Boyce set his gift on hers and smiled. “Certainly.”
With steaming mugs in hand, Cassy entered the kitchen where Jolie and her mother, Ginny, were speaking in low tones over the sink. Jolie glanced over at the sound of their entrance then did a double take.
“Cassy, that dress is gorgeous.” Jolie hurried around the peninsula counter, slowing when her attention was diverted. “Agent Hunt, what are you doing here?”
“He’s my plus one,” Cassy said, peeking back at him.
“It’s a fine home you have here, Mrs. Murdoch.” Leave it to Boyce to crank up the charm.
Ginny Murdoch beamed. “Agent? What agency do you belong to?”
“FBI,” Jolie supplied before Boyce could answer.
“Interesting.” Ginny’s voice hinted at wariness.
Robust laughter from the living room thawed the sudden iciness in the kitchen. Boyce caught Cassy’s free hand and tugged her into the living room.
Hamilton and Nash mingled with Eider’s “power couples”—two bank managers and their wives, the mayor and her husband, Eider’s police chief, his wife noticeably absent, and the grain and feed elevator owners—husband and wife co-owners. Those were just the ones who had arrived already. A cold gust blew in one more couple: Con and Nic.
Cassy cringed. She had forgotten they were coming, and they had no clue she’d brought Boyce. And by the steely look she was getting from Hamilton, he was none too happy to see the agent here. She became aware that Boyce wasn’t lingering next to her. Instead, he was chatting with one of the bank managers. She racked her brain, trying to remember the man’s name … It started with a C, of what she could recall.
“My, my, Nic, your sister does cut a fine figure in that dress.”
Cassy turned to greet her sister and brother-in-law. “Enjoy it while it lasts. Doubt I’ll ever wear it again.”
“It’s more than I can say for your sister.” Con gave his wife an impish grin, much like the mythical leprechauns of his native Ireland.
“Keep that shit up, O’Hanlon, and you can sleep in the barn with the horses, and Cadno can keep me warm tonight.”
Cassy snickered, drowning it with a sip of cider to avoid her sister laying in to her next. “Who’s watching Liam?”
“Emma and The … Dad.” Nic still choked out the word, as it was a foreign concept for her after decades of calling him “The General.”
Con’s gaze narrowed. “Why is Agent Hunt here?”
“I brought him … Well, more like he invited himself, and I was the sucker who couldn’t say no.”
“Agent Asshole convinced you to bring him to this? Why the hell didn’t you dropkick him to the curb?” Oh, Nic, and her colorful language.
“Do you kiss your son with that filthy mouth?”
Nic glowered. “Cassy, he’s bad news and has been since the moment I laid eyes on him.”
“You hated him because he ‘worshipped’ Pop, as you put it.”
“If I remember right, you did, too, after he dumped you, not once, but twice, and ran for the hills.”
With a raised eyebrow, Cassy sipped more of her cider. Her actions made Nic’s hazel eyes spark with anger.
Con gripped his wife’s arm. “Let’s see what Ginny has to drink for an emotionally pregnant woman.”
Cassy released the shudder she’d held back. Nic was going to give her a butt chewing that would last most of the week.
“By the way your sister had to be wrangled out of here by her husband, I’m going to assume she’s already read you the riot act for bringing the agent here.”
Her gaze slid to her boss, standing to her left. “Assume you’re right. And, frankly, Hamilton, I’m not in the mood to hear you lay it on even thicker. He had a reason, and I couldn’t fault him if it pertains to his case. Sooner he wraps, the sooner we’re rid of him.”
Hamilton’s eyes glinted with an unrecognizable emotion. “Better be right about that, Rivers.” With that, he wandered over to the police chief.
Fine. If everyone wanted to be a royal ass about it, she wasn’t going to stand here and listen to them bitch. Placing her half-empty cup on a side table, she vacated the living room. The foyer was empty—she could hear Eli’s voice booming from the kitchen—so she took advantage of it and mounted the stairs, heading for the second-story bathroom, the carpeted steps muffling her retreat. She’d stay there until she got herself under control, or she left.
