by JoAnn Ross
He sighed. “I was afraid that’s what you’d say.” Without asking, he joined her in the line of passengers waiting to check in. When he reached for her bag, she mutinously switched it to the other hand.
In front of her a woman was complaining that she’d been promised a window seat. The unwaveringly friendly woman behind the counter kept tapping obligingly on her computer keys, searching out an available substitution.
“What are you doing here, Cash?” she asked again.
“Seeing you off.”
“Why?”
“Because we didn’t get a chance to talk last night.”
“Yes, we did.” The other passenger walked away, seemingly mollified. Chelsea moved up.
“Not alone,” Cash said.
“There wasn’t any need for that.” Chelsea handed over her ticket.
The reservations clerk, whose name tag actually read Scarlett O’Hara began tapping the keyboard. “I have you in seat 3-A, Ms. Cassidy.” Her smile warmed considerably as she turned the wattage toward Cash. “Will you be flying with us today, sir?” Her drawl was as smooth as honey, as rich as the pralines Chelsea had bought in the hotel gift shop to take back to Mary Lou.
“Now, if I were going to fly anywhere, you can bet it’d be on your fine airline,” Cash assured her. “But I’m afraid I’m just seein’ my lady off.”
“Oh.” Glossy red lips turned downward in a pout. The disappointed clerk stuck Chelsea’s ticket into a red-white-and-blue jacket and handed it back to her. “Have a nice flight.”
“Thank you.” Chelsea took the ticket and walked toward a nearby row of molded plastic chairs. “Well, you certainly made an impression. She’s probably hoping the plane will crash, putting me out of the picture.”
“Bein’ friendly is her job.”
“Since when does being friendly involve practically stripping a man naked with her eyes? Which, by the way, had too much blue eye shadow.”
Cash was enjoying her obvious irritation. A jealous woman was definitely not an indifferent one. “I didn’t notice. I was too busy looking at you.” He ran his fingers lightly through her hair, ruffling the waves. “Did I mention how much I like your new hairdo?”
It was a casual, unthreatening touch. It was also, in this busy terminal teeming with travelers, unnervingly intimate. “I don’t believe it came up.”
“I was afraid of that. Damn. I think my only excuse is that I was too pixilated by the sight of you in that snazzy red silk suit to think straight.”
“Pixilated?” She could feel her lips curving despite her best effort to stop them.
“A nine-letter word meaning enchanted.” His fingers continued down her cheek. His head lowered, sensual intent gleaming in his eyes. “Enthralled.” His hand cupped her chin. “Or, if you want to get down to the nitty-gritty, hot and bothered. Did I mention that I had to threaten to kick out Jeb’s lung because of the way that sassy skirt hugged your cute little ass?”
“You didn’t!”
“Of course I did. But Jeb understood. After all, there’s an unspoken code about leering at your best friend’s lady.”
“I’m not your lady.”
“Sure you are,” Cash said patiently. “Believe me, darlin’, I’ve always been a firm believer in southern hospitality. But I don’t cancel an appointment with the governor to show up at the airport to wave goodbye to every good-lookin’ woman who visits Georgia.”
“You had an appointment with the governor? Dressed like that?”
“It was at his mamma’s house here in Savannah. She’s looking to remodel and it’s a little hard to crawl around in the attic in a suit and tie. The governor thought I was the man for the job. He also mentioned needing a little work on the executive mansion.”
“And you canceled an opportunity like that? For me?”
“Actually, if you want to get technical, I postponed it.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Why?”
“I told you. You’re my woman.”
He made it sound so simple. “You really are crazy.”
“Pixilated,” he reminded her. He gave her a long look, then shook his head.
“What’s wrong?”
“Damned if I’m not gonna miss you, Chelsea. Maybe I oughta see about buying a seat off one of the other passengers.”
“No!” She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t want you coming to New York with me.”
“Afraid I’ll break Nelson’s nose?”
