Possession

She put down her window and took what the little machine spit out. “No, I’m trying to park.”

“So you have to tell me how this happened.”

Cait frowned as she hit the gas and began her ascent, looking left and right for an opening in the lineup of cars. “I departed from my house, got on the Northway, and took the exit for—”

“No, let’s try, ‘I was sitting by the phone and it rang and—’”

“He asked me to come to this show.” She shrugged even though her friend couldn’t see her. “It was that simple.”

Well, kind of. She was not mentioning that he’d called her while he was still in bed, and that there was a strong possibility that he’d been naked. No confirmation, and maybe it was just her imagination—but that tone in his voice?

It had said naked.

“He’s singing backup,” she tacked on in the unlikely event Teresa could read her mind over the phone. “For Millicent Jayson.”

“Well, I’ve heard of her. But what a waste for him.”

“Agreed.”

“So how’s it going to work? Do you have a backstage pass? Or is he meeting you?”

“I’m supposed to go wait by will-call. Honestly, I don’t know.”

“What are you wearing? Tell me you have some cleavage showing.”

“Aha!” Cait pulled into a spot between a Kia and a Mini—two cars with small profiles that probably wouldn’t door her—plus as a bonus, it was only two floors up and right under a security light. “And as for cleavage? Come on, you know I don’t have a lot to show.”

“Quality over quantity, baby.”

“Uh-huh. Right. ’Cuz that’s how Pamela Anderson made her money.” Cait snagged her phone, locked up, and walked fast for the open-air stairwell. There was an elevator, but in her new workout-world mentality, stairs were king. “Okay, I’m going to go—and yes, before you ask, I’ll call you as soon as it’s over.”

“I hope I don’t hear from you until tomorrow morning.”

Cait was quiet for a moment, nothing but the clip-clomp of her loafers ringing out around the cold, concrete garage. “You’re a really good friend, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, what can I say. I’m also a sucker for romance—and if it can’t be me, there’s no one I’d rather it be than you. It’s beyond time for you to get out there again, Cait.”

The latter was said as gently as Teresa could put anything—and it had to be about Thom and his soon-to- be-here baby.

Damn it, that whole thing still stung, Cait thought. Even though it had been years, and was now totally and completely not her business.

Teresa cleared her throat. “Call me later, even if it’s two in the morning—in fact, especially if it’s after midnight.”

“Okay, I will.”

“And try to kiss him, will ya? I’m dying to know what it’s like! Oh, and if it sucks? Lie to me so I can keep my fantasy going. Thank you. Good-bye.”

Cait was laughing as she hung up and disappeared the phone into her purse.

A couple flights of stairs later, she emerged out onto the sidewalk, looked to the right and there it was in the distance: the iconic Palace Theatre vertical sign that ran up the corner of the building. Long the staple of Caldwell postcards and T-shirts, the forty-foot-high, spotlit jewel was exactly as it had been in the forties, the bright red, gold, and white swirls spelling out the name … and the fantasy of the stage.

The theater was the best kind of throwback, a gold-leafed, crystal-hung, red-carpeted palace that rebuffed the relentless fleece-and-sweatpants nature of modern life, and made you feel like a schmuck for not wearing a belle cloche and gloves when you stepped out.

Total Bette Davis fabulous.

Beneath the sign, she fell into line with a processional of other pedestrians, all of whom were walking over a mosaic’d stretch of pavement that also spelled out the theater’s name. And then inside the front receiving foyer, the iconic pattern of reds, golds, and whites was further repeated in the tile floor and the papered walls.

As the crowd filed in like cards getting shuffled into an orderly deck, she noticed that she was surrounded by couples, and wasn’t that yet another reminder of how long she’d been single. In fact, she could barely remember what it was like to go paired up somewhere, whether it was a party or a movie or the park on a nice day.

The last date she’d been on…?

Oh, jeez, it had to have been that setup her parents had arranged long-distance. What a nightmare—her mother and father’s theology had shown up at an Olive Garden in a suit and a tie, proceeded to order for her, and then stepped up on a soapbox to hold forth for two hours of her life that she was never going to get back.

Before that high point? It might … yes, it might even have been something with Thom. Back in college.

But she was breaking that dry spell tonight.

Rising up on her tiptoes, she peered over the sea of heads, hoping to find G.B. standing by the will-call— nope. Well, at least not that she could see. Maybe he was somewhere else in the lobby—

“Oh … my God.”

There was someone she recognized.

Over against the wall by the interior sets of doors that led into the lobby.

Standing alone, looking like he didn’t belong and didn’t care.

Slowing to a halt, she was knocked into from behind, someone’s elbow digging into her shoulder. The bump didn’t restart her in the slightest. Especially as he swung his eyes up and around—right at her.

It was the man from the truck last night, the one who had been parked next to her at the cafe.

The big, powerful man who had come up to her window and spoken in a voice that had made it impossible for her to fall asleep.

As her body flushed, she expected him to register a flash of recognition and then look away for whoever he was waiting for. He didn’t refocus elsewhere, however. He just stared at her.

Cait shook herself and got with the program, telling her feet to get going so she didn’t plug up the flow of people. Rising onto her toes again, she searched for G.B.

Nope.

And when she looked back at the other man, he was still staring at her.

Maybe he knew Teresa’s favorite singer?

When all he did was continue to meet her eyes, she wondered if he hadn’t been sent for her—and didn’t that seem somehow … inevitable—

Okaaaaaaay, she told herself as she made her way over to him. Let’s not go all Cupid on this, shall we?

Then again … wow. He was wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket, and that body of his did all the work and then some when it came to giving the clothes structure. Between his incredible eyes and that jawline, the only thing she could think of was that he should be photographed or drawn—someone needed to capture what he looked like permanently.

And on that note, she so wasn’t the only one who noticed him. Every woman glanced in his direction and did a double take.

He, however, was only looking at her.

“Hi,” she said as she came up to him. “I, ah, I don’t suppose you’re waiting for me?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Cait cleared her throat. “Oh, good. Okay. Well, this makes sense then.”

She waited for him to say something. Instead, his eyes slowly went down her body.

Holy … crap. She felt like someone had put her on a hot plate. And even though there were a hundred people around her? Instantly, it was just the two of them, and God help her, she liked it that way—as well as how he was looking at her: He was a stranger who was radiating sex, and rather than being offended, all she could think of was what it would be like to have him doing that while she was naked.

While he was naked—

Yeah, okay, time to step away from the ledge. Any fantasy of that was absolutely insane. She was a lights- out, under-the-covers, missionary kind of girl. Or at least, she had been … back when she’d had a sex life.