by Susan Fox
After she went through the door, he followed and locked it. They both headed toward the lobby, where Sam clacked away at the computer keyboard and didn’t even look up.
Cassidy walked toward the main entrance door slowly, as if she was as tired as Dave was. He knew she was strong and active, yet right now her white-clad back looked almost fragile. She veered to the left, toward the dining room. “There’s a light on in the bar.”
Through the darkened dining room, he saw a glowing light. He followed her.
In the bar, the tables and chairs had been restored to normal, leaving an area of floor space clear for dancing. Someone had turned off the main lights, but not the light over the bar, which glinted off sparkling glasses and made liqueur bottles glow like jewels.
Karen and Jamal’s music—the CD of their favorite songs that had played when the band took breaks—was still on, low enough that Sam couldn’t have heard it in the lobby. Faith Hill was telling her lover to just breathe.
Cassidy turned to Dave. “I saw Sally leave early. I thought you’d go with her, or head over after the reception.”
Wondering what had made her think of Sally, he responded, “She’s not big on social stuff, nor much of a night owl.”
“But the two of you, uh . . . you’re dating, right?”
Dave huffed. “Why are people so determined to make two friends into a couple?”
Something sparked in her eyes. “You’re really not dating?”
“No. She’s a nice woman who tries too hard to be self-sufficient, and isolates herself from the community. She’s my friend and I persuaded her to come to the reception because I thought she might like to get to know some more townspeople.”
“That’s nice of you.” Cassidy moved a step closer.
One of the peach-colored blossoms she’d worn tucked in her pocket had fallen out somewhere, and the other was wilted and crumpled. Her clothing was wrinkled, there were shadows under her eyes, and yet her eyes gleamed with life. Something indefinable had changed. Now, rather than fragility, he sensed vitality. And, God help him, it was sexy.
“You’re a nice guy,” she said. “Everyone turns to you when there’s a problem. You help people, you fix things.”
He shrugged. He didn’t know if it was nice, so much as part of who he was. If someone was hurting, in trouble, had a problem, he was driven to help.
“But what do you do for you?” she asked. “What do you do for fun?”
Holding her would be fun. So would kissing her. His throat was dry and he had to swallow before he managed to say, “Hang out with Robin. See my family and friends.”
“You dance sometimes. I’ve seen you on Sunday nights.”
“I do dance sometimes.” He barely knew what he was saying.
Cassidy was no more than five feet six compared to his six two, and she stood at least a foot away from him. And yet her presence overwhelmed him. Was it his overactive imagination, or was something going on here? His heart belonged to Anita. But the rest of him wanted to grab Cassidy and hang on to her.
“I like to dance,” she said softly. “But I’m always working.”
He swallowed. He was vaguely aware that Faith Hill had given way to Elvis Presley singing “Love Me Tender.”
“I’m not working now,” she said, tugging his jacket and tie away from him, then tossing them over the back of a chair.
When he didn’t say anything, she prompted, “This is where you say, ‘Cassidy, would you like to dance?’”
Was she flirting, or did she just want to dance? Though the need to hold her in his arms was painful, he couldn’t shape the words or even move toward her.
That didn’t discourage her. “And then I say, ‘Thank you, Dave, I’d love to.’”
She stepped forward and some muscle memory or instinct or pure blind need had him raising his arms so she could step into them.
As Cassidy raised her arms and twined her hands around the back of his neck, as she pressed the front of her body lightly against him, his blood stirred. Oh God. Small, firm breasts lightly brushing his chest. Curved hips swaying gently as he and she shuffled in place. The heat of her back through wrinkled cotton, the total femininity of a bra strap under his fingers.
Arousal was fierce. Inevitable, irresistible, powerful, and now he had a full-blown erection. No way could he disguise it, with the way her pelvis shimmied against him.
