“Hmm,” she muttered. “When you found out I had to have surgery, you told me I was allowing myself to be neutered and sex would be a thing of the past. I don’t know why you thought that, but you were right in a way. Sex with you is a thing of the past. I’ve come to realize the day you served me with divorce papers was the day my life actually started. Why on earth would I possibly take you back?”
“We need to talk—”
“Maybe we do. And maybe we should have our lawyers present. This arrangement between us, regarding the house, has turned into a bad deal for me.”
Bill huffed, and the expression on his face was a familiar one. The martyr. She’d seen it numerous times over the years. “Baby, come on. Send him away. Let’s talk.” He stuck out his pouty lip, and she had the immature impulse to grab it and yank it over his head.
Ivan made a disgusted sound. “If she put up with your bullshit for nearly thirty years, asshole, I guess it’s no wonder your date dropped you like a hot potato and went on with Andrew Portman to the Dancing Pony after the reunion last weekend.”
Cassie blinked. “She did?”
Ivan grinned but kept his eyes on Bill. “Hank told me they left together and then showed up at the Pony after we left. You blew your chance, Bill. Be a good loser for once.”
Hatred gleamed in Bill’s eyes as he stared back at Ivan and grinned. “Maybe so, but I got to pop Cassie’s cherry.”
Cassie gasped at Bill’s audacity and the magnitude of her error in judgment, leading to three decades of an unhappy marriage, sharpened into a painful ache in her chest. What kind of a person said such things? What kind of an idiot was she for marrying someone who would say such things?
Ivan shook his head. “That’s enough. You’re done here.”
It was a good thing Bill had already put his shoes back on and picked up his wallet because Ivan grabbed him by his shirt collar and frog-marched him down the hall. Bill hollered the whole way. “Get your stinking hands off of me, fucker! I’m filing assault charges! This is my house!”
“Call Hank once I get your stupid, horny ass outside. I’d be happy to explain how I found you naked in her house, without her permission, masturbating on her bed. That’d go over well at the bank once the gossip mill gets hold of the story.”
A low thump against one of the walls echoed through the house, and then Ivan lowered his voice so all Cassie heard was the raspy growl of it. A brief struggle ensued, and then Bill yelled, “Like hell she will! Cass! It’s not over between us, not by a long shot! You’ll never find another man like me!”
Rubbing her forehead, Cassie whispered, “That’s what I’m hoping for, you jerk.”
Ivan closed the front door with a solid thump, locked the deadbolt, and then chained the door while Bill continued his tirade outside.
Cassie made sure the drawer was closed on the dresser, all her sexy plans withering on the vine, ruined by all of the drama and words that shouldn’t have been spoken. She’d wanted to retain an amicable relationship with her ex for Joseph and Tamara’s sake, but the son of a bitch was pushing it by shaming her for the very thing she’d thought was special. She’d saved herself…for that.
“You okay?” Ivan asked as he met her in the entry to the hallway.
She nodded and went to the kitchen island and got out the cutting board for the vegetables. Ivan took the board from her and placed his hand over hers as she gripped the chopping knife in the wooden block on the counter. “Hey, I’m supposed to be cooking for you. Why don’t you have a seat here,” he said, indicating the bar stool he pulled around the island for her, “and I’ll get this chopped up and sautéing for us.”
“What did you say to him before you threw him out?”
He gazed at her as he debated, and then he laid the knife on the counter. “I told him there would come a morning where he’d wake up alone and realize just how perfect you were, honey—and that he’d lost you, and when that day came, you’d be waking up with men who already knew how perfect you were. Sorry, I know it was presumptuous on my part since I’m the third wheel, but after what he said about you… I couldn’t let the opportunity slide.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said as she put her hands to her cheeks, feeling as though she was outside her body, watching him watch her as he peeled the onion. He’d just described her ultimate fantasy, but the ache from Bill’s spiteful words overshadowed everything.
