Her trembling fingers confirmed that tears continued to run down her cheeks. He took her wet hand and used it to help her up, then led her into her bedroom. With a quick movement he threw the covers back and then inserted her between them, sliding the towel off her nudity at the same time. When she was covered back up, he rubbed the damp towel over her wet hair.
Drained, she drifted off to his touch.
She awoke to his touch, too. A finger traced the outline of her lips. Without thinking, she opened her mouth and touched the pad with her tongue, tasting him.
The hitch in his breath didn’t pull her into complete wakefulness. Really, it all felt like a dream, the warm color behind her closed eyelids, the warm masculine figure beside her, the warm idea that maybe this was last fall, that time had not passed and she was in bed with Dean like she’d wanted to be since the first time she’d seen him.
“Angel,” he whispered.
He’d called her that then. It only confirmed her muddled thinking that this was real and that maybe the dream was all that came after. That it was perfectly fine for her to turn into him now, that their naked bellies would meet, that her small breasts and tight nipples would poke against the hard, hot wall of his chest, that his erection would poke at that sensitive skin along the inside of her thigh.
Marlys ran her hands through his hair and brought his head down for a kiss. It burned her mouth, burst like liquid fire in her veins, a jolt to her system that didn’t shake her into logic—but into longing.
His tongue thrust hard inside her mouth and she moaned as she took him deeply. His hands slid down her back to her behind and he cupped her in his palms, tilting her so that his penis dragged through the curls at the apex of her thighs.
More heat flashed over her skin.
He moved her again, and she parted her legs so that the smooth head of his erection dragged against her clitoris. She arched into the little kiss of sex-to-sex and they both groaned.
“Do you want me?” he murmured.
“Yes. Yes.” Of course she wanted him! She’d always wanted him, and in this fuguelike state she couldn’t recall why she couldn’t have him. “I love you,” she said, because there couldn’t be a reason not to say that either.
His next kiss was tender, but his hands turned urgent. They slid to her breasts, cupping them and rubbing against their taut centers. She whimpered.
His lips slid down her neck and along her collarbone. “I love you, too,” he said, his mouth moving over her heart.
She shivered, trembling at the dual sensations of the reverent echo of his words and the heat of his tongue as it circled a tingling nipple. She squirmed, her legs restless, and he pushed a knee against her sex, letting her ride the rounded base there as he played at her breasts, kissing and tonguing her nipples until she was digging her nails into his hard shoulders.
“Please, Dean. Please.”
He shifted, letting a little air into their heated nest of sheets and blankets, so she snuggled down to root against the wall of his chest until she found one tight point. He gave a satisfying groan and she sucked at it harder, flexing her fingers in his skin like a cat. Then she let one hand drift toward his waist.
Ah. He’d moved to grab a condom, she guessed, because his stiff penis was covered and ready to go. She pushed him on his back and climbed on top, kissing his mouth as she guided him toward the wet and throbbing place where she wanted him.
“Take it easy, angel,” he said, his hand stroking her hip. “Go slow.”
Eager to please him, she followed directions, letting him slide inside her one thick inch at a time. She threw her head back and arched as their bellies once again met. It was a tight fit, a delicious fit, and she rocked against him as her inner muscles became accustomed to his girth and length.
He found her mouth, and held it to his with his palm against the back of her head. Then rocking wasn’t good enough anymore and she had to slide, up and down, clenching and relaxing, following the rhythm that he set with his tongue. She was getting closer, and her movements turned frantic as she could feel the same tension infusing Dean’s body.
His hips lifted toward hers, and he was no longer the object of her lust but the fuel to her fire. His hand slid between their bodies and as he jerked upward, his fingers tweaked the throbbing bud of her clitoris, sending her into orgasm.
Only as her after-shivers died off did she open her eyes. It was Dean beneath her. Dean in her bed. Dean and no dream. Her gaze jerked to the window, and the sycamore there was budding with spring leaves, not silvery bare as it had been in autumn.
