Red Silk Scarf (13 page)

           
How dare he?
 
She could act cute, behave like a whining
puppy fearfully waiting reprimanding, but no, Cassidy's features were too busy
transforming.
 
Eyelids narrowing to
contain eyes bulging from rage, her pert little nose rose to challenge him.
 
“Someday Mr., you'll learn not to start what
you can't finish.
 
Besides, you'll never
have enough money to make it worth my while.”
 

Words said with
such quiet force Sullivan did a double take.
 
Cornered, threatened by a force twice her size who could easily snap her
tiny neck, and Goddamn, this pint sized woman, though shivering from head to
foot from fear, still would not give an inch.
 
She was irritatingly amazing, breathtaking.
   

           
This time Sullivan’s wrist blocked
her hand before it reached the target; her only satisfaction was that he barely
prevented her knee from doing major damage.
 
Combating her furry his hands handcuffing both of her wrists wrenched
them behind her back; a slight tug jerked her off the floor, his body pressed
her into a corner.
 

Futilely she
tried kicking, wiggling free, actions that lasted only a few seconds before
becoming all too aware of every long inch of him, his powerful muscles, his
enlarged penis and an all-consuming desire.
 
Managing several times to successfully dodge his mouth were worthless
efforts, Sullivan's lips found other areas to momentarily appease him, beneath
her ear lobes, her neck on both sides, her Adams apple places he sucked and
licked while she thought about a hickey and how she despised them and how
embarrassed she’d be. The increasing pressure and undulation of his body
draining her breath finally collapsed her means of defense sufficiently to
enable his mouth to find what they sought and take nourishment.
 

Cassidy would
have gasped from shock if he’d let her, certainly not because he was kissing
her roughly, his mouth covering hers, his tongue delving deeper and deeper
doing what his penis wanted to do.
 
She
could handle that, but within seconds, his kiss became so tender, so
passionate, the bitterness within turned to nectar.
 
A kiss Cassidy should have avoided at all
costs, one so personal, so invading she was certain it exposed her
innocence.
  
Despite her tongue intending
to stop the invasion, it wasn't necessary, gradually loosening his grip, lessening
the pressure of his body brought her feet with a thump to the floor.
 

           
“You want this as bad as I do, don’t
you, sweet cakes.
 
Why don’t you tell me
what you want, and how you want it, and I‘ll gladly accommodate you. “
 

           
He was unzipping his pants, his hand
reached in.
 
She was certain that any
second now he’d expose his penis.
 
Sweat
seeped from every pore of her body.
 
She
trembled.
 
Still, Cassidy couldn’t cave,
she couldn’t.
 
Pulling grit from out of
the blue, “You mean what you want, don’t you Mr. Police Officer?
 
Eyes spearing his crotch, “It appears that
you have a little tiny problem,” her voice sexy and inviting as her eyes
returned to his.

She might have
just as well horse whipped him.
 
Large
hands reaching out grabbed her shoulders.
 
He was, applying pressure, forcing her downward.
 
Knowing exactly what he wanted made her whole
body shake.
 
She’d never been with a man
in that way before, and Sullivan wasn’t going to be the first either.
 
Dear God, please she secretly begged.
 
She was on her knees, his hands massaging her
head forcing her closer; she’d pass out if she didn’t get control of
herself.
 
“Let me see the money first,”
she managed with a come-hither smile.

An unexpected
laugh jerked Sullivan’s head back. “Of course, sweet cakes, you do this for a
living, I forgot, my mistake, how much? “
  

 
          
Cassidy
swallowed hard.
  
Having never been in
such a position before she had no idea how much a prostitute charged.
 
Well, here it goes, she thought, “Five
hundred.”

Sullivan’s hands
gripping her head tighter convinced her he was going through with his
intentions.
 
Her eyes closed, her insides
were screaming for help.

Shocking her, as
well as himself, instead he jerked her up.
 
What was he thinking?
 
Her mouth
and her sweetness were driving him insane.
 
No one ever paid five hundred dollars.
 
He’d almost bet she’d never performed the act before, or, was that what
she wanted him to think.
 
Cassidy was
good, damn good, and if he had it in his wallet, he’d call her bluff just to
find out if she was worth it.
 
Instead,
Sullivan stepped back, his expression surprisingly not that of a conqueror, but
of defeat.
 
He zipped his pants.
 
Cassidy knew then he wasn't going to harm
her, but if ever granted another chance, he would, she knew it and so did
he.
 
What happened was only a preview of
what was yet to come.

           
When he reached to punch the button
to open the door, thinking he was going to slap her, Cassidy jumped.
 
Standing there, he scanned her body as if
embedding it to memory.
 
“Sorry sweet
cakes, you’re not worth it.
 
I don‘t have
to pay to get what I want,” he said it so quietly so confidently she felt like
the ugliest of ducklings.
 
Amazingly, for
a split second she was jealous of the women who wi1llingly gave him whatever he
wanted when he wanted.

Crossing the threshold,
Sullivan turned and directed his finger at her, “Don't fuck with me,
Cassidy.
 
You can't win, no matter where
you are or what you're doing; I'm going to take what I want whenever I want.
 
This time you lucked out, next time I won't
stop, got it?
 
Be prepared, and trust me
you will be the one paying.
 
