Red Silk Scarf (42 page)

Sullivan was on the prowl heading in her direction the table
all that separated them.
 
Lurking in
those familiar blue eyes was a menace that said she'd flipped the switch to the
danger zone.
 

Too loud, were the sounds of the orange juice pitcher
finding the counter, the refrigerator door clanging shut with her hand tightly
clinging to the handle of each for emotional and physical support?
 

Sullivan never spoke; the pleading message in his eyes
stirred the air.
  
It was obvious he
wanted the same answers as she.
 
The
problem now, there was something about the man standing before her that forever
turned her on and he had her engine reviving.

“This was a mistake, a big mistake,” Cassidy said sheepishly,
her eyelids shading the glance anchored on her tingling toes.
 
Hastily moving aside increased the space
separating them and allowed a refreshing breath to cleanse her thinking
processes.
 

“You're right,” Sullivan agreed his voice deep and milk
chocolate soft.
 

Holly shit, he actually agreed with her.
 
Miracles would never cease, but what he said
wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
  

Sullivan advanced.
 
Cassidy retreated.
 
Each slowly
circled the table in opposite directions.
 
If he touched her, she'd evaporate like every time they were
together.
 
No one ever angered her more,
or touched her so privately.
 
Surrender
was definitely advisable, something a Brady wasn't good at, nor was
Sullivan.
 

“Stop, Cassidy.
 
Stop,
right now.
 
God dammit, stand
still.”
 
Clenched fists at his sides
accented a stiff stance.
 
“No one has
ever pissed me off as much as you.
 
And,
you're pissing me off,” Sullivan spat between clenched teeth.
  
Good, anger was the best ally.
 
Maybe he'd be able to say all the things he
regretted never saying, if only Cassidy would stand still.

As they continued circling the table, once, twice, three
times, Sullivan's eyes swept the length of her, each inspection lingering too
long on favored attributes.
 
Ten to one
he had her stripped naked.
 
Most likely,
he was mentally making love to her on the table; Cassidy felt it as sure, as if
they were committing the act.
 

In defense, as though a weapon she directed a pointed finger
at him, “Don't you dare touch me, Sullivan, if you do, I swear,” a warning that
hurled out of nowhere.

“What, run?
 
That is a
Brady's expertise isn’t it?”

That did it, as always Sullivan found the right button.
 
There was no hope for reconciliation,
none.
 
“Isn't that calling a spade
black,” Cassidy, screamed defensively.
 
She was almost to the door of the kitchen when Sullivan altered his
direction.
 
Damn him, she was cornered,
her own pigheadedness the trap door.

Eyebrows colliding, “I'm not good at what women want, sugar
words, flowers, gifts, courting, all that shit.
 
Dammit, stand still,” Sullivan, yelled his face a mask of
confusion.
 

Cassidy hated yelling.
 
If not for suddenly shifting in the opposite direction, he would have
grabbed her arm.
 
Again, he lurched.
 
Again, she dodged.
 

“What makes you think you know what I want?
 
You do not know me at all.
 
We have never had a rational
conversation.
  
I'm not like other
women.”
 
Rising blood pressure increasing
the volume of Cassidy's voice flushed her face bright red.
 
She too was yelling.
 

“Oh, yes you are.
 
You're just too proud to admit it.”
 
Sullivan’s insight provoked her further.
 

“And, you're just like all men, unable to see beyond the
penis, all you want is sex, sex, and sex.”
 
Tired and exasperated from going around in circles, Cassidy was becoming
dizzy.
 
When she almost tripped, Sullivan
barely strangled a laugh.
 
“Let me out of
here,” she shouted.
 
There was a long
delay before, “Please,” whimpered out.
 
Then, it happened, irritating little droplets of moisture that came so
unexpectedly, both were startled.

The wrenching of his chest rendered Sullivan
speechless.
 
God he hated it when women
cried.
 
Hated it worse when the
affliction found Cassidy, considering he once believed she didn’t have the
capability.
  
“Go ahead sweet cakes.
 
Get out.
 
Get out before I say something stupid.”
 
Like, beg you to stay.
 
Oh,
Sullivan was about to, so close to exposing his inner emotions was he, but
apparently, not close enough.

Cassidy was at the door, sobbing, inwardly chiding herself
for being so ridiculous.
 
Anger twisted
the handle, jerked it.
 
When the door
still wouldn’t open, her toes kicked the steel fortress.
 
