Inara Lavey

Ripping the Bodice

A Ravenous Romance™ Modern Love™ Original Publication

A Ravenous Romance™ Modern Love™ Original Publication
www.ravenousromance.com

Ripping the Bodice

Copyright © 2009 by Inara Lavey

Ravenous Romance™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 125G
Beverly, MA 01915

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-139-5

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

The sun was setting, orange and violet flames diving into the cerulean surface of the ocean. Cassandra stood silhouetted against nature’s glory, her beauty rivaling the sun itself. Or so Rafe thought as he stared at her from the seawall at the edge of the beach. Glints of cinnamon, gold, and flame shimmered in the masses of her tawny mane. He could see her perfect profile etched in the colors of the sunset, the seductive curve of her breasts showcased by a low-cut bodice while a full red skirt both concealed and yet somehow accentuated her womanly hips and dancer’s long legs.

Those legs – Rafe had long imagined them wrapped around his waist as he satisfied his lust within her moist warmth. Yes, he’d imagined how it would be between them ever since he’d happened upon her bathing nude in the pond behind her father’s plantation, never imagining anyone would be bold enough to watch her – or brazen enough to make his presence known.

Rafe smiled, his mouth curving in the dangerous yet sensual expression that had led so many willing women into his bed. So many women, and yet the one he most craved had so far eluded his desire. Tonight he would put an end to the chase. The verbal sparring between them had been exhilarating, but the time for such foreplay was at an end. He would have Cassandra Devereux writhing in ecstasy before daybreak. Yes, by God, she would be his.

He grew hard, the heavy cotton of his breeches straining against the strength and size of his rising lust. As if drawn by the sheer force of his desire, Cassandra turned away from her perusal of the ocean and looked towards the seawall. Their eyes met. Electricity crackled in the air between them, drawing them together as if connected by a physical current until they faced each other, only a foot apart.

“I knew you’d follow me out here.” Cassandra’s rich, sensual voice was husky with anticipation, fear of the unknown and desire warring within her. She knew there could only be one resolution to the tension between them.

“You know what I want, Cassandra.” His cobalt blue eyes seared into her soul, the heat within his gaze creating a matching heat at the center of her being. If he could affect her so strongly with just the look in his eyes – she grew faint at the thought of what his touch would do to her. Cassandra felt herself growing – yes, wet – between her legs as desire coiled within her stomach and spread throughout her body.

“Y-yes.” A pulse beat a rapid rhythm in the hollow of her throat, matching the rapidity of her heartbeat.

“You want it too.” It was not a question.

Cassandra stared back at him, green eyes lambent with the flames of her growing need for him. She wanted Rafe Dumas with every fiber of her being. The touch, the taste, the smell of him. “Yes.” Firmly, this time.

Rafe closed the final distance between them and brought his mouth down on Cassandra’s in a demanding, possessive kiss, the searing heat of his lips wiping the memory of every previous kiss she’d had from her mind. No other man existed – past, present or future. His tongue explored her mouth, one hand buried in her hair and the other pressing her body against his so she could feel the bulge of his manhood against her loins. She moaned with desire as he ravished her mouth with his, then moved to the sensitive skin of her throat and shoulders, lips and tongue warm on her flesh, traveling slowly down to the rise of her breasts. Cassandra made a brief effort to stop him – surely, this was more than she could bear—and Rafe captured both of her wrists behind her back and held them there with one strong hand while he used his teeth to gently tease the peaks of her nipples beneath the fabric of her bodice.

“No going back,” he said roughly. “From the moment I first saw you swimming at your father’s Caribbean plantation, your eyes flashing emerald fire when I revealed myself, I knew I would make you mine. You know you felt the same way.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said breathlessly. “Since the day I saw you astride your wild black stallion, your lean yet well-muscled torso bare in the hot Caribbean sun, your expression so aloof, yet still able to touch my very soul, I knew I was meant to be yours. Take me, take me now!” she panted.

Rafe seized the fabric of Cassandra’s bodice between both hands and ripped it down the front, setting the glory of her womanly globes tumbling free as—

Brrrrrrrrrrrrng!

I groaned as the phone rang, rudely pulling me out of my dreams of heaving bosoms and throbbing manhoods and back into my salt box office at Gilman’s Paper Products. I’d been sneaking in a well-deserved R&R (reading and romance) break with Passion’s Tropic Fury (now lying with a cracked spine on the floor) and had fallen asleep.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrng!

“Damn. Right at the good part, too.”

Reluctantly lifting my forehead off the pressboard surface of my desk, I surreptitiously wiped up a little puddle of drool that had formed during my impromptu nap. Romance heroines never drooled. Luckily, there was no dashing hero to witness my embarrassment.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrng!

I glared at the phone. Could anything be more strident and irritating? I grabbed the receiver before it rang again.

“Gilman Paper Products, Cassandra Devon speaking.”

I groaned again – albeit silently – when I recognized my caller. I should have known better than ask rhetorical questions, even to myself. The voice on the other end of the line was the equivalent of nails on chalkboard mixed with broken glass, all stirred together with a lot of whine. Ethel Kelly, owner of Twee Fairy Stationery and a customer service manager’s nightmare. In other words, my nightmare.

“Cassie, is that you?”

I gritted her teeth and girded her loins for battle. “That’s Cassandra, Mrs. Kelly. And yes, it’s me.”

Mrs. Kelly ignored the correction, as she always did. “Cassie, that order of Baby Angel bags hasn’t arrived yet and I ordered it two weeks ago.” She paused for effect. “Two weeks.”

“Let me check your order in the computer and make sure it was shipped.”

This was a familiar game. Mrs. Kelly would place an order online, change it over the phone at least three times, then invariably lose track of it when it arrived at her store. I had originally pictured a labyrinth of Gilman Paper Products boxes stacked to the ceiling in cavernous storeroom. Having been to Twee Fairy Stationery to drop off a replacement for a supposedly misrouted order, I knew the reality was simpler; the missing box was in the store bathroom with a stack of pink Charmin on top.

I waited while my ancient PC pulled up the order – why Mr. Gilman refused to update the office’s archaic computer system was one of life’s great mysteries – and tuned out Mrs. Kelly’s litany of complaints in favor of mentally packing for my three day Palm Springs getaway with my not-quite-boyfriend Mike. He was picking me up straight from work tomorrow, which meant none of my usual last minute tossing-in-whatever-I-grab-first routine (my preferred method for packing). Sure, it netted mixed results, but it was less stressful than picking and choosing, folding everything carefully and then ending up with the wrong clothes anyway.

The order came up and I reluctantly tuned back into Radio Kelly. “—three times since I placed that order. Three times.”

“Here you go, Mrs. Kelly,” I said brightly. “Yup, shipped out two weeks—”

“Two weeks!”

“Yes, two weeks ago, delivered UPS Ground on the following Tuesday. According to UPS’s records, you signed for it.”

“Are you calling me a liar, Cassie?” Mrs. Kelly’s voice crackled with outrage.

“Of course not, Mrs. Kelly.” I used my patented “soothing psychotic clients” tone, honed to perfection since Twee Fairy became one of Gilman’s clients. “I’d never imply that. There was obviously a mix-up and—” I paused and listened to her squawk, then stepped back in with “—yes, I realize time is money.—” Squawk. “No.” Squawk squawk. “Yes, of course.” Squawk two weeks squawk. “I’ll see to it immediately. “ I punched the intercom button. “Jan, please tell Mr. Gilman that Mrs. Kelly wants to speak with him.” I hung up the phone, opened a desk drawer and pulled out some of my emergency chocolate. I bought it compulsively, shoved it in drawers and cupboards at home and work. I was a chocoholic Survivalist, rich in See’s candy and Lindt bars instead of canned foods and ammunition.

A knock sounded at my door. “Come in!” I ripped open the wrapper and took a bite. Mmmm. Dark chocolate with orange. Just a hint of bitterness. Appropriate after my conversation with Twee Fairy Kelly.

The door opened and Stacy, our office admin, burst into the room. Stacy is a force of nature, a hurricane disguised as a petite blond twenty-something. She never just enters a room. She strides, whirls, explodes, sometimes dances, but never just walks. She favors bright primary colors and regrettable ‘60s fashions, like today’s turquoise minidress and hot pink vinyl boots. I like Stacy, but she exhausts me.

I eyed the stacks of mail clutched in Stacy’s French-manicured hands. “Oh, Stacy, that’s not all mine, is it?”

Stacy dumped the lot of it on my desk with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Cassie.”

I sighed. “It’s Cassandra, Stacy.”

Stacy made a face. “But Cassandra is so old fashioned.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Before she could no doubt tell me exactly what was wrong, Passion’s Tropic Fury, still lying on the floor, diverted Stacy’s attention. “Oh, you’ve got one of Rosalia Devereaux’s first books!”

I tried to grab it, but Stacy had already swooped in and snagged it.

“I was just glancing through...”

Stacy was oblivious to my embarrassment. “Isn’t she the best? I love her books! They’re sexy and romantic, and the people are so real! I can’t believe she’s been writing since, like, the ‘80s!”

The tinny theme from Gone With The Wind heralded a call on my cell phone. I looked at the readout and recognized Mike’s number. I answered it eagerly. “Hi, Mike!”

“Hey, Cass babe.”

I winced, but didn’t bother correcting him. At least he didn’t use Cassie. “Hey yourself. Can you hang on for a sec?”

“Sure, babe.”

Holding one hand over the speaker, I looked at Stacy, who was engrossed in the novel. “Would you like to borrow it?”

“No, thanks, I’ve already read this one,” Stacy said, not taking her eyes from the pages. “I just like rereading the love scenes. They’re so romantic.”

“Isn’t Jan calling you?”

“No.” Definitely not getting the hint.

“Stacy, I’ve got a personal call.”

“I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” I said very gently.

She looked up from the book. “Oh. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“That’s kind of what I had in mind.”

“Okay.” Stacy smiled without malice and took one last lingering glance at Passion’s Tropic Fury before setting it gently on my desk and leaving, shutting the door behind her with her usual enthusiastic slam.

Finally. I took my hand off the speaker. “I’m back. Sorry about that.”

“S’okay, babe. I got all the time in the world for you.” Mike was a deejay on a popular morning radio show and always sounded like he was on the air. He was dark and intense in a Gabriel Byrne kind of way, wore leather bomber jackets and designer jeans, and favored fifteen-year-old single malt scotch. We’d been dating for two months, had been having decent, if non-Earth shattering, sex for one month, and I was hoping the weekend away was Mike’s way of taking our relationship to the next step: i.e. exclusive.

“I’m glad you called,” I said, relaxing back in my chair, pushing a stray lock of brown hair out of my face. Just plain brown. No glistening gold or shimmering cinnamon highlights, although it was thick and wavy. I hadn’t cut it in years, finding it easier and cheaper to keep it out of my face with industrial strength hair clips. “It’s been one of those weeks and I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this weekend.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Mike? You there?”

He was. But our plans for the weekend weren’t. Turned out Mike’s best buddy decided to throw an impromptu bachelor weekend camping and fishing for Mike’s other best buddy, who was getting married – six months from now.

No, they couldn’t do it another time. This was the only weekend the entire fraternity was available. They’d rented a cabin in Big Bear.

Yes, he realized I’d canceled previous vacation plans in San Diego with my best friend, Valerie, to go away with him this weekend. He was “really sorry, Cass, babe, but the guys wouldn’t understand if I don’t go.”

“So you have all the time in the world for me, except this weekend.”

“I’ll make it up to you next month. Or the month after, depending on the station’s golf tournament dates.”

“Sure, I understand.”

“I knew you would, babe.” I heard relief, but absolutely no guilt in Mike’s voice. That sealed the deal.

“I understand you’d rather spend the weekend belching with your beer buddies than with me in Palm Springs.” My tightly controlled tone began to rise.

“Aw, babe—”

“Don’t worry about making it up to me next month...oh, or the month after or whatever month ends up working into your schedule, because I won’t be around!”

“Now, don’t be like that—”

I hit the “end call” button, turned my phone off, and jammed four squares of bittersweet orange chocolate into my mouth. Emphasis on the “bitter.”

As I chewed, I grabbed a letter opener and began ripping open my mail. Truth was, I was as pissed at myself as I was at Mike. I’d canceled my plans with Val to go to Palm Springs with Mike, so maybe this was just karmic payback. Okay, I’d given her two weeks’ notice instead of twenty-four hours. And she already had her plans made before inviting me to join her and share a free hotel suite courtesy of her cousin, who did some sort of advertising work for the hotel. But still, I’d essentially dumped my friend to be with a man. A man with whom sex was only so-so, although I hoped time would bring more “shattering” to the “Earth,” something currently supplied by a reliable vibrator. And now the man in question had dumped me to be with his friends. I swallowed the irony along with the rest of the chocolate.

I sliced open a thick cream vellum envelope, releasing an invisible cloud of fragrant and potent tea rose. I smiled even as my sinuses closed up from the olfactory assault. Tea rose was Val’s signature fragrance; she’d been drenching herself and all correspondence (including bills) in it since I’d met her at college. I took a deep breath, held it and read the letter, written on hotel stationery:

Dear Cassie—

I hate that name.

It’s too bad you couldn’t make it down here, the weather’s been perfect and the suite at the Esmeralda Hotel is just heavenly. Raphael and his friend Connor have been showing me all over Emerald Cove and the rest of San Diego and there’s all sorts of fun people staying at the hotel. Hope you have fun in Palm Springs. I heard it’s the rainy season there. Call me if you change your mind.

Love, Val.

Hmm.

Well, why not? I could get a plane ticket to San Diego with no problem. I had the vacation time and I needed the break.

I turned my cell back on, ignored the “new voice mail” notification, and dialed the number on the stationary.

““Hello? Yes, I’d like Room 15, please...”

Chapter Two

“Oh my God, he’s such a hunk!” Stacy squealed. “Cass, can’t I take first class this flight?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. Stacy was always falling in instant lust with at least one passenger per flight and inevitably ignored all other passengers, making more work for her fellow stews. Best to nip this in the bud. “Stacy, you know Madge would be hacked off if we switch out assignments. And it’s Cassandra, not Cass.”

Stacy pouted. “I swear, Madge is such an old skank.”

Cassandra bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh. “Skank” wasn’t a word that fit the icy head stewardess’s appearance or personality. “Bitch” and “ice-queen,” yes. She would never say as much to Stacy, who couldn’t be trusted to keep it to herself. Right now, as Stacy’s senior, Cassandra needed to flip Stacy’s switch from Pout to Perky or they’d both get grief after the flight.

“C’mon, cheer up. I bet the guy’s all show and no go. Most of those first class passengers are stuck-up jerks.”

Stacy brightened. “You’re probably right. And there was the cutest hunk in coach. I bet he’d like to fly me!”

Luckily, Cassandra was saved from replying by the call to take their positions. She touched up her frosted pink lipstick, adjusted her hot pink cap to the airline’s preferred jaunty angle and smoothed her orange minidress over her long, tanned thighs. Her stacked-heeled go-go boots barely made a sound as she walked up the carpeted aisle and through the curtains separating coach from the first class cabin. Taking her place at the front, she waited for Madge to start the safety information speech, giving the passengers a quick scan for Stacy’s hunk. She found him almost immediately, sitting in the first row directly in front of her.

She knew him.

Rafe. Rafe Dumas. The man who had shown her the meaning of passion when she was a young girl of eighteen, then broken her heart as carelessly and quickly as he’d won it.

This isn’t happening, thought Cassandra as her emerald green gaze locked with his cobalt blue stare, eyes the color of the Aegean Sea. Thick dark hair waved back from a strongly chiseled face, sensual lips curving in a mocking smile as he took in Cassandra from top to bottom, pausing deliberately on the curve of her breasts. She felt the heat of his gaze as it moved down her legs, sweeping back up to her face.

“Hello, and welcome onboard PVA Flight 23 on route to San Diego...”

Cassandra was so shaken by the instant lust that swept through her body, she nearly missed her cue to start the pantomime demonstration for the safety information speech, but managed to point out the safety exits in time to Madge’s voice over the intercom and show the proper way to fasten the seat belts. She got through the rest of the speech by looking straight ahead, deliberately avoiding Rafe’s searing gaze, although she could feel its heat on her the entire time.

As soon as the safety speech ended, Cassandra hurried to the back of the plane, intending to tell Stacy she could have the first class station. Cassandra would rather deal with the repercussions from Madge than face Rafe again.

Stacy, however, was no longer interested in switching. “Thanks, Cass, but I’ve already cast my line out for the cute fish in coach and I think he’s biting!”

Then Stacy would toss him back in the ocean because he wasn’t big enough, like all the other fishes she’d reeled in. Cassandra kept this thought to herself; she needed all her wits about her to deal with the thought of offering Rafe coffee, tea...”or me.”

Even after he’d shattered her girlish illusions, she still wanted him and the realization made her determined to do her job with detached dignity.

And she did, looking directly to the left of his head when she asked, “Would you like a beverage?”

“Chivas Regal, neat.” He paused. “But you would know that, wouldn’t you, Cassandra?”

Her nostrils flared with anger at his familiar tone. She pulled a little bottle of Chivas out of her cart, along with a plastic cup and a packet of peanuts, setting them all on his tray with more force than necessary.

She restocked her cart in the plane’s kitchen, grateful for the momentary solitude before she had to go back into first class.

“You look good in the uniform, Cassandra.”

She gasped, dropping a Coke can. It hit the floor and the pop top was compromised, sticky soda leaking out in a spray.

“You’re not allowed back here,” Cassandra hissed, grabbing the spraying can and tossing it into the sink.

“I doubt anyone will question the CEO of PFA Airlines,” Rafe replied in his trademark drawl. He stepped through the door, blocking any escape.

“You’ve come a long way, haven’t you?” she said, and it was not a compliment.

“Not far enough to get you out of my mind or my blood.” He took another step, backing her against the counter.

“Save your lies.” Cassandra braced her hands against the counter and glared up at him. “You left me when I needed you the most.”

“And I’ve regretted it every day since. I was stupid and young, scared to tie myself down to anyone.”

“Well, it’s too late now. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to do my job. For your airline.” Cassandra tried to push past him, but he might as well have been made of granite for all the good it did. “Get out of my way.”

“Or you’ll what?” he mocked her. “Complain to the head of the company?”

Rafe caught her wrist in an iron grip right before her open hand connected with his handsome face. “You always were a little wildcat,” he muttered before covering her mouth with his in a bruising kiss.

At first she fought him, turning her head away from his kiss, pushing against his rock hard chest in a futile effort to escape. Rafe wrapped one hand in her hair and recaptured her lips with his, using all the seductive skills in his considerable arsenal until she melted against him, giving way to the desire that had always been lurking under the surface, waiting for his touch after so many years. He slipped a hand under her miniskirt, one finger insinuating itself between the silk of her panties and the warmth between her legs.

“Rafe, we can’t...”

He stopped her protests with another kiss. “We can.” He gave a tug and the fragile silk tore away from her body. “I’ll buy you more,” he murmured.

Cassandra capitulated in both mind and body. He stroked her silken folds, teasing her clitoris until she arched against his hand and begged him for more. In a matter of seconds, he’d unzipped his trousers and, with one thrust, entered her with the full length of his—

“Miss? Miss?” A gentle hand touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see the blurred face of Mark, one of the flight attendants on my Southwest flight.

“Ungh?”

“We’ve landed.”

I blinked and fumbled for my glasses, which had fallen onto my lap next to Fly Me to Ecstasy, a ‘60s romance I’d picked up at Moe’s, my favorite used bookstore in Berkeley. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” Mark smiled at me. “I hated to wake you up. You looked like you were having a great dream.”

I turned fiery red. Luckily, Mark had already headed off down the now empty aisle. At least I hadn’t drooled.

I collected my carry-on from the overhead bin, stuffing Fly Me to Ecstasy in with the other half-dozen or so paperbacks already in there. That I’d managed to fall asleep during an hour-and-a-half flight was testimony to the crappy night’s sleep I’d had the night before and an even crappier day at work. Stacy had called in sick, no doubt wanting an early start to the weekend, so I was stuck with admin duties on top of handling the Mrs. Kellys of the world. Ugh.

By the time I got to the baggage area, my bags had already been disgorged, both bags going around the conveyer belt in lonely solitude. I wrestled them off before they vanished back into the throat of the carousel chute, then onto a luggage cart, cursing the indecision that had led me to pack two large suitcases full of clothes for a week’s vacation. I shoved my carryall full of books on top where it tottered precariously, shouldered my admittedly large tote, and carefully wheeled my way outside to curbside arrivals where Val was hopefully waiting to pick me up.

* * * *

“Hurry up, Connor ! We’re late! Cassie’s plane’s already landed!”

Connor obediently trailed behind Valerie, who was covering an impressive amount of airport parking lot for someone wearing three-inch heels. He refrained from pointing out they were late because she’d insisted on stopping at a See’s Candy on the way to the airport. If it had been about her cravings, he’d have happily busted her chops for it now, but she was currently carrying the two-pound box of chocolates for her best friend.

Valerie was an odd mixture of self-involved vanity and a generous heart. Blond, brown-eyed and gorgeous, with a slender frame accompanied by naturally large breasts, Val was definitely the high-maintenance type. Connor was glad he’d never fallen for her. He’d seen her in action with various boyfriends over the years. Conclusion? Not for him. He wanted a woman who didn’t have to have her nails done on a weekly basis, who wouldn’t fuss if her hair wasn’t perfectly styled, and didn’t spend every dime she made on expensive clothes. Not that he was stingy or didn’t enjoy a little bit of effort on the part of a woman, but someone like Val was too much work. No, he wanted someone like—

“Cassie! There she is, Connor!” Val pointed across traffic lanes to the terminal where a disheveled brunette in glasses struggled with a luggage cart bearing two gargantuan suitcases, an oversized tote bag and a truly hideous olive-colored purse the size of Mary Poppins’s carpetbag. The color matched her skirt and shapeless suit coat. She was, frankly, a bit of a mess. Ah well. He wasn’t here to date her, so it was no matter to him.

* * * *

“Cassie!”

I heard Val’s squeal of delight from across four lanes of airport traffic. I’d forgotten she could reach decibels that probably had dogs howling in the next county.

“Cassie!” There she was, dressed as chic as ever, yet jumping up and down like a five-year-old. I smiled tiredly, gratified by Val’s obvious excitement and already exhausted at the thought of her boundless energy. It was about fifteen degrees warmer outside than it had been in San Francisco, and I was already sweating and ready for a shower and a nap.

Val waved again and dashed across the street, ignoring both the cabs jockeying for position along the curb and their angry honks and shouts. Of course, they might have been honking in appreciation of her stunning looks. She looked like something out of an Italian movie, wearing a short white linen sheath dress that set off both her tan and her figure.

Damn. I thought I’d outgrown it, but here I was envying both Val’s figure and her wardrobe with the same feeling of inadequacy that I’d had at school. My Ross’s Dress for Less office outfit, not fashionable to begin with, was creased and rumpled from a day at the office and the flight. My makeup had no doubt melted down my face and the less said about my hair, the better. I needed a shower, a glass of wine and a hairbrush, not necessarily in that order.

Val reached me, fling her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug. “Cassie, I’m so glad you made it!”

“It’s good to see you too, Val.” It was, even with my sinuses closing up protectively against the wave of tea rose wafting off of her. I’d take an allergy pill and a decongestant as soon as we reached the hotel.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” She handed me a huge box of See’s, slightly squashed from our hug. It was a testimony to how tired I was that I hadn’t noticed it until now. Normally my chocolate radar is up and fully operational no matter the circumstances.

“Aw, thank you, Val.”

As I juggled the box of chocolates and my purse, I lost my battle with cart and luggage. My carryall tumbled off the cart, disgorging a pile of paperbacks as it hit the ground.

Books scattered across the sidewalk, several of them landing at the feet of an amiably attractive man in his late twenties, rough hewn features, eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses. He had a shock of thick dark auburn hair going every which way, but neat. I doubted he’d ever seen the inside of a barbershop.

He picked a book up, glanced at the title and grinned. “Ah, Lust’s Fervent Fever.” He grabbed another one. “And Purple Promise of Passion. Two of my all-time favorites.” He spoke with a faint Irish brogue, something I’d normally have found charming were I not fairly certain I was being mocked.

I looked at the man warily. “Do I know you?

Val nudged him with one Prada-shod foot. “Cass, this is Connor Callahan. Connor, this is Cassie Devon, my best friend from college.”

“Charmed.” Connor continued picking up books, seemingly fascinated with an assortment of covers admittedly depicting more heaving bosoms and bare-chested males than a porn convention.

“It’s Cassandra.” My tone was definitely on this side of brusque.

“Well, color me grumpy,” said Val with no real malice.

Connor grinned again as he scanned another title. “Lovebound on the Moors. Interesting.”

Val peered over his shoulder. “Lust, Greed and Roses?” She gave me an incredulous look.

“It’s all they had in the terminal bookstore,” I said with equal parts defensiveness and fraudulence. “I mean, it was either that or John Grisham. I don’t normally read—” As I babbled, I tried to grab my books away from Val’s friend and three things happened: I dropped my purse, my glasses fell off and my hair slipped out of its pins.

Val looked at me with great pity. “You’re really falling apart, aren’t you, Cassie?”

She picked up both purse— “Jeez, what don’t you have in here?”—and glasses and handed them over.

I took them with a muttered “thanks” and noticed Connor studying me intently, head cocked to one side. “What?” I snapped.

He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, revealing brown eyes so dark they were almost black, and looked me up and down. “Why, Miss Devon, you’re beautiful without your glasses.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please.”

“No, really. You remind me of someone. I think I know...yes, it’s—” He held one of my books aloft. “—Sweet, Simple Savage.” He flipped the book over and proceeded to read from the back cover. “ ‘She was a child of God, raised in a nunnery and destined for the convent, but when Ace Brand entered her life and they found themselves shipwrecked together, Angel discovered the primal, sensual part of her that had always been submerged. She became—’” Dramatic pause. “—‘Sweet. Simple. Savage.’ “ He looked back up at me. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

Val took a look at the cover, then back at me. “You know, he’s right, Cassie. With a little – well, a lot of work, you could look like that.”

Connor nudged Val with an elbow. “Just call me Ace.”

Val giggled.

I put my glasses back on, and stared at them both, totally exasperated. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d really like to go to the hotel. It’s been a very long day.”

