Red Silk Scarf (18 page)

Furious, hands on
hips glaring at him, Cassidy looked so precious Patrick couldn’t resist
antagonizing further.
 
“Orange juice,
amazing, who would guess someone as worldly as you, indulges in something so
earthy? Must be the extra “C's” provides the energy your job requires.”
 
An implication that seemed to knock the wind
out of her and brought pain to her features.
           

Feeling her
facial expressions transform, as if she’d hurled a knife into his chest, almost
sorry for what he implied, repentance found Sullivan’s demeanor.
 
God almighty, she was a sexy little
thing.
 
No one he’d ever known could fill
out the outfit she was wearing as enticingly.
 
Though he felt like he was melting from the fire spitting from her eyes,
he was getting hard.
 
Glancing away
trying to gain equilibrium, fumbling with the glasses, as casual as possible,
he changed the subject.
 
“I'm thirsty,
how about you?”
 

Despite the hour
of three in the morning, damn him he thrived on taunting her.
 
Apparently, he was yet to satisfy his
appetite.
 
“Oh, by the way, don't forget
to call Mark,” he reminded while pouring the juice.
 
Not only were his stupid smiles damn
intimidating, but also tapping Cassidy’s reservoir of self-confidence.

           
Not in this life, she mumbled.
 
In a huff, plucking her cell phone she
literally punched in Mark's number, her toe tapping wildly while awaiting an
answer.

           
“Everything all right, Cassidy?”

           
“No,” she answered louder than she
intended.

           
“Is Patrick still there?”

           
“Yes, but he's leaving right this
minute,” a statement laced with determination.

           
Sullivan’s hand coming from out of
nowhere to grab the phone made her gasp. “Sorry about tonight, friend.”

“Forget it, I
have.
 
What, in hell, are you doing,
Patrick?
 
If you know what's good for
you, get your ass out of there.
 
As you
said, Cassidy is off limits.
 
We have
enough trouble.”

           
“I’m just checking the
apartment.
 
Don't worry; she's in good
hands.
 
See ya tomorrow, pal.”
 
A click revoked Mark's intended rebuttal.
 

Just like that,
they made up, forgot the fight between them that took place earlier.
 
Well, Cassidy was still angry and intended to
stay that way.

In a startling
flash, Sullivan's comment replayed, “Don't worry, she's in good hands.”
 
Remembering the capabilities of those hands
magnified the size of her eyes tenfold when she glanced down at the scarf
stuffed into her top.
 
There was a thump,
her heart shifting, and then another at the thought of being alone with a
possible, “Serial Killer.”

When Sullivan
handed her the juice, Cassidy controlled her trembling quite bravely until his
glance began inspecting the scarf, exactly as Mark's did.
 
Considering self-defense a priority, her mind
tugged her attention to the table, her purse, and the pager inside.

Sullivan taking a
deliberate giant step forward made Cassidy practically stumble over her
retreating one, an amusing near accident that substantially broadened his
smile.
  
“Don't worry; I'm not stupid
enough to harm you considering Mark knows I'm here.”

“Please go.
 
I'm very tired,” Cassidy, insisted with
control that she must have plucked from thin air, unfortunately, not enough to
stop her trembling hand that splattered juice everywhere.
 
Barely catching the glass before hitting the
floor Sullivan placed it on the counter.
 
When his attention returned, it was there in his eyes his imagination
running rampant, undressing her, and screwing her, a now familiar scene that
haunted her nightly dreams.
 
If he
touched

 
her . . .

Knowing he
couldn‘t stay much longer without losing control, “O.K.
 
You win.”
 
The breath of relief the words carried never made it to Cassidy’s lungs
before zapped away.
 
“But, we'd better
check the bedroom first,” the smile leaving his lips creeping into his eyes
instead.
 

           
“We,” she almost blurted, the
rigidity of her body saying it for her.
 

Staring at her in
utter bemusement, “I'm not crazy enough to turn my back on you when your eyes
tell me it wouldn't be wise.
  
God only
knows what's in the purse you've been frantically searching.”
 
One sweep of his hand claiming the purse
shoved it into her hands.
 
“If this makes
you feel safer, sweet cakes, be my guest.”
 
With another sweep of his arm and a half bow, Sullivan demanded she go
first.

It was as though he
knew her every thought, every emotion, as if they shared something.
 
Impossible, her depleted nerves
screamed.
 
When she didn't move, actually
couldn't move, Sullivan gently gripped her elbow.
 
Directing her in a sedate pace toward the
bedroom she felt like a sheep led to slaughter and before her feet received the
signal to dig in, they arrived.

Flipping on the
light, Sullivan checked, the bathroom, the closet, under the bed, his pretense
of concern for her safety ridiculous.
 
As
far as Cassidy was concerned, he was making sure no one could save her.
  
Well, help wasn't necessary; all the
insurance she required was the gun beneath her pillow.

Now he was in
front of her, much too close, his eyes flicking to the bed, her eyes, the bed,
and back again.
 
His grin the melting
heart kind as fingers jerking the purse from her paralyzed hand tossed it onto
the comforter.
 
A horrified expression
watched as it bounced and the clasp opened spilling the contents everywhere.
 
Frantically Cassidy inspected the debris
hoping that with every fiber of her being the pager went unnoticed.
 
