Sullivan's Woman (8 page)

“Not unless you count being a mushroom in the fourth-grade pageant.” Cassidy smiled.

Swanson chuckled and nodded. “I've dealt with actresses who had lesser credits.”

“Cassidy's a writer,” Colin put in. He draped an arm around her shoulders, running his hand lightly down her arm. “You warned me to stay away from actresses.”

“Since when have you listened to my sage advice?” Swanson scoffed. He pursed his lips as he studied Cassidy. Appreciation became speculation. “A writer. What sort of writer are you?”

“Why, a brilliant one, of course,” she told him. “Without a scrap of ego or temperament.”

Swanson patted her hand. “I've a late meeting or I'd steal you away from this young scamp now. We'll have dinner before I leave town.” He cast an eye at Colin. “You can bring him along if you like.” With another slap for Colin's shoulder, he lumbered away.

“Quite a character, isn't he?” Colin asked as he steered Cassidy toward the door again.

“Marvelous.” It occurred to her that since meeting Colin, she had held hands with an Italian duke and one of Hollywood's reigning monarchs.

They stepped outside into the soft light of evening. The sun was gone, but some of its light still lingered. Cassidy slipped into the Ferrari with a contented sigh. She watched the first star flicker into life. With surprise she noted that Colin was headed away from the direction of her apartment.

“Where are we going?”

“There's this little place I know.” He turned a corner and eased into traffic. “I thought you'd enjoy it.” He shot her a glance and a smile. “Not tired, are you?”

Cassidy's lips curved. “No, I'm not tired.”

The nightclub was dimly lit and smoky. Tables were small and crowded together. Jeans sat next to elegant evening dresses and splashy designer outfits. Brassy music blared from a band near a postage-stamp dance floor. Couples swayed together as they moved to the beat.

Colin escorted Cassidy to a dark table at the side of the room. His name was called now and again, but he only made a gesture of acknowledgment and continued until they were seated.

“This is wonderful! I'm certain it's a front for gun running or jewel smuggling,” Cassidy exclaimed.

Colin laughed, taking both her hands. “You'd like that, would you?”

“Of course.” She grinned, and her eyes lit with mischief.

A waitress had pushed her way over to them and stood, impatient, with her weight on one hip. “The lady needs champagne,” Colin told her.

“Who doesn't,” she mumbled and shoved her way back through the tables.

Cassidy laughed with unbridled delight. “No deferential bows for Mr. Sullivan in here,” she commented.

“It's all a matter of atmosphere. I'm rather fond of sassy waitresses in the right setting. And,” he added softly, turning her hand over and kissing the inside of her wrist, “crowded tables that require very close contact. Poor lighting,” he continued, pressing his lips to her palm. “Where I can enjoy the taste of your skin in relative privacy.” With a slight movement of his head, he kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“Colin,” she said breathlessly and lifted her hand to his lips in defense. He merely took it in his and kissed her fingers.

The bottle of champagne came down on the table with a bang. Colin pulled out a bill and handed it to the waitress. Shoving it in her pocket, she stalked away.

“Annoyingly speedy service tonight,” he murmured as he opened the bottle. The pop was drowned out by the loud horns of the band. Cassidy accepted the wine and took a long, slow sip in the hope of stabilizing her pulse.

They drank champagne in quiet companionship, watching the raucous nightlife revolve around them. Cassidy's mood grew mellow and dreamy. Reality and make-believe became too difficult to separate. When Colin stood and took her hand, she rose to go with him to the dance floor.

The music had turned low and bluesy. He slipped both arms around her waist, and in response she lifted hers to circle his neck. Their bodies came together. The air was thick with smoke and clashing perfumes. Other couples were little more than shadows in the dim light. Their movement was only a slow swaying with their bodies pressed close.

Cassidy tilted back her head to look at him. Their eyes joined, their lips tarried less than a whisper apart. She felt a quick surge of desire. If they had been on an island without a trace of humanity, she could not have felt more alone with him. The music ended on a haunted bass note.

Silently Colin took her hand and led her from the crowd.