Shit. How junior high. How mortifying. Cassidy was his friend. She worked for him; she’d been sexually harassed at her last job. She would be disgusted, embarrassed; she would . . . press seductively closer, shifting back and forth to rub against him, making him even harder.
His heart thundered against his rib cage and he held his breath, losing himself in this amazing, impossible moment.
Until she faltered, stumbled, like her leg—the one that gave her occasional trouble—had given way. “Shit,” she muttered.
He tightened his grip, steadying her. Gazing down into her face, that exotic, elfin face, a slight frown of annoyance creasing her brow, he asked, “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, rueful humor chasing the annoyance away. “That wasn’t how I wanted this to go.”
He swallowed. “How did you want—”
She silenced him by rising on her toes—her leg must be steady again—and touching her lips to his.
Oh God, what soft, tender lips. He was so shocked, he couldn’t even respond. Her lips were parted slightly, warm peach-scented breath caressing his mouth as she slid kisses across it. Open-mouthed kisses, with the damp inner side of her lips moistening and tugging his skin, her tongue giving tiny, darting licks. The sensations were so delicious, so foreign, he simply savored them, standing there like a dummy, not kissing her in return.
She eased back in his arms and broke the connection. Mouth pouty now, she teased, “Hey, mister, I’m trying to seduce you, in case you didn’t notice.”
Seduce him? So that meant she wasn’t dating some other guy? This vibrant, sexy woman actually wanted him? Before he could fully process that thought, her lips were back on his. This time, his mouth caught up with the arousal that raged through the rest of his body, and he kissed her back. Not lightly and teasingly, but with all the need and passion that had lain banked deep inside him for more than three years.
He plundered her mouth, diving deep, his tongue dueling with hers, his lips claiming hers. She gave back just as greedily, as demandingly. His hips thrust against her firm belly; his erection strained against his fly. God, he wanted her, needed her, had to have her. Now.
Still kissing her fiercely, he released his grip on her slim torso and reached between them, fumbling for the button at the waist of her pants. She came down off her toes, lost her balance, and stumbled backward, her hip banging one of the tables. “Ouch,” she grumbled.
That brought Dave to his senses. He caught her arm to steady her. Feeling totally unsteady himself, he ran his free hand through his hair. “Jesus. What just happened?”
Cassidy sank into a chair and grinned up at him. “Not enough, but it was a good start. To be continued, somewhere private?”
Sex. She meant sex. He could have sex with this captivating woman.
But no, that would be wrong. For a whole bunch of reasons he was having trouble recalling at the moment. “Look, it’s not that I’m not attracted to you, but, uh . . .”
She rolled her eyes. “Translation: my dick wants to jump your bones but my brain has reservations.”
He hated that kind of talk, but his erection apparently liked it, pulsing painfully against his fly. “D’you have to be so crude?”
“Oh, did you want to be romantic?” she teased.
“No! I don’t want to be romantic. I don’t want sex, either.” Though the aching organ behind his fly sure as hell did. “We can’t have sex,” he said, as much to his erection as to her.
“Why not?”
He knew there were reasons, if only he could get his brain to work. Oh yeah, right. He waved h
is arm around the room. “You work for me.”
“This has nothing to do with work. It’s personal.” She almost purred the last word. “Very personal.”
Of course it was. That was the problem. “Look, uh, the thing is . . .” He searched for words, then finished clumsily, “My heart belongs to someone else. I lost my fiancée.” He never talked about Anita, and it took an effort to force out those few words.
“I know, and I’m so sorry.” The compassion in her eyes looked genuine. “But it’s not your heart I want, Dave. We like each other, we’re attracted, so why not have some fun?”
“I’m not that kind of guy.” Despite his earlier thought that fun would be kissing her.
“But I think you could be, and I’d like to prove it.”
And what did a guy say to that? The offer was so tempting. Before he could figure out how to respond, he heard footsteps approaching. He grabbed his jacket from the chair and held it casually in front of his aroused body before turning to face the door.
