by Camden Leigh
I shake my head. No, that’s not going to happen. No touching, no kissing, no—
“Cassidy,” he whispers, ducking his head closer, eyes piercing mine with a solid, intense gaze. “Thanks for the talk. For tonight.”
I roll my lips in but his breath warms my face, luring me to relax and soften. His hands, so comfortable and right, tug me closer, closing the electrified space between us, forcing wild energy into my lips, into wanting his on mine.
He drops his chin, lips inching closer, but instead of feeling their smooth heat and sculpted softness, rough stubble slides against my cheek. His hands slip up my back, encompassing me in the warmest, safest, and sexiest hug I’ve ever received.
“I should go to bed,” I mumble.
Quinn leans closer. “Sit with me a while.”
“With you?”
“If you like.”
I study the cushy loveseat situated under the far edge of the magnolia. “Okay, but just for a bit.” Honestly, I feel like I’d regret saying no. Besides, I’m supposed to use my manners right? “Yes, thank you” and “Of course I’ll sit with you. Where do you want me? Right on your lap? Well, of course” come to mind.
The gap between us, a mere foot of space, feels like a canyon. A never-ending abyss. I know I should stay away, but an article I read on magnetic attraction keeps popping into my head. It said physical looks and personality have nothing to do with a person’s draw to another, that attraction is energy-based. That would mean I could sit down beside anyone and they could be the one.
I definitely feel something urging me to scoot a little closer.
I take several deep breaths to discourage falling closer and becoming another statistic to support the article’s claim.
“Come here,” he says. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and doubles the urge for me to move it on closer.
He shifts my hair to the side and brushes a finger down my cheek. My heart beats like a rabbit thumping its foot in warning. I should take it as a warning. Instead, I turn into his touch like a needy cat and purr. My eyes pop open. I purred? What the heck.
I move to stand but he pulls my hips over, causing me to fall into his lap. Instead of fighting it—because I rather enjoy my current position—I push into my hands to get more comfortable, or try, but the only couch to push into is between his legs. My fingers brush against his thigh and I’m pretty sure his jewels.
“Oh God.” I. Could. Die.
“Nope. All one-hundred percent me.”
“Sorry.” I collapse back against him and cross both hands securely over my chest.
He traces a finger down my knee, down my bare leg. I glance at the path figuring on seeing a red, hot burn in its wake, an illuminated trail of oranges and reds and singed skin because it feels so damn hot and so damn good.
His fingers drop lower, toward my skirt which has bunched around my hips and is an inch away from showing off my barely-there panties. He hooks my skirt. My eyes go wide and the breath in my chest literally solidifies into yes-please-touch-me hope. He drags the hem of my skirt up my leg, farther and farther away from my panties. Farther from the warm tingles surging to life.
I grab his hand, my skirt, and hold it in place mid-thigh.
“Cassidy,” he calls.
I angle my chin up to see his face. His lips come down, gentle but aggressive. I part mine in surprise and he takes that as an invitation—and sure, yeah, welcome in or whatever—and his tongue! So smooth, so warm, so perfect. He explores slowly but deftly—like a ninja. I lift into the kiss, wanting to taste more of him. He doesn’t give in so I reach my arm around his neck and hoist myself a little higher.
His hand slips down my leg and kneads my thigh. Don’t know if the subtle squeeze is persuasion for me to invite him in down there, too, or his restraint, but my legs slips apart of their own volition. I’m hungry for him, starved for his touch. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe I’d be starved for anyone’s touch, but right now, it’s him.
His fingers graze my panties and the sudden heat makes me thrust upward. He chuckles into our kiss. The edge of my panties roll to the side as he strokes beneath it. I moan into our kiss and reach for his shirt, pulling him tighter. Closer. His fingers caress my desire, teasing me and keeping me on the edge. Keeping me wanting more.
I reach between us to his hardened cock, wishing to feel it in my hands, skin on skin instead of through his shorts. The zipper, stuck beneath fabric, me and the awkward position we’re in, can’t be undone, so I stroke him through his shorts, smoothing my hand up his length as best I can, matching his tempo like we’re dancing.
