Double Down (17 page)

A pink blush rushed up her face. “Yes. I’d just lost my top teeth. I was pretty stoked that the tooth fairy gave me two bucks.”

Another picture was a teenage Cassandra wearing a white tank top, tiny shorts and clutching a gold trophy. “You ran track?”

“All four years of high school. I went to State my senior year.”

He held up the silver-framed photos so that he could look at the three versions at once—from the children to the one most certainly grown up, still wearing the guise of a call girl. All certainly had their charms, but he was ready for the real Cassandra to come back.

“I think I’m going to get cleaned up,” she said as if she was thinking the same thing. She pushed her hair back over her shoulder and shot him a naughty look from under her lashes. “Somebody seems to have gotten me messed up.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Yeah, he’d done that. He’d come all over her leg in the back row of a seedy theater. He had no idea how he would’ve covered that with his chain of command had they been caught…

They hadn’t been. They’d escaped free and clear. Now he had to convince his raging imagination that it was still a one-time-only thing. That task was becoming nearly impossible.

She sauntered past him, hips swinging in that dangerous excuse for a dress. “I’m going to run a bath. You’re welcome to join me.”

As if he’d pass up that opportunity.

He followed her into the cramped bathroom like a puppy on a string. The garden tub wedged into the corner was a welcome sight. As much as he’d like holding a wet, naked Cassandra in his arms, squeezing himself into a regular tub might have been too much.

“Nice,” he said.

“Isn’t it though? It was one of the biggest appeals about this place. After a long day on my feet, there’s nothing better than a soak.”

It was fairly obvious she made it a regular practice. The thick rim sported squat candles and a few brightly colored pots and baskets of girly things. Ryan emerged from his suit before he ran the water. He passed on adding anything else—not that he’d know what he was doing anyway.

He froze with his hand under the spigot, hot water sluicing over his skin, when she casually dropped the slender straps of her dress and let it pool to the floor. He still wasn’t used to the beautiful lines of her body, half hoping he never became that complacent. The day he didn’t appreciate her perky breasts and their pink nipples would be the day he belonged in hell.

Watching her wash off the makeup was strangely intimate in the tiny room. If they lived together—or if they were married, even—it might be something he saw every day. Something he’d eventually take for granted. He and Ashleigh had never lived together, with her stuffed in a tiny dorm on campus while he rented a room in a dilapidated house shared by four other guys. So watching Cassandra bend over the sink to splash water over her face, one foot rising behind her for balance, was sort of…nice. Far more intimate than he’d ever stopped to consider.

She scrubbed a hand towel over her face. “Phew. I just don’t get how some women wear that much makeup every day.”

Sitting on the edge of the tub, he grabbed her hip and tugged her near, until she stood between his knees. “It’s probably because they need it. You don’t.”

“You are an unbelievable sweet talker, Major Haverty.”

“Am not, Miss Whitman. I’m speaking the truth.”

She didn’t answer with anything other than, “Come on. In we go.”

He got in first, then let her nestle across his lap. Her ass snuggled flat against his groin. Only the fact that he’d already come twice kept his cock from rising to attention. Her sleek body was even softer when wet. The ends of her hair floated in the water and turned a deeper red.

With a hearty sigh, she leaned back against his chest. “I don’t think johns normally pay hookers to take baths with them.”

He cringed slightly at the return of that fiction. Cassandra was a good woman. Quiet. Normal. He was surrounded by the proof of it. Which probably meant she was humoring him. Ashleigh had humored him until she…couldn’t anymore. He had no intention of pushing Cassandra that far.

“Then maybe it’s best if we don’t pretend,” he said softly. “We’re better the way we are.”

She craned backwards to look at him. A flash of hurt sparked in her eyes. Ryan stole a fast kiss, eager to make it up to her.

The whole night had been fun—too much fun. He’d tried all his life to be a different guy, one who didn’t get off on such elaborate play. Cassandra, with her cheery personality and rocking body, ought to be enough. Instead he’d gotten caught up in the fantasy of making a call girl scream. He hadn’t even learned his lesson when they were hustled along by security.

