A Cowboy in Manhattan

Chapter Six

Inside the line shack, Reed set Katrina on her feet, instructing her to hold still while he located a box of matches to light the two oil lamps that would be sitting on the small kitchen table. He knew where everything was in the compact, single-room shack, and he didn’t want her walking into the furniture.

“Will somebody come looking for us?” her voice wafted across the cool room to him.

“What do you mean?”

“When we don’t come back, will they come looking?”

Reed couldn’t help but smile to himself. He struck a match, lifted the glass chamber and lit the lamp’s wick. The idea that Caleb would mount a rescue operation because Reed was a few hours late was laughable.

“I’m old enough to stay out after dark,” he told Katrina. He quickly moved the match to the second lamp and lit it, as well. Warm yellow light filled the small room, highlighting a compact kitchen, two worn armchairs, a bed in one corner, along with the scarred wooden table and four battered kitchen chairs.

“Won’t they worry?” she pressed.

“Not for a day or so.”

“But we could be hurt.”

“We’re not hurt.”

“They don’t know that.”

He took in her bedraggled appearance and tried not to feel guilty, reminding himself that she was the one who’d insisted on coming along. “They’ll know that odds are we’re stuck.”

“But—”

“This kind of thing happens all the time.” Next, Reed went to the small woodstove between the armchairs. There was a cardboard box nearby with old newspapers, dry kindling and split firewood. He opened the glass-fronted stove door.

“Not to me, it doesn’t,” Katrina huffed to his back.

He heard her make her way farther into the shack. “We’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

He crumpled the paper. “So stop worrying.”

“I’m not worried.”

He laid down a few pieces of kindling. “I can tell.”

“I’m not worried. Cold, maybe.”

“It’ll warm up soon.”

“And hungry.”

“You? Hungry? Who’d have guessed.”

“I eat,” she protested.

“About enough to keep a bird alive.” Not that she was skinny. She had a killer compact figure, smooth curves, tight muscle tone. He set a few pieces of firewood on top of the kindling.

“I guess I’m an easy keeper.”

He grinned at her horse reference, striking a match then tossing it into the stove, watching the paper catch and light before closing the door. “Well, I’m definitely not. I’ll see what I can find us to eat.”

“There’s food here?”

“I hope so.” It was going to be a long night if he couldn’t find a can of stew or a jar of peanut butter.

“What can I do?”

It was on the tip of Reed’s tongue to make a joke about how little she could do out here, but before he could speak, he caught a glimpse of her delicate features. Her soaking, stringy hair, those wet, bedraggled clothes, and he didn’t have the heart to tease her.

“Check the bureau beside the bed. Sometimes the cowboys leave dry clothes in it.”

In reaction to his words, she shook water droplets from her fingertips, and took a long look down at her soaking clothes.

Reed could stand to stay wet if he had to, but he’d much rather dry off and warm up.

She headed for the far corner of the shack while he moved one of the lamps to the small countertop and checked the kitchen cupboard. He found a box of pancake mix and a bottle of maple syrup. Not exactly gourmet, but it would keep them from going hungry.

“Not much here,” Katrina called to report.

He turned, squinting into the darkened end of the room.

She came toward him, into the lamplight, holding something in each hand. “Tops or bottoms?” She unfurled a pair of gray sweatpants and a large, white T-shirt.

He couldn’t help being reminded of his offer to share his pajamas. He nodded to the sweatpants. “Looks like those might be a bit large for you.”

“Unless I want a blanket.” She tossed them his way, and he snagged them out of midair.

She shook out the T-shirt. “Can I trust you to turn your back while I change?”

“Absolutely,” he vowed. “My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”

“My auntie raised me to be a bohemian artist.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

Her blue eyes danced as she obviously fought a smile. “It means I probably won’t turn my back while you change.”

Reed fought the temptation to tease her in return. But that was a dangerous road to go down. Instead, he forced himself to turn away, concentrating on finding a bowl in the sparsely equipped cupboard. It was already going to be a very long night. “Change your clothes, Katrina.”

While he whipped up the batter and heated a pan on the two-burner propane stove, she rustled her way into the dry T-shirt.

“Your turn,” she told him, moving up beside him at the counter. “That smells good.”

He handed her the spatula. “You know how to cook pancakes?”

She took it. “Haven’t a clue.”