Connor dumped the books he held into my carryall and put it back onto the luggage cart. “Your wish is my command. Besides, the cocktail party starts in a half-hour and—”

“What cocktail party?” I interrupted, too tired to be polite about it.

“It’s just a few of the guests getting together for drinks on the terrace,” said Val. “It’s very casual so you don’t have to worry about changing.” She paused, took another look at me. “Well, you might want to freshen up just a little...”

That was Val. Well meaning and tactless.

Connor rolled the baggage cart up beside me as we crossed the traffic lanes towards the parking garage. “Given your taste in fine literature, I think you’ll enjoy meeting one of your fellow guests in particular.”

I chose not to acknowledge his crack about fine literature, keeping my response to a dignified “Oh, really? Why?”

“She’s Roz Franks, a.k.a. Lucinda Lusthaven, celebrated romance writer.”

“Lucinda Lusthaven?” My dignity left the building. “I love her books!”

Lucinda Lusthaven, despite the over-the-top name, was an excellent writer. She’d started back in the late ‘70s, early ‘80s along with Rosemary Rogers, Kathleen Woodiwiss and Judith Michaels, back when historical romances were called “bodice rippers.” My mother had a huge collection of these now vintage and politically incorrect romances and I’d been hooked in my teens.

Lucinda Lusthaven stood out from the pack to me, even as an I’ll-read-anything teenager. Her character development seemed natural, not forced. If the hero and heroine argued, they had a good reason, whereas in some of the others, the authors seemed to throw in a nonsensical and totally unbelievable argument to stretch the story another fifty pages. Now, Lusthaven specialized in the spicier genre romances, including historicals, fantasy, and a new paranormal series featuring Tanya Bloodmoon, daughter of a witch and a werewolf and her adversary-slash-lover Vlad Magyar, vampire lord and ruthless businessman. I wasn’t a huge fan of the glut of vampire novels, but I’d read a laundry list if it were written by Lucinda Lusthaven. I couldn’t believe I was going to actually meet her.

I sped up my pace, leaving Val, Connor and my previous exhaustion in my dust. “Hurry up, you guys! We don’t want to be late!”

Chapter Three

Rafe led Cassandra through the doors of the most expensive suite the Hotel DeLuxe offered. He’d arranged for champagne and oysters to be delivered scant minutes before their arrival, candles lit, fresh flowers scattered throughout the suite. He wanted everything to be perfect for this very special night, the night he would finally make Cassandra Devereux his.

Rafe watched Cassandra closely as they stepped into the beautifully appointed suite, torn between the allure of her sweetly rounded ass beneath the clinging silk of her skirt and watching her expression as she took in her surroundings.

“Do you like it?”

Cassandra turned to him, her green eyes glowing with pleasure. “It’s perfect!” she breathed in the sultry tones that had first captured Rafe’s attention at Chez Fantastique when she’d asked him if he was ready to order. His temperature had risen at the sound of that incredible voice, pure sex and sin, and he’d quickly looked up, sure he’d find her face a disappointment in comparison.

He hadn’t been disappointed.

“I love it, Rafe.” Cassandra threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, her supple breasts molded to his well-developed chest.

Rafe’s cock responded immediately, an imperative throbbing desire requiring satisfaction. He’d meant to take things slowly tonight, but if a simple hug was enough to set him on fire, he knew his good intentions were about to be ripped away – along with all of their clothes.

Cassandra’s eyes widened as she felt Rafe harden against her, the bulge beneath his tailored trousers announcing his desire as clearly as if he’d spoken out loud. Her nipples hardened as liquid heat slowly uncoiled in her stomach, spreading down between her legs. Her clitoris pulsed in response to the throbbing of Rafe’s cock. Her breath caught in her throat as he thrust himself more tightly against her, until fabric was the only thing separating their bodies.

“I want you,” he said, his voice a guttural growl against her ear. The vibration sent a wave of pure desire straight to her center; she gasped involuntarily and arched against him, nearly coming on the spot when he thrust his thigh in between her legs, creating a delicious friction. She –

“Here’s your suite.”

At least I think that’s what I think Connor said as he stopped in front of Room 28. It was hard to be certain with his mouth – and my imagination – full of paperback romance. He also had my suitcases and carry-on, as well as another book tucked under his chin. I ended up with my purse, coat and candy; Val had a single book dangling from impeccably manicured nails. Connor having insisted on carrying everything when we’d reached the Esmeralda parking lot. He was irritating, but chivalrous.

The suite was lovely, spacious, and airy. There were two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and queen-sized bed covered with a white goose-down duvet and plump pillows. I could tell which one Val was occupying by the profusion of clothes tossed over the bed. The common area had sectional couch upholstered in cream and sage velvet, with matching elegant cream-and-sage striped wallpaper. The windows were framed with matching sage curtains, held back with cream-colored pulls. Sheers over the windows gave the illusion of privacy while letting in the fading sunset. There was even a small balcony overlooking the ocean where I could sit and read in the mornings while I had my coffee. Closer inspection showed me a little gate and steps leading down to a private beach.

I turned to Val and smiled happily. “This is gorgeous!”

Val beamed. “I thought you’d like it.”

Connor deposited the suitcases and carryall at the foot of the bed in the unoccupied room.

“Thank you, Mr. Callahan—”

“Connor,” he said, letting the books fall and catching them both before they hit the ground.

“Oh. Well, I really appreciate your help –”

“My pleasure.” Connor sketched a small bow, most likely in response to the stiff and formal tone he seemed to bring out in me.

“Er, yes,” I said. “I’m sure you and Val want to join the others on the terrace, so I’ll just freshen up and meet you in a few minutes.”

“The minutes will seem like hours, to be sure.”

I narrowed my eyes. “They already do.”

Connor grinned and held out my books. “Don’t forget Passion’s Rapturous Wonder and Love’s Heaving Torrents.” I took the latter gingerly; it had teeth marks embedded in the cover and looked a little soggy around the edges.

“Sweet, Savage Staff of Love,” Val said tonelessly, dropping her single book on the bed.

“Thank you both,” I said, biting off each word. “I’m sure you both want to have a drink.”

Connor saluted. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”

Val grabbed him by the arm, no doubt recognizing the danger signs from my narrowing eyes. “C’mon, Connor. Cassie, just—” she waved her hands abstractedly “—do the best you can with yourself and come to the terrace when you’re ready.”

“That’s right, shweetheart,” said Connor in what had to be the worst, and only, Irish-inflected Bogart impression I’ve ever heard. “Get on the shpeedtrack or I’ll have to slap you around a little.”

Val pushed him out the door before I could hit him. I tried not to slam it after them.

A quick, blissfully hot shower went a ways towards soothing my savage beast, but I was still muttering darkly to myself after toweling off and putting on a fuchsia full-skirted sundress that saw little wear in foggy San Francisco.

“Who does he think he is?” I sat at an old-fashioned vanity and brushed my hair with a vengeance, sending up crackles of static electricity with each stroke. “I’ll slap him around a little.” Opting for simplicity, I pulled back my hair on either side in two barrettes just to get it off my face. I carefully applied lipstick the same fuchsia shade as my dress. “And that was the worst Bogey I’ve ever heard...”

* * * *

A lone saxophone wailed in the distance as Cassandra entered the dimly lit office hall. Her black velvet trumpet skirt swished around her ankles as she stalked down the hall like some sort of lithe jungle cat, the fabric hugging her curves as tightly as a lover’s embrace. She stopped in front of an office door with the words Ace Callahan, Private Eye stenciled on the frosted glass inset in the upper half. Biting her lip, Cassandra hesitated. Should she do this?

Before she could make up her mind, the door to Callahan’s office opened and a gorgeous blonde, in a red dress so tight it might have been painted on, walked out.

“Val, is that you?”

The blonde snapped her head towards Cassandra. “Cassandra?”

“Yeah. It’s me, Val.” They hugged, careful not to disturb each other’s coiffures.

“Jesus, kid, what the hell happened to you? You look like you could sour cream at ten paces.”

Cassandra heaved a sigh. “Men.”

Val put her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me you’re still seeing that big palooka Mickey the Moocher.”

“Nah. I got sick of seeing his ugly mug hanging around like a fart in a phone booth day in and day out. I gave the bozo his walking papers the night of the Plumber’s Ball.”

Val nodded knowingly. “Plumbers Balls are all alike.”

“Ain’t it the truth! Nah, Val, I’m looking for something different this time. Someone strong, handsome, manly...” Cassandra gave a determined nod. “I’m gonna find him.”

Val gestured towards the office door she’d just exited. “Well, you’ve come to the right place then. Ace Callahan is the toughest private dick this side of ‘Frisco. Y’know, he just wrote a book, Ace Callahan, the Rise and Fall of a Hardworking Dick. He’ll find your man, all right.”

“I hope so, Val,” said Cassandra. “I can’t take another lonely night, slugging back cheap whiskey and watching the moon shine its ass off—”

Suddenly the office door burst open and a roughly handsome man in trenchcoat and fedora stepped into the hallway. “What the hell’s going on out here?” he growled. “Sounds like a couple of cats in heat. What gives?”

“Ace, this is Cass Devereux, a personal friend of mine. So treat her right.” Val looked at her watch. “Jesus, I gotta get out of here. The Weasel’s expecting me at the Blue Club and there’ll be hell to pay if I’m late.”

Val hustled her buns down the hall and vanished into the elevator. Ace Callahan looked Cassandra up and down with an appraising stare as she swayed into his office, thinking, I hope she needs mouth–to-mouth resuscitation. Once they were inside, he shut the door and said, “What’s up, doll face?”

Cassandra ignored the heat of his stare and sat in a cracked leather chair in front his desk. Ace sat across from her in an equally decrepit chair that creaked ominously when he sat down. “I need you to find someone for me.”

“Angel, if you ask me to nose dive into a shot of Jack Daniels from thirty stories up, I’d do it. What’s this joe’s moniker?”

“Well, that’s the problem. I don’t know. I only know he’s tall, dark and devastatingly handsome. He’s strong yet gentle, passionate yet considerate...”

“Pardon me while I fling my pancakes.” Ace tossed back a shot of J.D.

Cassandra continued, oblivious. “...virile, yet never overtly macho, with a voice so suave, so dashing that—”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to intrude –”

Huh?

A distinctly cultured, suave, dashing, male voice dissolved my noir fantasy like sugar hit by boiling water. I looked up, lipstick suspended somewhere between my makeup kit and my mouth.

“– but I’m under strict orders from Val to escort you to the terrace.”

Standing in the doorway was the physical incarnation of every romantic hero who’d ever strode, seduced, stalked or swashbuckled across the pages of countless romance novels. Tall, dark, and handsome. Thick dark hair waving back from perfectly chiseled cheekbones. And yes, cobalt blue eyes. All this attached to a broad-shouldered, slip-hipped body clothed in an impeccably tailored suit. He was gorgeous.

I was quite literally speechless.

“Um, I knocked several times and since the door was unlocked, I thought I’d...”

He trailed off as I sat there, unable to do more than stare at this vision of male pulchritude. “Look, it’s obvious I came up at a bad time. I’ll just wait outside until you—”

The power of speech finally returned to me as the man of my dreams started to back out of the room. “No, no! That’s fine! I mean, I’m okay, really! I was just—” I stood, smoothing out my dress and tossing my hair back off my shoulders. “I was just lost in thought and, er, do you know Val well?”

The incarnation of all female fantasies smiled and stepped back into the room. “I should know Val. I’m her cousin, Raphael.” He extended one hand with a dramatic flourish. “At your service. Miss Devon, I presume.”

I took the proffered hand, laughing nervously. “Of course, how silly of me. I should have guessed, Val’s spoken of you so often. Please, call me Cassandra.”

He squeezed my hand in his and gazed into my eyes. “Only if you promise to call me Raphael.”

Gulp.

“Er, okay. Raphael.”

Raphael – Raphael smiled and, still holding my hand, said, “Val’s told me a lot about you and I’ve seen pictures from your college days, but I have to say none of them did you justice.”

Unable to think of a witty response to this, I laughed some more, probably sounding like a hyena on a blind date. Luckily Raphael didn’t seem to find anything wrong with it. Maybe he liked nervous hyenas.

“Shall we?” He let go of my hand and extended his arm.

I was incapable of answering this verbal gem either, so I simply took refuge in more inane giggling as I took his arm and let him lead me from my room to the terrace of the Esmeralda Hotel.

The terrace ran along the back of the hotel and overlooked the ocean. White wrought-iron chairs and tables were scattered along the length of the terrace, with plenty of seating for those guests interested in enjoying the view and fresh sea air. The chairs had blue-and-white striped cushions, giving the terrace a cheerful nautical feel, and about half the chairs were currently occupied.

Val and Connor were seated at one of the larger tables, along with two women I didn’t recognize. One was a comfortable-looking woman in her mid-fifties, with the kind of Rubenesque figure that spoke of a fondness for carbs, and unapologetic flaming red hair that most likely came from a bottle. She was scribbling in a notebook, ignoring everything and everyone around her.

The other woman was a Botoxed brunette in her late thirties doing her best to appear younger. Her forehead, eye area and cheeks were immobile and her mouth a testimony to collagen. Her cleavage was a veritable Silicone Valley, displayed in a low-cut white blouse designed to enhance both boobs and salon tan. She had a predatory air that made me wonder what she was hunting, although I suspected it might be Connor, judging by the way she was listening so intensely to whatever he was saying. Then she saw Raphael and her focus switched instantly. It was kind of scary.

Connor looked up as Raphael and I neared the table. Leaping to his feet, he pulled out a chair with a flourish. “Ah, the fair damsel has arrived.” He grabbed my hand and kissed it loudly. I wasn’t sure whether to giggle or smack him. “And Raphael, m’lad, tell me why you got the honor of fetching Miss Devon? I’m supposed to be the PR man in this firm, after all.”

“Ah, but this isn’t business, Connor.” Raphael guided me into the chair Connor had pulled out, carefully scooting it underneath me as I sat down. “This is most definitely a pleasure.”

I smiled at him. He made even clichés sound sincere.

Connor grimaced. “It’s a damned good thing I am the PR man, with you using lines like that, Raphael.”

Raphael was unperturbed by the critique and sat down in between the Botox queen – now giving me the evil eye – and me while Val made introductions.

“Everyone, this is Cassie Devon.”

“Cassandra.”

Unruffled, Val continued. “My best friend from college. Cassie, this is Trish Meyers.”

It was kind of fascinating watching those artificially plumped-up lips try to shape themselves into something resembling a smile – albeit a cold one – by way of acknowledgment.

“Trish’s ex was staying here too,” said Val, “but he had to go back L.A. He’s a director.”

And what that had to do with the price of tea in China, I didn’t know, but Val always was a one for introductions with extras. Trish decided to enlighten me.

“Dario and I have made several movies together. I’m his leading lady. We’re still very good friends.”

Wow. I hadn’t heard such an affected drawl since a bad high school production of Gone With The Wind. Hey, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a high school stage littered with overacting wounded Confederate soldiers. Talk about dying on stage.

“That’s nice,” I said, for lack of anything better. “Are you from the South?”

Trish looked at me as though I was mentally challenged. “Los Angeles is in Southern California, you know.” She turned to Raphael with what I can only describe as a simper. “I swear, no one studies geometry these days.”

The rest of us avoided eye contact and managed to keep straight faces. I didn’t know the woman well enough to be as rude to her as she deserved, even though she obviously felt no compunction on such short acquaintance. What a bitch.

I glanced at the other woman, but she was still engrossed in her notebook so I turned to Raphael, without a simper. “So you and Connor work for the same company?”

“Well,” said Raphael, “actually, Connor and I are partners.”

Connor held up a hand in a mock Boy Scout salute. “It’s true.”

“Didn’t I tell you, Cassie?” Val gave Raphael an adoring look. “Raphael started his own advertising business when he got out of college.”

Connor cleared his throat. “You wound me deeply, Val.”

Val waved one hand dismissively. “Oh. Well, Connor helped.”

Connor gave her a look. “What Val is trying to say, Cassie,” he said, and caught my glare. “Er, I mean, Cassandra, is with my brains and Raphael’s beauty, not to mention my beauty and Raphael’s money, the two of us managed to scrape together a rather modest little advertising firm.”

“Hardly modest,” Raphael said with genuine pride. “It’s one of the top advertising firms on the West Coast.”

“Raphael was only twenty-five when he and Connor were mentioned in Fortune.”

Ka-ching! Trish’s eyes lit up like a slot machine that hit the jackpot.

“I didn’t realize you were worth so much,” she purred, managing to include both Connor and Raphael in her semi-smoldering stare.

“I consider myself priceless,” Connor said grandly.

“Or is that worthless?” It slipped out before I could stop myself. There was just something about this grinning Irishman that ruffled my fur the wrong way.

“Ouch!” Connor put a hand over his heart as though mortally wounded. “This rose has thorns!”

I rolled my eyes. This guy had more drama than the entire Royal Shakespeare Company.

At this point, the redhead stopped scribbling in her notebook, slapped it shut and shook her head in amused disgust. “Jesus H. Christ, Connor, that’s worse than anything I’ve ever written. And that’s saying something.”

“You can steal it if you’d like,” said Connor. “Anything to aid the progress of romance.”

I looked at the redhead with interest. “Then you’re—”

“Lucinda Lusthaven, I confess.” She gave me a friendly smile, at the other end of the spectrum from Trish’s insincere lip curl. “But my friends call me Roz. Short for Rosalind.”

This was cooler than the time I saw Robin Williams outside his house in San Francisco’s Sea Cliff neighborhood. “I am so glad to meet you! Your books are actually good!” Well, that sounded bad. I tried again. “I mean, you know, you can really write and –” Val drew a finger across her throat in a shut-up gesture. Unfortunately I was on auto-blather and continued shoving my foot further down my throat. “I mean, I’ve read dozens of the genre and so many authors can’t really string a decent sentence together to save their lives, but—”

“Gee, Cassie, here’s the waiter,” said Val loudly. “Do you want a drink?”

I stopped, aware that everyone at the table was staring at me with varying degrees of amusement – or contempt, in Trish’s case. The waiter stood by politely.

“Er, I’d like a champagne cocktail, please.” I turned back to Roz while the others ordered their second round. “You’ll have to forgive me. I babble like an idiot when I meet someone I admire.”

Roz patted me on one hand. “Don’t you apologize, hon. I could listen to you babble for days. All I usually get is ‘your books are so romantic’ from fans or ‘how can you waste your time writing that crap?’ from my friends and family.”

I laughed, liking this woman more and more.

Connor nodded at Roz. “You should make a recording of Cassandra babbling. You could play it back any time one of those undiscerning mortals starts abusing you.” He sat back in his chair and grinned at me. “D’you have an on-and-off switch for that?”

“Connor, you’re no damn good,” Roz said mildly. “Leave the poor girl alone.”

“See now, Cassandra, you’ve made a friend.” Connor patted me on the shoulder. “Praise a writer, get a guardian angel for life.”

“I doubt Cassandra needs a guardian,” said Roz. “She looks capable and of age.”

Val leaned in with a serious expression. “Oh, Cassie can take care of herself. You should watch out when she gets mad, though.”

Oh, no, I thought. I knew where this was going.

“I remember one time at a frat party when this guy blew smoke in her face – Cassie hates cigarettes – for a joke.”

I tried to interrupt, conscious of Raphael’s gaze on me. “Val, I really don’t think anyone is interested in hearing this.”

“Oh, I am,” said Connor.

I glared at him.

Val was oblivious. “No, really, this is the best part! He blew the smoke at Cassie and she just slapped his face. Twice! I think she almost dislocated his jaw.”

Connor whistled in what I suspected was faux admiration while Raphael and Roz both laughed. My face flushed in mortification. I loved Val, but there were times she desperately needed a verbal editor.

“Remind me not to light up around you,” said Trish with a smirk. “It sounds like it could be dangerous.”

Connor leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “I knew that beneath that prim exterior lurked a woman of fiery, passionate temperament.”

Luckily for Connor, the waiter returned and placed a champagne cocktail in front of me. Bubbles streamed up from the sugar cube soaked in bitters towards the lemon peel twist at the top of the flute. Yum.

I reached for my purse, but Raphael reached out and put a hand over mine. “This will go on my bill,” he said to the waiter.

“Oh no, really, I couldn’t…” I was totally flustered.

“Don’t be silly, Cass,” Raphael said firmly. “You and Val are my guests and I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to pay for anything.”

“But—”

He held up one hand. “No arguing. I will be devastated if you refuse.”

Val nodded. “Seriously. Raphael gets his feelings hurt really easily.”

“It’s true.” Raphael smiled at me and my objections melted in the face of that gorgeous cobalt-blue gaze.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to devastate anyone.”

“Good. It’s settled then.” Raphael raised his wine glass. “Let’s drink to that.”

I clinked my glass against his and we smiled into each other’s eyes.

“Well, no need to be so exclusive.” Trish pouted and put a possessive hand on Raphael’s shoulder, making sure her cleavage was displayed to its best advantage. “I want to propose a toast.” Lifting her glass, she continued, “Here’s to a lovely vacation and getting to know one another. Cheers, everyone!”

We clinked glasses around the table.

Trish smiled at Raphael with unmistakable intentions. My hackles rose and so did a hereto-unknown competitive spirit. Fine, I thought. May the woman with the least amount of silicone, collagen and botulism win.

* * * *

Connor observed the reactions around him with amusement. It was clear Trish had set her sights on Raphael, although Connor had no doubt she’d settle for him in a pinch. And it was equally clear Raphael was totally oblivious to Trish’s designs. He was definitely interested in Cassie—Connor mentally corrected himself – Cassandra. Interesting, because she was a departure from his normal trophy model/actress size two, 36C girlfriends. Then again, Raphael was looking to settle down and wanted something more substantial than eye candy for a wife.

Still, Connor wondered if Val hadn’t been laying the groundwork for a little matchmaking. Favorite cousin and best friend? Sure, why not?

Connor was used to playing humorous sidekick to Raphael’s good-looking leading man, even though Raphael’s personality was more small-town-boy-makes-good than dashing hero. Not that Connor was exactly hero material either, but every now and again it irked him to constantly be perceived as second fiddle in both business and personal relationships just because he looked more like a bar room brawler than an entrepreneur. Ah well, at least Raphael was a decent man, a good man, if a bit lacking in imagination. But then, that was why they made such a good team. Raphael was the practical one and Connor the visionary.

As for the romantically inclined Ms. Devon, well, there was definitely more there than had first met his eyes at the airport. He studied her covertly as she talked animatedly to Roz. Definitely worth a second glance. Her sundress showed off smooth, creamy-skinned shoulders with just a hint of olive in the complexion, and clung to an admirable figure previously hidden by the hideous olive suit. Not too skinny, nothing surgically enhanced as far as he could tell. Nice long legs, too. Her hair, while pulled back in a style more suited to a schoolteacher than seductress, was lovely, lots of waves and curls, all healthy and glossy like a shampoo ad. If she were a bit more glamorous, she’d make a great hair model.

Cassie’s eyes, however, of which Connor had only seen a brief glimpse earlier, were her most outstanding feature. Deep forest green in color and fringed in dark lashes, they were truly beautiful. To be sure, they were the windows to her soul – or at least, her irritation. He grinned to himself, recalling her expression when he’d compared her to the cover model for Sweet, Simple Savage. She had a temper, and he didn’t think that would fit too well in Raphael’s well-ordered lifestyle. Although he did admire her for resisting the urge to give the always bitchy Trish a well-deserved smack for her rudeness. But this was only day one. Maybe he’d get lucky and there’d be a cat fight.

He watched as Trish put one red-tipped taloned hand on Raphael’s arm under the guise of emphasizing a point. Cassandra’s eyes flicked to both hand and arm. Connor could see invisible hackles rise. Val was oblivious, onto her second glass of Chardonnay and happily flirting with the waiter.

Yes, the next week promised to be highly entertaining.

Chapter Four

“I don’t know, Val.” I looked in the window display of Scruples, a high-end lingerie store in one of the little shopping alleys of Emerald Cove.

“Come on, Cassie!” Val tugged at my arm, quite a feat considering how many shopping bags we both carried.

“Val, I’ve already spent more money on clothes than I usually spend on my monthly bills. I mean, you’ve managed to undo my budget for the entire year in one afternoon!”

Val smiled in satisfaction. “And it’s about time, too. Don’t try and tell me you don’t have more money put away in savings than I do. You never spent any money unless you had to at school unless it was on books.”

I scowled, unable to argue the point. I was always the dull practical one whom everyone else borrowed from when they were short pizza and beer money. “Fine, I have a savings account. But that money’s for emergencies. For rainy days. In case of a dire national crisis! Not for expensive clothes —” I gestured towards a lace-trimmed lavender bustier showcased on an impossibly skinny, yet big-bosomed mannequin. “—or lingerie.”

Val looked at me gravely. “Cassie, money is absolutely worthless if you don’t spend a little on yourself now and again. And if you don’t mind me saying so, your wardrobe is a national crisis. I bet you buy your stockings at the grocery store.”

“I do not!”

Val raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“If I do, it’s because it’s convenient.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And anyway, I get them at Walgreens.”

Val rolled her eyes and pulled me through the door into the store.

I was immediately the victim of a combined auditory, olfactory and visual assault of Enya music, piñon incense, and violet-and-cream striped wallpaper. Fragile fairy tale garments of silk, satin, chiffon and velvet hung from violet-and-cream padded hangers. Others were carefully displayed on mannequins or draped fetchingly across swathes of velvet spread across countertops. It was like being inside a smoky violet-cream truffle. “Hi, there!” Both Val and I jumped as an attractive young woman spoke from behind the counter. In her raw silk violet jacket and skirt with cream camisole peeking out from underneath, she’d achieved protective camouflage. “I’m Sandy. Welcome to Scruples! Can I help you?”

I started to shake my head no, but Val wasn’t having it. “Yes. My friend here needs everything.”

This wasn’t good. “Val—”

Val dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper “She buys her stockings at the grocery store.”

I stared at her in outraged betrayal. “Val! That’s not...I mean...Walgreens! I buy them at Walgreens!”

Val and Sandy exchanged a look of complete understanding, the Sisterhood of Expensive Lingerie in action. “You see what we have to work with here.”

Sandy nodded. “We’d better get started right away. Let’s set your packages down behind the counter and get to work.”

Sandy grabbed my packages and purse as I sputtered ineffectually, set them down, then circled me with a serious expression, like a doctor getting ready to operate. “Let’s see. 34C top, thirty-six-inch hips. What’s your waist size, hon?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Let’s say twenty-seven. Not bad at all. What’s your season?”

