And unexpected endings. “Cheers,” she whispered.
Chapter Sixteen
Everything about the last twenty-four hours sucked wind. No, actually, everything about the last thirty-six hours had blown. From the moment Simone begged for a second chance, to right this minute, Braden itched with discontent and frustration. And since he’d just done a hard twenty-four-hour shift on top of a sleepless night of wanting a woman who he knew wasn’t going to show, he was bleary-eyed exhausted.
The fact that Cassie hadn’t come over for their post-party date had grated on him for the whole shift, when he’d run on autopilot in between shots of adrenaline during two brush fires and four medic calls—including one for an old man who’d had a tractor accident and was still in critical condition—and about six hours of filling out forms.
So when Braden pulled up to his house and saw Cassie’s red Ford in the driveway at seven thirty Monday morning and Jelly Bean sat up and started growling, Braden’s reprimand was a little sharper than it should have been.
When JB shot him a startled look, he put his hand on the dog’s head in apology. “Just quit growling at her, boy. I realize you’re rooting for the wrong team, but that car there? Seeing that is pretty much the first time I’ve been anything but miserable since Saturday, so drop your disapproval.”
One bark was all he got in response.
“Now let’s figure out what the hell she’s doing here.”
Another single bark.
“Sex? Doubtful. Breakup? Possible. Maybe she brought food and coffee, and that would be just fine, too.” Braden dragged himself out of the truck, glancing down at his dirty clothes that covered his sweaty body. He’d have showered at the station if he’d known she was coming.
Cassie opened the front door before he even got there, looking all kinds of beautiful and fresh in jean shorts and a white tank top that clung to a body that he’d wanted to cling to since the day he met her.
“Morning,” she said with a tenuous smile.
“You’re late,” he said dryly. “By about thirty hours.”
She tipped her head to the side in an unspoken apology, which made her thick dark hair fall over one of her shoulders, and all he could think about was how that silky hair would feel in his hand.
“I brought bougatsa.”
“Bougwhatsa?”
“Greek pastry.”
He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “Yes. Let me shower first.”
“Take some coffee with you?”
Laughing softly, he slid his hand under her hair and cupped her jaw. “You have to be perfect, don’t you?”
“Far from it. I just want you to forgive me for breaking our date.”
He let his gaze slide over her without trying to hide it. He was too wiped out to play games. “You had me at pastry, and you know it. Unless, of course, you spent the night with…Hercules.”
She gave his arm a push. “Give me a break, Braden. You know me better than that.”
He nodded in acknowledgment, still holding her face and gaze. “I know you well enough to guess I’m taking that shower alone.”
For one millisecond, her eyes glinted, dark and interested. Then she eased out of his touch. “I’ll take Jelly Bean out back and give him some food.”
He snorted. “Like I said, perfect.”
“No, perfect would be taking the shower with you.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” With one more longing look, he headed toward his bedroom, standing in the doorway for a moment, listening to her steps and voice as she talked to Jelly Bean and opened the back door to let him hit the grass.
The shower would have been…amazing. But she was here, and that was really all that mattered.
Holding that thought, he didn’t even bother to close the bedroom door, and in two minutes he was stripped and standing under scalding water. It permeated his body and melted his skin as he put his head back, closed his eyes, and let the water sluice over his face. He couldn’t really think right then, or figure out why she was here, but he didn’t care.
Water, soap, heat, steam, and Cassie in the next room was enough. As he opened the shower curtain, he saw Jelly Bean in the doorway, staring at him as if to say something wasn’t right.
“Put a towel on,” Cassie called from the bedroom. “Because I’m in here.”
“And he’s not growling.”
“I bribed him with bougatsa.”
He grabbed a towel, swiped it over his hair, and wrapped it around his waist, securing the corner as he walked into the bedroom.
Cassie was on his bed with a plate of food and a cup of coffee and the sweetest look he’d ever seen. “Do you allow eating on your bed?”
“If the waitress stays.”
“You look like you might fall into your pastry at the table.”
“Rough shift,” he said, heading to the dresser to grab a pair of thin sweats and taking them back to the bathroom. After he pulled them on over his wet body, he went back out to join her.
She sat cross-legged on the bed with a plate that was filled with a flaky pastry dusted with powdered sugar and oozing cheese and smelling like heaven itself.
“That looks ridiculously delicious.” He smiled at her. “Food looks good, too.”
She patted the space next to her. “I bear Greek food and good will, agapi mou.”
“Been to church enough to know agapi is love. Mou has to be…” He lifted his brows. “My love? You do want me to forgive you.”
“It’s like sweetheart or darling, but yes, your translation is technically correct. You shouldn’t have to forgive me,” she added. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Settled on the bed next to her, he picked up a piece of pastry and accepted the napkin she offered as a makeshift plate. “Well, thank you for this. Are you having some?”
She nodded and took a piece, not tasting it until he did. Then she laughed when he closed his eyes and moaned.
