Rolling to his side, he propped his head on one hand and put his other into play again. Using her expression as the measure of her readiness, he watched her face as he drew the back of his fingers down her quivering belly. At the juncture of her thighs, he found the hard kernel there and circled it with his forefinger, spreading the cream of her own excitement as the small organ throbbed beneath his touch. Her eyes squeezed shut, so tight that lines fanned to her temples.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” he said. “I need to see you.” Her lashes lifted as if they were heavy and the unfocused pools of blue were darkened by the blackness of her wide pupils. His breath caught hard in his chest, and he couldn’t stop his hips from pushing forward so he could slide his cock along the side of her thigh. She gasped, too, and he gritted his teeth, reminding himself that her pleasure was the focus. This was her first time.
His fingers slid down the wet slide of her cleft to circle the entrance to her body. Shit, he thought, his finger tracing the soft skin there. Was he going to have to hurt her? The thought stilled him—hand, lust, heart.
“It might not even be an issue,” Cassandra said quickly.
It didn’t surprise him that she could read his mind.
“Activity can make it a moot point. Horseback riding. Gymnastics.”
He slanted her a suspicious look. “How much of either have you done, Froot Loop?”
“There’s a guy who rents horses at Paradise Cove every summer,” she said.
Though she didn’t say she’d ever rented one of those horses.
“And I could probably still do a headstand.”
His Froot Loop. He could barely restrain shaking his head at her, would surely have done so if she hadn’t been looking so turned on and so anxious at the same time. “I’m sure yoga counts, too,” he said, just for the hell of it.
“Yes!”
Good God. But he made it a prayer as he took his touch to another level. Blowing out a silent breath, he let his fingertip breach that tight entry. Her hot, wet flesh closed around him, robbing him of breath. On a moan, her lashes drifted down.
“No,” he said, his voice gruff. “Look at me.” To make sure he wasn’t hurting her, he needed to see her eyes.
She obeyed, slowly, her eyelashes lifting again as he inched his finger into the snug passage of her body. She moaned; he swallowed his. His muscles trembling, his gaze trained on her face, he pumped his finger in and out of her in an unhurried, gentle rhythm that his heart took up. Then that organ’s beat double-timed as a sudden blast of lust rocketed through him—urging once again for action, penetration, completion.
Cassandra, he reminded himself. Give to Cassandra.
“Gabe.” Her flush deepened and her inner muscles started tightening on him each time he withdrew. It made his next gentle invasion more difficult.
“Sweetheart. Relax. Let me in.”
She frowned, her breath panting in and out of her chest. “Can’t . . . relax.”
He tried pushing inside her again, but she was so snug he was afraid that pressing harder would cause her pain. A sneak attack was in order, he decided. Swooping down, he took her mouth for a kiss and moved up his hand for another round of play with the wet bead at the top of her sex. This touch electrified her; he could feel the energy pulsing through her body. He put all his attention into the touch and into the kiss, his heart thudding as he felt the tension in her tighten. She clutched at his forearm as if to still his pleasuring fingers, but he ignored her tight grasp to circle her sex, to kiss her mouth, to take her higher and higher until she—
Broke.
Her body arched, her lips went slack under his, then she shook, as a blissful sound poured into his mouth. He eased his touch as she quaked and shivered through her orgasm. When her movements quieted, he lifted his mouth.
“Gabe?” she said, her voice languorous. “We’re not done, are we?”
It was like the soft stroke of a brush against his thighs, his balls, his cock. “Shh, shh,” he said, quickly donning the condom he’d left on the bedside table. With shaking hands, he took off her boots and stripped her of the rest of her clothes.
Then he rolled between her thighs and smiled into her pleasure-filled face. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”
Cassandra lifted a hand to his cheek. “I’d never let you off so easy.”
But he’d make it easy for her, he promised himself. Think how long she’s waited. Make it worth it.
The head of his cock slid into the softened entry of her sex. Her muscles were lax from her orgasm, and he pushed onward. “Don’t tense up,” he said. “Just let me in.”
And Cassandra being Cassandra, she widened her thighs and tilted her hips and gave him the generous offer of her lush sexiness. And Gabe . . . he hung on to his control, pushing without hurry into her, parting her muscles, pressing against her inner flesh, giving her all the finesse he had even as he saw pain break across her face when he surged the final inches.
“God.” Breathing hard, he laid a kiss on her mouth. “Okay?”
Her heart pumped against his. “Okay.” She didn’t sound sure.
He wasn’t sure himself. But his body remembered the moves and swung into them without his permission. On his elbows so he didn’t smother her with his weight, he pumped his hips and watched her own breathing quicken.
“Beautiful Cassandra,” he said. This is for you. This is because you asked me to take you away from your today.
But then Gabe’s day fell away. As he moved within the soft, tight clasp of Cassandra’s body, he let go of her past abstinence, his past dramas. Her self-proclaimed loneliness and his self-imposed reclusiveness.
Gabe found himself living for the sensation of his body against Cassandra’s. He lived in the moment, this moment, of intimacy and passion.
