Finally she turned back to face him. Other than the blond hair and blue eyes, there wasn’t a particularly strong resemblance between him and his father. Jamey was handsome enough, but Reid was gorgeous. Of course, her perception could be skewed by the fact that Jamey was old enough to be her father and was head over heels in love with his wife. Jamey didn’t make her nerves flutter, cause her restless nights or tantalize her with wicked desires.
“What would constitute making things easy? Going away? Disappearing from Serenity forever?” She smiled coolly. “That’s not going to happen. If you mean finding someplace else to live, I just told you that I would.”
“In Vinnie Marino’s building? If you move in there—or anywhere else—and something happens, you know who’ll get the blame—me.”
And that worried him. It would be one more obstacle between him and his father. “Then you have to decide which you would prefer—having a guilty conscience for sending me away or having me for a neighbor.” Again she smiled and this time allowed a little teasing into her voice. “I wouldn’t be a bad neighbor. I don’t watch much television. I don’t listen to loud music. I don’t have parties. I never get drunk or noisy. I don’t take long showers, I wouldn’t use up all the hot water and I don’t waste time primping in front of the mirror. I keep to myself, I read a lot and I’m usually in bed by eleven. You wouldn’t even know I’m here.”
“Oh, I’d know.”
She found the taut, muttered words interesting. She would know he was next door, too, even if he never made a sound, if she never saw him. She would feel him. That odd awareness that always alerted her to his presence would keep her informed. Did he feel it, too? And if he did, did it mean that he was the slightest bit interested in her?
Yeah, right. Interested in keeping her away.
She waited for some further response, some definitive yes-you-can-stay or no-I-don’t-want-you-here. With one last, long, reluctant look around the place, he gave it with a grimace of a smile and a faintly cynical inflection.
“Welcome to O’Shea’s.”
Cassie certainly didn’t waste any time, Reid thought sourly as he tended bar on a slow evening. As soon as he had agreed to her moving in this afternoon, she’d smiled one of those rare, bright smiles of hers and left, only to return in less than an hour in paint-spattered shorts and a T-shirt, with her long hair caught back in a braid. She’d stopped over at Karen’s, then had begun carrying painting supplies upstairs. She was still up there.
He must have been out of his mind to agree to this. She’d made it clear that, regardless of what Jamey said, the final decision was his. He could have said no, and she would have gone someplace else. Why the hell hadn’t he?
Because he hadn’t wanted to cross his father. Because she was, as Jamey had pointed out, naive, vulnerable and a whole lot stubborn. Because she would think moving into Vinnie Marino’s building—or Elpidio’s or Tommy Murphy’s—a perfectly reasonable solution. Because any of those bastards or their buddies would find her too easy a target to resist. Because if she was going to insist on living in the neighborhood, this was the safest place. Jamey wanted her here. He wanted her here.
Even if she would drive him crazy.
Realizing that he’d been staring at the front of the Times-Picayune long enough to have read every word twice, he turned the page, but he didn’t look at the photographs or try to focus on the stories. All his attention was upstairs. As carefully as he listened, he couldn’t hear any sounds at all, not even footsteps on the wooden floors. He could smell paint, though, just a faint whiff that drifted down the stairs. As Karen had done before her, in no time at all she would turn shabby, dreary and bleak into cozy, welcoming and pretty without frills. Cassie wasn’t a frilly sort of person. Everything would be neat, tailored and subdued, not ruffly or lacy, neither blatantly feminine nor tastelessly loud. She would create for herself a haven of comfortable elegance, while across the hall he would continue to live in shabby, dreary and bleak.
She hadn’t even moved in yet and was already undertaking a major redecorating. He’d been living there more than six months, and he hadn’t hung so much as one picture on the walls for fear that he would soon be asked to move on.
At last he heard footsteps on the stairs. He tried to actually read one of the headlines on the newspaper page, but it was hard when he could see her peripherally coming down the hall, looking as relaxed as he was tense, moving more gracefully than he ever had. With a smile, she came around the end of the bar and climbed onto a stool. “Can I have a soda?”
He removed one from the cooler and set it down without looking at her. He studied the paper until his eyes damn near crossed, but all he was aware of was her. She smelled of paint and mineral spirits, of sweat and dust and, under all the layers, a subtle, spicy fragrance. It was an intriguing combination.
Finally admitting defeat, he closed the paper and set it aside. “Get much done?”
“Some. I’d like to be able to move in this weekend.”
“Do you need any help with that?”
His grudging question surprised her as much as him. After a moment, she responded with a smile that was enough to take any red-blooded man’s breath away. It wasn’t particularly big or intense. It didn’t spread into a grin the way her smiles occasionally did. It was really just a slight upturn of the corners of her mouth, small, private, intimate. As if it were for him alone and no one else. “Yes, I do. I thought I would borrow Smith’s Blazer. I can fit more stuff in it than in my little car.”
“Are you going to tell him why you’re moving ’stuff?”
The smile turned rueful. “Not until I’m completely moved in. He would tell Jolie, and they would only try to change my mind. Frankly I’m tired of people trying.”
