But Cassie was pleased, and over something so simple.
He dressed quickly, then locked up the apartment on his way to the bathroom down the hall. She was sitting on the top step, the basket beside her, the blanket cushioning her elbows on her knees. She was the first thing he saw when he came out of the apartment and the last thing he saw before he closed the bathroom door. Of course, she and her basket of food were the only things in the hall, but he doubted it would have made a difference if a crowd had surrounded her. He still would have zeroed in on her.
The bathroom was long and narrow, with a tub on the side that adjoined his bedroom. It wasn’t a great old claw-foot like the one in Karen’s house, but it was comfortably oversize, freestanding, with a shower head extending from the wall and a long plastic curtain that completely encircled the tub. Years ago, probably at the same time two apartments had been created from the original one-family unit, someone had knocked together shelves that reached all the way to the ceiling. Last week he had cleared his stuff off the lower shelves, leaving them for Cassie, and she had filled them in one afternoon. There were towels in bright red and yellow, each about twice as thick as one of his own, washcloths to match, shampoos, conditioners, creams, lotions, makeup and every other item a woman could possibly need.
He wouldn’t even know she was here, she had promised, and he’d known then that it was a lie. In this small, drab room, he could close his eyes, could block out the sight of all her bright feminine belongings, and he would still know. Instead of dust and dampness, the scent was clean. Instead of Ivory soap, cheap shampoo and shaving cream, there were exotic scents blending together. One came from the clear pink bar of soap on the sink’s edge, another from the cobalt blue perfume bottle on a shelf. All her toiletries had their own rich fragrances, all sweet, all feminine, all Cassie. They were better than the most expensive potpourri.
Scowling at his fixation, he turned on the water in the sink, brushed his teeth, combed his hair and quickly shaved. With one last, deep breath, he left the bathroom and joined Cassie at the stairs, smelling the same scents all over again. “Where are we going?”
There weren’t many places of picnic quality within walking distance of the bar—just the little park Karen had rescued for the kids, Jackson Square or the park fronting the river. None of those offered any privacy at all, but if she’d wanted privacy, he reminded himself, she would have invited him to breakfast in her apartment, not out in public. But would he have accepted?
“You’ll see.” She led the way downstairs and out of the bar, across the street and around Kathy’s House to the carriage house. Reid was puzzled until she turned the far corner and headed toward the back. When they’d finished the major work on the school, he and Jamey had built a pergola between the carriage house and the brick wall next door. They’d painted it pale blue to match the buildings and planted flowering vines that crisscrossed the top and shrubs that provided privacy front and back. The arbor was intended for use as an outdoor classroom, a perfect, somewhat secluded place to conduct lessons on a warm spring day.
He would be willing to learn a few lessons inside its sweet-scented cover.
They spread out the comforter, old and lumpy in places, then she began unloading the food while he watched from the opposite side. She knew he was watching, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, if pressed, he would say she rather enjoyed it.
Finally the food was ready. She handed him a plate, along with a small chilled bottle of orange juice, as she asked, “Did I remember to thank you for all your help yesterday?”
“Yeah.” From her mother’s house, they had gone to a Greek restaurant tucked between a Laundromat and an insurance office. The dining room was cramped, the food good, the prices low. After the meal, they had come back to Serenity, unloaded the furniture at her classroom, and then she had walked across the street and upstairs with him. At her door, she had given him one of those smiles that no woman should ever wear with anything else. Those intimate little smiles should be reserved for sex, for those first few minutes after she’d been well and truly satisfied, when she was naked and within reach and willing to be seduced again, pleading to be satisfied again.
She had thanked him for helping, though the smile had been thanks enough, and then she had gone into her apartment and closed the door, leaving him standing in the hall, so damn needy that he hurt. He would have sacrificed everything he had and everything he might ever have for just one touch of her hand, for just one brief brush against her body. He had gone to his apartment feeling utterly empty and hadn’t come out again except for his shower—his decidedly cold shower, which hadn’t helped a bit.
