The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  "Love is a dangerous and illogical foundation for any relationship." He'd seen love turn his father into a weak, miserable man. "Commitment is all that matters and marriage is that ultimate commitment."

  "Marriage gives lip service to commitment. Love is its truth."

  "You are a romantic."

  "And you are a cynic."

  "I'm a realist."

  "On what planet?"

  He took the objects from her and placed them against the wall. "I think we should drop the subject." He signaled the waiter to request the bill.

  "Very wise," she said, sorry that their time together had ended so badly.

  "Hmm." He opened his wallet and shuffled through his bills. "I can be when I put my mind to it."

  Cassie fiddled with her scarf. "Of course you have nothing to worry about," she said, trying to salvage the evening. "There are plenty of women out there who want to get married."

  He placed the money on the table and stood. "Hmm." Unfortunately, the one he had in mind didn't.

  Cassie slid out of her seat. "I am sorry to have made you angry, but I can't help expressing what I think."

  "I'm not angry. I always enjoy a good debate with the misguided." He opened the door for her.

  "The misguided?" Cassie closed her mouth, refusing to rise to his taunt. She took a step forward, then hastily stepped back, bumping into him. "It's raining," she said, answering his confused stare. The rain fell in a light drizzle.

  Drake casually lifted his umbrella and pulled Cassie close. A secretive smile softened his lips. "Better?"

  Her heart lurched madly, excited that he truly was not angry with her. Timothy would say 'I'm not angry,' then sulk for days. She didn't question why that was important to her. "Much better."

  "So where do I take you now?"

  "Actually, my building isn't far from here." She felt so many conflicting emotions that she had the urge to run in the rain, escaping all the feeling this man brought to her. "If I made a mad dash—"

  "Which direction?" he interrupted.

  She pointed and he slid his hand down her arm and captured her hand in a warm, solid grasp.

  "Drake?" she asked in a hurried whisper, wanting to understand what was happening between them.

  "Yes?"

  He sounded so ordinary that her anxiety began to ebb. "Never mind."

  He squeezed her hand in reassurance. "Hmm."

  "Oh, I love a good rain," she admitted, delighting in the giddy feeling that enveloped her. The night seemed so unreal, the man a fantasy. That was how she would remember the evening. Cassandra had battled with a sorcerer and won.

  "Hmm," Drake replied. "In that case." He moved the umbrella so that the rain fell on her. She grabbed his arm and pulled the umbrella close to her. She glared up at him. "I didn't mean that I liked to get wet."

  He grinned down at her, but soon his expression stilled and his eyes smoldered with a desire that held her captive, for she knew the same expression was in her own gaze. Suddenly, the world consisted of only them, a big black umbrella, and the soft sound of rain.

  "A warm summer rain and a beautiful evening," she said quietly, not recognizing her own voice. "Can it get any better?"

  He lifted her chin and gently touched her lips with his thumb. "Do you want it to?"

  She hesitated but he found answer enough in her eyes and captured her mouth with his own.

  He did not expect the impact of her lips to send a shot of desire that tightened his groin in painful pleasure. He brought her body close to his, wanting her to know how much he wanted her.

  Cassie was at first startled by his desire, but realized it mirrored her own. The kiss was overwhelming and reassuring, terrifying and exciting. It sent her mind reeling with questions she didn't want to answer. Her only impulse was to enjoy the moment, the feel of his arms around her waist, his commanding mouth moving over hers and devouring her with gentle mastery, demanding a response that she willingly gave with surprising boldness. She quickly darted her tongue into his mouth, eliciting a groan of deep masculine pleasure that had her reveling in her own prowess—the sorcerer was at her mercy. Soon their tongues were twirling around each other and they clung to each other trying to stay afloat in the stormy wave of desire that threatened to encompass them.

  A deep grumble of thunder diverted their attention with angry fervor and opened the sky to release a torrent of rain. They broke apart and stared at each other in awe—now both soaking wet, the umbrella lying next to them unnoticed. The feel of rain awakened Cassie from her dream and the reality of what had occurred.

