by Lori Wilde
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“But along came Randy.” Her entire body tensed, the muscles at her jaw clenching to visible knots.
Cash’s stomach soured. He could put two and two together. She worked three jobs, lived in her uncle’s houseboat, and didn’t own a car. Paige was dead broke for a reason and it wasn’t because she was lazy or a spendthrift.
“When I was interviewing dance partners, I had them meet me at the restaurant where I worked. Randy walked in, sporting a grin bigger than Dallas. He was the most handsome guy I had ever laid eyes on.” She bit down on her bottom lip, and a faraway look came into her eyes. “He took me in his arms and we danced the tango, and I fell hook, line, sinker . . .” She crooked an index finger inside her cheek, pantomimed as if she were a fish snagged on a fisherman’s hook.
Cash put a hand on her shoulder. Said nothing, just kept his hand there, holding space for her.
“God,” she moaned, and sank her face into her upturned hands. “I was so stupid. Such easy pickings. Small-town girl. Sheltered. Clueless.”
“You weren’t the problem.”
“He played me for a fool. He said all the right things. Danced like a dream. Told me how beautiful I was. Courted me proper. Showered me with flowers and gifts. No one had ever done that for me. I thought he liked me, but Randy was out to take me for every last penny. And he did.” She stopped, caught her breath. “I was an idiot.”
Cash shook his head, wished he could meet this Randy character in a dark alley with a pair of brass knuckles in his pocket. “You weren’t. You just wanted to be loved. You were hurting after losing your father. He preyed on your vulnerability.”
“Did he ever. I let him move in with me. And things were really good for six weeks. We danced together. Won competitions. I thought I’d found the perfect man.” She made a choking noise, drew her knees to her chest again, and smacked her forehead with her palm. “Why couldn’t he have just taken the money? Why did he have to pretend I meant something to him? Why did he make me fall in love with a person who didn’t even exist?”
“Because obviously he’s a sociopath and that’s what they do.”
“It was as if I had ‘MARK’ carved into my forehead.”
“Sweetheart, you have to understand, guys like him turn everyone they meet into a mark. He’s a shark and sharks bite.”
“He not only took me for every penny I had, he stole my car and my identity. Opened up credit cards in my name. Maxed ’em out. He even filed my tax return and had the refund sent to him! I came home from work one evening to find him gone and the apartment stripped bare.”
God, what a nightmare. Cash was squeezing his fist so tight—wishing for five minutes alone with this Ludesko Thig character—his knuckles turned white and his fingers tingled numbly.
“That call just now?” She pushed the cell phone on coffee table with her toe wrapped in a green Christmas sock with red reindeers on it. “It’s from bill collectors who refuse to believe those aren’t my debts. They call me three or four times a week, at any hour of the day or night.”
“That’s illegal.”
“I know, but it doesn’t stop them.”
“Have you reported the collection agency to your congressman?”
“I have a lawyer who’s supposed to be handling all that, but I owe him money, so . . .” Paige pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, looking like a lost teenager.
“Did the police ever catch him?” he asked. “Was this son of a bitch made to pay for what he did?”
“Randy was apprehended,” she said. “But he hired a high-priced lawyer. Probably with my money, and the charges got thrown out on a technicality.”
“So he’s still out there. Doing the same thing to other women?”
She nodded. “It’s amazing how these identity thieves keep getting away with it. Ruining law-abiding people’s lives. My lawyer says it will probably take at least seven years for me to fully dig out of this.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“He’s in the wind. Left the country with my quarter-million. The authorities discovered he bought a one-way plane ticket to Buenos Aires the day after he cleaned out my apartment.”
“Does he ever try to contact you?”
“No. Why would he? Randy knows he took every penny I had. Nothing left to bilk from me.”
“I’m glad he’s not living in this country at least.” Cash scowled.
“Sometimes”—her voice lowered—“I despair of ever digging out of it. My credit is shot. I’ve been trying for a year now to get it repaired, and straightening it out is such a rigmarole. Do you know what it’s like to go to a store and try to write a check and they look at you like you’re a criminal?”
“I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
“It also makes it hard to date. When guys find out you have messed-up credit, even though it’s not a fault of your own, they take a big step back. I can’t blame them. No one wants to step into that black hole.”
A thought occurred to him. A way he could help her. He’d contact his lawyer and have her put a stop to the harassing phone calls. Paige didn’t need to suffer like this, but he had a feeling if he told her outright what he intended, her pride wouldn’t allow her to accept his help. If she wouldn’t take money from her own mother . . .
She notched her chin up. “But I’m lucky. My uncle Floyd gave me a place to stay, although I do work for him on Saturday mornings as payment. The people in Twilight are so nice. Neighbors check in on me. I might not have any money in the bank, but I’m rich in the ways that count. I’m strong and healthy. I have nothing to complain about.”
“Paige?”
“Yes?”
“Was this creep the first guy you ever . . .” Briefly Cash closed his eyes. Why was he asking this? He really didn’t want to know.