“I could have managed,” she remarked as she broke a freshly peeled orange into halves and offered him one. “But I’m glad I didn’t have to. I enjoyed your company.”
Her last, simple words brought him such pleasure that he had to force his attention to his breakfast. The plates were pottery, heavy, bright orange and fuchsia. They must have been in one of her boxes, because they certainly hadn’t come from O’Shea’s kitchen. There were biscuits, some with butter, some with grape jelly. She had put all of the ones with bacon sandwiched between the layers on his plate. She had also baked blueberry muffins and peeled and sliced a sweet ripe cantaloupe to go with the oranges. It was a simple breakfast, but eating here in the arbor made it special.
Or was it Cassie who made it special?
“What are your plans for today?” After wiping her fingers on a cloth napkin, she pushed her plate aside and stretched out on her side, resting her head on one hand.
He simply shrugged. His only weekend plans usually involved staying away from Serenity, usually alone. He hadn’t managed on either point yesterday. Every trip they had taken away from Serenity had brought them back again, and he hadn’t been alone until the middle of the afternoon. Then he’d spent the rest of the day wishing he wasn’t.
“You’ll have dinner with your folks. By the way, I’ve been invited. Do you mind?”
A week ago, he had minded a hell of a lot. Now he shook his head.
“What else? What will you do this afternoon?”
“Not much.”
“You work mornings at the garage and evenings at the bar. When do you see your friends?”
He met her gaze evenly, unflinchingly. “I don’t have any friends,” he said, his voice deliberately mild. “You know that.”
She didn’t flinch, either. “Tanya is willing to be your friend.”
“Tanya likes sex.”
“Liking one doesn’t preclude the other. When the time comes, I’m sure I’ll like sex, too, but it won’t diminish my capacity to be a friend.”
Reid stilled in the act of stacking his plate on top of hers. He would have sworn that he’d heard wrong, but the faint color creeping into her face confirmed that he hadn’t. “You mean you’ve never—”
She shook her head.
“You’re a—”
A nod this time.
A virgin. She was a virgin. God help him, he’d been having all sorts of lewd fantasies about a virgin. The very idea should appall him, and there was some tiny part of him that was shocked. By the age of fifteen, girls who didn’t put out—who weren’t looking for affection wherever they could find it—were a rarity on Serenity.
But there was another part that found the idea oddly, powerfully arousing. He had never been with a virgin before. From his own very first time on, the women in his life had been at least as experienced as he was, usually more. But Cassie wasn’t. He could be her first. He could seduce her. He could teach her everything he’d learned, could make it an experience neither of them would ever forget. He could promise her a great deal of pleasure in exchange for her virginity, and he would do his damnedest to make sure she never regretted it.
Then a bitter ache settled over him. Sure, he could be her first, and it would be incredibly sweet. But how much sweeter it would be if he could also be her last.
If he could alw
ays be her only.
Chapter 5
At least he hadn’t run the other way.
Cassie lay on her back, her eyes narrowed against the sun, her attention centered on the man a few feet away. She would have understood if Reid had greeted her announcement with a departure. There had been a time when an unmarried woman would have paid for the loss of her virginity with banishment, shame or even death, but these days it didn’t seem to matter much. Most teenage girls were eager to be relieved of it, and although there were a few who considered it proof of their prowess, most boys and young men weren’t thrilled by the burden of taking it. The last few men she’d dated had thought her odd for considering it something worth keeping. Her girlfriends thought she was strange, too. Saving oneself for marriage was an idea that had long ago fallen from favor.
Actually she wasn’t waiting for marriage. That was something that might take years, if it ever happened at all. Marriage after thirty was becoming increasingly common—Jolie had been closer to forty when she and Smith got married—and while Cassie wanted to wait, she didn’t want to wait forever.
