by Jill Shalvis
He took another good long look at her. She'd hidden the emotions he'd sensed when she'd first arrived. She was good at that. "I don't know. Maybe you came for … comfort." It'd been just a guess, but he would have sworn she'd flinched.
"I don't need comfort from a man. Never have."
"That's a shame," he said, sucking in a breath when her fingers skimmed up his ribs, danced over a nipple. "You're trying to seduce me."
"Is it working?"
While he pretended to ponder, she glanced at him. Just once, nonchalantly. But it dissipated the sensual haze she always put him in. She was scared. She had come to him for comfort. He could see right through her, damn it. Did she really think he couldn't?
Whatever she thought, she wanted to keep it to herself. And would try to do so unless he could pry it out of her. "Come inside," he said. She wouldn't talk to him, not now, not yet, not when she was so keyed up.
And hell, he wasn't above letting her blow off steam first, especially if that meant letting her have her way with his body. There were some sacrifices worth the trouble.
Being with her would be one of them.
Silently they entered the dark house. Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs to his bedroom. His bed was huge and unmade, and she walked over to it, dropped her purse to the floor and stared down at his tossed sheets as she unbuttoned her blouse. "I thought of you these past few days," she said.
He nearly did a double take. Had she just … opened up?
"I found myself looking for you as I drove around."
Had she just … said something sweet? Couldn't be. "Probably trying to avoid getting another ticket."
"No." She let the blouse fall to the floor while he soaked up her incredible body. "About that list, Tag … I wrote it a very long time ago."
"I know."
"I didn't even see it again until Kate mailed me my diary a few weeks ago. And while I should admit that after that first ticket, I did briefly fantasize about using you to cross that item off, I never gave it serious thought. I didn't have sex with you because of it." Now she turned and looked at him, the soft truth in her eyes.
And suddenly his throat was thick. She was sweet. She was kind. "Cassie…"
"I brought you something." In her sheer demibra and silk pants she bent, opened her purse and pulled out a small bottle. "From Bare Essentials. The best body massage oil made." She untied her pants and they puddled at her feet, revealing matching panties. She stepped clear, a vision in sheer lace and high heels. "I've had the stuff in my purse for a week now. I … thought I'd give you a massage."
She was trying to give, in a way he instinctively knew she'd never given to a man before. And while he wanted to demand to know what had scared her, what had caused her to show him a side of her she'd never shown before, he knew better than to push. In her own time, he thought, and moved close. Cupping her jaw, he brought her face up for a kiss that ignited in less than two seconds.
Until she pushed him away. "If you keep that up, you'll miss out on your massage."
"You don't have to—"
"Lie down." She softened. "Please?"
He did as she asked, spreading himself out on his stomach on the bed. He groaned when she straddled him, sliding her long, long legs to his, bending over him so that her breasts teased his back. "Relax now," she whispered into his ear, and then she straightened.
The next thing he felt were her hands, slick with the oil, running over his back, his shoulders, his arms, and he groaned again. Her fingers were magic, alternately strong and soft, digging into his knots, easing them out of his body with attentive care.
When he was the consistency of a wet noodle, she got up. He nearly groaned his protest until he felt her stripping off his bottoms, leaving him bare-butt naked, sprawled on the bed. Then her fingers returned to his body, digging into the muscles of his legs and his feet, then up to his back once again. "Good?"
"Mmm—hey—" he yelped when she bit his butt.
"Turn over. I'll do your front."
Oh, yeah, he wanted her to do his front. One area specifically; the area currently digging into his mattress like a steel rod. But first… He kneeled up, grabbed her around the waist and tumbled her down to the bed.
Flat on her back, her body automatically cradling his, she laughed up at him. "We're done with the massage, I take it?"