“Of course not.” The very idea was ridiculous.
“I would, you know. If he tried to keep you.”
“I’m not any man’s possession.”
“Good. Then you can go home, say goodbye to Nelson and come back to me. That’s probably the best way to handle it,” he decided, rubbing his jaw. “Quick and neat, and it’ll save me having to kick out his lung. Or cut off his—”
“Don’t you dare say another word!” She glanced around, afraid some of the passengers awaiting boarding might have overheard his ridiculously male comment. “You really have to stop talking to me this way in public.”
“I’d be happy to oblige. But the thing is, Chelsea, you don’t give me much chance to have these little chats in private.” He slid a fingertip down the slope of her imperfect nose. “So, I don’t see as how I have any choice but to take advantage of whatever opportunity I can get. Wherever I can get it.”
Wanting—needing—to get this settled once and for all, she grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the neighboring gate, which was nearly empty.
“Look, I’m not going to deny that I’m attracted to you—”
“That’s a start. Because I sure as hell am attracted to you.”
She ignored his interruption. “And I have no doubt that sex with you would be as potent as ever.”
“That’s pretty much what I’ve been thinking.”
“Would you please stop agreeing with me? And let me continue?”
He gave her a be-my-guest gesture.
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath and was about to continue when he broke into her already scattered chain of thought.
“Chelsea?”
“What now?”
“If you want me to keep my mind on what you’re saying, I’d be much obliged if you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Breathe like that. Watching that silk come up and down makes a man think about what’s underneath. And although I like to think that I’ve come a long way from the days when I did all my thinking with my glands, I’ve got to admit, darlin’, that the sight is more than a little distracting.”
She closed her eyes, began to take another deep, frustrated breath, then cut it off in the middle of inhaling. “You really are incorrigible.”
“And you really are lovely.”
When she opened her eyes, they were filled with confusion. “You don’t understand.”
“Sure as God made little green apples, I’m trying to. But it’s a little difficult, when you won’t open up and tell me the truth about what you’re really thinking. And feeling.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Life usually is. The thing is, I never would have taken you for a coward.”
“I’m not a coward!” Dylan Cassidy’s little girl, a coward? The very idea was inconceivable.
“You’re running away.”
“I’m going home.”
“Same thing. You thought you’d safely locked away all your feelings for me—and about us—seven years ago. But then you came to Raintree, and Pandora’s box got opened, and all those unruly feelings have broken loose. And you’re scared.
“So you’re running back to Nelson. Where you’ll be safe. And secure. And bored to tears. Because your blue-blooded Yankee wouldn’t have a clue as to how to satisfy a woman of your fiery passions.”
There was too much truth in the statement to deny it. Chelsea wondered when Cash had gotten so insightful. Or perhaps it was merely that she’d become transparent. Neither idea gave her a
great deal of comfort.
The row of seats was empty. Chelsea sat down in one. Cash took the one beside her. When he captured her hand in his, she didn’t pull away.
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m trying to,” he reminded her mildly.
“It’s just that the past few months have been a bit of a strain. Okay,” she admitted to him—and to herself—“more than a bit. As much as I love my work, it seems I’ve been spending half my life on planes and in hotels.”
“Can’t be easy, keeping up with the jet set.”
“It’s not. Which is why I’m considering writing this book.”
“Not that I want to bad-mouth the lady, but I can’t see how working with Roxanne would lower anyone’s stress level,” Cash observed.
“Granted. But it would also give me the economic freedom to slow down. And to finish the novel I’ve been trying to write for the past two years.”
The same novel her mother refused to discuss. The novel Nelson jokingly called her own personal War and Peace.
“I’ll bet it’ll be a crackerjack book, when you get it done.”
Like so much else about Cash, his easy words caught her by surprise. “You’re just saying that.”
