The look on Grant's face is unreadable at the moment.
I finish my second glass of wine and watch him him watch the storm through the big glass doors that lead to the balcony.
Another flash of lightning brightens the room and thunder rolls above the hotel shortly afterward.
"Storm's getting worse," he finally says, "I better get back downstairs."
Grant
No wonder she looked like she was hiding when I first spotted her in the lobby-- she was.
I can tell it's hard for her to open up about her ordeal, and I don't want to do anything to make her feel self conscious or ashamed. It's not like this is her fault.
Cassidy explains how she's been stalked by some asshole that she went to high school with. Some guy she hadn't even seen in years and barely remembered.
Apparently he'd had a crush on her back in school.
"He got married to some girl he met in college," Cass tells me, "but I guess she left him and that's when he moved back to town."
That's when he ran into Cass and that's when he decided she was his real destiny.
"I barely even remembered him from school," she says, "I never even knew he knew who I was."
"So when he came back to town, did you go out with him?"
It's so hard for me to wrap my head around anybody being as crazy as what she's describing without some kind of reason.
Cassidy shakes her head, her dark hair moving around her shoulders, catching the warm light from the candles I lit just in case the power goes out for good the next time it flickers.
"Not even casually," she says emphatically, "I mean, from the beginning he was just-- off, you know?"
Yeah, I know. Working in the hospitality industry, I've come across my fair share of weirdos and mentally unstable people.
I nod.
"So why didn't you get a restraining order against him?" I ask as I load the dishes into the washer and package up the leftovers.
"I did."
Cassidy's voice carried the indignation of someone who's been accused of bringing this on herself and knowing that people have blamed her, have added to her problems and been part of the reason she almost ended up freezing to death in her car in a hotel parking lot thousands of miles from her home?
It makes me burn with rage.
But I force myself to stay calm, and do my best to quickly assure her that that's not what I mean.
"So what happened? The judge didn't grant it? Because of this loser's sister in law or what?"
"No."
Now Cassidy's voice turns small and distant.
I think I might lose her here. This might be all of her story she can handle sharing in one go.
I try to prepare myself to accept that, even though I'm aching to know everything so I can track this jerk down and make sure he never tries to contact Cass again.
"I got the restraining order but it just made things worse."
Seeing the way her eyes mist over and hearing the fear in her voice just from whatever memories are going through her head makes me sick. I almost don't want to know the rest.
"It turns out he has a contractor's license with the state," she continues, thankfully sounding a little stronger, "it got revoked when the restraining order became permanent. That's when he got crazy.
"He went from obsessive, love-struck, stalker to threatening and potentially violent psychopath."
"Isn't that a violation of the order though?"
Her pretty head shakes again, "No. He was being careful not get caught. But he kept sending me all kinds of emails and texts and the cops said there was nothing they could do about that."
"That's not harassment?"
I have to check my tone of voice to bring down the anger levels when I see Cassidy's eyes widen in shock.
She has no clue how affected I am by finding this out.
Hell! I thought she was just another twenty-something doing the modern vagabond thing, living in her car to see the world or some shit.
Sure, I clued in early on that she had a story, but I figured it was a broken heart or maybe she lost a parent recently or something.
Finding out she's literally on the run? Possibly for her life? From some psycho that brought his own problems on himself because he couldn't take no for an answer?
Something about this petite beauty, the way she's both vulnerable and yet resilient in light of what she's been through, I want to wrap her up in my arms and make sure she knows I'll never let anything bad get to her again.
I'm overcome with the intense need to protect her.
She kinda shrugs, "Apparently it didn't violate his restraining order though."
While we clean up from dinner, Cass finishes telling me how things escalated, from finding her car vandalized in the parking lot where she worked to the night she came home from a night out with her friends to find a dead cat on her porch.
"Then someone broke into my apartment," she says. Her voice has taken on a detached quality as if she's talking about something that happened to someone else, "and kinda trashed the place and wrote some stuff on my mirror."
I open another bottle of wine.
I shouldn't drink any more. The first couple of glasses have already affected my better judgment and I'm afraid if I indulge in another glass I won't be smart enough to keep a safe distance from Cass.
But lord knows, she deserves another glass.
Too bad about the storm. She could also use a good long soak in the hot tub in the master bedroom...and a massage.
And that's why I don't pour another glass of wine for myself, even though Cassidy gives me a look that makes me wonder if she'd mind.
Cassidy takes a long sip of the wine and stares out the glass doors at the storm lighting up the badlands.
"I was out with my friend, Lisa, and when she pulled up to drop me off, we noticed my door was open and she wouldn't even let me get out of the car till the cops got there. But the cops said there was no evidence that it had been Don, so they couldn't arrest him.
"They just suggested that if I didn't feel safe, maybe I should get out of town for a few days."