You’d better
tell DeMarco, like it or not, from this moment on you’re mine.”

           
Sullivan made the rules of the game
clear, neither was going to win, if one became prey, the other would
bleed.
 
Both were masters of
manipulation, equals on opposite sides of justice.
 
Oddly enough she identified with him, and
knew from this moment on keeping the faith would be harder than ever before
possible.
 

Now she
understood what drew her to Sullivan's picture, fate.
 
No longer was she a non-believer.
 
What a hell of a way to find out.
 
As sure as he stood before her, in order to
end the attraction between them meant the death of either or both.
 
Meanwhile, she wondered if she’d sacrifice
her values, and if so, how she’d recover the part of her he'd take to
hell.
  

An entire
lifetime of experiences never prepared Patrick for Cassidy.
 
He never believed a female, a whore, would be
the death of him.
 
He wanted her
desperately, more than he ever wanted anything, so much so, he’d willingly
sacrifice everything.
 
He knew it was
useless telling Cassidy to stay away; she wouldn't listen, probably never
listened to anyone.
 
Besides, that’s not
what he wanted, strange as it seemed, whenever she was around he felt totally
alive.
 

Cassidy wouldn't
become another of the killers’ trophies; she wouldn't succumb to his biding,
he’d bet his life.

CHAPTER 10

           
To guarantee she wasn't followed,
Cassidy purposely walked several blocks zigzagging before meeting Michael in the
agreed upon alley.
 
Refusing his warnings
scared the daylights out of him, his demeanor sufficient reprimand.
 
Under his direct stare, Cassidy stewed,
understanding men was impossible.
 
Why
did independent women threaten them?
  
Why did they feel God gave brains and brawn only to them?

           
If Cassidy knew Michael had already
squealed to Ben that she went to Sullivan’s apartment, she wouldn’t have gone
to see him.
  
His greeting in no way
tipped her off that he was mad as hell.
 
All that mattered was they both needed someone; something to ease the
mysterious pulverizing aches within.
 

           
When Ben swept her into his arms,
kissed her, held her, both began moving like tides, touching and stroking, his
whispered sweet endearments, antidotes for the parts of Cassidy crying
out.
 
An unexpected onslaught, so
consuming Cassidy willingly followed his lead.
 
One kiss led to another and another.
 
For each piece of clothing he removed, she complied, articles scattered
like dust alongside fragments of better judgment.
 
She needed to rid herself of the sexual
tension plaguing her, so did Ben.

If asked, Cassidy
couldn't recall the last time she had sex, or with whom, or whether it was
pleasurable.
 
For whatever reason, sex
was not a priority, therefore, rarely entertained.
 
This was one of those moments people talk
about when sensibility becomes non-existent, when emotions take control.
 
Ben felt good, every part of him, and she
wallowed in the pleasure touching him brought.
 

Bumping into the
couch, chair, table, wall, tripping over clothing, they found the bedroom.
 
Wrapped in privacy, sheets became creased,
and soaked with sweat, their wild frenzy sending pillows and blankets to the
floor.
 
It came as no surprise that Ben
was a good lover, besides he was her very best friend, someone who knew her
sometimes better than she knew herself.
  
Over the years having shared a great deal, what took, place not only
seemed right, but also inevitable.
  
Passions
fragrance, the friction, the frantic pace mollified their animalistic needs.
 
Changing positions allowed giving and taking
equally, and while they caressed, kissed and touched, lust built, crested and
exploded.
 

Never before was
Cassidy so, ravenous, or aggressive, so willing to comply, as if starved for
what only Ben could offer.
 
Sex with him
was good, very good, possibly because all the time, her sub conscious was
making love to Sullivan.
 
When it was
over, shame began inflicting horrible blows; she’d used her best friend when
Brady’s never used anyone.

Michael's report
greatly disturbed Ben; someone he'd relied on to protect Cassidy, in truth
could not.
 
So complex was the serial
murders, no one knew all the facts including himself.
 
An unfairness to the entire team that was
necessary for a successful mission.
 
Strong character, intelligence, ability and the will to succeed were the
aptitudes required; damn Cassidy for possessing them all.
 
He had to believe in her, trust her. Honest,
he was trying.

No wonder one
minute Ben was mad as hell at her, the next, melting like chocolate.
  
What they shared he'd waited for, longed
for, only to discover Cassidy's heart didn't go along for the ride.
 
As she lay in his arms, the aftermath
subsiding Ben knew she was somewhere else, with someone else, and wondered
whom.
 
Eyes caressing his, said what his
heart did not want to hear, and, as an unchecked tear slipped from the corner
of Cassidy’s eye, Ben wished for the power to heal whatever was causing the
pain.
 

Dear, sweet Ben,
Cassidy reflected, her fingers smoothing over his cheek trying to erase the
worry wrinkles she'd created.
  
He knew
and she hurt so from hurting him yet he said nothing, instead tightening his
hold his mouth found her fingers, placing a kiss on each tip.
 
If only she could return his love.
 
Why was it the best thing for a person they
resist the most?
 
Ben never occupied
Cassidy’s dreams and she hated that she dallied in his.

She was thankful
for the knock at the door.
 
“Stay.
 
I'll get it,” Ben whispered with a voice so
smooth and tender she shuddered.
 
Before
leaving, he kissed her passionately, a kiss both knew would be the last.