Someone had told him he needed to rediscover this, that he needed to learn to fully feel the now again, but in three years he’d never been able to let go of the deep despair that his personal tragedy infused in every moment. In the past three years, he’d felt loneliness, lust, despondence, desire, but this was delight, in Cassandra’s skin, in the hitch of her breath, in her response as he slid deep and stroked her clitoris until he felt her second climax. It triggered his, and then the pleasure spun out, pulling from some infinite well of exquisite sensation and endless time.
If he’d had a pink gel pen, he would have written her name and how this moment was making him feel, with bows and flourishes and fat, cheerful clouds.
The success of the event was a success for him. Because his personal storm was, for this infinite moment, at bay.
Later he could laugh at how sentimental that sounded. Later he would have to acknowledge that he’d turned as schmaltzy and saccharine as she’d warned him against. But now, for once free of the rusty chains of grief and regret, he just felt happy.
“ So,” Cassandra forced herself to say in a teasing, yet dismissive tone. She had to keep this light, after all. “I waited twenty-nine years for that?”
She held her breath as Gabe lifted the forearm he’d thrown over his eyes after lifting from her still-tingling body. His head rolled on the adjoining pillow to meet her gaze. “Don’t even try that with me, Froot Loop,” he said, his voice hoarse. “That was some of my best work and all for your benefit.”
“So I owe you now?” she asked, still trying for a little attitude.
“Nah.” He moved again, this time off the bed to pad toward the bathroom. “We can call it even.”
Even? He wanted to call it even? She didn’t know if she could. She didn’t know what to call it, except maybe more intimate than she’d expected, and it prompted her to yank the sheet over her nude body.
The intimacy was Gabe’s fault, she decided. Some other guy—most particularly the bare-assed adolescent that she might have found herself in a backseat with ten or twelve years ago—would have touched her body but left her head alone.
But Gabe knew her so well that even before the physical
act was accomplished, he’d figured out her celibacy was just another name for her virginity. His focus had changed with her admission. He’d focused completely on her, taking her up and then over before giving her what she’d asked for.
Him inside her body.
Because that’s what she’d wanted, more than the mere end of her virginal state. She’d wanted that intimate connection with Gabe as a distraction from the fire and the feelings it had brought out in her.
Her breath caught as he strolled back into the bedroom, apparently unconcerned about his nakedness. Through her lashes she checked out his lean body, and she flushed, remembering all the hard sinew and strong muscle pressed against her. He hesitated beside the bed, and she saw him scoop up an opened foil square lying on the bedside table.
He’d used a condom. She lifted onto her elbows. “You remembered protection. Thank you.” Her flush deepened. She should have thought of that.
Gabe scrunched the foil in his fist. “Yeah. I bought them after that morning when I woke up in your bed.” He ducked into the bathroom to toss the packet away.
“Because you thought we’d . . . indulged that night,” she said, curling her lip.
He turned, taking in the semi-scornful expression on her face. His lips twitched. “Apparently I flattered myself.”
“You think? You were falling down drunk, Gabe.”
Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed, still naked, and reached out to trace the curve of her eyebrow with his finger. She told herself not to shiver at the touch, but it was hard to resist as the fine hairs lifted along her skin.
“Forgive me?” he asked.
She thought she might forgive him anything when he treated her to such gentleness and looked at her with those intent, dark eyes. “Maybe,” she said, to show she wasn’t so easy to win over.
His forefinger moved to trace her mouth. “What if I were to hold you now?”
Cassandra swallowed, unsure what to do. Was it right to extend the intimacy? Would it be too much like the sappi ness she’d professed she wasn’t after to ask him for his arms around her?
A smile ghosted over his face. “Why don’t you hold me?” he suggested, sliding in beside her.
He was reading her again, of course, but she didn’t protest as he turned out the light and settled her against him. There was a little soreness between her thighs and she wasn’t accustomed to sharing her bed, but she decided this decision was right.
Close against him, everything felt so right.
“In the interest of full disclosure,” he said, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger, “I have to admit I jumped to another terrifying conclusion after finding myself between your sheets.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said, in a teasing tone again. “You found being in my bed ‘terrifying?’ ”
“It was if we didn’t use a condom. It was if I made you pregnant.”
An icy burn swept across her skin. Pregnant. A baby.
His casual mention of it, his obvious relief that it was an unfounded concern shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t touch her at all. He didn’t know it was the final piece of the dream of family she’d been carrying with her since childhood. Cassandra, with her own baby to love.
Gabe’s great fear.
Her great hope.
She buried both thoughts as deeply as she could.
His chin was against the top of her head; her cheek was nestled on his chest. He smoothed her hair with his hand. “You okay now?”
“Mmm.”
He smoothed her hair another time. “Sweet dreams, Froot Loop.”
“You, too,” she whispered, though she didn’t think she’d be getting much sleep, let alone pleasant dreams. So as not to do anything silly like talk in her sleep and reveal how much his tenderness had meant to her, she’d have to be on guard until he left in the morning.
And she knew he would, as surely as she knew that there’d be gulls at the beach. He’d get up and go and their relationship—such as it had been—would return to its former state. He’d be her landlord, her occasional friend, her once-upon-a-time, one-time lover.
