by B. B. Miller
“Pfft.” I toss a few bits of the napkin at her.
She leans forward, setting her mug down. “I don’t want to know what happened between you two. Lord knows I’ve heard enough of your previous escapades; it’s a wonder I don’t need therapy. Maybe she just wants to leave whatever you had in the past, hmm? It’s obvious she wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“Well spotted there. What’s your point?”
“My point is, sometimes, it’s best to leave things. Not read too much into it. Maybe just let it go?”
“See?” I bang my fist on the table, causing the couple in the booth across from us to shoot me an annoyed look. “This is what happens when you start to settle down. You lose your sense of adventure. Is that what you did when you first met Philip? Just let it go? Would we be scouring New York for wedding dresses if you hadn’t made the first move with him?” She opens her mouth to reply, but I forge on. “No. We wouldn’t be. You grabbed that twist of fate by the balls and you ran with it.”
“I did. But sometimes, Sean, doing that can cause a right ball ache. Remember that.”
“You might be right. But, if you hadn’t taken a chance, if you hadn’t been the one to make the first move, you might have missed out on the sheer wonder of Philip.”
“You’re horrible. You know that?”
I try to hide my grin, but it’s not easy. “Still, he’s the reason I found her again. Liking him a bit more now based on that fact alone, to be honest.”
“What was that?” Syd cups a hand to her ear. “I’m not quite sure I heard you correctly.”
I lift my chin to the final cannoli sitting on the plate between us. “Just eat your cannoli, you.”
She laughs, pushing the plate toward me. “No way. This one’s all yours.”
“We’ll take it to go. Along with another dozen for tomorrow.”
“No!” Syd tries to tug on my arm as I push up from the seat. “I’ll need even more alterations on my dress.”
I flash her a grin, moving to the display case. “Exactly.”
She huffs in frustration and calls after me, “You’re an evil, evil twin.”
It’s closing in on half twelve when we get back to my place. The rain stopped earlier, leaving the streets slick and glossy. Syd, wanting out of the Uber so we could wander home, insisted on riding piggyback for the last few blocks to the building. I’ll happily indulge her. I’ve missed her these last few months. She retired to her room after tea, fighting jet lag, which means I have a gaping hole of time stretching out in front of me. The telly holds zero interest. Infomercials really are the worst at this time of night.
Posting to Instagram takes all of twenty seconds as I flash a photo of the view of the lights of Manhattan from my balcony with a slew of hashtags. The responding likes and comments range from, “Dude!” to the equally brilliant, “I’d do u there all night.” A tempting offer to be sure.
I settle on another cup of tea and surfing the net, landing on Cassidy’s website because I like to torture myself. There are no photos of her, only classic shots of flowy and elegant dresses set with the Manhattan skyline in the background, along with stunning models that would typically pique my interest. But, not tonight. Tonight, I’m playing back our time together on repeat in my head.
She’s made it clear both times we’ve met I should know who she is. I hardly think it’s because she’s a dress designer, no matter how talented she is. Typing her name into the search engine is all it takes, and I finally understand why she told me to forget I ever saw her that first time.
Her father’s a senator from Wyoming—a real conservative big shot with a reelection coming up later this year. I bet news of his daughter having sex outside with a rock star wouldn’t go over well. If anyone understands how scandals can rock a political family, it’s me.
I scowl at the screen of my laptop as I remember the brutality of the press when the headlines hit on my time in rehab. Shit like that, you remember. It was a total and complete invasion of my family’s privacy. My father’s pristine political record and parenting techniques called into question. If his son could fall off the rails, who was he to be making policy decisions at the International Development Office?
My dad weathered the shitstorm, taking it all in stride as is his way. Nothing rattles the man. It’s one of the things I admire about him. I know how lucky I am to have supportive parents. It’s one of the reasons I started donating to the music academy back in London. The academy is for gifted kids who have grown up without the kind of support I had. Kids who have been through hell, and yet despite all of it, still want to play an instrument.
