by B. B. Miller
It’s not that I’m not grateful to my father; rather, I hate the constant reminder of why I’m in his debt. No one should have to relive that type of thing. A crack of thunder outside rattles the windows, but it’s not the reason my hands are suddenly sweaty. I clench my fists, close my eyes, and try to push away the sudden images from years ago that had made my life a living hell. If only I’d gone into the bathroom with Sara, or if I’d encouraged her to leave the party sooner, or studied for my marketing class instead of going with her in the first place…
The phone jumps into the air with the force of my fist banging on the desk. “It’s not your fault, damn it!” I growl softly to myself. I know it’s true, but even so many years later, I can’t stop my mental self-flagellation.
It’s high time I get over this, I know. But just when I’m about to tell my parents that they can no longer count on me as a chip in my father’s political games, I receive another report from the off-the-books web service my father employs letting me know of their latest efforts on my behalf. And I cave. I could never afford that type of ruthless cyber-maintenance on my own. I wish I could be sure he’d continue it even if I decided not to play ball any longer, but the sad truth is that I’m not. My father never does anything without expecting something in return. Period.
He wasn’t always like this, though. I look up at the dust motes swirling under the overhead light. They remind me of the snowfall back home in Cheyenne when I was small and Dad would take us to look for a Christmas tree. He used to carry me on his shoulders so I wouldn’t get stuck in the deep snow. It made me feel like the queen of the world. Sighing, I let me head fall back. I know my father loves me; he never would have done all he’s done to help me if he didn’t. He’s just become so…hard over the years. I can’t remember the last time he smiled when he wasn’t in front of the cameras.
Folding my arms on the hard surface, I rest my forehead on my wrist. I’m so tired. Tired of the never-ending cycle, tired of being a pawn, tired of being afraid…just tired. Will it really kill me to spend a few pleasant hours with a nice man, regardless of how it comes about? Jack is certainly a better option than some of the men I’ve been paired with. He’s well educated but isn’t snobby about it, he can keep up his end of a conversation without constantly talking about himself, and he doesn’t chew with his mouth open. What more could I possibly want?
A mop of silky black hair above a pair of vivid green eyes suddenly fills my mind, and I sit up abruptly, my heart racing. Damn, not again! It’s been weeks since my British Bang. Why can’t I forget that guy?
Oh, please. It’s not that big of a mystery. I pick up a paper clip from the desk and lean back in my chair, twisting the tiny piece of metal between my fingers. Besides it being one of the hottest fucks I’ve ever enjoyed, it was completely spontaneous and entirely on my terms. I knew I was in for a treat from the minute he slammed my back against the wall of the hangar. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect of it. Anyone could’ve found us back there, and if they’d found out who I was, there would’ve been hell to pay. Or maybe it was just him—powerful, passionate, and so damn present.
I haven’t felt that alive in ages. If ever.
My stranger has been front and center in several of my dreams since then. I startle awake, tangled in my bedsheets with my heart racing, and sure I can feel his strong hands on my body and his mouth on mine. Unlike our real tryst, I always kiss him in my dreams. It almost makes me wish I’d actually kissed him. Kissing is so intimate, though. A different kind of intimacy than fucking. Sex is an exchange of raw, mutual pleasure. But kissing—for me—involves emotions, and I can’t afford those. Besides, I kinda loved he was frustrated that I wouldn’t. He certainly found another way to use his mouth on me.
“What’s that smile for?” Riya stands on the other side of the desk with a smirk. I quickly wipe said smile off my face and stand, dropping the now mangled paper clip on the desktop.
“Nothing.” I smooth down my shirt, feeling my face flush. “Is the salon room ready? It’s almost time for our last appointment.”
Riya crosses her arms across her ample bosom, obviously seeing through my attempt at nonchalance. “Of course it’s ready.” She cocks her head to one side in amusement. “You don’t want to talk now? Fine. We both know you’ll tell me eventually.”
