Reilly's Promise

by Christyne Butler

  “Hey to you, too. I ran into the delivery boy from The Jade Garden in the lobby and offered to deliver your standing order. You should’ve waited until I got here.” Willard headed to the counter with the large paper bag. “I hate to say this, but I’m going to cancel—”

  “Hmmm, smells great.” Reilly brushed past Cassandra to walk over to the counter. “I didn’t know we were dining on take-out, babe. I would’ve given you my order.”

  The shocked look on Willard’s face matched what was racing inside her. What the hell was he talking about? “Gee, I never thought to ask—” Cassandra ground out between clenched teeth, “—babe.”

  “No matter, mu-shu pork is one of my favorites.” Reilly tore open the bag and peeked inside. “And unless my nose is deceiving me, you’ve got kung pao chicken and fried rice too.”

  “Cassandra, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Willard finally found his voice.

  “Willard Bancroft, this is Reilly Murdock.” Cassandra waved her hand from one man to the other. It was like looking at male versions of day and night. With his blond locks, fair skin and wire-rimmed glasses Willard epitomized the sun. Dark skin, hair and eyes made Reilly the equal of the darkness.

  “Nice to meet ya, Will.” Reilly removed his hand from inside the bag and grabbed Willard’s outstretched one. Cassandra saw her friend grimace as the muscles flexed in Reilly’s forearm.

  “It’s Willard.” He tugged to free his hand.

  “Right.” Releasing the man’s hand, Reilly moved into the kitchen. “So, Cassie, what do we need? Bowls or plates?”

  Reilly reached toward the upper cabinets. How did he know where she kept her dishes? “Umm, plates I guess.”

  “Cassie?” Willard turned to look at her, his brows arched high into his forehead. “Where in the world did you meet this guy?”

  “I’m sorry, I totally forgot about our meeting tonight,” Cassandra joined Willard at the counter. “I was at my mother’s earlier. You’re never going to believe this, but she—”

  “Introduced us,” Reilly interrupted as he pulled out a couple of plates and grabbed two forks from the rack on the counter. “Isn’t that amazing? I mean, how many couples today can say it was their mother who brought them together?”

  “Couple?” Willard asked, his gaze snapping between the two of them.

  “We just met this afternoon.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed as she focused on Reilly. “I think it’s a little early for the word ‘couple’.”

  “Well, I reckon you could be right.” Reilly walked out of the kitchen toward the living room. “You wanna eat out here, babe? Your dining room table looks like a cyclone hit it with the fabric and paperwork everywhere.”

  “Just how did you meet Cassandra’s mother?” Willard asked.

  Reilly froze, bent over the square coffee table nestled between the sofas, his hands filled with the plates and utensils. He lingered for a long moment before he gently set them down.

  “Ah, they met in Washington DC, during one of my mother’s recent visits.” Cassandra moved to perch on the arm of the closest sofa, purposely creating a barrier between the two men. “He was helpful in hailing her a cab one rainy morning, and you know my mother, always quick to strike up a conversation with anyone.”

  “Margaret just went on and on about her pretty daughter.” Reilly moved to stand next to her, sliding his arm along her shoulders. “I had to come up here and check her out for myself.”

  His leather jacket opened as he moved, framing her neck and the back of her head. The edge of it brushed against her cheek as he pulled her close. The sudden lump in her throat had to be swallowed away before she spoke. “Why don’t you stay and join us for dinner?”

  “No…thanks.” Willard shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat. “Like I was saying, I have to cancel our plans anyway. I must say you certainly have done a lot to this place since I moved out.”

  Cassandra’s smile froze. “Yes, I guess I have.”

  “Look at all those plants,” Willard continued as he strolled across the floor. “You moved them out here from the bedroom, huh? I bet it’s gotten like a jungle in there.”

  Okay, where did that come from?

  Being indebted to Willard for all he’d done for her and her mother didn’t give him the right to walk around her place, posturing like a rooster.

