Cassidy and the Princess

by Patricia Potter

  He started to leave, then turned. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall. I’ll leave the light on.”

  He left the room and she unpacked, wishing she had more than the casual shirts and slacks and sweats. At least she had a robe. She padded to the bathroom, closed the door and looked in the mirror.

  She looked dreadful. Pale. Her hair was limp and coming loose from the braid. Her eyes had circles around them.

  But she was here. Sam was in the hospital.

  She washed her face and rebraided her hair, then went back to her room and quickly changed to the nightshirt and got into the bed, pulling the comforter over her. The bed was soft, and the comforter down. She really did feel like a princess. All she needed was a pea.

  And hot chocolate.

  Her eyes started to close. She heard a soft knock.

  “Come in,” she said.

  MacKay entered. He was holding a large cup and he set it down on a table next to the bed. For a moment, he just looked at her. His expression was impossible to read. It was the “detective” look. She didn’t want the detective look. She wanted the male look.

  He turned around and left.

  “This was not a good idea,” Cassidy told Manny.

  “You wanted to crawl in bed with her?”

  Cassidy flinched. “Something like that.” He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone but Manny. Unfortunately, his friend knew him too well.

  “She’s poison to someone like me,” he said.

  Manny sighed. “Laine was poison to you.”

  “Yeah, and someone who is an international star and travels throughout the world isn’t?”

  “Depends on who the international star is. I’ve seen how she looks at you.”

  “She’s grateful.”

  “Not that grateful,” Manny said. “Anyway, go to bed. I’ll stay awake. You need sleep more than I do.”

  Maybe that was why he gazed at her like some lovesick calf. He nodded. Perhaps some sleep would cure him. Something had to.

  Marise woke and stretched lazily. The sun was pouring through the pale drapes. For a moment she wanted to pull the comforter over her head and stay there forever. No dreams this time. No nightmares. But she did feel a little drugged. Too much sleep? Too little? She lay there trying to keep her mind blank for a few more blessed moments.

  Then she moved. Was last night’s explosion on the news? Was her name connected with it? If so, her mother would be frantic. She should make a call.

  She wasn’t up to it yet. She burrowed back in bed, calling herself a coward. She also wondered what it would be like to wake up in this cabin with no one to worry about, or placate.

  Selfish.

  She pushed the comforter aside and sat up. She pulled on a clean sweatsuit, then unplaited her hair, brushing it before tying it back with a ribbon.

  With unwise anticipation, she hesitated behind the door, then pulled it open and walked down to the bath. She brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face and applied a touch of lipstick.

  MacKay was sitting at the breakfast bar, drinking coffee. He didn’t turn as she entered, but she knew he was aware she had. His back had stiffened.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Or is it good afternoon?”

  “Good afternoon,” he replied. He turned then. “You look better.”

  “Which means I really looked bad last night.”

  “I don’t think you could look bad,” he said in a tone so soft she almost didn’t hear it.

  Pleasure flooded her.

  He started to get up. “Don’t,” she said. “I can wait on myself.”

  He nodded. “The coffee is in the pot. There’s cereal on the cabinet and milk in the fridge.”

  She poured coffee into a cup, then some cereal into a bowl. It looked like pieces of candy.

  “Cinnamon bits. Joey’s choice,” MacKay said wryly.

  She poured milk on it, then sat down and tasted it.

  “Ummmmmm. Good.”

  “You’re very easy to please. Frozen waffles and children’s cereal.”

  “You sound displeased.”

  “Just puzzled.”

  “Why?”

  His gaze seemed to penetrate her very soul. “You’ve traveled everywhere. You must have had the best hotels, the best food.”

  “I’ve had tutors instead of schools, hotel rooms instead of a home, and a strict diet—broiled meat, skinless chicken, carrot sticks, bottled water.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Not always,” she admitted. She knew what the next question would be, and she didn’t know whether she was ready to answer it. She’d never answered it before. Why, then, did she keep skating?

  She wouldn’t have chosen to make it her entire life if not for the debt owed both her living parent and her deceased one. Skating consumed a life; it left little time for more. Yes, she’d gotten her college degree, but it had taken an extraordinary effort, and she’d never been able to enjoy a campus, or make friends outside skating.

  Not that she was a poor little rich girl. She was lucky to have the life she had, but at times she wanted more. She wanted children who would have a normal home, and a dog and two cats, or two dogs and a cat. She wanted to nurture a garden. She wanted to go a movie without feeling guilty because she should be practicing, instead.

  But he didn’t ask the question, and for an instant she thought she understood why. There was already too much intimacy between them. Too much attraction. Too much electricity.

  “Where’s Manny?”

  “Sleeping.”

  She munched, then, her gaze avoiding his. “Is there any news?”

  He hesitated. Then slowly nodded. “We have someone we’re looking at. He has a record of sexual assault.”

  Relief surged through her. “Has he been arrested?”

  “We don’t have enough evidence yet. But we have a lot of people working on it.”

  “Do you know where he was last night?”

  “Only that he wasn’t at work.”

  “Where is ‘work’?”

  “The hospital. He’s an orderly.”