• • •
He sensed Cassy’s presence leaving the living room. While Peter Clyde droned on about his beloved Iowa Hawkeyes, Boyce shifted his stance to pan the room, glimpsing a shapely leg and a black pump disappearing up the stairs. Finding a natural pause in Clyde’s conversation, Boyce excused himself on the premise of needing to locate the restroom. He hurried out of the room, glanced back at the gathering of people to make sure no one was paying attention to him, then took the stairs two at a time.
The second level of the home was as thoroughly decorated as the first and had its own sparkling tree parked in a corner. All but two doors were open. Boyce headed for the closest one; the one at the end of the hall might lead to an attic. He tapped on the light wood.
Silence met his inquiry. He leaned closer, pressing his ear against the wood. A muffled sniffle reached him. He rapped again. “Cassy?”
A sharp intake of breath confirmed her presence. He tried the handle. Locked. “Cassy, can I come in?” He held his breath as he waited.
The click of the lock being released was his only warning to step back in time as the door opened. With a tissue wadded in her hand and red-rimmed eyes, Cassy grabbed his arm and dragged him into the nearest bedroom.
“I’m not talking to you in the bathroom,” she whispered, her voice ragged with emotion.
Releasing his arm, she turned, her skirt flaring out, and closed the bedroom door, locking it. Instead of facing him, she pressed her hand against the frame and bowed her head.
Boyce’s heart ached at the sight. “What’s wrong, sweet pea? You aren’t one to weep easily.”
Her fingers curled inside her hand, and she drew in a shuddering breath. Slowly, her hand fell to her side, and she turned. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I’m sick and tired of everyone second-guessing my decisions and making me feel like a child.”
“Who’s … Wait, I can guess, and it’ll only take me once.”
“Boyce, what are we doing?”
He frowned. “I was under the impression we were at a Christmas party.”
“Not that. I mean what are we doing? When you returned, I told you to stay away from me, and not once have you done as I demanded. And, damn it, I can’t seem to avoid you, either.”
Moving closer, he drank her in. She was a beautiful woman, and the dress accentuated that beauty. Elegant and sympathetic, she was the opposite of her sister. Yet, like Nic, Cassy was every bit her father, too, with a will of iron and a commanding presence. She was everything Mother was not, and it’s what called Boyce to her. Why he’d been smitten back then.
And now, with her shimmering eyes and slightly smudged mascara, he couldn’t resist the pull she had on him.
“I don’t know, sweet pea. I have absolutely no idea what is going on.”
She tilted her head, exposing the satiny length of her neck. His mouth watered at the thought of kissing it, of kissing her.
“We both know as soon as you finish what you’re doing here, you’ll be gone, again. Back to Memphis. And I’ll be left here. Alone.”
He caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “I’m in no rush,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened, a breath escaping her parted lips.
“I can stay on longer if you want. All it takes is one request from the sheriff or the police chief, and I can ask for an extended leave to aid the departments.” He lowered his head, coming closer to her lips. “Just say the word, and we can explore this further.”
“They’ll never go for it.”
“You’re a persuasive woman. You’ll
find a way if it means getting what we both want.”
“What is it that we both want?”
One hand strayed to her trim waist to ease her flush to his body, and the other hand ran the length of her bare arm to grasp her hand. Boyce feathered a kiss on her brow. “There’s a pull, a reason we can’t stay away from each other. Every time we deny it, the urge gets stronger.”
“Is that why you ran? You were scared?”
“I’m not scared.” He kissed the juncture of her earlobe and cheek. “I don’t feel, remember?”
She shuddered, and a quiet moan slipped free. Boyce’s body stirred at the sound. God, how he’d missed her. No matter how far he ran or how busy he tried to stay, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He was a different man around her, not the polished, emotionally in-check man he presented to the world. Cassy had an uncanny ability to turn him inside out and reveal the man Mother had tried to ruin.
Cassy shifted against him, making him groan. “Boyce.” Her husky voice conjured up memories of what it was like to make love to her.