He glanced down at her, his chest contracting at the sight. Her hair was raked smoothly back. Her face was shiny clean. And the boxy T-shirt accentuated her slim frame, showing off her shapely legs.

It took him a second to find his voice. “When those bubbles burst, flip it over.”

“I can do that.” She determinedly took up a position in front of the mini stove.

She’d laid out her wet tank top and slacks, along with Reed’s soaking shirt, on a kitchen chair near the woodstove to dry. Reed stripped his way out of his own jeans, stepped out of his boxers and pulled on the soft sweatpants. Katrina kept her back turned. He’d known she was bluffing.

She gave a little whoop when she successfully flipped the pancake.

“Now what?” she called over her shoulder.

He draped his clothes on another kitchen chair and moved up behind her. “Give it a minute, then we’ll start another.”

“I’m pretty good at this,” she bragged.

“Outstanding,” he agreed. He retrieved a dinner plate so they could stack the pancakes.

She dumped the pancake from the pan onto the plate and placed the pan back on the stove.

“First you spoon in the batter,” he demonstrated. Then he tipped the pan so that the batter spread thin.

“You’re very domesticated,” she noted.

“Survival instinct.”

“Your mom teach you to do that?”

Reed nodded through the familiar hitch in his chest. Even after all these years, he couldn’t help but react whenever he talked about his mother. Which wasn’t often. “She did.”

Katrina’s voice lowered. “How old were you when it happened?”

He pretended to misunderstand the question. “When she taught me to cook pancakes?”

“When she died,” Katrina clarified.

He kept his voice even. “Seventeen.”

There was a silent pause.

“I remember she was beautiful,” said Katrina.

“She was,” he agreed. And she’d been kind and gentle, and far too delicate to be toiling in the wilds of Colorado ranch country. Not unlike Katrina.

“You mind talking about her?”

Reed bought himself a moment by flipping the pancake. “I don’t mind,” he lied.

“It must have been hard.”

“It was.”

“And then Caleb left.”

“What are you trying to ask me?” Reed would rather get to the point and get out of this conversation.

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. How it impacted you, losing such a big part of your family all at once. If you were lonely.”

“Were you lonely?” he asked her, instead of answering.

“Huh?”

“You left your family.”

She nodded but didn’t elaborate. A few seconds later, she wrapped both hands around the handle of the frying pan and dumped the next pancake onto the plate.

“You want to try?” he offered, relieved to move on to something more mundane.

“Sure.” She accepted the spoon, doled out the batter and tipped the pan.

“Well done.” He smiled.

“I was lonely,” she admitted, setting the pan back down on the heat.

He clenched his jaw. So much for letting the maudlin stuff go.

“I was only ten years old,” Katrina continued, eyes taking on a faraway expression. “For a while there, I really wanted to come home. But Auntie Coco talked me out of it. She was a pistol. No matter how much the other kids teased me, no matter how hard the studies or the dancing, no matter how much I missed my mom, she’d tell me to keep my chin up, my head clear and try just a little bit harder.”

Reed found himself engaging. “What was the most difficult part?”

Katrina turned to face him, and it hit him just how close together they were standing. “What was the most difficult part for you?”

He gazed into her eyes, debating whether to lie. For so many years now, whenever he was asked about his father, he’d glossed over Wilton’s cruelty. It was an ingrained reflex. But he found he didn’t want to lie to Katrina.

“That my father was junkyard-dog mean.”

Her delicate brows went up.

“He was dictatorial, demanding and ruthless. He yelled at me every day of my life, hit me and nearly worked me to death for ten long years.” Reed reached around her and flipped the next pancake.

“Are you serious?” Katrina’s voice was a horrified whisper.

“I am.”

“But why didn’t you leave? Caleb left. Couldn’t you have—”

“And let Wilton win?”

Katrina paused. “So, you were taking a stand?”

“I was.”

She seemed to ponder his words.

“You think I was nuts.” He’d sure heard enough of that reaction from Caleb.

But Katrina gave her head a slow shake. “I’m envious.” Moving in what seemed like slow motion, she reached up to brush her fingertips along his bicep.

His muscle contracted under her touch, and it was all he could do to hold himself still.

She tipped her chin and met his gaze. “I admire you. There are days when I wish I could tell the world to go to hell and back it up with brute strength.”

The urge to haul her into his arms was so powerful, that he had either to move away or give in. He used retrieving the next pancake as an excuse. “Hungry?”