“Huh?”

“Hmm. Winter or autumn. Hmm. You may actually fall between the two.” To Val, “Don’t you think?”

Val nodded sagely. “Definitely.”

“Right. Let’s get to work.”

I spent the next hour standing in a thankfully spacious and flatteringly lit dressing room (one of life’s great mysteries is why a certain well-known lingerie chain uses dressing room lighting guaranteed to spotlight every flaw on the body) trying on bras, teddies, chemises, bustiers, nightgowns and robes in every variety of fabric conceivable. Val and Sandy kept up a running commentary the entire time and slowly the pile of “yes” items grew. I stopped looking at the price tags after the sticker shock of a ninety-nine-dollar bra-and-panty set from France nearly did me in. Sandy cracked open a bottle of chilled champagne at that point and I downed half a glass in one gulp.

Val was right. I had a very healthy savings account and could afford to splurge once in a while. Today would qualify as my very first official splurge on anything not relating to chocolate or vintage romance novels. I’d spent several hundred dollars tracking down and acquiring the entire set of Angelique novels by Sergeanne Golon about the tempestuous adventures of a seventeenth-century countess, and I bought myself a huge supply of See’s and Godiva to have on hand for last year’s vacation, during which I read the entire series. But that was different than spending hundreds of dollars on teeny scraps of silk.

Val popped her head in as I was pulling a cobalt blue satin gown off over my head. “How’s it going?”

My reply was muffled; a good thing since it wasn’t particularly nice. I was tired and cranky, wanting only to go back to Esmeralda and soak in a hot bath.

“That’s nice. Try this on.” Val handed me yet another chemise, this one made of a periwinkle silk and chiffon.

“The color’s pretty,” I said grudgingly.

Val nodded. “Of course it is. Give a yell when you have it on, ‘kay?”

I rolled my eyes as she vanished back into the store, leaving me to my pile of lingerie. I sighed and took refuge in another hefty swig of bubbly before slipping the chemise on and turning back to the tri-fold mirrors. Hmm. Even after an hour of staring at myself and nitpicking over every perceived flaw on my body, even with low blood sugar occasionally spiked with alcohol, I liked this one. A lot. It made me feel sexy in a way very few clothes – inner or outerwear – had done before...

Cassandra studied herself in the mirror, admiring the way the periwinkle silk chemise clung to her curves, accenting the creaminess of her breasts and shoulders. She had never worn anything this daring or expensive before; her usual bedtime attire was white cotton or cozy flannel. But this – sexy and elegant, it made her feel like a different person.

“It suits you.”

Cassandra gasped in surprise and turned to find Raphael standing in the doorway, arms folded as he also admired the view, including her long toned legs emerging from the short skirt of the chemise.

Cassandra’s arms involuntarily crossed in front of her chest. “What are you doing here?” She watched nervously as he moved into the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

“I wanted to see what my gift looked like on you.”

“This...this is from you? But I thought –”

“That it was from my cousin.” Rafe smiled. “I know.”

Cassandra was appalled she’d accepted anything, even inadvertently, from Rafe Dumas. He made her uncomfortable. Made her feel things she’d never felt before, never wanted to feel. After the debacle with Michael so many years ago, Cassandra had no desire for the ecstatic highs and crushing lows of her youth. She was happy with her quiet life as a librarian and she would not let this unfortunate attraction to Rafe change things.

Cassandra lifted her chin. “I think you’d better leave now.”

“Is that what you really want?” Rafe took a step forward, devouring her with his stare. She was surprised the heat of his gaze didn’t scorch the fabric right off her body.

“Y-yes. Yes, it is.”

He took another step forward. Cassandra forced herself to stand her ground even though every instinct, every nerve ending screamed at her to run. But run where? Was there a place in the world that would allow her to outrun her own feelings?

“You can’t run away from what’s between us,” he said.

The man was the devil incarnate. It was as if he could read her mind.

“There’s nothing between us.” Cassandra lied.

He closed the gap between them, his body scant inches from hers. “No?”

Cassandra hardly dared to breathe as the air thickened, enclosing them in an invisible bubble of sensuality. Her nipples grew hard beneath the silk, drawing Rafe’s attention. She stared at him, hypnotized, as he reached out and gently traced the tips of each nipple with his thumbs. Heat coiled up inside her stomach and every last trace of resistance left her in the gush of liquid warmth between her legs. She gasped and arched forward, pressing her rounded breasts into his hands.

Rafe growled, a low primal sound that almost brought her to orgasm on the spot. He slid a hand down the curve of her hip, under the hem of the chemise and insinuated one finger, then two beneath her g-string. Cassandra gave a hiss of indrawn breath as those fingers stroked her folds, tantalizingly close to, but never quite touching her clitoris. Her hips began to move of their own accord, trying to control the rhythm of Rafe’s hand as he teased her.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he murmured, his mouth grazing the sensitive flesh of her neck.. “I’ve waited for you longer than I’ve waited for any other woman. I’m not going to rush this.”

“Cassie, are you decent?”

My eyes flew open and I saw myself in the mirror, mouth, half-open, face flushed as one hand caressed my breast, the other inside my sensible cotton underwear. “Er, no! Give me a sec!”

Minutes later, I emerged from the dressing room, fully dressed and breathing returned to normal. Val and Sandy looked at me expectantly. I tossed the chemise on top of my “yes” stack, which they’d been piling on the counter. “I definitely want this one.”

Sandy began to ring up my purchases and I tried not to hyperventilate as she picked up a Victorian-style camisole with lots of lace, satin ribbon insets and a price tag the size of my weekly grocery budget.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I moaned, and not with desire.

“It’s good for you,” Val said matter-of-factly.

“No, it’s good for the economy.” I pointed at the camisole. “I mean, seriously. How in the world do I wear anything over that?”

Sandy looked up from her work. “Oh, you can if it’s not too tight. But that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point of lingerie if you can’t wear it under your clothes?”

Val and Sandy exchanged another one of their “poor deluded girl” pitying looks. “Lingerie,” stated Sandy with the kind of unshakable conviction usually reserved for religious zealots, “is more than an undergarment. It’s a statement of our femininity. This—” she held aloft the camisole like a patriot waving the flag “—is a classic example. You are going to be the walking image of every man’s fantasy.”

I looked to Val for help before Sandy started singing God Bless Our Lingerie or The Star-Spangled Bodice.

“Raphael would definitely love it,” Val said.

“Really?”

I didn’t even try to hide my eagerness and Val didn’t bother disguising her smugness. “I had a sneaky feeling you might like him.”

“Let’s see. He’s gorgeous, charming, generous, sophisticated. Okay, I like him.”

Sandy followed our conversation with interest. “Does he have a brother?”

Val shook her head. “Nope. There’s only one.”

“Give her Connor’s number,” I suggested. “He’s cute and charming when he’s not being obnoxious.”

“He’s not obnoxious,” said Val without conviction. “He just lacks Raphael’s restraint. I mean, Raphael is predictable and reliable. You never know what Connor is going to do.”

I could believe it.

“But he has a good heart,” Val insisted.

I’d hold off judgment on that one.

“Even if he does have a different girlfriend every week.”

Great. An obnoxious, unpredictable player. Oh yeah, with a good heart.

Sandy hit another button and smiled brightly. “Ready for your total?”

“No.” I handed her my Visa. “Just run it, I’ll shut my eyes and sign the credit card slip. I don’t want to know.”

“Good,” said Val. “Because you’re getting your hair done after this.”

* * * *

By the time Val and I got back to the lobby of the Esmeralda, both staggering under the weight of yet more shopping bags, it was nearly five o’clock and my feet were killing me despite my sensible shoes. Sensible shoes that would soon be relegated to the back of the hotel closet for the rest of my vacation if Val had her way. I groaned inwardly for the umpteenth time that day as I thought of the multiple pairs of frivolous heels, boots, and sandals now in my possession. Never mind the dresses, pants, skirts, tops, makeup, and yes, the lingerie and the haircut. One hundred and eighty dollars for highlights and to take off a few inches and shape the waves and curls into a deliberately tousled mass, which I now had pulled back into my usual hair clip off my face.

What had I done?

“Val, I have blown my budget for the next year, thanks to you.”

“You’ll thank me for it later.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will. When I’m the best-dressed person in the welfare line, I’ll be thinking ‘Gee, I’m glad Val talked me into buying all those clothes!’”

Val rolled her eyes. “Oh, puh-lease! You can’t spend your life on hold, you know. You need to learn to live in the here and now. Seize the moment!”

“You’re right, Val. I need to turn life into a romantic adventure. Take what I want from this wild, unpredictable world.”

“Exactly!” Val beamed at me. “Now you’re getting the idea!”

I ran with it. “This mad, wanton place full of the passionate embraces of dark, devilishly handsome men with well-muscled torsos.”

“Well, I’m not sure—”

I was on a roll. “Why, a woman only has to purchase an eight-hundred-dollar silk negligee and, with one heave of her bosom, the world is hers!”

Val finally figured out she was being teased. “Well, color me sarcastic!”

“Ah, at last we find you, you twin visions of feminine pulchritude.” A familiar Irish accented voice rang out across the lobby. Val and I turned to see Connor and Raphael coming down the main staircase of the hotel, both casually clad in jeans and button-down shirts. I felt my face heat up. Good Lord, Raphael was gorgeous. And here I was all sweaty and disheveled after the Bataan Death Shopping Spree Val had led me on today.

We met them halfway across the lobby. I managed to trip on the carpet and drop several bags, one directly on Connor’s foot.

“And now the truth comes out, Val.” Connor picked up the fallen bags. “You only invited poor Cassandra here so you’d have someone to help carry your shopping back.”

Val drew herself up. “As a matter of fact, these are all Cassie’s.” A beat before honesty won out. “Well, almost all of them.”

Connor gave a low whistle. “Well, Ms. Devon, is this true? And here I thought you a serious minded young woman above such earthly—” ‘Earthly’ came out as ‘eartly’ in his Irish brogue “—concerns. And not a bookstore bag amongst the lot.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I do other things aside from read, you know.”

Connor patted my arm. “I’m sure you do.” His tone was along the lines of a psychiatrist reassuring a delusional patient. I almost bared my teeth at him like an angry dog, but remembered who was standing next to him in all of his cobalt blue-eyed glory.

Raphael smiled at me. “I see Val has been a bad influence on you.”

I smiled back self-consciously, my lips feeling as though they’d been injected with Novocaine.

Val pouted in mock hurt and smacked her cousin on one arm. “I’m a good influence.”

Connor patted her shoulder kindly. “Sure you are, darlin’.”

Val took him at his word and gave a self-satisfied nod. “So where are you two going?”

“We were, point of fact, looking for you and Cassie,” said Raphael.

I bit back my inevitable Cassandra! and tried not to wince.

“‘Tis true,” said Connor.

“We were wondering,” Raphael continued, “if you lovely ladies might consent to join us for dinner at the Casa de Flamenco.”

“That is, if you have any energy left after buyin’ out the stores,” Connor added.

“Casa de Flamenco?” My mind conjured visions of tempestuous Latin lovers, castanets and Sangria.

“The one and the same,” said Connor. “We will, of course, expect to see fiery flamenco dancing from you both.”

I snorted, then immediately regretted it. Last thing I wanted was Raphael to hear me snort like a warthog. While not as bad as farting on a first date, it was definitely not a turn-on.

Luckily, my faux pas appeared to have flown under Raphael’s radar. He smiled at me. “I’m personally hoping you’ll consent to partner me in at least one tango.”

Another nervous giggle escaped me before I could turn it into a confident and sexy laugh. Damn.

“Indeed, Cassandra,” said Connor, brown eyes glinting with mischief. “I expect you to shock and astound the natives with your wild and unprincipled behavior.”

I couldn’t help it; I snorted again. “You have some very unrealistic expectations, Mr. Callahan.”

“Or perhaps some high hopes?” He grinned at me, the sort of crooked grin that had no doubt charmed dozens of women before me. I was made of sterner stuff. Besides, he wasn’t Raphael.

Val whipped out her cell phone and Connor raised a questioning eyebrow. “Alerting the media?”

Val ignored him as she punched in a number, waited a beat, then spoke. “Hi, sweetie. Just wanted to let you know we’re all going to Casa de Flamenco tonight at –” She looked at Connor, who held up seven fingers. “At seven. So meet us there, ‘kay? Love you! “ She flipped the phone shut like Kirk closing his communicator. “I forgot to tell you, Cassie, Gerald’s joining us tonight. It’ll be fun!”

Gerald was Val’s current beau and the one time I’d met him had not endeared me to him. He was a lawyer who specialized in DUIs, one you might recognize from billboards plastered up and down the Los Angeles freeways, with a sincere, toothy smile I didn’t buy for a second. Spending time with him in any context wasn’t something I considered fun. I managed to keep my expression neutral as I replied, “That’s great, Val.”

Connor made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh forced into a cough. Val looked at him sharply. “What?”

“Nothing.” It came out as ‘nut’in.’ “I’m sure Gerald will add to the festivities.” He winked at me, correctly assuming I could read between the lines and deduce his opinion of Gerald was the same as mine.

I stifled an unwilling smile, something made easy by the arrival of Trish, slinking up to our group dressed in lime green leather pants and a matching low-cut top that looked like it’d escaped from a Renaissance Faire. The tops of her breasts were displayed like wares at a butcher shop. I could see the beginnings of wrinkles caused by too many sessions in the tanning salon on her chest and throat, but admittedly I was on the lookout for flaws. Something about Trish brought out my inner bitch. Maybe because she was such an outer bitch.

“Well, hello, everyone.” Trish put a proprietary hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “Why the big powwow?”

Raphael smiled politely. “We’re discussing the details of dinner.”

“Oh really? Do tell.”

No, don’t tell, I thought.

“We’re merely stepping out for an evening of unrestrained passion at Casa De Flamenco with Cassandra and Val.” Connor’s brogue thickened. I suspected it increased in direct proportion to his blarney level. “Oh, and of course, Val’s best beau, Gerald. Guess we’ll have to duel over Cassandra, eh, Raphael?”

“Pistols at dawn,” Raphael agreed, getting into the spirit of things.

“Oh, no need for that,” Trish purred. “I’m happy to come along and keep you two from bloodshed.” She linked arms with the men, looking pointedly at Raphael. He smiled, either oblivious to her machinations or too polite to snatch his arm away. I hoped it was the latter.

Val and I exchanged looks. Val may have been oblivious when it came to other’s reactions to her choice in men, but she knew a conniving gold digger when she met one, especially when one had its talons poised over her beloved cousin.

Connor shrugged. “The more the merrier, they say. Rendezvous at seven in the lobby.”

“I’ll be waiting.” I could almost hear the sounds of suckers being pulled off their prey as Trish reluctantly removed her tentacles from Raphael and Connor. “Until then, adios!” She gave a little wave and swayed across the lobby, her balance precarious on a pair of truly hideous lime green four-inch heels.

“Lave sus manos,” Val called out, imitating Trish’s little wave to perfection. Trish either didn’t hear Val or chose to ignore her.

“Who’s ‘they?’” I said to no one in particular.

“It’s better not to ask,” said Connor.

For once, I agreed with him.

Chapter Five

There are very few pleasures as harmlessly decadent as a hot bubble bath. And after a day of Val’s Bataan Death March-style shopping, my body was now thanking me for it. I’d used the hotel’s bath gel to create a thick foam of rose geranium and sandalwood scented bubbles, had my box of See’s from Val and a Lucinda Lusthaven paperback within hand’s reach.

Life was good.

I plucked a butterscotch square from the box and nibbled it as I luxuriated in the hotel’s oversized, sunken tub. I wish I’d thought to buy some candles. Oh well, next time. I shut my eyes and let my sore muscles rejuvenate while my mind went elsewhere and one hand crept downwards between my legs...

Cassandra reclined luxuriously in the sunken bathtub, up to her neck in rich sandalwood and rose geranium scented bubbles. As she lay in the scented water and let the tiny white-capped waves wash over her tawny limbs, she ran her hands over her body, reveling in the smooth, toned skin of her breasts, stomach and thighs. She slipped one hand in between her legs, then a finger inside her warm silken center...

* * * *

“It’s 7:10 and she’s not here.” Trish looked pointedly at her watch, sounding positively gleeful as she pointed out Cassandra’s tardiness.

“That’s a good thing, then,” said Connor.

“That she’s late?” Trish gave a depreciating little laugh. “I was taught it’s bad manners to make your host wait.” She didn’t quite bat her eyelashes as she coyly glanced up at Raphael, but almost. Connor couldn’t resist it.

“No, that you’ve learned to tell time. I’m sure your family’s very proud of you.”

Trish gave a titter of patently false laugher. “You’re too funny, Connor. It must be the Irish in you.”

Val, busy reapplying lipstick with the help of an antique compact, said, “Cassie probably took a nap and forgot to set her alarm. She’s not used to shopping.”

“Obviously,” said Trish with another titter. She looked up at Raphael again, inviting him to share the joke, but he was glancing at his watch with a frown.

“The reservations are at seven thirty. At least some of us need to be there or we’ll lose the table. This place is one of the new hot spots and I was lucky to get a table at such short notice.”

Connor once again marveled at his business partner’s ability to stay things like “hot spot” and not sound like a pretentious git. He suspected it was because Raphael lived in a black-and-white world without guile or pretension. There were no undercurrents, hidden meanings or attempts to impress going on. A very basic lad, was Raphael. Which is probably why he seemed oblivious to Trish’s attempts to ensnare him with her overblown and artificial charms.

“Gerald is supposed to meet us there.” Val traded her compact for her iPhone. “I’d better call him and let him know we’re going to be late.”

“Good idea,” said Raphael. “See if he can hold the reservations and I’ll run up and see if Cassie is ready to go.”

“I’m sure Cassie can get a cab to the restaurant,” Trish said helpfully.

“I’m sure she could,” said Connor, tired of Trish’s unsubtle machinations to remove any possible competition from her general vicinity. “But she doesn’t have to. Raphael, why don’t you three go save the reservations and I’ll fetch the elusive Ms. Devon? We can take my car.”

Raphael looked relieved. “That’s a great idea. Since the reservation’s under my name and held with my credit card, I probably should get there first. You sure you don’t mind?”

Connor grinned. “What could there possibly be to mind? I’m happy to take the bullet this time around. “

Val raised a dubious eyebrow. “Just try not to irritate her too much.”

Connor raised a hand in a who, me? gesture, the very picture of innocence. “You wound me deeply, Val.”

“No, but Cassie will if you make her angry.”

“I will be the picture of gentility and proper behavior.”

Val looked at him dubiously. “Just try not to piss her off.”

“Try and have a little faith now, m’girl,” said Connor. He headed off towards the elevator, highly amused by Val’s warning. He had a difficult time imagining Val’s rather prim friend capable of violence, despite the alleged smoke-in-the-face incident, although he supposed the feisty Cassandra might throw a paperback romance or two if her ire were aroused.

Aroused. Now, there was a word.

As he rode up in the elevator, Connor idly speculated what Cassandra would look like in the throes of passion. She’d have to take her glasses off, of course. And hopefully put down whatever paperback romance she was reading at the time. Or not. He’d want to see her hair down, though. That brief glimpse at the airport had been a revelation – the girl had the sexiest mane of hair he’d ever seen.

He reached Room 15 and rapped briskly on the door, taken aback when it swung open a few inches. “Er, Cassandra?”

No answer.

Connor pushed open the door another inch or two. “Cassandra? Are you in there?”

He stepped inside and promptly tripped on a black velvet skirt trailing from the door into the room and what had kept the door from shutting all the way in the first place. A trail of clothing, boxes and bags led into the common room itself, scattered as if their owner couldn’t wait to drop them.

Connor followed the trail to Cassandra’s bedroom, where yet more shopping carnage was strewn. The bathroom door was slightly ajar. Pleasantly scented steam wafted out from the crack, musky and floral at the same time.

“Cassandra?”

A sleepy “Yes?” wafted out on a fresh cloud of scented steam.

Connor took it as an invitation and walked into the bathroom. “You ready, then?”

One look at Cassandra reclining with her eyes shut in the sunken tub made it obvious she was definitely not ready. Tantalizing glimpses of creamy skin showed through a froth of scented bubbles and one long leg stretched out along the edge of the tub, her foot resting on the opposite end. Her hair was piled on top of her head, random tendrils escaping in damp curls around her ears and down the nape of her neck. Her skin glistened with moisture and her half-lidded expression bespoke arousal.

“Sweet Jaysus, it’s Aphrodite herself.” The words escaped Connor before he could stop his runaway mouth.

Cassandra’s eyes flew open, her shock followed by immediate anger. Water suddenly displaced from the tub as she sat bolt upright, hands and arms emerging from the bath. “How dare you! Remove yourself immediately!”

“Remove my...” Connor stared at her, unable to believe his ears.

“You heard me!” Cassandra pointed towards the door, outrage and water dripping from her arm extended finger.

“I heard you, I just can’t believe my ears. Remove myself immediately.” Connor couldn’t help it; he started laughing uncontrollably.

Cassandra gave him an icy stare. “What, may I ask, is so amusing?”

“You,” sputtered Connor, aware even as he said it, it probably wasn’t the most politic of answers. “Your antique dialogue. I mean,” He imitated her tone far too accurately for his own well being. “‘How dare you!’”

If Connor hadn’t been laughing so hard, he would have paid more attention to the way Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. As it was he was totally taken by surprise when Cassandra grabbed one of the huge bath sheets off the rack by the tub and wrapped it around herself as she rose out of the tub. A few random chuckles still escaped him when she carefully and deliberately stepped out onto the bath mat, head cocked to one side as she stared at him with a sudden and eerie calm. She smiled and took a step forward.

The smile that should have tipped Connor off. It was the kind of smile he’d seen on people right before they landed the first punch in a pub brawl. As it was, he was still chuckling as she landed a sharp, efficient kick on his shin before he even registered the movement.

“Jaysus! Why the hell did ya do that?”

“I told you to leave.” She kicked him again.

“Ow!” Amazing how much a bare foot could hurt. Even still, Connor couldn’t resist what came out next. “I must say, Cassandra, this is a side of you I haven’t seen yet. Shades of Sweet, Simple Savage.”

Connor dodged the next kick and retreated from the bathroom, but the next one nailed him square in the shin. He stumbled over the doorjamb and his own feet with unaccustomed clumsiness, sprawling on the plush carpet. Cassandra pursued him, a sudsy, towel-clad fury. Connor couldn’t help it; he started laughing again as the ridiculousness of the situation hit him.

He regretted his poor impulse control almost immediately. Cassandra landed a well-aimed kick to his inner right thigh, uncomfortably close to his – how would her books put it? – his manly staff. Ah, now, and there went the laughter again.

“Now, Cassandra, can’t we discuss this like civilized people?” Connor wriggled away from Cassandra’s avenging foot, trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing.

“I’m not a civilized person, Connor. I’m sweet” – kick —”simple”— kick —”savage!”

Luckily for Connor, his attacker was hampered from using her full strength by the necessity of keeping the bath sheet wrapped round her body. Still, when her last kick came arcing towards his head, he decided enough was enough and blocked the incoming foot. Cassandra made the strategic error of trying to kick with her other foot, losing her balance as a result. She fell on top of Connor, landing on him with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. It didn’t stop Cassandra. Clutching the towel to her with one hand, she mercilessly went after him with the other, hitting him on his chest, arms and shoulders with more enthusiasm than effect.

Connor didn’t wait for one of Cassandra’s punches to do any damage. Grabbing the attacking hand, he rolled over on top of her and pinned her wrist to the floor next to her head.

“I am going to kill you!” Cassandra kicked furiously, but Connor easily trapped her legs under his. The bottom edge of the towel tangled between their legs; only Cassandra’s death grip on the top kept it from being dragged off of her entirely. One surprisingly full breast was nearly uncovered, only the tip of the nipple still under the edge of the towel. Both long legs were fully exposed, as was a good swatch of her stomach and right hip. The cloth still covered the cleft between her legs, but her modesty was in definite danger of being compromised if there was much more movement from either of them.

Connor became aware of this at the same time he registered just how good Cassandra’s damp, scented body felt as she wriggled underneath him. This dual awareness trigged another involuntary response, this one physiological and, under the circumstances, about as poorly timed as...as...Connor’s brain failed to supply a decent simile, all of the blood having rushed elsewhere. The timing was shite, that’s all there was to it. He needed to extricate himself before Cassandra became aware of his rapidly growing erection. And yet, all of his more primal instincts told him to stay exactly where he was.

“Let me up!” Cassandra bucked her hips, trying to throw him off her. This only served to expose a few more inches of her skin and make him even harder.

Connor tried his best to ignore the imperative throbbing of his cock and instead handle things rationally. “Are ya going to hit me again if I do?”

Cassandra growled, not quite snapping her teeth, but close enough insinuate Connor would risk losing a limb if he let go of her right then. Besides, he didn’t want to. His attention focused on her mouth. Her lips were naturally blush colored, delightfully and naturally full and lush. He fought the overwhelming temptation to taste them.

This was not what he’d expected when he volunteered to come fetch the errant Ms. Devon. Connor had had his fair share of lovers, but he couldn’t remember the last time a woman’s body had just felt so right beneath his. He had a regular conundrum here; if he got up, Cassandra would see his erection. She’d have to unless she was blind. If he stayed there, well, as it was, it was hard – no pun intended – to believe she wasn’t aware of the effect she was having on his body. But the only thing he saw in her furious green eyes was, well, fury. Obviously, some calming words were needed.

“You need to be calming down now.”

Right. That was original.

“I’ll calm down when you. Let. Me. Up!” A determined yank freed the hand he’d pinned and she thwacked him on the chin before he could stop her.

The blow did little more than sting, but it was enough to tip Connor’s control over the edge. Giving a low growl, he gave into temptation and covered her mouth with his.

Primal instincts, one. Common sense, zero.

* * * *

When Connor kissed me, I gave an outraged squeal, which was immediately smothered by his lips, and tried to push him away with the hand still holding onto my towel, now trapped between our bodies. He didn’t budge other than to deepen the intensity of the kiss, which had already taken me completely by surprise. His lips were warm against mine, agile and sensual.

He didn’t attack with his tongue, like some men I’d dated. You know, jamming it down the throat as if distance down the esophagus equaled passion. Nor did he employ the lizard method. Flick, flick, flick in the mouth, with less genuine passion than an iguana would use when mating. No, Connor was as agile with his lips, teeth and tongue as he was with words, and as clever. But definitely not as irritating. No, not irritating at all.