“What is it, sweet pea?”
“You’re wrong.” Her mouth found the sensitive spot on his neck, making his pulse throb.
Boyce closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her flicking tongue. “About what?”
She hummed, the vibrations on his neck nearly undoing him. The vixen knew how to manipulate him to get the best results.
“Not feeling.” She freed her hand from his and coiled her arm around his waist. “You’re letting them show.”
“You’re a bad influence,” he growled and claimed her lips.
She tasted of tears and warm, sweet wine. While his mouth explored hers, his hands roamed, remembering the contours and softness of her body. Cassy did her own exploring, touching him in all the right places to heat him up and make his nerves thrum in anticipation. Boyce left her mouth and blazed a trail of kisses along her neck, gradually easing her back against the wall. Trapped between him and the wall, she hooked her arms around his neck and arched her back, thrusting her chest out. Boyce accepted the invitation and buried his face in the soft mounds cupped by velvet.
The slam of a door startled them. Boyce staggered back, dragging her with him. Like a rag doll, she flopped into his chest. Heavy, angry footsteps passed by the room and thundered down the steps. Shivering, she pushed herself upright and smoothed the rumples from her dress.
Boyce took a ragged breath. Their current situation and the events taking place below them rammed home. Good God, he was about to have sex with Cassy in a stranger’s bedroom, while there was a party going on, with her sister in attendance. Piss and vinegar, he was acting like a damn frat boy taking advantage of a drunk high school girl at a forbidden party.
“Are you actually mad?”
Cassy’s question jolted him out of his mental butt tanning. He schooled his features and shook his head. “This is not the best place to be … rekindling our affections.”
“Yeah, probably right.” She patted her hair. “Do I look like you … ya know?”
Like she’d been close to ripping his suit from him and having her way? The French twist had loosened, but other than the flushed look, she didn’t appear to have been pressed against the wall and practically ravaged by him. “If you can, perhaps you should fix your hair.”
“Go downstairs first. I’ll take care of this and join you. I have no idea what you’re going to tell people if they see us coming down together. Just figure something out.”
“I usually do.” He placed a kiss on her lips. “Stop worrying.” He opened the door, scanned the hall and staircase, and, finding the way clear, left.
Hurrying down the stairs, his steps slowed as the sounds of an argument reached him. Boyce spotted the party attendees crowding a far corner of the living room, trying not to stare at the disagreement going on, each face showing their own embarrassment at what was occurring.
“You’re a fucking bastard! I can’t believe you’d do this to me!”
Boyce eased off the last step and inched his way along the hall toward the dining room, catching Nic and Con’s attention. Nic’s furious shake of her head and cut-across-the-throat motion made Boyce pause.
“Ian, I will not tolerate this behavior in my home, and at this time,” Eli Murdoch boomed.
“Both of you need to knock it off,” Jolie Murdoch snapped. “Ian, get the hell out of here. Now.”
At the slap of a hand on hardwood, Boyce automatically backed into the wall. Suddenly, a pissed-off young man barreled into the hallway. His shoulder slammed into Boyce, and it took everything in him not to punch the kid. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Cassy coming down the stairs. Boyce’s muscles bunched, ready to pounce if the kid made a move toward her. But she halted midway to watch the young man storm out of the house, the front door rattling everything on the walls. Her gaze swung to Boyce, and she mouthed, “What was that about?”
He shrugged then went to meet her as she descended the last step.
“Folks, we’re sorry about that,” Ginny Murdoch said.
Boyce leaned close to Cassy and whispered in her ear, “Ian Murdoch apparently picked a fight with his father. Over what, I have no idea.”
She groaned. “This is not good.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ginny,” Hamilton assured their host.
Another peeved woman materialized in front of Boyce and Cassy. Nic’s narrowed gaze pinned him. “What were you doing upstairs?” she hissed.
“None of your damn business, sister. Now if you’ll excuse me, this party has had enough family squabbles for the evening, and I’m starving.” With a flounce of her skirt, Cassy headed for the dining room, grabbing his hand and dragging him with her.