***

The moon was a white slice. Cooler air blew some of the heat from Cassidy's blood and some of the clouds from her brain. The Ferrari climbed a hill, then descended. Cassidy smiled to herself. There was nothing in the evening she would have changed. No regrets.

Fog curled in twisting fingers on the road ahead. As she glanced to the side Cassidy saw the solid mass of clouds over the bay below them. Again she turned to Colin.

“To my houseboat,” he told her before she could form the question. “I have something for you.”

Warning lights flashed on and off in her brain. The bittersweet taste of danger was in her mouth. Cassidy looked out on the fog-choked bay and told herself she should ask Colin to take her home. But the night isn't over, she reminded herself. I promised myself tonight.

Fog swirled more thickly as they drove toward sea level. Now and again, from somewhere deep in the mist, came the low warning horns. She'd lost all sense of time when Colin stopped the car. Once again she was in a make-believe world. This one had drifting mists and the sigh of lapping water. Colin led her toward a shrouded shape. The high, maniacal call of a loon speared the silence. A narrow rope bridge swayed lightly under her feet as they crossed it. A breeze blew aside a curtain of fog, and the houseboat jumped into the opening.

“Oh, Colin.” She stopped to stare at it with delight and surprise. “It's wonderful.”

She saw a wide structure of aged wood in two levels with a high deck on the bow. Fog misted over again as they approached.

Inside Cassidy shook the dampness from her hair as Colin switched on a light. They walked down two steps and into the living room. It was a large square room with a low, inviting couch and tables scattered for convenience. To the right another short set of stairs led to the galley.

“How marvelous to live on the water.” Cassidy spun to Colin and smiled.

“On a clear night the city's all prisms and crystals. In the fog it's brooding and wrapped in mystery.” He came to her and, with a habitual gesture, brushed her hair behind her shoulder. His fingers lingered. “Your hair's damp,” he murmured. “Do you know how many shades of gold and brown I used to paint your hair? It changes in every light, daring someone to define its color.” Colin frowned suddenly and dropped his hand. “You should have a brandy to ward off the chill.”

He turned away and walked to a cabinet. Cassidy watched him pour brandy into snifters while she dealt with the effect the intimate tone of his voice and the touch of his hand had had on her.

After accepting the brandy she turned to wander around the room. On a far wall was a painting of the bay at sunrise. The sky was molten with color, reds and golds at their most intense. There was a feeling of frenzied motion and brilliance. Even before she looked for the signature, Cassidy knew it was a Kingsley.

“She's immensely talented,” Colin commented from behind.

“Yes,” Cassidy agreed with sincerity. The painting gripped her. “It makes the start of a day demand your attention. A sunrise like this would be exciting, but I don't think I could begin each morning with such violence, however beautiful.”

“Are you speaking of the painting or of the artist?”

Realizing his question had followed her thoughts, Cassidy shrugged and stepped away. “Strange,” she began again. “One would think an artist would cover his walls with paintings. You have relatively few.” She began to examine his collection, moving slowly from one to the next. Abruptly she stopped, staring at a small canvas. It was the Irish landscape she had told him of that morning.

“I wondered if you'd remember it.” He stood behind her again, but this time his hands came to her shoulders. There was something casually possessive in the gesture.

“Yes, of course I do.”

“I was twenty when I painted that. On my first trip back to Ireland.”

“How odd that I should have spoken of it just this morning,” Cassidy murmured.

“Destiny, Cass,” Colin claimed and kissed the top of her head. Stepping around her, he took the canvas from the wall. “I want you to have it.”

Cassidy's eyes flew to his. “No, Colin, I couldn't.” Distress and amazement mingled in her voice.

“No?” His brow arched under his fall of hair. “You appeared to like it.”

“Oh, Colin, you know I do. It's beautiful, it's wonderful.” Her distress deepened, reflecting clearly on her face. “I can't just take one of your paintings.”

“You're not taking it, I'm giving it to you,” he countered. “That's one of the privileges of the artist.”

