Call Me Cat (Call Me Cat Trilogy #1)(16)

He stood, straightening his coat. "Oh, it's not fictional, I assure you. And sooner or later, you'll find I can bring you considerably more pleasure than that pie. Until then, enjoy your dessert, Miss Travis."

When the door clicked closed behind him, I exhaled, unsure what to make of the warring feelings inside of me.

I decided to do what I should have done in the first place, and pulled out my laptop to google the Davenports. What I found didn't make me feel any better.

Ash was more dangerous than I'd realized—someone I had to stay far, far away from. Because Ashton Benjamin Davenport the Third may have been many things.

But he was also a murderer.





Chapter Thirteen


Cigars and Women


THAT NIGHT I dreamed of men in masks chasing me, killing everyone around me. I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking from fear. Bridgette drove me to the precinct that day to talk to Detective Gray and fill out paperwork. He had no leads, they knew nothing and I felt the same hopelessness I'd experienced during the investigation into my parents' murder.

I checked in with The Pleasure Palace and got back on the schedule. They understood my troubles and offered to pay me early to help replace my clothes, an unexpected kindness that made me teary eyed. "Us girls gotta stick together," Donna had said.

When my shift started that night, Bridgette tossed out excuses for me with her family, and I locked myself in my room and grabbed the phone. I had no desire to talk sex to strangers, but I needed the money. While I waited for calls to come in, I skimmed more articles on Ash, obsessed with figuring out the truth about him.

I was reading through another news story on his arrest when my phone rang. Clearing my throat, I answered with a sultry, "This is Cat, how can I pleasure you tonight?"

The man on the other line sniggered. "That's new. Seems you've been refining your call skills since last we spoke."

I stared at the picture of the smiling guy on my computer screen and sighed. "Hello, Ash. I didn't expect to hear from you again."

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

"Not really," I lied.

"Ha! Of course you didn't. You've no doubt had the cream of the crop calling you the last few weeks."

I closed my laptop and set it on the table next to me. "Naturally. So, what can I do for you this evening?"

"I still haven't figured that out," he said. After a pause, I could hear him deeply inhale, then exhale.

"Are you smoking?"

"A Cuban cigar," he said. "I gave up cigarettes a long time ago, but still enjoy a cigar now and then."

"Aren't those illegal in the States?"

"Let's pretend I'm in Mexico right now, then," he said.

"You know," I said, "I actually smoked my first cigar, a Cuban cigar, in Mexico during spring break once. They aren't bad."

I could almost see his smirk when he spoke. "Maybe one day we'll meet in person and share one together. I'd like to see you smoke a cigar. I imagine it would be very sexy."

"But you have no idea what I look like," I reminded him.

"I've seen your picture on your profile page."

It was my turn to snigger. "You know those are all fake, right? None of us use our real picture."

"Well, that's a relief. I didn't imagine you to be an over made-upblonde with a tripleD rack."

"Nope, I could be a three—hundred—pound woman who happens to have a sexy voice."

"And who says a three—hundred—pound woman can't be sexy? I've known many curvier women who are just as sexy as their more petite counterparts. Sex appeal isn't a number on a scale, it's an attitude, a state of mind. Any woman can be sexy."

His words deeply affected me. I expected someone shallow and obsessed with a certain kind of look, but he kept showing more depth and wisdom than I gave him credit for. Which made my feelings for him all the more confusing. "You have a refreshing attitude about women, Mr. Davenport. I wish more men thought the way you do."

He exhaled into the phone. "I think you'd be surprised how many men think like me, at least in regards to this. We're not nearly as hard to please as women like to think. It's women who are their own harshest critics, forreasonsI've never understood."

After a long pause, during which time I couldn't help but mentally calculate how much money he'd paid to listen to me breathe, I asked him the question I'd been dying to ask since I found out about his arrest. "Do you have any regrets? Anything you wish you could change about your life?"

"That's a heavy question for so late at night. I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

I agreed and waited while he found his words.

"I got into a lot of trouble when I was younger. Let's just say growing up in the shadow of my father and grandfather didn't leave much room for innovative thinking. They expected their carbon copy, and I disappointed in every way possible." He inhaled his cigar before continuing. "My solution was to act out. I experimented with drugs and girls. Got into fights for stupid shit and generally made a public nuisance of myself. I'm not proud of it."

"What made you change course?"

"One night, at a bar, a guy came at me with a tire iron. I'd had years of training in Krav Maga. The guy never stood a chance. It was self-defense. I was arrested but quickly released. I thought I'd just banged him up bad, but I found out a few days later… he died from head trauma. His family wanted to press charges, but there were too many witnesses. He was armed, I wasn't. Still, it was the night I decided I didn't want to be that guy."