A furrowed brow marred his smile, and he gave a shake of his head. “Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for, baby.” He set everything down and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her against his big, solid frame. He kissed the side of her head and whispered, “I don’t know why he’d say such cruel things in your hearing.”
“I don’t understand it either,” she murmured, her voice muffled as she pressed her cheek to his chest. “He got me right where it hurts.”
“You’re a lovely, loyal, and faithful woman. I wanted to hit him. What he said was uncalled for.”
She looked up at him while holding on to his arms around her. “What if I regretted saving myself for him?”
Shifting his stance, he brushed his nose against hers. “What-if is a losing game to play. Everything happened the way it did, and there’s no changing it, but if you’d given yourself to Samson…or to me…there would’ve been no going back. Neither of us would’ve been able to let you go, beautiful. Not in a million years. And if either of us had been lucky enough to have claimed you first, you can take it to the bank we’d never discuss the fact with anyone else, especially not in so crude a fashion.”
Her cheeks grew hot as she imagined him being “the one,” and she tightened her arms around him, welcoming his kiss, opening to him. She fumbled to get her arms around his shoulders and his neck and moaned as he bent her slightly backward, making her hang on to him.
Finally, he drew away, out of breath and flushed, his eyes heavy lidded. “Baby, let me feed you first. Then I want to make a meal out of you. Will you let me?”
Panting, she let go of him and took a seat on the barstool to give her shaky legs a chance to recover. “What would you do?”
“Show me where your large cast-iron skillet is first, and then I’ll tell you.” The trace of a smile and glimmer in his eyes made her pussy go liquid.
She pointed to the cabinet containing her best cast-iron skillet and chuckled when he looked at it with something akin to lust. He swiped a thin coat of olive oil around the thoroughly seasoned skillet with a paper towel and placed it on one of the large front burners and set it to low heat.
“That is beautiful,” he said, looking at her six-burner gas cooktop as he pumped soap from the dispenser by the sink into his hands. She watched as he carefully lathered them and took his time washing. He was a man who was meticulous with everything he touched.
“Like with the étouffée, I’d take my time.” After he finished peeling the onion, she watched in fascination as he held it securely in his strong hands. His fingers were long, and his nails neat, clean, and short, as he sliced the onion in half with a quick motion.
She took in a deep, cleansing breath. “I’ll bet.”
He turned the onion and sliced in the other direction, producing a completely diced onion in seconds. “I’d let things heat up, but not too hot, not at first.” Next he cored and seeded the bell peppers. “Low heat is best. And I don’t rush. I never rush a good thing.” He was looking directly at her, his hands stilled, before going back to work.
She pointed to the strainer hanging in the pot rack when he asked, and he opened the package of crawfish over the sink and dumped them in to finish thawing and rinse under the tap water. After washing his hands again, he went back to chopping the bell pepper and then the celery and then smashed a clove of garlic under the flat of the blade.
“If I let things get hot too fast, like with the garlic, the aroma and the essence peak too early, and it’s just so much cooked, smooshed vegetable in the skillet and the scent of singed garlic hangs in the air fo
r a long time.” He scrunched his nose in distaste, and she giggled. All his food analogies were totally turning her on, and then he said, “I want it to peak as I put a bite in your mouth. I want you to moan because it’s so good the flavors burst on your tongue.”
Holy crap, I think I just burst!
She licked her lips and giggled as his gaze fastened onto her mouth, and he licked his lips before going back to work. He tested the heat of the skillet and added butter to it and smiled as it liquefied and spread slowly in the pan. “See? No odor, no smoke, just a slow…melting.”
She squirmed in her seat, slowly melting, and patted her damp forehead as he tossed handfuls of onion, pepper, and celery into the skillet with the garlic. “You are such a tease. You make cooking a very sensual experience.”
Standing in front of the stove, stirring the vegetables as they began to coat with melted butter, he looked so at ease, self-confident, as he shot her a sexy grin. “It’s a good thing.”