Over his shoulder, he flashed Nic his best shit-eating grin. Damn, this could be fun, goading her. But he had to tread carefully, or he’d lose the one person he needed as an ally in helping Cassy get through whatever was coming.
Chapter Seventeen
After the messy business with the Murdochs’ son, the party rebounded and ended with everyone in attendance having a fun time and generating quite a pile of gifts for deserving families. Boyce managed to glean a bit more from Peter Clyde on why he thought the robbers targeted his bank. His bank was doing so well, there was talk among the board about opening another branch in one of the nearby towns. Boyce had also overheard a hushed discussion between the Murdochs and Clydes about family tensions.
But once Cassy had her fill of holiday joy, she pestered him to take her home. The thought of a repeat kissing performance sent a ripple of anticipation through him. They made their excuses—ignoring the pointed stares from Nic and Hamilton—and left the party. Cassy clung to his arm, trying to keep her balance on the slick drive. She’d had a few too many cups of mulled wine.
As they approached the car, movement from his right caught Boyce’s eye. Senses on alert, he saw a shadow peel itself from the side of the garage. His grip tightened on Cassy’s arm; she stiffened and slowed to a stop.
“What?” she whispered, turning to see where he was looking.
Ian Murdoch staggered around the corner of the garage that faced the house and fumbled through a snowdrift toward the back of the garage. Seeming to sense their scrutiny, he paused.
“What the fuck are you lookin’ at?”
Boyce shifted Cassy’s body behind his. Her fingers dug into his arm.
“Ian, are you okay?” she asked, scowling at Boyce as she resumed her position at his side.
“Fuck off, bitch!”
That black void shrouded Boyce’s mind. That shit-eating punk. He would teach Ian a lesson Eli Murdoch couldn’t. He pulled free of Cassy’s grasp and moved to go after the son of a bitch.
“Boyce, no.” Cassy pawed at his arm, succeeding in grabbing his hand.
Through the veil, Boyce’s brain registered the sudden jerk on his arm, and his body swung around. Cassy lost her footing and fell, upsetting his balance until he almost landed on top of her.
He caught himself then knelt down at her side.
A bark of laughter came from Ian’s direction. “Serves ya right, bitch.”
“I’m gonna kill the li’l SOB and then rip his tongue out of his throat.”
Cassy clamped down on his face, squishing his cheeks between her fingers, and jerked his head so he looked at her. “You’ll do no such thing, Boyce Hunt. He’s drunk and acting like an ass to get a rise out of everyone. Leave him be, or I’ll tan your hide.”
Her reprimand blew the black fog from his mind, and he gaped at her. He’d shown her the ugly side of him, and she hadn’t run screaming in the opposite direction. Prying her fingers from his face, he kissed her knuckles. “You’re right, sweet pea. Sorry.”
A quick scan of the area showed that Ian had moved on. Helping Cassy to her feet, Boyce checked her over for any injuries. “Are you hurting anywhere?”
“I’m fine.”
For the first time he noticed she wasn’t wearing panty hose. “You’re freezing, though.”
“Duh. It’s the middle of winter.” She wrapped her arm around his. “Take me home.”
Ensconcing her in the car, Boyce carefully navigated the drift that had built up around the sedan. He chanced one last sweep of the area, still not seeing Ian but feeling the young man’s gaze on them. Whatever had turned the youth into a sullen prick shouldn’t worry Boyce. But the way that kid had treated Cassy set his blood to boiling.
For all her faults and twisted purposes, Mother had done one thing right. She’d taught him the value of a lady.
• • •
Cassy’s knees ached where they had met with the frozen ground, but she wasn’t going to let on to Boyce. She was trying to process what she’d seen, Boyce revealing an uncharacteristic show of emotion—a dark, ugly emotion. The rational part of her realized she should have been scared of how fast he’d turned deadly in the face of a drunk, but she didn’t care because it proved he wasn’t a stone façade.
Born to Die Page 12