  Before she could speak, Drake flashed his devastating grin and placed a finger over her lips.

  "I was right," he said.

  "About what?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

  "You taste just like sweetened raspberries."

  Cassie wrapped her arms around herself. "Drake, this was a mistake—"

  He took her arms, draped them on his shoulders, and slid his hands around her waist. "No," he said deeply, his mouth hovering above hers. "It wasn't. Don't let fear deny you this moment." He kissed her again. This time slowly as if enjoying a fine dessert. "Hmm, that's better," he said, feeling her respond to him.

  She smiled tremulously. He was right. Tonight fear would not take this fantasy away. Not when so many nights had been filled with a bitter emptiness. She would treasure tonight like a precious stone in her memory. "Do I really taste like raspberries?"

  "Yes. What do I taste like?"

  Cassie brushed her mouth against his, then licked her lips. "Hot chocolate."

  "Hmm." He brought warm lips to her neck. "Figures."

  "Drake," she protested, trying to pull away from him, "we can't do this here; besides, it's raining."

  "I thought you liked the rain," he muttered against her neck.

  "I do when I'm under an umbrella."

  He scooped up his umbrella and placed it over her head. It was useless now that they were both wet, but still a kind gesture. He pulled her close again, the heat from him seeping through his wet shirt. "Seems I got carried away."

  "Do you do that often?"

  He considered the question. "No." He lowered his head to kiss her again, but she moved away.

  "We're not starting that again," she said.

  He sighed dramatically. "Yes, milady." He rubbed his forehead, desperate to find a diverting topic. "Class reunion," he mumbled.

  "What?"

  "That's the reason I'm taking your course. I have a class reunion in two months."

  She stopped and stared at him. "But you'll be fine! You'll have nothing to worry about."

  He shook his head and nudged her to walk again.

  She continued to look at him in disbelief. Twice Drake had to save her from colliding into a person and a pole. "Don't tell me you were the ugly duckling."

  "No, I was too invisible to be considered ugly."

  "Well, your classmates are in for a shock." She undid her scarf and retied it around her waist. It had become a soggy piece of cloth around her neck. "So what was her name?"

  "Who?"

  "The cheerleader you had loved from afar, but who ignored you and broke your young heart."

  "Brenda Timmons. She didn't break my heart and she wasn't a cheerleader, but she was kind... considering."

  "Considering what?"

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Did you go to your ten year reunion?"

  "Do I look like a masochist to you? My twentieth is a few years off and I won't be going to that either."

  "You don't think I should go?"

  "Oh, you definitely should go. You'll have fun. I, on the other hand, have no need to see the beautiful people, who are of course now more beautiful, the smart people who are now millionaires, and the outsiders who are now in psychotherapy. They would all see me and tell me how much I haven't changed."

  "Is it that bad?"

  "Would you like to still be invisible?"

  "Most times. I like to be left
alone."

  "Then why are you going back? To prove something, right?"

  He frowned. "Sounds pathetic."

  "No, it's human nature to see how we measure up. You know, you haven't asked me your question yet."

  "Oh, right." He shrugged. "Forgot about that."

  Cassie watched as his muscles moved underneath his shirt. She wondered if the rain had caused it to shrink, molding itself to his fabulous form. She didn't dare look down at her dress. She could feel it clinging to her like an eager child, exposing many of the aspects of her physique it was designed to hide. Drake had obviously noticed this because his hungry gaze roamed over her figure and it didn't take much insight to know what he was thinking.

  "Aren't you going to ask your question?" she asked, trying to divert his attention.

  "Are you seeing someone?"

  She blinked. She hadn't expected that. "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Are you seeing anyone?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Can't get a date."

  She laughed until she realized he wasn't joking. "You're serious."

  "Yep."

  "I'm sure you can get a date."

  He was quiet a moment, then asked, "Are you free to attend a barbecue this weekend?"