“Are you kidding me?” he mumbled around a mouthful as powdered sugar snowed from his lips. “This is…” He moaned again. “Holy hell. Bougatsa means ‘best thing I ever tasted.’”
“Greeks have it all over the Irish when it comes to food.”
He nodded in enthusiastic agreement, taking another bite. “Okay…no talking. I’m eating.”
She chuckled softly, tasting hers with far less gusto, eventually pulling her legs up to wrap her arms around her knees and rest her head to watch him eat.
“My father would cry if he saw you eat like this,” she said.
“Why?” He brushed his hands over the plate and went for the next piece.
“People loving food was like his reason for living. Alex is the same way, but my dad? I never saw a man happier than when someone tasted something he made for the first time. ‘Is it good?’ he’d ask over and over again. Like he didn’t know his food was perfection.”
“Mmmm. Perfection.” He finished the last bite, and finally, for the first time in hours and hours, his stomach felt something other than black and empty and unhappy. He gulped a little of the coffee she’d made him, which was easy since it wasn’t burning hot and she’d put plenty of milk and sugar in it.
“How do you know how I take my coffee?”
“You drink it on Sundays a lot, before we eat. Don’t you think I notice things like that?”
He eyed her. “What else did you notice?”
“Besides your shoulders?”
He lifted one, enjoying the way she looked at it like he’d looked at her pastry.
“How smart you are,” she said, resting her cheek on her knees. “You know something about everything.”
“I don’t know about you.”
She lifted a brow. “Open book. Just ask.”
In one way, he had so many questions for her. He wanted to know everything, from her first memory to…what happened the other night. When he didn’t ask any questions, she moved the empty pastry plate to the nightstand, then slid down on her side, propping herse
lf on her elbow.
Looking at her lying next to him on his bed, he did the only thing he could possibly do right then…slide down next to her, prop his own elbow, and lay face-to-face and body-to-body.
About a foot separated them, and in that space was hope and anticipation and an explosion of pheromones and chemistry.
“Waiting for your question,” she said softly.
There really was only one thing that mattered right then. “What happened Saturday night?”
She stared at him for a long time, blinking once, staring some more, silent.
“Oh, I see,” he said. “You want me to guess?”
“You won’t.”
He sat up a little. “Let me try. A, you got scared because I looked so good in a tuxedo. B, you got jealous of that nitwit Simone pawing me. C, you showed up and Jelly Bean threatened to attack while I was asleep. D, you got drunk on expensive wine and passed out alone. E…” He was fresh out of ideas except the one that ate away at him. “E, you met someone who has something you want more than you want me.”
When her eyes shuttered, he just let his head drop off his hand and hit the pillow with a grunt.
“Yes, it is E,” she whispered, the words stabbing at his chest. “Also A and B, because, damn, Einstein, you did rock the tux, and good God, I could claw Simone’s eyes out. Oh, and I could get past your dog with a jar of Skippy, and I have never passed out drunk in my life.”
He didn’t hear anything past It is E.
Then…this guy meant something to her. How? Why? “Well, he’s Greek,” he said, answering his own mental questions. “And he’s, you know, tall, and I guess that’s what you’d call good-looking, what with the manly jaw and all. And he’s Greek. Oh, and he lives in a big city with, guess what, a bunch of Greek people?” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Have I missed anything besides the fact that he knows what agapi mou means and can probably make bougwhatsa with his eyes closed? And he’s Greek.”
“Are you finished?” she asked.
He turned his head to look at her, but that hurt, too, because damn it all, the girl was beautiful. “Am I?” he asked. “You seem to hold all the power.”
She sighed. “I don’t want to hold all the power.”
He shifted his whole body so he could easily reach his hand out and stroke the fine lines of her jaw. “You do,” he said softly. “Because I’m stupidly and completely into you. I think about you for about twenty-three of twenty-four hours. And when I get that one hour of sleep, I dream about you. I want to be with you. I want to sleep with you. I want to eat with you. I want to—”
“Shhh.”
“And she shuts me up.”
“Because it hurts, Braden.” The words came out ragged, with her eyes just damp enough to slice right through him.
“Why?” He stroked her shoulder and eased her closer. “Why does it hurt to know how I feel about you?”
She shook her head, silent.
“What? Because it’s temporary? I know that, but temporary doesn’t make me feel any less or want you any—”
“He offered me a job in Chicago running special events for Family First.”
“He…did?” His hand stopped moving on her as this news hit. Hard. This was much worse than if she liked the guy. He could win that battle. He could weather that storm. But…her dream job in a big city? “Wow.”
“That’s what I said.” This time, she touched his face, lightly stroking one finger along the whiskers that had grown during his long shift. “Especially when he said he needs me on July first, no later.”
July…first? “You’re only here for another month?”
“I didn’t say I took the job.”
“Of course you’re going to take it.” He started to sit up as the reality exploded in him, but she grabbed his arm and kept him beside her.
“Braden.”
“It’s exactly what you want. Exactly. You don’t even need my stupid scavenger hunt to build up your résumé. This guy spends one day with you, and he knows when he’s struck gold. He sees…what I see.”