Her hesitation lasted only a split second. “Starving.”

“Bring the plates,” he instructed. “And some forks.” He transferred the pancakes and the bottle of maple syrup to the small table near the center of the room. He moved the oil lamp to make room for the dishes, and its light bounced off the scars that had been gouged into the wooden tabletop over many long years of use.

She joined him, taking one of the two chairs that weren’t being used as clothing racks.

He sat down and pulled in his chair. “It’s not exactly the Ritz.”

She gave an exaggerated pout. “You mean no caviar and champagne?”

Using his fork, he transferred two of the pancakes to her plate, then he pushed the bottle of syrup her way. “And the wine pairings leave something to be desired.”

She blinked at him over the soft yellow lamplight. “You surprise me when you do that.”

“Do what?” Deciding it didn’t make sense to use up another plate, he moved his clean one back to the counter and shifted the serving platter with the remaining two pancakes in front of him.

She watched his movements until he sat down. “When you talk about wine pairings and Dior.”

“You are such a snob.”

“I’m not,” she protested, hand resting on her fork, showing no signs of getting started on the meal.

Since she wasn’t using the syrup, he poured some of it on his own pancakes then pushed it back to her.

“You’ve spent your entire life on a ranch in Colorado,” she elaborated.

He cut into the tender pancake. “Do you honestly think you’re making it better?”

“Okay. How do you know about wine pairings?”

He reached across the table and drizzled the syrup on her pancakes. No sense in letting the things get cold. “How do you know about wine pairings?”

“Fine restaurants, parties, I read a little.”

He gave a chuckle. “Me, too.”

“But—”

“I’ve been to Denver and Seattle, even as far as L.A. I once toured a vineyard in the Napa Valley. Get over it and eat your pancakes.”

She ignored his instruction. “Really? You toured a vineyard?”

“Surprised they let me in?” He took a bite. He wasn’t about to sit here and starve waiting for her.

“You’re twisting my words.”

“I don’t need to twist them to make you sound like a snob, princess. You’re doing that all by yourself.”

“You surprised me.” To her credit, she did sound contrite.

“Apparently,” he allowed.

She glanced down at her plate then inhaled deeply. “These really do smell great.”

“Taste them. They’re pretty good.”

She cut tentatively into one with her fork. “It’s been years since I’ve had maple syrup.”

“Welcome to the wild side.”

“I probably don’t need two.”

“You probably do.”

She lifted her fork to her mouth. “Here we go.”

He couldn’t believe she was making such a production out of it. But finally, she took a bite, chewed and swallowed.

“Oh, my,” she breathed. Her eyes sparkled and her red lips turned up in a beautiful smile.

Reed instantly lost his appetite for anything but her.

“Good?” he managed in a slightly strangled voice.

“Ambrosia.” She consumed another bite. “Who needs wine pairings anyway.”

“You like it on the wild side?” He didn’t intend it, but his tone turned the question into a double entendre.

She glanced up. Her expression stilled. Her gaze darkened. “Yes.”

Reed’s fork slipped from his fingertips, and his hands clenched into fists. Though his brain screamed no, his desire shouted it down. He gave in to his desire.

“Come here,” he commanded.

Her expression turned serious. She rose on her bare feet, moving toward him, draped in that boxy, oversize T-shirt. Her hair was stringy and wet, makeup smudged around her eyes, yet she still managed to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

He snagged her hand, eased his chair back, pulled her into his lap and captured her lips in one smooth motion. He wrapped one arm around her gorgeous body, cradling her face with his free hand as his lips and tongue plundered her mouth. He’d missed her taste so much. How on earth had he managed to stay away?

Her body curled against his bare chest, delicate hands wrapping around his back, their warmth all but burning his skin. She returned his kisses with passion and enthusiasm.

His fingertips found her bare thigh, trailing slowly beneath the hem of her shirt. It took him mere seconds to realize she was naked beneath, and he swore under his breath.

“What?” she breathed, her rear end pressing tightly against his growing arousal.

“I’m not stopping this time.” He kissed her again.

“I sure hope not.” She kissed him back.

“But this is a bad idea.” His mouth opened wide, and he all but devoured her.

When the kiss finally ended, she surprised him by turning in his lap, straddling him, her arms snaking around his neck, even as the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest. “I promise you,” she whispered huskily, her maple-sweet breath puffing against him. “The world will still be turning tomorrow morning.”

