Page 4 of Courting Catherine
“On and off since I was twelve.” Those dark green eyes flicked up to his. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. Any work that’s done in my shop is guaranteed.”
“Your shop?”
“My shop.”
She unearthed a calculator and began to figure the total with long, elegantly shaped fingers that were still grimy.
He was putting her back up. Maybe it was the shoes, she thought. Or the tie. There was something arrogant about a maroon tie. “That’s the damage.” C.C. turned the invoice around and started down the list point by point.
He wasn’t paying any attention, which was totally out of character. This was a man who read every word of every paper that crossed his desk. But he was looking at her, frankly fascinated.
“Any questions?” She glanced up and found her gaze locked with his. She could almost hear theclick.
“You’re C.C.?”
“That’s right.” She was forced to clear her throat. Ridiculous, she told herself. He had ordinary eyes. Maybe a little darker, a bit more intense than she had noted at first, but still ordinary. There was no earthly reason why she couldn’t look away from them. But she continued to stare. If she had been of a fanciful state of mind—which she assured herself she was not—she would have said the air thickened.
“You have grease on your cheek,” he said quietly, and smiled at her.
The change was astonishing. He went from being an aloof, annoying man to a warm and approachable one. His mouth softened as it curved, the impatience in his eyes vanished. There was humor there now, an easy, inviting humor that was irresistible. C.C. found herself smiling back.
“It goes with the territory.” Maybe she’d been a tad abrupt, she thought, and made an effort to correct it. “You’re from Boston, right?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
Her lips remained curved as she shrugged. “Between the Massachusetts plates and your speech pattern, it wasn’t hard. We get a lot of trade from Boston on the island. Are you here on vacation?”
“Business.” Trent tried to remember the last time he’d taken a vacation, and couldn’t quite pin it down. Two years? he wondered. Three?
C.C. pulled a clipboard from under a pile of catalogues and scanned the next day’s schedule. “If you’re going to be around for a while, we could fit that lube job in tomorrow.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. You live on the island?”
“Yes. All my life.” The chair creaked as she brought her long legs up to sit Indian-style. “Have you been to Bar Harbor before?”
“When I was a boy, I spent a couple of weekends here with my mother.” Lifetimes ago, he thought. “Maybe you could recommend some restaurants or points of interest. I might squeeze in some free time.”
“You shouldn’t miss the park.” After unearthing a sheet of memo paper, she began to write. “You really can’t go wrong anywhere as far as seafood, and it’s early enough in the season that you shouldn’t have any problem with crowds and lines.” She offered the paper, which he folded and slipped into his breast pocket.
“Thanks. If you’re free tonight maybe you could help me sample some of the local seafood. We could discuss my carburetor.”
Flustered and flattered, she reached out to accept the credit card he offered. She was on the point of agreeing when she read the name imprinted there. “Trenton St. James III.”
“Trent,” he said easily, and smiled again.
It figured, C.C. thought. Oh, it absolutely figured. Fancy car, fancy suit, fancy manners. She should have spotted it right off. She should havesmelledit. Seething, she imprinted the card on the credit card form. “Sign here.”
Trent took out a slim gold pen and signed while she rose and stalked over to a pegboard to retrieve his keys. He glanced over just as she tossed them to him.Athim was more accurate. He managed to snag them before they hit his face. He jingled them lightly in his hand as she stood, hands on hips, face dark with fury.
“A simple no would have done the job.”
“Men like you don’t understand ‘a simple no.’” C.C. turned to the glass wall, then whirled back. “If I’d known who you were, I’d have drilled holes in your muffler.”
Slowly Trent slipped the keys into his pocket. His temper was renowned. It wasn’t hot—that would have been easier to dodge. It was ice. As he stood it slid through him, frosting his eyes, tightening his mouth, coating his voice. “Would you like to explain?”
She strode toward him until they were toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye. “I’m Catherine Colleen Calhoun. And I want you to keep your greedy hands off my house.”
Trent said nothing for a moment as he adjusted his thoughts. Catherine Calhoun, one of the four sisters who owned The Towers—and one who apparently had strong feelings regarding the sale. Since he was going to have to maneuver around all four of them, he might as well start here. And now.