“I may have acquired some polish over the years, but I still speak my mind. And I don’t say anything I don’t mean. You’re a talented writer, Chelsea. You’ve got a real knack of knowin’ what makes people tick that should make you able to create some powerful characters. And I know firsthand how imaginative you can be.”
A sexy glint flashed in his eyes, come and gone so fast that if she hadn’t been watching him so closely, Chelsea would have missed it. “Put all that together in a novel and you can’t miss.”
His instant, unqualified support caused a strange lump to form in her throat. “We’re getting off the point again,” she said finally. “I came down here to Raintree for a new start.”
“And instead you discovered some loose ends you never knew you’d left untied.”
“Yes.” Her gaze met his. “What I was trying to explain was that you’re a complication, Cash. At a time when I honestly can’t handle any more complications.”
It certainly wasn’t the most flattering thing he’d ever been called. Cash tamped down the prick to his ego and concentrated instead on the stress radiating from her too tense body.
“Seven years ago, you let me ride out of your life, Chelsea. Now, maybe that’s what you had to do. What you should have done. Or maybe you made a mistake. I don’t know and I don’t care, because second-guessing the situation isn’t going to get us anywhere.
“I know I should say I’m sorry I’m complicating your life, Irish. But I’m not sorry. And, to tell the truth, you’re not the only one surprised by all this. Because I thought I’d moved on.
“I told myself I’d gotten over you and I’d almost—on the good days—made myself believe that. Then you walked into Roxanne’s flowery parlor and I realized I couldn’t breathe—”
“Cash—”
“Shut up.” His tone was mild; his eyes were not. “I’m going to get this out once and for all so you have something to think about while you’re on that plane. I’m through lying to myself. And I’m plum out of regrets. So, the thing is, whatever happens with you and Roxanne’s damn book, I’m not going to lose you again.
“Whether you come back to Raintree, or I have to go to New York, I’m going to have you, Chelsea Cassidy. And you’re going to love it.”
She blinked at his rough, almost threatening tone. “That’s all this is about, isn’t it? Sex.”
She smelled like sunshine and spring rains. And temptation. With a capital T. He could have strangled her for it. When he realized that fury was closer to the surface than he’d suspected, and fear right on its heels, he ruthlessly checked both emotions and reminded himself of exactly what he wanted to achieve.
“You’re the one who keeps talking about sex,” he reminded her. “I’m not going to deny that I want your body. But as attractive and appealing as it admittedly is, that’s just packaging. I want a lot more than that.”
She shook her head. “I can’t give you what you want. Not now.”
“Now, there you go again, underestimating yourself.” He bent his head and brushed a light kiss against her furrowed brow. “I’d also like to say that I’m willin’ to give you time to sort things out. But I can’t promise that. Because there are always going to be choices to make, Chelsea. And there are always going to be problems. That’s life. I’m not going to back off. Not this time.”
This time he kissed her lips. A hard kiss that tasted of hunger, frustration and resolve. A kiss that made her head spin even as it left her wanting more.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Too late.” He kissed her again, this time letting his lips linger, nibbling at hers, creating a golden glow that shimmered through her like liquid sunshine. Forgetting that they were in a public place, she lifted her hands to his shoulders and allowed herself to sink into the tantalizing warmth.
“Damn,” he muttered against Chelsea’s mouth as the public address system announced the preboarding of her flight. “I guess you’d better get on board.”
“Yes.”
He tilted his head back and traced her still tingling lips with a roughened fingertip. “But you’ll be back.”
“Yes.” Her entire vocabulary, which had always been her strength, seemed to have narrowed down to that single word.
Her mind still fogged, she was barely aware of standing up and making her way toward the departure door. Right before she handed over her boarding pass, Cash pulled her into his arms and gave her another brief hard kiss that left her breathless.
“Hurry back.”
“Yes.”
Her equilibrium shaken by Cash’s mind-blinding kiss, Chelsea couldn’t remember walking down the jetway and was only vaguely aware of the flight attendant welcoming her onto the plane.