Sam stepped into the dimly lit room. “Hey there, you two. I thought you’d gone home long ago, Cassidy. And didn’t I say good night to you a while back, Dave?”
“You were buried in your novel when we came through the lobby,” Cassidy said. “We noticed the bar light and came in to turn it off.”
“Yup, I finished writing a chapter, got up to stretch, and saw the light as well.”
The three of them turned and stared at the light over the bar. Dave forced his feet into motion, first stopping the music and ejecting the CD, then clicking off the light.
“Okay,” Sam said, heading back toward the glowing light from the lobby.
Cassidy paused to glance at Dave, then followed.
He brought up the rear, noticing that she limped slightly. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I can walk. I do it all the time.” It wasn’t a yes or a no, more like she was trying to guess his intentions. Sam had interrupted before they’d resolved the issue between them. The personal issue.
In the lobby, Dave glanced around at the familiar surroundings. Several of the items there, as in the rest of the hotel, were refurbished antiques from the gold rush days. He and Anita had picked them up at collectibles shops and garage sales. She’d loved browsing for slightly battered treasures and giving them a new life.
Anita had valued tradition, stability. The woman had been the opposite of the rootless Cassidy. A newly graduated teacher, she had moved to Caribou Crossing to take a job at the high school. She’d joined the Heritage Committee, which was dedicated to preserving the town’s history and historic buildings, a committee that Dave chaired. From the moment he met her, she’d owned his heart. And she still did.
But Cassidy said she didn’t want his heart and he believed her. Unlike most women, she shunned any hint of permanence.
Sam’s voice tugged him out of his thoughts. “Cassidy, it’s after midnight. You’re tired and it’s chilled off out there. Let the man give you a ride.”
“If you insist,” she said to Sam, then turned to Dave, her dark eyebrows arched.
“Right. The Jeep’s parked out back.”
After a round of good nights, he and Cassidy went out to the parking lot. When they’d climbed into the Jeep with the Wild Rose logo on the side, she said, “Well? I have my own entrance at Ms. Haldenby’s. Want to come in and finish what we started?”
“No.” He grimaced at the brusqueness of his rejection. “I mean . . . Well, yes, but no.”
She snorted. “You know I’m going to ask why not.”
That was another difference between her and Anita. His fiancée had been subtle. Persistent, but subtle. Cassidy was more “in your face.”
“As if there’s an easy answer,” he said ruefully.
She cocked her head. “I bet there’s a one-word answer: Anita.”
“That’s certainly one reason.”
“I bet she wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life being miserable.”
How many times had he heard that from well-meaning friends? He even believed it. His mind told him that having sex with someone else, even falling in love, wouldn’t mean being disloyal to Anita. But his heart had died. Oh yes, it had the capacity to love Robin, Jessie, his family, and his close friends, but the part of it that could sing with love for a life mate had shattered. And he was glad, because it meant he could never suffer that particular agony again.
Trying to be polite, he said to Cassidy, “Look, no offense, but I don’t talk about Anita.”
“So people say, but I’m not sure it’s healthy.”
Dave gritted his teeth. Of course Cassidy, being Cassidy, wouldn’t be warned off the way considerate people were.
She went on. “Gramps died when I was fifteen. I was closer to him than to anyone else.”
Her words distracted him briefly from his annoyance. She talked more about her grandfather than about her parents. Dave gathered that he’d been the one person who had always let her know that she mattered and was loved.
“When he died, it helped to talk about him with JJ and my parents,” she said. “It kept him close. Don’t you think maybe—”
“Anita’s in my heart,” he burst out. “She’ll always be there. And talking hurts.” Even thinking about her dredged up those horrible dark feelings of anger, guilt, desolation.
After a moment, Cassidy said, “Okay. We’re all different.”
Dave breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” Now she’d leave him alone. He turned the key in the ignition.
Chapter Eight
Cassidy studied Dave’s profile. The Wild Rose parking lot was illuminated only by security lights, but there was enough light to see that the tense line of his jaw had relaxed.
