Red Silk Scarf (12 page)

 
Sullivan tried to slow his thoughts, narrow
them, a plan that worked until Cassidy's hand plucked the razor suspended in
midair by paralyzed fingers.
 
Fighting
back wasn’t a flicker of thought, not even when she positioned the sharp blade
beneath his chin and slowly eased it downward stalling at his Adams Apple.
 
So busy was Patrick studying the eyes
imagining the pleasure slitting his throat would bring, somehow he missed
entirely the concerted effort it required for her not to stare at his sensual
mouth.

Apparently
satisfied with the torture administered, Cassidy returned the razor to the
vanity, the slight click it made startling his reflexes easing the tension
somewhat.
 
While her breasts purposely
tattooed a message against his chest, with a washcloth in hand, ever so
painstakingly she removed the remaining shaving cream.
  
At last, having manipulated him to
perfection, her body shifting upward allowed her fingers to claim his hair, a
miniature army that secured damp locks and took control of his head in more
ways than one.
 

Rising up on her
tiptoes, palms pressed against his skull pulled his face downward until only a
breath remained between their lips. “Don't believe for one second you can
control me,” warm puffs warned, her mouth barely grazing his upper lip moving
to the lower as she continued, “This is a job I do well and intend to
continue.
 
I will not stay away from
Mark, from you, from cops.
 
No one gets
away with what you did to me.”
           

           
It was the tip of her moist tongue
tracing his mouth that brought his hands with urgency to her buttocks.
 
So intent was Cassidy, she seemed oblivious
that the hem of her dress ended where enticing lace and silk began.
 
Sullivan did not have to see the finery with
one hand locked on the wrist of the other the position enabled his hands to
feel the silk, and allowed his arms to crush her closer.
 
A breath rushed out, hers.

Sullivan’s desire
to remove all barriers made his fingers begin gathering the flimsy
material.
 
Hers wrenching his hair
stopping him cold prevented his mouth from falling into the deep abyss she’d
created.
 
Watching his face flush from
soaring blood pressure rushing his head, knowing she was in complete control
made words difficult to push out.
 
“I
wouldn't if I were you.
 
Should I decide
to scream, it would summon your family?”
 

Releasing his
hair, fingers smoothing over his cheeks, neck, and shoulders came to the front
of his chest.
 
Fully aware she was
playing with fire, Cassidy didn't care or she wouldn't have sealed the threat
with a swipe of her tongue across a nipple.
 
“And, trust me, I will.”
 
Realizing the foolishness of the impulse, before he could inhale, she
quickly turned putting space between them hoping to cool the temperature rising
in multiple degrees.

Trust her, never,
not when she'd pulverized him without a blow.
 
She mentally and physically raped him, someone who never allowed anyone
to manipulate him.
  
So stunned was he, Patrick
stood mesmerized by the way Cassidy filled out the dress, how the flimsy
material swayed gracefully with each swing of her hips.
 
Sexy as hell were her bare legs, the ones
he'd built erotic dreams around too many times than he cared to count.
 
Again, she'd left him rock-hard with no
source of relief.

Patrick knew
women liked to have the last word and damned if Cassidy didn't get in one more
lick.
 
Visually castrating him, she
landed a final blow.
 
“Get dressed.
 
You have two minutes.
 
I knew all along that it would take more than
what you have between your legs to satisfy me.
 
But trust me, sweetheart, I'll pay for your time and trouble.”
 
Cassidy had all she could do to keep from
laughing outrageously from the wounded expression claiming Sullivan's face.
Patrick didn't have to look at the money Cassidy flung on the bed one hundred
percent odds were it was a one-dollar bill.

           
Cassidy was thankful the hall wall
offered her a haven to brace her depleted body and gain control of knees
clicking like castanets.
 
What, on earth,
did she do?
 
God, whenever Sullivan was
near, she became a raving maniac.
 
Heaven
forbid, if he moved just right, pressed a little harder, said anything, she
would have become clay in the master’s hands, and willingly done anything he
asked.
 
She should have known what he'd
look like naked for he had lingered too long in her dreams.
 
Right now, her lungs actually hurt from the
effort to breathe, considering she didn't breathe throughout the whole ordeal.
 

           
Why did such a wicked man entice her
so?
 
If she’d been born with brains,
she'd give up this assignment, and go home.
 
Right, a “Brady,” not on your life.
 
Even if it meant losing everything to him first, Sullivan was hers.

           
Unsure of whether it was desire,
rejection, or anger Patrick exploded.
 
Hell
his emotions were in such an uproar he didn’t know what he was feeling.
 
Come to think of it, beyond sexual
frustration, he hadn't felt anything in such a long time he sincerely believed
no feelings remained, damn Cassidy for putting him in his place.
    

           
Getting dressed was a breeze so
crazed was Sullivan.
 
Anyone with an
ounce of sense would have left the apartment to avoid his wrath, anyone but
Cassidy, most likely the reason for the four place settings.
 
If his mother discovered, Cassidy’s
profession, his battle with drug addiction, his broken vows, it would kill
her.
 
She’d been through enough, and
right now, so had he.

           
In Patrick’s rush, preoccupied with
battling the zipper of his pants due to a still hard penis, tripping on a
shoelace brought him embarrassingly into the kitchen.
 
Cassidy's pleased expression saying she
wished he'd fallen flat on his face was like sandpaper on an open wound.
 
Jerking the only empty chair left from under
the table received a shocked reception from Pamela and Vera.
 