  Cassandra rose from the sofa, shaking off Reilly’s hand, ignoring the quick squeeze he gave her shoulder. She’d had enough of the swift rise in male testosterone in the air. “Well, you know my fondness for Tarzan. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Reilly,” Willard said.

  “Same here.”

  This time Cassandra gave into the urge to roll her eyes at the faked sincerity of their words, knowing both men were too busy staring each other down to notice. “Thanks for bringing my food.”

  Willard opened the door and stepped out into the hall. He turned to face her. “Who is that guy? Are you going to be okay? You know how I worry—”

  “Let’s not start that again.” Cassandra took a step forward into the hall, pulling the door behind her. “Did you get my check?”

  “Yes, but I’ve told you it’s not necessary. I don’t mind paying the mortgage for this place.”

  “You already cut my rent to a ridiculous amount.”

  “I know how much you hated the idea of moving back home after your father died. You love this loft, wanted to stay and I was happy to help.” Willard cupped her cheek. “Don’t you know how much you mean to me?”

  Cassandra turned from his touch as he leaned in for a kiss. His lips landed high on her cheek instead of their intended target.

  “Friends, remember?” A flash of exasperation surged through her.

  Willard withdrew his hand. “Sure, I remember. For now.”

  “Willard—”

  “Be careful, Cassandra. I don’t trust that guy. If I didn’t have to have dinner with my folks I’d stay, but you know how it is.” Willard checked his watch. “My father needs me there to keep Mother under control. Either that, or to clean up any mess she creates.”

  Sadly, she did know how controlling and needy Edwin and Elizabeth Bancroft were and the influence they had over their son’s life. She also knew Willard wouldn’t leave until she acknowledged his words.

  Cassandra nodded and swallowed a sigh of relief when he turned away, yanking on the belt of his trench coat. A flat package fell to the floor in the movement. “Willard, wait.” She bent and picked up the open cardboard envelope. “You dropped—”

  Glossy images of herself spilled into Cassandra’s hands. Her outside the shop working on an autumn display. Working with Lily rearranging items in the store’s large picture window. “What in the world?”

  “Oh, you weren’t supposed to see those yet.” Willard reached for the pictures.

  “Why is that? And why do you have these?” Cassandra flipped through the remaining dozen or so photographs, both black and white and color, stopping on the last one of her standing at the front entrance of the shop sipping a cup of tea as a soft rain fell. “This one was taken earlier this week!”

  “Yes, I know. Don’t you remember our discussion about new advertising for the shop?”

  “No.”

  Willard covered her hands with his and pulled the photos free. He tucked them back inside the envelope. “I’m sure you do. I told you adding images to your magazine ads would increase—”

  “And I vetoed the idea because of the cost,” Cassandra interrupted. “Are you saying you had pictures taken of the shop and of me? Without my consent?”

  “They came out beautifully, didn’t they?” Willard trailed a finger along her jaw, his smile slipping when she stepped back. “We’ll talk about this later when you’re not feeling snippy. You better get back to your…guest.”

  Snippy? She was still too dazed to feel anything at the moment. The memory of her and Willard talking about the shop’s advertising budget ca
me back to her, but she couldn’t afford the marketing company he wanted to sign up. To discover he’d gone and hired someone to take photographs of her anyway, no matter how beautiful they were, was downright creepy.

  Cassandra stepped back inside her apartment and closed the door, pausing to rest her forehead against the cool surface.

  “Don’t forget to lock it.”

  Confusion flared to anger and Cassandra whirled around. “Stop with the orders! And what’s with this love struck cowboy routine?”

  “What? You didn’t like my impression of John Wayne?” Reilly turned to the antique armoire that served as an entertainment center. Dropping to a low crouch, he flipped through the numerous DVDs on the bottom shelf. “Well, look what we have here. Guys and Dolls, An Officer and A Gentleman, Casablanca. I think you’re the love struck one. Bet you don’t have a single Western in here.”

  “It’s something I’ve learned to live with.”

