She could.
“Cassidy?” he said a few minutes later.
She lifted her head. He was at the door.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yes. Of course. I’m fine.”
“Ready for a bath?”
He led her to the washroom and stripped off her T-shirt. She stepped into the tub. She thought he would make breakfast now, but he slipped into the tub behind her, his legs bent on either side of her thighs. She leaned back against his chest in the water that was nearly too hot, and she couldn’t bear to ask him to leave.
He grabbed a bar of soap and started lathering her up.
“It’s better than using your pink puffball,” he said.
“Hey. I like my shower poufs. I buy them in all different colors. They’re whimsical.”
“I suppose they are. But I was forced to use your silly puffballs with your girly lavender body wash for the whole week I stayed at your place. A bar of soap is so much simpler and more practical.”
“I guess it’s only fair that I use green deodorant soap when I stay at your house.”
“Yes. Although…” He was washing her shoulders now. When he put the bar of soap down and started massaging them, she tilted her head back in bliss. “I like how your skin smells of lavender. I almost bought lavender body wash once, to remind me of you.”
She felt a painful swell in her chest.
He distracted her by saying, “Puffballs are also a type of edible mushroom. They can get quite large. No idea what they taste like—I’ve never had one.”
“They sound too sophisticated for Georgeville.”
“I can try to find a restaurant that serves them tonight, if you like.”
“No, that’s quite all right.”
“What would you like to eat for dinner? Any requests?”
She shook her head, spraying water droplets. “Surprise me.”
“As you wish.”
He cupped her cheek, turned her toward him, and kissed her before climbing out of the tub. She watched the water drip off him as he reached for a towel. He was unbearably sexy.
“Actually, I do have a request,” she said. “Let’s go to a restaurant where you won’t look out of place wearing a suit.”
“You want to see me all dressed up?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Very well.” He smiled before leaning over and kissing her again. “Come downstairs in twenty minutes, and I’ll have breakfast ready.”
As soon as he was gone, she leaned back and submerged her head under the water.
Why, oh, why did he have to be so wonderful?
She’d told him there would be nothing between them but sex. She’d been convinced of it. How could there be any feelings left—other than bitterness—after the way he’d broken her heart last year?
But that wasn’t true. It wasn’t merely sex between them. She knew that now.
She had to make damned sure she didn’t fan those dying embers of love that lingered in her heart.
And there was one thing that would definitely put tender thoughts of hot baths and massages and warm breakfasts out of both of their minds.
Chapter Nine
Cassidy Monroe was in his kitchen. Blaine smiled. Last night hadn’t been a dream.
She was wearing another of his T-shirts, her wet hair dripping down the towel draped over her shoulders, and she was sipping coffee as she sat on a bar stool at his kitchen island.
Blaine wished he was an accomplished cook. He wanted to impress her. But a simple cheese omelette would have to do. A cheese omelette, plus a grapefruit, and toast with jam. In his experience, women were impressed if you simply cooked breakfast for them, even if the food was pretty average.
He set half an omelette and toast in front of her, then went to the fridge and got out a jar of blueberry jam. His mother had brought it back from her trip to New England, in addition to the wine.
Cassie ate carefully, methodically, for a couple of minutes.
Then she said, “After you left last year, I started reading erotic romance novels. They’d never appealed to me much before, but after you, it was a nice escape. I read a lot of BDSM romances, and I fantasized about it. And I decided I wanted to try it.”
He frowned. “But you’d already done it before. Right? You’ve always been submissive in the bedroom with me.”
When he’d been with her last year, he’d noticed how her eyes would flare whenever he commanded her to do something, even if she sometimes disobeyed him. She also liked when he used his strength to push her around, hold her down.
He liked being in charge of her pleasure. They worked well together.
Or so he’d thought. Hadn’t he given her exactly what she wanted?
“I felt like trying something more hard-core,” she said. “I wanted a man to tie me up and whip me. I wanted to beg him to stop and have him ignore my pleas. I wanted to hurt. Physically. And then I wanted him to enter me brutally when I was bruised and maybe bleeding.”
Blaine felt his eyes widen in shock. She probably didn’t notice—she was looking out the window.
“So I found a guy online…”
“Cassie,” he said, horrified. “That’s incredibly dangerous.”
“And sleeping with a strange man fifteen minutes after I met him in Tim Hortons isn’t?” she argued.
“Not the same.”
“I wasn’t stupid about it. I met him on a site with a good reputation. He lives in Kingston, and the first time we met in person, we just went to a coffee shop and talked, made sure we were on the same page. He didn’t touch me. I told him my safe word.”
A safe word. That much, Blaine did know. He could see the appeal of plunging into a woman—into Cassie—while she begged him not to and cried, “No, no, no!” knowing all the while that she really wanted to be fucked because they’d agreed to it all in advance.
However, the idea of whipping a woman? God, no. Not for him.