Staring at the portrait of the quintessential American family on her father’s website, I can understand her reluctance to get involved with me. No more sex outside then. I can be creative in other ways.
Powering off my laptop, I head to my soundproof music room. Thank fuck I had it put in. Without a gig to play, I feel a bit lost and unsettled. It’s nothing a couple of hours won’t cure. I pull off my shirt and toss it to the corner of the room. Judging by how amped up I am, I’m going to be here a while. Closing the door behind me, I cross the room to my kit. It’s custom made, dark rosewood, a mix of stains and inks with brass-plated hardware, identical to the one I have on tour.
Bashing Zildjians is cathartic. Skating the edge of control is what fuels me; it fuels the band. It takes us to a different place every time we play. I’m proud of the fact people say a Redfall concert is never the same show twice. How fucking boring would that be?
I take chances. On stage and off. It’s who I am. As I dive headfirst into the bridge for “Monster Down,” I know I can’t listen to Sydney and her suggestion to just let it go. I’m not going to be able to just drop this. I’m taking the chance that fate has dealt me, and I’m going to run with it.
Spring in New York is an interesting time. Having survived the polar vortex , gardens are making their appearance, pops of color dot window boxes, and kids shriek with delight in playgrounds. It’s a bit of a rebirth.
This morning, the clouds are gone, and with Syd sleeping in, I find myself drawn to the East Village, with a container of cannoli from last night. It’s almost nine. I’m trying not to dwell on the fact I know the hours of Cassidy’s shop as I stand outside it. This ranks high on the desperate scale.
I’m not kept waiting long. I can hear the faint chime of bells on the door, and then those gray-blue eyes, wide and startled, blink up at me as Cassidy appears in the doorway. Fuck, she looks good. The hair that yesterday swept in front of her eyes is held back by a few little pins with bright red jewels. She’s got a black knee-length dress on that does nothing to hide her endlessly long legs, and those shoes? Fuck me running. Simple, red, just high enough to put her almost at eye level with me.
“What are you—”
“Cannoli?” I clear my throat and hold the box out to her. She glances from the box back to me.
“It’s not even nine yet.”
“And your point is?”
“It’s a little early for cannoli, isn’t it?” She grips the side of the door.
“It’s never too early for cannoli.”
Her lips, stained in a blush gloss, curl up slightly, making me want to taste them. To taste her. I want her to want me to kiss her, and I’m afraid she might never feel that way.
“Is that a fact?” Her eyes dart to the tempting box of sweets.
I lean forward slightly, and she leans back. “Best breakfast you’ll ever have.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Don’t do that. Have one and be sure.” I wiggle the box before popping the top open. “You know you want to.”
Her eyes stay fixed to mine. “Tempting.”
“You don’t have to be tempted. It’s right here. Just for you. Best you’ll ever have.”
She tries to hold back a laugh. “I have a fitting in a half hour.”
“Loads of time, Fly-girl.”
“I can�
�t,” she says so quietly, I hardly hear it.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Her grip tightens on the door. “A little of both.”
Fucking hell. I think back to how I left things with her yesterday, about my asinine comment that she go out with me because I’m buying Syd’s dress. Even though I was joking, I admit that it could have been taken the wrong way. I need to fix this. “Well, if you won’t have cannoli, maybe you’ll let me in for a fitting.”
“A fitting?” She laughs, glancing back into her shop. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but I only have dresses here.”
“Right, And I need a suit. You know, for the wedding.”
“Ah… I don’t design men’s suits.” That little crease in her forehead appears again.
“How hard can it be, really? I mean, there’s no poofy layers, none of that lace nonsense, although I wouldn’t be totally opposed to that, in moderation of course.”
“Of course,” she says through a grin.
“Think of it as a challenge.”
“Oh, I think it’s fair to say even without the suit, you’re a challenge.” She opens up the door a bit wider, and I take a step forward. I’m in her orbit; her subtle lavender scent drifts to me and locks in place.
She gazes up at me as I slip farther into the shop and close the door behind me. Leaning forward, I drop my eyes to her lips. Fuck, I want to kiss her, but instead, I just whisper, “I dress left. If that helps.”