In the theater, he’d been sure he could behave. But when she’d started playing with herself… How could he resist? He’d been able to scent her musky arousal. When her eyes drifted shut as if she didn’t even need him there—exactly like a prostitute finally getting a chance at her own pleasure—raging determination had surged up. He’d help the hooker get off whether she needed him, not because she was his for the night. Bought and paid for.
His
. He’d tasted her breasts and sunk his fingers in her wet pussy without another thought to their surroundings.

Cassandra deserved more than that. She could be more to him. With him. He needed to appreciate her for what she was. Not what disturbed fantasies he wanted to mold her into.

So that was it. The end of their games. He’d give it all up for a chance of embarking on something special together.

There in the tub, he carefully steered the conversation away from their night. He’d much rather hear her voice rise and fall with excitement as she told him about diving into preparations for the gala. It was enough to be able to listen to her talk. Her voice soothed him.

No matter the softness of the moment, he couldn’t keep his hands still. Strokes down her arms turned into caresses across the tops of her breasts. When he dipped to circle her nipples, he was rewarded with her quiet gasp. She bowed up into his touch and her ass pressed back against his groin. He didn’t seem capable of being around her without getting hard.

He snuck his fingers down her body to circle the shallow dip of her navel. Then lower to her curls. Her lips bloomed under his touch. Inside she was even slicker than the water quietly lapping against them both. He flicked over her clit with two fingers.

A few minutes later he reached out of the tub and snatched a condom from his suit pants. Entering her this time was almost like coming home—comforting after the craziness they’d indulged.

He pushed slowly inside, his arm around her waist. She draped her head back on his chest. The only sounds through the small room were their matched breathing and the quiet slaps of the water against the tub walls.

Since they were both spent, they barely rocked together. Ryan enjoyed the slow build and teasing clench of her pussy. Even the end was slow. Cassandra moaned low and gentle. Ryan’s orgasm eased over him in a langorous wave.

Once the water cooled, they retreated to her bedroom. The bed was only queen sized, which did his big body no favors, but they huddled under the covers together. When he pulled her against his side with an arm around her waist, they managed to find enough room.

She traced idle patterns over his chest. “God, I’m going to be exhausted at my parents’ house tomorrow. Ugh, and then the restaurant.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“About my shift? Maybe.” Burying her face in his shoulder, she giggled. “About being exhausted? No chance.”

“Do you see your parents often? When you’re not doing tours for them, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah. More than I want to, probably.” She traced a single fingertip down the line of his abs. “How about you? I don’t even know where you’re from. Do you see your family often?”

He closed his eyes and held back a sigh. The bare facts were bound to come out, but he still didn’t like discussing them. “I was born and raised in Charlotte County, Virginia. I never knew my dad. My mom died.”

Cassandra’s head popped up. Soft lips had parted. “I’m so sorry, Ryan.”

Shrugging against the pillows, he closed his eyes. No better way to ignore the pity on her face. “It was almost three years ago. She was a mess there at the end. A full-blown drunk.”

“I really am sorry. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

He petted over her hair, which was lying damp and unbound around her shoulders. “Tell me about your parents.”

She hesitated, as if debating whether to accept his diversion. With a tiny nod she said, “They’ve been married almost thirty years. Met in college. All they’ve ever wanted is what they have. A business they love and all their family nearby. They don’t really get why I love art, but they try to be supportive.” Her jaw cracked on a quiet yawn. “Letting me go to France was a really big deal. I do mean
let
, by the way. I practically had to pry Mom’s hand off mine at the airport.”

Ryan had no idea what that would feel like. Amazing, maybe? His mom had rolled her eyes when he’d finally told her that he intended to become a fighter pilot, then took another drag off her Newport before she sarcastically told him good luck.

If he ever had kids, he’d be damned sure they knew he loved them.

The weirdest thing happened as he drifted off to sleep with his arms full of warm and contented female. His mind filled with visions of a girl with red hair wearing a miniature bomber jacket and running over a lawn with a toy F-16 in her hand. The picture almost jerked him up out of his sleepy daze. He’d wanted a family for a long time. An idle wish, however, was different than imagining specifics.

Rather than deny himself, he let it lead him off into dreams.

