Chapter 12
Thomas
The war between Thomas and Cassidy waged on for the remainder of the week. Thomas got wise, learning to quickly pause or mute the recording reel as soon as he heard Cassidy’s footsteps outside his door. Lucky for him the squeaky floorboards always alerted him of her presence no matter how softly she walked.
Thomas started to look forward to Cassidy’s antics. Each day brought some new level of debauchery. She was the most brazen individual he’d ever met and the fact that she never apologized for it only made him like her more. But he had been wrong about one thing. She had clothes! Sexy clothes!
She wore all manner of provocative little things trying to throw him off his game. His favorite outfit to date was a see-through black negligée, complete with a black garter belt and black pantyhose . . . the kind with the perfect stripe from heel to thigh. He’d nearly drooled on his ivory while watching her slowly peel the hosiery off while lying on his bed. His eyes were glued to her, but still he kept playing the piano.
Even while she shimmied out of her black panties and touched herself until she was moaning and wet. Thomas banged his knees more times than he could count, but he never stopped playing the piano. He knew if he did, Cassidy would stop her taunting and that was the last thing he wanted her to do.
Thomas couldn’t get Cassidy out of his mind. Especially after he’d spent an hour watching her touch herself. He spent the rest of the day imagining what it would be like to replace Cassidy’s hands with his own. How would she feel? He lost sleep over that question. But still each day he played the piano. He faltered tragically, his playing as erratic as his heartbeat, but her taunts only lasted for one glorious hour. And that hour was what he began to live for.
Cassidy’s frustration was evident. Surely she was wondering why the radio station hadn’t canned Thomas yet. She moaned through half his show, purred vulgar things while he was on air and not to mention his piano playing was atrocious. He missed keys, slammed his knee so many times it was turning black and blue, and once he even fell off his bench. But what Cassidy didn’t know was that Thomas was muting the recording reel. Sure he was wasting hours of valuable tape, but her stunts weren’t being broadcast. He’d need to go into town to buy more if he kept this up. He could always record over them, but sometimes at night, he found himself playing the tapes back just to listen to Cassidy’s voice.
After a week it seemed she’d finally had enough and switched her tactics completely. Thomas was playing the piano, his ON AIR sign blazing, his ears trained to the door, listening for Cassidy’s approach. Something tightened in his chest when he noticed it was fifteen past the hour and she hadn’t shown. He tried to keep the tension from his fingers as he stroked the ivory, but a sharp scream from the hall had him running from his bench in an instant.
“Cassidy?” He flew toward the bathroom where her panicked voice was coming from.
“Help! Thomas! Help me!”
He dashed into the bathroom, nearly taking the door off its hinges. “Cass?”
He heard her flirtatious giggle as she slipped from behind the bathroom door and locked him in. Thomas’s heart dropped, but before he even reached for the door handle he knew it would be locked.
“I’ll kill you, Cassidy. I swear to god. If you go in that room.”
But the sound of another door slamming told him she was already in his room.
Shit! Shit! Shit! He hadn’t pressed mute. They were still live!
Thomas rummaged around the drawers until he found a metal razor. He removed the blade and used its handle like a hammer to knock the pins out of the door hinges. He was out of his bathroom prison within minutes. He thundered down the hall, pausing to press his ear against the door to his room. He heard Cassidy’s smoky voice reading something. But what was it?
No! She wouldn’t. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he heard his words floating on her sultry voice. It was his music journal. She’d caught him writing in it at breakfast one morning and made the mistake of telling her what it was, and then snapping it shut when she’d tried to read it over his shoulder.
This couldn’t be happening. Cassidy was reading his songs ON AIR. They weren’t ready! He wasn’t ready. Those were his most private thoughts. Hopes and dreams and musings about the love he’d someday find. And not to mention, his intimate thoughts about her. Cassidy was reading them for all the world to hear, all while softly tinkling the piano keys with no rhyme or reason.
Without a thought in his head Thomas took a running start and slammed his broad shoulder into the door, splintering it off its hinges in one violent burst.
The scene in the room stopped him dead. There she was, naked as a jaybird, save for a pair of black stiletto pumps. Her fine ass rested on his piano keys while she held his journal in one hand, as the other danced playfully across the keys.
Cassidy’s bright red lips curved into a seductive smile when she saw him. “Here he is folks. The maestro himself, Thomas Crain. Say hello to your adoring fans, Thomas.”
He stared at her, frozen with . . . rage . . . lust? He wasn’t sure anymore. It all felt the same as his body quaked with a ferocious magnetism that only Cassidy could quench.
“What’s wrong, Thomas? Cat got your tongue?” she crooned.
Her words snapped something in Thomas. He couldn’t look at that gorgeous grin of hers and do nothing about it a moment longer. The jig was up, anyway. She’d just said his name on air. She’d won. The studio would know it was him, not Gene, at the retreat house. So what did he care now? He had nothing left to lose. There was nothing stopping him from taking what he wanted. And he wanted Cassidy—so damn bad.