She’s right, damn it. “Whatever,” I mutter, waving my hand in dismissal and ignoring her chuckle. “I, uh, need to run to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a second.” Her chuckle becomes full-fledged laughter as I walk away.
A few minutes later, feeling less, um, agitated, I head toward the reception area just as the bell rings. I can hear Riya’s greeting and the response. Ah, our last client is English, based on her voice. I wonder if she lives here or is just visiting. Not sure why she’d come all the way to New York for a wedding dress, but stranger things have happened. Brides can be weird.
“Ms. Kenton? I’m Cassidy Skinner. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I shake her hand, which is cold from being outside. She’s slim and as tall as me, with a long neck and gorgeous auburn hair, and I immediately imagine which dresses and designs I’ll show her.
“Please, call me Sydney. Thank you for fitting me in today,” she says, her voice deep and melodious. “I’m at my wits’ end, truly. But I saw your website and was immediately encouraged.”
“Well, I have a few things in mind that should definitely interest you.” I give her a warm smile, instantly liking her. “And you can call me Cass.”
A whoosh of cold, rain-fresh air sweeps in the foyer as the door opens behind her, ringing the bell. I can see a shock of violet hair above her head and hear a low muttering that makes her grin. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, an apology in her eyes. “I brought my brother to help me make up my mind. Sean?” She glances behind her. “Come meet Cass Skinner. Her designs are amazing!”
“Oh, aye?” He steps up next to her, shaking off the rain like a dog, and my mouth drops open when I’m faced with a pair of piercing green eyes staring at me in shock.
Sweet crispy Christ!
Murphy’s Law No. 283: When fate surprises you, best to hold on and enjoy the ride.
Sean
“LONDON.” THERE’S THAT BREATHLESS VOICE I’ve whacked off to more than once.
“Fly-girl?”
“What’s going on?” I barely register Syd’s voice as my eyes meet my mystery woman’s pale blue-gray ones. Those eyes and this woman have played hell in my head for weeks. It’s almost like she’s not real. Her eyes lift to my hair, and she gets a little crease on her forehead as she studies me.
“This is not happening right now,” my beauty mumbles under her breath.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” I blurt out, taking a step closer to her. I inhale her scent and it’s like coming home. Lavender and something sweet and tempting.
“Here I am.”
“Cass? You said her name was Cass?” I turn to my sister who’s got her arms crossed as she sizes me up. I recognize that look.
“You two know each other? Like, know-know each other? As in the biblical sense?” Syd sounds horrified, her arms flailing now.
“I don’t think the folks in the good book would necessarily approve of the way we know each other.”
“Oh God,” my blond beauty murmurs, heat coloring her cheeks.
“Mmm. Pretty sure my name’s Sean, but I do remember you calling me God. More than once.” She doesn’t return my smirk. “Keep doing that.”
“You slept with my potential wedding dress designer?” I cringe at the tone of Syd’s voice. Pretty sure that’s a level designed only for wolves to hear.
“I wouldn’t say we did any sleeping.”
“Stop talking,” Cass hisses, her eyes darting to Sydney before they settle back on mine.
“Come on in out of the rain, and we’ll get you warmed up!” I turn to the sound of another voice. A smiling older woman waddles her way toward us. “Sydney, yes? I’m Riya. And who is
this?” She’s almost out of breath when she nears us, and she reaches up to poke at my hair. “What in the world was going through your head there?” She lifts her chin, with her hands on her hips, scowling at me.
“Aye, uh…” I rub my hand across the back of my neck under her scrutinizing gaze. I can’t remember the last time I was intimidated by anyone. Not going to lie. This Riya woman kind of scares me.
“This is my brother, Sean,” Syd grinds out. “Although I’m thinking of disowning him.”