"We're done with mine." With that, he flipped her over, facedown on the bed. With a smile, he looked at her delicious rear end wriggling as she tried to free herself. Her very sheer panties were riding up, and he took a moment to enjoy the view. "Relax," he whispered into her ear as she'd done to him, letting her feel the length of his body over hers. He lifted up, ran a finger from the back of her neck down her back to the base of her spine, then traced the line of her mouthwatering butt as far as he could. "It's your turn."
"You don't have to—"
"Hush." He stroked the part of her that was already wet for him, just once, and she moaned and arched her hips. So he did it again, outlining her through her panties, keeping up the rhythm she set with her rocking hips. Bending over her, he put his mouth to the very base of her spine and licked her.
With a gasp, she tightened her legs around his hand, as if to make sure he didn't stop. But he had no intentions of stopping, and showed her with his fingers as he continued to stroke in tune with her .pumping hips. Faster now, and as he licked and kissed and nibbled his way over a perfect, luscious cheek, she panted and strained, looking so erotic there facedown on the bed he nearly couldn't stand it. He wanted her to come, had to see her come, so he slipped his fingers beneath the panties.
Gripping the sheets in her fists, she whimpered for more. He gave it to her, nudging her over the edge when he sank his fingers into her wet heat.
She came in long shudders.
He'd never seen anything so arousing, and as he slowly brought her down, still stroking her ever so lightly now, still nibbling on her body, he wanted more for her.
When she would have gotten up, or at least turned over, he held her still. "Hold on." Straddling her hips with his legs, he unhooked her bra, letting the straps slip to her sides.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving you a massage."
"But … what about you?"
"You did me already."
"I mean your orgasm."
"Oh, I'll get mine." He poured some oil down the middle of her back, loving the look of it on her skin. "Hasn't anyone ever done this for you?"
"Given me a massage that I haven't paid for?" She buried her face so he couldn't see her expression. "No," she said finally, tenser than he would have liked.
Well, he could fix that. "Come on, relax a little," he coaxed, and ran his fingers down her slim back.
She shivered, but didn't say another word.
"Breathe," he urged when he saw that she was holding her breath. "Come on, deep, long breaths."
Her neck had hard knots that dissipated the last of his frustration at her. Poor baby. What had made her so incredibly tense? The same thing that had driven her here?
Or was it him? He found he didn't like either possibility. Her shoulders were even worse, and he spent long, long moments rubbing her down, firmly, then more gently kneading until the knots were gone. Her skin was so creamy, so silky soft, the pleasure was all his, for he'd wanted his hands on her like this again. As he rubbed and stroked, she was utterly silent, but she was breathing deeply now, slowly, and he could tell she'd decided to relax.
Trust. Had she finally given it over to him? For this moment, at least, and feeling the sweet taste of victory, he got off her, pulled off her panties, and poured more oil into his hands. Then he started on her endless legs. He was a little surprised at how fast she'd given herself over to him, having expected her to protest again by now.
Glad she hadn't, he spend some time on her feet, then made his way up her legs. When he traced his fingers along her perfect and gratifyingly bare bottom, she didn't move. He shifted to her side
, pulled the blanket away from her face and … let out a little laugh. He'd done his job all right. He'd relaxed her.
Right into a coma.
* * *
Cassie woke with the sun streaming in on her face and sat straight up with a gasp. Looking down at herself, her nightmare was confirmed—she was as naked as the day she'd been born. Scented with her own Bare Essentials oil.
In Tag's bed!
Good God, she'd fallen asleep with his hands on her and had slept the entire night through, as if she didn't have a care in the world.
The bathroom door opened and Tag strolled out, fully dressed for work. Well, if that didn't just top the cake for her. Nope, nothing like a uniform first thing in the morning to rev her gut into gear.
Looking as if he didn't have a damn care in the world, either, he smiled at her. "Hey. Morning. There's food in the fridge. Help yourself, okay?"
Speechless, she could only gape when he leaned in and kissed her cheek, smelling like soap, like man, like an incredibly sexy man.