She lowered the window on the passenger side. The nights had warmed up since she’d arrived in Caribou Crossing, but the air still had a refreshing touch of coolness.
He drove out of the parking lot. It was only four blocks to Ms. H’s house. Should she leave the poor guy alone? Usually, when she could tell that his thoughts had gone to a dark place, she tried to cheer him up. But that was like sticking a bandage on a wound that wasn’t healing. It was obvious he was stuck. She’d bet everything she owned—which wasn’t much, but did include the battered Winnie-the-Pooh that Gramps had given her when she was a toddler—that Anita would hate to see Dave like this.
And so did she.
She clicked off the radio. “The gossip mill thinks you’re dating Sally.”
His jaw clenched again and he didn’t speak.
“They think the two of you are taking it slow but likely will end up together.” Though he seemed to be trying to ignore her, she went on. “Some people aren’t sure if that’s a good thing.”
“Huh?” He cast a quick glance in her direction. “Everyone’s been after me to date. Now they don’t think it’s a good thing?”
“It’s Sally. No one dislikes her, but they don’t know her. She holds herself apart.” Maybe it was shyness, but it made the woman hard to relate to.
He snorted. “Seems to me there’s something to be said for that. As compared to being a busybody.”
She chuckled. “I refuse to take offense. People mind each other’s business because they care.” And she did care about Dave Cousins. He’d become a friend and she wanted him to be happy. To unstick himself, loosen up, let that dimple break free. To lighten up on being so protective of his daughter, his inn, anyone and anything he cared for. To have fun.
To have sex, for God’s sake! With her, preferably.
When he didn’t respond, she urged, “Think about it. Let’s take—oh, how about Mr. Dave Cousins, for example?”
He shook his head, clearly confused. “What are you on about now?”
“He could mind his own business and leave Sally alone, struggling to keep things going since her husband died. But no, he pokes his nose in, helps her out every week.”
“We’re friends.”
“Madisun’s a damned fine employee.”
“Absolutely. But she’s going back to university in the fall, which means Dave’ll have to hire and train another assistant manager, or do without. And, let’s see, he gives Karen a huge discount on her wedding reception, and—”
“It’s my wedding present to her and Jamal.”
“Of course it is. Then there’s the way he gives his staff extra time off when they have family issues to deal with, or how there always happens to be a seniors special when Mr. Bertuzzi comes for a meal. Or remember last month, how he hired this drifter who turned up on his doorstep, and fronted her the first two weeks’ pay so she could find a place to stay?”
While she’d been talking, Dave had pulled the Jeep up in front of Ms. H’s green rancher, with its neatly kept garden. He didn’t turn off the engine. “Good night, Cassidy.”
Undeterred, she said, “It’s good to get involved with people, to try to help those you care about—the way you do, and the way I’m trying to, if you’d let me.”
“I don’t need help, damn it.”
“Did Sally say the same thing when you first messed around in her life?”
His mouth, which had been tight with anger, opened in a silent “oh.”
Point made. “You care about everyone else, but you need to care more about yourself.” She touched his arm below the rolled-up sleeve of his white shirt. “Dave, you’re stuck and you’re not doing anything to fix yourself.”
His Adam’s apple worked as he swallowed. He stared down at her hand, which she didn’t remove. Finally he lifted his arm, shut off the Jeep engine, then put his hand back on the steering wheel. When he spoke, the words grated out. “Fine, I’m stuck. But I get through every day. That’s the best I can do.”
She’d felt that way once—when Gramps had died, her parents had split up for the second time, and her father had barely noticed she was alive. JJ had thrown himself into activities with his buddies, but she’d withdrawn. She’d gotten through each day, counting them until she could break free and strike out into the world. The solution for Dave Cousins clearly wasn’t to go explore the world, because that would mean leaving everyone and everything he loved, but he did deserve a happier life.