But
now
? Now she just felt confused again. Burke wanted her, no matter what he said. She wanted him, too. Bad. But why? She never got around to understanding while standing in front of Burke’s fridge. Because he made her feel pretty, sexy and womanly? Funny, since Burke was the reason she felt sexless in the first place, but very true. Luke certainly never inspired sleeplessness. Luke hadn’t inspired anything. Not now that she had something real to compare it to.
Sex with Luke was always like waiting for something amazing to happen. And waiting. And waiting. Kissing him…could she even remember when the touch of his lips excited her? How long ago had they gotten to perfunctory pecks?
When they lost their virginity, it had been in a truck bed under the stars. She’d thought it romantic at the time. Believed Luke had been thoughtful to have a mattress for them, and blankets, too. Later, she realized she’d been convenient. Another girl might have asked for a hotel room. Dinner, at the least. Not CB Bishop. No, CB was too young and unknowing, her eyes too full of stars about the boy who said he could see all these special things about her.
He used to tell her she was exactly what he wanted in a girl. She was smart and down to earth, the kind of girl a guy could talk to and hang out with. The kind who knew the important things in life and didn’t ask for anything special. He used to tell her she was someone a guy could be himself with; honestly. A girl for forever.
No one knew how important those words were to her. Even now, knowing how meaningless she was to him, those sweet lies were still important. She’d never doubted her value to her family. They had to put up with her whether they wanted to or not. In Hayne’s case, more often it was
not
. Eddie was a good father, supportive in his quiet way, but he didn’t always know what to do with a girl, so he left her to her own devices. The only person who wanted her around no matter what, no matter when, was Burke. Everywhere else in her world, she felt out of place. Unable to belong or blend with people her age or gender. Unable to be what anyone wanted.
Some nights, long after Luke disappeared, she would lie awake trying to decide if he ever meant anything he said. In the end it didn’t matter if they were lies or not. No one else ever imagined she wanted to hear them. He might never be the man she loved again, but a part of her would always remember how he’d seen something to exploit in the first place. It wasn’t sexy, but until now, she’d taken what she could get.
So where does that leave me with Burke? What do I want from him? How little am I going to accept this time?
Her subconscious had no answers.
Realizing she wasn’t going to get any sleep this way, she looked around for something to do and found the box of magazines Burke popped into the car window onto Hayne’s lap. Nothing like homework to cloud the mind.
She got out of bed, picked up the box and brought it back to the bed. The light on, leaning against the headboard and pillows with the box between her knees, she began sorting.
Better Homes and Gardens, Redbook, Women’s World…
The array of Christmas crafts and baking tips on the covers were enough to prove Burke had lost his mind. He must have because he seemed to think this was an excuse to make her cook. She wanted to be feminine. Nowhere in the definition of the word did it say “stove-slave”. That’s what restaurants and brothers were for.
She was about to dump the whole box when she hit on
Lissabelle
. The other magazines slid off the bed unnoticed.
The cover was gold, the blonde draped across it barely dressed and screaming sex the way only an underfed teenager can, but Cass didn’t notice. Much. No, what caught her eye were the headlines:
“
Friends Into Lovers? Does he want you, does he want you not?”, “Ten Positions to Make a Grown Man Cry!”, “How to Make the First Move!”
Cass stared at the cover until her eyes hurt from not blinking. Ideas blurred her mind. Ideas Burke would hate. Ones that involved touching, caressing…sweating. Her eyes closed, her spine already arching at the thought of his hot kisses anywhere else on her body. No,
everywhere
else. His hands had textured calluses, a worker’s hands like her own, but his touch sent those magic tingles in more directions than Luke’s smooth fingertips ever had. What would they feel like somewhere other than her waist? A sigh crawled through her throat. Seducing Burke made for delicious fantasies. Now more than ever she wanted to know what kind of reality it made.
But did she really want to do this? Sex was nothing to get casual about and Burke was her best friend. Sex made things complicated. People started expecting things afterward and it wasn’t something a couple should go into wanting different things. Which brought her back to the original question: what did she want from him?
Answers refused to come.
It might be a moot point. Burke had all but told her sex between them would never happen. She could usually get him to do whatever she wanted, but even Burke had limits. He would never throw their relationship away for something he could get from someone else with as little effort as possible. There was a reason none of his lovers lasted longer than a fruit fly. He probably thought it was because sex wasn’t important to him beyond a physical need, but she knew better. Burke never wanted to disappoint. His perfectionist streak knew no bounds and the moron feared failing. He’d fear it more if he cared about the woman he slept with, meaning he would never—as long as the sun rose in the east and set in the west—take a chance with her.
So much for seduction…
Until she saw the final cover article.
“Turning his ‘Never’ into ‘Forever’”.
She would have questioned the intelligence of thinking a magazine held all the answers to her disastrous love life, but she was too busy looking for page one-ten.
Burke woke at six a.m. as usual. If he had gotten to sleep before three he might not be so bitter about it. He hadn’t been able to think straight since Cass left the night before, her expression angry, her lips pouty. If he could have thrown Hayne out and kept her there he would have, but the mere fact that he wanted to was reason enough to slam the car door on her not-supposed-to-be-sexy little face.
She gunned the motor, backing out with a roar. Knowing her, she made sure to leave enough rubber on the driveway to repave it twice. Hell hath no fury, he supposed, throwing back the blankets and trudging toward the bathroom.
“Sleeping nude these days, Burke?”
He froze. Two more steps and he’d be safely in the bathroom, able to shut the door and hide. While part of him bristled at the prospect of actually hiding from the likes of Cassandra Bishop’s throaty voice, lacy garters and strawberry nipples, the rest of him ached to run those few feet as fast as possible.