The sudden entry of his finger makes me suck in a pleased breath. Our lips part as the throbbing tingles down below grows stronger. I work my hips as he works his fingers, settling my forehead against his chin to focus on the feel and the thrill and the complete loss of power I have over myself. I shift, allowing him better access. He adds another finger and brushes against me. There’s no turning back, not that I’d want to.
A moan escapes on my exhale. I roll closer to him.
His lips track down my temple to my ear. “Come for me, Cassidy.”
The sound of his voice on top of his breath tickling my ear, his heart thudding against my chest, and his fingers pumping inside me sensitize my entire body, allowing a thousand flickers of light to be turned on simultaneously. The glow starts deep, working toward his fingers, toward orgasm.
“Mmmm,” I hum into the ecstasy. “Yes, God, yes.”
My hips move faster. His fingers massage deeper. His thumb presses against my clit and God, I see brilliance. I arch my back, pulling myself away from him but deepening the sensations below so they travel throughout me. He presses into the magic spot and I jolt into him as if he’s electrified me a second time.
My breath, a powerhouse of huffs and puffs, begins to slow. As does his. I collapse against him, still reeling from the power that ran through me and rendered me completely useless.
He slips my panties back into place and smooths my skirt over my legs, making it so I’m not only safe but also tucked into him. For sleep. I want . . . sleep.
“That was...”
“Beautiful,” he finishes.
“Mmmm,” is all I can manage. Beautifully perfect and oh so wrong at the same time.
Chapter 5
Quinn
Awake for an hour, I still haven’t managed to roll out of bed. I can’t think of anything but Cassidy and the way she lost her inhibitions because of me. After two days of not running into her, I’d be a dumbass to think she’d still be high on her orgasm and ready to knight me Sir Please Me Again, but I can hope.
Once she’d fallen asleep, I carried her to her room, sure she’d feel less awkward waking up without me staring at her. Because that’s what I did. For two hours. I watched her lips bob open on her exhales, just in the center, and press softly together on her inhales.
That was the first time I’d seen her without her armor. I’m not sure why she thinks she needs one around me—unlike around Mom, who necessitates full battle gear—but if it makes me less threatening in her eyes, fine. I’ll figure out a way around it eventually.
My phone dings. I read the text from my boss and frown. Fired? I’m fired? My unexpected journey home wasn’t supposed to last longer than a day, two at most. Fly in, grab the truck without running into a soul, fly out. I had tried to reschedule my photography scouting trip to Arizona and Utah, but deadlines were too close and the filming industry isn’t forgiving when it comes to schedules. I had to call in a favor. Guess my sub didn’t impress.
I stretch and ready for one of Ellie’s meetings. I’d had her put everything into my calendar so I knew when and where I could potentially run into Cassidy. A little selfish? Maybe.
I text my sister and tell her to meet me out front. After she puts her face on and strolls down the front steps as if we’ve got all day, we jump in the truck and head to the address she gives me.
“You didn’t have to br
ing me. Dean’s back in town and perfectly capable.” She won’t unfold her arms. Hasn’t since she got in the truck.
“What’s wrong?”
“You and Kat. I just don’t think you’re trying hard enough with her.”
“I can’t work a miracle overnight.” I glance over at my sister. “I’ll work on it, I promise, but I’m not going to push her to reconcile when she has no reason to want to.”
Ellie shakes her head and peers out the side window. “If I can forgive, surely she can.”
“You were eighteen, she was twelve. I expected you to understand.”
“Understand what?” She fiddles with the air vent.
“How bad off Mom was. Think about it; had we stayed, Mom may’ve never returned to work. Leaving forced her to take care of Kat. We aren’t her parents, Ellie.”
She sighs heavily. I pat her hand and give it a good squeeze until she returns it.
“I know, but you weren’t there for the big stuff and I think that bothers her most. She needed your backbone when it came to Momma.”
“She seems to have one. Maybe two.” I pull up to the curb.
