Daxton (BBW Bear Shifter Moonshiner Romance) (120 Proof Honey) (10 page)

“I lost my son a long time ago, when he walked out on me,” Randall, Sr., had said, when she’d asked him to go with her to Washington.

It was the last time Kitty had asked him for anything, and she’d left the building ten minutes later, gotten into her car, and driven straight through to Washington. She hadn’t cared that her father might fire her over her absence from the office. They hadn’t spoken about Rand since, though her father never hesitated to remind her that she wasn’t the son he had always expected to follow in his footsteps at the Konstantine Talent Agency.

She sighed.
And maybe I won’t be here much longer,
she thought,
if I can’t get that stubborn, pig-headed Bartholomew Saint to cooperate.

She’d known from the beginning this would be a problem. Melinda Darling—now Melinda Darling Saint—had brought the band of four brothers to Kitty’s attention over a year ago, and it had taken only a minute with the CD Mel’d brought in to convince Kitty they had a winner. Unfortunately, it was Bartholomew Saint who’d done all the negotiating, and they’d gone around and around about the limits the Saints put on their performance venues, until Kitty had at times wanted to pull her hair out.

What made things worse was the absolutely ridiculous—and incredibly foolhardy—attraction she’d felt for Bartholomew Saint from the moment they’d met. She’d never before been attracted to big, powerful men, but there was just something about Bart Saint that drew her to him. He was in his mid-thirties, she guessed, by the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. His hair was dark, wavy, and thick—like all the Saint men—and his eyes…

She sighed. They all had those deep golden eyes, too—a family trait, according to Mel. All Kitty knew was Bart’s eyes seemed to be able to see right through her, all the way to her deepest, darkest secrets. Not that she had that many, but most of them these days had to do with her feelings about one Bartholomew Saint.

The intercom sounded, and Kitty reached over to touch the switch.

“Yes?”

“Bartholomew Saint is here to see you, Ms. Konstantine.”

She closed her eyes tightly, willing the threatening headache to go away.

“Of course he is. Send him in, please.”

Kitty closed the folding-frame of photos and set it down carefully before coming around and leaning back on the edge of her desk, crossing her arms protectively. She took a very deep breath, let it out very slowly, and prayed her heart would settle down, before she made a complete fool out of herself.

“Mr. Saint,” her assistant said unnecessarily when she opened the door.
 

“Thank you, Tina. Please hold all my calls.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The slender young black woman backed out of the room but not before shooting an appreciative glance at Bart.

Don’t bother, sweetie,
Kitty thought.
He’s so out of both our leagues.

It had always been difficult for her to remain aloof from this giant of a man. Like his nephews, Bartholomew Saint, at well over six feet, dwarfed her five-foot-eight, and his broad shoulders seemed to block out the light. He had a hint of a five-o’clock shadow even though it was only three-o’clock in the afternoon. Unlike the younger Saint men, there was something entirely formidable about this one. His very presence unnerved her on a good day. Today was not a good day.

“So,” she said, attempting to take control from the start. “Have you finally decided to be sensible and accept the offer from Opryland?”

She couldn’t quite interpret his smile but had a feeling it wasn’t good news.

“I usually like to start with, ‘Good afternoon. How are you today?’” he said.

She didn’t quite suppress a very unladylike snort. “Please.”

He stopped about four feet in front of her, and putting his hands in his pants’ pockets, stood at ease as he jingled his pocket change.

“I came to tell you we had a family meetin’ last night, and we’ve decided to stand pat on this one. The boys don’t want to perform on the big stage.”

Kitty shook her head in frustration. “Why not, for cryin’ out loud? That’s just crazy! Most bands would kill for the chance to perform at the Grand Ole Opry!”

“The Four Saints isn’t most bands,” he said, his calm tone of voice a startling contrast to her own.

But then he didn’t have to break the news to her father and boss that she hadn’t gotten the Saints to sign on the dotted line.

“Why?” she asked once more, hating the pleading note in her voice. “Just give me one good reason why. Don’t you think you owe me at least that much?”

He sighed and wandered over to gaze out the window. “It’s nothin’ personal, Kitty,” he said in that same, aggravatingly reasonable tone. She was shocked to hear him address her by her given name for the first time. “It has nothin’ to do with you or your agency. It’s just the way it’s gotta be.”

She let out a huff of breath, defeated. “And you’re not going to give me a reason, are you?”

Bart glanced at her, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Then he glanced down at her desk, and she froze when he reached for her brother’s pictures. He opened the dual frame and studied the photos for a long moment.

“Your brother?” he asked, and she realized he could read Rand’s name plate on the front of his uniform.

“That’s right.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Not wanting to get into the “I-used-to-have-but-now-I’m-an-only-child” explanation , she didn’t say anything.

“So where is he now?” Bart asked.

“Arlington,” she said.

Kitty knew the exact moment Bart realized what she was saying, and she felt tears threaten when he turned those deep golden eyes on her, the compassion in them unmistakable.

“I’m sorry, Kitty. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said, turning her back to him in an attempt to regain her composure.

“You were close.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. But it’s been ten years.”

She heard him sigh.

“I lost my oldest sister, Jenny, when she died in childbirth,” he said. “It’s been almost twenty years, now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still miss her.”

Kitty swallowed hard and turned back to him. “I’m sorry.”

His smile was rueful. “You didn’t know.”

He closed the photo frames and returned them gently to her desk. When he stepped away, she leaned against her desk once more, gripping the edge on either side of her.