“Colin.” Her eyes went back to the painting, then lifted to his. “You wouldn't have kept it all this time if it hadn't meant something special to you. You'd have sold it.”

“Some things you don't sell. Some things you give.” He held the small canvas out to her. “Please.”

Tears thickened in her throat. “I've never heard you say ‘please' before.”

“I save it for special occasions.”

Cassidy looked back at him. He had given her more than the painting; it was a bond—between herself and a woman she had never known. Her smile came slowly. “Thank you.”

Colin traced her lips with a fingertip. “This is one of the loveliest things about you,” he murmured. “Come,” he said abruptly. “Sit down and drink your brandy.” He took the canvas and set it aside, then led Cassidy to the sofa.

“Do you paint here, too?” she asked as she sipped her brandy.

“Sometimes.”

“I remember the night I met you, your wanting me to come back here for sketches.”

“And you threatened me with a husband in a football helmet.”

“It was the best I could think up on the spur of the moment.” She turned her head to grin at him and found his face dangerously close. His fingers tangled in her hair before she could ease away. Slowly he leaned closer until his lips brushed her cheek. Feather light, the kiss moved to her other cheek, lingering over her lips without touching. Still, she could taste the kiss on them.

“Colin,” Cassidy whispered. She put a hand to his chest as his lips moved to her temple. She knew the warmth she felt was not from the brandy.

“Cassidy.” He trailed his mouth down to her jawline, then drew away. His eyes were grave as he looked down at her, his hand light on her shoulder. “The last time I kissed you, I hurt you. I regret that.”

“Please, Colin.” Cassidy shook her head to halt his words. “We were both angry.”

“You've already forgiven me, because it's your nature to do so. But I remember the look on your face.” He ran his hand down her arm until it linked with hers. “I want to kiss you again, Cass, the way you should be kissed.” He took his hand and gently circled her neck. “But I need you to tell me it's what you want.”

It would be so easy to refuse. She had only to form the word “no,” and she knew he'd let her go. But she was as truly his prisoner now as if she were chained to him. “Yes,” she said and closed her eyes. “Yes.”

His mouth touched hers lightly, and her lips parted. His kisses were soft and gentle, lingering before one ended and another began. She felt him slip the light jacket from her shoulders and enjoyed the warmth of his hands on her skin. Slowly the kisses grew deeper. Her arms found their way around him. The languor that spread through her went far beyond the effects of the wine. Her limbs were pliant, her mind clouded as her senses grew sharper.

When their lips parted, Colin loosened his hold. “Cass.”

With a sigh she snuggled against him, brushing his neck with a kiss. She ran a hand experimentally up the silk of his shirt. “Yes?” she murmured, lifting her face to his. Her eyes were slumberous, her lips a temptation. Colin swore under his breath before he crushed his mouth to hers.

Cassidy's response was instantaneous. Her passion went from languid to flaming in the space of a heartbeat. Blood pounded thickly in her brain as she found herself falling backward onto the cushions of the sofa. Colin's body was taut. His hands caressed the bare skin of her shoulders as the kiss deepened. At the base of her throat he found more pleasure, and his mouth lingered there as her pulse beat wildly beneath it.

The elastic of her bodice slid down at his insistence, freeing her breasts to his searching hands. Unbridled, her passion raced through her, bringing a moan that spoke of longing and delight. His mouth trailed down through the valley between her breasts, devouring her heated skin. His fingers brushed over the peak of her breasts, exploring, learning, until his mouth replaced them. Cassidy gave a shuddering moan as he brought his lips back to hers, accepting the fierce, final urgency that flared before he ended the kiss. Her eyes opened to meet the dark fire of his.

Seeing the tumble of his hair over his brow, she lifted a hand to push it back. She murmured his name. Colin caught her hand in his as she took it to his cheek. Carefully he drew the bodice of her dress into place, then pulled her with him to a sitting position.

“I make few noble gestures, Cassidy.” His voice was husky, and under her palm she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. “This is one of them.” Rising, he drew her to her feet, then draped her jacket over her shoulders. “I'll take you home.”

“Colin,” she began, knowing only that she wanted to be his.