  “And you’re going to have to learn to live with me too, princess. Until I figure out what’s going on here.”

  “Would you please stop calling me that? And why the secrecy? Willard knows about the things my mother is so concerned with.” Cassandra flipped the locks on the door before moving to the counter. She grabbed the bag of Chinese food, the aroma causing her stomach to growl as she continued into the living room.

  “Because the fewer people who know why I’m here the better.” Reilly rose to his full height before moving to the sofa across from her. “But you already knew that, seeing how I met your mother on her last trip to DC.”

  “I didn’t know where you were going with your hokey ‘babe’ thing so I played along.” Cassandra emptied the bag of various-sized white cartons. “One, because I’m hungry and two, the last thing I need is someone else watching over me.”

  “He does like to watch, doesn’t he?”

  Willard’s photos flashed through her mind. She couldn’t shake the weird sensation over the fact he’d hired someone to take pictures of her. Could that be why she felt as if she’d been watched over the last few weeks?

  But those pictures had been taken at Van Winter Treasures. None of them were here at her apartment. She shook her head to dispel the thought and a strand of curls escaped. “Willard is an—”

  “Old family friend.” Reilly interrupted her, his tone sharp. “Yeah, you said that already. A pretty friendly old family friend.”

  Cassandra shrugged and returned her attention to the food. “We dated a few times.”

  “And he recently moved out of here?”

  She should’ve known he’d picked up on Willard’s comment.

  KISS, she thought, the childhood acronym flashing in her head while she folded the bag. Keep it simple, sweetheart. She wasn’t about to share what had driven her out of her parents’ home. “Willard moved out six years ago, before I moved in. I sublet this place from him and to answer your next question, his family owns two other condos in the building, which explains how he’s able to get in unannounced.”

  “And why he knows the local delivery boy. So, what do you drink with Chinese? Iced tea?” Reilly removed his jacket.

  One impossibly wide shoulder, then the other, appeared when he slid his arms free. The empty gun holster hugged his left side, emphasizing the breadth of his chest and narrowness of his waist when he tossed the aged leather jacket onto the arm of the sofa.

  “Cassandra? Hello?” His mouth rose into a half grin. “What do you want to drink with dinner?”

  Embarrassment filled her. She tore her gaze away from his biceps and the black cotton material stretched tightly over them, hoping it looked more casual than it felt. “Ah, tea is fine. Or water. I usually have a glass of wine with dinner, but water is good—um, great. I’ll get it.”

  “I’ll get it,” Reilly insisted as he headed for the kitchen. “You sit and eat. Don’t let me being here stop you from your normal routine.”

  Cassandra dropped to the sofa, forcing herself not to watch him walk away. How did he do that? One minute he was grilling her like the private investigator he claimed to be and the next he was offering to get her something to drink.

  And he thought she was involved with Willard.

  She knew her childhood friend still harbored a crush on her. They’d gone out on a few dates in college and, while he was a step above the boys who’d only dated her because of her last name, they had both agreed they’d never be more than friends.

  Something Willard was having a hard time remembering.

  She dismissed the thought as she opened the center drawer in the table, determined not to let Reilly or Willard upset her.

  Normal routine, huh? Okay, first candles, then she needed to change her clothes. She lit the trio of vanilla-scented candles on the table then reached for the stereo’s remote control.

  Dammit, where’s the remote?

  She checked the cushions before moving to its twin, but still came up empty. Peering underneath the coffee table and both sofas, she spotted a dark square object resting near the back edge of one of the sofas. Fingers outstretched, she fiddled with its smooth edges before it slipped into her grasp.

  “Ah ha! I’ve got you!”

  “But what are you going to do with me?”

  “What?” Wrenching her hand back, Cassandra cracked her elbow on the frame of the sofa. A pair of cowboy boots appeared in front of her nose and she lunged upward, smacking her head on the corner of the coffee table. “Ow! Oh, son-of-a-bit—”

  “Hey now, is that any way for a debutante to talk?”

  “It is for this deb! That hurt!”

