by Lydia Rowan
Cassandra huffed out a laugh and then rolled her eyes. “You’re the worst, Sloan,” she said.
“You’ve never had me, so you have no evidence to support that statement. What about Lucian? Is he the worst? Somehow I doubt it, but I have an open mind,” she said.
Cassandra laughed out loud then and rolled her eyes again. “I cannot believe you’re still on about this Lucian thing after more than two years,” Cassandra said.
“And I can’t believe you’re still pretending I’m insane for even suggesting it after more than two years.” Sloan leaned forward, an excited gleam in her eye. “Cass, it’s palpable. You and Lucian eye-fuck and word-fuck like rabbits. It’s only logical to assume that smokin’-hot chemistry has spilled into other arenas.”
“You’re ridiculous, Sloan. And, for the record, the ‘smokin’-hot chemistry’ you insist you see is actually two people deeply disagreeing about every topic under the sun because they can’t stand each other.”
“Ohh, hate-fuck! That’s even hotter,” Sloan said.
“Get out of my office, Sloan,” Cassandra said flatly, though she still smiled.
Sloan stood. “Whatever. Be that way. You want to wait here while I grab my bag and we can walk down together?”
“Sure,” Cassandra said, standing as she watched Sloan walk out.
When she was alone, she began gathering her things, chuckling quietly as she thought back on Sloan’s not-remotely-subtle questions about her and Lucian.
Not that there was now or ever would be a “her and Lucian.”
Cassandra pushed that thought aside quickly and returned her mind to Sloan. She was truly kind, but she had no qualms at all about expressing what was on her mind, especially when it came to Cassandra and Lucian.
When Cassandra had first come to Silver Industries, she had been surprised that Sloan had fit in so well in the group of loud, aggressive men. But it had quickly become clear that Sloan was as much a part of the team as the others. Part den mother, part cat herder, part living computer, Sloan was the lifeblood of Silver Industries and tough as nails, and it had quickly become clear to Cassandra that winning Sloan over would be as important as winning Lucian over.
Lucian was still a work in progress, seemed more like an impossibility every day, but she and Sloan had hit it off both professionally and personally. And now that she and Cassandra were friends, Sloan had no problem at all being direct about Cassandra and Lucian. Cassandra always laughed it off, but Sloan hit far too close to the truth far too often, something that Cassandra would never admit out loud but something she knew she didn’t have to.
Cassandra often hid in the belief she treated Lucian exactly the same as everyone else. That she was professional, cordial but firm, and solely dedicated to ensuring the shareholders stayed calm so that Silver Industries could survive.
But, when she was being honest, Cassandra could admit that was bullshit. Sloan was right. The chemistry between her and Lucian Silver was combustible, had been since the very first day they had laid eyes on one another. The chemistry was wrapped in animus, misunderstanding, and Lucian’s unwillingness to believe she was anything but an enemy. It was there nonetheless, though. As easily as he could spark her anger, and he could do it oh so easily, he could turn her on just as fast, make her body throb with a neediness she knew only he could fulfill.
Which was logical enough, at least if Cassandra only considered the surface.
Lucian was a work of art. Six feet three inches and two hundred forty pounds of pure muscle, he was an immaculate physical specimen, and his classically good-looking features, dark hair, and dark blue eyes didn’t hurt. So objectively, Cassandra could acknowledge that Lucian’s physical presence demanded a response.
What she couldn’t acknowledge and couldn’t forgive herself for, though, was the fact that she so often gave in to that reaction, that her body responded to him even when he was being his less than charming self.
Worse still, he reached her on an emotional level. And that was unacceptable. Cassandra had worked her way up through the defense industry on the civilian side, and doing so had meant she had to deal with all manner of personalities. And she had, easily, and at no point had anyone ever been able to get to her.
Until Lucian Silver.
His nearly complete unwillingness to listen to her sent her normally even temper into overdrive. The utterly complete way her body responded to him left her weak with neediness, the confusing, heightened state Lucian left her in sometimes enough to wring the air from her lungs.
And the kicker was Cassandra was voluntarily subjecting herself to this. When Damien Silver, Lucian’s brother and her dear friend, had come to her and asked that she serve as liaison between Lucian and the shareholders Silver Industries had been forced to take on, she hadn’t had the heart to tell him no, not when his reputation was in tatters, his freedom at stake.
Now, she couldn’t leave, wouldn’t, as hard as Lucian may have tried to force her. She was committed to this company, the people who worked at it, so there was no way she was going.
And, in the spirit of her honesty, she knew she would have missed Lucian. He drove her insane, but he also made her feel alive, and she was more than reluctant to give that up.
Cassandra zipped her laptop bag a little harder than necessary and slung the bag over her shoulder as she began her trek, hopeful that moving would shake the thoughts of Lucian out of her head, doubtful that it would.
Nothing had been able to so far.
“Ready, Sloan?” she called as she rounded the corner to stop in front of Sloan’s cubicle.
“Yup,” Sloan said, locking her desk drawer and then walking toward her with her own bulky briefcase weighing her down.
Cassandra shook her head. “I can talk to the boss about getting you an office,” she said.