Chapter Twenty

Mid-May in Vegas was an odd sort of limbo. Spring break was well over, but the summer tourist surge hadn’t jumped on them yet. No matter, Cass was swamped. She’d led three tours to the Canyon over the previous two weekends. Her dad’s arthritis was seriously limiting his ability to make consistent commitments. Emily, her sister, was laid up with an infected ingrown toenail of all things, which meant Vision Tours had scrambled to fill its rosters.

Ryan had become a bright spot in her routine. He worked on base steadily during the week, participating in a new Red Flag against some group of Marine pilots. She still smiled at his unimpressed assessment of their fliers. They met on the weekends, but their sex games had dropped off to nothingness. She liked to think it was because of how hellaciously tired they were by Friday night.

At least she hoped that was the reason. Not once had he mentioned the specifics of their first two weekends. The roles they’d undertaken. She was beginning to wonder if she’d imagined how much he enjoyed the roleplaying. Or was he holding back on purpose? If she weren’t so ridiculously satisfied every time he finished with her, she might have resolved to investigate.

As it was, Cass’s bank account still smarted from their initial few dates, and she knew Ryan’s must too—although he’d never admitted it. So quiet dinners in, lots of lovemaking and lots of lazy late mornings had been their weekend agenda. That was better than good. It was fantastic.

Then there was the gallery.

At eight in the morning, well before it opened to the public at eleven, she pushed in through the employee entrance. Cool air conditioning stroked her cheeks. The scent of the place was always changing, depending on the exhibit. Sometimes the atmosphere was permeated with old smells, old ideas—canvas and linseed oil paints that had once been mixed by hand. At other times it was clinical and sharp, when the cleaning lady’s lemon-scented chemicals overpowered everything.

That was especially true as they transitioned out the last of their recent student acrylics exhibit in preparation for the Bellocq photographs.

Cass tugged on her lightweight cardigan, knowing from experience that the gallery would cover her in goose bumps. “Good morning, Mr. Talbert,” she called to her boss. As always, he sat in his tiny wedge of office off the coat room.

He waved. After a few more taps on his keyboard, he joined her. Handing over a stack of gilt-edged envelopes, he said, “The latest RSVPs.”

“Thanks. I hope to have the caterer pinned down on her estimate by the end of the week. Hopefully we’ll have a better idea of attendance by then. Sara said I should give them a polite shove to see if their numbers come down, if only by five percent.”

“Good. Oh, and Mr. Hungerford is actually coming.”

“The owner? Wow.”

Mr. Talbert pushed his wire-rimmed bifocals up on his nose. A slightly embarrassed smile made his face seem even rounder. “Apparently he’s a huge admirer of Bellocq’s work.”

“The man took pictures of naked women,” Cass said with a giggle. “I’m not too surprised.”

“Will you be bringing anyone with you? Or too intent on working that night?”

Cass picked at a cuticle with her thumbnail. She hadn’t asked Ryan if he would be her plus one and didn’t want to presume. They weren’t that far along. “I have someone in mind, but I need to ask him. I’ll know before I talk to the caterer.”

The next six hours passed in happy productivity. She was on the phone for half of it, arranging press for the opening, gently reminding loyal patrons to RSVP, and coordinating the incoming photography shipments. The rest of the time was spent working with the gallery’s head decorator to discuss how the prints should be displayed. Spacing, lighting, theme, chronology—all were meticulously considered, sometimes passionately debated.

The give and take of ideas filled her with pride every time she realized that her opinion and training mattered.

She was being paid the equivalent of cheap cat food, but the hours were so invigorating. This was what she loved. Every bit of it. Her mom had once told her that a job was a drag, but a career made you bounce out of bed in the morning. That was Cass all over the place.

Which made five o’clock all the more difficult to face.

She drove home, napped, ate a meal midway between lunch and dinner, and got ready for another six hours at Blakely’s. Another six hours of Tommy, Cynthia and now, best of all, the return of Tommy’s mother, Julia. The pinch-faced woman had been on holiday in Italy for two months, somewhere on the Riviera. They’d only barely tolerated each other while Cass and Tommy dated, but now Julia smelled blood in the water. There was no longer any reason to be polite.