“What are you doing here?”
“Enjoying the view, at the moment.”
He looked over his shoulder, hoping he imagined her. No, there she was, leaning against his wall, her mouth in a curve he could only describe as lascivious and her eyes trained on his bare butt.
“I’m up here, Miss Mud Pie.”
Her gaze finally flicked up to his face while her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. “What did I tell you about calling me that?”
“You don’t do what I tell you, why should I do what you say?”
“For a refreshing change?”
He turned his back on her. “I’m taking a bath. I don’t know what you’re doing here, I don’t
want
to know why you’re here. When I come out, I want you back home, reading. And I want my emergency key on the table.”
There, that was dismissive. Strong, not weak in the slightest. He strolled into the bathroom and closed the door, proud of himself. There wasn’t a sound from the hallway, so he figured she’d take a few minutes to complain to herself before doing exactly what she’d been told. He turned on the water for the tub, letting it fill while he took care of his morning necessities. When he sat inside its dark depths, water flowed over him, soothing his aggravation instantly. He closed his eyes and sighed. Finally, some peace. No Cass, no complications. With any luck at all, a long soak would massage the tension right out of him. He leaned his head back on the padded lip of the tub, giving in to the exhaustion. A few minutes of catnap and he’d be back on his game. Just ten, maybe fifteen…
The water lapped his chest, the bathroom satisfyingly filled with steam, when he heard something suspiciously like the sound of the bathroom door opening. She couldn’t give him ten minutes rest. Not even five.
“Go away.” So what if he sounded frustrated? He
was
frustrated.
“You got to see me naked. Turnabout’s fair play.”
One of these days, she’d push him too far. Not today, but one day, and he’d have every right to throttle her. “I don’t want to play fair. Get out.”
“You know, Burke, I think I’m done worrying about what you want.”
He snapped his head off the padding, looking over and seeing her standing in the middle of the bathroom with her arms crossed over her breasts. Convenient, because nearly every other inch of her was bared and he didn’t think his control could take it if she put her arms down. Especially if she put them down to undo the ties of her nearly transparent scrap of panties.
She moved to the steps of the tub, climbing up and over as if she did it every day. Before he knew it, she was parked on his lap, hot water swirling over them but not between them. There was nothing between them but a miniscule pair of panties.
There wasn’t a safe place to put his gaze. If he met her bold stare, he’d see the smoky green eyes that haunted him all night long. Her mouth had some of that shiny pink gloss that tempted him to nibble it off. If he looked straight ahead, he’d be staring at a pair of perfect, creamy handfuls. And they’d be staring back.
Predictably, his body responded, right beneath the tight curves of the ass he didn’t quite remember allowing his hands to grip. She smiled down at him, pleased as punch. She rolled her hips and he knew it was over.
I’m going to hell for this, I know it.
She gasped, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “This is about what
I
want, Burke. And what I want is
you
.”
Chapter Eight
The loud splash of water overflowing the obsidian tub as he lurched forward was Burke’s first clue he’d been asleep. The total lack of Cass or her transparent panties was the one that he’d been dreaming. The painful erection was unfortunate proof he was a damn mess.
Still breathing hard from his shock, Burke splashed hot water over his face and tried to snap out of it. Whatever
it
was. One thing was sure,
it
was getting out of hand. He doubted he’d be able look her in the eye next time he saw her. He
knew
he couldn’t look at her anywhere else.
Frustrated, he stood up and grabbed a towel from the wall behind him. After fussing with the black terrycloth, he freed the drain and stomped out of what was supposed to be his sanctum. Come to think of it, the whole damn house was supposed to be his sanctum. Except every room was marked by Cass somehow. Thanks to the CD player, she owned his kitchen. The living areas might as well be her personal rec room. She helped him pick his couch, played poker every week on his dining room table, brought him more plants than a single man could safely explain and ate her snacks where ever the hell she pleased. She’d slept in his guest room enough times to have a side and a pillow with a dent just the size of her rock-hard head. He could even count the hallway as hers now, because it was the first place she’d ever seen him bare-assed. The only place she hadn’t particularly touched was his bedroom.
He cornered into it and swore.
Cass sat at the foot of his unmade bed, her jeans clad legs crossed—elegantly?—dangling the most damning thing he’d ever seen from a manicured fingertip. One cinnamon-chocolate eyebrow arched, her glittering green eyes pinning him to his spot while her mouth twisted into a smug, plump little grin.
“And here I thought you didn’t sleep in anything.”
“I can explain those.”
No, you can’t. If you can’t explain to yourself why you never gave those back, how how are you gonna explain it to her?
“I didn’t think this shade of blue was your color, Burke.”
Intimidation would work. He didn’t have anything else. He crossed his arms and tried to glare her down.
“To think I was almost going to do what you said. I would have, if I didn’t have to return your sweats. They’re in your drawer now, by the way, pressed and arranged by color, the way you like. Imagine my surprise when I looked in the mirror and, oh my stars and garters!
My
garters peeking from under your pillow.”
“It’s not like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Nope, don’t think I will.” She leaned back on her elbows, half laying across his bed, pert breasts presented like a buffet under her white, ribbed tank top. The damn girl hadn’t bothered putting a bra on. Again. The other times, she’d been well covered, under some kind of man-shaped polo or sweatshirt. Even May Belle’s dress left more to the imagination. This time, the dark little circles couldn’t be missed. They poked the fabric up to raised little points, practically waving, and set his mouth watering.