She’d asked for just that, after all.
Which meant it was a good thing that though she’d asked Gabe into her body and though he’d found his way into her head, that she hadn’t been dumb enough to allow him into her heart.
Not that.
Never that.
Twelve
An ounce of blood is worth more than a pound of friendship.
—SPANISH PROVERB
Cassandra was assessing her reflection in one of Malibu & Ewe’s full-length mirrors, when Nikki burst through the door of the shop, half an hour before the seven o’clock start of their regular Tuesday Knitters’ Night. “Cute hat,” she said, coming up behind her.
“Thanks.” Cassandra reached up to pull off the hand-knit beanie covering her hair. A soft brown color, it fit close to her head and was embellished with antique ivory buttons and soft pink flowers that she’d knitted as well. Then, unable to help herself, she turned to her sister and grabbed her up in a hug much tighter than the casual moment warranted. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nikki said, pushing back with gentle hands. “I didn’t just survive the Titanic.”
“Right,” Cassandra replied, taking a quick step away. Nikki had spent years defending her heart by keeping herself closed off from others, and she could still be prickly about physical contact.
“Oh, don’t look like that,” the other woman said, and yanked Cassandra against her for another brief, tight hug. “And don’t try to tell me nothing’s going on with you, either.”
But Cassandra didn’t want to divulge, not when she knew the event was over. Since then, she’d been finding ways to put it out of her mind. “Can’t we leave it that I’m happy to see you?”
Nikki folded her arms over her chest and tilted her head. “Does this have something to do with the fire? It looks as if the damage is completely repaired.”
“Mm-hmm.” She turned her back on her sister and busied herself taking off the mittens that matched her hat. “It only took a few days.” The few days that Nikki and Jay had been in San Francisco doing whatever engaged, in-love couples did in a beautiful city. Glancing at the mirror again, she tugged at the hem of her skirt.
“Great outfit, too,” Nikki remarked.
Cassandra took a longer look at the reflection in the mirror. “Skirt’s too short.” She’d made it herself on the sewing machine set up in the back room, out of a remnant of thin waled, camel-colored corduroy. The only thing that saved it from indecency was that she was wearing patterned tights beneath it. The cream color of her plain sweater matched the tights and she wore pale-pink suede boots on her feet. She plucked at the flat knit of the top. “Do you know how to make jewelry?”
“I can make omelettes. I’m good at decorating cakes. No jewelry.”
“Maybe I’ll bring someone into the shop to give lessons. Or do you think Juliet might want to learn—”
“Our sister will be more into her new husband than engaging in a new hobby, is what I think,” Nikki said. Her bicolored eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. How many FOs have you racked up since I left Malibu?”
FOs or “Finished Objects” usually afforded the knitter bragging rights. But her sister had suspicion, not admiration in her gaze. “You know I lose count of how many projects I have in progress,” Cassandra said, hurrying away from the mirror and bustling to the back room where she could leave her hat and mittens and bring out the refreshments. Nikki didn’t follow, probably because at that moment the bells on the front door rang out, signaling another knitter’s arrival.
Not just any knitter, Cassandra noted as she returned to the main part of the shop. “Juliet!” Looking tan and rested, the oldest of the three sisters stood by the cash register, her husband, Noah, and Nikki’s Jay nearby.
“Jay picked us up from the airport but I wanted to stop by the shop before we went home,” Juliet said,
pulling Cassandra close. A delicious mix of coconut oil and expensive perfume clung to her. “How have you been?”
“Never better!” Cassandra said, and turned to buss her brother-in-law, Noah, on the cheek and then give a second smack to Jay.
Nikki sent a pointed look at Juliet. “Ask her about the fire. Ask her about why she’s completed an entirely new wardrobe, just in the past couple of days.”
“Not an entirely new wardrobe—”
“What fire?” Noah cut in.
Cassandra tried ignoring the question. “—but I’m done with the matching bride and bridesmaids shrugs for your wedding, Nik.”
“Oh, Froot Loop, I’m not that easy,” Nikki said, then darted a look at her fiancé. “And no comment from the peanut gallery, please.”
He grinned and looped an arm around her to drag her back against his chest. “Cookie. I’m nuts for you.”
Rolling her eyes, she groaned. “Jay . . .”
“What fire?” Noah asked again, his voice sharper.
Cassandra sighed. “We think some kids were fooling around and started a small blaze in my side storeroom,” she said. “The authorities haven’t found the culprit or culprits, but the shop is as good as new.”
Noah turned to Jay. “What do you know about this?”
The other man shook his head. “Not much. We left for San Francisco the day after it happened.”
Cassandra recognized her brother-in-law’s tension and guessed its source. “It was after-hours, Noah. Even if you hadn’t been on your honeymoon, Juliet wouldn’t have been working at the shop. She would have been safe at home—”
“I’m worried about you, too, Cassandra,” he put in.
The steel in his voice warmed her heart, and she smiled at him. “I know. Thanks for that.”
“So where’s Gabe in all this?” Noah asked.
Dirty Sexy Knitting Page 15