“Won’t you at least tell me why your nephews refuse to play the big venues? They are so good. And with the addition of the women—Addy and Candace?—they’ve reached an even higher level. I’m not just saying this to get them to cooperate. They really are that good. But no one is going to know outside of old Nashville, if they’re not willing to spread their wings a little.”

He raised a knowing eyebrow at that. “A little? The Grand Ole Opry isn’t exactly little.”

“Okay, so maybe The Grand Ole Opry is more than they want to bite off for their first time on a big stage, but give me a break, here, Bart. I’m under a lot of pressure to show off Konstantine’s best band, and you’re not helping any.”

He sighed once more. “Would it help if I told you it’s a matter of ‘can’t’ rather than ‘won’t’?”

She didn’t try to suppress her snort of disbelief this time. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are they hiding out? Is one of them wanted by the police? The F.B.I., maybe? Maybe one of them is in a witness protection program, or something? Because believe me, if it’s anything less than that, we can find a way around it.”

Bart just looked at her without blinking, as though looking inside her mind. “The old man is making things really hard for you, isn’t he?”

She crossed her arms over her breasts once more and managed to shrug. “Even if he is, that’s not why I believe in The Four Saints. They’re good. They’re more than good, actually. And I want to help them to get to the top—in spite of their reluctance to shine. Is that a crime?”

“No. Only you don’t understand.”

“Then enlighten me, for heaven’s sake!” she said, throwing up her arms in exasperation.

He narrowed those golden eyes, but after a long moment of consideration, he finally nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nodded again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“What?” She must have heard wrong.

“You heard me,” Bart said. “Have dinner with me tonight, and I’ll tell you why the boys can’t play on the big stages.”

“You have to be kidding.”

Bart shook his head. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You want to know the truth, I’ll tell you, but I can’t do it here.”

Kitty rubbed at her now-throbbing temples. “Where then?”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

She looked up sharply. “I’ll meet you.”

“If you want the truth, you’ll let me pick you up.”

“I’ll need my car after,” she protested.

“I’ll bring you back…after,” he said.

She felt a tingle deep in her belly and began to wonder what she feared more: that he wouldn’t bring her back, or that he would. Still, if there was a chance…

“Why?” she finally asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to have dinner with me?”

He stared hard at her once more, then in a move so smooth she would forever wonder why she hadn’t seen it coming, he stepped close to her, and taking her face between his warm, powerful hands, he laid his lips on hers. He didn’t push her hard, only probed gently, but in another moment, she opened her mouth under his and their kiss deepened. She gripped the edge of her desk in a desperate attempt to ground herself, as he deepened it further, leaving her breathless and hot with a new kind of yearning.

When he stepped back at last, she gasped for breath. He continued to hold her face gently, until she finally managed to raise her eyes to his and refocus. He held her gaze for another long moment, then without a word, he turned away and headed for the door.

“Bartholomew!”

He glanced back, and this time she saw the smile in his eyes. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

With that, he opened the door and left her, closing it softly behind him.

She waited just a beat then covered her face with her hands.

“My God, what have I done?” she whispered.

Trembling, she made her way to her private bath, and flicking on the lights, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her once smooth chignon she always wore to work was coming loose, and her lipstick was gone. There was no doubt about it: she looked as though she had been thoroughly kissed.

“Well, you have, you twit,” she said, turning on the water and splashing her face. She gulped handfuls of the cool water then turned it off and reached for a towel.
 

Studying herself in the mirror once more, she considered her position. She wasn’t going to try to fool herself. Bart had asked her to dinner, but she suspected he likely would expect “afters.” The crazy thing was, she really hoped he did, because she wanted him, too—and, she realized suddenly, it had absolutely nothing to do with his nephews’ band.

“So, where are you taking me to dinner?” Kitty asked, as Bart handed her into his car. She recognized the blue, mid-sized sedan as belonging to Mel, which Kitty appreciated, because she knew Bart usually drove the family’s big SUV, and she had no illusions about being able to get in and out of that big black behemoth gracefully in a straight skirt and heels.

“You’ll see,” he said, waiting for her to pull her skirt clear of the opening before he shut the door firmly behind her.

Kitty didn’t say anything more when he got in beside her. Refusing to be dragged into a game of twenty questions, she simply buckled her seatbelt and sat back while he did the same then started the engine.

“You’re a stubborn woman, Kitty Konstantine,” he said as he drove them out of the parking lot, and she thought she heard humor in his voice.

“Not really. I just refuse to beat my head against an immovable object.”

He chuckled, then. “This from the woman who’s been hounding my nephews and me for over a year, now, trying to get them to play in the big house?”

“A lot of good it did me,” she said.

“Not your fault,” he said, surprising her.

“Not to hear my father tell it,” she said, before she could stop herself. She knew she sounded bitter but didn’t care.

“In some ways, your old man reminds me of Meg’s,” he said, referring to his youngest nephew’s new wife. “They both want to claim ownership of a daughter without making any effort whatsoever to be worthy of being called a father. Of course, Meg’s old man at least recognizes her talent, whereas you’re father is clueless about the talent you have.”

“I don’t have any musical talent.”

“I didn’t say ‘musical,’ darlin’. I just said talent. And you are—without a doubt—one of the most talented negotiators I’ve ever met. It takes someone special to be able to talk people from all over the place into seein’ things your way—and to then think what they’re seein’ was their idea in the first place.”