As she fastened her seat belt buckle and looked out at the terminal, she could see Cash standing beside the wide window wall. When he realized he’d caught her eye, he flashed her another of his woman-killing grins and gave her a thumbs-up sign. Then walked away.
Chapter Twelve
She’d planned to work on her novel during the flight to New York. But the words, which had always flowed so easily for her, refused to come. And her characters had suddenly turned as stubborn and silent as stone.
It was all Cash’s fault, she thought furiously. He’d filled her mind, shoving aside all the other things she should have been thinking about—her novel, Roxanne’s offer, Nelson.
She hated the way she’d felt that little burst of pleasure when she’d seen him standing at the departure gate, hated the panic she’d felt when his deep, drugging kiss made her feel as if she were sinking into quicksand.
What she had—what she’d always had—with Cash was hot and exciting. Chelsea couldn’t imagine ever not wanting him. She didn’t believe there’d ever be a time when just looking at the man couldn’t cause that painful-pleasurable little hitch in her heart.
But there had to be more to life than sex. Like mutual respect. Commitment. Love.
Seven years ago, when she’d tried to picture a life with Cash, she couldn’t do it. They were strangers who’d come together in darkened rooms like thunder. And lightning. And when the storm had passed, she’d return to her own world. Her own safe, secure, familiar world, she admitted, thinking back on Cash’s unflattering accusation.
Last year, when her schedule had begun to get more and more hectic and her life had seemed in danger of spinning out of control, she’d dragged herself to what had been billed as a quiet family dinner only to discover that Nelson had also been invited. While under normal circumstance Chelsea would have been more than a little irritated by her mother’s blatant matchmaking ploy, on that evening, she had to admit that she found Nelson pleasantly familiar.
The on-again, off-again relationship
they’d had since childhood had been in its off phase, after Nelson had become increasingly irritated at being stood up because Chelsea had hopped a quick jet to California to interview Sharon Stone, or flown to the Dominican Republic to track down rumors of a possible Madonna-Dave Letterman secret wedding. Understanding his pique, but unwilling to change her life, Chelsea had assured him she understood his need for a woman who’d live up to his expectation and wished him well.
That night, as they’d talked during dinner, she’d been surprised by the 180 degree shift in his feelings. Amazingly, he’d listened to her stories of celebrity gossip, which he’d always scoffed at as tabloid trash before.
She had just spent two of the most hectic weeks in her life at the part circus, part zoo that was the Cannes Film Festival, so when he invited her to spend a restful weekend with him at a quaint little bed-and-breakfast in Vermont, Chelsea had accepted.
And when, six weeks after that, he’d suggested living together, she’d agreed to that, as well. It was, Chelsea thought now, one of the few things she’d ever done that had earned her mother’s immediate approval.
“Everyone knows you’ve always loved Nelson,” Deidre had said over hearts of palm salad at her summer cottage at Newport. “Just as we all know you’re going to marry him. And finally unite our two families.”
At the time, although she’d hated the way her mother had made her potential marriage sound like an old-fashioned dynastic merger, Chelsea had not disagreed. Especially since, now that Nelson was so much more supportive of her career, she suspected her mother was right. She probably would marry Nelson. Someday. When she was thirty.
Chelsea was looking out the window at the endless sea of puffy white clouds when she realized that she’d been lying. Not so much to her mother, but to herself. Chelsea had always prided herself on the journalistic detachment that made her an expert at reading others so clearly. But she was not at all accustomed to looking into herself. Now that Cash had triggered this unwelcome introspection, forcing her to face the niggling little suspicions she’d tried to ignore, Chelsea was discovering a few home truths.
She wasn’t going to marry Nelson. Not someday. Not in two years. Not ever. Despite his seeming turnaround concerning her work, she’d not quite been able to shake that niggling little worry that after marriage, he’d revert to type and want her to become a malleable, decorative society wife. If that turned out to be the case, she knew she’d never be able to give him what he needed.