Cassidy
Without thinking, my eyes dart to the bulge in his worn jeans. Ah, yes he does, doesn’t he? I wasn’t really paying attention during our skydiving tryst. The other things he did with his cock were much more interesting.
Meeting his gaze once more, I ignore his triumphant smile and step back. “Fell right into that one, didn’t I?” I mumble, my cheeks heating. “Seriously, why are you here?”
“I told you.” Moving with leonine grace, he inches me back into my shop. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over an ancient Led Zeppelin T-shirt, looking like the prototype bad-boy rocker. “I brought you a treat.”
The contents of the box make a soft shuffling sound when he wiggles it again. Cannoli. How could he possibly know that cannoli is one of my favorite pastries? “How do you know I didn’t have some last night? During my date?” I’m playing with fire, I know. But I can’t help myself. Not when he’s stalking me like a panther and looking like he wants to eat me for breakfast.
His eyes darken. “Ah, yes, your ‘date.’ How was it?”
“It was fine. Riya will be here soon, you know.” I bump into the table I use to lay out fabric samples when clients are here. Which will be shortly, I remind myself.
“But she’s not here now.” He takes another step toward me. “Just fine?”
“Fine. He’s a nice man.” The floor creaks as I take another step backwards.
“Nice,” he scoffs. His violet hair glows in the early morning light coming through the front windows. “You deserve more than ‘fine’ and ‘nice.’”
I raise my chin. “How do you know what I deserve?”
“I know you deserve more than undercooked veal in an overrated bistro.”
Crossing my arms, I tilt my head and glare at him. “Jack’s very intelligent and a good conversationalist who never suggests I should spend time with him because I owe him something,” I snap. Sean rolls his eyes and looks at the ceiling, waving his arms. The poor cannoli sounds like it’s being smashed to bits.
“Jesus, woman. I said I was kidding, and I was. Look, as I’m sure my sister and mates would agree, I’m a cocky bastard who rarely pays much attention to what comes out of my mouth most of the time.” His lips curl into the confident grin I remember so well from my dreams. “Now, can we please start over? Hit rewind? Forgive me for my lapse?” He backs me up another step and holds the small box toward me again. “Consider this a peace offering.”
Damn. That accent will be my undoing. It suddenly seems hotter in the room, and I run my finger along the neckline of my dress. We move deeper into my shop, toward the dressing rooms Sydney used yesterday afternoon. I’m not sure if he’s steering me or if I’m leading him. Maybe both. He looks like a lion, ready to pounce. I can’t tear my eyes away from his—I could drown in his twin pools of green fire if I’m not careful. The air between us crackles with anticipation, and I feel my resolve slipping. Dammit, who does he think he is? Showing up here and expecting…what, exactly? That I’d fall at his feet like a groupie?
Standing straighter, I stop and snatch the box from his hand, and pop the lid open. “Fine; let’s see what you brought me.” Surprisingly, the two desserts nestled inside look unbroken. Lifting one crispy tube to my lips, I close my eyes and scoop out a bit of the creamy filling with my tongue. Oh, so good. The faint taste of almonds balances the ricotta beautifully.
A strangled groan is my only warning. My eyes fly open as he grabs my waist, making me drop the culinary goodness. “Fuck, Cassidy,” he growls, swinging me into an open dressing room as I cling to his leather jacket. His mouth descends, and I barely have time to avoid his kiss; I offer my neck instead and he takes it with a frustrated groan. My hands scramble to undo his pants as he pulls up my skirt.
“What do we have here? Silk knickers? Lovely.” His nimble fingers easily slip my underwear down over my hips so they fall to my ankles. Cold hands on my warm ass make me gasp. His fingers tease between my legs where I’m wet and wanting, fueled by some base desire that flares whenever he’s near.
“Condom.”
“Back pocket. Wallet,” he grunts, continuing to knead my ass with both hands. Reaching around him, I retrieve his wallet and pluck out a familiar packet, before letting it join the smashed ruins of the cannoli on the floor. Then I’m sheathing his hard, heavy length—oh, I remember this part well.