He adjusted the heat again and then came to her, drawing close enough she had to spread her thighs to accommodate him. The motion drew her attention to how tingly and wet she was getting and how much she wanted him there, touching her and stroking her with those capable fingers. His hands were warm through the fabric of her slacks as he rested them on her thighs. “Are you wet?”
His body heat drew her to him, so comforting and exciting at the same time, and he shuddered as she brushed her lips against his throat and whispered, “Very. And I’m so hot, too.”
Ivan bit his lip, and his eyes smoldered as he gazed into hers. “How hot?”
“Simmering. Slowly.”
“Not too hot?”
“Not yet,” she whispered. “But I want to be.”
He backed up an inch. “You want to be?”
She held his gaze, tipping on the edge of one of the biggest decisions she’d ever made in her life. Continue on, celibate and unfulfilled…or take a chance. “Samson?”
“Wishes like hell he was here right now.”
“I do, too.” She shivered as he stroked her cheekbone and reached up to hold his hand against her cheek. “I don’t know what the protocol is here. I know my friends are happy in their physical…sexual relationships, but I’ve never asked any of them how they actually started.”
Ivan nodded, and vulnerability shone in his eyes, which reassured her. She didn’t like feeling at a disadvantage. “It’ll be late when Samson gets done, but I took the liberty of texting him your address.”
“I’ll put an extra key under the potted plant on the porch for him. Do you think he’ll come?”
“He might. I’ll let him know about the key.”
Her breathing was shallow, as if she’d just run around the block. “Will…will you stay, Ivan? Stay here, with me, if that’s okay?”
“If it’s what you want, but I’m not sure how well I’ll resist temptation.”
“I didn’t ask you to resist,” she murmured before he leaned down to meet her halfway in a kiss. “I’ll make the rice, if you’d like?”
He shook his head. “Let me take care of feeding you. I want to.”
Nodding, she looked around the kitchen, which was already tidy, besides his slight mess, and then she turned. “I’ll be in the back.”
“Doing what?”
She peered out the front windows and was pleased to see Bill was indeed gone. She’d been in such a rush to get inside and hide her goodies earlier that she’d never even noticed his Lexus parked out front. “You said you found Bill on my bed, right?”
“Right,” he replied with a grimace on his ruggedly handsome face. “What has been seen cannot be unseen.”
Chuckling, she unchained the front door and headed down the hall. “We’ll need my bed, so burning it isn’t an option. I’m going to change the linens and…tidy up in there.”
“Okay, beautiful.”
The first thing she did was blow out the candles and then immediately regretted it. He’d lit several, and by the time she was done, she was waving her hands and wincing at the sweet scent mixed with the odor of smoke. She was just grateful she hadn’t actually seen Bill naked in her room. What a desecration of her private space—not that he’d seen it that way, obviously.
Soft music filtered down the hall. He’d found her stereo, and she heard his chuckle as she recognized the opening chords to Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling In Love With You.” “You and I are dancing to this when you get done in there, beautiful,” he called down the hall. “That one brings back some memories.”
Taking a deep breath as she yanked the sheets from the bed, she replied, “I was thinking about you and Samson, and your family, the other night, and I happened to have that CD. What’s a home without at least a little bit of Elvis in it?”
“I recall you were a big fan.”
She chuckled and softly said, “I’m a big fan of your parents.” She could still see them dancing in the kitchen. His parents were the only example she’d ever had of what a happily married couple looked like. Samson and Ivan had groaned in embarrassment and horror at their antics, but Cassie had wanted to be just like them.
“What? I couldn’t hear you,” he said from the doorway as he squinted and waved his arm in the air and turned on her ceiling fan to clear the drifting smoke.
