.” I didn’t add Before I throw you to the floor and have my way with you here in front of all these people , but I thought it.

As if he read my mind, Ethan gave me a slow grin. “I’ll walk you to your car.”