“Yes,” she said. “Randy took my virginity too.”
Ah damn. “And there hasn’t been anyone since?”
“No.”
Dammit all. Her one and only sexual experience had been with a con man.
Right now, in this moment, he wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to breathe. The woman had no idea how much self-control it took for him not to whisk her straight to bed, tear her clothes from her body, and sink into her. But it was too soon, and she was too special, and she’d been through too much. He was not going to take advantage of her vulnerability. He was not going to make love with her.
Not now.
Not yet.
If ever.
Chapter 13
Serenade: A lighthearted piece, written in several movements, usually as background music for a social function.
From outside the houseboat came the sound of loud music blaring out across the lake. Frank Sinatra’s “Christmas Waltz.”
“What’s that?” Cash asked, getting to his feet, still digesting everything Paige had told him.
“The Brazos Queen.” She beamed and jumped up. “Returning from a midnight cruise. They have them every Friday and Saturday night in the summer and then again in December, weather permitting.”
Through the open curtains over the wide back window, Cash spied a churning paddlewheel lit up with Christmas lights come into view. A breathtaking sight. The illuminated boat glided over dark water while heavy, fast-falling snow dusted everything a cleansing white.
Paige let out a soft sigh.
Cash glanced over to see her entire face shining bright as an angel, her hands clasped at her heart. Sinatra’s voice permeating the night. Their eyes met, and his pulse quickened.
“Dance with me,” she said abruptly, and held out a hand.
“You want to dance?”
“You’ve convinced me that I need to have more fun.”
Waltzing with her, holding her close, was dangerous. He hesitated. She looked at him, anticipation on her lips, a beguiling smile. The boat would soon pass by. The music would drift away. He’d have her in his arms no more than a cou
ple of minutes.
“Paige,” he murmured, “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
She looked so enchanting, those sparkling hazel eyes full of life and joy. Then she whispered the magic word. “Please.”
Weak man that he was, Cash gave in. Reached out. Took her palm. Wrapped her in his arms.
She was light on her feet. Graceful. Controlled. She knew what she was doing. He led her across the small box of the living area, a neat square suddenly filled with motion and feeling. He hadn’t waltzed in a long time.
Paige interlaced her fingers through his hands, leaned her head against his chest as they danced as a unit. His hand was around her shoulder as she clung to him. One-two-three. One-two-three.
They turned, stepping back a bit as they danced like characters from a Hallmark Christmas movie. Eyes glued to each other. Hands melded. Feet floating in perfect rhythm. The houseboat rocking gently with their movements. Outside the window the snow was a wild flurry now.
It was the most damn romantic thing he’d ever done in his life, and he wanted to keep waltzing forever.
But the paddleboat slid away, the music growing fainter and fainter until they were dancing to nothing but the sound of their comingled breaths.
Cash had to find a way out of this before it was too late. Before he was too far gone.
“I’ve had a great time,” Cash whispered, letting go of her, stepping back. “It’s been lots of fun—”
She leaned into him, her smile a fishing lure, hooking him, reeling him back to her. “So much fun.”
He pressed his chin to the top of her head, loosened his arms from around her waist. “It’s getting late.”
“Is there any of that sangria left?” She peered around his shoulder at the kitchen table. “It was delicious.”
“I think we killed it . . .” He could see the pitcher from where they were standing. There was a third of it left.
“I don’t think we did.” Her eyes took on a naughty sheen.
He dropped his hands to his sides, felt like a wooden toy soldier. “You have to get up early . . .”
“I can easily get by on just a few hours of sleep.”
“It’s well after midnight . . .” He rotated his wrist so she could see the face of his watch.
She turned up the sugar on her smile. “I don’t have to be up until six.”
“Fritzi needs his beauty rest . . .” His own voice was a desperate climber stuck in the death zone on Mount Everest.
They both turned to stare at the poodle curled into a little ball on the back of the couch, snoring softly.
“Looks like he’s getting by,” she said.
Cash inched toward the front door. “I’ll get your coat and . . .”
Paige went to the window, peered out at the rapidly falling snow. “It’s really coming down. The dock will be slick.”
He opened the small closet, waved at pair of brown fisherman’s boots. “There are rubber boots—”
“The electricity is out. It’s pitch-black. I won’t be able to see my hands in front of my face.”
“I’ve got a flashlight.” He reached for his coat, settled his Stetson on his head. “I’ll walk you home—”
“Cowboy, it’s cold outside, and the fire is so toasty.” She scooted over to the fireplace, warmed her hands in front of the gas flames.
He draped their coats over his arm, put his hand on the doorknob. “This town is full of gossips and—”
“There’s no one around. We’re out here in the marina all on our own at this time of night on a cold December evening.”
“Your reputation is important. You live here. Think about how it would look if someone saw you sneaking out of my houseboat at dawn.”
She backed up to the fireplace. “You let me worry about my reputation.”
“We’ve had too much to drink—”
“I’m not drunk and neither are you.”