“Hmmm.” Riya glances between me and Cass, who seems to be struck speechless. I’m happy just to stare at Cass. Fuck, she’s beautiful. Even as she’s looking like a deer caught in the headlights, the urge to touch her is strong. “Well, why don’t we get you some tea, and we can talk about your big day,” the helpful Riya so marvelously suggests, steering my sister in the direction of a smaller sitting area.
“That’s a brilliant idea, Riya,” I begin. “Don’t you think so, Cass? What is Cass short for…Cassandra?” The corners of her mouth turn up at my voice, but then she grabs the sleeve of my leather jacket and tugs me forward.
“It’s just Cassidy.” She blows out a breath and turns to Syd. “If you’ll just excuse us for a moment. Riya will get you some tea. This won’t take long.”
“Now, now. It might take long. I’ve been known to fu—” Cassidy’s hand flies up to cover my mouth, and I take the opportunity to nip at her fingers.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep quiet,” Cassidy warns, causing Sydney’s laughter to fill the shop.
“You really don’t know him at all, do you? Sean? Keep quiet? Good luck with that.” Sydney all but snorts, and I can’t argue with her. Everything she’s said is true.
I don’t mind Cassidy tugging me across the dark hardwood floor. It means I get to check out her round arse, perfectly kissed by those black trousers that make her sweet legs look even longer. I know what it feels like to have those beauties wrapped around me. Judging by the press of my cock against my jeans, it’s safe to say he remembers too.
She whips open a dressing room door and shoves me inside and leans back on the door as it closes behind her. “What in the hell are you doing here? Who sent you?” she whisper-hisses, blowing her hair away from her face. I like that she seems to be all flustered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Who’s paying you to do this?” she rants in an accusatory tone, hands balled into fists at her hips.
“Do what now?”
“Find me! Stalk me! God, why can’t you all just give it a rest?”
“Love, I don’t know what you’re—”
“Don’t ‘love’ me. I can’t… that accent.” She closes her eyes and grips the handle of the door as if she can’t quite trust herself and needs something to hold onto. I like it. I like it a lot.
“You like my accent. At least you did when I was buried inside you.”
Her eyes flash with heat as she eyes me. “You really don’t know who I am?” She squints at me, as if gauging my intentions.
“I could ask you the same question. Until five minutes ago, all I knew about you was that you were an incredibly sexy woman I can’t seem to stop thinking about.” I’m trapped in this pull between us that has me stepping forward. My fingers trail a path up her side. She leans into my touch slightly as I continue, “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Until five minutes ago”—she throws my own words back at me—“all I knew about you was that you were afraid to skydive, but not afraid to fuck outside.” Her hand on the handle of the door stays put, but her other hand reaches out to grip my jacket. “A man who knows what he wants.”
“That I am, Cassidy.”
Her eyes dart up to my hair. “Why dye your hair purple?”
“Because I can.”
“It’s that simple?” Her eyes are trained on my lips.
“It can be.” I slide my hand against her neck, feeling her pulse thunder before I brush my thumb against her jaw. “I want to kiss you. I want to know what you taste like.”
She swallows, her lips parting. “You already do. More than anyone has in a while.” And doesn’t that make me feel like a fucking god.
“And since?”
She shakes her head. “No. No one since.”
“Me either. See? We have something in common.”
“I have a date tonight,” she blurts out. I take a step back, feeling as if she’s slapped me in the face.
“Cancel it.”
She turns her head, and I can see her reflection in the mirrors on each of the walls. The dressing room is large, a glow from a vintage overhead light softly dancing over her wicked curves. “I can’t.”
I hold her gaze in the mirror to the left. “You can’t or you won’t?”
“Both.”
She ducks her head and I slide my fingers under her chin, tipping it up so she meets my eyes. “I’ll take you on the best date you’ve ever had. Better than this yawn-fest dinner at a typical Italian restaurant with a git who has the charisma of a dinner napkin.”
Those pretty eyes of hers widen. “How did you—”
“Because Italian’s the safe place to take a date.” I press my other hand against the door, framing her in, and lean forward to skim my lips against her ear. “Safe and boring. You’re neither of those things, Cassidy.”
