Dirty Sexy Knitting
Page 17
Of course, he’d also assumed that his once-virginal neighbor wouldn’t just hop from her first experience into a second with some stranger. The man who she was hugging moved out of her arms and Gabe got a better look through the shop windows.
Christ, this was no stranger to Cassandra. This was her teen idol, the guy she e-mailed at will, that rock musician with an extremely familiar image of a tattooed woman pole dancing along his skinny arm.
Which reminded him, what the hell was Carver Shields doing with Gabe’s naked, nearly virginal neighbor needled into his flesh?
Maybe he needed something else punched into his skin, Gabe thought, his hands fisting. Because Carver had to get the message that a globe-trotting, groupie-showering, Oomfaa-flirting rocker boy wasn’t the right kind of man for the Froot Loop.
Friendly, generous, and beyond loyal, Cassandra needed in her life someone equally family-oriented, equally selfless, equally steadfast.
Someone who certainly wasn’t like Gabe, he realized, his hand frozen on the front door.
And who wasn’t Carver either, he reminded himself, and plunged into the shop.
Four heads whipped his way. He’d completely overlooked the two others in the shop. Two other men, who were, he realized as they rose off the couch, Cassandra’s sperm donor’s sons. Adopted sons, she’d told him. The last time he’d seen them he’d been lying in wait—and, uh, actually lying—outside the medical building in Beverly Hills. There was the doctor, Patrick Tucker, all buttoned up and intense looking, as well as the laid-back, younger man who sent Gabe an easy smile.
“What are you doing here?” Cassandra asked Gabe, her expression puzzled.
For a moment he couldn’t talk. He hadn’t been close to her in days and now here she was, looking like a soft, sweet dream in a pale blue blouse, a fuzzy scarf around her throat. Her black skirt was short enough to reveal fifteen miles of Cassandra’s long legs covered in matching blue-patterned tights. A knitted band the color of her scarf held back her hair so he could see every inch of the smooth, flushed skin of her face.
In that getup she was a potent mix of girlish sexiness and womanly allure, which made his palms itch to explore every texture.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated.
He cleared his throat. “Uh,” he murmured, sidling close to her, “because though I’m not your husband I once played him in a plastic surgeon’s parking lot?”
She gave a little laugh. “I’ve already explained about that.” Then she turned toward the Tucker brothers. “Patrick, Reed. This is my landlord and neighbor, Gabe Kincaid.”
He stepped forward to shake hands. “Landlord and neighbor, among other things,” he heard himself say.
“Yeah?” Carver asked, looking interested. “What other things?”
“What are you doing here?” Gabe shot back, instead of answering.
Cassandra patted her prom date’s T-shirt sleeve, right over what Gabe suspected was her face and right above what he thought was a replication of her incredible breasts. Christ, he hated that tattoo.
“I asked Carver over to lend a little, um, support.” She gave an apologetic smile to the two brothers. “I confess I was a bit nervous at the thought of meeting my sort-of brothers.”
Carver? She asked Carver instead of Gabe when she needed manly backup? “You could have called me, Froot Loop,” he said, trying to keep his tone mild.
She waved a hand. “You’re always so busy.”
With what? His black moods and his desire to drown them in alcohol? Ignoring the quick shot of shame, he scowled at her. “I seem to remember a recent request that I carried out to the extreme satisfaction of us both.”
Carver’s eyebrows rose another fraction, even as Cassandra ignored his comment and addressed herself to Patrick and Reed. “I appreciate you contacting me. I—we—it was never clear whether your family saw the press that came out a few months back.”
“We did,” Patrick acknowledged. “But with Dad out of the country we didn’t feel it was our place to make any”—he seemed to search for the right word—“overtures.”
“But the bumper sticker on your car,” the other brother offered. “I noticed it that day at the medical building.”
Gabe remembered.
CHICKS WITH STICKS
♥ MALIBU & EWE
“It kept niggling at me and then when I happened to come across your birthday party invitation on Dad’s desk—his secretary opens all the mail that comes to the office—well, I put it all together. You were reaching out, so I thought I should phone you myself.”
“Without consulting me first,” the doctor added, with a frown.
“But you were eager enough to come along,” his younger brother said. “And I, for one, am happy we did.”
Cassandra smiled at him. “Did you know Reed runs a recycling venture, Carver? A project after my own heart.”
“We’re a family dedicated to good works,” Reed added, nodding at the display behind Cassandra’s cash register. “I see that you provide handknit blankets to homeless shelters and to the Red Cross.”
She beamed again. Whether it was because the young man had noted her charity work or grouped them together as a “family” Gabe didn’t know—but he didn’t like it regardless.
Bristling, he stepped closer to Cassandra. “Another of your good works requires your attention now, Froot Loop,” he said. “If we don’t leave we’ll be late to the council meeting.”
She made a face. “Oh—”
“It’s a commitment we made,” he reminded her.
“Gabe . . .”
“We can’t stay in any case, Cassandra,” the doctor said. “I have late rounds and I made my brother promise that we wouldn’t take up too much of your time.”