Reed didn’t doubt that was true. But he feared his own world might tip on its axis and never go back to right.

Then she kissed him again, and all reason left his brain.

He acted on instinct, moving his hands beneath her shirt, sliding along her sides, pushing the soft fabric higher and higher. They didn’t stop until he’d peeled it over her head, tossing it aside, gazing at her perfection for long, satisfying seconds before he wrapped her naked body in his arms.

“You are so incredibly gorgeous.” He kissed the tip of her shoulder, then the tender hollow of her neck.

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“That you’re gorgeous?” He brushed the pad of his thumb across her nipple.

She gasped. “Yes.”

He did it again.

“I meant—”

Again.

She groaned and arched her back, and he leaned down to kiss one hard pink nipple, drawing it into his mouth, swirling his tongue, finding immense satisfaction in the way her fingertips dug into his biceps.

But he forced himself to withdraw. If he wasn’t careful, they’d be making love right here on a kitchen chair. There was a bed in the shack. It wasn’t much of a bed, but he was determined to use it.

He took up her mouth with his, came carefully to his feet, holding her tight, her legs still wrapped around his waist. He was never more grateful for the habitual condom tucked into his wallet.

They crossed to the bed, and he dragged back the covers, easing down until he was sitting, lying back, drawing her full length on top of him before turning enough to strip off his sweats and pull her naked body against his own.

He ordered himself to slow down their kisses, curb his wayward hands that seemed determined to experience every inch of her soft skin. Her legs were toned and perfectly shaped. Her stomach was flat, creamy skin, with a sexy sweet navel. Her breasts were exactly the right size, fitting the palms of his hands, nipples dark pink, beaded under his touch.

Her shoulders were smooth, neck long and sexy, and her blond hair splayed messily out across the pillow, beckoning his hands. He burrowed his face into it and inhaled.

“I could breathe you in all day,” he whispered.

Her hands trailed across the flat of his chest. “And I could touch you forever.” She turned and met his gaze. “Or kiss you,” she offered, moving in on his lips, voice going lower. “I could kiss you forever.”

Her words nearly caved his chest in with emotion. He cradled her face, holding her steady while he kissed her long and deeply.

She wrapped a leg over his body and his hips reflexively arched toward her. His hand slid over her breast, down her stomach, gently easing between her legs.

She flinched, and he froze, pulling back. “Something wrong?”

She shook her head.

“Katrina?”

She kissed him deeply, but something had changed. There was a tension in her body that hadn’t been there before.

“You change your mind?” It might kill him, but she was entitled.

“No,” she insisted, kissing him again.

“Stop,” he ordered.

“You change your mind?” she asked.

“Of course not. Are you kidding me?” He drew away so that he could look her in the eyes. “Tell me.”

She clamped her jaw.

He knew he should leave the bed, but he couldn’t help hoping there was a simple explanation. Something other than the fact she had cold feet. Which he’d have to respect. A pithy swear word formed on his lips. But he kept it there. “You can say no, Katrina. I’ll be—”

“I’m a virgin,” she blurted out.

He reared back. “What?”

“I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just a little nervous.”

“What?” he repeated, unable to articulate anything more coherent.

She didn’t answer, just stared at him with those gorgeous blue eyes, looking more desirable, more forbidden, sexier than he could possibly be expected to stand.

“I want it to be you, Reed,” she whispered.

He tried to shake his head, but he couldn’t seem to make the simple motion. A better man would walk away. A better man would have stayed away in the first place. Up to this moment, he’d have claimed he was a better man.

Then she reached up to touch his cheek, her fingertips trembling ever so slightly. “I so want it to be you.”

Reed catapulted over the edge. He swooped in to kiss her, telling himself to be gentle, but losing the battle with instinct. His hands roamed the satin of her skin, lips trailing behind, kissing her everywhere, swearing to himself he was going to make it good for her, but unable to slow the pace of his desire.

He touched her again, fingers easing inside her hot, snug body, jolts of unadulterated lust ricocheting through every fiber of his being.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped. He couldn’t stand the thought.

“You won’t,” she told him.

But he knew she was wrong. “I will.”

“Then just get it over with.”

“I don’t think so.” He brushed and stroked, until she relaxed, then squirmed beneath his hand. Her skin was flushed, and her breath was coming in quick pants.

Then he moved over her, didn’t give her a chance to tense and swiftly pushed in solid.