“No, ma’am. I need eyes on everything. Can’t have that if I’m shuttered behind a closed door,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” Cassandra said, giving Sloan a knowing look. More like she needed to keep tabs on comings and goings, but Cassandra wouldn’t begrudge Sloan her access. Cassandra changed the subject. “Plans for tonight?” she asked as the women got into the elevator.
Sloan pushed the G button and the doors quickly slid closed. She looked over at Cassandra. “Let’s see. The cleaners have a twenty-percent-off special tomorrow, so I’m going to sort laundry. And I think there’s gelato in the freezer. Another exciting night in the life of Sloan Wakefield,” Sloan said with a girlish giggle.
“Gelato? You’re ahead of me,” Cassandra said. She hadn’t had something as interesting as gelato to look forward to for a long time. Excluding, of course, her alone time with her fantasies about Lucian.
The elevator arrived, and as the doors slid open, Sloan smiled at her and then stepped out. “One day I’ll teach you how to live. Night, Cassandra,” Sloan said as she waved and then headed out of the lobby to the bus stop at the end of the block.
Cassandra stayed on and rode the elevator to the basement and then debarked, distractedly walking to her car. Her high-heeled pumps clicked against the concrete, the ringing sound familiar though distant. So, on autopilot, Cassandra got into her car and began the drive home, mind only halfway present, the rest of it with Lucian.
Twenty minutes after she left the office, and after she’d resisted the temptation to stop and get gelato, she finally saw her house in the distance as the burnt-orange sky transitioned from dusk into full darkness. She turned in to her cobblestone driveway and parked in front of the garage, pausing long enough to lament the fact that, four years after she’d bought the house, the garage was still too full for her to park inside.
But the thought of going through all the crap she kept in the garage was a nonstarter, so she parked in the driveway and got out.
Issues with her stuffed garage aside, she loved this house, loved everything about it. It was way too big for her with four bedrooms and three and a half baths, and while she had tried to talk hers
elf out of loving it, had told herself it would be too much to handle, those admonitions had been to no avail.
Because with every mental protest came a memory of how the house was situated on a corner lot with generous front and back yards or the red brick facade that reminded her of the homes she’d loved as a child, the kind of place she might have grown up in if she’d had a different fate. She’d been powerless to resist, a rarely exposed streak of sentimentality overcoming her pragmatism, and she’d gone into escrow within three weeks.
Over the years, her sprawling house had become the home she’d always dreamed of, right down to the big metal mailbox with flowers painted on it that still made her smile every time she saw it.
Owning this house had been made possible by Silver Industries. That thought inevitably led to others about Lucian.
A tingle, one she wished was of disgust but which was of desire, rushed through her, and she tried to ignore it as she pulled open the mailbox and retrieved the evening’s bills and junk mail.
She’d been doing that for more than two years now, trying to ignore the feeling that Lucian evoked. Or at least that particular feeling. Which made no sense at all. Cassandra knew herself well, what she liked and what she didn’t, and there was no universe she could contemplate that involved her not being able to shake Lucian. Yes, he was unapologetically handsome, his classic good looks apparent enough for anyone to see.
But looks aside, difficult as it was to ignore them, impossible in Cassandra’s case, they shouldn’t have made a difference. Lucian played too fast and loose for Cassandra’s tastes, wasn’t contemplative, methodical like she preferred people to be, especially those who were responsible for a company like Silver Industries.
So Lucian’s behavior should have pushed her away or at least kept her somewhat distant, but there was none of that. Her common sense, her awareness of who and what he was, did nothing to obliterate his impact on her.
So, as much as she wanted to pretend that she was immune to him, as hard as she tried, here, when she was alone, she could admit, at least to herself, she wasn’t immune to him, not at all.
If anything, the very thing that made her job so difficult was what drew her to him. The man he proved to be under all that bluster and impulsiveness, loyal, honest, far more genuine than she had initially thought, only intensified her connection to him.
It was ridiculous, really, the way she thought about him, even now, her failure to vanquish those irritating and completely inappropriate feelings.
And as silly as it was, she couldn’t quite shake away the thought that she was not alone in the unacknowledged, unspoken, and completely unwarranted attraction. Which, given the circumstances, should have been impossible.
She knew Lucian resented her presence.
Before she’d taken the job, Damien, in one of his rare lucid moments in the aftermath of all that had happened, had told her as much. And Lucian had done nothing to make her feel welcome or disabuse her of that notion. In fact, especially at the beginning, he seemed to go out of his way to get under her skin by challenging her role.
Even still, even as they had hardened into their intractable positions, her on one side, him on the other, she sometimes caught a lingering glance from him, saw what she thought was fire in his eyes. Not responding to those smoldering looks, not giving in to the unquenchable thirst for him, took all of her discipline and resolve.
But as weak as he sometimes made her, as desperate for him as her body was, she still had her common sense, and she wouldn’t risk her job, the home and career she’d carved out, for something as fleeting as lust, no matter how intense it might be.
She slammed her mailbox closed, probably harder than she should have, though she appreciated the emphasis on the point that she had made, and she started to walk back toward her car.