  His words brought her back to reality, tearing at the seams of her fantasy. She felt her spirits fall; she knew their acquaintance could not last beyond this night. "No."

  He lifted an eyebrow, his eyes hopeful. "How about dinner and a movie on Friday?"

  She shook her head, determined not to weaken. "No."

  "Lunch and bowling on Wednesday?"

  "No, sorry."

  He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head in frustration. "Like I said, I can't get a date."

  "It's not that. It's not you." She sighed, wishing this didn't have to ruin her memory of the evening.

  He softly swore. "You're going to give me the 'It's not you, it's me' speech.'"

  "I'm doing you a favor."

  He looked at her, appalled. "By stepping on my ego?"

  "No." She stopped in front of her building and glanced up at the seventh-story window where her apartment was. It looked dark and lonely, but it would not encourage her to change her mind. "See, I know the game, but that's okay." She took a step toward the door, but Drake seized her arm.

  "Game? What game?"

  "The game that men and women play."

  He tugged on her arm. "Enlighten me."

  Cassie grabbed the hem of her dress and wrung out some excess water. "Many men want to go out with me after a riveting seminar, trying to build up their confidence. I'm safe and comfortable. A nonthreat, you could say." She let the hem go and stared at him. His gaze was still fashioned on her legs. She lifted his chin with her forefinger. "But you don't need a practice run. Go for the real thing."

  He moved a strand of wet hair from her cheek. The gentle caress was electrifying. "I am. Trust me." He said the words slowly in a captivating tone that sought to bring her back to the intimate level she was trying to escape.

  She grasped his hand. "Stop that."

  "Why? I like your face."

  "Drake," she said desperately, "you're a classic case. You used to be shy, awkward, and invisible in school, but now you're successful and you ooze confidence, but inside still feel awkward. So you flirt with different women to give your ego a boost, and that is all you're doing now."

  He wasn't paying attention. His fingers were gliding over the glitter that still clung to her shoulders. "You're beautiful," he whispered in awe. "Do you sprinkle this on other parts of you?"

  She grabbed both sides of his face, forcing him to look at her. "Drake, please pay attention. This is unnecessary. It's not about me. It's about you and Adriana."

  "Who?"

  She let her hands fall. "The woman you met at the Golden Diner. She told me about you. Now I don't blame you for being intimidated by her. She's elegant, attractive, and smart. But you don't have to worry, just be yourself and everything will work out. Be bold."

  Drake pinched the bridge of his nose as if in great pain. "What are you talking about?" He waved his hand. "Wait. I don't want to know. I think we've misunderstood each other, but we'll work it out." He had to go home and think. He knew that if he stayed any longer he would lose his patience and effectively stop her from talking for a while. He brushed his lips against hers. "Remember that for now," he said and left, becoming invisible in the crowd.

  "You forgot your umbrella!" she called.

  She heard a smug voice full of promise rise above the raincoats and umbrellas. "Don't worry, Cassie. I'll get it tomorrow."

  Chapter 4

  Cassie. He'd called her Cassie. He'd known all this time who she really was. She shook her head. It didn't matter anyway. He was just a flirt testing his wings and she had to remember that when she saw him the next day.

  She turned the key to her apartment and heard the familiar groan of door number 712 as it opened a crack.

  "Hello, Mr. Gianolo," Cassie called.

  He remained hidden behind the door. "You're late," he said in a harsh Detroit accent.

  "I know. I had a busy but successful night."

  "A man?"

  "Maybe."

  He paused. "You're wet."

  "It was raining."

  "Didn't he have an umbrella?" he demanded.

  "Yes, and we used it, but we still got wet."

  The door opened a bit farther, revealing a rough older man in worn jeans and a brown shirt with pale blue eyes and a small round nose. "Name?"

  "Drake."

  "New boyfriend?"

  "No."

  "Fine."

  "Don't forget your soup." She pointed to a container near his door. Everyone in the building knew he and the widowed Mrs. Hill had a flirtation going.

  "Thanks." The door closed.