She gasped and reflexively jerked away from the invasion.

But he held her fast, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to still. “Sorry.”

“It’s—” She sucked in a couple of breaths. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.” He kissed her gently, slowly, savoring the taste of her lips, holding his lust in check while he let her body get used to him.

Then she kissed him back. Her arms went around him. And her hips gently flexed.

He stroked her thighs, positioning her legs, moving slowly at first. Then, encouraged by her reaction, he increased the pace. She was hot and slick and gorgeous in his arms. Her scent surrounded him, while her breathing seemed to echo in his soul. He couldn’t stop tasting her, couldn’t stop touching her, as his primal brain kicked his body into an accelerating rhythm.

Heat flashed in front of his eyes, popping like colored fireworks. He braced an arm in the small of her back, tilting her toward him, as he kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth. A roar in his ears rose like a freight train, obliterating everything else.

He barely heard her cry out his name. But her body shuddered, convulsing around him, and he surrendered to paradise.

The world came slowly back into focus, and he realized he had to be crushing her.

“I’m sorry,” he shifted.

“No!” She tightened her hold. “Don’t move.”

“You okay?” He pushed his weight onto his elbows, freeing a hand to brush her damp, messy hair back from her face.

“I’m not sure.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“Little bit.”

“Little bit?” he pressed. “But not a big bit?”

She mustered a smile, and he couldn’t resist kissing it. Then he braced her body against his.

“Hold still for a minute,” he instructed. “Let me do the work.” He gently rolled onto his back, bringing her with him until she was on top, and there was no danger of him squishing her. Her slight weight felt good against him.

“You can stay there just as long as you like,” he told her.

“Really?” She pulled back far enough to look him in the eyes. Her gaze was soft on his, voice barely above a whisper. “Because that might be a very, very long time.”

“No problem.” He brushed the pad of his thumb across her swollen lips. “It’ll be two, maybe three days before they come looking.”

He’d happily keep her in his bed that long and longer. He didn’t know what had happened, or more accurately, what had not happened in her past: why she’d waited, or why she’d picked him. But right now nothing mattered except that she had.

“I went to an all-girls school,” Katrina found herself explaining, still draped across Reed’s naked body. She’d hate him to think there was something wrong with her. “From when I was ten all the way to college. I mean, we saw the boys from the affiliated school occasionally. But it wasn’t as if we had time to get to know them.”

“Are you saying you didn’t date in high school?”

“I didn’t date in high school,” she confirmed.

She slowly slid from his body to his side and let her cheek rest on his shoulder.

He settled a wool blanket over them.

“And then I went to the college affiliated with Liberty Ballet,” she continued. “I’ve been really busy with my dancing career. So, you know, even though I live in New York City, and my social life is quite active with all the events and parties—”

“Katrina?”

“What?”

“Are you apologizing for being a virgin?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I’m not apologizing.” Exactly. “I’m telling you it wasn’t my fault.”

His body rumbled with laughter, and his lips brushed the top of her head. “You don’t understand men at all.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” The man was exasperating.

“Yeah?” His tone turned serious. “Well, listen up, Katrina. Because I understand men perfectly.”

“Bully for you.”

“You’ve got it all wrong.”

“I’ve got what all wrong?”

“How I’m feeling. What I’m thinking.”

“Okay, what are you feeling and thinking?”

He seemed to choose his words, his tone deep near her ear. “I’m feeling privileged and proud. I’m thinking someday, a long time from now, when I’m very old and very tired, and there’s nothing left of my life, I’ll be remembering this night, and you, and that I was the first.”

Something flip-flopped Katrina’s stomach. She drew back, tipping her chin so that she could gauge his expression. “That’s a really great line, Reed.”

“Thank you.”

“Ever used it before?”

“Of course not. How can you ask that?”

So he was serious? He’d be thinking of her on his deathbed? She had no idea how to respond, so she laid her head back down on his shoulder and just breathed for a few minutes.

Reed spoke first. “But is there something wrong with all the men in New York City?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Because I was with you all of five minutes before I realized I’d never be able to keep my hands off you.”

“Five minutes?” She couldn’t help but be pleased to hear that.

“Did they ask you on dates and you turned them down?”

“Five minutes?” she repeated.

“Focus, Katrina.”

“I am focusing.”

“The men? In New York City?”