I mean, yes, I wanted to kill him. But the heat of battle was rapidly transmuting into a different kind of heat in my stomach and groin and I found myself pressing my body against his with an insistence that matched that of his...of his...

Oh. My. God.

I doubted Connor had a gun in his pocket, so that meant he was just happy to see me. I mean, really happy. Impressively happy. All men should be so happy.

I froze beneath him, withdrew my tongue from Connor’s mouth where it had been happily playing with his, and tried not to move a muscle. I was hyper aware of the pulsing between my legs. I was warm and wet and it wasn’t from the bath. I had to stifle the urge to arch myself against Connor’s erection, to tear away the towel covering my loins and the jeans covering his penis, and feel him thrust inside me.

Then I’d kill him.

We stared at each other, out of breath and short on words.

Connor was the first to move, rolling over to one side and averting his eyes so I could retrieve my towel, my modesty and my composure. The first two were much easier to regain.

I scrambled to my feet, clutching the towel to my body in a death grip.

“I – I need to get dressed if we’re going to get to the restaurant before dinner is over.” I sounded stiff and unnatural, even to my own ears. “So don’t look. If you do, you’ll arrive for dinner minus the majority of your teeth and a few other body parts.”

“Right, then.” Connor didn’t sound much better than I did. “I’ll just wait for you. Here.” He sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from me, and stared at the wall.

I went to the other side of the room where I’d laid out my clothes for the evening – black lace tankini, sheer black stockings, three-tiered black silk skirt, and the Victorian camisole. All this to be paired with flimsy, black-heeled sandals that laced up the ankle with silk ribbons. If I broke an ankle, at least I’d look good.

I pulled on the stockings, morbidly aware of the awkward silence filling the room like that proverbial fart in a phone booth. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

“Yes, I do.”

I glanced over at Connor, still staring stoically at the wall.

“No, really. I can take a taxi.”

“I’m sure you could, but since I have a car and we’re goin’ to the same place, it’s a waste of money, doncha think?”

I tried not to be charmed by the way he said ‘t’ink’ instead of ‘think.’ Stupid sexy Irish accent.

“Fine.”

I focused on getting ready. I pulled on the skirt and picked up the camisole, making sure all the multiple hook-and-eye closures in the back were fastened before shrugging into it and lacing up the violet ribbons through the grommets in the front. It nipped in my waist and thrust my breasts upwards, displaying an impressive amount of cleavage.

Staring at myself in the vanity mirror, I was pleased with the result. I looked like the fantasy version of a gypsy, somewhere between Disney and Playboy, especially with my hair tumbling down around my shoulders in waves and random curls, glints of cinnamon and gold shot through the dark brown. I had to admit Val had been right about the haircut. A little shaping and highlighting had done wonders for my mane.

“It’s a good look for you.”

I whirled around and glared at Connor, who was unabashedly looking me up and down “You’re not supposed to look!”

Connor tried to look repentant, but failed miserably. “Sorry, mo mhuirnín, but it’s hard to resist. I did wait until you were dressed, y’know.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that without being an unreasonable bitch, so I concentrated on putting on my makeup, determined to ignore my unwelcome guest. Unfortunately, Connor wasn’t cooperating.

“Y’know, Cassandra, I have to tell you something.”

“Yes?” I applied lipstick, a shade called Magic that matched the ribbons on my camisole, watching Connor’s reflection in the vanity mirror.

“Well, now, I’ve only known you for a short time, but...”

He paused and I took advantage of the moment to interrupt. I didn’t want to know hear what he wanted to say. I just wanted to forget about the last ten minutes, Connor’s kisses, and the way my body flared to life under his. It wasn’t what I wanted, he wasn’t what or who I’d dreamed of, and I didn’t want to settle for less.

“Mo what?”

“Huh?”

“You called me something. Mo what?”

“Ah.” Connor cocked his head to one side. “Just a bit of Gaelic nonsense. Nothing for you to worry about.”

I put on mascara. “So? What were you going to say?” For the record, I knew I was being a bitch. But it was self-defense; the man made me feel as though I’d just hit puberty without a training guide.

Connor opened his mouth to answer and then we locked gazes for a minute via the mirror. He smiled. “You ready, Cinderella?”

We both knew that wasn’t what he was going to say, but I wasn’t in the mood to push it. “Yup. Show me the way to the pumpkin coach.”

* * * *

The Casa de Flamenco was about as stereotypically Spanish as anyone could ask for, with a red-tiled floor, white stucco walls, and a big open-air courtyard flanked by four wings on all sides. The courtyard boasted lots of orange trees, bougainvillea vines trailing along trellises, and a flamenco guitar player in one corner. There was a small wooden stage buttressed up against the wall for the flamenco dance performances scheduled later in the evening. A lone guitar player sat there now, strumming soul stirring refrains to a currently indifferent audience.

I saw our party over in a prime spot near the stage. I noticed with displeasure Trish was sitting next to Raphael, a proprietary hand on his arm, although the seat on the other side of Raphael was empty. Val was seated next to her current beau, Gerald Keaton. Gerald was a good-looking guy if you liked the Wall Street look, but his personality was like a character from The Simpsons. I wasn’t sure how Val could stand him for more than a few minutes at a time, let alone have sex with him.

Ugh. Enough of that line of thought or I’d lose my appetite.

Raphael and, to do him credit, Gerald stood up when we approached the table. Raphael took my hands and smiled.

“We were just getting ready to send out a search party,” he said. “You look lovely this evening.”

I smiled up at him, ignoring Trish, who was looking daggers at me. “Thank you, Raphael. That makes all of the trouble I had getting here worthwhile.” I couldn’t resist a quick look at Connor. Big mistake as Trish picked up on it immediately.

“Oh, were you a naughty boy, Connor?” she purred. “How delightful.”

“And how typical.” Raphael raised an eyebrow at his friend, sounding less amused than Trish.

Connor shrugged. “Come on then, people. You’ll be ruining my reputation with Cassandra now.”

I smiled sweetly. “No fear, Connor. Nothing they could say could help your reputation in the slightest.”

“You remember Gerald, don’t you, Cassie?” Val beamed at her boyfriend with a doting gaze. Or was it doted on him with a beaming gaze? Either way, it was kind of nauseating.

“Of course.” I was politely unenthusiastic.

“Hey, Cassarino!” Gerald was as jovial and theatrical as I remembered. “Long time, no see!”

“Are you still practicing law, Gerald?” I asked more out of politeness than interest.

“Naturalement, Cassie.” I’d happily forgotten Gerald’s habit of sprinkling everyday conversation with foreign – or foreign-sounding – words and phrases. “I’ve got a really great image consultant now, set me up with some primo advertising people that did wonders for business.”

“Um?”

Some sort of response seemed necessary and that was the best I could come up with. Evidently it was enough for Gerald, who happily continued. “Yeah, I’ve got these commercials now, the sincere young lawyer surrounded by beautiful women in bathing suits. Does real well.”

“Erm, that’s...nice?”

“Yeah,” said Gerald. “Sex and sincerity really sells. Well, hey, sincere sex is the name of the game today.” He brayed with laughter at his own joke, then planted a resounding kiss on Val’s lips. “Right, babe?”

Val smiled fatuously up at him. I’d also forgotten just how lousy her taste in men could be. Tonight was obviously the time for unfortunate memory recall.

I sat next to Raphael, more than ready for a drink.

As if reading my mind, Connor said, “I’m going to see about some margaritas. A pitcher of top drawers for the table?” He vanished back into the restaurant without waiting for an answer.

Val leaned across the table. “So what happened, Cassie? Did you fall asleep in the tub?”

Trish gave a small laugh. “Yes, do tell. Raphael and I were thinking maybe Connor ran off with you.”

I ignored her blatant attempt to link her and Raphael together. “Oh, nothing. A ripped stocking here, a few wrong turns there.”

“Hmm. Sounds a bit shady to me.” Trish ran a lacquered talon up Raphael’s arm.

I smiled at her sweetly. “Well, people will see what they want to see.”

Trish practically oozed sugar as she replied, “Oh, I’d say the signs are pretty easy to read in this case.”

“Maybe you should have your eyes checked.” Between us we generated enough sucrose to put an entire town into a diabetic coma.

“They’re supposed to have flamenco dancers in a while,” said Raphael, happily oblivious to the undercurrents.

“I can’t wait!” I loved flamenco dancing, so it was easy to show enthusiasm.

“Eh, I think it’s boring.” Gerald leaned back in his chair with the air of someone who’d seen it all and wasn’t impressed. I wanted to slap him. “Just a bunch of men in tight pants and women in full skirts stomping cockroaches.”

“Flamenco is much more than that!” I countered. “It’s the epitome of barely restrained sensuality. The movements of the hands and arms are as graceful as any ballerina’s.”

“And who the heck thinks ballet is sexy?” Gerald shook his head. “Give me a good, old-fashioned stripper doing a pole dance any day. Those gals don’t fool around. They get right to business.”

Ugh! I mean, how could Val like this guy? “Flamenco has a subtlety to it. It’s infinitely more sensual than pole dancing.”

“Here, here!” Connor’s arrival, bringing with him a pitcher of margaritas and glasses, was well timed. He sat next to me and immediately poured me a drink. “And what are we talkin’ about now?”

I rolled my eyes, but accepted the margarita and took a big sip.

“I agree with Cassandra,” said Raphael, putting a warm hand on top of mine. “Spanish music really does have something soul-stirring about it.”

“Oh, I adore it,” Trish said immediately, practically tripping over her own words to agree with Raphael. “All those gorgeous men with dark, smoldering gazes.”

“I always think of gypsy campfires when I hear flamenco music,” said Val, doing her bit to smooth over the ruffled feelings left in Gerald’s boorish wake.

“Ah yes.” Connor poured himself a margarita, a wicked glint in his eyes. “The flickering of the firelight, castanets a-clickin’, women in full, brightly colored skirts whirling about in sensual abandon.”

“Exactly! And what could be more romantic than that?” I took another sip of my margarita and let the guitar music fill my blood with its rhythm...

Guitar music thrummed wildly, filling the jasmine-scented night air with passionate Spanish refrains. The tunes of the gypsy caravans incited blood feuds and obsessive lust. It was music that heated the blood until passions, long-smoldering banked and glowing embers, burst into flames.

So far, the evening was peaceful. Valeria lounged against the wheel of one of the gypsy wagons, fanning herself languidly with a black lace fan from Spain. Geraldo, her novio, stared up at her adoringly. Rafio and Connorio, best friends since childhood, threw dice in the corner by the fire with the other men of the tribe, gambling as they drained bottles of cheap red wine. Tricia, a brazen puta if ever there was one, hung all over Rafio as he played, making sure her cleavage in its low-cut red blouse was available should his cobalt blue gaze veer away from the game.

One of the other players, a burly gypsy with drooping black mustaches and a wicked scar, nudged Connorio in the arm. “Hey, amigo. Your compadre here is one tough gambler. “

“Si, muchacho.” Connorio nodded. “He has nerves of steel. And he has never lost.”

Rafio coolly rolled the dice again, two snake eyes. He acknowledged his win with a small quirk of his lips and scooped up his winnings. The other players grumbled, but made no move to contest him. Don Raphael was known for his skill with a knife as well as his skill with dice.

Tricia threw her arms around him, her blood no doubt heated by the sight of the gold as well as passion for the man himself. “Don Raphael, you make the heat rise in my body. I am a burning flame, devoured by the flames of my desire for you!”

Rafio calmly removed Tricia’s arms from his body. Connorio gave a contemptuous snort. “Vamanos, muchacha! Don Rafio has no interest in cheap putas such as you. He only has eyes for Cassandra.”

All of the men muttered appreciatively. One went so far as to clutch his heart as he cried, “Ay, that one makes my blood boil with desire!”

“Si,” said another. “Ella es muy bonita!”

Leaping to her feet, Tricia gave a wild cry. “Aiee! I will scratch her eyes out!”

Rafio laughed. “You will not touch my fiery Spanish flower. She is more than a match for you.”

Connorio fingered a scar on his cheek. “Believe me, I know.”

Valeria nodded eagerly. “Si, Cassandra can take care of herself. I remember when Don Juan Capistrano tried to pinch her at the bullfights and she rendered him impotent with her castanets. Twice!”

“Cinco de Mayo!” Geraldo shook his head. “She is a wildcat!”

Tricia once again tried entwining her arms around Rafe’s well-muscled torso. “Ah, Don Rafio! My love and jealousy are driving me wild. Take me in your arms!”

Suddenly the guitar players began strumming wildly. Everyone gasped in anticipation. Cries of “Ay de mi!” and “It is Cassandra!” rippled through the crowd of gypsies as Cassandra stalked into the circle of light cast by the fire, castanets in hand. She wore a full circle red skirt and white cotton blouse, the sleeves pulled down to expose her smooth golden shoulders. Her waist was cinched into nothing by a brown lace-up belt and huge gold earrings dangled from her ears. She cast an imperious emerald-green gaze around the crowd, raised her hands above her head with a rolling clack of her castanets, and began dancing to the guitar music, her castanets and the clapping of the audience providing rhythm for her steps.

The reflected flames picked up glints of gold, cinnamon, and amber in her flowing mane of hair. Every man present longed to plunge his hands into those silken waves, but they knew to do so was to risk the wrath of Don Rafio. Even so, raw lust was evident in all of their faces.

Cassandra moved towards Rafio, Tricia still clinging to him like a poisonous vine. Ignoring her would-be rival, Cassandra stared into Rafio’s eyes. “So,” she said huskily, never once pausing in her dance, “I see you have found a new woman.”

Rafio gave a sharp laugh. “There is no woman for me but you. This one—” He shoved Tricia away from him. She stumbled and fell to the ground. “—she is nothing to me.” He reached for Cassandra, who laughed tauntingly and spun away just as he would have taken her in his arms. She swayed towards Connorio, locking gazes with him, taunting him with promises of passion he would never know.

Rafio growled, a low primal sound deep in his throat that sent a corresponding shiver through the loins of all the women present. It drove Tricia mad with desire and jealousy. She jumped to her feet with an inarticulate cry of rage and stood in front of Cassandra. “You! If not for you, Don Raphael would love me! Aiee! I will rip your face so that no man shall look at you again!” She darted at Cassandra, nails extended with murderous intent. Cassandra laughed and spun away as Tricia lunged for her face. Tricia’s momentum carried her past Cassandra to stumble onto the ground again.

“Jealous gato,” Cassandra said, laughing. “I need waste no time ruining your face. Nature has done my work!” She spat contemptuously on the ground next to Tricia and whirled away in a swirl of skirts and the chatter of her castanets.

“Muy burnarino!” shouted Geraldo.

Cassandra continued her dance, dividing her attentions between Connorio and Rafio, deliberately inflaming the passions of the former and the jealousy of the latter. The cleft between Cassandra’s breasts shimmered with perspiration. Her lips were moist, half-parted with the exertion of dancing. Her movements were lithe and graceful, like those of a jungle cat.

“She moves like a panther.” Connorio felt the heat rise in his loins. “I must make her mine!”

Rafio knocked Connorio to the ground with one violent punch. “Stay away from my woman, Connario,” he growled, “Or despite our childhood friendship, I will cut your heart out.”

Wiping blood from his lip, Connorio got to his feet. “Enough, bastardo. We will fight for her!”

Steel glinted in the firelight as the two men circled each other, knives in hand, each looking for an opening in the other’s defensives. Before they could do any harm, Cassandra whirled in between them, green eyes flashing with fury.

“Enough!”

“You are mine!” Rafio grabbed her by one arm and yanked her to him.

“She is mine!” Connorio seized Cassandra’s other arm.

Cassandra yanked her arms away from both men and stared at them proudly. “I belong to no man!”

“Would you like another margarita?”

“Cassandra wants nothing!” I turned an imperious gaze on the speaker who dared interrupt my flamenco fantasy. I’d wandered closer to the stage after dinner, away from the group and lost in my own thoughts. Now Raphael stood in front of me, brimming glass in one hand, a single rose in the other and a bemused expression on his face. “Er…I mean, I would love another margarita! Thank you!” I took the proffered drink and had a healthy swig to cover my embarrassment at being caught in one of my daydreams.

Raphael smiled. “Enjoying the dancing?”

I nodded. “Oh, yes!” I turned back to the stage, admiring the sensual movements of the women now performing. They were a variety of ages, ranging from late teens to one woman who had to be at least sixty, judging by the wrinkles on her face. Her movements, however, were as lithe and powerful as any of the younger women. I should be so sexy in ten years, let alone thirty. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Raphael leaned against the trunk of an orange tree and gazed at me. “Not as beautiful as you—” affecting a Cary Grant accent “—standing there in all your youth and charm.”

I blushed, grateful for the dim lighting in the courtyard. “You’ve been watching the Cary Grant film festival on TMC, haven’t you?”

He laughed. “Dash it all, foiled again. And here I thought this was my chance to get you in my clutches with my devilish wit and debonair demeanor.”

I groaned, both at the lines and Raphael’s deliberately – I hoped – stilted delivery. “Do you and Connor hire the same script writer?”

Raphael grinned at me. “Connor talks like that all the time. I save it for special occasions.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, you rascal, you. I bet you talk like this to every woman you meet...in a Spanish restaurant....listening to flamenco music.”

“Only those wearing a truly delectable – what do you call this?” He lightly fingered the lacy shoulder strap of my camisole.

His touch was warm against my skin, sending a mild frisson of pleasure through my body. While it wasn’t the surge of heat I’d felt with Connor, my nipples perked up a bit beneath my lacy uplift bra. I was relieved; my reaction to Connor must have been an aberration, a result of reading too many spicy sex scenes without getting laid on a regular basis.

I took another sip of margarita and looked at him from under my lashes.

“Tell me, Mr. Graves, have you known so very many women?”

“Known many, but loved none.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “And how many of these women have you used that line on?”

“I can honestly say you’re the first.”

“Oh please.” I felt a little uncomfortable under the intense sincerity of his gaze.

“Really.” Raphael took my hands in his. “Val talks about you all the time. I feel like I already know you.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Definitely a good thing.” He leaned down and kissed me, a gentle, tentative touch of his lips next to mine. Part of me was disappointed when he broke off the kiss without taking it further, but then, Raphael was a gentleman, unlike his partner and pal Connor. I mean, Connor had his tongue in my mouth within seconds of locking lips with me, not to mention the regrettably impressive erection I’d felt pressed intimately between my legs.

I flushed with the memory, both with embarrassment and a sudden rush of heat generating directly from my groin straight up through my body, pausing briefly to turn my nipples into hard little peaks before rushing up to bring the mother of all blushes to my cheeks. Raphael smiled and touched my face, pleased with my response but no doubt misinterpreting its cause. Which was just fine by me. I mean, would you rather a guy think you capable of maidenly modesty or rolling around half-naked on the floor with another man? Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case.

I glanced over at the table to see Trish looking daggers – no, she was looking machetes at me. I resisted the impulse to stick my tongue out. Val also looked our way, but hers was a beaming smile of approval. Gerald was oblivious, too busy stuffing his face with chips and salsa to notice anything beyond his plate. Connor, other hand, was watching us and making no attempt to hide it. Maybe it was my imagination and/or ego at work, but he seemed awfully moody. He caught me looking at him and raised his margarita glass in a toast, one eyebrow raised as his mouth twisted into a crooked grin.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

I wondered if Connor thought I’d led him on earlier. I mean, it wasn’t as if I’d shoved him away when he kissed me. No, I’d molded myself against his body like Saran Wrap. And there’d definitely been some undulating of hips going on, on both sides. But I hadn’t asked him to interrupt my bath and then exasperate me to the point of wanting – okay, trying – to kick the crap out of him, which caused the fall to the ground, resulting in my wanting to pummel him, which then led to a compromising position for both of us. Granted, I lost my temper, but I didn’t think anyone would blame me.

More to the point, why did I care? But I did. And it bothered me that it bothered me.

“Cassandra?”

“Hmm?”

I realized my attention had totally drifted away from Raphael, the man with whom I wanted to be rolling around on the ground. Although I really couldn’t see him indulging in a roll on a hotel floor. No, Raphael was definitely more of a high thread-count white cotton sheet and chilled champagne in an ice bucket type of guy. Which was okay by me.

“So would you like to go boating tomorrow? A client of ours just bought a forty-foot sedan bridge and is dying to take it for a test drive.”

My head was immediately filled with visions of me lounging on the prow or bow or whatever of a tastefully small yacht, sipping champagne while Raphael skillfully steered us to a conveniently deserted crystalline blue cove where we’d re-enact From Here to Eternity’s famous beach scene. We would both be wearing white, of course, like all those couples in the ads for Caribbean getaways.

“Cassandra?” Raphael waved a hand in front of my face. “Boating? Tomorrow?”

Oops. I brought myself firmly into reality and mentally turned the switch to my imagination over to off for a while. I turned a bright smile on Raphael. “I’d love to!”

“Great! We’ll meet you and Val in the lobby at six for an early start!”

Who was this “we,” white man? My romantic fantasy of an intimate twosome vanished as quickly as the rest of my margarita disappeared down my throat. Then the words “six” and “early start” registered. Just kill me now.

“Would you like another margarita?”

In lieu of death, another drink would do. I nodded, a fake smile plastered on my face, even though another drink was on the top-ten list of last things I needed if I was going to be even semi-functional at six in the morning.

Did I mention just kill me now?

From the look on her face, Trish would have been happy to oblige.

Chapter Six

The alarm went off at 5:15, truly the darkest hour before the dawn, at least when I had to get out of bed at that time. I slammed the snooze button with one hand and groaned; it felt like I’d just fallen asleep a few minutes ago. I had lain in bed last night, tossing, turning, and otherwise twisting up the bedclothes in a vain effort to find the one position that would allow me to turn off my brain and get some sleep. Such is the perversity of the human brain, that knowing I had to get up at the butt crack of dawn ensured I had a full-on case of monkey brain. The four margaritas I’d consumed, along with a hefty carnitas platter, probably hadn’t helped either.

I glanced at the clock. Five thirty. A half-hour until I was expected to be presentable and at least semi-coherent. Not only was I not a morning person, but also I required at least eight hours sleep to circumnavigate the psycho I became when sleep deprived. It was ugly. And I’d be even uglier if I didn’t get out of bed and do something with my face.

I stumbled into the lobby twenty-five minutes later wearing denim shorts, a royal blue cotton tank top, tennis shoes and a lavender hoodie to combat the morning chill. I’d splashed water on my face, slathered sunblock on all exposed limbs and extremities, swiped on some mascara and tinted lip balm, and gathered my hair back in a ponytail by way of preparation. No one else from the boating party was there yet, so I made a beeline for the complimentary coffee and tea set out on a little side table with white ceramic mugs. It was good coffee, a dark, rich organic blend from Chiapas. I added a dash of cream and a little bit of honey, stirred and inhaled. The fragrance alone made me feel slightly more human. The first sip finished the job. I would not kill anyone this morning.

“Hey, Cassarino! You look like you just crawled out of bed!”

I might have been a bit hasty with the not-killing-anyone decision.

I took another deliberate swallow of coffee before finally acknowledging Gerald’s presence. “Morning, Gerald.” I looked at him and nearly burst out giggling. He was dressed like Thurston Howell the Third, complete with a faux captain’s sailing cap. “You look ready for a three-hour tour.” It went right over his head. At least he wasn’t dressed as Gilligan.

Val joined us, stylish as ever in slim-fitting white pants and a black halter top. A black sweater hung around her neck, sleeves tied in a casual knot. I resisted the temptation to call her Lovey.

“Tell me Trish isn’t joining us,” I said, handing her a cup of coffee, to which she immediately added two packets of Splenda and a dash of nonfat milk.

Val shook her head. “She doesn’t believe in getting out of bed before ten.”

I couldn’t argue with that, but I was still surprised. I would have thought she’d have jumped at the chance to pursue Raphael in a relatively small space where he couldn’t escape. I said as much to Val when Gerald was preoccupied with his reflection in one of the lobby mirrors, making sure his cap was tilted to just the right angle.

Val smiled. “I made sure she wasn’t invited.”

We clinked coffee mugs in a self-congratulatory toast.

“You two are startin’ early this morning.”

I caught my breath as my traitorous nipples – thankfully hidden under my hoodie – stood at attention when Connor strolled up, casually dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt bearing the Guinness logo. What the hell was going on here?

“What are we toasting?” He had a brown paper bag in one hand, a generic paper coffee cup in the other.

“Good company,” said Val without missing a beat.

“Ah, now there’s something worth toasting.” Connor tipped his paper cup against our mugs and waved the paper bag at us. The heavenly smell of baked goods wafted out of its opening. “Fresh berry muffins, anyone?”

Ah, that explained it. My libido was obviously responding to the hunter/gatherer stimulus. Connor provided food, therefore he was deemed worthy to mate with. I would eat and the unwanted pulsing between my legs would go away.

I eagerly reached into the bag and extracted a huge muffin, still warm from the oven and bursting with raspberries, blueberries and blackberries.

“There’s butter in there too.” Connor grinned at me. “I thought”— T’ought —”a little sustenance might make the early morning start easier to take.”

“You t’ought right,” I said, imitating his accent without malice. I broke off a piece of warm muffin top and popped it in my mouth. Succulent hot raspberry melted in my mouth along with the moist cinnamon-flavored muffin. Wow. The morning really did seem easier to bear. Thinking much more kindly of Connor than I’d thought possible, I foraged in the bag for the butter as Val grabbed a muffin of her own.

“Connor, you’re the best!” Val beamed at him happily.

“Hear that, Gerald?” Connor held the bag out towards Gerald, who was still engrossed with his own reflection. “The way to your lady’s heart is in this bag.”

Gerald gave a bray of laughter that would’ve embarrassed a donkey. “You wish, my friend. The way to Val’s heart is in my—”

“Have a bite of muffin, sweetie!” Val hastily shoved a piece of muffin into her boyfriend’s mouth before he could finish his sentence. Guess she wasn’t as unaware of his faults as I’d thought. Which still didn’t explain the attraction.

Oh, well. The luscious berry-studded muffin in my hand was infinitely more interesting than anything to do with Gerald.

Mmm...so good. I shut my eyes and savored another bite.

“Good morning, all!”

Murphy’s Law decreed I’d just taken a large bite of muffin slathered with butter when Raphael walked up, gorgeous as ever in khakis and button-down shirt in a blue matching his eyes. Instead of a radiant smile of greeting, all I could offer was a little wave, melted butter running down my chin. Oh well. At least my nipples behaved themselves.