“Are you trying to get me into bed?”
“Do you need a rock to fall on your head?”
“I have no willpower, Paige. It’s why I’m trying to get you out the door.”
“You don’t have to have willpower. That’s the point.”
“I can’t,” he said, knowing if he made love to her that he was going to mess up her life. He was not a forever kind of man.
“Sure you can.” She said it as if it was so simple, so easy.
“No.” He swiveled his head from shoulder to shoulder. “No.”
“If you’re afraid you’re going to hurt me, don’t be.” She touched his hand. “I know this thing has no future. I know you have a high-flying career and can’t get bogged down by small-town girls. I know it, and accept it. Look, both my eyes are wide open.” She rounded her eyes in a comical expression. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have fun now. That’s all I want from you. Fun. Believe it.”
Wow! Really? She was that quick to write him off. Write them off.
“I want you, Cash.” Her eyes were earnest, her touch on his arm sincere. “For one glorious night.”
God, he was wound up. Tight as a drum. Hot. Horny. Hornier than he’d ever been in his life.
But he kept thinking about what she’d told him. All the shit she’d been through. Caring for her ailing father for years and then losing him. In her grief and innocence getting duped by a slick con man. It hadn’t been all that long ago. Whether she realized it or not, she was still raw, still vulnerable.
He didn’t want to take advantage of that or make things worse for her.
If he had his wits about him, he would insist she go home. But her eyes were hungry and her heart was on her sleeve and he just couldn’t crush her.
Find a way to let her down easy.
Good idea. How? He mucked around in the basement of his brain, came up with nothing.
She wriggled against him, tilted her chin. Wanting a kiss.
He was hard as marble. But he did not dip his head. Did not kiss her. Oh damn, how was he going to stick to his guns?
“Please . . .”
His eyes narrowed, glistened. “Please what?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned into him, coaxed his head down. He did not resist, but neither did he make a move. Aww, come on.
“You want it?” he asked, one eyebrow crawling up his forehead.
“Yes,” she said firmly.
“Then you’re going to have to ask for it.”
“Please,” she whispered. “Please kiss me.” She twined her arms around his neck and he did not resist. She kissed him.
And damn his hide, he could not leave her hanging. He kissed her back with a fierceness that scared him, and delighted her. She let out a happy giggle and slipped her tongue between his teeth.
Good Lord, he was toast. One sip from her sweet honeyed mouth, one sniff of her fresh scent, one more soft whisper of “I want you,” and he was done for.
He broke his lips from hers. Moved back. Stared into her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Are the birds certain they have to fly south for the winter?”
“Not all birds migrate.”
“Well, I’m talking about the migratory ones. Right now I feel like an eagle and I gotta fly.”
Got it. That sounded pretty convincing to him. But he had to make sure. “Have you thought about the consequences?”
“I’m on the pill and I brought condoms.”
Condoms? McDang, she was thinking ahead. “I’m not talking about those kinds of consequences.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Emotional consequences.” He loomed over her. She looked so tiny all alone in the middle of the floor.
“I’m just looking to have some fun.”
He didn’t believe her. She wasn’t the sex-just-for-fun type.
She came to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, held on tight. “I know you’re a rolling stone. Don’t worry. You’re not going to break my heart.”
“What if you break
mine?”
She laughed at that. Long and loud as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Like hurting him was an impossibility. But he wasn’t joking.
“Are you always this hard to seduce?” she asked.
“You are absolutely certain this is what you want?”
“Yes.”
“You can change your mind at any time.”
“I won’t,” she assured him.
“You can. All you have to do is say stop.”
“Is that your safe word?”
“It’s the universal safe word.”
“Got it. Go.”
“What?”
“Go. The unsafe word.”
“Unsafe word?” God, she was so adorable he couldn’t stand it.
“The word I’ll use when I want more, more, more. Got it?” Her eyes burned brightly, her expression deadly serious.
“Got it,” he said.
She stuck out her hand to him. “Well, then . . . Go.”
Fueled by sangria, great food, and slow dancing against Cash’s red-hot body, Paige simmered, basking in the sweet glow of the evening, feeling happily aimless and momentarily free from responsibilities.
The perfect storm for memorable mistakes.
She didn’t care.
Cash took her hand and led her to the bedroom.
It was a small room. But then again it was a houseboat. All the rooms were small, and it was decorated in Sig Gunderson’s taste. Southwestern colors. Native American woven rug. Dream catcher over the queen-sized bed. Georgia O’Keeffe, sexy-time, desert-scape print framed on one wall.
When she’d Googled Cash, she’d found pictures online of his house in Nashville that he’d shared with Simone before their breakup. Art Nouveau. Sage greens, browns, mustard, lilacs. Furniture ornate with stylized flowers. Varnished dark hardwood floors.
But she’d known instinctively that was Simone’s taste.
She wondered how Cash would decorate a bedroom. Sparse, she decided. Utilitarian. Minimalist. Stone. Concrete.