Tears stung her eyes again. Oh, God. What had she done? Bad Marlys, she thought. Bad Marlys strikes again.
A frown placed a line between his dark eyebrows. “No. I can see what you’re thinking and nothing’s wrong with this.”
He didn’t know how wrong. He didn’t know how disgusted he’d be with himself—and her—when he found out the truth. She lifted up on her elbows. “Dean . . .”
He caught at the necklace swinging between their bodies. It was the pendant she’d been wearing since he left. “What’s wrong was me,” he said, his fingers curling into a fist around the tear. “I was wrong to think I could take your tears away. But I can help you carry them.” With that, he lifted the pendant over her head and then dropped it over his. The silver tear gleamed against his golden skin and two of her wet ones plopped right down beside it.
How could she tell this man he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life? More tears fell. She pressed her nose with the back of her hand. “But . . . but what can I do for you?”
He reached over to her bedside table, where she saw the condom wrapper and his open wallet. He slid something free of the leather. It was that ragged card she’d seen him holding the day she’d discovered he was back in Malibu. The Ms. M card. “You already did something for me, Marlys. You saved my life.”
Fifteen
Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.
—GAIL LUMET BUCKLEY
As Gabe pushed through the door of Malibu & Ewe, he noticed two things, that Cassandra was with a customer and that the customer was looking at him with distinct suspicion. Shit, apparently just another of his admirers.
Hitching the shelving he carried under his arm higher, he ignored both women as he slid the non-soy, extra-shot latté that Cassandra would swear never touched her lips beside the cash register. Then he stomped to the back room, aware of the customer’s disapproval tailing him the entire way.
He dumped his red toolbox on a counter and propped the lumber against it. Then he surveyed the area above the countertop where he was planning to add shelving in order to free up some of the cluttered flat space. He’d strapped on his tool belt and had his tape measure in hand when Cassandra invaded the small room.
Her perfume arrived first, a scent fresh and feminine and that now he smelled on his skin in the mornings. It filled his lungs at night as he breathed her in, his face buried in those luxurious waves of her hair. He played with the stuff as she drifted off to sleep, combing it lightly then wrapping a fistful in his fingers as he closed his eyes and followed her to dreamland.
He’d been sleeping like a baby, his nightmares distant, his conscience quiet, but after this morning’s visit from Noah and Jay, his mood was anything but tranquil. With a quick glance he could tell she knew he was out-of-sorts. There was a frown between her eyebrows and she had her full lips pursed in worry.
He groaned, and reached out an arm to draw her close. “Your mouth drives me crazy,” he said, kissing her as if it had been days instead of hours since he’d last tasted her. There was the faintest hint of coffee on her tongue and he smiled inside, glad he’d brought the latté though he’d never admit to buying it for her just as she’d never admit to drinking it.
The next kiss turned hotter, and as he slanted his head for the perfect fit, she curled her fingers in the low-slung tool belt to keep her
balance. His dick reacted to the proximity of her slender fingers and, groaning again, he pushed her away. “Unless you want to do it on this countertop, Froot Loop, you better keep your distance.”
She licked her bottom lip, her blue eyes dazed in a way that never failed to give an extra yank on his libido. “I-I think I want to do it on the countertop,” she said.
He squeezed shut his eyes. The thing was, the almost-thirty-year-old virgin was a woman determined to make up for lost time. She wanted to do it everywhere, any way and any time that he suggested it. Not that he was complaining, but if one of them didn’t keep some control they were bound to be caught in a compromising position. The night before he’d thrown out the playful dare that she try to get him hard as he drove them both home from a grocery store run. She’d gotten that wide-eyed, dazzled-by-desire look that invariably took him under.
Next thing he knew, he was driving with one hand while the other stroked her hair as she slid her tongue along his suddenly erect flesh. “I win,” she’d whispered, then sucked the throbbing head into her wet mouth. He owed her payback for that, but damned if he would play tit for tat during business hours. All he needed was for her sisters to walk in on them. It seemed as if they already considered him just one notch above depraved.
