“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back.”
“Jacob.”
I’ve always thought that strangling a person was relatively lowbrow, but it turns out minds can be changed. I’d love to wrap my hands around Bettencourt’s neck and squeeze until he’d been appropriately compensated for caning his daughter.
Not that I’m an angry, violent man like Bettencourt. Not that I have any special claim on revenge for Catherine. She’s notmine.
“Jacob.”
However, in a technical sense, I did learn this information during a time I’m responsible for her well-being at the request of her sister and a man I loved once, so wiping the man who used acaneon her from the face of the earth falls within my purview.
I can’t fucking believe him. That thing looked like it did damage. It looked like it would hold up to far more than a young woman, and if I think about it for another moment longer, I’m going to tear a tree out of the ground, drag it to the Bettencourt estate, and beat Bettencourt himself with it until he’s no longer a resident of this mortal plane.
The blood in my face has returned, and it’s on fire. I want him dead. There will be time later to determine why, exactly, nine words out of Catherine Bettencourt’s mouth have flipped some inner switch fromwhite-collar crimes onlytobloodthirsty murderer.
Quick footsteps on the dirt path behind me, then a hand on my elbow, pulling harder than I expected. “Jacob. Stop.”
Here in the middle of the trail, it’s easier to see her face. Catherine’s eyes are a light brown, but they look almost silver in the moonlight. Auburn hair falls around delicate features.
“You don’t have to go with me. I won’t force you.”
“Are you planning to go back to my parents’ house?”
I give her a sly, conspiratorial smile, as if all I want with Bettencourt is a conversation between men. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”
Her hand tightens on my arm. “Don’t go back there.”
“It won’t be any trouble.”
“It will be alotof trouble if you get arrested for murder.”
I put a hand to my chest. “Catherine, I wasn’t planning—”
“You were.” The corner of her mouth lifts, then settles. “You are. You’re not hiding it very well. I’m not sure you’re trying to hide it.”
A totally impolite, unseemly rage wells up again. “I didn’t know that’s how he treated you. If I had known, I’d have taken the cane out of his hands and killed him with it before we left.
“I know.” After a moment’s hesitation, she runs her hand up and down my bicep. It’s soothing, though I don’t particularly need soothing. I’d prefer Bettencourt’s obituary delivered on a silver platter. “I’d just…I’d rather you didn’t.”
“You think men like that deserve to go about their lives and never face any consequences for what they’ve done?”
“No.” Catherine looks so stoic, so serious, but there’s a light in her eyes that wasn’t there before. And…are those tears? Not enough of them to fall. Tears of relief? “I don’t think he should get away with it. It’s just that—”
“He’s your father?”
“I didn’t bring a coat.” Her shrug is just as adorable as the small, wavering smile that says she wants it to be a joke. “Now that I’m not running, it’s cold.”
My hands are at the buttons of my suit jacket before the wordcoldis fully out of her mouth. I wrap it around her shoulders and pull it closed. Pull it harder, so it won’t come undone.
I could kiss her.
With my hands in the jacket like this, it would be nothing to pull her in and kiss her.
For a few seconds, I’m overwhelmed by the idea.
This woman is not my fiancée. She’s not even my girlfriend. It would be incredibly classless to go in for a kiss, and I am nothing if not classy.
But…I can’t seem to let go of the jacket.