Thomas moved with hungry purpose, kicking the bench out from under Cassidy’s spiked heels. She gasped, the keys sighing as her ass slid from its perch. Thomas’s arms encircled her waist, crushing her to him, his lips devouring hers with hungry passion.
She pushed him off and slapped him, hard. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? You, Cassidy. You’re what’s wrong. These twisted games you play are wrong. But the fool I am, I want you anyway.”
Again Thomas crushed his lips to hers, his tongue slipping between her lips unleashing his desire. Cassidy wasn’t phased, she kissed him back with the promise of unforgettable pleasure until he had to come up for air.
“Do you want me, Thomas?”
He growled unable to get out a discernable response.
“What are you going to do about it?” she teased.
Cassidy was calling his bluff. She didn’t think he would touch her. He hadn’t for a week. He’d taken day after day of her maddening seduction. But this was it. If she thought he wouldn’t take her right here and now she was the fool. Thomas grabbed Cassidy’s neck and pulled her toward him, finding her lips with his once more. His hands roved down her back, cupping her firm ass. Sighs escaped her, but she didn’t push him off, so he kept going. She was still playing her wicked game. And he’d be damned if he was going to be the one to call it off.
Thomas pulled Cassidy closer, feeling his massive erection push against the plane of her flat stomach. Her bare skin was everywhere and he couldn’t get enough. He didn’t think he could stop if he wanted to. Somehow, despite his inexperience, his body knew what to do, taking over as she wrapped her legs around him. He lifted her up and pushed her on top of the piano, tearing off his shirt before climbing on top of her. His chest met hers, the sensation of her pert nipples rubbing against him blinded him with lust. He dipped his head down to kiss them, one at a time. Slipping each perfect pink bud between his teeth and sucking.
“Thomas . . .” Cassidy moaned his name, her voice thick like honey.
The sound cracked something open within him. Her voice was raw, real. Not at all like the voice she used trying to get a rise out of him. This was her real voice and she’d never sounded sexier. He looked up at Cassidy. Her dark blue eyes were filled with light . . . and fear.
Cassidy sat up, her face bewildered. “Where are you going?”
Thomas backed up, briskly tossing Cassidy a blanket from his bed. “This isn’t a game to me, Cassidy. I-I’ve never done this,” he stammered. “And I want it to mean something.”
Thomas flipped off his recording reel, grabbed his coat and stormed from the room.
Chapter 13
Cassidy
Cassidy stared at the open door. She half expected Thomas to come rushing back in—half wished he would. But she heard the back door slam and knew he wasn’t coming back.
Emotions surged through her as she quickly dressed. Embarrassment, anger, pride, but most of all hurt. She’d hurt him. That hadn’t been her goal. She just wanted him to leave—so she could finish her writing and do what she came here to do. She didn’t want to wound Thomas. From the ferocious pattern of scars he bore, she knew he’d already suffered more than most. Reading his journal had been too much. And if she was honest, she’d hurt herself.
Back in the chill of her attic room, Cassidy stripped off her jacket and examined herself in the mirror. No wonder Thomas had rejected her. Despite her awful games and the way she’d wounded him with his own words, she had still thought he’d want her. Men always did. They’d never been able to resist. Her body was always her weapon. But no longer. The girl in the mirror reflected back a broken shadow of who she used to be—who she was with Jacob.
With wounded pride, Cassidy dressed in a modest sweater and pants. It was too cold for dresses and games anyway—and they’d suddenly lost their appeal. A blur outside caught her attention and she moved to the window. Far below, near the shore of the calm lake, Thomas worked out his frustrations, skipping rocks across the glassy water. The image of his muscular chest rippled through her mind as she watched him. A spark of anger rushed through Cassidy. Anger at herself for being so damn broken and letting her darkness seep into Thomas.
She’d read his words and had been unable to keep them from affecting her. He was so earnest and good and full of love after all the tragedy he’d been through. He still had hope, and it hurt Cassidy more than she cared to admit to see how strong Thomas was. She wished she could be more like him. She glanced out the window again to where Thomas sent his anger skipping across the water.
Right then and there Cassidy decided to call off this feud between them. If by some miracle Thomas didn’t get fired and was allowed to stay, she’d make it up to him. She didn’t know how yet, but she’d find a way. She poured herself two knuckles of gin and sat down in front of her typewriter. She pulled her hair back and cracked her knuckles before diving in with renewed focus.
Hours had gone by and Cassidy had actual work to show for it. She thumbed through the ample stack of papers on her desk. It was the most she’d ever written in one sitting and she surprisingly didn’t have the urge to throw it all in the wastebasket. She’d made it through all the letters and poetry she and Jacob had written to each other over the years he was at war. Her throat was tight with emotion and she reached for her glass to quiet her nerves. It was empty. But she realized it was only the first glass she’d had today. She’d been so busy plotting against Thomas that morning that she hadn’t started her day with a glass full of spirits to feed her grief.
It dawned on her that she’d been reaching for her gin less and less. She’d been so busy plotting how to get rid of the pesky piano player that haunted her with his beautifully tragic music that her habit had slipped. Cassidy stared back at her stack of papers. She felt clear headed, like she could keep writing, like she was accomplishing something. She hadn’t felt that way in . . . well, she couldn’t remember. It had been so long since she’d felt anything at all, and she wanted to hold onto that spark.