“Fuuuck.” His eyes roll up in his head before his steely gaze returns to my own. “Wrap your legs around me, love; this won’t be gentle.”
“Good—ahh!” My head rolls back and smacks the wall as he thrusts home, but I barely notice the pain. He wasn’t kidding—he sets a quick pace, pounding into me as if I might disappear any second. It’s just like I remember, like I’ve been dreaming of since our first time against the hangar. His heavy, hot breath against my neck, his warm, musky scent, and the strength of his arms as he holds me…it’s perfect. It’s everything. He shifts me in his arms, and I can’t help my cry when he hits even deeper. Sweet crispy Christ, he’s amazing.
He snorts out a laugh. “Fuck, you’re good for my ego.”
Shit, I said that out loud? I tug at his wild hair. “I don’t think your ego needs the help.”
His eyes dart from mine, to my mouth, and down to where we’re joined. Gripping his jaw, I bring his attention back to my face, but I’m not prepared for the intensity in his eyes. I feel like he can see right through me, and there’s nowhere to hide. Suddenly, the levity is gone, replaced by a raw need that has us grabbing at each other even more. My nails rake down his neck, and I curse that I can’t reach more of his bare skin. His fingers dig into my thighs so hard he’s going to leave marks.
I can’t wait to see them.
When he snakes one hand between us to stroke me, I’m lost. I bite the shoulder of his jacket to muffle my cry as I fall over the edge, feeling him shudder against me with his own release. I open my eyes to see him reflected in the mirror across from us, his strong form pinning me against the wall. I bite back a whimper at the sight. It’s beyond hot. The man is a force of nature. As he sets me on my feet, I glance over my shoulder, surprised there’s not an imprint of my back on the wall.
“Holy fuck, Cassidy.” He bends over, bracing himself with his hands on his knees, and panting like he might pass out. He looks up at me with an impish grin. “At least I know your name this time.”
“It might be better if you forgot it.” My legs are wobbly, but I manage to retrieve my panties from the floor and pull them on. Jeez, I never took my shoes off. He’s going
to have marks on his ass from my heels.
He straightens and grabs my hand, waiting until I look him in the eye. There it is again, that intense focus that can bring me to my knees. “What if I don’t want to forget it? What if I want more than a quick shag?”
My eyes meet his darkened emerald gaze in the mirror. “Sean—”
My head snaps toward the sound of the bell tinkling above the door. “Shit, it’s Riya!” I hastily smooth down my dress and hop over the crushed cannoli to scuttle around the corner and toward the front. Riya is hanging up her coat in the small closet, her Indian tunic a gorgeous orange today. Her smile dims when she sees me.
“Good morning.” She cocks her head to one side in confusion, making her silk pashmina rustle. “Are you all right? Have you been moving those heavy mannequins by yourself again?”
“Uh, no. Um…” I try not to fidget, but it’s impossible. My whole body still tingles from Sean’s touch.
“Riya, darling!” His booming voice comes from behind me. “How lovely to see you again. You’re like a breath of spring.”
Riya’s mouth drops open and she stares as Sean’s measured steps bring him alongside me. “Mr.… Mr. Murphy. We didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” She looks at me. “Did we?”
I shake my head quickly, but he simply shrugs. “I wanted to coax Ms. Skinner into taking a walk on the wild side.” My eyes snap to his before I realize my mistake. It’s like I’m trapped in some kind of sex tractor beam. How the fuck does he do that? Thankfully, he turns his gaze to Riya, and I can breathe again. “I know she hasn’t tried to create men’s clothing before,” he continues smoothly, “but I think she’d do brilliantly. Do you think you could help me persuade her? Get her to step out of her comfort zone and make me a suit for my sister’s wedding?”
Riya shoots me a look before plastering on an enigmatic smile. “I think it’s an intriguing idea.” She adjusts her scarf. “I’ve mentioned several times I think she should consider expanding her line.”