He wasn’t one to judge, if that’s what other people liked… But Cassie? Getting whipped? He couldn’t bear to think of it, and he couldn’t imagine her enjoying it.
Did she truly like pain? He’d never gotten that impression. But then, he’d never actually hurt her.
Physically.
“The second time, we went to his place,” she said. “He tied me to his St. Andrew’s cross and flogged me. And then he fucked me.”
Blaine clenched his hands. He couldn’t eat right now. But Cassie spread jam on her toast, seemingly detached from her words.
“What’s a St. Andrew’s cross?” he asked.
“It looks like this.” She formed an x with her arms. “He was a fairly experienced Dom, so I felt like I was in good hands. But unfortunately, getting flogged over and over…it just didn’t do it for me.”
“So there wasn’t a third time?”
“There was. But I used my safe word. It was just…too much. But Leo was nice and understanding. We still talk occasionally. No more floggings, though.”
Thank God.
“Why are you telling me this?” he said, his jaw clenched.
She shrugged. “To piss you off? I can’t imagine you like hearing about me being beaten and fucked by another man. Do you?”
“No,” he growled.
“I still enjoy reading those books. I still enjoy fantasizing about that stuff. But exploring fantasies in real life doesn’t always go as planned.”
“You don’t think the problem was simply that he was the wrong man for you?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Are you suggesting I would enjoy it if you beat me?”
He grimaced. “No. Absolutely not. I want to tie you to my bed and have my way with you, but I don’t consider myself a sadist.”
She had a sip of coffee. She seemed so blasé about the whole thing, even though she’d been tied to a fucking cross and flogged.
She surprised him sometimes.
“Anyway. You asked what I’d been up to in the past year,” she
said. “Well, now you know.”
…
After lunch, Cassie was left alone at Blaine’s house while he went out to buy her clothes. She walked around the main floor, glancing at his books and malachite and ammonite collections but not really paying close attention.
Telling him about Leo had backfired. Because now she was fantasizing about Blaine hurting her. Even though she didn’t want him actually to beat her, she couldn’t help but think about it. Talking about the time she’d been tied up to a St. Andrew’s cross was hardly romantic, like taking a bath together and having her shoulders massaged, but it hadn’t purged those feelings of closeness as she’d hoped.
She’d told Blaine something important about herself. Something she’d never told another living soul—not even Rachel or Jenna. Sure, she’d told Rachel that she was meeting a man she met online, had left her friend his address and phone number as a precautionary measure. But Rachel didn’t know what she’d actually done with Leo.
And yet, she’d told Blaine.
How stupid of her.
At least she’d shocked him. Made him uncomfortable. That had to count for something.
I want to tie you to my bed and have my way with you.
God, she had to clench her thighs together when she thought of his words…and when she thought of that night, more than a year ago, when he’d done just that.
He’d promised he would do it again tonight.
She couldn’t wait.
A framed painting on the far bookshelf caught her eye. It looked familiar…because she was the one who’d painted it. It was a small picture of wildflowers, done in watercolors and ink, and she’d given it to him because he’d liked it and admired her talent. And because she had liked the idea of him having something she’d created.
He’d kept it all this time.
She felt a strange pressure in her chest. Talking to him about Leo, seeing this little watercolor in his living room—these things were affecting her far too much, stirring up feelings she had no business having. She needed to do something about it.
The painting gave her an idea.
She went up to his office on the second floor, where she pulled a sheet of blank paper out of his printer and found a pencil. Back in the living room, she picked up the largest ammonite and brought it to the dining room table, where she started sketching.
Cassie had never wanted to seriously pursue art. But from the time she could hold a crayon, she’d loved drawing and painting. As a child, she’d drawn pictures of unicorns and Santa’s workshop, but now it was mostly nature that captured her artistic interest. Sometimes landscapes, more often close-ups of flowers and such. She found it meditative.
The shapes and patterns in nature were amazing. And to think that millions and millions of years ago, there must have been a soft body inside this ammonite shell. How did scientists know what it looked like?
She’d been sketching for five minutes when her phone beeped. She reached for it eagerly, certain the text message was from Blaine.
It was the first text message he’d ever sent her.
Last year he’d refused to ask for her number. But today, she’d given it to him before he went to the store so he could send her pictures of dresses.
What do you think? the text asked.
The accompanying photo showed a hideous green dress. It was the color of malachite, and that was a terrible color for her. And the sequins!
Wow, she responded. Just…wow.
She wondered if he’d sent it to her as a joke or if he seriously thought it would look good on her. She feared it was the latter. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let him buy something for her to wear tonight. She should have gone to the mall with him, even if she had to wear a beaver costume.
The next photo he sent her was of a strapless cream dress. It wasn’t hideous, but…
That would look terrible on me, she texted. And I don’t have a strapless bra here.
Bra-less? came the suggestion with a winky face.
Why did men love the idea of women going without a bra? Did they not understand that bras were often needed for nice cleavage? Plus, her boobs were far too big for her to go without a bra in public. She needed the support.
