by Sugar
There was no doubt he'd roused her temper. She had her chin up in the air and her eyes were hard. "Your family will appreciate these changes."
"My family will be here three nights. I live here all the time. If I'd wanted the walls all sorts of wild colors, I would have had them painted that way."
Cass jammed her hands in the pockets of her overalls. "Excuse me, but that's not quite the impression you gave me of the way you finished this house." When Ian opened his mouth, she shook her head. "Never mind. Feel free to go up and make your judgment. If you hate it, tell the guys to paint over the color and charge the paint to me. I wouldn't stick you with a room you didn't like any more than I would a meal you couldn't eat. Good night." Brushing past him, she hurried down the stairs. The slam of the front door rattled the windows in every room.
Ian ran his hands over his face and through his hair. Then, wearily, he climbed the rest of the way to the second floor to see what disaster awaited him there.
The room at the top had two walls painted a soft green, lighter than the chair fabric he'd chosen, but in the same shade. With the woodwork left white, he had to admit the effect was cool, crisp. Pleasant. There were no flowers in the bathroom, just a pale green, marble-patterned paper with rolls of a Greek key border waiting to be installed.
So it went. As he viewed each bedroom, Ian found a variation of paint against which his green chair looked…well, great. Soft gold, a light brown. The most unusual color was orange — not a harsh or bright tone, just a moment pulled from a cozy blaze in the fireplace and expanded to glow on the walls. He felt warm and comfortable, standing there in the half-painted room.
At the same time, he felt like an absolute jerk. A heel. An ungrateful, stupid, ill-natured boor.
And there was nobody in the house to tell him he was wrong.
Chapter Five: Page Three
Cass turned her answering machine off and refused to answer the first six calls that rang after she got home. She didn't want to talk to anyone on the entire planet, not even Russell Crowe. Didn't need any more work. Didn't want any more friends. Just expected to sit on the couch next to Ginger with a pint of Häagen Dazs and eat until her teeth froze and her brain exploded.
"When?" she asked the kitten. "When will I learn?" All her life, she'd been smart, fast, organized. And bossy. How many times had she heard that from teachers, from other girls? From boys? And when would she stop expecting to find a man who actually appreciated her talent for getting things done?
Today might just be the day. Ian Baker had accomplished what no man had done before. He'd shut Cass Stuart up.
A pint of Häagen Dazs didn't last long enough for this kind of pain, and Cass realized she would have to go out for more. She set the carton on the floor for Ginger to clean and was dragging on her jacket, debating between French Vanilla and Bailey's Irish Cream, when the phone rang again.
"'Lo?" Then she remembered, and swore.
"Cass, it's Ian. Don't hang up." The words reached her even as she aimed the receiver at its hook. "Please, let me apologize."
She brought the phone back to her ear long enough to say, "Don't bother." Then, for some reason, she didn't hang up, but stood there like a fool, one arm in her coat and one out. Waiting.
"Listen, Cass, I was wrong. Totally, miserably wrong." He sounded breathless, frantic. "I looked at the rooms upstairs and the colors are great. Perfect. I wouldn't change one, and the bathroom papers are fantastic, too. I'm really sorry I acted like such a…a…"
"Would you like me to supply the word?"
"I'm sure you could. Let's just take it as already said." She heard the smile in his voice. "My only excuse is that I had a really bad day. A patient died during bypass surgery. Not my case but, still, it throws everybody."
Immediately, she felt horrible. "Oh, Ian, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say something?"
"I didn't give myself a chance, did I? Instead, I jumped down your throat and made everything worse. But if you'll forgive me, that'll help."
How could she refuse? "Of course. Do you want me to keep going? It's up to you."
"Definitely." No doubt at all. "And I want to make up to you for being a jerk."
Cass smiled, the ice cream forgotten. "How do you propose to do that?"
"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" Ian now sounded his usual, in-control self. "Just meet me here at eight Friday night. I guarantee an evening you won't forget!"
Chapter Six: Page One
Wearing a velvet dress and sexy heels, Cass arrived at eight p.m. on Friday to find Ian's house dark and apparently empty. She waited in her car for a few minutes, thinking he might be running late. Then she wondered if he expected her to let herself in with her key. He might even be planning to spring some kind of surprise when she did.
No surprise. No Ian. Just the chill and the dark and the smell of fresh paint met her at the front door.
She turned on the lights in the family room — she'd placed two floor lamps and another table, with the right lamp to set on it, by the sofas. She sat in an armchair for a while, staring at the blank television. The apples smelled good, and Cass finally acknowledged how hungry she was.
In the refrigerator, she found hints of Ian's plans, including chicken breasts, a bottle of white wine, fresh broccoli, and fresh pasta. The thought of what she could do with those ingredients made her mouth water and her stomach growl.
But tonight she would not take charge. She would let Ian keep control.
