Cassidy and the Princess

by Patricia Potter

  She leaned against him, absorbing his body heat, the assurance that had always so attracted her to him.

  Her emotions roiled. She had been fighting that attraction, but now she believed—no, knew—that what she felt went beyond admiration, gratitude, lust.

  “You are smiling,” he said.

  “Because you look very…enticing naked,” she replied.

  “No one looks better than you.” His hands ran down her sides as if memorizing every curve and angle of her body, and she felt like a precious object. She moved closer to him, and he touched her lips with featherlight tenderness, then guided her down on the bed. His hands stroked her, caressing her breasts, then trailing his hand down to her triangle of hair. His fingers explored, ignited, until she thought she could bear the wanting no longer. She gave a strangled whimper.

  He positioned his body above her and slowly lowered himself. She relished the hot, pulsating skin that first teased, then hesitated. A deep intense craving gnawed in the deepest core of her and her body moved upward, shamelessly issuing an invitation.

  He went into her, slowly and rhythmically, each move intensifying the craving, the expectation. His lips touched hers, treasuring her, even as he probed deeper. Her body arched against him, and her arms pulled him down, wanting him to come faster, deeper, but still he delayed, moving with a deliberate sensuality that made her mad with wanting.

  Her body responded, clasping him, dancing with him, the pressure building. Heat flooded her as his rhythm quickened, and he plunged deeper into the center of her. Pleasure billowed through her, each wave more powerful than the one before as the momentum increased and she was lost in one great storm of lightning and bursts of splendor.

  She cried out, and his lips found hers once more as he made one last thrust, igniting a final explosion that left her body quivering with aftershocks. “Hmmmmmmmmm,” she said.

  “I echo that,” he murmured, and lay next to her.

  He placed his arm around her back. His grip tightened around her fingers. Silence settled between them. Then he rolled over and looked at her. “I shouldn’t have let that happen. Particularly without protection. I thought I could control…”

  “Me, too,” she said, bringing his fingers to her mouth and nuzzling them. “But I’m on birth control pills…for health reasons.” Really it was to regulate her periods.

  He didn’t relax, nor did the frown on his lips smooth away. She realized her explanation did nothing to lessen his sense of guilt. Still, he didn’t try to draw away.

  Marise sat up and ran her free hand over his chest, letting her finger get caught in the wiry hair. She felt complete for the first time in her life. She’d never known making love could be like this. Gentle and seductive and intense all at the same time. She had only been with one other man, and he had been quick, with none of the courtship that had accompanied today’s marvelous journey. She didn’t even know that she could be so aroused, so ready, so wanting.

  “I need to take myself off this case,” he said. “I’ve just became too involved. Darn. I’ve been involved since the first moment I met you.”

  “I didn’t think you liked me.”

  “Oh, yes. Right from the start. I like anyone who can kick an attacker in the groin.”

  She made a face. “Not a very pretty image.”

  “A gutsy one.”

  She had the definite feeling that being gutsy was more attractive to him than being pretty. She snuggled in the crook of his arm. She liked gutsy, too. And he certainly was that. She would never forget the way he’d thrown her out of the way of the car.

  But most of all she liked the way her body fit into his, the warmth that radiated between them, the feeling of belonging, of completeness.

  She could hear the soft lap of water against the boathouse, feel the gentle lift of the boat.

  “I could stay here forever,” she said.

  “Why don’t you?”

  The words were tempting. But it was not a proposal. And even if it was, she had obligations.

  “It would ruin Paul’s career,” she said. “And break my mother’s heart.”

  He was silent for a moment. “You said something before, something about ifs in life.”

  She had known he’d marked that. She never should have said it, never should have expressed the doubts that were growing stronger in her mind. “I was just tired,” she said.

  “Couldn’t Paul find another partner?”

  “It takes years together to produce winning pairs,” she said. “Finding someone the right size, someone whose technique is similar, and even more years to choreograph and practice jumps and lifts together.”

  His eyes were intent on hers. “He’s that important to you?”

  “He’s my friend. My partner for six years.”

  “And he said he was your fiancé.”

  She had already answered that, but that was before she had…made love to Cassidy MacKay. He was asking even more.

  “Many couples who skate as pairs marry,” she said. “We probably spend more waking hours together than most wives and their husbands.” She was being evasive, and she knew he knew it.

  “And your mother?” he asked. “You said she was your manager.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re her only client.”

  “Along with Paul, yes.”

  She realized her short answers probably said more than she wanted them to. She also knew he would continue probing. It was his business, after all.

  “She used to be a skater, too,” he said.

  Marise was surprised. How would he know that?

  “She walks with the same graceful glide as you do.”

  “She won a number of regional competitions but never qualified for the Olympics,” she said.

  “And your father?”

  “My father skated in the Olympics in men’s singles. He won a bronze medal.”

  “What happened to him?” he asked softly.

  Her heart stopped. It always stopped when she thought of him, or his name was mentioned. “He died in a car accident.”