She didn't know what came over her, why she
was in such an emotional state of mush.
 
What she wanted to hear she did not know.
 
Playing games was something she hated,
especially when she couldn't win and that's what they were doing, playing, a
stupid, childish game.
 

Time was wasting, when there was none to spare.
 
She'd waited forever for an exceptional
man.
 
Sullivan had come as a big surprise.
 
Despite the fact that the mere sight of him
made her drool, that stupid female smidgeon in her, needed to hear something,
anything that would make her stay.

Cassidy would leave.
 
Maybe ten minutes ago he wouldn't have stopped her, when Sullivan believed
he could live without her, but not now.
 
Cassidy was wrong sex wasn't all he wanted.
 
Idiot that he was wanted the whole, unique,
spirited, full of life, irritating bundle.
 
Dammit all, again she was right.
 
She wasn't at all like other women.
 
She was one in a million.
 
Still,
words scrambling to be voiced, colliding instead fell short.

Before leaving there was something Cassidy had to say.
 
She may never see Sullivan again.
 
However, if she looked into his eyes, the
words would stall in her throat.
 
If he
were her contact for the new case, she’d, give it up, and go home, but
first.
 
Closing her eye’s, cheek pressed
against the door, she began, “I never thanked you for saving my life,” her
voice sweet and low.

Sullivan’s eyes snapped shut.
 
A quick intake of breath never made it to his
lungs.
 
When his eyes reopened, they were
flicking wildly as if helping him to think.
 
Taking a step, he stopped, and then took another, stopped.
 
Though he wanted desperately to speak, the
ability left him.

When the door finally opened a palm coming from out of
nowhere slammed it shut.
 
“And, I never
thanked you for saving mine.”
 
All at
once, warmth curling Cassidy’s toes crept slowly upward finding knees that
suddenly gave away slightly, and then shot to her heart wrenching it
pitifully.
 
When his hands touched her
shoulders easing her terrifying trembling the contact sprang to life each
life-sustaining morsel she believed to be dead, lapping fire increased
sensitivity making, each strand of hair, each molecule of her begin tingling
with renewed vitality.

Lips pressed against hair of silk and musk, unable to hold
his breath any longer, Sullivan expelled slow steady puffs of heat that found
her neck, her ear, her shoulder.
 
The
pressure of his body halting her ability to breathe altogether pined her
against the door, while firm, and determined hands smoothed over fragile
shoulders, slender arms, and a lean rib cage before wrapping around a tiny
waist.
 
Tugging her close, Sullivan’s
hands explored curving hips, a flat stomach before slithering down to claim her
vulnerability.

Cassidy wondered how banished memories could come like a
raging fire, especially when she cried so hard so long trying to forget.
 
Sullivan’s touch was making every shocking
act once committed come back, the pulsations, the surges, the flashes of gold,
of light, and the sounds of ecstasy.
  
The weapons he was using, she may have survived, but not the whispers
that found her ear and caressed an aching heart.

 
“I've never allowed
by heart to speak.
 
I don’t know the
language,” he whined.

God, he didn’t have to say a word, his body was saying it
all.
 
For once Cassidy couldn't think of
a single word to say, and then, she did.
 
“I'd rather dance.”

Laughter burst into the air in tiny bubbles that popped all
around them.
 
“Then, I think you'd better
turn around,” he answered, firm, griping, hands, arms, and muscles, directing
the moves as they began dancing to the music of their hearts.

 
“Dear God, look at
me, Casey.
 
For once, just look at me,”
Sullivan pleaded on a breath capable of melting arctic ice.
 
A hand coming to the back of her head snugly
gathering fine, soft strands forced her face to meet his.
 
“Our dream of love is right in front of our
eyes, I know it, and feel it.
 
Right now,
all I want to hear you say is my name.
 
Say it, Casey, say my name.”

“Patrick, Patrick,” murmurs captured by his mouth, where
persuasive lips began moving bringing a gust of bliss capable of shifting the
shadows blocking the sun.
 

Breathless she pulled away, “Nice men don’t kiss like that,”
she whispered.

“Oh yes they do,” he said with a sly smile before claiming
her mouth again.

At last, all the pieces finally fit.
 
Together they transgressed into that secret
place where silently spoken was every word they ever wanted to hear. Words
completely meaningless compared to those of the heart.
 
Silent oaths that said all there was to
say.
 
“I know.
 
I know.”
  

.