Raphael gave Val a hug, then turned to me, bending down to give me a kiss on the edge of my mouth. He got a little butter as an extra, but was too polite to say anything. “You look beautiful this morning, Cassie.”

Hastily swallowing the bite of muffin, I smiled. “Thank you.”

“You must have gotten a better night’s sleep than I did,” said Val.

I tried not to think of the implications therein. “I actually had trouble falling asleep,” I said. “Too many margaritas.”

“That’s what I thought when I saw you,” said Gerald.

I felt the bags under my eyes expand. Too bad Val hadn’t given him a bigger bite of muffin.

“Well, I never would have guessed it,” said Raphael.

I swear, the man was a walking, talking how-to book of chivalry. I smiled at him, feeling bright eyed and vibrant.

“Nothing like a little ocean air to clear out the cobwebs,” said Connor. “And in the meantime...” He handed me a fresh cup of coffee and another muffin.

My nipples responded accordingly.

Great. My body equated sex with food now.

I really needed to get laid before I offered myself to the next guy that handed me a Big Mac.

* * * *

Connor watched Raphael flirt with Cassandra on the prow of the boat. Sunlit dappled water and a balmy breeze created the perfect setting in which to romance an impressionable young woman. And if ever there was an impressionable young female susceptible to romantic ambience, it was Cassandra.

Hell, Connor would be taking advantage of this fact himself had Raphael not mentioned his interest in Val’s best friend last night over a nightcap at the hotel bar.

“She doesn’t seem like your type,” was Connor’s blunt response.

“She’s not,” Raphael had replied. “That’s the point. My ‘type’ up to now isn’t anyone I’d want to take home to meet my parents.”

“But do you want to marry a girl to please your parents or because you want to live with her the rest of your life?”

Raphael shrugged. “I’d like to find both. Cassandra is sweet, down-to-earth—”

Connor almost spat out his mouthful of Guinness, but restrained himself. But if ever a woman had her head in the clouds, it was Cassandra. Granted, compared to Raphael’s interchangeable fashionable, high-maintenance model-slash-actresses, she was the very model of the girl next door. If one lived next door to a romance writers’ convention.

“—and damned if she doesn’t clean up really well.”

Connor brought his attention back to Raphael. “Um, yes, she’s very pretty.”

Raphael nodded. “I bet she cooks too.”

Have you measured her hips to see if she’s good breedin’ stock, then? Connor had thought with a certainty his friend and business partner hadn’t a clue what lurked beneath Cassandra’s admittedly attractive and deceptively wholesome exterior.

Ah, well. Raphael would realize his mistake soon enough. At least Connor hoped so, because he was forced to admit he was seriously interested in pursuing the girl himself. He’d just rather not step on anyone’s toes, least of all his best friend’s.

Now, as Connor watched the two flirt from his vantage point on the fly deck, he wondered how Raphael would have reacted if he’d seen Cassandra’s loss of temper and control in her hotel room the night before. Connor’s shins still ached from several of her better-placed kicks and he no longer doubted Val’s apocryphal cigarette-smoke-and-slap story. He grinned. The girl was a handful, that much was certain, and not the bland, well-behaved, take-home-to-mother type Raphael imagined her to be. Although she was doing a good imitation of one at the moment.

Cassandra looked positively demure, laughing at something Raphael said, looking up at him with those amazing green eyes from beneath thick lowered lashes. She had her thick mane of hair tied back with some sort of blue velvet ponytail holder. What did they call them? Scrunchies? It matched the blue of her tank top, which in turn matched the color of Raphael’s shirt.

“Hi!” Val poked her head up the ladder and joined Connor on the fly bridge.

“Hello to you, Miss Valerie.” He gave her a hand up the last step of the the ladder. “Where’s Mister Law?”

“You mean Gerald? John is letting him drive the boat.”

“Ah. That explains my sudden bout of seasickness.”

Val gave him a good-natured punch on the arm. “He knows how to drive a boat, silly.” She looked towards the prow at Raphael and Cassandra. “They make a good couple, don’t they?”

“Well, they do look very color-coordinated, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She gazed fondly down at her cousin and best friend. “They look good together.”

Connor couldn’t help himself. “And is that the only criteria on which you base your matchmaking?

Val looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Well, color me snarky.”

Connor had the grace to feel slightly ashamed. “Sorry, Val.”

“Good. And the answer to your question, snarky or not, is no. But mutual physical attraction is generally the first step towards building a relationship.”

“Ah, but do you mean finding someone’s appearance attractive or having physical chemistry between two people?”

Val considered the question. “Well, I guess I’d have to say both. I mean, the first thing you notice about someone is what they look like, right?”

“True,” said Connor. “But sometimes chemistry develops where you least expect it.” He thought of his first impression of Cassandra when he’d seen her at the airport terminal. “I can personally vouch for that one.”

Val looked dubious. “It can happen, but I don’t think most people are interested in getting to know someone if they don’t like what they see right off the bat.”

“Ouch, girl! You’re a cynic!”

Val shrugged. “I live in Los Angeles. What do you expect?”

“L.A. is just one city in a very large country. I prefer to believe not everyone is so jaded. Like your friend Cassandra there.”

“Cassie isn’t jaded, but she definitely thinks Raphael is good-looking.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Val, I think it’s safe to say most women old enough to notice would think Raphael good-looking. Hell, even I think he’s a fine-looking fellow and I’m not interested in operating anyone’s stick shift but my own, thank you very much. But that’s not enough of a reason to get involved with someone if you’re looking to get serious.”

“Yes, but it’s where most people start,” said Val.

“Ah, but the problem here is sometimes people base expectations on appearances that can have very little to do with reality.”

Val stared at him blankly, so Connor tried again. “Look, how long have you known Cassandra?”

“Since our freshman year of college. Why?”

“Then perhaps you’ve noticed her particular choice in reading material.”

Val wrinkled her nose. “Yes, I’ve noticed. I blame her mother.”

Connor made a note to himself to come back to the topic of Cassandra’s mother later. Now he wanted to stay on topic. Val could be a powerful advocate to his cause if brought around to his way of thinking. “And don’t you think all those romances might have given her a slightly skewed view of relationships?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Connor, trying to be patient, “that Cassandra is looking for her own personal romance hero.”

Val frowned. “I don’t see how that’s skewed. I mean, most women are looking for the man of their dreams.”

“Yes, but I think Cassandra is looking for someone who only exists between the pages of the likes of Love’s Throbbing Staff or Passion’s Purple Prose.”

“Well, Raphael does look like one of the heroes on her book covers.”

“Exactly my point.”

“But he doesn’t act like one. I mean, Raphael is, well, predictable and nice!”

“Also exactly my point. But I don’t think Cassandra has gotten past his admittedly devastatingly good looks yet to figure that out.”

Now Val looked totally confused. “But those are both good qualities.”

“Yes, they’re not characteristics commonly found in your garden-variety romance hero. And your friend is not the girl-next-door Raphael seems to think she is.”

A burst of laughter from the prow of the ship drew both their attention down for a moment. Raphael was pointing to something across the water, Cassandra shading her eyes against the glare of the sun, trying to follow his line of sight. The boat suddenly veered to the left and Cassandra was thrown against Raphael, who immediately steadied her with an arm around her waist. When the boat straightened out again, Raphael continued to hold Cassandra against him.

An unwelcome pang went through Connor, one colored the distinct green of jealousy. He turned back to find Val regarding him with sudden understanding.

“You like Cassie, don’t you?”

Connor decided to come clean. “Fine. Yes, I like her. But even if I didn’t, I don’t think Raphael is right for her or vice versa. In fact, I’m not sure they have anything in common other than an ability to see what they want to see instead of what’s really there.”

“Maybe that’s just what you want to see,” said Val kindly. She gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “They say jealousy is blind.”

“The cliché is actually ‘love is blind,’” Connor said, trying hard to hide his exasperation.

“Then maybe Raphael and Cassie are in love,” Val said with the triumphant air of a person finally figuring out a weighty problem. “Which would explain why they can’t see they don’t have anything in common. If that’s even true,” she added hastily.

It was Connor’s turn to pat Val on the shoulder. “What frightens me, girl, isn’t that I think you’re right, but that I managed to follow your train of thought there.”

Ignoring his comment, Val continued, “And if it is true, you’ll just have to wait ‘til Cassie figures it out. She’s awfully stubborn.”

Connor looked back down at Cassandra just as she glanced up in his direction. Their gazes locked briefly before she quickly looked away. “Now there’s something we can agree on,” he said.

Chapter Seven

Despite my deep-seated hatred for early-morning activities and general reservations about being stuck on a boat with Gerald, I was having fun. Gerald had immediately clamored to play captain, and John, the client who owned the boat, happily volunteered to show Gerald the ropes and show off his boat at the same time. Raphael hadn’t left my side since we’d boarded and the day was a perfect example of San Diego’s famous ideal weather. Not too hot, not too cold. Sunny, with a few picturesque puffy white clouds drifting slowly across the sky.

I leaned against the railing at the front of the boat – or was it a ship? I never could keep that straight – and enjoyed the joint sensations of the sea breeze on my bare skin and flirtation with what had to be one of the best looking men I’d ever met. The conversation was easy going, if somewhat tame, the main topics being Raphael’s recollections of summer holidays with Val’s family, my college days as her roommate, and anecdotes from the wonderful world of advertising.

Connor’s name came up quite a bit during the latter. I found myself more than a little interested whenever Connor was mentioned, and this irritated me. Raphael had nothing but admiration for his partner’s creative verve and “balls to the wall” attitude towards work and life in general. His stories made Connor seem like a very dynamic, funny and interesting man. So interesting, in fact, that if I hadn’t known better, I’d have found myself intrigued by him.

“So your company is doing really well, I take it?” I felt I should contribute something other than “uh-huh” and “really?” and admiring looks to the conversation.

“Better than either of us ever hoped, actually, especially now when the economy’s so tough.”

“I guess when your job is helping someone else sell a product and you’re good at it, you’ll never run out of work.” Boy, that sounded inane even to my own ears. But Raphael seemed to eat it up.

“Exactly! We’re actually seriously looking into opening a second office in San Francisco because we’ve gotten so many clients there the last couple of years.”

“Really?” This was exciting news on a purely personal level. “Would you be running it or—”

“Connor and I would probably take turns, maybe have an office manager take care of the administrative end of things until we see how it goes. Having an actual office presence in the city is the main goal for the immediate future, although it would be great to expand our creative staff, too.”

Very promising indeed, I thought.

The boat made a sudden shift in direction to avoid a small speedboat, which came out of nowhere. The abrupt movement threw me against Raphael. He steadied me with one strong arm around my waist, leaving it there when the boat straightened out again. He used just enough strength to make me feel secure. I couldn’t imagine Raphael holding me down against my will the way Connor had the previous night, never mind whether I’d deserved it or not. I found myself a little disappointed at the realization, then immediately dismissed it as silly.

“This is really nice.” I smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“I’m not the person you should be thanking,” said Raphael. “It’s John’s boat.”

“I don’t just mean today. I mean the hotel, the chance to spend time with Val, dinner last night.” I made an all-encompassing gesture with one hand. “Everything. This has been the nicest vacation I’ve had in, well, years.”

Raphael squeezed my waist gently. “I’m glad. It’s been my pleasure to have you and Val as my guests. I’ve wanted a chance to get to know you. Val’s talked about you since her first year in college.”

“And?” I tried not to sound too eager.

He turned those amazing cobalt eyes on me. “You’re easy to be with. I feel...comfortable around you.”

Not exactly words of earth-shattering passion, but the accompanying smile and intensity of his gaze gave me a warm glow inside. Then I glanced up towards the little top deck and saw Connor. Our eyes met and the warm glow immediately stoked up into a small fire, traveling down between my legs so quickly it brought a flush to my face. I turned away quickly before Raphael thought I was the sort of simpering idiot who blushed at something as innocuous as “you’re easy to be with.”

Raphael touched my face, fingers cool against my skin. “You’re very sweet.”

“Er, thanks?” He did think I was that sort of simpering idiot. But he seemed to like it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this.

Any possible introspection was cut short by John, the boat’s owner. He clutched a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne and several plastic flutes. A short, stocky man in his early ‘40s with a face like a dissolute cherub and the attitude to match, John reminded me of Benny Hill: annoying, but essentially harmless.

“Heya, kids! Am I interrupting something?” John beamed at us hopefully. I almost hated to disappoint him with the lack of hot and steamy sex onboard his boat.

“Not at all,” said Raphael.

“Excellent! How about some bubbly?” He handed us each a flute without waiting for an answer, then poured champagne with a liberal hand. “Hey, Connor! Bring the other gal down with you and have some bubbly!”

Connor and “the other gal” joined us. I focused on my champagne so I wouldn’t have to look at Connor. I didn’t trust my nipples when he was around.

Val took a flute, but looked askance at John. “You do know it’s illegal to drink and drive, right?”

“Your boyfriend’s at the helm, sweet thing.” John filled her glass to the brim. “He offered to be the designated driver and take us back to the marina.”

I suddenly had more respect for Gerald. At least he wasn’t a career hypocrite. I just hoped he was a good driver, or whatever you called the person steering a boat.

Prompted by Val, we moved down to the stern to keep our designated driver company while we sipped champagne. I lagged behind, wanting to enjoy the champagne and sea air by myself for a few minutes. I loved the sensation of the boat motoring over the water, skipping along the sometimes-choppy waves. I’ve never been much of a speed freak, but this was exhilarating. There was just something so James Bond about sipping champagne while zipping along at high speed – although in a Bond movie, it would be Dom Perignon and crystal flutes, Bond exchanging quips and kisses with his innuendo-laden-named lady of the hour as villains pursued them in high-tech motor boats or jet skis...

“Hold on tight, Cassandra,” cautioned Rafe, his chiseled jaw showing only a hint of tension as he steered their motor boat at death-defying speed through the mined waters around Skull’s island lair. Cassandra clung to his well-muscled shoulders, admiring the coiled strength beneath his shirt even as gunshots rang out. Their pursuers were closing in, the smaller jet skis more maneuverable through the deadly obstacle course they were now navigating.

A bullet tore into the side of the boat, missing Rafe’s head by inches. He smiled grimly and opened up the motor’s throttle as far as it would go, jerking the steering wheel to the left just in time to dodge a metal bomb the size of a basketball.

“Do you know how to fire a gun?”

“Yes,” said Cassandra without hesitation. “My father was chief of police and I spent hours on the Academy firing range when I was younger.”

“Good.” Rafe nodded towards the cabin. “There’s a Walther PPK and box of ammo in one of the storage compartments along the benches. We’re going to need it.”

Cassandra nodded and reluctantly let go of Rafe’s shoulders. An explosion sounded behind them. Cassandra looked back in time to see one of the jet skis go up in flames. Another sudden swerve, to the right this time, nearly caused her to lose her balance, but her natural athleticism came to her aid and she recovered gracefully.

Rafe risked a glance at her lean, tanned legs and round, succulent derriere as she vanished below deck. He briefly thought about having her fetch the champagne chilling in the mini-fridge as well, but now was no time to indulge. Too much risk of the bottle being broken, and that would be a crime considering it was a ‘55 Dom Perignon.

Another hail of bullets spattered across the boat. Luckily, jet skis weren’t the most stable platform from which to practice target shooting. Rafe hoped Cassandra was as good with a firearm as she was in bed. If she was, they’d have nothing to worry about.

Cassandra ducked into the cabin, heading straight for the bench storage compartment nearest the door. Tossing aside the padded lid that doubled as a seat, she quickly rummaged through the contents in search of the Walther. Thank goodness her father, Chief John Hardon, had been a James Bond fan; Cassandra was well acquainted with this particular series of semi-automatic pistols. She would have no trouble loading and firing it, f she could only find the damned thing.

She moved onto the next storage compartment, tossing out miscellaneous clothing, books, a polished teak humidor – still no gun or ammo. “Damn it!”

“Looking for this?”

Before Cassandra could do more than register the familiar mocking Irish accent, a strong arm encircled her neck, hand clamping down over her mouth to stifle her cry of warning to Rafe. The muzzle of what had to be the missing PPK pressed against her temple as Callahan, the rogue agent who had sold them out to Skull in the first place, pressed up against her body. Both gun and Callahan were hard and unyielding. Cassandra wasn’t sure which one she feared more.

“Now then, angel,” whispered Callahan, breath warm against her ear. “You’ll want to listen very carefully to what I’m going to say. We’re going out on deck and you’re going to watch me shoot my ex-partner and your boyfriend.” Cassandra squirmed against him in protest. Callahan chuckled and ground his hips against her ass, letting her feel his arousal. “After that, we’re going back to Skull’s headquarters and I’m going to fuck you until you forget about Rafe. I’m almost tempted to give you a preview, but this isn’t the place for that particular lesson.”

Cassandra couldn’t believe she’d ever trusted him, ever let him into her bed. But if she hadn’t, she never would have found out his intention to sell out his partner and former best friend to Skull.

“Let’s go, angel.” Callahan dragged her to the cabin door, hand still clamped over her mouth, fingers digging painfully into her face. She grabbed the door frame, trying to delay the inevitable, but he was too strong. “Don’t fight, angel. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. And just remember, the longer you cooperate, the longer it’ll be ‘til I shoot your boyfriend.”

Rafe steered the boat around another mine and wondered what the hell was taking Cassandra so long. He’d managed to lose two of Skull’s jet-ski thugs, but there were at least three more and he was tired of dodging bullets.

“Cassandra, move your ass, girl!”

“Now is that any way to talk to a fine young woman like Cassandra, Rafe?”

Every muscle in Rafe’s body tensed when he heard Callahan’s mocking voice, but he knew better than to let his former partner see any weakness. “Callahan. Nice of you to join us. I don’t suppose you thought to bring the champagne out with you.”

Callahan laughed and dragged Cassandra out onto the deck, pistol muzzle now pointing towards Rafe. “Always ready with the witticisms, eh, Rafe? It’s one of the things I’ve always hated about you.”

“I didn’t realize you hated me enough to turn traitor, Callahan.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Callahan kept the pistol trained on Rafe, pulling Cassandra along as he moved to the port side of the boat. “Skull just has a better employee benefits package.”

“Don’t hurt the girl, Callahan.” Rafe maneuvered the boat, gauging the distance to open ocean. He just needed to distract Callahan long enough to get clear of Skull’s minefield. Then he’d no doubt he could handle his traitorous friend.

“Oh, don’t fret about Cassandra.” Callahan took his hand off of Cassandra’s mouth and ran it down her body, lingering with obvious pleasure on the curves of her breasts. “I have other plans for her.”

“You bastard.” Rafe’s tone was calm, but cold fury blazed from his cobalt blue eyes.

Callahan laughed. “Compliments won’t get you anywhere. Now slow the boat down. Carefully.”

“Skull’s men will shoot us,” said Rafe.

“I’ll take care of that. Just do what I tell you.”

Rafe slowly downshifted the throttle, keeping a careful eye on the water in front of him. He knew as soon as he stopped the boat, he was a dead man. Callahan would shoot him and take Cassandra and the blueprints for the death ray back to Skull’s island. But Rafe would see all three of them dead before he let either of those things happen. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“Slow down more now.”

Rafe obeyed, conscious of the cold steel muzzle pointed in his direction and even more aware of Callahan’s hand exploring Cassandra’s curves and hollows. He’d kill Callahan slowly for that alone.

“Now stop the boat between those two mines. Over there to your right.”

Rafe maneuvered the boat towards the spot Callahan indicated. He needed a plan, but none came to mind. Ah, well, he’d always been good at improvisation. He jerked the wheel hard to starboard and hoped for the best.

Meanwhile, Cassandra suffered Callahan’s hand on her body, knowing if she protested he would shoot Rafe all the sooner. But if she didn’t do anything, he’d shoot Rafe anyway. She needed to act fast or Rafe would be dead and she’d be Callahan’s toy until he tired of her.

The boat suddenly veered hard to one side, throwing Callahan and her off balance. Callahan gave an incoherent yell of anger, firing off a shot at Rafe – and missing.

Now was her chance.

Cassandra stomped down hard with her heel on Callahan’s instep, grabbing his gun hand and jerking upwards at the same time. Another shot went wild as Callahan fired again. Growling, he backhanded Cassandra across the face with his other hand and sent her sprawling onto the deck. He reached for her just as Rafe jerked the wheel to the side again, barely missing one of the floating mines. Cassandra hooked her foot around one of Callahan’s ankles and gave a hard jerk. He fell on top of her, the Walther clattering to one side. Cassandra reached for it.

“Oh, no, you don’t, angel.”

Callahan grabbed her arm and pulled her backwards as her fingers grazed the stock. Cassandra immediately sunk her teeth into his hand, drawing blood. Callahan gave a yell of pain and let her go. She reached for the pistol again. This time she succeeded. Rolling onto her back, Cassandra fired the Walther and hit Callahan in the shoulder. He clasped the wound with one hand and stared at her in disbelief, backing up to the gap in the railing where the ladder ran down the side.

“We would have been good together, girl...”

“Maybe.” Cassandra stared at him coldly. “But we never would have been great.” She pulled the trigger and watched dispassionately as Callahan tumbled backwards into the water, his body vanishing in the wake of the boat’s passage. She turned back to Rafe and said, “Now would be a good time for that champagne, don’t you—”

A sudden jolt sent her tumbling through the same gap in the railing as Callahan...

Reality returned with a splash as I landed in the ocean.

Chapter Eight

My clothes, hair and mood were still pretty sodden by the time Val, Gerald and I reached the Esmeralda Hotel. Connor and Raphael had stayed behind at John’s behest to discuss business. I wished Gerald had stayed with them.

For some reason, my mishap was the funniest thing he’d seen in ages and he felt obligated to let me know this as we walked from the marina to the hotel. My mood would have lightened considerably had Gerald been stricken mute, but he hadn’t let up since we’d docked at the Emerald Cove Marina. Val did her best to shut him up and placate me, but it was pretty much a lost cause, and by the time we actually entered the hotel, I was ready to have a burial at sea with Gerald as the dearly departed.

“Don’t feel bad, Cassie.” Val patted my soggy shoulder as we walked into the lobby. “It was just one of those accidents that could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Not really,” said Gerald. “Most people aren’t quite that stupid. I mean”— He started to bray like an intoxicated donkey —”what kind of idiot would actually stand right on the—”

“Well, I’m starving,” Val broke in hastily, sensing the impending explosion. “It must be that salt air or something.” She smiled brightly at her idiot boyfriend. “How about a bite to eat, sweetie?”

“Sure thing, sugar. We’ll do a coffee and croissants at the Café Paris.”

“Sounds perfect!” Val grabbed Gerald’s hand and smiled nervously at me. “See you later, Cassie. Be sure to take a shower right away before the salt water dries out your hair.”

“Why does she need to take a shower?” said Gerald. “She already had a bath.”

Val dragged him back out the lobby door just in time. I glared after him for a second, then stalked off towards the elevator. As luck – bad luck – would have it, Trish sauntered out of the lounge before I’d reached the safety of the elevator. She spotted me and immediately smiled with malicious delight, quickly replaced with an expression of concern as fake as her boobs. “Whatever happened to you, sweetie? You’re all wet.”

“I’m fine.” My attempt to keep my tone cordial failed miserably, but I was past the point of giving a shit. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to put on something a bit drier.”

Trish laughed. “I don’t blame you. You might want do something with your hair while you’re at it.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I snapped.

“See you later.” Trish gave a little wave of her fingers and wandered off, no doubt in search of some unsuspecting male she could devour.

Stripping off my saltwater-soaked clothing and taking a long, hot shower went a long way toward improving my mood and restoring my equilibrium. So I fell overboard. Big deal. Like Val said, it could have happened to anyone. I wasn’t hurt, unless I counted my dignity, and so what if I’d most likely looked like one of the Stooges taking a pratfall? Raphael had shown nothing but concern and even Connor had been solicitous after he and Raphael pulled me back on board like a sack of wet laundry.

Ugh.

I turned the hot water up and stood underneath the showerhead until the last ripple of embarrassment passed. It was a very long shower.

I would have happily stayed in my room the rest of the evening, but my traitorous stomach drove me downstairs several hours later. I made it wait until I’d soothed my tattered pride with a careful makeup application and one of my new outfits: a red linen wrap dress and bone-colored leather ankle strap sandals with comfortable two-inch heels. The dress was sexy in an understated way and made me feel sophisticated. My lipstick matched the true red of the dress and I’d gathered the front of my hair up and back off my face in a jeweled clip, letting the rest tumble down my back. I looked good, definitely not like the type of klutz who’d fall off a boat.

Thus girded for battle, I went downstairs to meet the others for the hotel’s happy hour. Trish’s disgruntled expression when I walked into the lounge affirmed I’d chosen my armor wisely.

Our group had staked out a cozy corner of the lounge with several overstuffed chairs, a loveseat and a couch pulled around a coffee table. Val and Gerald cuddled together on the love seat, plates of finger food and cocktails in front of them on a small table, while Raphael sat in an armchair next to them. Trish was coiled up in another chair, pulled as close to Raphael as possible. I was impressed at how much flexibility she had in her pleather catsuit. She looked like Emma Peel’s tacky sister. Maybe she got lost on her way to “The Avengers” remake auditions.

Raphael saw me and got to his feet. How was it possible a man could look so elegant in jeans and white button-down shirt? Raphael was like a living, breathing work of art. Unlike Connor, who looked comfortable, but vaguely disreputable no matter what he wore. I could easily imagine Connor on the run from the IRA or something else along those lines.

Speaking of, where was Connor?

I took a quick peek around as Raphael bent down to drop a chaste kiss on my lips while Trish glared in the background. Nope. Connor was MIA.

“You look lovely,” said Raphael, leading me to a plush sofa. He sat next to me next to the arm, forcing Trish to surreptitiously move her chair.

“Yeah, Cassaroo,” Gerald chimed in jovially. “You definitely look less drowned rat than you did. Feel better after doing a shower?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, trying not to sound too terse. After all, in the Geraldverse, I’d just been complimented. I think.

Raphael looked at me with concern. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be resting?”

Trish jumped in with “Raphael is right, Cassie. Gerald told me what happened.” I cast a dark look Gerald’s way. “You’re a prime candidate for pneumonia. All this socializing can’t be very restful.”