Next was a bright red dress—the color of a fire engine—that was disturbingly short. Or was it a shirt…?
This was followed by a dress with an ugly floral print. She couldn’t decide whether or not it was worse than the first dress.
She went back to sketching for a few minutes, fearing she would need to keep her coat on all night. When he hadn’t texted her for fifteen minutes, she worried he’d bought a dress that was even worse than the ones he’d sent her pictures of.
Her phone beeped, and she pounced on it.
Nice shop lady has taken pity on me and offered her help. She would like to see what you look like, so can you send a selfie?
Cassie hoped “nice shop lady” had good taste.
Her phone beeped again.
I explained that, due to complicated circumstances, you are staying at my house with only a beaver costume.
She cringed. Had it really been necessary to add that part? And who used words like “circumstances” in text messages?
And yet… The thought of Blaine, the man with an ammonite collection and shelves full of science books, at a women’s clothing store, desperately trying to find a dress for her, was rather endearing.
She took a photo of herself and sent it to him. A minute later, a message popped up.
Shop lady says you are beautiful. I think that is the understatement of the year.
Oh man. This guy.
Her phone was silent for several minutes. She kept working on her sketch of the ammonite. Usually, she was very focused when she was drawing, but today her mind was wandering.
Did Blaine find this whole shopping trip a pain in the ass…or fascinating? She could see him being intrigued by all the different styles.
She was about to get a glass of water when he sent her another message.
Found you lovely dress. But I have been informed that such a dress requires stick-on cups rather than a proper bra. Not sure if you would be interested…?
Good Lord.
Tell nice shop lady I would like a dress that will allow me to wear a regular bra, she texted. And the only shoes I have with me are brown ankle boots.
That was the last she heard from him.
For nearly two hours.
Dear God. She was genuinely terrified. What was he buying for her?
…
Blaine had never shopped for women’s clothing before. When he’d first gotten to the mall, he’d walked into a couple of women’s clothing stores and felt completely overwhelmed. He’d picked up a few things in an effort to determine whether they were tube tops or short skirts or really wide belts. Not that he planned to get such things for Cassie, but he’d been curious.
The malachite-colored dress hadn’t seemed so bad, but he’d interpreted her “wow” as sarcastic. He’d lucked out with the last store, however. The older lady who worked there found his attempts to buy a dress for his girlfriend charming and took pity on him.
Yes, he’d called Cassie his girlfriend. Because that’s what he wanted her to be, and it was much simpler than the truth.
In addition to the helpful saleslady, the store also carried almost everything in her size. He walked out with three dresses, all of which could be worn with a regular bra. He hoped Cassie would like at least one of them.
Finished with his main task, he decided to further his knowledge of women’s clothing by checking out a lingerie store.
There were racks and racks of bras. Apparently there were all sorts of styles, but frankly, he couldn’t see any difference between them other than color. Hmm. Maybe he just wasn’t looking hard enough. He picked up an “everyday bra” and a “super-duper pusher-upper,” which looked outwardly similar, but upon feeling the cups, the latter did, indeed, have quite a bit of padding. What was the differe
nce between that and a regular push-up bra?
“Could I help you?” A young woman with short blond hair and a nametag approached him.
He dropped one of the bras.
“Um.” At the dress store, he’d felt comfortable asking for help, but he was decidedly less comfortable in the lingerie store. Particularly since there wasn’t anything he actually needed to buy. Although, surely, Cassie would look good in all of it. “No, just looking.”
“Let me know if you need anything. Is this for your wife?”
“Uh, girlfriend.”
“We have some lovely new babydolls at the front, in either black or pink lace.”
Dolls? What the hell was she talking about?
“We also have some satin and lace slips on sale,” she continued. “Buy one, get one fifty percent off.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, thank you.”
Not willing to continue this conversation any longer, he escaped the bra section and spent a couple of minutes looking at panties. Again, there were so many styles that looked almost the same to him. As far as he was concerned, women’s underwear came in two types: thong and non-thong. But apparently it was more complicated than that.
If only Cassie were here to try on everything for him. Then perhaps he’d get a better understanding of the difference.
He made his way to another section, which would be best described as “skimpy pieces of fabric to wear when you want to impress your man and have sex.” Not, of course, that Cassie needed to wear any of this to impress him. Though, doubtless, he would enjoy it if she did.
He picked up a mostly sheer purple thing and glanced at the price tag.
Crap! This stuff was expensive. So much money for so little fabric.
Next he looked at something that he thought was called a corset. He definitely wanted to see Cassie in one of these. But he didn’t know her band and cup size, and—
Why on earth was he trying to understand women’s underwear when he had the woman of his dreams at home?
He could come back some other time and get her a corset. He made a mental note to look at her bra so he knew which size she was, and then he headed to the jewelry store.
Seducing His True Love (Small Town Temptations) Page 6