“Gabe . . .”
He placed a finger over her lips and she sucked it inside. With a yelp, he jerked it from her greedy mouth, heat shooting down his spine and goosing his cock. “And to think you look so innocent,” he muttered. “Maybe the enforcers should be knocking on your doorstep.”
The dazed look in her eyes evaporated. “Enforcers? What are you talking about?”
He probably shouldn’t have said that. So he turned his back on her and applied himself to the task of putting up those shelves. “Measure twice, cut once,” he murmured, to explain why he wasn’t looking at her. Then he tossed out the really important piece of info. “I’m having a dinner party Friday night. Your sisters will be there. I hope you can make it.”
There was a heavy pause. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Creating some more storage space for you,” he answered. “I noticed this countertop was crowded and I thought I could help with that.”
She grabbed him by the back of the tool belt and yanked him around to face her.
“Hey . . .” he protested.
Cassandra stared him down, desire gone, determination sparking in her blue eyes. “What are you doing?”
He sighed. “The truth? I’m throwing a party where I plan to shut up every damn person who’s been looking at me like I’m a womanizing version of Vlad the Impaler.”
“Oh.” A little smile played around Cassandra’s enchanting mouth. “Is that why Nikki gifted me with a rope of garlic yesterday?”
“It will be silver crosses and wooden stakes next.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Christ, Cassandra, what have you been telling your sisters? Because they sent Noah and Jay over to the fish market this morning to buy cups of coffee and administer not-so-veiled threats.”
“I haven’t told them anything!”
“Yeah? Well maybe it’s Carver who sensed the way the wind was blowing the night the Tucker brothers were here. I invited him, too, by the way. I want them all to see that you’re with me of your own free will and that I’m not some kind of damn danger to you.”
“But . . . Well, first, you don’t know how to cook.”
He turned back to his toolbox. “I can buy ready-made kabobs at the deli and anything else I need. And you won’t be surprised to learn I know the location of the liquor aisle.”
Though he hadn’t felt the compulsion to drink—or forget—since Cassandra had joined him in his bed. He pawed through his tools looking for a pencil. “Now, get back to work so I can get up these shelves.”
She didn’t obey. As a matter of fact, she didn’t move and the silence between them grew long until she finally said, “I didn’t expect you to do all this for me.”
He swallowed his sigh. He wished he could say he’d do anything for her, but they both knew that would be a flat-out lie.
By Friday night, however, he was still determined to ease everyone’s fears. Though that didn’t mean he wasn’t above looking incompetent in the kitchen—actually, he pretty much was—so it ended up that professional chef Nikki volunteered to de-bag the salad and also jazz it up a little. Cassandra and Juliet stayed behind to keep her company while he and the men went outside with beers and salsa and chips to study the intricacies of the stainless steel barbecue sitting on the patio courtyard.
“Yo, all,” Carver Shields said, slipping out the French doors to join the male half of the party. “Sorry we’re late. I left Oomfaa gossiping in the kitchen. Nice digs.”
“Thanks,” Gabe replied, then decided to take the bull by the horns. “Later I’ll give you the tour, though it’ll cost extra to see the dungeon where I work at keeping Cassandra compliant. Thumbscrews don’t come cheap, you know.”
The three men sent a guilty look around their small circle. Gabe shook his head, refusing to take it as it hot potatoed his way. “Listen, if you think she’s unhappy—”
“She’s not unhappy,” Carver interjected. “That doesn’t mean I’m happy, but . . .”
“But I don’t give a shit about your feelings, Shields,” Gabe said. “And I suspect Cassandra would like you all to realize that she knows her own mind. She’s been taking care of herself for quite some time. So that’s why I don’t get how you seem so sure I’m doing something to her instead of with her.”
