A Cowboy in Manhattan(63)

She saw a chance and entered a conversation with another dancer and two of the guests, hoping it would keep Quentin at bay. Unfortunately, they were just saying good-night, and she was quickly on her own again. And her stop had given Quentin a chance to get closer.

She skirted along the edge of the ballroom toward the back, thinking Reed might have gone to one of the bars for a drink.

She didn’t make it.

“Katrina?” Quentin called to her.

Caught, she heaved a sigh and pasted a polite smile on her face. “Hello, Quentin.”

“You look lovely tonight.” Though he uttered the words, there was a distinct insincerity to his tone.

His smile was there, if a bit fake. And there was a tenseness in his posture, a tightness at the corners of his mouth. Like he had a right to be angry with her. If anything, it ought to be the other way around.

“Thank you,” she responded calmly, letting her smile fade. It was one thing to be cordial if he was trying to keep up appearances, but if he wasn’t even going to make the effort, she certainly saw no reason to pretend.

His gaze moved insolently from her face, to her breasts and down the length of her body. “Putting it out for someone special tonight?”

She ignored the rude question and started to leave. “Excuse me. But I’m on my way to get a drink.”

But as she began to move, he grabbed her by the arm. His grip was tight enough to be painful.

Before she could react, he stepped up close, his voice a growl. “You call him off.”

“What? Let go of me.” Had he lost his mind?

“That pit bull of a junkyard dog—”

Suddenly, Reed appeared. He grabbed a handful of Quentin’s shirtfront and pushed him backward ten full paces, slamming him into the wall.

“Reed,” Katrina gasped.

“Did you think I was bluffing?” Reed demanded in a harsh voice that carried. “Did you?”

Quentin’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

Katrina moved swiftly toward them, praying nobody else was paying attention. “Reed, stop.” She could handle this herself, discreetly and quietly. The last thing in the world Liberty Ballet needed was a sordid scene played out in full view of their donors.

But he only pushed Quentin harder against the wall. “I meant every word I said.”

Quentin gasped for breath.

“Let him go,” Katrina begged, glancing around.

Instead, Reed pointed a stiff finger close to Quentin’s nose. “Every word.”

“Security!” somebody called out from behind her.

Katrina groaned in mortification.

Quentin managed a pained but triumphant smile. “Better let me go.”

“It’ll take them at least five minutes to get here,” Reed warned. “I can do a lot of damage in five minutes.”

“You’ll go to jail,” Quentin wheezed.

“Do I look like I care?”

“Reed,” Katrina pleaded, her panic growing.

He glanced her way. “You don’t need to see this.”

“Everybody’s seeing this.”

He turned back to Quentin, his enunciation slow and deliberate. “What’s it going to be?”

The two men glared daggers at each other.

Finally, Quentin glanced away, giving a tight nod of acquiescence.

Reed abruptly let him go, stepping back just as the security guards came into view. Reed backed off farther, straightening his jacket. Then he turned and walked casually toward her, while Katrina stared at him in abject horror.

She felt dozens of pairs of eyes come to rest on her. This story was going to race through the dance world like wildfire. Katrina would be a laughingstock. Whatever Quentin might have done to try to harm her career, Reed had outdone the effort and then some.

Reed stopped in front of her, and she felt her eyes sting with mortification. She didn’t say a word, but dashed blindly for the exit. Ignoring the curious and pitying stares of the other guests, she made her long and painful way to the foyer.

Once there, she went directly to the elevators.

Reed was right behind her. “Katrina, I’m sorry you had to—”

“You’re sorry?” She gasped for breath, barely finding her voice. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “You think sorry cuts it?”

“He had it coming.”

“It was a party, Reed. A civilized party.”