“Whenever I hear Elvis, I always remember the way your parents were with each other. My mom and dad never did that while I lived at home, and after…well, I don’t imagine they wanted to be in the same room with each other, much less dance together. How is the cooking going?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
“The vegetables are sautéing. I need to keep an eye on it, but it’ll be at least forty-five minutes while the gravy simmers. We have plenty of time.” He grabbed the corner on the fresh fitted sheet and helped her make the bed. In all their married years, Bill had never helped with such a chore.
She noticed him taking in the framed portraits of the kids hanging on the bedroom wall. “You’ve had a full and blessed life,” he finally said as they put the fresh pillowcases on the pillows. “Assholes aside, of course.”
With a nod, she said, “Yes. Joseph and Tamara are…amazing. I’m so proud of the people they’ve become. And Divine Drip has been a dream come true. My mom is going to be okay. If I ignore nonsense like Bill pulled tonight, and the garbage I put up with from my father, it’s a wonderful life.”
With a grin, he caught the corners of the quilt when she whipped them in the air above the bed. “What about your music? Are you still writing? And singing? I noticed the guitar case in the back of your closet earlier,” he said, pointing at the dusty case propped up against the back wall in the walk-in closet.
“I haven’t touched it, any of it, in years,” she said, thinking of the sheaf of handwritten music tucked inside the case.
“What happened, baby?” he asked as she opened one of the bedroom windows. The soft scent of fall rain hung in the air, and a touch of cool, fresh air kissed her fingertips.
“Oh…life, I suppose. I don’t want to bore you,” she said, evading, reluctant to share the slow demise of her original dream with him. “I made it work. And like you said earlier, I’m blessed.”
He came to her by the window. “Come on,” he said, tugging at her hand. “It’s time to check the gravy.”
* * * *
A little while later when supper was ready, Ivan held the spoon for Cassie as she took another bite of crawfish étouffée. The delight at the meal he’d prepared for her glimmered in her eyes and gave him a feeling of accomplishment that transcended merely feeding her. He loved the half-lidded look of pleasure in her eyes.
“Mmmm,” she moaned, her eyes twinkling as she chewed and swallowed. “You sure know how to cook, Ivan. If I owned a restaurant like Hermione, I’d be all over you like white on rice, trying to steal you away.”
He shrugged and took another bite himself. She’d have to ask him only once. “I’ve found a rather surprising amount of fulfillment as
a chef. So you decided against pursuing your music degree?”
She’d always had visions of getting her degree at Berklee and then moving to Nashville or Los Angeles and pursuing a career as a songwriter and musician. And he knew she could sing as well.
He and Samson had supported her dream wholeheartedly because, even though it would’ve meant losing her, it would’ve enabled her to get away from the controlling men in her family. In the end, Cassie’s dream was the one thing allowing Samson to walk away on graduation day—that she would be free…finally.
Eyeing him as she wiped her lips on the napkin, she said, “You don’t really want me to rehash all that old history. I’d rather hear more about you and Samson.”
Determined, he shook his head. “I’ve spent the last hour talking about myself and what life has been like for us. I want to know about you. I need to,” he added as she pursed her lips and shrugged.
“It’s not very interesting,” she said as she took the last sip of her sangria and then got up from the sofa and took the plate and utensils they’d shared from him.
He followed her into the kitchen, where she rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. “Maybe it’s not interesting to you, but I don’t want you to gloss over the last thirty years. I want to understand how you arrived at a place where you feel satisfied with having not pursued what I know was your vision for life.”
She frowned, but any aggravation she felt at his pointed words she kept to herself, which said quite a bit. He waited patiently while she worked, noticing the firm set of her mouth. To give her time, he got out the bottle of wine and refilled their glasses.
“You know my father held the promise of helping me to go to college over my head. When I graduated, he told me the restaurant had taken some losses after what happened with my mom and I would need to work a semester or two to earn money for living expenses since he couldn’t help me as much.”
“I thought you’d been saving all your tips and your earnings from the restaurant for all four years of high school. You had quite a chunk saved.”
How Cassie Got Her Grind Back [Divine Creek Ranch 23] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 15