“I understand.” Though she was clearly a little disappointed.
“But we wanted to see you for ourselves and discover just how serious you are about meeting Dad,” the younger man said.
“Oh, I’m serious,” Cassandra said. She threw Gabe a guilty glance and he knew she was thinking about Nikki and Juliet and how they hadn’t settled the issue between them. “And, um . . .”
He didn’t think it wise for her to pledge further promises, so Gabe marched toward Malibu & Ewe’s front door. “Get your purse and keys, Cassandra,” he said. “I’ll see your guests out.”
The Tucker brothers took the hint. Patrick gave her hand a brief shake before departing. Reed kissed her on the cheek. Both Gabe and Carver stood at the door, watching the pair walk toward a dark Mercedes.
“So what’s this I hear about a fire?” Carver asked, his gaze still locked on the sedan.
Gabe settled his arms over his chest and kept his own gaze off the X-rated tattoo the other man wore. “Some kids’ prank, I guess.”
“I guess.” He folded his hands under his elbows to mimic Gabe’s pose. “And then she says her car went nose first into a falling rock?”
Shutting down the instant replay in his head, Gabe nodded. “Yeah. They say they can fix it.”
Carver groaned. “I was hoping she might start driving something better than that piece-of-shit veggie-mobile.”
Gabe could smile, since he’d wished the same thing himself a number of times. “It isn’t all that bad. It brings in a profit for me, as a matter of fact. Whoever she passes gets hungry and my place is an easy on-off from the highway.”
The jingling of keys had them both turning back toward the shop. Cassandra bustled from the rear, her head down, her hand digging through her purse. She glanced up, her eyes meeting Gabe’s. The connection between them snapped tight. It was all there in the shared look: that night in each other’s arms, the trust it took for her to allow him into her body, the way he’d reveled in her mouth, her skin, her heat. But there was more, Gabe thought, rolling his shoulders to ease their sudden tension. There was the undeniable knowledge that they both wanted that intimacy again. That it was inevitable that they’d experience it once more. Oh, yeah.
Carver cursed. The look he shot Gabe felt like a punch to the solar plexus. “You’d better take damn good care of her.”
“Count on it,” he promised, walking toward the woman who was staring at him in a way that made his skin tighten over his bones. I’ll make it my business to do so.
Cassandra shook the raindrops out of her hair as she reached the shelter of the City Hall building. It had started to rain as Gabe drove there from Malibu & Ewe and they’d dashed from the car to the door rather than bothering with unearthing an umbrella that Gabe said “might be somewhere around.”
She’d welcomed the brief dousing to cool her flushed flesh, a nervous leftover from the encounter with her father’s sons.
Right. It had nothing to do with that searing look she’d shared with Gabe before they’d left the shop. She ran a finger under the short, knitted angora scarf she had tucked into the collar of her shirt, trying to give herself a little extra room to breathe. This wasn’t supposed to happen again.
Gabe touched her elbow. She jolted with a gasp, flushing deeper as he raised his eyebrows at her overblown reaction. “The meeting’s already started. We’d better get inside, unless you want to bag the idea and . . . ?”
It was the . . . and? that had her hurrying for the council chambers. With Gabe on her heels, she slipped into one of the seats in the last row and felt him settle beside her. She watched his long legs bend in the small space provided and then his knee casually brushed hers. Settled there.
Staring at the tiny point of contact, she tried slowing her overjoyed pulse that seemed in such a rush to deliver the news to every corner of her body: He’s touching me! He’s touching me again!
Her heartbeat sounded so loud in her ears that she took a surreptitious look around to determine if any of the other meeting attendees had noticed. But they were all grouped in the first few rows of seats, their attention focused on the council members and city department heads arranged in a horseshoe at the front of the room.
There was a call for the Pledge of Allegiance, and she obediently rose to her feet, obediently recited the words, obediently resumed her place in her seat. She gritted her teeth so she wouldn’t jump out of her skin when Gabe resettled beside her and made contact again. This time his calf slid against hers and stayed there.
She wished she was wearing thick denim instead of the pale ribbed tights that matched her chiffon blouse. Going for nonchalance, she stared at the front of the room while edging her right leg away from his left one.
He bumped his shoulder against hers, leaning close to whisper in her ear. “Which one of us should take notes?” His warm breath sent chill bumps down her neck.
“Me.” Happy to have something to focus on, she delved into her purse to bring out a small notebook and pen. Setting them in her lap, she gave her attention to the action up front.
Minutes passed, and all that she registered was the still-loud sound of her heart banging against her chest and the close proximity of Gabe’s leg. She didn’t dare look at his face, but she could feel the warmth of his shoulder just a breath away from hers.
He brushed it again. “You’re not writing anything down.”
She stared dumbly at her blank piece of paper.
“But I don’t think the Chamber of Commerce cares that the Lin family has agreed to reduce their proposed roof-line height to below eighteen feet to preserve their neighbor’s view,” he added.