She stood up and grabbed the half empty bottle of gin and ran down the stairs with purpose. She had to be quick—do it before she changed her mind. She went straight to the bathroom and poured the remainder of the bottle down the sink.
There. She’d done it. Now what? She didn’t know where to go from here, but she was sure it was a step in the right direction, and that was a start.
Apologizing to Thomas seemed like the next logical step. Cassidy stood in the hallway outside his room for a while, unable to muster the courage to knock. She cursed herself for not taking a swig of gin before dumping the bottle. She could use a little liquid courage right now. She loitered silently outside his door for a while longer. But in the end she retreated to her room, tail between her legs. She didn’t know what she would even say to him if she had the courage to face him. Saying ‘I’m Sorry’ didn’t seem enough. Admitting ‘I’m a twisted broken woman who can’t trust anyone because my stepfather tried to fuck me and the only man who promised to rescue me left and never came back’ seemed too much.
So Cassidy sat back in front of her typewriter and tried to pound out something that made sense. Something that would smooth over the damage she’d done. Then she drifted to sleep, hoping that Thomas would find a way to forgive her.
Chapter 14
Thomas
After a fitful night of sleep, Thomas finally gave up his tossing and turning and made his way to the kitchen. He watched the phone while the coffee brewed, wondering when it would ring, ending his career before it ever really began. In his lustful rage he’d forgotten to mute his show yesterday. Surely the station was getting all kinds of complaints about his airtime. Truthfully, he was surprised he hadn’t been canned already. His playing was atrocious with all of Cassidy’s interruptions. But yesterday had been unacceptable. Their language alone was enough to get him banned from radio for life.
All day the phone’s silence tormented Thomas as he watched the clock tick down the hours until he would go live again. And all day he’d heard nothing from Cassidy. He’d sworn he heard her outside his door last night, but he chalked it up to his own wishful thinking. The longer the silence grew between them, the more unbearable it became.
Finally his timeslot rolled around and with no phone call telling him not to perform Thomas sat down at his piano, thanking whatever miracle had granted him one more day to play his music. Thomas played his heart out. He played like he’d never played before. Not even before the accident, when the walls he’d built to protect his ruined heart didn’t stifle his talent. Today he played the frustrations he’d tried uselessly to rid himself of yesterday after kissing Cassidy. Today he played for her. For how much he wanted her and wished he could fix her. For in that one moment of truth, when she’d moaned his name, he’d seen in her what he felt himself—pain, loss, fear and deep, unending loneliness. So with each cord he desperately worked to build new bones to support their broken hopes, to connect them through sound, to chase away their loneliness and fill their voids with music.
He played and played, running long past his hour. But he didn’t care, because this song was for him, and for Cassidy. And it was most likely the last time the world would hear his music. So he played until he had nothing left in his heart.
For a brief moment he heard the floor creak outside his door and his breath caught, hopeful that Cassidy had come back to him, that she would hear him play like this—true and free. But the door never opened. And he knew pouring himself into his music was no use. Because no matter how their bones and bodies could heal, their hearts never would.
Spent from exerting himself over the ivory, Thomas finally withdrew from his room in search of food. He made a sandwich and took it back to his bedroom, pausing at his door. There was a note, taped to the outside by ink-smudged fingers. His heart jumped as he reached for it. Three simple lines had been expertly typed.
I’m a wretched thing.
Don’t let my darkness spoil your dreams.
Your music touches the soul.
Heat bloomed in Thomas’s chest, his heart beat too fast, his lungs craving more air than he could find. He
steadied his hand on the door and read the note again. He looked around, expecting to see Cassidy lurking somewhere ready to laugh at his obvious adoration of her words. But she wasn’t there. And these words . . . he trusted them. The same way he had trusted the look in her eyes when she’d moaned his name. They were real—honest.
Thomas fought his urge to bound up the stairs to the attic and scoop Cassidy up. All he wanted to do was hold her again and kiss her—to tell her they were the same and they didn’t have to be alone anymore. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Her words were more intimate than any touch she would ever offer him. He’d seen how she used her body as a weapon—her words were where she hid her worth.
So Thomas carefully removed the letter from his door and retreated to his room. He read the words aloud, over and over until they were a part of him. And then he played. He played the words, put to music, inscribing them into his bones with ivory keys.
Chapter 15
Cassidy
The next morning, when Cassidy awoke, there was a note slipped under her door. She unfolded the small lined notebook pages. They were covered with words in tiny cramped handwriting. Her hand raced to her mouth to stifle her gasp as she realized she was holding two precious pages from Thomas’s music journal. It was a song.
Love, how she haunts this home
Leaves us weary to the bone
A wretched thing to spoil dreams
Don’t you know I have them too
And I crave them just as deep as you.
If you let go, I’ll let go too
And you can hold on to me
Darkness slips like the soul
I barely remember the touches I stole
Retreat To Me (The Retreat Series Book 1) Page 5