“God…” It comes out strangled from her tempting lips.
“I like it when you call me that.” She purses her lips, shaking her head as she releases my jacket and pushes against my chest.
“I don’t even know you.”
There’s no way I’m letting her get away with that bullshit, so I lean forward, my lips hovering a hairsbreadth from hers. “We can rectify that.” Fuck, she smells good. I want to bury myself in her scent.
Leaning back, I straighten up to my full six-four height and hold my hand out. “Sean Murphy. English. Thirty-seven. Musician. Drummer, actually, for the band Redfall. You may have heard of us. I’ll try not to hold it against you if you haven’t.” That little adorable crease in her forehead appears again as she cocks her head. “I have a twin sister, Sydney, for whom I will hopefully drop an obscene amount of money in your shop, thus earning me a date and maybe if I’m extremely fortunate, more time with you. I’ve been to every continent on the planet—including Antarctica. I hate cruises as I get deathly seasick, although I’ve been on nine of them, and I would love nothing more than to spread you out on that chaise in the corner and fuck you until you can’t remember your name.”
She stares back at me, looking stunned if I’m being honest. “I… I just… I don’t even know where to begin with that.”
I reach around her. She takes a quick breath as I release her death grip on the handle and set her hand in mine. “Now, you would shake my hand and say something like: Cassidy Skinner.” I drag my gaze down her delectable body. “Thirty-two?” She’s having trouble fighting her grin as she nods. “American, although I can’t quite place the accent. Kick-ass dress designer. You have a…”
I slowly tilt my head forward and she answers quickly, “Brother. I’ve never been anywhere outside the US, but I’d love to take a cruise because you’d be able to see so many islands all in one trip, and those buffets! I mean have you seen pictures of them? Who wouldn’t love a midnight buffet at sea?”
I chuckle at her rambling, frantic description. “Who indeed?” I mumble, but the spell is broken, and she releases my hand as if it’s on fire.
“I need to get to your sister.” I nod and take a reluctant step back as she smooths back her sleek hair. “Try to salvage what’s left of this appointment. If that’s even possible at this point.” She takes a deep breath and opens the door, pausing to look at me over her shoulder. “God, I can’t believe this.”
“Of all the wedding shops in all of New York, hmm? Must be fate.”
She shakes her head, striding away from me again. Why does it feel like I’ll always be chasing her?
&nb
sp; Cassidy
This can’t be happening to me.
New York has something like a billion people in it. How in God’s green earth did he manage to fall into my life again? Clenching my fists, I try to get a grip on my churning emotions. Even as angry as I am right now—and I am angry—I have this weird bubbling feeling inside. Like I felt on Christmas morning when I was little, before we went downstairs to see all the presents under the tree. I don’t know what to do with that.
His footsteps fall heavily behind me as I march toward the salon. There is no way I’m going to look back at him. He’s a member of Redfall? Could he possibly be telling the truth? I try to dredge up what I know about the band, but my recall is shot—my thoughts are a jumbled mess. I have no idea how I’m going to save my current situation. Disappointment wells inside me. Sydney seems so nice; I would’ve loved working with her.
Regardless, I plaster on a smile as I rejoin her and Riya, who’s doing her usual wonderful job of settling a prospective client. Sydney sits on one of the satin-covered chairs with a cup of tea in her hand and gives me a wary look.
“Everything all right?” She glances over my shoulder with a slight frown, before refocusing on me.
“Certainly,” I chirp, and sit next to her. “Now, then. I apologize for my…unprofessional greeting. Although I hope you’re still interested in seeing what I can offer you, I completely understand if you’re not.”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Sean plops down on the other side of her, but I still refuse to acknowledge him. Strangely, so does his sister. “After some of the shite we’ve seen today, I’m looking forward to seeing something she’d actually consider.”