No, she was simply waiting for the right man. When she knew in her heart that she’d found him, she would give up her virginity willingly, happily, even eagerly. But not until then. Not for a few hours of questionable pleasure. Not for physical satisfaction that didn’t touch her heart.
Maybe that was why she had so casually and out of the blue announced her status to Reid. Because he did touch her heart. Because he had from the very first time she’d seen him. He hadn’t even noticed her that evening; she was sure. There had been a lot of people at Karen’s, and he had been preoccupied with keeping Ryan Morgan in line. But she had noticed him. After the party had broken up and everyone else had gone, she had stayed to help Karen clean up and tried to find out everything about him. Her boss hadn’t been willing to offer much, but it had been enough to send Cassie home feeling as if something momentous had happened. It had been enough to fuel all her favorite fantasies for quite a long time.
Now the man himself was providing the fuel.
Across the blanket, he stretched out, resettled. Deliberately she focused her gaze on the vines overhead. She loved wisteria, with its clusters of cascading lilac blooms. When the family had moved to the Oak Street house, there had been a thick, ropy wisteria vine entwined around the live oak outside her bedroom window. In the brief time it bloomed each spring, the delicate flowers had been the first thing she’d seen every morning and, thanks to her mother’s storytelling, the last thing on her mind at night.
Slowly she smiled. She hadn’t thought of the tale in years, but she remembered it clearly. “Do you know why, in nature, the wisteria vine prefers to wrap itself around the oak?”
Reid’s only answer was a shake of his head.
“Want me to tell you?” She’d always had a fondness for storytelling, one that all her young nieces and nephews and now her students appreciated, but she had never indulged herself with a mature audience, particularly one who’d never been indulged with many tales as a child.
Again his only response was movement, a shrug this time. She took it as a yes.
“There was once a man living in a lovely forest. He was strong and brown from working hard in the sun all day. He lived alone, and he was lonely until one day a woman came to live nearby. She was a kind woman with the longest, brownest hair he’d ever seen, and she always dressed in purple.” Remembering that her dress today was the brightest, purest, fit-for-royalty purple, she grimaced. If Reid accused her of making up the story and tailoring it specifically to them, who could blame him? Still, this was the way she’d heard the story countless times, and so she went on.
“The handsome man and the pretty woman became friends. Soon their friendship turned to love, and their love grew and grew. One evening the man returned from a hard day’s work, and the woman, wearing her purple dress, met him in the forest. As he held her, they knew that they had never been so happy, and they wished they could be together like that for all time. In the blink of an eye, their wish came true. He was transformed into the strongest, tallest oak in the whole forest, and she became the wisteria vine, clothed in delicate purple blossoms, entwined with her true love for all eternity.”
From the other side of the blanket, there was momentary silence, then a sudden burst of laughter. “That’s the sappiest story I’ve ever heard.”
The sound of his amusement spread warmth through her and made her smile as she turned her head toward him to gently scold. “You’re not a romantic.”
“No,” he agreed, sobering. “What I know about romance is probably far less than you know about sex.”
“Hey, I go to movies and read books. I’ve got twelve brothers and sisters and a million nieces and nephews. I know plenty about sex. I just haven’t experienced it yet.” She looked up at the wisteria and the patches of blue sky that showed through. “My mother used to tell me that story at bedtime every spring when the wisteria was in bloom. It was better than any fairy tale. I wanted to be the wisteria lady.”
“You’re certainly dressed for it.”
“Coincidence.” She didn’t point out that he was equally suited to the costarring role. He was handsome and strong, and his skin was the loveliest shade of golden brown. He was lonely and lived alone—sometimes so alone that her heart ached—and he had a nearby neighbor with long brown hair who wanted to be friends and so much more, who thought eternity with him sounded like a wonderful place to be.