She gave up. It was really just her ego that wanted him to admit it anyway. “Some asked for dates,” she admitted. “Most I turned down. The others didn’t really work out. And Quentin Foster, well he just skipped right to the proposition.”

“Quentin Foster.”

“Just a guy,” said Katrina, regretting even saying the man’s name out loud.

“Did you meet him at one of your fancy parties?”

She shook her head. “He’s on the board of directors for Liberty. I’ve known him for a while. He’s a big contributor, and people kowtow to him. I don’t think he has much of a life outside the ballet company, because he’s always hanging around. He comes to rehearsals. And he’s forever closeted with the ballet company director discussing… I don’t know what they discuss, funding, I guess.”

Reed came up on his elbow. “And he propositioned you?”

She scrunched her face up in a grimace. “Yes.”

“As in solicited sex?”

“Is there another kind of proposition?”

Reed blinked several times. “A man in a position of power over you actually asked you to sleep with him?”

She came up on her elbow, mirroring his posture. “Is there something confusing about the way I’m putting this?”

“You said no,” Reed confirmed.

“Absolutely. Quentin had hinted around for months, and I tried to ignore him and avoid him. But then one day, he cornered me, and came right out with it, and I said no.”

“Good for you.”

“Thank you.”

“What did he do then?”

She dropped her head back down on the pillow. “He was upset.”

Reed waited.

Katrina didn’t feel like lying, and she didn’t feel like dressing it up, so she told Reed the truth. “He told me he could be a valuable friend, but I didn’t want him as an enemy.”

“When was this?” Reed’s voice had gone cold.

“About three weeks ago. And then those strange things—” She caught herself. It was wild, paranoid speculation. It didn’t even deserve to be said out loud.

“Strange things?” Reed’s voice went cold. “You’re talking about the cables and your ballet shoes.”

“No,” she lied.

“Then what?”

“I’m not going to tell you. It’s too crazy. I’m too crazy. Everything’s fine.”

He laid his head down on the pillow, touching his forehead to hers. His voice went low again. “You have to tell me.”

“Why?”

“This is pillow talk. All secrets are revealed during pillow talk.”

“This isn’t a secret.”

“Good. Then there’s no reason not to tell me.”

“It’s silly.”

He shrugged. “Then who cares if you tell me or not?”

She heaved a heavy sigh. “Fine. But you can’t laugh. And you can’t call me a princess.”

“I’m going to call you a princess whether you tell me what’s on your mind or not.” He brushed a few stray hairs from her cheek. “I like calling you princess. You should take it as a compliment.”

“It’s not a compliment. You’re telling me that I’m spoiled.”

“But in a delightful, exotic, sexy way.”

“Ha!”

“Tell me the whole story, Katrina.”

“Fine. He propositioned me a few times. And then he phoned me here and asked me if I’d thought about his offer. I told him I wouldn’t change my mind.”

“And when did your ballet shoe fail?”

“Why are you giving me the third degree?” It wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong.

“When did you hurt your ankle?”

“Can we back to kissing or something?” She really didn’t want to talk about this.

“Give me the chronology.”

“No.”

Reed ignored her answer. “First, he propositions you. You say no. You narrowly miss some cables. He asks again. You say no. Your shoe fails and you’re injured. He asks again. You say no…”

“That’s the most far-fetched theory I’ve ever heard.”

“No. That’s what you’re thinking yourself.”

“There’s absolutely no way—”

“Did someone check the shoes afterward?”

“I threw them away.”

Reed raised a meaningful brow.

Katrina understood his suspicions. “I have a dozen pairs of ballet shoes. Nobody could have guessed which ones I’d use that day.” But she was convincing herself as much as she was convincing Reed.

He seemed to ponder that information.

She wasn’t going to buy into any kind of paranoia. “Those were accidents, coincidences.”

Reed slowly smiled. “Okay,” he agreed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She let her body relax, trailing her fingertips across his chest. “I shouldn’t have said anything. We were having fun, and I messed it up.”

Reed slipped his arms around her, drawing her close, speaking against her ear. “You were right to say something. You should always tell me when something goes wrong. Have I mentioned that I know how to fix things?”

“There’s nothing to fix.”

“Maybe not.”

“Maybe the shoes, if I still had them.”

Reed chuckled, and Katrina forced the theory from her mind. There was no connection between Quentin and the accidents. He hadn’t even called again. Clearly, he’d given up. She could relax and stop worrying. When she went back to New York City, everything would be fine.