  His grip on her hand tightened. It was almost as if he sensed the agony the memory still caused.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You’re lucky both your parents are alive,” she said. “Even if they are the ‘Battling MacKays.’” She paused. “Did they want you to be a detective?”

  “Lord, no,” he said. “My father’s an accountant. He wanted me to be a lawyer. Or a doctor. Or a partner in his firm.”

  “Then, how did you become a policeman?”

  “I left home the day after I graduated from high school, and joined the army. I was one day shy of eighteen. I couldn’t wait to go to someplace peaceful, like a war.”

  “Then what?” she asked, intrigued. She had followed a pre-ordained path. His rebellion fascinated her.

  “All my aptitude tests said I should be an accountant. So they made me a military policeman. I ended up taking college courses, got a degree in criminology.”

  She caught the amusement in his voice, and she batted playfully at him. “Now you’re teasing me.”

  He grinned back. “Only a little. It really said I should be a cook.”

  “You obviously take after your mother.”

  “That brand of cooking would be just about right for the army. Anyway, I learned to cook when I was ten in pure desperation. I’m a good cook,” he said with mock boastfulness.

  She looked at him dubiously. “That’s why your kitchen is so empty,” she teased. It seemed remarkable, this easy conversation, especially after something so monumental as sleeping together. Making love, she corrected herself. What they had done was definitely making love.

  “I wasn’t expecting company,” he said, though some of the wry amusement left his eyes and his voice went a little flat.

  “I would like to try your cooking,” she asked, trying to get back the lightness.

  “I’m excellent at steaks,” he said.

&nbs
p; “I’m good at salads.”

  His eyes met hers. She was issuing an invitation.

  “I meant what I said earlier,” he said. “I have to take myself off this case.”

  “No,” she said. “I trust you.”

  “I’ve made one mistake after another because I have a personal interest. I’m no longer objective and that makes me dangerous for you.”

  She heard the guilt in his voice. She knew it all too well. “I make my own decisions.”

  “You may not,” he said. “The captain could very well order me off this case.”

  She raised in eyebrow. “Case? Am I just a case?”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You are much more than that for a lot of people,” he said.

  Then, before she could really absorb that idea, he sat up, then stood, his back bent to avoid the low ceiling. “We had better get back to the cabin. I have calls to make.”

  His voice didn’t sound quite as self-assured as it usually did.

  She didn’t want to go. Looking at a face that was expressionless, she knew the moment of magic was gone.

  He’d made a pretty big mess of things.

  He’d broken every rule in the book and had endangered his charge by doing so. He should lose his job.

  But what was best for Marise?

  The fact that he had made love without protection was condemning in itself. He’d never done that before. He had always, in fact, been very, very careful. But he had not brought protection because he’d believed he could keep his own emotions and desire in hand.

  More fool him.

  And he’d simply gotten out of habit of keeping protection with him. He didn’t date that much; he’d always been a one-man woman. When he’d decided that his job probably precluded another marriage—or any long-term relationship—he’d poured his energy into his house and sailboat. It hadn’t even occurred to him to stop along the way down here to pick up something that would make them both safe…

  Because he had absolutely no business doing what he had just done.

  He didn’t regret it. He should. He knew that. But the past few moments were among the finest he could remember. He’d loved Laine. They’d had a good sex life, but it hadn’t come close to what he’d felt in the past hour. Perhaps that’s why the marriage hadn’t worked. Not because of his job, but because they hadn’t had the excitement, the communion, the commitment to make it over the rough spots.

  He dressed, trying not to look at Marise. It didn’t work. His gaze was drawn in her direction. She was snuggled now in the bed, a sheet over her, but he didn’t need any reminders of the taut body or soft skin.

  “I—we had better get back before Manny comes after us,” he said.

  The bemused look left her face, and she clutched the sheet around her as she sat up. It fell as she reached for her clothes, and he thought how absolutely beautiful she was. Without more words, she pulled on her sweatpants, her bra and finally the jacket. She shoved her feet into the shoes she’d been wearing. It took her all of a moment.

  It took him longer. His fingers were awkward as he pulled on his jeans. They were tighter than usual. He was swollen still. He wanted her again.

  Her life depends on you. Dammit.

  He picked up his belt with its holster and buckled it on, then he went to the door of the boathouse and opened it, allowing the sun to flood in. He looked around. The boat with the two men was gone. Smoke was spiraling from the chimney of their cabin and some more from a cabin down the road. There was no other sign of human activity. Dappled by the sun, the lake looked beautiful. He really would like to take Marise out on the water. He would love to take her sailing, but The Lorelei wasn’t quite ready yet. And when it was, Marise would be somewhere far away.

  He went back inside the boathouse. She was stepping out of the cabin. He offered his hand and she took it, lightly vaulting her way onto the dock. Her face was no longer pale; her cheeks were flushed, her dark blue eyes smoky.