His gaze ran over her very bare form, heated and flared, but he didn't so much as touch her. "Have a good day."
"You … I…" Shaking her head, she ran her hands over her face.
"Not a morning person, huh?" He tsked in sympathy. "I'll start the coffee on my way out."
He got to the door before she found her tongue. "You let me sleep."
"That's what people do at night, Cassie."
"But … you made me come," she blurted. "I didn't make you come back."
"Hmm." He rubbed his jaw. "I guess you owe me."
"I don't want to owe you!"
He lifted a shoulder. "Okay." With a shake of his head, he went through the door. "I'll make that coffee with double caffeine, okay? Try not to see or to talk to anyone before you drink the entire pot."
While she sputtered, he laughed and shut the bedroom door. A few moments later she heard the front door shut, as well, and then his car started.
He'd left her! He'd left her naked in his bed, without so much as a single sign of his anger about last night. He hadn't even looked disappointed. Or frustrated.
She looked down at her body. It still looked pretty damn fine if she said so herself, so it wasn't that. And it wasn't as if he hadn't been interested. She knew an interested penis when she saw one, thank you very much. He'd looked down at her slick, sleek form and gotten aroused.
So why had he seemed nothing but amused by the entire fiasco?
In her world, she knew men. She understood them. Knew what made them tick. As they weren't a particularly complicated species, it wasn't a difficult task.
But she didn't understand Tag, not one little bit. She hated that.
* * *
Tag could list about a million things he'd rather be doing on his lunch hour than driving all the way out to see his father.
Actually, the most he could think of was one. Cassie. The look of utter disbelief on her face as he'd left her sputtering and rumpled and heart-wrenchingly confused in his bed had brought quite a few emotions out in him.
He'd wanted to stay in bed with her. Had wanted to wake her in the most interesting and erotic of ways. Had wanted to love her senseless, into that same trusting stupor he'd had her in last night.
And then demand to know what was wrong. A fantasy, of course. Cassie wasn't ready for that. And truthfully, he wasn't sure if he was, either. To take that step would be to bring them closer than just physically. It would imply some sort of a relationship, an emotionally based one.
His next emotionally based relationship was going to be permanent, and he still had his specific vision of what his soul mate would be like.
Just because he'd seen a softer, sweeter side of Cassie did not mean she could cut it, and he knew it.
But damn, she was sexy and arousing and beautiful as hell. Good thing he knew that that alone would never be enough for him. Never.
Grimacing, he made the turnoff to the cabin his father had purchased for himself upon his retirement. It was out in the middle of nowhere, on a windy, remote lake with a rutted road, and Tag swore the entire mile-long driveway.
When he got out of the car, the heat sucked the soul right out of him. Or maybe that was the impending visit he'd been commanded to make. He braced himself for the usual stilted conversation over Tag's lackadaisical sheriffing style compared to his father's tight, unbending one. He'd hear once again what a sorry disappointment he was as a son.
"'Bout time," his father grumbled when Tag knocked. "I could have died waiting for you to drive me to the doctor's office."
"What are you talking about?"
"I fell, Sherlock. Now help me into your car."
Tag glanced down where his father gestured and saw his bare foot. Saw the bucket of ice he'd had it in. Saw the swelling and severe discoloration around the ankle and heel.
"I think it's broken."
Tag stared at his father as he moved in to help support his weight with his own. "Why are you even on it?"
"I had to get the door."
Tag knew he should have felt a wave of sympathy, but he felt only anger. "You mean you waited hours for me to get here instead of calling an ambulance, or better yet, telling me you needed me to hurry? Jesus, Dad." With sheer disbelief, he half carried, half supported his father on their awkward walk to the car. "I can't believe you. How did this happen?"
"I slipped getting out of the boat."
"You could have hit your head."
"I could have drowned. I could have choked on the fish I ate last night, too. It's just an ankle. Now let's see if you can get me to the doctor in a timely fashion."
