Knowing the Score by Kat Latham Page A

might pass as a whisper if she were on a West End stage. “In your underwear.”
    “Ooh, yes.” The nurse gave him an appraising glance, nodding her approval. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere. I don’t think I’d ever looked at the face on that advert before.”
    “You’re not supposed to,” Caitlyn informed her.
    “Right,” he said, cheeks burning, “let’s get you home.” He lifted her from the chair and carried her to the car, helping her settle into the passenger seat and hooking the seat belt across her. She closed her eyes, her breath hitching as she let out a tired sigh.
    He snuck glances at her as he drove to Wapping. Faint smudges of mascara streaked her cheeks where he’d brushed away her tears earlier. His chest clenched. She wouldn’t let him in on what had gone wrong, leaving him fearing scenarios that had nothing to do with the piss-poor excuses she’d given him.
    By the time he pulled up outside her building, her head was propped against the car window, her hand cradled in her lap. “Caitlyn?” He gently shook her shoulder.
    No reply. The painkillers had knocked her out. He thought briefly about getting her keys out and carrying her up to her flat, but then he realized her bag was at his place and he didn’t even know which flat she lived in.
    Trying to ignore the perverse sense of triumph he felt, he put the car in gear and headed back to his apartment.
    There was really no other choice.
    When he carried her into his flat, her head lolled against his shoulder. He’d had her in his arms for most of the evening, but not at all in the way he’d hoped.
    For some reason that didn’t seem too bad, though. He hadn’t been able to indulge the burst of lust he usually experienced when he saw her, but instead he’d been able to comfort and take care of her. It was nearly as good.
    Philip and Minnie came into the living room when he walked in carrying Caitlyn. Philip looked down at his dog and pressed his finger to his lips, as if the little idiot would understand.
    As if a yipping dog would wake Caitlyn up.
    Spencer gestured toward his bedroom with his chin and Philip rushed ahead to open the door, Minnie trotting along behind. He laid Caitlyn on his bed and took off her shoes. Not wanting to alarm her, he left everything else alone, covering her with his duvet and putting her pills and a glass of water on the nightstand.
    Closing the door as quietly as he could, he joined Philip and Minnie on the couch and told his granddad about his evening, leaving out the fact that she’d overreacted to his kiss again. Not that Philip knew anything about the first time she’d overreacted to his kiss.
    “I’m so glad you were here to help her,” Philip whispered. Spencer didn’t point out that she wouldn’t have been hurt if he hadn’t been there.
    “I don’t think you need to whisper, Granddad. The painkillers they gave her could knock out a lock.”
    Philip sighed and settled back into the couch, absentmindedly stroking Minnie who nearly purred with satisfaction. “I remember the first time I had to take your granny to A&E. We’d been married about two years. It was her first miscarriage.” He cringed, the wrinkles of his forehead deepening. “There was so much blood, and I just kept thinking how scared she looked. She was always the brave one, the strong one, but that day I had to be the strong one. Terrifying.”
    He fell silent and closed his eyes at the memory.
    Spencer had felt petrified when he first realized Caitlyn had cut herself. He’d fumbled with the first-aid kit in the kitchen, spilling its contents everywhere. Then he’d seen her—deathly pale and panicked as she scrubbed his grandmother’s picture—and he’d grabbed control of the situation. He could understand what his granddad had felt all those years ago, the utter helplessness of seeing someone he cared about in pain, bleeding and upset. All he’d wanted to do was wrap his arms around her as she’d wept into