••••
The mailbox slamming closed was muffled but still audible. The sound was welcome but secondary to the crystal-clear image of Cassandra that filled the small video screen.
The sound of deep, heavy breathing filled the interior of the van, but went unnoticed, as did the other sounds, the laughter of kids enjoying the last bits of the evening, other neighbors coming home for the day. All of them, everything, was meaningless when there was a chance to watch Cassandra. The moment wouldn’t last for long, and it couldn’t be squandered.
Circumstances made it difficult to see her during the day, but those first moments, when her car approached, the sight of her stepping out of it, the chance to gaze at her as she walked from her car to her mailbox and then to her door, were always a welcome relief, an oasis in the desert that was any time spent away from her.
So they couldn’t be wasted.
However, that time passed too quickly, and as Cassandra closed the door, the sadness again descended.
Though no sound could be heard, the reverberation of the door closing still echoed, rang loudly like an audible representation of the distance that was between them.
Soon, that sound, all others, were drowned out by the shrill ring of the cell phone that was more like a leash, a tether keeping Cassandra away from where she rightfully belonged.
Ignore it.
The phone rang even louder, as though it had heard the thought and wanted to dispel it.
Ignore it.
The phone rang yet again. Would continue to until it was answered. There was no choice. It was answer it or lose these few peaceful moments of closeness with Cassandra.
“You still at it?” the man on the other end of the line said when the phone was finally answered. The question was heavy with derision, ridicule, and scorn. Nothing new there, though that dismissal stung.
A glance at Cassandra’s house soothed away the stinging, and even though the man still spoke, his words didn’t penetrate. Nothing could penetrate the bubble of warmth, happiness, peace that being near Cassandra brought.
The long drone of the dial tone was the thing that did manage to penetrate. The man had hung up.
Good.
He was always there, but only to hurt and belittle. Not like Cassandra who loved, cared.
The urge to go to her, the need to see her again, grew and grew and grew until it became almost uncontrollable.
Not yet. Not yet.
The admonition worked, though who could say how much longer it would.
It became less effective every day, the need to be with Cassandra always more and more difficult to ignore.
But it wasn’t time.
Cassandra wasn’t ready and there were still plans to be made.
So not yet.
But soon.
Very soon.
3
“So what dirtbag am I chasing this week?” Marcus Saint asked.
“I might have some cartel work for you in Central America,” Lucian said.
“Good. You know where to find me when you have the details,” Saint responded.
Then he stood and walked out of the conference room without a second glance. Typical Saint, and Lucian was far too used to him for that to raise an eyebrow. He couldn’t say the same for the rest of his team.
“So that guy’s kind of a dick, right?” Seth Faber asked, looking at each of the men who were assembled at the oval-shaped table.
“We can’t all be Miss Congeniality like you, princess,” Adam Reins said. “Some of us are actual soldiers.”
“Like Saint. He’s one of the best you’ll ever meet,” Duarte Cruz added.
“Yeah, but he’s kind of a dick, right?” Seth said, completely ignoring the others.
Lucian interjected. “Glad you all are so fascinated by Saint, but we have actual work to do.”
“Can’t imagine there’s anything worthwhile to do in a fuckin’ boardroom,” Adam said.
Lucian ignored him too and began presenting potential upcoming missions. “We have the cartel thing in Central America that I’m going to put Saint on. Some rumblings out of Indonesia that Adam and Seth are on,” he said.
&nb
sp; “Hoo-fuckin’-ray. I get to babysit,” Adam said.
“And I get to hang with my elders,” Seth shot back.
“And, Cruz,” Lucian said, ignoring Seth and Adam, “I’d like you to keep an ear to the ground for any rumblings here in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Anything in particular?” Cruz asked.
“Given the political climate, our friends in D.C. have asked us to keep our ears open. No actionable intel as yet, but they’d appreciate any warning we might be able to give,” Lucian said.
“Got it,” Cruz said.
None of the others protested Cruz’s relatively plush assignment. His first child was due to arrive any day now, and Lucian knew he would appreciate staying close to his wife, Nola.
“In the meantime—”
Lucian cut off short at the knock on the conference room door.
“Come in, Sloan,” he called, and a moment later, the door opened and Sloan entered.
“Sloan!” Seth called and smiled at her, and she returned the expression and then walked over to high-five him.
“Cruz, how’s Nola?” she asked as she walked toward Lucian.
“She’s about to pop, but excited,” he said, a prideful smile on his face.
“Tell her I’ll call tonight,” Sloan said as she walked past Adam without acknowledging him.
“Of course,” Cruz said.
Sloan extended the file she held to Lucian once she reached him, a smile still on her face, but this one different than the one she had given Cruz. Lucian knew exactly what that meant.
“From Cassandra, I take it?” he said, plucking the file from her fingers.
“Yes. She asked me to hand-deliver it,” Sloan said, smiling bigger now.
Lucian risked a glance at Cruz, Seth, and Adam and found matching smirks on their faces, which he ignored for the moment.
“Tell her I have it,” Lucian said, putting the file aside without even opening it.