The lights flicker again and I know the storm is only gearing up.
"That's why I was going to go stay with my folks" Cass stares into her glass.
A chill runs through me.
"So what did he write on your mirror?" I ask.
"Everything he says is crazy," Cass says, "It said, 'You're only making things worse for yourself."
"What does that mean?" I ask.
Cass shrugs and looks up at me through thick, black lashes with those stormy gray eyes, "I told you everything he says is crazy."
"When was the last time you heard from him?"
"Not since I got here a few days ago," she assures me, sounding a little more relaxed, "so I'm hoping he gave up finally."
Cassidy
Telling the whole story to Grant turns out not to be as traumatic as I'd prepared myself for.
This is the first time I've told anyone all of it. Other than my best friend, Lisa, and my parents who've been following along the whole time.
"So you think his sister-in-law is the reason he knew you were headed to Florida?" Grant asks.
"Maybe," I say with a shrug, "but he sent me an email asking if I was heading to Montana a few days after I turned around and headed in the other direction. There's no way he could have known I was going in that direction unless he had access to something like my credit card transactions at gas pumps or something."
It's just a theory Dad came up with when it happened, but it's the only one that puts the pieces together.
"That's when I had to stop using my cards," I say.
"How are you getting by?"
Grant sounds so worried.
It's sweet but I don't know why he's so invested.
"Mom and Dad had me pick up one of those pre-paid credit cards from a store on the way and they add a little money to it as they can. But they're retired and on a fixed
income that's pretty tightly budgeted, so it's not like they can afford to put me up in a place or--"
I look around at the lavish hotel suite I'm currently standing in, "-- a hotel or anything," I finish.
"Plus, I've been really freaked out about staying in one place for very long," I add.
I want to tell him that this is the first place I've been where I feel safe. That it's not really about the place-- it's him.
Grant makes me feel protected. Like I can trust him. He won't let anything bad happen to me.
Grant makes me feel a lot of things. Things that confuse me a little-- I'm not currently in a position to be looking for love, exactly.
While I help him clean up from dinner and put things away I fill in the gaps I left in the story by answering his questions.
Explaining the series of burner phones I've gone through as I cross state lines so I can keep in touch with my friends and family while we all try to figure out how to end this nightmare so I can get my life back.
"Let me see what I can do," Grant tells me in a voice that's surprisingly reassuring.
I follow him to the main door of the big suite, scrambling for some excuse to keep him from leaving.
He has my parents' phone number and email in a note on his cell phone now. "I'll get a hold of them from my personal account," he explains, "no one's tracking my shit and at least they'll know you're OK."
We stand together in the open door, me just inside the room, him just outside in the hallway.
"It's gonna work out," Grant tells me, his finger under my chin, lifting my face up his, "I promise."
I believe him.
But more importantly, I want him to kiss me.
For a second it feels like he's going to.
I hold my breath.
The world around us goes quiet and the pounding of my own heart fills my eardrums.
Then the storm kicks up in a violent reminder that it's not ready to pass us over yet. Wind shakes the windows as a flash of lightning temporarily blinds me just as thunder cracks above us so loud it sounds like a plane has crashed into the hotel.
The bright flash of lightning winks out, taking the lights with it for a few seconds before the electricity flickers back to life.
"Get back in your room," Grant gently orders, "and light the rest of those candles I put out, I don't think we're going to have power for much longer. I better get back downstairs."
And just like that, the moment has passed. He's back into bossy mode-- taking care of me again.
I watch him round the corner to the elevators and hear the call button ding softly before I close the door after him.
Inside, I pull the heavy blinds closed over the big windows, just like Grant had suggested.
I hate to do it, I like watching the storm, but he's right; if the windows break, I don't want glass flying across the room at me-- even though the glass is designed for the weather here so that's not likely. Still, it's good to be safe.
Then I check all the candles that Grant gathered from around the suite and left on the counter. Several of them are battery operated so I turn them on and place them around the suite so I can find my way from room to room in case the power does go out for good.
Just as I return from setting one of the battery operated candles in the master bedroom, that's exactly what happens.
The power doesn't even flicker this time. It just winks out like someone flipped the master breaker.
Lighting more of the regular candles, I bring them to the living room and make a bouquet of them on the center of the coffee table near the couch that's farthest away from the windows.
There are enough of them that, placed together like this, the front room is lit with a soft glow that's pretty easy to see by.
Maybe I can get some crochet work done.
It's been my main source of income on the road, keeping food in my stomach and gas in the car when Mom and Dad's contributions run low.
It's stupid that I had to walk away from my home and my job without notice. That's the kind of stuff that happens in movies, not real life. Not to ordinary girls like me that live in suburban apartment buildings and decorate wedding cakes for a living.