The men passed around another look. It was Jay who spoke this time. “Cassandra’s strong, you’re right. And so damn generous. What Nikki’s gotten out of their relationship . . . what we’ve gotten out of Nikki discovering a sister to love and trust . . .”
Noah stepped in. “Of course Cassandra can take care of herself. But she has more than herself to rely on now. We’re here for her and that’s part of what she went looking for when she sought out her biological siblings.”
“I know that,” Gabe said, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’ve known her for two damn years. Longer than her sisters have known her. And I know her better than you do, Carver.” He avoided glancing at that fucking tattoo on the other man’s arm.
Though it seemed as if the drummer might have seen through that, because a grin broke over his face. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Gabe didn’t feel the least bit like smiling, because the problem was, six months ago, hell, a month ago, he would have been right with these guys in being absolutely certain he was no damn good for her.
But he wasn’t walking away now. Not yet.
He was offering her something, wasn’t he? They’d always been friends, and there was still that. But now, instead of sniping at each other to relieve the sexual tension, they had more pleasurable methods. Was that illegal? And she wasn’t complaining, was she?
Still, as intimacy with Cassandra felt so damn right, there was an edge of disquiet that kept slicing into his consciousness. Maybe it was just his usual grim temperament trying to horn in on his current contentment. Maybe it was something else.
Carver’s next question didn’t help matters. “They find those kids who started the fire at Cassandra’s?”
“No. I haven’t seen them around. Maybe they’ve moved on to prank elsewhere.”
Noah frowned. “Didn’t you have a problem at the beach house recently, Jay?”
“Yeah. Someone broke the lock on an outside door and got into the garage. Nik has a new fridge in there, locked, too, that she uses for work. That lock was jimmied, too, and she lost a bunch of expensive gourmet stuff.”
“Someone catered their own party?”
“No.” Jay shook his head. “That’s what was odd. They just left the door open and it all spoiled.”
“We had a couple of attempted break-ins when we were in Kauai,” Noah said. “The security company caught wind of them and sent a car out, but they didn’t see anything.
Once Dean moved into the guesthouse, there wasn’t another problem.”
“Weird,” Carver said.
Weird, Gabe agreed, disquiet skittering down the back of his spine. He frowned, wondering if inviting the group over had been one big, bad idea. He’d decided on the party so he could ease everyone’s fears, but now the one feeling spooked, damn it all, was him.
If the phone call hadn’t reached Cassandra during Gabe’s party, when she was in his kitchen and surrounded by her sisters and Oomfaa, all discussing the details of her upcoming thirtieth birthday bash, she might have made different choices.
She might have found her way to confessing to Nikki and Juliet that she’d attempted contacting their biological father, Dr. Frank Tucker, and that she’d subsequently met his two adopted sons, Patrick and Reed.
She might have hurried on to say she was sorry for going behind their backs and suggested that if they still weren’t in agreement about a face-to-face with the man then she wouldn’t pursue the matter further. She would have promised to rescind that invitation she’d sent to him.
But when Gabe handed her his phone, she was unprepared for the identity of the person on the other end of the line. She was unprepared for anyone to find her at all, even though she’d used her telephone company’s service and forwarded any after-hours calls made to the Malibu & Ewe number to that of the closest landline where she could be reached. After the fire, it had seemed like a good idea, particularly since cell service in the area was so damn spotty.
But it was him, Dr. Frank Tucker. He was back in the States and wanted to meet her. With her sisters gazing at her with mild curiosity, she’d been swamped with guilt, leading her to a quick conversation and quick acquiescence to the man’s request so Nikki and Juliet wouldn’t discover what she’d done without their knowledge.
Then, hanging up, she was swamped by another crashing wave of shame. Because if she was honest with herself, given a do-over, she wouldn’t do anything differently. Both her sisters had been raised by men who they’d known and considered father figures. Juliet had adored her dad; Nikki not so much, but neither had quite the same gaping hole in her identity that Cassandra had sensed all her life.
Dirty Sexy Knitting Page 19