By nine-thirty, she was ready to weep with hunger. He hadn't called and she didn't know how to contact him, except through the answering service, which wouldn't give her any information except to say he wasn't on call tonight. Great. So where was he?
At ten, she consigned his male ego and his desire for control to hell. First, she turned on the gas igniter in the fireplace and set the logs to blazing. Then, she pounded the chicken breasts thin, dredged them in flour, and set about making chicken Piccata with the lemons and capers she found in the fridge. Great minds think alike.
Just as she was stirring the sauce, lights flashed outside and the garage door lifted. In another moment, Ian came into the house. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, staring at Cass with an expression very close to despair.
"Smells good," he said quietly. And then, "I am so sorry. I'd have called, but I was in surgery the whole time."
Cass looked at him a moment, and her irritation bled away. "It's okay. Why don't you get out of your scrubs while I dish this up, and we can eat in front of the fireplace?"
Ian squeezed his eyes shut. "Sounds great. I —" But then he opened his eyes, shook his head, and went to his room without finishing the thought.
When he came out again, the plates were set on the coffee table, with glasses of wine waiting and a CD Cass liked playing softly. "I have no idea what kind of music you enjoy," she said as they sat on the floor opposite each other. "Is this okay?"
"I haven't had much time for music. But this is good." He took a bite of chicken. "Mmm. So's this." He toasted her with his wine. "How is it you always end up taking care of me? I really meant to do the honors tonight."
Chapter Six: Page Two
"You take care of people all day long."
"You feed people all day long."
"Not the same level of pressure as heart surgery."
"Sometimes being fed is more important."
"Give it up, Dr. Baker. I'm not going to let you take the blame. Just eat your dinner."
"Yes, ma'am."
She wouldn't let him clean up afterward, either. With the dishes in the dishwasher, she brought the wine bottle out, refilled their glasses, then turned off the lamps and curled up on the couch where she could watch Ian, still on the floor, and the fire. "Thank you for a lovely dinner. Consider yourself cleared of all obligation."
"You cooked, cleaned up, and waited two hours to begin with."
Cass shrugged. "I'm a take-charge kind of person. Being waited on really doesn't su
it me."
Ian pushed himself up off the floor and onto the opposite sofa, bracing his elbows on his thighs as he held his wineglass in both hands. "What does suit you?"
The answer slipped out before she could stop it. "Being needed."
"Yeah?" He moved to her couch, setting his glass on the table. "What else?" The fire flickered over his face, striking blue sparks deep in his eyes.
"Um…being comfortable."
Reaching out, he slipped off her shoes. "Better?"
Cass smiled and wiggled her toes. "Much."
"Anything else?"
Staring into her wine, she debated asking That I want you to take off? but decided she wasn't brave enough to be quite that blunt. She risked a quick glance at the man next to her. "That suits me?"
"Well?"
His hand still rested on her ankle, his fingers circling lightly on her skin. The tremor caused by his touch streaked straight up her leg and set off an earthquake deep inside of her.
"To be wanted," Cass said, barely above a whisper.
Chapter Six: Page Three
He took the wine goblet from her shaky fingers and set it beside his on the table. "So, there are a few things I can do for you, after all." His fingers tilted her face up. His mouth touched the point of her chin, grazed the line of her cheek, placed a kiss on each eyelid. "I've wanted you from that first night," he said softly, skimming his fingers, then his lips, over her ear. "You were like a candle coming into my darkness, leaving warmth and light behind even when you weren't here."
His kisses, light as they were, pressed her back into the soft leather sofa. She raised her hands to grip his shoulders, bring him closer, but Ian held back. "Are you warm enough? Too warm?" He set his mouth to her throat, nibbled lightly.
"Ian…" She was losing the ability to think.
"You're the first thing that comes to my mind in the morning when I wake up." He ran his fingers along the edge of her dress, over the sensitive skin of her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. "Seems like you're the sunshine that starts my day." He followed the trail of his fingers with his lips. "I need that thought of you to get me going."
Crazy with her own need, Cass pulled his face to hers, seized his mouth for a breathless eternity of kisses. She let her hands roam freely, as his were, and soon they lay together with no barriers at all, except a desire to prolong the pleasure as long as possible. Finally, Ian settled over her, joining their bodies with a deliberation that drove her even wilder.
Then he lifted his head to look into her eyes, his own glinting with a smile. "Are you okay? Comfortable enough?"
"I'm going to kill you." Cass adjusted her hips with a move that made him groan.
"You know, lady," he said breathlessly, "I think you might be right."
Chapter Seven: Page One
Thanksgiving drew near and the pace of Cass's life accelerated from busy to frantic. She'd always been an early riser, but when she stayed over at Ian's — which happened more often than not — she got up an hour earlier than her regular six a.m. That meant she got more cooking done before the stores opened at ten.