When Grant had asked me if I really thought Donald would hurt me if he found me, I know he wasn't suggesting I overreacted.
Grant really wanted to know if I believe I'm in danger.
Alone in the dark in a strange place, I curl up on the couch and watch the flickering light of the candles create eerie shadows on the walls.
Yes.
Yes I really do believe that Donald will do something stupid if he finds me.
I wish Grant had stayed at least a little longer.
Grant
Dammit! I didn't even wait to make sure she locked the door after I left. I couldn't. I couldn't stand there a second longer. If I had, I might not have managed to leave her at all.
Cass doesn't need that right now. She's been through enough, the last thing she needs is for me to take advantage of the situation.
No way. I won't have her thinking that I want something in return for pulling her in out of the cold and giving her a safe, warm place to stay for awhile.
And I sure as hell don't want her to think she owes me either.
Just now, standing on the threshold of the room, holding her delicate chin in my fingertips and seeing the hopeful look in her eyes? That got to me.
My dick is still half hard as I wait on the elevator while I try to talk myself down.
Down from calling my buddy, the local Sheriff back up and having him track this asshole-- and his unethical sister-in-law-- down for me so I can make sure he knows that if he ever bothers Cassidy again, I'll make sure he ends up as just another black hills legend.
Down from the crazyass need to get back in that suite and make sure Cass knows she's safe now.
Down from the crazyass need for Cassidy.
The need to kiss her and smooth her hair away from her face. The need to touch every inch of her and...
Thank God, the elevator arrives with a soft ding, lighting the little number 12 above the door as it slides open.
The sooner I get back downstairs and put 12 floors of hotel space between us, the better.
Inside the car, I breathe a sigh of relief-- or is it disappointment?-- and tap the button marked "L."
But the elevator doors don't close.
With a bit of confusion, I press the button for the lobby again, even though it's already lit. When the doors still don't respond, I press the button to close them.
Nothing.
Then the lights dim and then they go out entirely.
After a couple of seconds, the emergency light that's wired to a battery backup comes on inside the elevator carriage, but since the doors are still open, no alarm goes off.
Outside the elevator, the 12th floor of the hotel is dark except for the green glow of the exit signs above the stairwell doors at the end of the hall.
I don't have much choice but to head toward the stairs.
Passing the door to P2 it takes every ounce of my will power not to knock on her door.
Just to check on her, of course.
That's what I tell myself.
As I reach the stairwell door, I hear a noise in the hall behind me.
"Grant?"
Her voice calls after me, sounding hopeful and unsure. It's enough to stop me in my tracks.
"Cass?" I turn back toward the sound of her voice in the dark hallway, doing my best to sound like a competent hotel manager, not the lust struck fool that I've become, "Is everything OK? Do you need me to light the fireplace so you have more light? Or anything?"
Or anything.
Anything like lay beside her all night, holding her so she knows she's safe. Anything like kiss those pouty lips of hers till they forget how to frown. Anything like--
"Yeah, OK, that sounds good."
But when I go back to her room, she doesn't move out of the doorway so I can go past her. It
's only a second of hesitation between our eyes as we find each other in the darkness and then my lips are on hers.
I don't know who makes the first move. I don't know whose mouth is hungrier. I don't know how we get across the front room or how we land together on the long, leather couch where Cassidy was sitting earlier.
She's on top of me, straddling my lap, while my hands frantically try to feel all of her at once; pulling her raven hair from the band that's been holding it back so I can run my fingers through the silken tresses; splaying out across the delicate curve of her spine and wrapping around the indention of her waist.
Her lips seer mine, her tongue tiny and sweet as it finds its way between my teeth and coaxes mine against it.
Cassidy's fingers comb through my hair, down the back of my neck, to the front of my shirt where they begin working the buttons apart. All while her little pussy grinds against my hard cock in a rhythm that has me ready to throw her onto the floor rug and give her what she's begging for.
Her fingers work my unbuttoned shirt free from my trousers and her hands against my bare chest light my skin up like she's conducting electricity directly from the lightning outside.
Kicking my shoes off without interrupting her, I roll her onto her back, pressing her into the butter-soft leather.
"Grant." She mumbles my name against my ear just before her teeth catch against my earlobe, drawing a coarse growl from my throat as my cock surges against her mound.
Words I don't understand follow between the soft bites she takes out of my neck as she tries to take control from below me.
"Be careful," I warn her through clenched teeth as I suck in a breath when her hand reaches between us and takes hold of my cock through the fly of my pants, "don't start something you don't plan to finish."
Cassidy
Oh but I do plan to finish, I plan to finish at least a couple of times.
Because feeling Grant's hard body against mine makes me feel alive in a way that I never thought I would again.
Knee Deep in Sugar Page 6