“That’s one too many sometimes.” Ellie adjusts her dress over her knees and takes a deep breath. “Hope you’re ready for this.” She peers at the cake shop through the car window. “I hate these meetings. Mom’s so . . .”
“Unaccepting? Overbearing?”
“Putting it mildly.” She opens her door. “Come on; don’t want to be late or you’ll have to add scolding to that list.”
The bell hanging from the doorknob chimes as we step into the bakery. Scents of sugary sweets mix in the air. The glass counter displays intricate chocolate sculptures, mini molded fruits, and delicate candy flowers mimicking hand-blown glass.
“Morning.” I nod to the shop owner and then add a smile when Cassidy stands to greet us.
“Oh, good. We aren’t late.” Ellie drops her purse into a chair and pushes her bangs out of her face. She glances out the windows and down the street in both directions. “Where is Annabeth? I swear, if she misses one more meeting, I’m going to go nuts.”
“Annabeth is coming?” I ask. I tug at my shirt, which suddenly feels a little tight.
“She’s my maid of honor, of course she’s coming.” Ellie sigh and turns toward Cassidy. “Oh, well, let’s get started, maybe we can finish before Mom gets here.”
“Sure, um, okay,” Cassidy says. She fans her face. “May I have some water, please?”
“I’ll grab you something from the cooler.” I head toward the drinks near the counter.
She pats her throat and chest. I feel heat setting in just watching her. Maybe I need the water. I crack one open and take a swig before grabbing another. Sure would like to rub an ice cube across her chest, maybe play connect-the-dots with those freckles.
She hasn’t taken her eyes off me though Ellie is in full ramble. I smile, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Cassidy, hey.” I snap in front of her face.
Her cheeks turn red as the candied strawberries in the display behind her. “Sorry, um. Right.” She points at a tray of cakes. “Let’s check these out, then we can discuss the details when your mom arrives.”
Ellie’s bubbling personality fizzles but peps up when I squeeze into one of the chairs around the small table. She cuts into the cakes. We watch her taste each, her face a plethora of emotions. “The vanilla is okay. What’s this one?”
“Almond,” the chef says.
“That’s delicious.” She loads up a fork and I do the same.
“That is good.” I fork another bite and lift it toward Cassidy. “Taste.”
She grabs the fork but I don’t let go. She hesitates but finally parts her lips and slips the cake off the tines. “Wow, amazing.” She brushes crumbs from her mouth and diverts her gaze.
She down the water I’d brought over and clears her throat.
“More, Cassidy?” I ask.
Maybe I’ll follow up with a taste of that luscious mouth of yours.
“I’m good, thanks. Ellie, what do you think?”
“That’s the cake. Moving on to icing.” She scans the smooth blanket of white covering one sample, then the cloud-like puffs on another. “I don’t know. I like the smooth one but none of the whites are the right shade. Mom hates competing colors on a cake.” She taps her fingers against her cheeks and scans the street through the window.
“Your day. Your cake. Everything should be a reflection of you and the groom.” Cassidy sits back and points at the cakes. “If you want all white because it’s pure and graceful and simplistic, then go with white on white, but if your relationship is vibrant and full of life, don’t ignore it. Make your cake fuchsia. If you guys are earthy and free, go with amber and forest green. Be you. Don’t choose another cake to make your mom happy.”
“I agree.” I interlock my hands behind my head and lean back in the chair. “Mom will get over it.”
Cassidy pauses, looking at me intently. She offers a small smile, then pulls out a sketchbook and flips it open. “I saw a theme in your previous cake selections. Sharp edges softened with curves. Maybe you’ll like this.” She spins it around and holds it out, a nervous tap takes over her foot.
I’d like to reach out and test my theory, see if my touch really does have a calming effect on her, but the sketch grabs my attention. She’s really good. Really detailed.
Ellie traces the curves drifting from the top layer of the cake to the bottom. Navy blue ribbons cascade from the top tier to drape around the base of the oval cake. Gold emblazons every tier with embossed fleur-de-lis patterns so delicate, they could be lace.
“You drew this?” I ask.
