A Cowboy in Manhattan(42)
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.