“People worry about you. It’s only natural, being so young.”
“So young? I believe I’m only a few years younger than you, and I’ve always been mature for my age.” She used a paper napkin to wipe the sweat that dotted her forehead and made the wisps of hair that framed her face cling to her skin. “Are you an only child?”
He nodded. After a couple of unfortunate mistakes when he was a kid, Meghan had taken steps to ensure there wouldn’t be any more, not from her, at least. Jamey hadn’t had any other children, either, and Karen couldn’t have any, so it looked as if he would always be an only.
“I love my family dearly, but I used to have these fantasies when I was much younger about being an only child. About not having to share my parents’ attention with twelve others. About having quiet family dinners instead of chaotic freefor-alls. About being able to fit the entire family into one car, one church pew, one dining room.” She smiled again. “About having one mother instead of one mother and eight sisters who thought they were my mother.”
“It beats my family. No one wanted to be the mother or the father.” He made the statement matter-of-factly. There were no secrets on Serenity. It was common knowledge that his family was as dysfunctional as they came, that Jamey had married Meghan only because he had felt forced, that she had taken Reid away only to spite Jamey, that his parents had hated each other and hadn’t felt much more kindly toward him. Common knowledge and, around here, common circumstances. There were more failed relationships in this small area than in a place ten times the size. Family, obligations and responsibility were concepts with little meaning here. Most relationships went sour. Most kids were unwanted by one parent or the other, and all too often by both. Most people down here didn’t give his upbringing a second thought because they were used to such stories.
But Cassie did. She looked pained. Dismayed. Sympathetic.
Damn it, he didn’t want her sympathy. He didn’t want anything from her...except her body. Her time. The sweet, soothing sound of her voice. Maybe another of those intimate little smiles.
Hell, he didn’t want anything at all except her. All of her.
His expression hardening, he didn’t wait for her to make some apologetic comment
and changed the subject instead. “You’re going to need some furniture for that place.”
“I know. Once I get settled, I’ll have to start hitting the garage sales. Until then, I thought I’d go for the minimalist look. It’s easier on the budget. All I really need is a bed, and the one up there is in decent shape. I’ll give it a coat of paint, some new sheets and a comforter, and it’ll be perfect.”
Now, there was an image he didn’t need: Jamey’s old iron bedstead, freshly painted and made up to look new, and Cassie, her body long and slim under the comforter, her deep brown hair spread like silk over pillows and bare skin. Every time he walked into his bedroom, he would imagine her that way. Every night when he crawled into his own bed to sleep, he would want her that way, long, slim, naked and under him.
Oh, hell, he was in trouble.
“How about another round, Reid?”
Gratefully he tore his gaze from her and nodded to Virgil, seated at a table with old Thomas. There had been a time, when he’d first taken over the bar, when the two elderly men had shown up every night and most of the days and drunk steadily from the time they came in the door until, following Jamey’s orders, Reid had cut them off and sent them home. Lately they came as often, but they didn’t drink as much. Some evenings they didn’t indulge in more than a couple of drinks, spending their time instead talking. The past few weeks, they’d begun to bring a checkerboard with them and nursed one drink through four or five games. Their slacking off on the booze didn’t help business any, but it pleased Jamey.
He filled two glasses and carried them to the table by the door, then, with a look at Cassie, stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was a cool evening. The breeze carried the faintly sour scent of the river, a fitting accompaniment to the long, low whistle of a ship headed into or out of port.
“It’s a sad sound, isn’t it?”
He glanced at Cassie, who had come to stand on the opposite side of the double doors, then shook his head. “Right after I came here, I used to sit by the river and watch the ships. For a while, I thought that was what I wanted to do—go to sea. See other places.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Why hadn’t he signed up on some cargo ship heading out to sea? It would have taken him away from Serenity, away from the father who didn’t want him and the friends who wanted only to corrupt him. It would have taken him someplace new, someplace where he wouldn’t have to be Reid Donovan, troublemaker, thief, troubled kid, punk. It would have taught him job skills that could have kept him off the streets, out of jail and on the right side of the law. It would have given him a whole new life.
But his life had been here. The mother who hadn’t wanted him had dumped him here. If she had ever changed her mind and gone looking, here was where she would have looked. The father who hadn’t wanted him was here, too, and if he had ever changed his mind and decided he wanted a son after all, then here was where the son needed to be. His friends were here, the only friends he’d ever had, the only people who had ever accepted him. As for going someplace new and becoming a new and improved Reid Donovan, hell, even at fifteen he’d understood that he would always be exactly what he’d always been: unwanted, neglected, a punk. Nothing could change that. Not a fresh start in a new place. Not a law-abiding job. Not new friends. Not a woman. Not even this woman.
She was waiting patiently for an answer. Leaning back against the brick wall, he gazed into the sky. Though darkness had long since fallen, the city lights obscured all but the biggest and brightest of the stars. “For a long time, I thought maybe Meghan would come back,” he admitted at last. “That maybe the guy she’d taken off with would dump her, like they always did. She would need someone to take care of her, and since I had done it practically all my life...”