She nods, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I know it’s not like any of the examples in your binder, but—”
“I love it! You’re so talented.” She holds the sketch pad out for me to see. “What would the gold lace be made of?”
“I was thinking chocolate, but I’m sure the chef would know best.”
“Royal icing would hold up in the heat. And I can paint it gold,” he says over Cassidy’s shoulder.
“Then that is it.” Ellie points at the pad. “That’s what I want.”
The chef’s eyes grow wide. A smile spans his face. “I have something else to suggest.” He pushes the kitchen door open and yells to the back.
His helper brings out a mini cake with white fondant covering it and sets it in the middle of the table.
“Take a bite.”
“But I like the almond,” Ellie says, then smiles.
“Try it.”
I reach across the table to grab three more forks. My knee taps against Cassidy’s. She pivots away. I can’t help but mess with her and lean forward to usurp her space. I casually drape my arm across the back of her chair. I’d rather drape it around her, but . . . control.
Ellie cuts into the cake. “Oh, my.” Her lips pull in, tightening over her teeth. She claps her hands and squeals.
The bell on the door rings and Mom, proud and as dazzling as always, walks up to the table. The chef falls over himself to greet her and pulls up another chair. Cassidy shrinks back against her chair. I tap her shoulder, which makes her bolt upright.
Ellie pulls the napkin tucked under the edge of the plate into her lap. She smiles but doesn’t rise. I push back, greet mom with a kiss on the cheek, then move my chair closer to Cassidy’s.
“Here, Mrs. Covington, take my seat.” Cassidy offers up her preferential seating.
“Sit, sit, sit,” Mom says, and sighs as if this is the last place she wants to be. “Wasn’t expecting a family reunion.”
“I’m sure,” I say. “But here we are.”
Mom pauses but turns away. Replying would take up too much of her precious time. “I gather you’re enjoying the taste testing, Eleanor?”
“Yes, ma’am. I think Cassidy nailed it. We’re done here.” She stands and drops her unused napkin into the seat and tucks in the chair. “Do it like that,�
� she whispers to the chef while pointing at the cake she’d just cut.
“Conclusions?” Mrs. Covington turns to Cassidy, her fingers dancing along her arm impatiently.
“Ellie has decided on the almond cake. And—”
“Perfect. What else?” Mom interrupts.
“Fondant icing in that white.” Cassidy points at the smooth cake on the sample tray.
“Mmm-hmmm. Elegant choice.”
“Ribbons cascading down the layers. Lacelike embellishments.” She leaves out the gold and blue, which I know for a fact Mom would nix.
Smart, Cassidy. You’re a quick study.
“Details, Ms. Beck. I don’t have all day.”
“Right. As my time and Ellie’s is equally important.”
Mom whips her glare on Cassidy. Maybe not so smart.
“As we have other appointments,” she adds.
I lift an eyebrow in amusement and try to flatline the grin forming on my face.
“The sketch.” Cassidy directs me to hand her the drawing.
I slip it off my lap and hand it over.
It feels like eons pass before Mom speaks. “No.”
Ellie’s eyes flare. “I love it. It’s so elegant. Look. Victorian.” She points out the lace. “And indigo.”
“And gold. How does that fit into the selections I’ve already approved?” She drops the pad on the table. “There is no gold. The cutlery is silver, the ribbon accents, silver. There is no gold.”
“I like the gold. It’s royal and bright. Like sunshine. Daddy loved the sun. He said I was his bouncing ball of golden light. I want the gold.” She nods as if she’s made up her mind and won’t take anything else. “And this.”
She turns her plate around. The inside of the last sample brought out, the one she’d clapped and squealed over. Bold as a midnight sea, the cake is truly indigo.
“Wow. That’s wow.” Cassidy leans toward the table and picks up a large crumb with her fingers. “And we can do this almond flavored?” She looks at the chef.
“Excuse me, Ms. Beck. I hate to interrupt your appraisal, but I believe serving guests that horrid color would be a disaster. Eleanor, think of your dress. What if you drop crumbs? And think of the photographs. It will look like something died in your cake. Go with white.” She shakes her head and pulls her shirttails down under her belt.