“I appreciate your concern, Raphael,” I deliberately emphasized Raphael’s name, “but I feel fine. Falling into water doesn’t mean I’ll automatically catch a cold. In fact, I think that’s an urban legend.”

Trish gave a theatrically delicate shudder. “I won’t even go out in a light rain for fear of catching a chill and ruining my hair. I simply loathe being wet. You must be more rugged than I am.” She managed to conjure up visions of sturdy female lumberjacks with her last sentence.

I was tired and cranky. What can I say? I smiled sweetly and let fly. “I’m surprised. Most cold-blooded creatures like the water.” Trish’s expression was pure “oh no, you di’n’t!” Val turned a very uncharacteristic bark of laughter into a cough. I’m not sure if Raphael or Gerald even caught the exchange, but it was probably a good thing that Connor chose that moment to enter the lounge.

“And look who I managed to pry out of her room for the evening!”

He was accompanied by Roz, a vision in layers of red and pink gauze, both colors managing to clash with the red of her hair. A vivid turquoise and silver squash-blossom necklace adorned her neck and chest, with matching bracelets, rings and earrings completing the effect. Yes, Roz looked like a refugee from Sedona, but it worked with her personality.

“Hey, Rozarino!” Gerald gave a little salute. “Nice to see you!”

“Good evening to you too, Gerald. Now, don’t ever call me Rozarino again, please.” Roz sat down on the couch next to me.

I was glad to see her. “I didn’t think we’d get a chance to see you today. Is your new book finished?”

Roz smiled at me. “Just about. A couple of revisions here and there and I’ll ship it off to my agent. I should’ve finished it before I came down, but being locked in a room with Selena Chantell and Brandon Marlborough for two days straight is enough to make even Connor look good.”

Connor gave her a wounded look. “Roz, you have a way of makin’ me feel truly appreciated. Are you and Cassandra related, by chance?”

“Because they’re both so charming, perhaps?” Raphael smiled at me.

Roz reached across me to give him an approving pat on the knee. “Looks like Connor isn’t the only man in the room who’s kissed the Blarney Stone a few times.”

Connor settled himself in the chair abandoned by Raphael. “And how is our little mermaid doing?” He turned to Roz. “When we pulled Cassandra out of the water, I was put very much in the mind of Hans Christian Anderson’s Little Mermaid.”

I rolled my eyes. “The little mermaid is just fine and wishes everyone would stop talking about her little mishap.”

“I thought the little mermaid couldn’t talk,” said Trish, proving she was either more well read than I thought, or else watched Disney movies.

“No such luck with Cassarino here.” Gerald nudged Val in the side to make sure she caught the joke. She gave me a little apologetic shrug as if to say what can I do? I had a few suggestions, but kept quiet for the sake of our friendship.

I could definitely feel the signs of low-blood sugar though, and figured I’d better rectify the situation before I did or said something I’d regret in a moment of stomach-growling weakness. “I’m hungry.” I stood quickly, then turned back to Roz. “Can I get you something while I’m up?”

“Thanks, but I’ll graze in a few minutes.”

“I’ll save your seat,” said Raphael, oblivious to Trish’s quickly aborted move to switch to the couch. I hid a grin and went to investigate the offerings of Esmeralda Hotel’s happy hour.

Mmm, not too shabby. Little toast points with caviar and sour cream, smoked salmon with capers, thinly sliced sourdough baguette, Brie, fruit. I quickly filled a plate and nibbled happily, content to refuel for a moment before rejoining the group. I was less likely to kill either Gerald or Trish with a stabilized blood sugar level.

“Not bad for a happy hour spread, eh?” Connor appeared beside me and I nearly tipped my plate over. He quickly caught the drooping edge before I spilled any of its precious cargo. I wasn’t sure whether to thank him for rescuing my food or hit him for startling me. I settled for stuffing a piece of baguette topped with salmon into my mouth and nodding in agreement.

Gerald wandered over, said, “Pretty chi-chi grub here,” grabbed a plate and proceeded to pile it high with food.

“I’m going to the bar,” Connor said to me. “Can I get you a drink, then?”

Gerald gave his signature bray of laughter. “I’d think she had enough to drink this afternoon, right, Cassie?”

My patience snapped. This particular dead horse had been beaten too long and was ready to come back as an undead equine zombie for payback. “Gerald, would you please just shut up?”

“Whoa!” Gerald made a mock don’t-hit-me gesture with his free hand. “It’s just a joke, Cassarino! Guess it’s the wrong time of the month or something.” He nudged me in the shoulder with an elbow and headed back to the couch.

I’d had enough food to prevent me from killing him, but I could still see my way for a good maiming. I put my plate down, grabbed a canapé knife and started after him.

“Hold on there, girl.” Connor quickly seized my wrist. “The hotel is very sensitive about bloodstains on the carpets.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I focused single-mindedly at Gerald’s retreating back and tugged against Connor’s restraining hand. “I’ll pay the cleaning bill.”

Connor turned me around and gently extracted the canapé knife from my clenched fingers. “C’mon. Have some chocolate instead. I’ll get you a nice glass of red wine.” He walked me back to the food table. “They’re serving a nice jammy zinfandel from Paso Robles, spicy, lots of body, high in alcohol. I t’ink it’ll do you some good.” Setting the knife back on the table, he handed me my plate. “I’ll be right back. Try not to kill anyone.”

“I wasn’t going to kill him,” I muttered sulkily. “Just...maim him.”

“No maiming, either.”

I opened my mouth to protest and he popped a chocolate truffle between my lips. “Let the chocolate do its work on your serotonin levels, you mad thing. I’ll be back with a big glass of wine to soothe your tattered nerves.”

I chewed the truffle, letting the silky dark chocolate melt on my tongue and appease my temper. Connor was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid.

I glanced back over to our little corner of the room. Trish had once again jockeyed her chair as close to Raphael as possible, doing her best to take his attention away from a conversation with Roz, while Gerald and Val shared his gargantuan pile of food.

I realized I wanted nothing more than to go back to my room and snuggle under the covers with a good – or at least entertaining – book. Unfortunately that wasn’t really an option. I’d given up my free pass excuse of being too tired from my earlier boating mishap. And honestly, I didn’t want to come across like a wilting violet. Nor did I want to be a thorny cactus. No, I wanted a floral representative somewhere in the middle: beautiful, in need of some tending, but still fairly hearty. Maybe a rose geranium or something along those lines...

“Here you go.” Connor reappeared, a fishbowl full of red wine in either hand. He handed me one of them. “Drink up, mo stor. I’ll get you more chocolate.”

“Mo what?”

“Mo stor. Irish Gaelic.” Then, before I could ask Irish Gaelic for what, he added, “Try your wine, then.”

I took a sip of the zinfandel. Smooth, rich, spicy, jammy – almost as good as chocolate. Connor was one hell of a hunter-gatherer. He smelled good too, sort of woodsy and musky. The scent went with his shirt, a light long-sleeved cotton weave in browns, greens and golds that offset the gold glints in his dark brown eyes. He really was attractive, if one could get past, well, get past the fact he wasn’t Raphael? I told my snarky subconscious to shut up.

“This is good,” I said, taking another swallow of wine to distract myself from this line of thought.

“I thought you’d like it.” Connor grinned at me, then went back to filling a plate with a variety of desserts, most of them chocolate of some sort or another.

“I’m not going to be able to eat all of that,” I said when he’d finished, not entirely truthfully.

“I’m sure you’ll have willing helpers.”

We went back to the group, Connor leading the way through what was turning into a densely packed room. He stayed slightly ahead of me, enough to forge a path but not so much as to lose track of me in the crowd. I bet he was a good big brother, the sort who’d tease the crap out of you, but pound anyone else who dared to do it.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked as we neared our little enclave of chairs and couches.

Connor laughed. “You’re askin’ a lapsed Catholic boy from Cork that question?”

“A few then.”

“Two brothers, three sisters.”

I nodded in satisfaction. “Figured as much.”

“And why is that, now?”

“You have all the makings of the classic big brother.”

Connor stopped in his tracks so suddenly I nearly ran into him. Luckily, I’d taken down the level of my wine enough to prevent any spillage. He turned to look down at me, an unaccustomed expression on his face. He looked angry.

“So you see me as a big brot’er?”

Damn me if he didn’t sound pissed off too. What did I say? “Well, not my big brother,” I said hastily. “Just the big brother type. You know.”

“No, I don’t know. Enlighten me.”

“Er, horrible and sweet and protective all at the same time?”

Connor thought that one over. “My sisters would agree with you. But those are not necessarily characteristics trademarked by big brot’ers, y’know.” He still sounded annoyed, but less genuinely pissed off. “You need to stop putting people in categories.”

What? Now I was angry. “I don’t put people in categories! I just asked you a simple question and you jumped down my throat!”

“I did not—” Connor paused mid-sentence and took a deep breath. “I apologize for jumpin’ down your t’roat. Just keep in mind t’ere’s not much worse you can say to a man than you t’ink of him as your brot’er.” He was dropping more H’s than Eliza Doolittle.

“Your accent gets thicker when you’re riled,” I observed.

“Does it?” He took a hefty swallow of his wine. “There. I am officially unriled.” He made sure to pronounce the ‘th’ in ‘there.’

“Good. Shall we sit down?” I noticed Raphael watching us with a slight frown.

“After you.” Connor gave a little bow and let me go ahead of him. I sat back down between Raphael and Roz, while he settled himself in the chair across the table.

“Everything okay?” Raphael asked in a low voice.

I nodded. “Just fine.”

Connor put the dessert plate down and slid it across in front of me. “For you.”

“And anyone else who wants to share,” I added hastily, so I didn’t look like a total oink.

“Yum!” said Val and Roz, reaching for truffles at the same time. But there were plenty. I waited until they’d taken what they wanted, then selected a bite-sized piece of triple chocolate mousse that practically dissolved on the tongue. I smiled at Connor, forgiving him his brief loss of temper.

Rafe’s cell phone rang. The ringer was set to the Olympics theme. Rafe looked at the readout, then at me with an apologetic smile. “Excuse me, Cassie. I need to take this. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Okay, I lied a little. It really bugs me when people have their cell phones on during social occasions. Unless they’re expecting a call from a doctor or vet’s office or something potentially life-changing.

“Be right back.” Leaping gracefully to his feet, Rafe hurried out of the lounge.

Trish leaned over and examined my plate with another one of her theatrical shudders. “Oh good heavens, Cassie, how can you eat that?”

“Now, that’s unfair,” said Roz. “Val and I are eating it too.” She made no attempt to hide her dislike for Trish and I loved her for it.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter when you’re over forty or as skinny as Val is,” said Trish, either obliviously or deliberately consigning Roz to the old folks’ home and Val to an anorexic’s ward. “Some of us need to worry about it, like me and Cassie. I mean, consider the calories! If you put it on at your age, Cassie, you’ll have a harder time taking it off again. If I ate chocolate, I’d be bigger than you are. And my complexion would never be the same. Why, I haven’t eaten chocolate in years.”

I took a minute to find the biggest, gooiest, most high caloric item on the plate before replying. “You might want to try some, Trish. You could use more sugar and less artificial sweetener.” I ate my calorie bomb, licking chocolate and cream off my fingers when I was finished. I smiled at Trish. “Mmm. Yummy!”

There was a brief silence, broken by, “Well, snap!” from Connor.

“I think you have to be gay to use that expression,” said Gerald.

“I beg to differ,” said Connor. “I’m Irish and we’re a fellow oppressed minority. I give them leave to use ‘Aye and begorrah’ as a fair trade for my right to use ‘snap.’”

Val chimed in with, “Women use it too, sweetie.”

“Another minority,” said Roz.

Trish just sat there seething while I smiled serenely and ate another truffle.

Chapter Nine

Sigh.

In an almost exact repeat of the previous night, I could not fall asleep. I would have thought I’d have conked out almost immediately given all the fresh air and seawater I’d ingested, but no such luck. A surfeit of chocolate, wine and angst had done their job and I was wide awake.

If last night I’d had monkey brain, tonight I had an entire tribe of the chittering little buggers in my head. Dozens of random thoughts and worries chasing each other around and swinging from synapse to synapse. Most of them involved Rafe, but a good few more than I liked focused around Connor. He sometimes irritated me just by breathing, brought out the worst in my temper and my manners, but I felt unmistakably alive around him.

If I was honest with myself, I felt shy and, well, constrained with Rafe, as if I were playing the part of a nice young thing. I mean, I am a nice young thing, but I had a feeling he would not have appreciated the way I’d slammed Trish after her less-than-subtle insult. Connor, on the other hand, thought it was funny. No, I was pretty sure Rafe would not be able to handle my temper. Oh well, I’d just have to learn to hold it in if I wanted to be with him. A small price to pay for waking up next to that face for the rest of my life.

Several tosses and one turn later, I sighed in defeat and switched on the bedside lamp. Picking up the nearest paperback, I tried to read, but gave up after three paragraphs in which I read the words “throbbing man staff” as many times.

I got out of bed and went into the common room. The door to Val’s room was open, the room itself dark. I assumed she was still out dropping Gerald off at the airport. He had to head back to L.A. on a red-eye for an early-morning court case. Sometimes the gods were kind. Too bad he’d be coming back tomorrow night.

I wandered over to the balcony and stared out the glass doors. The lights from the hotel illuminated the beach, a flat stretch of sand in the moonlight, white froth breaking just beyond the edge of the light. It was deserted, not too surprising at this hour. It was also irresistibly inviting.

Well, why not?

A walk in the fresh, sea air was just the thing to relax me and give the wine and chocolate a chance to work its way out of my system and let me sleep. I didn’t even have to wake up early tomorrow; we didn’t have any plans until late morning, when we would be heading to Balboa Park and the world-famous San Diego Zoo.

Rafe would meet us there later; his cell phone call had resulted in an early-morning meeting with John. Connor had offered to take the meeting, but it wasn’t an option. “This is the financial end of it,” Rafe had said. “You’ve already done your job of selling him on the concept. Now I have to sell him on the price tag.”

Grabbing a finely woven white wool shawl off of one of the couches – I really needed to put away all of my purchases – I went out on the balcony, leaving the doors slightly ajar, and carefully navigated the steps down to the beach.

The air was balmy, a slight breeze blowing. It felt like silk on my skin and the salty tang of the sea permeated the air. The sound of the surf rolling onto the sand made a soft, hissing sssshussshh sound, punctuated by the occasional boom of a big wave hitting the beach. I felt wicked somehow, out in my white Edwardian-style nightgown, the thin cotton molding itself to me as I walked down to the water. I felt like something out of a Jontue ad, my hair artistically blowing away from my face as I strolled along the water’s edge. Too bad there was no one there to appreciate it.

Be careful what you wish for...

I reached an outcropping of rocks sticking out as the beach curved around to the right, only a thin strip of sand separating the rock face from the ocean. I hesitated briefly, wondering if there was any beach on the other side of the rocks. Oh well, the worst that could happen was a wet nightgown hem; the waves were one-footers at most. I rounded the corner – and screamed as a tall figure appeared in front of me with the suddenness of a jack-in-the-box. I jumped backwards into the surf just as a wave rolled up and broke directly on me. Great. Soaked up to the thighs.

“Ah, ‘tis a radiant sea nymph cast ashore by Neptune for my pleasure.” That unfortunate Irish accent. “My last sacrificial offering must have worked.”

“Connor, you...you...”

Another wave broke, this one splashing up to my waist.

“I could kill you!” Ignoring his proffered hand, I splashed back around the rock to the hotel’s private beach. “Look what you made me do!” I gestured to the wet fabric clinging to my lower half.

Connor raised a mock serious brow and looked me up and down. “Hmm.”

I glared at him. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Hmm.”

He circled me slowly, continuing what was a very close inspection of my legs and butt, both clearly outlined against the now sheer and soaked nightgown.

I turned to face him. “Well? Are you going to answer me?” He kept circling and I finally blew up. “Will you stand still? It’s like talking to a top!”

Connor stopped, but continued to, well, admire the view.

I folded my arms and stared at him. “My face is up here.”

He slowly raised his gaze up my body, traveling very slowly and pausing here and there before finally reaching my face. He grinned at me. “What can I say? I like the effect.”

I stamped a foot in frustration, causing more water to spew upwards, splashing my face this time. Connor tried not to laugh. He was not successful. I shut my eyes and took some deep yoga-type breaths while Connor struggled manfully to contain his humor. At the end of ten, I opened my eyes and looked at him. He looked back with a wary expression, trying to conceal his mirth.

“I counted to ten, Connor.”

“Did you now?” Connor’s tone definitely smacked of “let’s humor the crazy woman.” “Well, and it’s supposed to be a great way to control your temper. They say Socrates used to advocate it.”

I smiled and took a step towards him. “Do you know what happened?”

“Er, what?”

“It didn’t work.” In sudden move that would do a ninja proud, I hooked a foot around the back of Connor’s ankle and gave him a two-handed shove on his chest. Caught totally off guard, he toppled backwards onto the sand just as a wave crashed in, soaking him from top to bottom.

“Jaysus!”

Ah, sweet, sweet vengeance.

I strolled up to Connor and looked down at him. “What sea nymph has been cast ashore by the crashing waves,” As if on cue, another wave hit, depositing a strand of seaweed on Connor’s shoulder. “Strategically adorned with strands from Neptune’s own loom.” I burst into laughter.

Connor spat out a mouthful of seawater. The ends of the seaweed floated in the surf like a sea snake. He looked at it thoughtfully, then back up at me. “It seems our hero, Ace, has been downed in an unexpected attack by his sweet Angel, who appears to be growing more savage by the hour.”

I never saw it coming. Connor grabbed my ankle and yanked hard. I fell with an undignified splash into the surf next to him, nightgown, shawl and hair all completely saturated with saltwater.

“But, never one to pass up the opportunity for revenge, Ace shows his simple savage who’s the boss.”

A wave washed over both of us. My hair hung in seaweed like strands on my face. “You...you...you...” All words except “you” failed me.

“Rogue?” Connor offered helpfully. “Swine? Or maybe scoundrel would do.”

That was it. My teeth clenched down hard enough to qualify as lockjaw. “You want to see savage? I’ll show you savage! And it ain’t gonna be sweet!” I used both hands to send a respectable wavelet into Connor’s face, then grabbed the seaweed from his shoulder and flailed it at him. Being Connor, he started laughing until I served him a really good thwack on the head with the bulbous clumps at the end of the strand.

“Jaysus! That hurt, now!”

“Did it?” I thwacked him again, following it up with another face full of ocean.

“Ow! Now there’s no need to be vicious here, girl.”

“There’s every need.” My next swing caught him in the mouth just as he opened it to protest again.

Oops. That had to hurt. Probably didn’t taste too good either.

As Connor spat out the seaweed, it occurred to me I might have gone too far and perhaps an apology was due. I didn’t have a chance to act on the thought.

“Oh, now you’ve asked for it, Angel.” Grabbing the end of the seaweed, Connor pulled hard. I fell on top of him and he rolled me over into the water, splashing me ruthlessly in the face.

Apologize? What a ridiculous notion!

I retaliated, using my forearm to send a mini-tsunami surging over Connor’s head before scrambling on hands and knees out of the surf onto hard packed sand.

“Oh, no, you don’t, girl!”

Connor grabbed my ankle before I could get to my feet and tried to drag me back into the water. I pulled back and kicked sand in his face like a stereotypical bully. Except Connor wasn’t a skinny little nerd and happened to be much stronger than me. Getting a snootful of sand just motivated him into putting more effort towards pulling me to my salt-watery doom. He caught my other ankle and no amount of kicking could dislodge his grip. My fingers dug grooves in the sand and I shrieked in outrage as he dragged me back into the surf just as a two-foot wave broke on top of both of us. Connor lost his grip as we were both buried in roiling water.

I swallowed a mouthful of ocean, submerged as the force of the wave rolled me over like a rock in a tumbler until I had no idea which way was up. The suction of the outgoing tide pulled on my body. I choked, trying desperately to resist the ocean’s strength. Strong hands grabbed onto me, one arm holding around my waist, the other lifting my head above the foam. As I coughed and spluttered, Connor picked me up out of the water and deposited me gently on the sand, where I collapsed and spat out mouthfuls of water before taking in welcomed gulps of the balmy night air.

Connor dropped down by my side, hunkered down on his knees. “Are you all right, then?” I nodded, then coughed again, surreptitiously wiping my nose with the back of one hand as I spat out more water.

“Good.” Connor smiled and pushed a hank of wet hair back from my face. “For a moment there I thought Neptune was taking back his offering.”

I glared at him. “Very funny. I almost drowned, you idiot!”

“Now would I let that happen?” Connor lifted another strand of hair and smoothed it behind my ear with a gentle, soothing touch.

I batted his hand away. I wasn’t in the mood to be soothed, no matter how good it might feel. “Considering it was your fault to begin with...”

“My fault? Who thought it was such a grand joke to push me in the water?”

“And who t’ought—” I imitated his accent “—it was such a grand joke to give me a heart attack in the first place?”

Connor had the grace to look slightly very slightly ashamed. “Well, I am sorry about that.”

“Good!” I was slightly mollified by the apology

“I never would have done it had I pegged you as the faint-hearted sort of girl.” Connor grinned down at me. “Do you scream at spiders and mice too?”

So much for mollification.

Sitting up, I gave a good, hard push and he toppled over, landing on his ass in the sand. “You should have quit when you were ahead,” I told him with a smug smile.

My self-satisfaction was short-lived. I hadn’t even thought about getting to my feet when Connor simply pulled me over to him and rolled on top of me, a wet, sandy mass of denim and toned muscles. “Words to live by, my girl.” He pinned both my hands above my head with one hand and laughed at my furious – and impotent – vows of vengeance as water from his wet hair dripped down on my face. “Ready to give up and admit defeat?”

I growled at him, snapping my teeth like an angry dog.

“Oooh, that’s no way to make friends.” Connor shook his head, splattering more water from his hair on my face. “Say uncle, now.”

“No!”

“Say it.” He tickled my ribcage with his free hand. I shrieked and tried to wriggle away, but he held me firmly with one hand and the weight of his body. “Say it!” I shook my head and he tickled me mercilessly until my indignant shrieks turned into helpless laughter. “Say it then, girl!”

By that time I could barely talk, I was laughing so hard, but I managed to squeak out an ‘uncle’ something along the lines of “Unk-le...heeeee...”

Giving me one more poke in the ribs for good measure, Connor stopped the tickle torture and looked at me with a satisfied smile. I tried to summon up a good glare, but it was impossible to be angry after laughing my ass off, even if it’d been tickled out of me.

“I hate you,” I said without malice when I’d regained my breath. A stray giggle hiccupped out of me. My ribs hurt.

“Ah, now, I know you don’t mean that at all.” Connor touched my nose with the same hand that had been torturing me seconds earlier. “Hate the tickling, not the tickler.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.” I couldn’t help it. I started laughing again, even though it really hurt my already abused ribs. Connor began laughing as well, either infected by my own helpless giggles or the absurdity of his own words. The two of us cackled away like Bedlam inmates, Connor relaxing against me, his laughter buried in the curve of my neck below my ear.

He still held my wrists in one hand, his breath warm on the sensitive flesh of my neck and ear. The combination sent a pleasant shiver through me. My hilarity slowly dissipated, replaced by a hyper-elevated awareness of the well-muscled male body pressed against mine, his thigh resting intimately between my legs. He moved slightly, inadvertently increasing the pressure there. A sudden bolt of pure desire made me gasp and arch up against him before I could stop myself. My nipples hardened instantly, chafing with almost painful sensitivity against the wet fabric of my nightgown.

Connor had to have felt my response, had to feel the waves of desire emanating from me as I forcibly stopped myself from wrapping my legs around his body and pulling him even closer to me. He lifted his head and looked at me. A pulsing heat throbbed between my legs as I stared up at him, simultaneously aroused and mortified by my arousal. The air thickened between us, I made myself lie perfectly still. What the hell was going on?

* * * *

Connor’s mother had always told him he’d come to a bad end if he didn’t learn to control the devil within. But from where he lay at the moment, Connor thought he should ask his ma to define “bad end.”

Connor hadn’t meant to do anything but tickle Cassandra and pay her back for the soaking she’d given him. True, he’d startled the girl, and truth be told, he’d known better than to surprise her, but had ignored his better instincts for the pure adolescent pleasure of seeing Cassandra jump. Well, she had jumped and then retaliated with a speed and cunning worthy of an Irishwoman. Sure, and Cassandra had more than paid him back for his prank. His mouth still stung where she’d smacked him with the seaweed, the little witch. Wet denim was not Connor’s choice of apparel and he’d gotten more than his fair share of sand down his shirt and pants. His expensive Italian loafers were probably ruined. Ah, well, collateral damage and well worth the fun of the moment.

The funny thing was that when he’d shifted position, Connor hadn’t really been aware of his thigh’s proximity to Cassandra’s more intimate spots. He’d been too caught up in the silliness of the game and the fun of making her cry “uncle.” His awareness kicked fully into the moment when her body suddenly arched under his, accompanied by what was unmistakably a gasp of desire.

Connor lifted his head from Cassandra’s neck and looked down into her face, illuminated by the moonlight and residual glow from the hotel floodlights. She stared up at him with those amazing green eyes now slightly dazed with lust, her full lips still parted from that sexy little gasp. She was lying perfectly still, but he could feel her muscles trembling beneath him. The smell of salt and sea took on an additional overlay of musk and sex, the scent of Cassandra’s arousal.

Connor’s body responded immediately by sending all available blood straight into his cock for an instantaneous hard-on of impressive proportions.

Jaysus. Nothing said “mixed blessing” like an erection trapped in wet denim when the girl of your dreams was lying beneath you.

Girl of his dreams. Connor froze as he realized yes, those words really did just run through his head. And what’s more, he meant them.

Still holding her wrists above her head with one hand, Connor very slowly traced the curve of Cassandra’s lips with his index finger, gratified at the little hitch in her breath and a slight clenching of her inner thighs. Afraid words would break the spell that held her gaze locked to his, Connor held his breath, but neither of them spoke as his hand wandered down the sensitive skin of her neck and collarbone, the only sound the soft inhale and exhalation of their breath.

His hand reached one of her breasts, the nipple clearly outlined against the now translucent fabric of Cassandra’s nightgown. He brushed its tip softly with his open palm, barely grazed it, and felt it harden even more, if that were possible.