“You must be
surprised, darling,” though said sweetly; Vera’s expression was busy
reprimanding her son's behavior.
 

Sitting across
from his unwanted guest, Patrick's glare dared Cassidy to say a word.
 
With his eyes nailing her, he grumbled, “It
was a surprise all right considering we just . . .” The toe of Cassidy's shoe
connecting with his shin jerked his torso upright and almost made him yelp
aloud.
 
Jesus, it hurt.
 
Having all he could do to keep from flinging
his plate of spaghetti at her, Patrick quickly corrected his statement.
 
“I mean, since we haven't seen each other in
such a long time.” Cassidy's raised eyebrow, along with a smart-ass smirk
sanctioned his statement.

           
Throughout the meal, while Patrick's
eyes relentlessly dissected the responsible party smiling back, Vera and Pamela
took turns retelling Cassidy's outrageous stories.
  
A time when, beneath the table, Cassidy's
foot rubbed his, stroked his leg, lifted a pant leg, and then came to rest between
his legs where toes began teasing his penis.
 
Inwardly, he knew she was laughing at what his face must have looked
like.
  
She was not only making him
squirm but also, raising his temperature sufficiently to find his eject
button.
 
Patrick shot to his feet
flipping his chair backward with a crash.
  

A reaction that
made Cassidy's eyes almost pop out of their sockets.
 
Lordy, Lordy, becoming lost in revenge she’d
gone too far.
 
Her father always warned
one-day life would present a bill that might be hard to pay.
 
Well, she didn't expect it quite so soon, or
at the hands of the devil himself.

           
Having all he could do to contain
the temper projecting like pressurized steam, with a hard to muster smile,
Patrick exclaimed as calmly as possible, “Mother, Pam, please excuse us.
 
I'd like to spend time alone with
Cassidy.
 
We have a lot of catching up to
do.
 
Don't we, sweet cakes?”
 

           
The pitch of his voice accenting
“sweet cakes” along with a Darth Vador expression finally scared the wits out
of Cassidy.
 
Grasping the reality that
she’d stretched her welcome way beyond the limits, frantic features searched
for invisible walking papers like a child in a great deal of trouble. “Oh, my
goodness, look at the time.
 
I really
must go.
 
Perhaps we can make it some
other time, Patrick.”

           
He was at her side before the last
word filtered across her lips, his fingers practically puncturing her arm, his
lips hot against her cheek.
 
“Well then,
sugar, allow me the pleasure of seeing you safely to your hotel.”

           
Sugar, well, that was very possible
for Sullivan's fingers were wringing her arm so intensely they made it feel
like a piece of sugar cane.
 
Not until
she almost yelped from the anguish did he somewhat release the pressure.

           
Trying not to call attention to her
antics, Cassidy wiggled her arm free.
 
She wasn't about to allow Sullivan the upper hand, no way.
 
“It's been a pleasure meeting both of
you.
 
I'm looking forward to our
plans.”
 

Rubbing salt into
Patrick's bleeding pride wouldn't have worked better.
  
It was a conspiracy, for Christ sake, three
against one he thought as he blurted, “Plans,” meanwhile spearing Cassidy with
poisonous darts of anger, or were they fright.

“Yes, dear,
Cassidy will be in L.A. for a few weeks and has invited us to go sightseeing,”
Vera gleefully explained a genuine smile curving her mouth while moving toward
her guest to offer a kiss and hug as if she’d known Cassidy for years.
 

“Give us a call
whenever you're free,” Pam added.

Free!
 
God Almighty, if they knew Cassidy did nothing
free! Mumbling expletives hot against her ear Patrick moved Cassidy’s less than
willing body, toward the door.
 

Somehow managing
a split second of freedom Cassidy darted into the hall, ran the length and
vaulted into the elevator.
 
Clenched
fists frantically punching the buttons lit up the entire panel while lungs took
deep fortifying breaths to shore up for the hurricane she suspected was on her
heels.
 
“Hurry, hurry,” she screamed at
the doors that to her dismay never completely closed before a hand thrust
through the crack.
  

Resembling a
firecracker spiting sparks, Sullivan’s palm smacking the stop button jarred not
only the elevator.
  
“You little twit,
don't you dare think for one second you're going to get away with what you
pulled?”
 
Sullivan’s look zeroing in on a
woman trying to enter the elevator changing her mind just as the doors closed.

           
What a complete idiot she'd become,
despite years of training Cassidy had walked into a trap.
 
Why didn't she use the stairs?
 
What made her think he'd allow her to get
away with what she pulled?
 
Holy shit the
pager, if it rang.
 
Please, Michael,
trust me.
 
Don't come barging into the building
in my defense, please, she quietly begged.
 

Her nerves were
on full alert.
 
God only knew what
Sullivan might do, or say.
 
If he only
knew, it wasn't necessary.
 
Towering over
her, glaring, hands splayed on the walls on opposing sides of her head not
allowing space to move was ample intimidation.
 
Again, he’d cornered her in a Closter phobic space, taken her breath
away, stripped her defenses, and mummified her senses.

           
Thick brows shaded Sullivan's harsh,
sharp eyes.
 
His voice simmered with
tension, “Do you want me, and need me so desperately you have to come to my
home?”
 
A fist slamming against the wall
claimed the full attention of eyes wandering to avoid his.
 
“If so, let’s do it right here, right now so
you can get to hell out of my life,” the echo of his voice, like the Devil
himself, his insinuation slashing.