  Cassie smiled as she pushed open her door. Since she had moved in, Mr. Gianolo had made it his business to check up on her. He was a widower with his two grown children living in Michigan. He said watching over her gave him something to do; plus he didn't like the idea of women living alone. Cassie didn't mind his meddling. She had gotten used to the sound of his door opening, his quick, rough questions and ultimate acceptance.

  The phone rang with an urgent cry for attention as she tossed down her bag. She kicked off her soggy shoes and picked it up, knowing who it would be. "Hello, Adriana."

  "Don't hello me," she ordered. "What happened?"

  Cassie feigned innocence. "Where?"

  "You know where. Did he say anything to you?"

  Cassie touched her wet hair and sighed, saddened that her fantasy night had to be ruined by such realities. "The man is obviously very shy about asking you out so he's gathering his courage by asking me out first. Could you wait a moment? I need to get changed."

  She laid the phone down, changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and returned to the phone.

  "That makes no sense," Adriana said when Cassie returned to the line.

  She plumped up a pillow and fell into the cushions of her couch. It was old but comfortable. "It makes perfect sense." Cassie drew up her knees to her chest. "It's sort of like those Hollywood stars who marry very ordinary women until they can afford trophy wives."

  "Drake's not like that," Adriana argued. "He honestly likes you."

  She rested her chin on her knees, her voice lowering. "Yes, his kiss would suggest that."

  Adriana pounced on the statement. "He kissed you?"

  "Yes."

  "On the mouth? You know the forehead doesn't count."

  Cassie stretched out her legs. "It was on the mouth."

  "I just knew he had it bad." Her friend sounded triumphant. "Cassie, I am so happy for you."

  Cassie stared up at the ceiling, exasperated. Why didn't anyone understand what was truly going on? "Adriana, please listen carefully He doesn't know what he wants. He flirted with me, then you, now me again."

>   "He was never attracted to me."

  "He was trying to feel your leg. How more attracted can you be?"

  "Wait, you've got it all wrong. He—"

  A sudden beep interrupted the line. "One minute, I've got another call." She switched over. "Hello?"

  "Hello, Cassie." Her ex-husband's smooth voice oozed over the line like an oily vinaigrette. It made her stomach turn.

  She rested her head back and groaned. "What do you want, Timothy?"

  "Did you get the flowers?"

  "Unfortunately." She lifted her head. "Timothy, perhaps because you've never been divorced before you don't understand the protocol, but you're not supposed to send roses to your ex-wife with a note that says 'I love you.'"

  "You do if you want her back. I love you and I miss you."

  "Uh-huh." She didn't believe him. Timothy was a consummate actor when he wanted to be. Cassie wiggled her toes, wondering what new shade of nail polish she should use.

  "I just want—no need—a chance to talk."

  A nice mauve. She tucked her feet underneath her. "How's Debra?"

  "Who?"

  "Oh, dear. Is she out of the picture already? I thought that since you put so much effort into hiding her from me, the relationship was serious."

  "We broke up," he said abruptly. "But that's not important. I—"

  "Of course it's not important," she agreed in a sweet tone. "Don't worry, you'll find another. In the interim try to catch a disease or something." She switched back to Adriana.

  "Who was that?" Adriana demanded.

  Cassie tugged on her wet hair and stared at a soggy strand. She had better condition and blow-dry it before it turned into cornhusk. "The jerk."

  "I think you should tell Drake about him."

  At the sound of his name, Cassie let the strands fall and slap her on the cheek. She would have to think of how she would handle him tomorrow. "He doesn't need to know about my personal life. Besides, he likes you."

  "Cassie, he knew you were under the table."

  She felt blood leave her face. "He knew?"

  "Yes."

  "How would he know that?"

  "Probably because I pointed to the table when he asked where you were."

  "You didn't."

  "I did."

  He had known she was under the table. He knew that his leg had been brushing against her. Oh, God. Her face burned with embarrassment and guilty pleasure. What was she going to do with him?