He teased her other nipple the same way – Connor didn’t believe in playing favorites – delighting in the instant response beneath his palm, the flesh pebbling into a hard little nub. Her eyes widened and the tip of her tongue briefly flicked between her lips, drawing Connor’s attention back to their moist lushness. He grazed her lips with his, just a brief taste before his hand resumed its southward journey, fingers slightly curved as he ran the tips down her stomach and the curve of her hip, shifting his own weight out of the way to give him access to all of her. He heard her breath quicken, although she still remained motionless, as if to move would be admitting some sort of defeat.

Never one to refuse a challenge – another trait that had gotten him into trouble at various points in his life – Connor very slowly and deliberately traveled a roundabout path from the top of one knee, his fingers spiraling up the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, all the while watching Cassandra’s face as she fought to remain impassive.

He felt the muscles in her arms tighten against his restraining hand when he reached the juncture between her legs, one fingertip tracing the lace-trimmed edge of her underwear. A hiss of indrawn breath followed when that same finger explored further, feather-light touches on the fabric where it covered the soft folds and hidden treasures of her vulva. He knew he’d struck gold when he ran his finger over the small nub under her panties and Cassandra’s hips involuntarily bucked up against him. A gasping moan escaped her lips as he placed the heel of his palm in between her legs and pressed. He could feel her sex pulsing beneath the silk and lace, matching the throbbing in his penis, now almost painfully engorged under the button-fly of his jeans.

He slipped his hand underneath the lace edge of her panties, finding her warm and wet as he slid two fingers inside her, his thumb toying with her clit – now swollen with desire. Cassandra moaned again, eyes shut now, her body writhing as he found her g-spot. Her arms strained against his hand and he clamped down on her wrists, intuitively knowing the restraint added to her arousal by taking away an element of control he suspected she rarely surrendered. He was surprised by how much it was turning him on as well, holding her prisoner while he brought her to orgasm. Her little gasping, whimpering cries increased as he stepped up the pace of thumb and fingers, felt the vaginal walls contract, then a rush of warm liquid as she climaxed. Connor kissed her then, his mouth and tongue capturing her ecstatic cry as the final shuddering wave of orgasm washed over her. Her body went limp beneath his, her breathing ragged with spent passion.

Connor wanted nothing more than to tear away the skimpy fabric of her fancy underwear, rip his jeans off and thrust into her moist heat. It was all he could do not to come in his jeans like some teenage kid with no self-control. He could smell the scene of her arousal, all musk and some sweet, spicy scent, cinnamon and vanilla. Edible. It was driving him mad. He wanted to explore her with his tongue and taste her when she came. A public beach was not the place to take things any further. There was, however, a fairly immediate solution.

* * * *

“Come back to my room with me, Cassandra.”

When Connor uttered those words, it cut through the afterglow of what had been an amazing orgasm like the proverbial splash of cold water in the face. As if I hadn’t had enough H2O today.

“What?”

“Come back to my room,” he repeated, brushing a strand of wet hair back from my face. “We can’t finish this out here.”

“Finish...” Oh God, what had I just done?

I stared up at Connor in bemused horror. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what? Finish this?”

“I can’t go back to your room with you. Or finish this!” I shifted under him, suddenly aware he was still pinning me to the ground with his body weight. I could feel his erection and it made me flush with a mixture of lust and mortification. “I’m sorry, but this is wrong!”

“Wrong?” Connor stared at me in disbelief, plus more than a little anger. I couldn’t blame him, all things considered.

“It’s just...this...” I had no idea what to say.

“Please let me up.” I said. “I didn’t mean to lead you on, but—”

“But you seem to be smitten by Raphael. A great guy, by the way, but not your type.”

“Not my type?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Not my type? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Someone who happens to be more than a little attracted to you, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He looked downwards towards his erection, which showed impressive staying power despite the turn of events.

For some perverse reason, this pissed me off even more. “That still doesn’t make you an authority on my type of man!”

“Look.” Connor took a deep breath, then continued. “It doesn’t take a genius to see what kind of romantic delusions run through your head.”

“Romantic de—”

Connor bulldozed right over me. “One look at your reading material says it all, girl. You idealize some sort of...of...dark, brooding hero—”

“I do not—”

“Someone capable of making love with passionate sensitivity after havin’ spent the better part of the evening single-handedly overcoming a gang of ruthless cutthroats” – it came out ‘rut’less cutt’roats’ —“and then ridin’ miles across the windswept moors, bareback, to keep his rendezvous with you.”

I flushed bright red. For an on the spot analysis, he was dead on. But I wasn’t about to admit it, not to him or to myself. “Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t—”

“And because Raphael happens to fit the bill physically, you’ve settled your romantic fixations on him.”

Okay, to quote my favorite Regency romance author, this was the outside of enough! “I don’t have any fixations on Raphael or anyone else. But I do know one thing, Connor, and that’s that your partner is a gentleman, which is more than I can say for you!”

“Oh yeah?” Connor glared down at me. “How so?’

“Do you think he would have invaded my bath, then stayed after I asked him repeatedly to leave?”

Connor considered this. “No. No, I do not.”

Hah. Vindication! “I didn’t think so.”

“No, but he sure as hell wouldn’t have acted the way you wanted him to.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, well, you know,” Connor’s tone took on a rich layer of sarcasm as he continued. “Your typical hero discovers generic heroine in partial or complete—” He deepened his voice. “By God, wench, there you stand like some vision of Beauty Incarnate in all your ravishing glory. All I can think of is crushing your wild, wanton body in my arms! Ah, lass, I’m helpless beneath your emerald gaze. The heat rises in my—”

My face flushed with humiliation. “That’s enough!”

Connor was relentless. “But Raphael wouldn’t say that. He’d say something like ‘oh, excuse me, I’m so sorry, I should have knocked. Do forgive me, this is inexcusable. Well, I’ll just be going.’ “

I’d had enough. “Connor, let me go this instant!”

Connor ignored me, holding me down more firmly than before. “Cassandra, what the hell is the matter with you?”

“Nothing! I just don’t...Connor, let me go!”

Connor very slowly and reluctantly released his hold on me and shifted his weight off my body. I immediately leapt to my feet and hurriedly walking back towards the stairs leading back to the hotel. I didn’t get more than a few feet before Connor stopped me with a strong hand on my arm, turning me back to face him.

“I don’t understand you, Cassandra.”

“I don’t—”

“Shut up.”

I shut up.

Connor took a deep breath, as if girding himself for his next words. “You know how I feel about you. Or if you don’t, you’re living further away from reality than I t’ought.”

“That’s –”

He ran right over my words. “And I don’t t’ink I’m being egotistical by saying I’m fairly certain you’re attracted to me as well.”

“Connor, please, I don’t—”

“Well, I do!”

I shrank back in the face of his anger.

“Stop being an idjit, Cassandra! There’s something between us and you know it!”

“Of all the conceited—” I wrenched my wrist out of his grasp, but he seized me by the shoulders in a grip tight enough to leave bruises.

“Fine. Tell me I’m wrong, then. Tell me there’s not some teeny wee spark of attraction going on between us. That you didn’t want me as much as I wanted you.”

I opened my mouth to do just that, then shut it again.

Connor nodded in satisfaction. “That’s my girl now. You don’t have the face for lyin’, Cassandra.”

“I don’t...” Flushed with the afterglow of lust and a current wave of humiliation and confusion, my eyes filled with unwanted tears. I didn’t want to want him, but I did. And I couldn’t seem to find the “off” switch to the heat between us.

“Don’t what?”

I couldn’t take it any more. My emotions were on overload. Hot tears began to trickle down my face. “I don’t want to argue with you! I...I can’t talk about it any more. I’m tired, I’m cold, I’m wet—” The tears were flowing in earnest now. “I want to go back to my room!” “Room” was uttered in what even I recognized as a pathetic wail, more suited to a five-year-old than a twenty-nine-year-old woman.

“Oh hell.” Connor took pity on me. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. I’ll back off – for now. Here now, don’t cry.” He very gently wiped tears off my cheeks, a Sisyphysian task considering the steady stream running down my face. “Now why don’t we go back upstairs? You can take a hot shower, get into some warm clothes and get some sleep.”

Wrapping his arms around me, Connor continued to murmur soothing things in my ear. His voice was so relaxing when he wasn’t haranguing me; I could almost go to sleep with him holding me close. The tears slowed down, then trickled to a stop. I heaved a great watery sigh, drained and bone-achingly exhausted. Connor slid an arm around my shoulders and picked something off the ground. My shawl.

“Let’s get you back to your room now. You can have some cocoa.”

“Okay.” I sniffed and wiped a hand across my eyes. Cocoa sounded good all of a sudden.

Connor kept up a running commentary of soothing nonsense all the way up the little private stairs to the suite. The balcony door was still ajar and lights blazed in the common area and Val’s room. Connor rapped twice on the glass door before pushing it open and leading me inside, arm still around me.

Val came out of her room clad in an elegant white silk kimono. She took one look at me and turned accusingly on Connor. “What in the world happened to Cassie? Connor, did you—”

“The lady and I met on the beach and got hit with a sneaker wave. I think she’d better have a hot shower before she goes to bed.” He handed me off to Val, who looked from Connor to me in bewilderment. “I’ll see the two of you in the morning.” He paused at the door. “A nice restorative cup of cocoa might be in order too.”

Chapter Ten

The hot shower – my second of the day – went a long way to restoring my equilibrium. I hoped my new highlights could withstand two saltwater dousings in the same twenty-four-hour period. When I came out of the bathroom, warm and cozy in the hotel-supplied plush white terrycloth robe, I found a tray with a silver pot of rich hot chocolate and a dish of thick whipped cream waiting for me.

“Val, you’re the best!”

I eagerly poured myself a cup of chocolate and piled on the whipped cream.

Val already had a cup and sipped it while perusing a paperback book. “This is awful!”

“What?” I said, mouth full of whipped cream and some of the richest, creamiest hot chocolate I’d ever tasted.

“This.” She waved the book in the air. I looked at the particularly lurid and cheesy cover, depicting a mostly naked man chewing on the neck of an equally mostly naked woman. The scary thing was the size of their breasts. His were bigger.

“Oh. Love’s Reckless Rose.” I curled up on one end of the couch, pulling a soft cashmere throw over my legs. “Yeah, it’s pretty horrible. Belinda De Fleur’s plots are definitely hit and miss. Usually miss.”

“No, I mean it’s really awful,” Val insisted. “It’s not just the plot. All the writing is atrocious!”

I grinned. “You mean the fact she can’t put a period or any other sort of punctuation in to save her life?”

“Well, yes! That and…well, listen to this!” Val proceeded to open a page at random and read aloud with morbid fascination. “ ‘As the pale golden orb of the sun sank slowly into the briny deep, so thought Jarrod did the pale golden orbs of Miranda’s breasts.’” She stopped to take a breath. “I mean, that doesn’t make any sense!”

I laughed. “Don’t worry. If you read a few more of her books, you grow numb to it.”

Val perused the book again. “How many different euphemisms does she use for penis? In the last two pages, I’ve come across ‘man jewels,’ ‘steel sword,’ and ‘proud staff.’ What’s wrong with penis?”

“Du Fleur is an old-school romance writer,” I explained between sips of hot chocolate. “It all depends on the publisher and the sub-genre. Penis, cock and prick are used more frequently in erotic romance, but the softer-rated stuff usually uses the euphemisms or avoids the issue altogether with something more general like ‘he thrust into her.’ “

“‘Throbbing rod of desire.’” Val tossed Love’s Reckless Rose aside. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, most of them are.” I sighed, suddenly depressed. “It’s true, Val. Real life in no way resembles the ridiculous, melodramatic, passionate world in those books.”

Val looked at me shrewdly. “You sound a little wistful.”

“It’s just that Raphael – well, he does resemble those romantic hero types. At least physically. Val, you’ve read enough of my romances over the years. Don’t you think Raphael resembles the classic hero?”

“Well, it depends on what part of him we’re discussing,” Val said carefully.

“Oh.” I blushed. “I see what you mean. I’m not talking about anything throbbing here. I’m talking about his...his piercing eyes.” I waxed poetic. “His rakishly charming smile. For crissake, all Raphael needs is a dashing scar across one cheek and he’d look like he jumped off the cover of a Lucinda Lusthaven novel.”

“And he’d probably get one of those soon enough if you two become a couple,” Val said brightly.

I gave her a look before continuing. “Anyway, it’s not as if men actually behave like that any more, if they ever did.”

“You mean thrusting their throbbing man loins into her womanly flower petals of delight?”

I choked on my hot chocolate. “Jeez, Val, give me a spew alert warning next time, would you please?”

“Sorry,” said Val, sounding quite pleased with herself.

“No, I mean making wildly unpredictable, reckless declarations of love and desire despite the heroine insisting she hates him.”

Val snorted. “Of course men don’t behave like that. Raphael never would. The only guy I’ve ever met capable of acting that stupidly romantic is Connor. I think it’s because he’s Irish.”

I heaved another huge sigh, which turned into a jaw-cracking yawn midway. “Raphael reminds me of Heathcliff.”

“Well, I guess he does have a certain feline grace.”

“Not the cat in the cartoon, Val. Heathcliff. The hero from Wuthering Heights.”

“Oh.”

I yawned again, my eyelids weighted down with cement sleepy dust. “I’ve always wanted someone who looked as if he’d just come in from riding across the windswept moors.” Another yawn, my eyes shutting of their own accord. “Bareback...”

The wind howled across the Yorkshire moors, sending icy fingers through the thick woolen fabric of their capes and cotton nightgowns. Rain threatened in the looming thunderheads above, occasional flashes of lightning illuminating the stark beauty of the moors.

Valerie clutched Cassandra’s arm. “Cassandra, I beg of you, let us return to the manor house at once! We will surely perish if we tarry amidst these fierce and raging elements!”

Cassandra shared her friend’s trepidation, but shook her head stubbornly. “Nay, Valerie, I cannot. I must go out onto yon moors...although what awaits me there I dare not imagine.” She looked at Valerie, green eyes wide. “Could it be true? Did Lord Dumas kill his late wife, the Lady Patricia?”

“No, I will not believe it!” cried Valerie. “‘Tis you he loves, Cassandra!”

“T’isn’t, Valerie...”

“T’was always you he loved best, I say!”

Cassandra sighed mournfully. “T’wasn’t, Valerie. T’were Lady Patricia.”

“T’weren’t, I tell you!” Valerie shook her friend by the shoulders to emphasize her point even as a clap of thunder sounded in the near distance. A flash of lightning followed, casting eerie shadows upon the girls’ faces.

“Nay,” said Cassandra. “Although of late I had thought...” Her features softened as she reflected on the tender moments that had lately occurred between her and her employer, the dashing yet brooding handsome lord of the manor, Lord Rafe Dumas. Surely she had not imagined the tenderness in his eyes when he bid her goodnight after dinner earlier. But no! She had to focus on the task at hand. “Until I discover if it was indeed Lord Dumas who was responsible for Lady Patricia’s untimely demise, I must not think on it! I must find out what secrets lie upon the moors.”

Another clap of thunder, closer this time, seemed to shake the very earth itself. Valerie clung to Cassandra. “Oh, wretched catastrophe! Would that this night of unequaled terror were over!”

Lightning flashed as Cassandra tore herself away from her friend. “Courage, Valerie! ‘Tis but nature’s elements fighting a battle upon her playground. What harm could possibly befall—”

Thunder crashed and a bolt of lightning hit the ground not twenty feet away.

“Erm, perhaps, Valerie,” said Cassandra thoughtfully “as it worries you so, you might return to the manor house and obtain help in the form of a search party. Or perhaps a large gun. There might be opportunistic predators out on the moors tonight, waiting to take advantage of creatures driven by the storm.”

“Yes,” cried Valerie with obvious relief, “I shall go at once! Farewell, dear Cassandra! I shall return shortly with assistance!”

Valerie sped off back along the well-traveled path leading to the manor house. Cassandra watched her go until she vanished from sight around a bend. Another boom of thunder resonated through the night and a frightened scream rang out, followed by “Oh, state of living death!”

Cassandra could only hope it was Valerie’s natural timidity when confronted with the awe-inspiring powers of nature and not that some harm had befallen her. Either way, Cassandra knew she must not be deterred from her task; to back away now would be to forever give up the possibility of happiness with Lord Dumas. She turned resolutely back to the path leading into the depths of the moors, the same uneven, sometimes almost invisible track of dirt and rocks she had seen Lord Dumas take only a half-hour earlier. She had to know – and therefore, she would follow.

The further into the moors she ventured, the more difficult it was to see the path. Cassandra knew this was a foolhardy venture; one false step could lead her into the treacherous bogs, patches of gelatinous earth known to swallow animals and men alike in their dark depths. The intermittent flashes of lightning, while frighteningly close, became her ally as they illuminated the ground in front of her. Even still, Cassandra stepped carefully, fighting the icy winds with each step.

After what seemed like hours, she neared an outcropping of rocks that created a natural shelter from the biting cold. Just as she reached it, the heavens opened up, the rains that had been threatening now fulfilling their promise. Gratefully, Cassandra huddled under the rocks, pressing further back when the winds drove lashing rain even under the shelter of the overhang. She squeezed as far as she could between two rocks, then suddenly found herself falling backwards onto a cool but dry stone floor. Cassandra slowly regained her feet and looked around at her surroundings.

She had inadvertently stumbled into the entranceway of a cave. And there was light coming from the depths of the interior. Further examination showed a lantern set upon a natural shelf against one of the side walls, casting its illumination over what proved to be a cave large enough to hold a cot covered with several old quilts, a wooden chest secured with a huge brass lock, and several bottles of wine. Some appeared to be empty, others still were corked shut. Some smuggler’s hideaway, perhaps?

She examined the chest and found the lock’s hasp was not clicked into place. Surely this was no Pandora’s Box, yet Cassandra’s heart beat faster as she slid the lock out of the iron ring holding it to the chest and tossed it aside. The lid creaked as she raised it, the noise as ominous as that of a coffin being opened. What skeleton would she find within?

She flung the lid open the rest of the way, the sound of it hitting the wall like a pistol shot. Inside the chest lay a tattered clothbound book and a small black lacquer box, the sort a wealthy woman would use for storing trinkets. So innocuous, yet why did Cassandra suddenly find it hard to breathe?

She opened the book to the inscription page. “To my beloved wife, Patricia. May this journal store your thoughts as my heart keeps your love.”

Lady Patricia’s journal! Surely this would hold something which would either exonerate or condemn Lord Dumas in the matter of his wife’s disappearance. She opened the box to reveal a diamond necklace, a large blood-red ruby hanging from its center. Even in the dim light of the lantern, the faceted stones seemed to blaze with a life of their own. This, then, was the famous – and cursed – Rajah’s Ruby that so many men had died for – and that Lord Dumas had bestowed upon his beloved wife. “But did he kill her?” Cassandra wondered aloud. “I must know.”

“Still looking for answers, my little governess?”

Cassandra screamed in shock as a familiar male voice spoke from the cave entrance. She clutched her throat and struggled to regain her breath. “Lord Callahan! Whatever are you doing here?”

“Still playing the innocent, I see.” Lord Connor Callahan, best friend to Lord Dumas, strode into the cave, his tall form blocking the only way out. He looked as though he’d just come from riding, clad in breeches, mud-spattered riding boots, riding jacket and cloak. He looked like the handsome ruffian he was.

“I don’t understand,” Cassandra said in confusion. She had followed Lord Dumas out on the moors. What was his best friend doing here instead? She didn’t trust Lord Callahan; his advances had always been more than those a gentleman would make.

Lord Callahan laughed in genuine amusement. “You really weren’t expecting me, were you?” His eyes gleamed maliciously as he added, “My little lamb led to the slaughter.”

“Why, sir, whatever do you mean?”

Lord Callahan advanced towards her with the slow confidence of a tiger stalking its prey. “How fortunate to find you here – all alone.”

Here indeed was one of those opportunistic predators she feared. Cassandra backed away. “I warn you, sir. Advance another step and I shall scream!”

He smiled an evil smile. “Scream away, my proud beauty. No one shall hear you in this desolate spot. And after I have my way with you, you shall join the late Lady Dumas in the dank bog!”

Cassandra gasped. “So it was you who killed—”

“Yes, t’was I!” With the speed of a striking cobra, Lord Callahan lunged forward and seized Cassandra in his arms.

“Let me go, you cad!” She struck at him with her fists, but he only laughed and shoved her onto the cot, pinning her there with the weight of his muscular body.

“Go ahead and fight, little one,” he purred, his breath hot and feral against her ear. “It will make your inevitable surrender that much sweeter.” He kissed her then, his lips brutally forcing hers open to plunder her mouth with his tongue. He seized the front of her nightgown and tore the fabric down to her waist, laying bare her breasts to his lascivious gaze. He greedily explored her curves with rough, eager hands and mouth, no thought for anything but satisfying his own carnal lust.

Cassandra had felt Lord Callahan’s strength once before when he’d waylaid her in the stables; only Lord Dumas’s timely intervention had saved her from probable ravishment. Now who would save her from a fate worse than death, followed by...death? She screamed again, despairingly.

“Unhand her, you heathen without bowels!”

“Lord Dumas!”

Lord Rafe Dumas strode into the cave, rain dripping off his greatcoat and glossy black hair. His cobalt blue eyes blazed with fury as he took in the scene before him and he unsheathed his rapier.

Lord Callahan cursed and leapt to his feet, drawing his sword in the same swift movement. The two rapiers clashed in a ring of steel as the two commenced dueling over Cassandra’s honor and her life.

Cassandra pushed herself up on the cot, clutching the tatters of her nightgown bodice modestly against her breasts as she watched them fight.

“You killed my wife!” Lord Dumas was ice-cold fury incarnate as he fought with calm control.

“Yes,” laughed Lord Callahan, his blows wilder, but with brute strength behind them. “And I’m going to kill the love of your life while you watch and then, at long last, be rid of you as well!”

Cassandra screamed as he lunged viciously, the point of his rapier aimed straight at Lord Dumas’s heart. But in a move so swift it seemed impossible, Lord Dumas parried and riposted, his sword running through Lord Callahan’s torso in a killing blow.

Lord Callahan’s eyes widened in disbelief as he looked from the sword in his chest to his killer “Damn you, Rafe. You’ve killed me.” He fell face forward to the ground, as Lord Dumas withdrew his sword and wiped it clean on his deceased opponent’s cloak.

Cassandra slowly stumbled to her feet and wrapped her cape around her shoulders to preserve her modesty. “Lord Dumas...Rafe...” She swayed and would have fallen had he not quickly rushed to her side and caught her.

“He didn’t...he wouldn’t have...he didn’t hurt you, my love...”

“Oh Rafe! How long I have waited to hear those words from your lips...

Those lips I have so oft imagined pressed against mine in passionate embrace.”

“Say you love me, Cassandra!” Rafe’s gaze burned into hers, scorching her with its passion.

“I do love you!”

Rafe held her close. “I too have oft imagined those words coming from your lips, my love. Those lips I’ve imagined pressed against mine in a tender yet spiritual embrace.”

Cassandra raised in internal eyebrow. This was not exactly what she’d dreamed of hearing from the love of her life.

Rafe continued. “But my love, say you’ll be mine. Now, and for always!”

This was more like it. “Oh yes, Rafe! Now and forever!”

“Oh, what luck!” Rafe clutched Cassandra in a brotherly bear hug and dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I’m just so comfortable around you, and I really like to cuddle. How about you?”

Well, that sucked.

Disgruntled, I opened my eyes and found Val had gone off to bed, leaving me to snooze and dream on the couch. Bleary-eyed, I found my way back into my room, crawled into bed, and almost instantly fell into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

Chapter Eleven

I was still in an off mood by the time Val and I met Connor for a late breakfast in the hotel restaurant. I could barely look Connor in the face and he seemed unaccustomedly subdued as well. Trish’s presence didn’t help, but there was an unexpected bonus: her ex-husband and self-described low-budget horror movie auteur, Dario Mauricio, was joining us for the day. The entertainment possibilities were endless.

Dario, a tall skinny white man about as un-Italian as you could get, had a weird pseudo-intellectual voice and the unfortunate appearance of Ichabod Crane’s ugly brother, viewed the world through a camera lens, one created with his two hands. He never just looked at something. He framed it as if preparing to shoot a scene. When he held up his hands to study the menu, I couldn’t resist asking, “Zoom lens?”

Dario nodded, his head bobbling on his long neck like a broken Pez dispenser. “With diffused lighting to underscore the difficulty one faces in life every time one has to make a choice, even when those choices are right in front of one.”

“I see,” I said.

I didn’t.

Connor snorted, covering it with a loud cough. “Too much sea air last night,” he said.

“So, you and Trish are coming to Balboa Park with us?” Val was politely unenthusiastic.

“Oh yes,” said Dario. “I wish to shoot Trish against the backdrop of the wild animals at the zoo, the classic dichotomy between beauty and the beast.”

“They do have some beautiful animals there,” I replied.

Val and Connor both suddenly focused very hard on their breakfasts.

* * * *

I wasn’t lying. There were some amazing animals at the San Diego Zoo and we managed to see most of them within a four-hour period. Gerald insisted on taking the bus tour to start, so we got an overview right off the bat and could then go back for a closer view of specific ones. I’m a sucker for the big cats, so I wanted to visit to Tiger River as soon as we piled off the bus. We had plans to meet Raphael at the carousel at three o’clock, so we were already set for a rendezvous point.

“Yes,” said Dario, when I announced my plans. “The tigers are perfect, Trish.”

“Predator versus predator,” I murmured.

Connor elbowed me in the ribs. “Bad girl.”

“Who’s going to Tiger River?” I said.

After Tiger River – where Dario tried in vain to get a shot of Trish in front of the elusive tigers - we went to Polar Bear Plunge and watched the most feared predators in the Northern Hemisphere gambol in icy water.

Connor and I stood together in front of one of the underwater viewing windows, surrounded by crowds of tourists of all ages. “Did you know,” Connor said idly, “polar bears are the only carnivore that actively view man as a viable food source?”

“Like the Gary Larson cartoon,” I replied with a grin. “You know, two polar bears are standing outside an igloo and one says, “Hey, you have to try this! It’s crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside!’”

Connor laughed. “That’s about it.”

One of the bears floated lazily past us, fat stomach sticking out of the water. “They’re awfully cute and cuddly-looking for ravenous killers.”

“I’m sure many an Eskimo thought that right before he became a meal.” Connor nudged me. “Uh-oh. Dario’s got his camera out and Trish is about to scare the polar bears. D’you want to move on?”

I did.