Rolling onto his back, he pillowed his head on his arms. “Let me see if I can remember one of Meghan’s bedtime stories.” He was silent for a moment, then began. ‘“I’m going down to the bar on the corner. Don’t answer the door, be asleep when I get back and if you hear anything from the bedroom, stay the hell out. I should be back in eight or ten hours. Be good and don’t whine about dinner, and maybe for breakfast I’ll take you to McDonald’s.”’ His smile was thin and bitter. “I like your mother’s better.”
Cassie swallowed over the lump in her throat. “Why would you whine about dinner? Was she a lousy cook?”
“When Meghan was ready to party, the last thing she wanted was to take care of a hungry kid, so she didn’t.”
So she put him to bed hungry, and maybe the next morning she fed him. What a lovely mother.
Cassie rolled onto her stomach, closer to his side of the blanket, supporting herself on her elbows, and studied him. His expression was open, no longer amused but not particularly bitter, either. “Do you hate her?”
“She’s my mother.”
“She’s the woman who gave birth to you. She’s not a mother, not in any real sense of the word. She should have given you up for adoption. The state should have taken you away from her.”
His shrug was the mere lifting of one shoulder. “I was okay.”
Okay. He had been neglected, abandoned, mistreated, abused and unloved, but he was okay. She wanted to rail at the unfairness of his life, to vent her anger and disgust. She wanted to weep. Mostly, though, she wanted to make everything all right. She wanted to somehow undo the damage Meghan had done, to give him all the things his mother had denied him—security. Affection. Maybe even love.
Gently backing away from that last thought, she studied her clasped hands. “You’re a better person than me. I would want to punish her.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him look her way, but he didn’t speak right away. He simply waited for her to meet his gaze, waited until she couldn’t stop herself if she wanted. “You think her life isn’t punishment enough?” he asked once he had her undivided attention. “She’s been poor since she was born—not just Serenity Street poor, but going-hungry-living-on-the-streets-selling-her-body-to-survive poor. She’s gotten drunk, gotten high, gotten laid and gotten beaten too many times to count. She’s degraded herself just trying to live. She’s got nothing to be proud of, no dignity, no self-respect and no one to give a damn about her when she dies. What more could you possibly do to
her?”
Cassie bit her lower lip. He was right. When someone’s life had already sunk as low as it was possible to go, there was little that could be done to punish them further. She wanted to anyway. She wanted Meghan Donovan to suffer for what she’d done to her son. But maybe she did. Maybe in all these years she’d lived without Reid, she had come to realize what a precious gift she had thrown away. Maybe she’d finally understood that her son had been her best chance to be loved and her best reason for living a better life. Maybe she was drowning in regret. But probably not.
“You’re wrong, you know,” she said quietly. “She does have something to be proud of. You.”
He carried such burdens, both emotional and spiritual, that he usually gave the impression of age and soul-deep weariness, but the blush that colored his cheeks now made him look adorably younger. It didn’t last long, though, only until he changed the subject without comment and asked, “Are you planning to work on the dresser today?”
“Yes. Since I provided breakfast in such a lovely setting, are you willing to offer your help?”
“So the food was a bribe.”
“It was,” she admitted without hesitation. “You got a free breakfast, and I got the pleasure of your company.”
“Hardly a fair trade.”
Feigning injured feelings, she let her lower lip jut out. “I think I’m a pretty decent cook.”
“You are.” He gave another awkward little shrug as he shifted his gaze overhead. “But I’m pretty lousy company.”
She sat up and began gathering everything into the basket. In college she’d had a friend who had made remarks like that. with regularity. Cassie’s role in the relationship had been to disagree and to reassure. No, Ellen, you don’t look fat. No, Ellen, you didn’t deserve that grade. No, Ellen, that color doesn’t wash you out No. Ellen, you’re not self-centered. Eventually she had figured out that constant reassurance had been the whole point behind Ellen’s constant self-disparagement, and since that was no basis for a friendship, she had ended it.
The Taming Of Reid Donovan Page 11