But the house was almost finished. And she knew Ian was pleased with what she'd done. Pleased to see that his guest rooms provided a quiet elegance with which he felt comfortable. Pleased that his family room offered welcome and comfort — to him and anyone else who came in — with accents of color, contrasts of texture, and simple luxuries.
Most of all, maybe, pleased that his kitchen had become a functional place, with food in the pantry and the refrigerator and, most nights, dinner on the table when he finally got home. She managed to be there at some point in the afternoon or evening and, even if she couldn't stay, to leave him something to eat. The extra cooking put more strain on her hectic schedule, but taking care of Ian was a pleasure well worth the effort.
The weekend before the big day, she decided to introduce him to Ginger. He had two days off from the hospital, plenty of time for them to get to know each other. Late Friday afternoon, she packed up Ginger's household and went to Ian's, prepared to offer homemade lasagna and her little feline surprise when he walked in the door.
Predictably, he still wasn't there by nine, so she cut herself a piece of lasagna, then curled up on the sofa with Ginger under the tapestry throw to watch the fire and wait.
Warm, cozy, she dreamed that Ian was bending over her, his smile wide and sexy as he leaned in for a kiss.
"Hey, beautiful. Where've you been all my life?"
She smiled and kissed him back, and then realized with pleasure that it was real. He'd come home.
Stretching, she reached up to put her arms around him. "Mmmm. What time is it?" Ginger stirred and peeked out from underneath the throw.
"Midni —" His gaze dropped. He straightened up out of her hold. "What is that?
Chapter Seven: Page Two
The cat scrambled away from his harsh tone, clawing at Cass's shoulder. "A kitten, of course. Ginger."
"Did you find it outside the house? Are there more?"
"No. I've had her since Halloween." Getting control of the trembling creature, she turned the sweet face toward him. "I brought her for you."
Ian sneezed, and sneezed again. "N-no, thanks."
"Are you getting a cold? And what do you mean, 'No, thanks'?"
"I don't want a cat. I'm allergic." He backed around the coffee table to the other sofa. "You'll have to take her away."
Allergic. How awful. "Are you sure?"
Another series of sneezes. "Oh, I'm sure."
She grappled frantically for a solution. "There are allergy shots you can take. Medicines. And you need a cat. Someone to be here when you come home." Until you ask me to be. "A reason to do something besides work. Ginger's perfect." Although as she kept trying to get away, she was pulling threads from Cass's brand-new velour sweater.
Ian ran a hand over his face. "Look, I appreciate the thought — though it would have been better if you'd asked me first, and saved us both the hassle. I just can't have a cat." He dropped down on the couch and put his head back. "Man, what a day."
Hassle. That meant she'd done it again. Evidently, she never would learn not to be bossy. "What am I supposed to do with Ginger?"
He opened one eye. "You can keep a cat at your place, right?"
Her heart stopped for a long moment. "Of course." Now feeling very, very cold, she got to her feet and moved toward the door.
"Cass?" Ian was on his feet again, staring at her across the vast expanse of his family room and kitchen.
The space was friendly now, and inviting, with the fire crackling cheerfully, the lamplight glinting on gold and red and green accents, the scent of cider spicing the air. His family would know how good his life could be here in New Skye. And they'd never know that she had expected to be part of it.
"I have to go." She opened the door and hurried outside, trying to keep hold of the cat and hold back her tears at the same time.
Chapter Seven: Page Three
What he'd just said, essentially, was that she had no more of a role in his life than the cat did. He hadn't used the L word yet. And Cass had been waiting on him, trying, for once, not to control the situation. Trying to let Ian take the lead.
Good thing. This would hurt much worse if she'd told him she loved him.
On the other hand, she wasn't sure it could hurt any worse.
* * *
The only thing Ian knew for sure was that he had no clue. Cass had brought a cat to his house and when he didn't want it, she'd cut off all communication. He had some experience with women, though he didn't think of himself as Don Juan. Still, this was the strangest situation he'd ever encountered.
To make matters worse, he didn't have time to do anything about it. The guy who was on call on Sunday came down with the flu Saturday afternoon and begged Ian to take over. So he spent Sunday in the hospital before beginning the regular workweek. People didn't much like seeing doctors in the days before Thanksgiving, so he made it hom
e most nights by eight.
But Cass wouldn't answer the phone, at work or at home. The finishing touches for the house magically appeared during the day, but she wasn't waiting for him anymore, with her warm smile and her hot kisses and her generous soul. How was he supposed to get through a week without waking up with Cass in his arms?
Wednesday night, he came in to discover a mouthwatering aroma in the air, compliments of the pies on the counter — pumpkin, pecan, and mincemeat, just as he'd ordered.
Thursday morning, he went in for rounds at seven a.m., knowing no surgeries had been scheduled for the holiday. His family would be arriving about two. He should be home in plenty of time to talk with Cass and get this whole mess straightened out before they arrived. He really wanted his family to meet her.