  Her hand clenched the cup of coffee. Images flitted through her mind. A black ski mask. Blood. A broken window. She finished the cereal without saying any more, then stood and walked over to a window that overlooked the lake. Boathouses jutted out into the water. Except for those, it looked untouched. Peaceful.

  “Can we go for a walk?”

  He rose and took their dishes to the sink before she could. She saw that he was wearing his pistol. “Cassidy?”

  He spun around, surprised. So was she. She’d tried to think of him as “Detective,” or “Detective MacKay.”

  “Or should I call you Hoppy?” she said, aware now how uncomfortable he was at the name.

  “Cass,” he corrected. “My friends call me Cass.”

  “What about Manny?”

  “He has special privileges.”

  “Why?”

  “He saved my life. Pushed me out of the way of a bullet and caught it himself.”

  She understood, then, the closeness between the two. She relied on Paul that way. He would take a fall before letting her take one, would incur serious injury while protecting her. She trusted him that way.

  And yet she’d never ever felt like this with him, not even when they were first matched.

  She looked back at MacKay. He seemed so serious. She wanted to coax a smile from him. She’d never seen a smile quite like his. So reluctant and yet so…appealing.

  He was staring at her now, as if trying to remember what she’d said. No smile. Yet she suspected one lurked behind that impassive exterior.

  “A walk,” she reminded him.

  “Will you follow instructions?”

  “I always follow instructions,” she replied primly.

  He looked dubious. Then he frowned. “If I tell you to run, you will run?”

  “Yes.”

  “If something happens to me, you will still
run?”

  “No.”

  He looked at her with a perplexed expression.

  “That’s not what a good protectee says,” he complained.

  “Would you rather I lied?” She walked toward the door. “Let’s go,” she said.

  He would follow.

  Chapter 12

  Cassidy stared at Marise as she opened the door. He never knew quite what to expect from her. Most other women would be quaking in their room after what had happened.

  Maybe that’s what it took to skate. You fell. You got up. You had an injury. You went back on the ice.

  And he’d thought he knew what courage was.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “I have to write Manny a note, or he’ll worry.” Manny wouldn’t just worry; he would comb the woods, then call the captain.

  Cassidy quickly jotted down the note and stuck it on the fridge, then joined her at the door and opened it.

  It was just after midday. He’d been able to get about six hours’ sleep, and apparently so had Marise. Just watching her easy, graceful stride made him smile. He realized how long it had been since he’d done that so easily.

  The day had warmed, the sun was shining. The leaves on the trees were yellow and gold and red, and some drifted down as a light breeze rustled among them.

  The lake was calm and nearly empty. Two men in a boat were fishing in a cove. It was a weekend, but a fall weekend. And a football weekend. In Atlanta that often meant an empty lake. For a moment, he stared at the boat; he was reassured that there was more than one fisherman. Serial killers worked alone.

  Marise was taking it all in with eager eyes. But then, she seemed to delight in almost everything. She had a natural curiosity combined with a joy of living that nothing seemed to dim.

  She was already tripping down the steep steps that led to the water and the boathouse. She stopped as she reached his sailboat. She placed a hand on the keel, which he’d just finished painting. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “It’s almost ready for the water,” he said.

  “Almost?”

  “I haven’t finished with the rigging.”

  “It’s yours, then?”

  He nodded. “I picked it up at an auction. Confiscated property. It had a few problems.” Hell, it had a lot of problems. More than he’d needed, considering the work left on the house.

  “I wish it was finished,” she said wistfully. “We could go sailing.”

  “Have you done much?”

  “Not on a sailboat like this.”

  “If you come back to Atlanta, I’ll take you for a sail.”

  “I would like that.”

  She was dressed in blue sweats that made her eyes look even more blue. Her blond hair was tied back in a ribbon, and she looked…beautiful. Beautiful and desirable. A princess, he reminded himself.

  Still, he could see her in the boat he’d already christened The Lorelei after the siren of the Rhine whose singing lured sailors to shipwreck. The Lorelei was his retirement. One day he would drive it to Florida and spend weeks sailing up the east coast. Or months.

  If he ever retired.

  He could see her on that boat, her hair blowing in the wind.

  He took the few steps toward the boat, and his hand touched the hull near her own. Their two hands seemed to inch together. Slowly. Torturously. Inevitably. His went over hers and tightened around it, then she turned in to him.

  His breath caught in his throat. She was so incredibly appealing. His hand went to her face, touching it reverently, his fingers tracing its lines and brushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

  He hadn’t meant to kiss her again. Yet he could no more keep from bending down and touching his lips to hers than he could stop breathing. The moment he did, he was lost, carried along by swirling, compelling currents that dispelled all reason. They pulled them together until nothing existed except the irresistible desire between them, a hunger they’d been fighting for days. A hunger that could no longer be controlled.

  And once their lips did meet, he couldn’t let go. Her arms went around his neck, her fingers massaging the sensitive skin just below his hairline as her hair tickled his cheek. Her body reacted to his, fitting into his much larger one as if they already knew each other intimately. As if they belonged together. Heat curled in his loins, and his body ached with need and hunger, changing. Growing hard and expectant and hot.