Relief that it remained inside humiliation
shoved aside when her gaze found a tampon along with an assortment of condoms
in a rainbow of colors.

Laughing heartily
at her obvious embarrassment, Sullivan quickly retrieved a condom wrapped in
bright red foil.
 
Right under her nose,
he fingered the package.
 
“My, my, my,
I've never seen such a collection of protection.
 
Who chooses you or the client?
 
If it were my choice, this would definitely
be the one.”
 
His eyes floating over her
face found and raped the lips feeling like wax permanently sealed from the heat
of her embarrassment.

 
At once, the foil packet left the fingers
itching to touch her lips.
 
Poignant
moments drawing out uncomfortably long before a raspy voice broke the silence,
“Interesting, very interesting, for once you're speechless.”
  

Careful not to
touch her skin, his fingers seductively retrieved the scarf.
  
A sudden mood swing deepening his voice,
turning it foreboding crunched his face.
 
“Get rid of this,” he demanded, whipping the scarf from her neck he
tossed it into the wastebasket.
 

As if a puppet,
knowing he would, Cassidy waited for him to pull the strings.
 
Surprisingly, removing the scarf made her feel
safer for a second.
 
What a fool she
was.
 
Again, he read her thoughts.
 

           
“You're a fool, Cassidy for trusting
anyone, especially me.
 
Where do you get
your bravery?”
 

Moving closer
brought them toe to toe.
 
Posing an
indefinable threat, his hands came to each of her shoulders easing sparse
sleeves downward, deceiving hands that felt like silk yet burned with
determination.
 
Eyes taking their time
examining her breasts made them tingle in response, the nipples rise to the
occasion.
 
Sucking in a deep breath,
holding it, certain he would expose them she was stunned when he suddenly
stopped.
 
Breathing, shallow and rapid,
finally revived him enough to speak with a voice thick with lust, “Goddamn,
you're a hot little number.”
   

Her gaze found
his intriguing mouth that seemed determined to claim hers.
 
Cranking her posture up a notch along with
her nose, Cassidy countered, “I'm twenty degrees cooler than you think.”

Laughter rifling
the room jerked his head backward stretching skin taut across corded muscles.
 
Seconds later, his eyes impaled hers, “Are
you trying to tell me that you're the refrigerator kind?”

Sullivan was
deliberately pushing her limits.
 
She
wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
 
“Yes, and you're not the one to defrost me either.
  
It’s apparent you’ve never rubbed up against
a woman with a brain.”

Sullivan reacted
as though Cassidy had thrust her fist through his chest.
 
Drugs burst to his mind, an addiction that
was nothing compared to the mini beast before him a frightening reflection that
shifted his emotions into a serious mode and threatened her foothold on the
world.
 
“You have more guts than any
woman I've ever known.”
 

There was a
hypnotizing sweep of his eyelids made irresistible by the forest of dark
lashes.
 
She never moved when his hands
smoothing over her bare midriff compressed her ribs.
 
Fingertips slipping inside the waistband of
her shorts tugged her closer, a slight thump that brought her against a
muscular chest and expelled the gasp she was bravely withholding.
 
Dear God, she hoped he didn't hear.
 
Gazes locked.
 
Unlike Mark, Sullivan masterfully unzipping her shorts made her whither
beneath his touch.
 
Shit, she sputtered
inwardly, she wasn’t wearing panties and no doubt, Sullivan read the panicked
questions in her eyes.
 

“You can't fool
me, Cassidy, everything about your exterior tells me you're cool, calm and
collected.”
 
Widening the opening of her
shorts allowed the back of his fingers to graze across her stomach just above
her pelvic bone.
 
She shivered and
gasped.
 
“But, deep down you're far from
being a Frigidaire, far from a puritan maiden.
 
You're feeling something alright, something sexual.”

Sexual, oh, she
felt something sexual many times before, but, staring into his eyes, at his
mouth, feeling the strength of his hands was a million times beyond sexual,
more like terror in the truest form.
 
The
maniac had her panting like a sex-starved teenager and she wasn't about to let
him know.
 
Fighting the sinking
weightiness in the pit of her stomach, she countered, “Are you suggesting that
as long as I service you I'll have nothing to worry about?”
 

Damn his boyish
smile, “Tsk, tsk, tsk shame on you, whatever gave you that idea?”
 
His pointer finger toying with her navel
piercing made her stomach quiver. “I suspect it's the other way around.
 
You see, beneath my fingers I feel every
muscle in your body tense, even your eyelids, your nostrils.
 
Something is frightening you, certainly not
life, definitely not me, so that leaves only . . . sex.”

Cassidy’s
attention locked on Sullivan’s mouth where a new world awaited, she’d been
there, traveled its Avenues, and right this second he was making her crazier
than he was.
 

Before she could
return to earth, from out of nowhere, Sullivan asked a startling question.
 
“Do you believe in love?
 
I mean like a Sonnet, like in the movies?”
His sincerity made swallowing impossible.
 
Certainly, the absurdity of the question he intended to throw her off
guard.
 

“That question is
far from interesting, and one I don't plan to answer.”
 
Flicking wildly, her eyes searched for
something of interest other than what she was facing a stupid nail file on the
nightstand, the crooked picture on the wall, a fuzz ball on the floor.