He shrugged. Some dreams died hard. In his head, he had known the minute he’d let himself into their Atlanta apartment—through the window, since there was a new lock on the door—that she was gone for good. It was almost as if he’d been expecting it, as if he had known that one day she would reach the limits of her tolerance for him and she would leave. Still, for a long time he had hoped. He had awakened more mornings than he could count, wondering if this might be the day she would return. Her birthday, his birthday, Christmas Day and Mother’s Day had all been cause for hope. All had been marred with disappointment.
“Did she ever come?”
He shook his head. “For all I know, she could be dead. She had a drinking problem. She liked to experiment with drugs. She loved men.” Any one of her vices could have killed her, and no one would have known that she had a son to notify. She hadn’t cared much for him when she was around. It was a sure bet she hadn’t bragged on him once she’d gotten rid of him.
Cassie sighed heavily, but she didn’t offer a useless apology, didn’t sympathize or commiserate with him, for which he was grateful. Instead, she pulled her keys from the pocket of her shorts, then laid her hand for one moment on his arm. “I’ve got to get home. Thanks for letting me have the apartment.”
Once more he shook his head. “It wasn’t my decision.” “Yes, it was. I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.” After giving his arm a squeeze, she released him, then crossed the street to her car.
“Too late,” he murmured as she climbed inside, then slammed the door. Like so many other things in his life, he already regretted it. And like all those other regrets, he would have to learn to live with it.
Saturday was warm, bright and sunny, a perfect day for a drive in the country or one of those lazy two-hour riverboat cruises to nowhere that Jolie and Smith indulged in every year. It was a perfect day, too, Cassie thought as she backed out of the rear seat of the Blazer, for moving into her very own apartment.
She had offered to treat Reid to breakfast before they started moving this morning, but he had turned her down. She had suggested that she pick him up in her car and take him along while she picked up the Blazer, but he’d vetoed that idea, too. He hadn’t even wanted her swinging by after she’d picked up the Blazer. He would meet her at the condo, he had announced, and she hadn’t argued. Since they were going to be neighbors, she planned to pick her fights with care.
She was approaching the elevator that would take her to the eighteenth floor when she saw him, leaning against the smooth concrete wall and watching her. Like his father, he dressed casually, always in jeans and T-shirts or an occasional button-down shirt. This morning the jeans were faded and snug, and the T-shirt was navy and equally snug. He looked good enough to make any self-respecting woman swoon. Though she’d never indulged in anything so frivolously feminine in her life, she was sure she could do a decent job. After all, with just one look at him, her breath was coming faster and she was already weak in the knees. It took every ounce of self-possession she had to hide it when she came close. “Good morning.”
He nodded as he pushed the elevator call button.
“Been waiting long?”
“I came in right behind you. You took your time parking.”
“I was putting the back seat down. We’ll need the room.” When the elevator door opened, she stepped inside, then pressed the button for her floor. “I really appreciate your help. I know you’re not thrilled about this.”
“You guessed that, huh?”
She couldn’t help but smile at his dry tone. “Well, the fact that you’ve pretty much ignored me the last four days is something of a giveaway.”
“That’s nothing new. I’ve always tried to ignore you.”
“Why? Do you dislike me that much?”
His startled gaze met hers. “I don’t dislike you.”
She waited for something more, something along the lines of I don’t have any feelings at all for you. I’ve hardly even noticed you because you’re quiet and plain. You’re nothing like Tanya—you’re a serene little mouse. He didn’t offer more, though. He left it at that, a simple statement. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t I like you fine, but I’d like to know you better. Or I like you fine, but I’d
like you better in my bed. But it could have been worse.
“It’s not a bad start for neighbors,” she remarked evenly as she watched the numbers light up, then blink off. “I’ll like you, and you can not dislike me. Maybe sometime down the line, you’ll get past not disliking me and learn to actually like me.” And where would she be by then? What seriously intense emotions would she be suffering by the time he eventually got over this antagonism toward her? If he got over this antagonism?
He didn’t take kindly to the faint teasing in her voice. It made him scowl and look away. He had the best scowl—all dark and sullen. It reminded Cassie of the young, pouty, pretty-boy models she came across in magazine ads, except Reid’s scowl had real substance to it. Where those oh-sohandsome models were only posturing, with Reid it was real. They pretended to be sullen, tough and bad, while he was—or, at least, he could be.
“All right. So if you don’t dislike me, then why do you try to ignore me?” She didn’t expect a straight answer. To her great surprise, she got one.
“You make me uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
He shrugged impatiently. “You don’t belong on Serenity.”
“But I’m from Serenity.” The elevator came to a stop, the doors sliding back. For a moment, she stood motionless, but when he stepped off, she quickly followed. Sorting through her keys, she found the one to the front door and opened the lock.
“No,” he said flatly as she pushed the door open. “You were born on Serenity. But you belong here.” He gestured inside the apartment.
She stared inside, trying to see what he saw. The condo was huge and expensive. It was the sort of picture-perfect place that appeared on the pages of upscale magazines and architectural digests. It was beautiful in a cold, sterile sort of way. And he thought it was her.
The Taming Of Reid Donovan Page 7