  She opened her mouth, and his lips moved hungrily against hers, exploding in a maelstrom of unleashed need, of expectation that had been building between them for days. The smell of pine, the rustle of fallen leaves, and the soft warmth of a fall sun wrapped around them, heightening the sensuality of every caress, every touch.

  Cassidy wanted her in a way he’d never wanted anything before in his life. Every other want, every other emotion, paled beside it. His hand went to the small of her back, his fingers running up and down her spine, and he felt her tremble.

  He was trembling, too, and that made him hesitate. He shouldn’t, couldn’t, lose control. But then one of her hands played around his ear lobe, and a groan ripped from his throat. Both her mouth and her eyes were inviting him to do something he very much wanted to do.

  In the past three days, she had taken his dark world and made it glow. He wanted more of that light. More of the sweetness she offered. More of the raw eroticism that raged between them. The two disparate qualities built upon one another, churning together to create a whirlwind that was both gentle and fierce. And irresistible.

  All the warnings, all the caution, all the rules were swept away by those winds. His lips left hers and trailed kisses along her cheek, hesitating at her earlobe. He nibbled and felt her body react, fitting ever closer to his, seeking the feel of his growing hunger.

  His body reacted painfully. A primitive, elemental response. Need burned right through him. He saw the same desire in her eyes.

  He stepped away and took her hand. She stumbled slightly, as if her legs couldn’t quite carry her. Those strong legs that could take so much strain. Then he stumbled, too. The weakness was contagious.

  With his free hand, he took keys from his pocket, unlocked the boathouse and led her inside. For a moment the dim light made him pause, then he released her hand and used the winch to lower his brother-in-law’s cruiser. It had a small cabin.

  And a bed.

  He stepped inside and offered her his hand, then caught her as she lost her balance when a gentle swell rocked the boat. He held her for a moment, feeling her breath against his cheek, the body that was both soft and firm. Their gazes met, then their lips, with a mutual desperation that was explosive. Their mouths were almost frantic with the need to touch and feel and taste, to explore and be explored.

  The boat rocked again, throwing the two of them even closer together. His arms tightened around her. Her body melded to his and her lips opened, allowing his tongue entrance as her hands went up around his neck, caressing, teasing, asking things he wondered whether she was consciously aware of. Electric tension vibrated all around them, new and glorious and brilliant. His hands moved along her back, feeling the slender curves of her body through the soft, clingy material of her clothes. His lips turned greedy as they plundered her mouth, as his tongue tentatively, then more surely, teased and seduced and explored.

  His touch was tender beyond anything Marise had known. The warmth of his fingers streaked to the core of her, causing small tremors and explosions in that most intimate of places.

  Her senses had all been heightened this afternoon, perhaps because of her brushes with danger. And now they were stronger, more sensitive than ever before. Still, she felt tension in him, even reluctance, although his hands touched as if they couldn’t get enough of her. They moved and ran through her hair, loosening it from the ribbon holding it back. She closed her eyes to the gentle assault on her every sense, every emotion. Even her toes tingled.

  Marise responded as she’d never responded to a man before. She felt consumed by emot
ions, by an elemental need she couldn’t control. Sensations bombarded her, clawing at the boundaries of her body. She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted Cassidy MacKay at the moment, and the rage of the need overwhelmed her. Even when she’d thought she had been in love previously, she’d never felt this physical yearning, this terribly sweet pain to join body to body.

  This couldn’t last—wouldn’t last—but she had to grab at it. If she didn’t, she feared she would never know again the singing in her heart, the flight of that part of her soul that craved love. Then all thought gave way to one all-consuming physical need.

  His body trembled as it molded itself to hers, her tongue mating with his. She was barely aware of moving inside the cabin and then to the bed.

  His lips rained kisses along her face as his hands unzipped the top of her sweatsuit, then joined in the courtship of her body. Caressing. Touching lightly. Even tentatively, as if giving her every chance to say no. Then her jacket was off, and her bra, and she reveled in the look in his eyes as he leaned down and kissed one hard nipple, then the other.

  Every touch was both sensual and tender. She reached over and touched his belt, unbuckling it even as she felt its weight from the holster. It fell to the bed, and he stopped his exploration long enough to drop it to the floor.

  Then he pulled off his shirt, and the fingers of one of his hands touched her ear, followed by his lips. She felt the heated texture of his chest, the feathery tickling of his hair against her skin as his hands trailed rings of fire along her body.

  She wanted to explore and taste, too. Her mouth went to his ear, her tongue playing games on his skin, one of her hands twisting the dark, tousled hair, the other tracing patterns on his back. She ran her fingers along the shoulder muscles, the slight indentation that ran down his spine.

  “Marise,” he said, in a voice so low it was almost a sigh, as her hands fell to the zipper of his jeans. She felt the strain there, the hot throbbing under her touch. He shifted slightly while she slid both the jeans and briefs to his ankles and he kicked off his shoes. She looked at him. She’d seen him before when he wore a towel into the kitchen, and liked the lanky build with its quiet power.