Seduced by the Screenwriter

Chapter 10, The Meat of the Matter, Part 10

Chapter 10

The Meat of the Matter

Dammit. I slept with him again.

Catrina sat on a stool at the kitchen island and watched Chett position three thawed steaks on a tray to slide under the oven broiler. He'd pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a clean white T-shirt after their steamy shower in Jenna's cavernous, decadent bathroom. Catrina coveted a bubble bath in the double clawfoot tub under a window overlooking the lake. Next time.

There won't be a next time.

Every hour she spent with him seemed to loosen the lid on buried emotions. Today's meltdown had scared the hell out of her. She needed to clamp that lid on tight and walk away. Such a shame, though. He was a fantastic lover.

She dragged her mind out of the bedroom suite. "Why three steaks?"

He grinned at her over one broad shoulder. "I don't want Titan to acquire a taste for raw meat."

She rolled her eyes, sipped French pinot noir. Next visit she'd bring a couple of bottles to help replenish Jenna's wine cellar. Dammit. There wouldn't be another rendezvous. Not for dinner, not for costumes, not for sex.

Irked by the internal war setting logic against desire, she snapped, "You're spoiling Titan. Cooked hamburger is good enough."

"Do you think the beast- ah, Titan understands bribery? Businesses pay gangs for protection. In this case, steak instead of money."

She laughed, as he no doubt intended. Chett was a master at distracting her from dark thoughts. "I put him in the laundry room. That's your protection."

He moved around the kitchen pulling out plates, cutlery, and napkins. Since she wasn't ever going to be intimate with him again, Catrina decided to satisfy her curiosity and ask the Big Question.

"What happened to give you a fear of dogs?"

She watched his spine stiffen, then deliberately relax. He snagged his glass of wine, seated himself on the counter stool closest to the oven, and hooked his feet on a lower rung. His knee jiggled in unconscious agitation. She placed an calming palm on his thigh.

"I was six, playing catch with some other kids in the park. As I caught the ball, a big dog leaped out of nowhere, knocked me over, and chomped on my right forearm. I can still hear the scrunch." A shudder rippled through his lean body. "My visit to Emergency was as terrifying as the bite. I watched the doc sew up my arm. Seven stitches, followed by a cast and too many painful needles for tetanus, rabies and whatnot."

She rubbed his thigh. "Titan is highly trained and won't attack unless ordered to."

"My fear has nothing to do with logic." He angled his eyes her way. "If anyone can understand that, it's you."

"Yes," she whispered.

The oven timer dinged. Chett slid off the stool, donned mitts and opened the oven door to remove the steaks.

With his back turned to her, she said, "So it's a good thing that we're not going to-get together again."

The pan clattered onto the gas stove burners. "Who decided that?"

She pulled away from the emotional storm darkening his expression. "I'll be sparing you more trauma."

"Spare me the BS, Cat." He forked steaks onto three plates on the island counter. "My fear is manageable. You can leave Titan at home. You can lock him up." He gestured with his strong chin in the direction of the laundry room off the kitchen. He allowed her to stew in mutinous silence while he pulled a dish of chopped carrots out of the microwave and spooned them onto two plates.