The Contract (The Contract 1)

Jenna shook her head and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be okay. Knowing you’re across the hall will help. I just can’t be alone. Usually Mom and Dad are around if Adrian is away. Adam and Julia are so busy with the kids, I hate bothering them. You guys were a lifesaver tonight.” She bent down and kissed my cheek. “Thanks, Richard. I know you see enough of me in the office. I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.”

“If you need me, come and get me,” Katharine offered.

“I’ll try not to.”

She walked up the steps, leaving Katharine and me. I studied her body language. Tense was an understatement. If she held herself any tighter, she’d be the one with the headache soon.

“Hey.”

She startled and looked at me, her eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why would you ask?”

I snickered. “You’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof all night.”

She bustled around, tidying up her already neat files, straightening the newspaper I’d been trying to read, and picking up the glasses to take to the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“I can make you a sandwich.”

“No.”

“Do you want coffee? I bought some decaf. Or, maybe some toast or something? You didn’t eat much dinner.”

“Katharine,” I warned, my voice becoming impatient.

She set down the glasses she was holding. “I’m going to bed.”

She bolted up the stairs, leaving me more confused than ever.I followed not long after, leaving a couple lights on in case Jenna needed to prowl around the condo. The last thing I needed was to have to call Adrian and tell him his wife fell down the stairs in the night, and I had to take her to the hospital. Graham and Laura wouldn’t be overly impressed, either.

The rain was picking up again, the storm gathering strength outside. I wondered if any of us would get much sleep on this strange night.

Upstairs, I shut my door behind me, the sight of the small lump in my bed reminding me I wouldn’t be alone tonight. Katharine was huddled under the duvet as close to the edge of her side of the bed as she could get without falling off. Suddenly, her strange behavior made sense. We were sharing a bed tonight, and she was nervous. An odd feeling—one of tenderness—swept through me.

It struck me as I watched her tonight what a gentle soul she must have. She lost her parents, survived what I knew must have been a rough time after they passed, although she hadn’t given me a great deal of information. She never discussed her time living on the street, which must have been horrific. She put up with me, cared for Penny, and thought nothing of helping a friend, even if she had to shift her entire life to do so—and she did it all with one of her warm smiles. She was amazing.

I found a pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt. I preferred sleeping only in boxers, but I didn’t want Katharine any more uncomfortable than she clearly was already. After getting ready, I slipped in beside her, waiting for her to say something. There was only silence.

Rising up on my elbow, I peeked over her shoulder, drawing the heavy veil of hair away from her face. She didn’t speak or move, staying still, and her eyes remained firmly shut. Her chest moved far too rapidly for her to be asleep, though. I bent low over her, close to her ear.

“Faker,” I whispered.

She shivered, burrowing her face farther into the pillow. I dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder, and pulled up the duvet. “Relax, Katharine. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

I shifted over, shut off the light and lay there, listening to her short, nervous breaths. It should have felt strange having her in my bed, and yet, it wasn’t unpleasant. I could feel her warmth, and smell her light perfume.

The bed felt wrong, though, somehow. It took me a few moments to realize why. There was a constant vibration—just enough to make the mattress quiver. I looked over at her, studying her small huddled mass. She was shaking.

Was she that afraid of me?

I rolled to my side, reaching out and wrapping my arm around her, drawing her back to my body. She let out a shocked squeak, her body rigid. Tremors ran through her constantly, and her hands clutching my arm were like ice.

“Katharine, stop this,” I murmured. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“It’s not that. Well, not just that.”

“Is it the storm?”

“It’s . . . it’s the wind,” she confessed. “I hate the howling sound of it.”

I tucked her closer, and another shiver raced through her whole body. “Why?”

“The night my parents died, there was a storm. It was like this one. Loud. The wind pushed the car around as if it was a feather. My dad lost control and the car flipped.”