Tag shook his head and went back for the ice, feeling only slightly chagrined when his father sucked in a harsh breath as he applied it to the injury. "Stubborn to the end, aren't you?"
"How about you? It takes a near fatal accident to get you out here to see me."
"You wouldn't have died. You're too ornery for that."
His father looked proud of that assessment. "How's town?"
"Behaving," Tag said, getting ready for an argument. They always had one when it came to work.
"Then Cassie Tremaine Montgomery must have left."
"Actually, no."
"Humph." His father leaned his head back and, looking a bit pale, closed his eyes. "Christ, was her mother something. She knew how to screw a man and scramble his brains at the same time."
Tag's heart stopped, then started again with an unnaturally heavy beat. "You dated Cassie's mother?"
"Dated? No."
"You … slept with her?"
"Just like every other man in town. But she was so good, I never cared. She had a way, that woman, of making you feel like the only mm on earth. Now her daughter, Cassie … born with claws, that one."
Tag's fingers held the steering wheel so tight he was amazed he could steer the car. "What do you mean?"
"Let's just say she wasn't as friendly as her mother."
Tag got off the freeway, pulled into the hospital parking lot, turned off his car and faced his father, all without reaching over and shaking the life right out of him. "It was you."
"It was me what?"
"The night of her prom. You came on to her. In uniform, no less." He fisted his hands on the wheel instead of his father's face. "What did you do, force yourself on her?"
"Hold it right there, goddamn you." His father grabbed the front of Tag's shirt. "I'm no rapist, and no son of mine is going to imply so."
Tag shoved him back then got out of the car, leaning against the hood. God. No wonder Cassie could hardly stand the sight of him in uniform. No wonder she was so reluctant to let him inside her.
But why the hell hadn't she told him the truth?
Back to the trust thing, he supposed, feeling incredibly bone-weary. And sad. So very, very sad. Not for himself, but for one hauntingly beautiful, tough-as-hell, seventeen-year-old Cassie.
"Hey, so maybe I let her get to me a little," his father said behind him,
holding on to the open door for support. "She was wearing a dress that… Lord. Anyway, she put off vibes that told every man out there she was available, but when you came within five feet of her she burned you. Devil woman to the very core, that one."
Sick, Tag shook his head. Waved to an emergency room attendant.
"Aren't you taking me in?"
The only place Tag wanted to take his father was straight to hell. He came around and looked him right in the eyes. "I want you to listen to me very carefully. Cassie Tremaine Montgomery is back in town. I don't know for how long, but she's here. She's welcome. And if you so much as look at her, I'm going to make you wish you hadn't." He waited to make sure that sank in. All he'd ever wanted from this man was to know he'd made him proud, but even that small scrap of affection had been too much for his father to handle.
And suddenly Tag let go of it. He no longer needed it. He no longer needed anything from his father at all. Knowing that, he turned away.
And figured he'd just learned the one thing that could possibly convince him Cassie would never be able to trust him.
* * *
Chapter 10
«^»
After waking up in Tag's bed, Cassie's entire day was slightly off. She ran out of gas. Was rudely stared at by some old biddies at the Rose Café—which reminded her of what Tag had said about this not being Mayberry. She ran out of cat food, and in the grocery store was frowned at by the checkout clerk, then followed to the car by another one, who wanted to know what hours Bare Essentials would be open, because she couldn't wait to get inside and spend money.
Contradictions. Her life was full of them.
In the post office, no one even looked her way, making her quite suddenly realize that not everyone in town was talking about her or staring at her. Which brought her to another shocking thought. Was the entire attitude she sensed here in Pleasantville simply a reflection of her own attitude about the town?
She would have dwelled on that more but had picked up her forwarded mail from the agent and found two more letters from Pete. All of her preoccupation with the inhabitants of Pleasantville flew out the window at this startling reminder that at least one person was dangerously obsessed with her.