  Cassandra’s hand went for the stinging on the side of her head as a bottle of wine and two glasses appeared on the coffee table.

  Reilly dropped to one knee in front of her, squeezing into the already tight space. His hands pushed aside her fingers as he gently brushed her curls to one side. “Where does it hurt?”

  A muscular, jean-clad thigh filled the space between her legs as he knelt, forcing her to choose between putting her hands on the furniture or him. She chose the furniture.

  “Where I hit it—ouch!” Cassandra jerked away when he touched the tender area. “Right there!”

  “Come on, let me see if you drew blood.”

  “It’s going to be red, don’t be surprised.”

  He let loose a deep rasp she now knew was his laugh. She watched the effect it had on his chest. The smooth cotton material of his tee shirt expanded and fell inches from her face as her eyes locked onto his bobbing Adam’s apple.

  “I wasn’t expecting it to be blue,” Reilly said, his fingers continuing to massage her scalp. “You’ve got a good size knot here, but you didn’t break the skin. What were you doing crawling around on the floor?”

  “Looking for the damn remote—ouch!”

  She cried out again, but this time the howl froze in her throat when her wrist jerked. The remote control, still clenched in her fingers, whacked Reilly hard on the side of his face. She looked up, and watched him press his fingertips to the bottom edge of his eye socket while blinking repeatedly.

  “Oh, I bet that smarts.” She winced.

  “Ya think?”

  The sarcasm in his whispered words squashed her instinct to back away. “Tough it out, cowboy. You’re the one who startled me, remember?”

  Reilly didn’t respond to her taunt. He reached behind his back, arm muscles rippling in symmetry as he yanked his gun from the waistband of his jeans.

  “Oh, what? Are you going to shoot me now?”

  Chapter Four

  Punching at the pillows beneath his head, Reilly tried again to find a comfortable position that would allow him to get a couple of hours of shuteye. It wasn’t going to happen. The moment he’d stretched out on Cassandra’s sofa he’d realized either his head or his feet would spend the night propped up on one of the padded arms.

  He should’ve given up and stretched out on the floor. He would’ve too, except Cassandra had stood, loaded with enoug
h pillows and blankets for three people, watching him. After he’d grabbed a couple of pillows and a faded plaid stadium blanket, he’d offered her a gruff goodnight and she’d walked away with a playful spring in her step.

  So he’d stayed on the couch to spite her.

  The memory of her swaying hips, combined with her exotic scent clinging to the blanket, filled his mind and his nose. Both played havoc with his libido the moment she’d snapped off the lights, leaving him alone in the dark.

  “Admit it, Murdock. That’s the real reason you can’t get comfortable,” Reilly muttered as he pushed the blanket off his too warm skin until it gathered at his waist.

  He checked his watch and sighed. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. Had it only been two hours since he’d faked a yawn in order to get Cassandra to admit she needed some sleep?

  Running his hand over his face, he passed the tender area where she’d whacked him earlier with the remote. After she’d gone to her bedroom to change, they’d settled into dinner. She’d spent most of it either apologizing or eyeing the gun he’d laid on the table. He’d finally holstered it, telling her he’d removed it because it was jamming into his back and no, he wasn’t going to shoot her.

  Shoot her?

  Hell, it’d taken all his strength not to grab her and plant a slow, deep, wet kiss on that smart mouth of hers. Her wisecrack about toughing it out had created the desire to come back with a cocky reply of his own.

  He’d expected cynical posturing, not a genuine sense of humor, and it surprised him. But before he could say anything, he’d looked into her eyes and seen confusion and fascination battle for supremacy in those dark green depths.

  Confusion he’d seen before. Fascination. That was a new one.

  Pushing aside the memory, Reilly gave up his attempt at sleep. He sat up, dropped his bare feet to the carpet and grabbed for one of his duffle bags. He took his cell phone from an inside pocket and punched in the Washington D.C. phone number.

  “DiMarrio,” a familiar craggy voice answered on the second ring.