“He sees a good employee,” she said.
“Well, I see…” He rolled a little closer. “Heart and humor and…home.”
“Oh.” She curled into him, the two of them coming together in the most natural way, her body fitting into his. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, cuddling her closer and putting his hand on her head so it rested on his shoulder. “Home is more than a place, obviously. It’s a state of mind. It’s comforting and easy and what you want at the end of a shift.” He squeezed his eyes tighter with every word. This was like walking into an uncontrolled blaze without equipment or backup. “And yours is going to be in Chicago.”
She splayed her palm on his bare chest, and pressed just enough that he was sure her handprint would be burned on his skin forever. “I thought you didn’t want someone at the end of the shift. You said it scared you and kept you from getting serious with anyone. I thought you wanted…temporary.”
He’d thought he wanted that, too. But right now? With her body against his after a long, brutal day, he wanted…
When he didn’t answer, she lifted her face to look up at him.
“Right?” she asked. “Temporary.”
He stared at her, lost in her eyes, thinking about something he couldn’t quite put into words. “Right.”
“Then this is good,” she whispered, her words fluttering warm breath on his skin.
“Good?” In whose universe was this good?
“If I go, it makes our breakup so natural and…”
If.
He clung to two letters like they were a lifeline, but he already knew this line would break. “Cassie. You’ve already decided.” And he’d just have to accept it, which he would, once he wasn’t beat up and worn down.
“That’s why I didn’t come over after the party.”
He turned his head to look at her, guiding her face up again so he could see into her eyes. “I don’t follow.”
“If I had come, my decision would have been made for me.” She gave a soft laugh. “Ten more minutes on this bed next to my favorite shoulder in the world, and it might happen after all.”
“What might happen?”
“Three guesses, Einstein.”
He searched her eyes, so dark he could practically see his own face reflected back. “How would that affect your decision?”
She gave him her you really are a moron look. “Braden, if I…if we…” She shook her head with a laugh. “You know what will happen.”
“Um…pleasure? Satisfaction? Extreme physical release? Mind-blowing gratification? Einstein’s out of euphemisms, but if you want, I can get more detailed.” He pulled her whole body closer and stroked her side and hip with his hand, his body tightening. “Or I could show you.”
She sucked in a shaky breath, melting a little into him. “I won’t leave.”
“And the problem with that is…?”
“That I won’t leave,” she repeated.
“I’m off for three days.” He dragged his hand over her waist and hip. “All we need is food, water, and—”
“Ever.”
He stilled his hand, silent.
“I won’t leave Bitter Bark. I won’t leave you. I won’t live my dreams or take that job or see beyond the horizon of the Blue Ridge Mountains.”
None of that sounded…bad. Except those were the things she wanted, and he was acting like a selfish, love-sick jerk. “That would be bad.” He tried to sound like he meant it, but knew from the look on her face that she knew he didn’t.
“You’re different, Braden,” she said softly. “You’re not like any other guy I’ve ever met. The few I’ve been intimate with never made me think beyond a couple of months. But you’re different.”
Different enough to put an actual ache in her voice.
“So are you,” he said, bringing his hand back up to hold her face. “You make me want to take chances, Cas
s. You make me want to break my personal rules. You make me want to think about things I’ve never—”
“Stop.” She put her fingers on his lips. “I get it. We both like each other a lot.”
He nodded, holding her gaze.
“And I’m telling you, if I sleep with you, if I let you into that place in my heart and body, I’m not going to want to leave you.”
Then don’t leave me.
He swallowed the words and snuggled her closer, closing his eyes to inhale the scent of her. “So now what?”
She let out a long, low, miserable exhale. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“I don’t want you to…” Leave.
“I won’t,” she promised, proving that she could mind-read, or he was crappy at hiding his thoughts. “Take a nap. I have work to do and lists to make. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
But not…in July.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his lids burning like they always did after a long shift. He kept them closed, but didn’t let go of her, holding her against his body, memorizing the curves of her hips and breasts, the garden scent of her hair, and the sound of her steady, soft breath.
Temporary.
Totally crappy word, but he’d take what he could get. And if that was falling asleep with Cassie in his arms, then he’d take it. Temporary beat nothing.
And nothing beat this.
Chapter Seventeen
Holy cow, this was big. This was…big.
Cassie dashed into the house and through the kitchen and tiny hall to Braden’s bedroom, where she stopped at the door. There, she danced from one foot to the other, tapped her hands in a silent clap of barely contained exuberance, and checked the time. He’d been asleep for three hours. Was that enough? Wouldn’t he want to know this?
“Braden,” she whispered as she tiptoed into the room she’d dimmed by closing the blinds when he’d crashed.
He was flat on his stomach, arms outstretched to either side, one cheek pressed into the pillow, lids sealed. The comforter she’d covered him with had moved all the way down, exposing the muscles—many big, beautiful muscles—in his back as it rose and fell with each steady breath.
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