A few more minutes passed and his breath rushed across her ear again. “Aaah. They had to give up the tennis court they wanted, too.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. The meeting’s activity didn’t penetrate the haze in her head. Every time she took a breath she took in Gabe’s clean scent, warmed by his skin, and it made her stomach tighten and her palms tingle.
The mayor called for a brief recess and she was glad to move from her seat into the spacious foyer. There was cooler air there and she gulped it in, still so distracted that it took her a minute to realize Gabe had backed her into a shadowy corner. He braced his forearm on the wall over her head, caging her body.
Clutching her purse to her chest, she lifted her gaze to his. His dark eyes seemed to smolder. He used his free hand to push a stray lock of hair off her forehead, leaving sparks in its wake. She trembled, holding out against the urge to touch him back.
He gave her a little smile, as if he saw her struggle. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he murmured. “We could do something about it.”
Where would that get her, though? She frowned up at him, and he laughed a little, tapping on her bottom lip. “No pouting.”
“I’m not pouting,” she said, still wearing her frown—okay, pout. “I just don’t understand why this ‘it’ exists. We did fine for two years without any ‘it’ getting in the way, didn’t we? We traded insults, not kisses.”
“It was one instead of the other, Cassandra, surely you know that now.”
She sighed. “Juliet once said Noah threatened to rent us a hotel room.”
Gabe smiled. “Would that have been so bad? Because when we finally got to a bed, it seemed to go okay.”
“We wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t gone more than okay, and surely you know that,” she grumbled.
“So . . . ?”
She wasn’t finished complaining and she glared at him. “Still, I don’t get it. I was doing just fine, Gabe, and now I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t breathe.”
His mouth turned up in another small smile. “What’s your favorite thing to eat, Froot Loop? And if you say something like frogurt or Tofutti, I’ll have to spank you in front of all these nice people.”
“Still with the insults,” she said, her voice surly. “For your information, my favorite thing to eat is fettuccine Alfredo.”
“So, having once tasted that, could you shrug off the chance to taste it again?”
Cassandra understood his point, but there was something else to consider. “What will happen afterward?”
“Whatever you want,” he said promptly. “It’s all whatever, however you want.”
Such a lie. Because Gabe couldn’t offer all she wanted—he had his limits. If she was willing to take what he now could give her, it would eventually end. Not well. She knew that, just like her mythical namesake had had the power to foresee the future yet suffered the curse of never being able to forestall it.
But here she was, almost thirty years old and she hadn’t had a single love affair. She’d only had a single night in this man’s arms and suddenly that wasn’t enough, no matter what the future price to pay.
Biology, chemistry, whatever impulse was driving them together seemed impossible, at this moment, to duck, to distract, to deny.
Still holding her purse like a shield, she met his gaze.
“I want to taste you again, Cassandra,” he whispered. “I want to touch you with my mouth and make you wet with my tongue and then take all that you have for me in great, greedy gulps.”
Her skin flamed. Her head spun. In her dizziness, she clutched his shirtfront in her fist. His heart beat against her curled fingers. Strong but unsteady. The evidence that he was affected by her was almost as arousing as his words themselves.
“Cassandra . . .”
She stared at his mouth as he formed the syllables of her name. I want to taste you again.
“You’re Satan,” she whispered.
“Then let’s go home, baby, so I can make you burn.”
It was his wicked smile that melted any final vestiges of reluctance. No, that put blame on him, when it was her choice, not his fault, that had him leading the way outside into the misting rain. She slipped her hand into his and followed the gleam of his satisfied smile into the darkness.
The drive home seemed endless. Once inside the confines of his car, he flipped on the heat, though there wasn’t any chill as far as she could tell. And when he shot a glance at her and then spoke in a low, husky voice, there was nothing cool about the insides of the car at all.
“Huh.” It was a whimper, a half-choked expression of surprise. She hadn’t noticed him staring at her legs.
“I got harder with each quarter inch.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you take the tights off?” he asked, his voice mild.
Her head jerked toward him. “W-what?”
“Take them off for me.”
Whoa. She swallowed. “In the car?”
“No one can see.” He paused. “But me. And I won’t look. I just want to touch, Cassandra. I just want to touch your bare skin. I need to touch your bare skin.”
Eeek. Her throat shut down. Her heart slammed hard against her breastbone. Skin prickling, she wondered if she shouldn’t have had a few more experiences before now, because then she’d have a better chance at dealing with Gabe’s blatant sexuality.
What if she was too old or prudish or self-conscious to be what he wanted?
“C’mon, Cassandra,” he said, one of his fingernails rasping against the ribbed texture covering her thigh. “Lift up and take the tights off.”
Excitement and nervousness twined in her belly. Slowly, she rose a little on her seat, the belt across her hips placing an arousing pressure against her pelvis. She held her breath and tucked her hand underneath her straight skirt to curl her fingertips around the waistband of the tights. As she pulled them down, the fabric peeling away from her skin felt like a caress.
Gabe’s caress.
Her breaths were coming fast and not one provided enough oxygen. She felt dizzy again as she toed off her shoes and stripped the hosiery away. Her newly naked skin felt vulnerable—