A Cowboy in Manhattan(59)

The company gracefully repositioned themselves on the stage, lining up for a bow. Katrina’s chest was rising and falling with deep breaths as she smiled at the audience. Her bright blue gaze seemed to stop on Reed’s, and emotion shot through his own chest. It was all he could do not to leap from his seat and carry her off in his arms.

But the curtain came down. The applause finally died, and the audience made their way toward the aisles on either side of him. He sat still for a long moment, wondering if he was still invited backstage. After the harbor cruise, he’d fumed in the cab all the way to the Emperor’s Theater, where he’d dropped Katrina off in midafternoon.

She’d tried to apologize numerous times, but he’d cut her off. He wasn’t sensitive about his education or his background. What he hated was when she reminded him of their vastly different lifestyles. Still, he sure didn’t have to be such a jerk about it.

She was probably still angry with him, and rightly so. Then again, was he going to let that stop him? She’d invited him backstage. She hadn’t uninvited him. He could easily play dumb and show up, and then apologize for his behavior and hope she’d forgive him.

All he had to do was figure out exactly where backstage was in this huge place.

He glanced around at the rapidly emptying theater, looking for an usher. Instead, he spotted Elizabeth Jeril down near the front, in a conversation with a man. The seats beside him were empty, so he quickly exited the row and made his way down to her.

“Reed.” Elizabeth greeted him with a wide, welcoming smile.

The stranger next to her turned to give Reed a suspicious once-over.

Elizabeth showed no such hesitation. She reached out her arms and all but floated toward him in her full-length silver gown. “I hope you enjoyed the performance.”

Reed gently returned the hug. “Very much,” he told her honestly.

“Are you coming backstage to see Katrina?”

“I’d like to.”

“Good. Reed, this is one of our major donors and a member of the board of directors, Quentin Foster.”

Reed’s senses went on instant alert. But he schooled his features and faced the man.

“Quentin,” Elizabeth continued, oblivious. “This is Reed Terrell. Reed is a friend of Katrina’s.”

“A close friend,” Reed added, holding out his hand to shake, meeting the muddy gaze of Quentin’s light brown eyes square on.

Foster was slightly short, slightly balding, with a narrow nose and a haughty, supercilious smile. He held out his own hand, pale and thin-skinned.

“A pleasure,” he told Reed in a tone that said it was anything but.

Reed squeezed a little too firmly. “Katrina’s spoken of you,” he told Quentin.

Quentin’s nostrils flared for a split second, uncertainty crossing his expression before he quickly withdrew his hand. “Katrina’s dancing is coming along nicely.”

“She looked great to me,” said Reed.

“You’re an aficionado?” Quentin challenged.

“I know what I like,” Reed returned evenly.

Quentin gave a fake laugh. “The subtleties of the ballet are usually lost on the masses.”

Reed dropped the conversation and spoke to Elizabeth. “Can you point the way?”

“Absolutely.” She linked her arm with Reed’s and led him along the front of the stage to a small door, subtly recessed into the wall paneling.

They passed through single file to a dimly lit narrow hallway and staircase.

Reed kept his footsteps and his tone measured as he chatted inconsequentially about the weather and the sights of New York City. Inside his head, he was cataloging his instincts.

Now that he’d met Foster, every fiber of his being told him to protect Katrina. Slamming the man into the nearest wall and reading him the riot act seemed like an excellent start. But he restrained himself as they passed through another door and came out into a wide, bustling corridor.

“There she is,” said Elizabeth, gesturing down the hallway.

Reed’s attention immediately fixed on Katrina as she emerged from a doorway. She’d changed into a simple black sheath dress with black leggings, high-heeled shoes and a short purple open cardigan. Her hair was in a wavy ponytail, and her face was free of makeup.

“Thanks,” he told Elizabeth absently, already winding his way through the performers and crew clogging the hall.

When he appeared next to her, Katrina was startled, obviously surprised to see him. But he didn’t pause to talk, simply slipped an arm around her waist, and gently eased her into a walk in the direction opposite to Foster.