Where Dreams Are Born (Angelo's Hearth) (23 page)

She leaned her bare shoulder against his.

“How do you feel about polygamy?”

He practically passed the cheese through his nose.

# # #

“As always, Angelo.” Cassidy raised her tiny cup of decaf espresso.

He doffed his hat and sipped from his own cup, most certainly the leaded variety. “Yes, I make a mean espresso.”

They all laughed knowing she’d meant the meal and that he’d known it. The restaurant had quieted and slowly emptied as the hours slid by. Now they were the last table that hadn’t been cleaned and prepped for the next day. Of course they’d been the noisiest table the whole night. Cassidy had told them behind-the-label stories of the Mondavi system. She hadn’t yet told them about Russell, especially now with Angelo sitting there. It would be unfair for him to know first.

The food and wine had flowed almost as lavishly as the laughter. Perrin had flirted wildly with Josh as well as their waitress, a comely Italian girl who sassed her right back, and Angelo every time he came near. Angelo had flirted with Perrin and taken the opportunity to spread his charm to her and Jo.

Especially to Jo, though she claimed not to notice, or be interested in a scruffy Italian. But the more wine Jo drank, the deeper her blush became each time Angelo served them personally. Now only espresso, tiny wedges of an exquisite, richly chocolate-and-hazelnut
pan forte
, and crumpled napkins remained of the meal. Cassidy could feel the electric current passing from Jo on her left to where Angelo had joined them on her right seated at the end of the table. Everyone was talking to everyone, except the two of them. Perhaps she should take Jo to the bathroom and insist that they switch places when they returned. It was the best plan she—

“Hey Angelo, where are you?” Russell Morgan burst through the kitchen doors, his voice overloud in the empty restaurant. “There you…” He stumbled to a halt as his eyes met hers.
He looked ready to beat a hasty retreat even as his eyes slid from her face to inspect her bare shoulders and form-fitting dress.

She couldn’t help smiling at him. The man seeking the lady in the red parka. Her. Knowing nothing about her except she wore a red coat and went to lighthouses
and that was enough to make him desperate to find her. She felt like the lovely princess in the tower. He: Prince Charming, who hadn’t a clue how he despised his Princess in real life.

His eyes returned to her face as he moved slowly forward. Once again he was as she’d first met him. Jeans covered with streaks of dirt and paint, both knees long gone. A blue tee-shirt, that showed every muscle from belt to shoulder, torn high on one arm. Even his arms had splotches of blue paint on them, a shade of which she now knew the source. He matched his hull perfectly. His hair was a tumble with flecks of sawdust. If it had been combed, it was with his fingers. Her fingers itched to do the same.

“Won’t you join us, Mr. Morgan?”

It was a good thing that Angelo had his back to Russell, because his face was definitely laughing at the refined invitation for his scruffy friend.

“Oh, Mr. Morgan. You have to join us.” Perrin leaned right into Josh’s lap as she reached out a hand toward him. “I love that poster you made. It so captures what I want to do. I’ve already had three customers who came in just because they saw it.”

“Um, you’re welcome.”

Angelo glanced in Cassidy’s direction and started to scoot his chair her way so he’d be between them. She shook her head and Angelo scooted closer to Josh though he did arch his eyebrows in her direction. She wasn’t going to say anything, no way, no how. But she didn’t want Angelo between them. She felt just drunk enough to be brave.

“Are these your clothes as well?” He nodded toward Jo and Cassidy keeping his attention on Perrin. He grabbed a chair from another table.

When Perrin nodded, he smiled a bit. He still hadn’t looked in her direction after his initial inspection and she was starting to feel a bit peaked about it.

“I’d like to get a series of shots with the three of you.”

“Us?” Cassidy managed to choke out.

Jo was shaking her head.

“Yes.”

There was no way she was getting in front of Mr. Testosterone’s camera.

Russell spun the chair backwards and straddled it, his exposed knee ending up so close to her thigh she could feel the heat through her thin dress. She glanced down. The slit of her skirt had opened wide. She pulled it closed before Russell noticed. Though he couldn’t have missed it on his arrival, but she held it closed anyway.

“You are three classic, beautiful archetypes. And there is a synergy between you that would work well on camera. You also have the benefit of being free models, at least I assume so. Budget is important in this case.” He finally looked at Cassidy. She was well aware they hadn’t worked out a payment yet, he didn’t have to rub it in.

Russell leaned in close, a whisper for her ears alone.

“Told you that you’d hate it.”

He was right, she did. And she was well and truly trapped. She’d definitely rather pay the money.

Perrin was so excited by the prospect that she won Jo over with only a minimum of arm-twisting from Cassidy.

Russell was in a thoroughly cheerful mood about having trapped her, albeit for a good cause. He knocked down a large gulp from a beer bottle still covered in beads of condensation. He must have liberated it on his way through the kitchen.

His motion sent a waft of his smell her direction. Beneath the bright tang of teak wood shavings and the bite of paint, there was a raw scent like the musk of the finest red. Whole, complete in itself, strong without being overwhelming.

She opened her eyes and he was inspecting her closely. She didn’t remember closing them as she’d reveled in his scent. Reveled? She’d have to be careful. Russell Morgan was trouble and she really didn’t need the complication.

His eyes were so close. Blue-grey eyes. Ones easy to get lost in.

She scrambled around in her brain for some way to break his intent study of her face. For a way to change what was occurring in her own mind.

“Um, been to any lighthouses lately, Mr. Morgan?”

Perrin’s laugh climbed quickly up the scale toward a giggle, but a quick glance across the table revealed that the others were still discussing the modeling photo shoot.

He studied his beer and picked at the corner of the label with a dirty and torn fingernail.