  How he wanted to take her again in his arms.

  He restrained himself.

  She will be leaving soon, he told himself. And he would return to working overlong hours, finishing his house and eating frozen waffles. The prospect wasn’t nearly as appealing as it once had been.

  As they left the boathouse and started down the dock to shore, Cassidy saw a figure stepping quickly down the steps from the cabin. He took Marise’s hand and went to meet Manny. He didn’t care about appearances now. He’d committed the cardinal sin: getting involved with a witness. If Haynes asked, Cassidy would admit to it. He planned to put it in his own report.

  He didn’t like liars. He didn’t like people who abused their authority. And if he lost his job, he wouldn’t moan about it. But right now the only issue of importance was Marise’s safety. And the safety of other women who could well become victims.

  Cassidy speeded his steps. Manny wouldn’t be on his way if there wasn’t news. Marise matched him step for step.

  When they met him, Manny looked at Marise as if uncertain whether to talk in front of her.

  “Go ahead,” Cassidy said.

  “It wasn’t Norris,” he said. “At least, not the explosion and the shot that hit Sam. He was on duty last night.”

  Cassidy felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He’d been so sure…

  So very sure.

  Chapter 13

  Marise watched Cassidy’s face change, and her heart felt caught in a vise.

  For a few precious moments, she’d known a sense of belonging that had previously eluded her. Even when he rose and dressed without looking at her, she’d known it was more because he felt he’d violated some rule than because he regretted what had happened. Every touch had told her that he cared, and she’d felt loved, wanted and completely accepted for what and who was inside, not for the image that others had created.

  But now she watched as regret and guilt drained the warmth from his eyes, and she realized he’d been more relaxed this morning because he’d truly believed they had a suspect and that the danger to her had been minimized.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “We keep looking,” Cassidy said curtly.

  Manny shook his head. “The captain thinks Norris could still be the Rose Killer, that the shooter last night could be someone who holds a grudge against you. A coincidence.”

  “He can’t really believe that.”

  Manny sighed. “Probably just wishful thinking.”

  Cassidy shook his head. “I know Haynes wants this over, but…”

  “He’s going to pick Norris up and question him.”

  “Norris?” she asked.

  “The orderly I told you about.”

  Manny shot him a glance.

  “She had a right to know.”

  She looked from one to the other. Manny’s gaze, though, rested on her. She knew her face was flushed. She wondered whether there were any other signs of what had happened.

  Without comment, he turned around and started back to the cabin.

  She could feel the questions in him. So, she knew, must Cassidy.

  He had tried to tell her it was unwise, that he would have to resign from the case. She’d ignored that warning. She’d ignored her own internal warnings. He’d told her in many ways that he didn’t believe in marriage, at least not for himself. There was no future, and yet she had been greedy for something she’d never had before.

  But she didn’t want to ruin his career.

  They were silent as they reached the cabin and went inside. She glanced at a clock in the kitchen. It was nearly four.

  “Did your captain say anything about Sam?” she finally asked, breaking the awkward silence.

  “He’s still in critical condition, but holding his own,” Manny said.

  She felt the tension between the two men. She looked at one, then the other.

  Cassidy’s expression softened. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be,” she said.
r />   She was aware that Manny probably knew exactly what they were saying. She should feel embarrassment, but she didn’t. It had seemed so right.

  But she sensed they wanted to talk. “I’m going to change clothes,” she said, “maybe take a shower.”

  Neither said anything.

  She retreated to her room and closed the door. Then she stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, her face still flushed, her lips swollen. She saw what Manny must have seen.

  Yet she had no regrets. She would never have any regrets.

  Manny poured himself a cup of coffee. “You know what you’re doing?”

  Cassidy went to a window and looked down at the boathouse. “I don’t exactly know how to answer that. I know it’s not smart. But I don’t think I’m sorry.”

  Manny moved next to him. “Janie and I’ve been wanting you to find someone else.”

  “I know,” Cassidy said wryly. “I’ve been invited to her matchmaking dinners.”

  “She’ll be going back to her career.”

  Cassidy didn’t say anything.

  “Do you think you should leave the case?”

  Manny was asking questions that needed to be asked.

  “Maybe. I don’t know,” Cassidy said after a long pause. “I’d really thought we had the guy.”

  “I did, too,” Manny admitted. “But then, that would have been too easy. You know nothing’s that easy.”

  “I wish I was back there for the interview.”

  “You can’t do both—protect and investigate.”

  Cassidy knew that only too well. His own strength was investigative. He knew that. He also knew she would fight the idea of anyone else protecting her. He’d thought earlier that he’d made a muddle of things. Now he knew it.

  He didn’t even try to defend himself. His actions were indefensible. He would, in fact, tell the captain exactly what had happened.

  The question was when.

  He didn’t want to take her back yet. She was safer here than in the city, safer where very few people knew her location. He had hoped, in fact, that the press conference at the hospital wouldn’t be necessary.