“Yes, actually. I sailed to one just a couple of weeks ago.”

“Which one?” As if she didn’t know.

“New Dungeness Lighthouse up in the Straits.” He clearly had no clue she’d been there.

“Did you find whoever you were looking for at Cape Flattery?”

He started and his attention shifted from his beer back to her face. His eyes widened like a deer in the headlights.

“You were obviously looking for someone at the cape.”

He turned back to his label, though he didn’t pick at it any more.

“I, uh… No, I didn’t.”

Angelo leaned over. “He’s been chasing a phantom for six months now.”

“Three. I didn’t see her in the photos at first. And she’s not a phantom.”

Angelo shrugged his doubts.

Cassidy took another sip of her espresso. This was simply delicious. He’d taken photos of every lighthouse, and she’d been in every photo. Had he taken one of her at Cape Flattery? She couldn’t remember
, but she hoped so. That way his collection would be complete, even if he didn’t know it, yet. She’d replaced her own shot of the lighthouse to include one with him in it the day she’d gotten back from New Dungeness. But she hadn’t yet figured out how to tell him that he was sitting next to his phantom.

“I believe in phantoms.” She’d been chasing one for the last six months as well. The phantom of who her father had really been. The man she’d known and loved but was turning into a stranger in the course of a dozen short notes.

“Oh no,” Russell held up a hand as if to fend her off. It was callused with hard work, but didn’t look heavy despite its size.

“No discussions of ghosts and visitations. I’ve been with so many woman who were into—” Angelo elbowed him in the ribs. He glared at Angelo, then his eyes widened and he clamped his mouth shut.

“And how many women have you been with, Mr. Morgan?” She hadn’t quite meant to drop her question into the lull in conversation, but suddenly she had everyone’s attention. Or rather Russell did.

He glared first at her, then at his beer.

She could feel the heat on her own cheeks. She hadn’t meant to trap him or back him into a corner.

The conversation at the rest of the table slowly drifted back to life as he stubbornly refused to look up.

She rested a hand on his forearm. She was transported back to the moment she’d taken his arm at Cape Flattery. The strength and warmth were intense against her palm. Her body was reacting in ways that made her feel flush even where the dress did cover her decently.

“I’m sorry,” she kept her voice soft so that no others would hear. She squeezed his arm and was about to remove it when he covered it with his other, cool from the beer bottle, warm from the inside.

His gaze met hers and there was a tinge of sadness in how his eyes closed part way.

“We were clearly never meant to have a conversation together. Like two porcupines. All our bristles up. All defenses to the fore.”

This was a totally different man. This wasn’t the abrupt and rude Mr. Russell Morgan. This wasn’t the brash sailor she’d expected, nor the cool professional. Suddenly, the man she’d glimpsed in scattered moments at dinner and at the lighthouse kneeling in the sand was seated beside her and holding her hand. It took her breath away and made the pounding of her heart the only sound she could make.

“To answer your question: too many and never the right one.”

Question? What question? Her mind was definitely gone elsewhere. “How many women?” That was it. “Too many and never the right one.” What a fantastic answer. She could feel herself melting.

He patted her hand like an old friend and withdrew his arm from her grasp.

“Sorry, stupid thing to say. I meant nothing about you. I meant…” Russell jerked to his feet like a puppet on strings.

“Sorry to be a damper on your party.” He bowed to her. “Ms. Knowles.” And he was gone
before she could react. Before she could protest.

Jo poked her sharply in the ribs. That broke the spell. She startled to her feet and trotted out through the kitchen as fast as her high heels would let her. The staff was all gone. She pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the street.

A few spaces down the block, a car roared to life with a throaty rumble. His car from the Cape Flattery parking lot. She raised an arm to stop him as he dropped it into gear and roared off into the night.

The chill air sent a shiver over her bare leg and shoulder and up her spine.

“I didn’t take it that way.”

# # #

Russell stared at the phone number Angelo had given him. He must be insane. Or really, really, really desperate.

“Yea, that describes it pretty damn well, doesn’t it?”

Nutcase sat on the settee table and watched him pace the length of the boat and back.

He reached out to scratch the cat’s head. She shied away in time to avoid being whacked by the phone he’d forgotten he was holding.

“Well, there are two choices. I can either agonize over this for another half hour and then it will be too late to decently call in which case I’ll be truly screwed. Or I can stop being such a wimp and dial the damn phone.”

Nutcase carefully licked a paw and scrapped it across the fur between her ears.

“You’re no help at all are you?”

She licked the other paw and went after a spot beside her nose. Cats have it so easy. All they needed was a sucker like him. He could use a little easy right now.

Well, there was nothing for it.

He punched in the number. When it hit the third ring, he began to hope for voicemail, though he had no idea what he’d say to a machine. He’d think of something. Fourth ring.

“Hi, this is Cassidy.” Even as a recording her voice was warm, friendly.

“Hi, this is Russell. Russell Morgan. You may recall the rather unpleasant chap from Angelo’s. Could you give me a call at—”

“Don’t you want to speak to me in person.”

“You… Crap! I thought you were a recording.”

“Well, that’s a new line.”

He sat down on the pilot’s berth. Then lay down and put his feet up on the companionway ladder.

“Wasn’t meant to be.” Could he sound any stupider if he tried? “A line I mean.” Indeed, apparently he could. Stupider by the second. “Why did you even answer the phone?”

“You mean other than the fact that I had no idea who was calling?”

“Yes, other than that.”

“Because I like you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Great. Now his hearing was failing him.

“Well, you do have a certain knack for uncharming and jumping to conclusions. And your knack for asking me the question I didn’t even know I was avoiding doesn’t help matters.”