We sneaked off and wandered up to the Reptile House before hitting the Children’s Zoo. “You’re going to make me go in the petting zoo, aren’t you?” Connor’s resigned expression told me he already knew the answer.

An opportunistic goat tried to eat Connor’s shirt in the petting zoo. It wouldn’t take no for an answer, but kept following Connor around the enclosure with a single-mindedness of purpose that boded ill for his white cotton shirt. We finally escaped through the exit turnstile.

Connor tucked his now soggy and slightly tattered shirt hem back in his jeans for the fifth time. I couldn’t stop laughing as he and the goat stared at each other through the corral fence with identical disgruntled expressions.

“You owe me a new shirt, girl.”

“How about the koala exhibit?” I suggested brightly.

One koala exhibit and two chocolate/vanilla soft-soft serve cones later, we noticed it was two thirty. “Maybe we should head over to the carousel,” I suggested.

“It’s just outside the zoo,” said Connor. “We still have plenty of time.”

“Yes, but I’d like to ride the carousel.”

“Of course you would.”

“I’d rather do it before everyone else gets there.”

“Oh, and don’t you think Dario will want to be shooting Trish in front of the backdrop of those wild carousel animals?”

“Probably. So I’d like my ride now.”

Connor obliged. We left the zoo and walked across to the carousel, a work of art dating back to 1910. There were all sorts of animals: giraffes, cats, ostriches, dogs, and of course, horses, to name a few. It still offered a brass ring game for those riders interested in foregoing the up-and-down motion of the inner circles and perch on the unmoving animals in the outer circle to try to grab the ring. The prize was a free ride. Connor bought us tickets, and I headed immediately for one of the cats.

“Don’t you want to try for the brass ring?” Connor teased, swinging up onto a tiger in the outer circle with unexpected grace.

I shook my head. “I like the ride for the ride’s sake.”

“Very Zen of you.”

I stuck my tongue out at him as the calliope music started up and the carousel began to move. Happily ensconced on my cat, I watched while Connor competed fiercely with a handful of grade-schoolers for the brass ring. I couldn’t tell who enjoyed it more, Connor or the kids. I suspected it was a toss-up.

I smiled as he cheered on the kids when it was their turn to try for the ring, even as he teased them mercilessly when they missed. I smiled and realized I was having a really good time. Relaxed, comfortable, and – just plain fun.

Connor caught me smiling at him and gave a cheerful wave just as his tiger rode past the brass ring. The kids let out catcalls and hoots as he missed his turn. “And let that be a lesson, boyos,” Connor yelled about the calliope music, “Never let yourself be distracted by a woman when you’re goin’ for the brass ring!”

He grinned at me and I stuck my tongue out at him.

We rode the carousel three more times. Connor sat on the matching cat next to mine on the last ride and we went round in circles and up and down in companionable silence, watching the murals emerge and recede as the carousel revolved.

The carousel wound down to a stop and Connor hopped off his wooden cat in one easy motion. I started to dismount, but the sole of my sandal slipped off the footrest. I started to fall in what would have been a potentially painful landing had Connor not caught me around the waist and set me gently on the wooden floor.

Big mistake. The touch of his hands sent my libido into hyper-drive and my entire body stiffened in response. I felt the inevitable blush suffice my face and neck and quickly broke away from him. “Thanks.” I sounded awkward and ungracious even to my own ears.

“You’re welcome.” I didn’t look to see if Connor’s expression matched the somewhat puzzled tone of his voice. Instead I quickly weaved through the rows of wooden animals to the nearest exit and hopped off the carousel.

When Connor joined me, I could feel the agitation vibrating off him. Hoping to stave off the inevitable, I said with false cheer, “I don’t see any of our group. I guess Dario got sidetracked trying to find an animal with more claws than Trish.”

Not even a chuckle.

I tried again. “Have you ever been to the place we’re having dinner? What is it called – the Prada or something like that, right?” My nervous chatter wouldn’t have fooled a ten-year-old and it certainly didn’t fool Connor.

“Cassandra. What did I do?”

“N-nothing! Don’t be silly. Oh look, I think I see Val!” I skirted around him and walked rapidly towards the sidewalk, but Connor wasn’t having any of it. Grabbing me by one wrist, he steered me to the back of the ticket kiosk facing a fenced off area where a mini train chugged around a meandering railroad track. It wasn’t entirely private, but it was better than having it out in front of a bunch of kids and their parents. And I had no doubt we were about to have it out.

Sure enough, Connor didn’t waste any time before slapping a full hand of cards down on the table. And what a loaded hand it was, too.

“Cassandra, I’m in love with you.”

“Connor, please....”

I could see Connor’s frustration level reach the boiling point right before he let loose. “Dammit, girl, don’t you realize you and Raphael have not’ing in common?”

I glared at him. “That has nothing to do with it!”

“Not’ing to do with it?” There went his aitches, dropping like flies. “What the hell are you talking about? That has everyt’ing to do wit’ it!”

“Stop yelling at me!” I jerked my arm away and took a step backwards. I didn’t run away, though. I owed Connor an explanation, even though I wasn’t sure I could explain any of this to myself. I took a deep breath and tried to explain. “Look. Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve had this dream of the perfect man. My perfect man. I’ve known exactly what he should look like, even sound like. And Raphael is that man, right down to…to the way he lifts his eyebrows.”

“It must be obvious,” Connor shot back, “even in that dense romantic fog of yours, t’ere’s more to a relationship t’an perfect eyebrows.”

“That’s not—”

He cut me off with a chopping motion of his hand. “T’ere’s physical attraction, for one thing. Something that just doesn’t exist between you and Raphael. No matter how good the two of you might look on top of a wedding cake together.”

I sputtered in outrage. “What? Raphael is incredibly good-looking!”

“Yes, and so are you.”

That shut me up momentarily.

“But let me rephrase this slowly and patiently,” said Connor, slowly and patiently. “There is absolutely no fire between you. No spark of sexual tension. Not even a teeny one. Sure, you’d have bonny wee babies, but probably not so much fun makin’ them.”

“That’s—”

“I bet he hasn’t even kissed you yet.”

That stopped me. I couldn’t in all conscience count the chaste little peck Raphael had given me at the Casa de Flamenco and kisses in daydreams just didn’t count. And even those hadn’t been any great shakes lately anyway, unless Connor had been the one doing the kissing.

Connor smiled humorlessly. “Uh-huh, I knew it.”

I rallied. “Look, just because he hasn’t shoved his tongue down my throat yet does not mean we don’t have any spark between us!”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Cassandra, wake up. I’ve known Raphael for years and I’m here to tell you all he wants at this stage in the game is some nice young thing who’s reasonably attractive to be there when he’s done working at night, help entertain the clients, and provide a couple of kids so he can give his parents grandkids.”

“You make him sound like Darrin from Bewitched,” I snapped, still fuming over the “reasonably attractive” crack even he wasn’t referring to me.

Connor laughed again, this time with genuine amusement. “Not a bad analogy. The nose-twitching gimmick would definitely not go over well wit’ Raphael.”

“That’s not the point—”

“That is precisely the point.”

I swear, I would kill him if he didn’t let me finish a sentence.

“No, it’s—”

“Cassandra, you are magic.”

Okay, that shut me up again.

“You’re also a wicked, bold thing with a redhead’s temper and you live with your head in the clouds half the time.”

Sputtering time again. “That’s...that’s—”

Connor steamrollered right over me. “Now, I personally find those very attractive qualities. In fact, I can’t seem to be in the same room wit’ you wit’out wanting to fuck you silly.”

My knees went weak as heat rushed through me. My silk g-string instantly soaked through. Good thing I wore a skirt.

“Raphael, on the other hand, sees a pretty girl with a nice smile and a carefully controlled personality. In other words, not the real Cassandra. I guarantee you’ll eventually want more out of the relationship than he can give you.” Connor took me by the shoulders and looked directly into my eyes. “Girl, he calls you ‘Cassie.’”

“That’s a low blow,” I said, furious because he was right.

“Cassandra, face it. You’ve got some ridiculous fantasy nourished by those ludicrous books of yours and you’re so convinced that’s the way it’s going to be, you refuse to see any other options.” His words were like slaps to my face, hard, painful and accurate. And he wasn’t finished yet. “Do you really t’ink you’d be happy wit’ one of those pompous, chauvinistic macho heroes? Do you t’ink you’d enjoy being kissed wit’...wit’ ‘exquisite brutality’ every time you disagreed wit’ him?”

“I—”

My feeble attempt to interrupt didn’t even register on Connor’s radar. “And what kills me is Raphael is nothin’ even close to that! I don’t know where the hell you managed to come up wit’ that idea, but—”

I’d had enough. I shoved Connor away and drew myself up, wrapping whatever shreds of dignity I had left around me. “You’ve gone too far, Connor. I don’t think I care to talk to you any more!”

I turned to walk away, full of the warm glow of self-righteous anger. Connor, however, had other ideas. Seizing me by one wrist, he jerked me back around and into his arms. His movements were rough and his arms felt like steel bands around me, with no possibility of escape. My hands spread out against his chest. I might as well have been pushing against a cement wall for all the good it did me.

“You disagreed.”

Connor kissed me then, a hard, merciless kiss that pressed my head back against his shoulder as he ravished my mouth with his. It hurt; he crushed my lips against my teeth and one hand wrapped tightly around my hair until it pulled against my scalp when I tried to struggle. When he finally lifted his mouth from mine, I tasted blood.

“You bastard,” I hissed. I would have hit him if he weren’t holding me in the proverbial iron grip.

“That’s right.” Connor glared down at me, his brown eyes almost black with anger and desire. “Isn’t that what you want? A right bastard who’ll shut you up whenever you try and argue wit’ him? Or...”

He kissed me again. Slow, deliberate, firm yet gentle. Lips and tongue teasing mine instead of assaulting. One hand moved up to my neck and jaw, finding nerve endings I didn’t know I had. The other roamed down my back, fingers tracing small circles on the cluster of nerve endings right above the cleft in my buttocks. He was impossible to resist.

My fury melted away beneath the heat of his touch. My nipples took on a life of their own. I could practically hear them begging for his hands and mouth to play with them. Little sluts. My traitorous body molded itself against him of its own accord. My hands stopped trying to shove him away; they instead crept around his neck to pull him closer.

I don’t like to think of how far into inappropriate PDA we would have gone if we hadn’t been interrupted, but then again, possibly offending a few tourists might have been preferable to what happened next.

“Now this is a great shot. The dichotomy of animal heat in front of a children’s attraction.”

My eyes flew open in horror. Standing to the side and regarding us with –respectively – interest, malicious amusement and confused hurt, were Dario, Trish and Raphael. Dario had his hands up to one eye in their now-familiar lens position, no doubt framing a shot in the movie playing in his head.

My heart plummeted as Raphael shook his head and walked off towards the park interior.

Putting both hands against Connor’s chest, I shoved him away as hard as I could. “Now look what you’ve done! I...I...” I couldn’t finish my sentence or look at him any more. Instead I turned and walked away as quickly as possible without actually breaking into a run.

* * * *

Connor swore silently when he heard Dario’s voice over the lust-induced roaring in his ears. Of all the ham-fisted, thick-skulled idjits, Dario now headed up the list in the number-one spot.

Raphael’s shocked look of betrayal cut into Connor like a knife with a dull blade; it took a moment to penetrate, then it hurt like hell. Cassandra’s furious glare, bordering on hatred, was sharper, more immediate. He’d have to wait until the blood stopped flowing to see which cut was deeper.

He gave Dario a look that should have incinerated the feckless dolt where he stood. “Did ya ever hear of privacy, you idjit?”

Before Dario could stutter any sort of reply in his own defense, Val and Gerald strolled up to join the group. “Hi guys, sorry we’re late!” said Val. “Did we miss anything?”

* * * *

I caught up with Raphael by the Japanese Friendship Garden. The man had long legs and walked fast. He stood leaning on the concrete railing overlooking the koi pond. I slowed down when I saw him to give my breathing a chance to slow down to normal. I didn’t want to be panting like a racehorse when I talked to him.

“Raphael?”

He didn’t look up when I said his name. Not a good sign.

“I...I just want to explain...”

He finally looked at me with the same expression of confused hurt he’d had back at the carousel. I felt like the world’s biggest jerk.

“Have you and Connor been doing this behind my back the entire week?”

I shook my head emphatically, resolutely ignoring my niggling conscience currently reliving the scenes in my hotel room and on the beach. “It was a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

Raphael laughed without any amusement. “That kiss looked like more than a misunderstanding, Cassie.”

I tried not to wince. “Connor was just making fun of the books I read, all those stupid romances, and he started imitating the heroes and it just got out of hand and—”

“Cassie, please. I’m not an idiot. “

“Raphael. I’m so, so sorry.”

Raphael heaved a huge sigh as if reaching a very important decision. “Don’t be sorry. It’s obvious you and Connor are attracted to each other and…well, that’s okay.”

It was?

I must have looked as confused as I felt; Raphael put a hand on my shoulder and stared into my eyes with those gorgeous cobalt orbs of his. “Look. I admit I had an idea or two about you and me and it was a little bit of a shock to walk in on the two of you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, it was—”

He held up a hand to stop me. “It’s okay.”

There he went with the “it’s okay” again.

“But now that I’ve thought about it,” he went on, “I think you and Connor will really suit one another. I love the guy like a brother and I’m glad he’s found someone as special as you. And if I can’t have you,” He smiled ruefully. “Then I’m glad Connor can.”

Okay, color me flummoxed.

“You mean you...uh...you don’t...well...”

“It’s okay, Cassie.”

“Um. Thanks.” At a loss for what else to do, I awkwardly extended a hand. Raphael took it, gave it a gentle squeeze and dropped a brotherly kiss on my forehead. “You go back to Connor now. I’ll be fine.”

I left him staring off over the koi pond. I’m sure his expression of noble self-sacrifice was entirely unconscious.

Chapter Twelve

I lay on my bed, sprawled out like a starfish under the coverlet despite the warmth of the evening. I wanted the comfort of cozy bedclothes. Remote in one hand, box of See’s in the other, I stared glassy-eyed at the plasma-screen TV and flipped through channel after channel. It was satellite TV. There were a lot of channels.

A sharp rap on my open door and the ever-present scent of tea-rose announced Val, dressed to kill in a quintessential little black dress, with impeccable hair and makeup, as usual. “Hey, Cassie!” She smiled brightly at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to go dancing with us?” Us being her, Gerald, Trish, Dario, and Raphael.

Connor wasn’t going. He was staying at the hotel to work. Or so he told Val earlier. I wondered if he and Raphael had talked yet. Or did whatever passes for discussion of relationship issues among two heterosexual men. A few grunts and a “Me like woman!” over some Guinness, perhaps.

Stupid men.

“You go ahead,” I said, too apathetic to do much in the way of movement or intonation. “My head hurts too much to do more than vegetate right now.”

“Do you need some ibuprofen or something?”

I smiled up at her, grateful even in my apathy for such a good friend. “I took some, thanks. I have my See’s too. And some wine.” I nodded towards a half-empty glass of zinfandel on the bedside table. The bottle was in the other room to prevent refilling with too much convenience.

“Okay, but you might not want to have too much wine with the chocolate.” Val started to leave, then turned back to me. “Cheer up, Cassie. Whatever’s wrong will work out.”

“Thanks, Val.” I hesitated, then asked, “Have you talked to Raphael at all?”

She shook her head no. “But I figured it had something to do with him or Connor.”

“Try both of them,” I muttered.

“That doesn’t surprise me, either,” said Val, who obviously knew more than she was letting on.

“You know more than you’re letting on, don’t you?”

“Just sleep on it, Cassie. You’ll figure out what to do.” Val waved and vanished out the door. Her tea rose scent lingered behind and I sneezed.

She was right. I’d figure it out...eventually. Probably when I was a geriatric codgerette in a wheelchair.

Ugh. Right now I didn’t want to think about Raphael or Connor, or love or sex, or eyes of any color, be they cobalt blue or chocolate brown. Chiseled jaws were right out the window, as were thick, masculine shocks of dark auburn hair and Irish accents. I had chocolate. I didn’t need men. Stupid men.

I took another spin through the channels, taking comfort from chocolate and brown sugar melting in my mouth as I consumed a butterscotch square one little nibble at a time. I watched a few minutes of Hell’s Kitchen, but could only take so much shouting from Chef Ramsey and back-biting from the wannabe chefs, so I moved on, rejecting Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail (Oxygen Network and Lifetime Channel, respectively). Last thing I needed was Meg Ryan being adorably and/or nauseatingly cute while Tom Hanks delivered his usual low-key Everyman performance and the two of them fell improbably in love. No love! And no mutant snakes, lizards, sharks, or people running through old castles with video cameras, saying inane things like “Did you hear that? There’s something there!” which left out the Sci-Fi Channel.

I finally settled on AMC, which was showing Captain Blood. True, Flynn’s auburn hair and affected Irish accent reminded me a bit too much of a certain someone I wasn’t thinking about, but it had pirates and sword fights and Basil Rathbone as Levasseur, the villainous French captain. What’s not to like?

I settled in, if not happily, at least contentedly, to watch the adventures of Peter Blood, although admittedly not sure who to root for ‘cause they were both so damn dashing. Something about men in boots, breeches and puffy white shirts...

Cassandra backed up against the wooden rail of the sloop Merry Widow until she could go no further. Her bosom heaved in fear, nearly tumbling out of her low-cut oyster-silk gown. Never had she regretted a wardrobe choice so much. She knew the dress displayed her charms to their full advantage, her creamy breasts exposed to a scant inch above the nipples and her waist nipped in to an impossibly tiny circumference. She looked desirable, a woman adorned purely for the pleasure of men.

She stared in defiance at her captor, infamous French-Irish pirate Captain Connor Callahan, as he leaned over her menacingly. “Don’t you dare come any closer!” Her heart pounded in her chest, and not entirely from fear.

Truly Connor Callahan was a fine figure of a man, tight black breeches clinging to his muscular thighs, a sword belt and scabbard belted around his slim waist, a full-sleeved white cotton shirt billowing out from his body in the sea breeze. Thigh high boots completed the dashing ensemble. The perfect picture of a gentleman pirate. Except he was proving to be no gentleman.

Leering, he loomed over her and spoke in his French-Irish accent. “Now zatt I have taken you captive on ze high seas with no hope of rescue, my proud beauty, perhaps you won’t be so quick to spurn my embrace, oui?”

“Stay away, you vile rogue!”

“What?” said Captain Callahan with a laugh. “And let such charms go to waste?” He placed a hand on the rail on either side of Cassandra, preventing her escape. “Never let it be said that Capitaine Callahan let such voluptuous beauty go unsampled.”

His pirate crew, miscreants and rogues all, laughed lasciviously and made suggestive comments. “Har, har, har,” said one. And from another, “Aye, she be a fine, plumptious tidbit, wi’ a curse and all that!”

The despicable vermin!

Cassandra glared at him with a mix of fear, defiance – and unwelcomed desire. “You...you...you pirate! You, sir, are no gentleman!”

The entire pirate crew laughed uproariously, causing a flush of humiliation to spread over Cassandra’s face.

No one laughed harder than Connor Callahan. He threw his head back, showing the glint of white teeth as he gave voice to his mirth. His rich laughter rang across the sloop, startling a gull that had taken roost on the Merry Widow’s figurehead.

“I am blinded by the perceptive brilliance of your mind,” he said after the laughter died down. “But enough of this shite. Sacre bleu, I have waited long enough to claim my prize!”

He moved even closer and Cassandra put out her hands against his chests in a hopeless attempt to ward him off. “You can do what you will to my body,” she said proudly, “but you will never touch my soul!”

“Brave words, my dove,” purred Captain Callahan. “But I’m not interested in your soul.” He seized her in his arms and kissed her violently until she stopped struggling. Voice thickened with desire, he added, “But don’t worry, ma cherie. When I’m through loving you, you will purr like a kitten with a bowl of cream.”

He kissed her again, one hand wrapped around her body in an iron grip while the other tangled in her hair, holding her head still when she would have escaped his lips.

Cassandra heard the laughter of his crew in the background as if from a great distance; the roaring in her eyes might have been the sounds of the ocean, or that of her own desire. She grew faint as Callahan’s mouth continued to ravish hers before traveling slowly to her neck and ear, teeth and tongue nibbling the tender flesh along her throat to send waves of heat through her loins.

What was happening to her?

The heat continued to build in the core of her being, traveling up through her breasts and back down again, a loop of hot, wet desire that pulsed between her legs and made her crave the feel of his hard, masculine body against hers. Not even the knowledge his crew watched dimmed the fire within her. Her arms crept around his neck of their own volition and he laughed softly as he sensed her surrender, a triumphant sound that made her hate him, yet want him even more.

The arm holding her body loosened as his hand roamed knowingly from the curve of her buttocks to her hip, hitching up the fabric of her gown to explore the territory beneath. Cassandra moaned as he slipped his fingers down to the soft tangle of hair covering her mound. She was hot there, hot and wet, throbbing with desire within her silken folds. When his hand slipped between her legs to caress the sensitive nub of her clitoris, she arched up to meet him and—

“Unhand her, you villainous sea frog!”

Captain Callahan released Cassandra at the sound of Rafe Dumas’s heroic voice ringing through the air. Rafe finished climbing the ladder up the far side of the Merry Widow and leapt with cat-like grace onto the deck of the ship.

“Cordon bleu, Captain Dumas!” growled Callahan. “ ‘ow dare you interfere with my pleasure?”

“You filthy swine!” snarled Rafe. “You’ll find no pleasure with her!”

Callahan looked at him, puzzled. “I thought you said she was a good time.” Ignoring Cassandra’s shriek of outrage, he continued, “But no matter. If you do not leave at once, I will consider our truce null and void!”

“You traitorous vermin. Our truce was over the minute you touched her unsullied flesh.” Rafe cast a concerned glance at Cassandra. “You are still unsullied, aren’t you?”

Cassandra started to give an indignant response, but Callahan was there before her. “You question her? We shall duel to the death!” He drew his sword from its scabbard.

Rafe hesitated. “Well...hmm...Cassandra, my dear, you are still...he hasn’t...you aren’t—”

“Of course not!” Cassandra retorted angrily, if not entirely truthfully. She’d been faithful in her heart and mind, if not all of her body. Close enough for government work. “Do you think,” she said, working up a fine head of self-righteous indignation, “that I would let the purity of our embrace be spoiled by the unclean touch of this pirate?”

“Oh, well, of course not,” said Rafe without conviction.

“To ze death, monsieur!” growled Callahan, settling into an en guard stance. His crew backed up to give them room to fight.

Rafe unsheathed his sword, although it seemed to Cassandra’s eyes he was more than a little half-hearted in his movements. She could not in all honesty say she thought he was enthusiastic about the prospect of a duel to defend her honor. The pirates noticed his lackluster attitude as well and began to make chicken noises at him.

Callahan stared at him contemptuously. “You are not ze man, you are ze mouse! Where is your fromage? En garde!”

Rafe chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “Ah, well, since you seem so fond of her, I suppose I could see my way to stepping aside—”

“Rafe!” Cassandra’s outraged shriek frightened another unsuspecting gull nesting in the crow’s nest.

Rafe gave an apologetic shrug. “Well, my dear, it’s just that there’s something so final about ‘to the death.’”

Cassandra stared at him in disillusioned disbelief. Rafe Dumas was not the man she thought he was. All of her girlish dreams of romance shattered in that moment, the shards blowing away in the wind. She stomped over to her erstwhile fiancé, who looked everywhere but directly at her. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Grabbing his sword, she shoved Rafe out of the way and whirled to face Captain Callahan, who looked appalled at this new turn of events.

“ I cannot fight with a woman,” he growled, relaxing his en guard stance. “I would be ze laughing stock of ze seven seas!”

“Very well,” exclaimed Cassandra dramatically. “Then you shall die!” Without further ado, she lunged, her sword point aimed directly for Callahan’s black heart. He parried it just in time, falling back a step with surprised respect on his face.

“Moulin rouge, you are a wildcat! I will fight!”

Cassandra’s fencing lessons stood her well as she dueled for her honor and possibly her life against one of the deadliest scourges of the Caribbean Sea. A handsome scourge, to be sure, and one who wielded his blade with as much skill as he did his hands and mouth. She found it much easier to stand up to his prowess as a swordsman; the heat of battle was far less distracting than the fire he kindled in her body.

The blades clashed over and over as the two thrust, parried and riposted, the catcalls and comments of the crew punctuating the raging battle. After a particularly vicious exchange during which the hilts of the swords collided with a grating crash, both opponents fell back for a moment to regain their breath.

Rafe tapped Cassandra on one shoulder.

“What?” she snarled.

“My dear, could you be a bit more careful with my sword? The hilt is gold-plated, you know.”

Cassandra ran him through without hesitation. After all, he was wanted by the authorities on Port Royal. No one would miss him.

Rafe clutched his chest with one hand, staring in disbelief from the bleeding death blow to the woman who’d dealt it. “My new shirt,” he gasped. “Ruined.” Collapsing face forward onto the deck, he died.

Cassandra coolly wiped her blade on the back of Rafe’s shirt and leapt back into the fight. She and Callahan dueled up and down the length and breadth of the Merry Widow.

Callahan stared at her in equal parts lust and admiration. “Sorbonne!” he exclaimed over the ring of steel. “Never have I met such a woman as you! You make my blood roar, my heart sing!”

With a quick movement, he twisted the sword from Cassandra’s grasp, sending it to the deck with a clatter. He took her into his arms and stared fiercely into her eyes. “Let us lay down our swords and sail the sea of amour – together!”

“You’re a rogue and a villain,” breathed Cassandra.

“No, mademoiselle,” Callahan replied, pulling her even closer. “I’m a pirate.”

He kissed her then, the heat of his touch branding her body and soul. She knew then she belonged with him forever.

“Oh, shit.” I sat bolt upright in bed. How could I have been so stupidly, willfully blind? I was as dumb as any heroine who’d ever simpered her way through a romantic fog in one of my novels.

Scrambling out of bed, I threw a white cotton robe on over my nightgown and thrust my feet into ballet-style velvet slippers. I didn’t have time to get dressed. I had to find Connor and talk to him before I blew everything.

Chapter Thirteen

Connor wasn’t in his room, or at least he wasn’t answering my knock. I almost went back to my room, but decided to give the lounge a quick try. It was late enough for the crowds to have thinned out and I was sure the Esmeralda Hotel had seen more than one guest in pajamas wandering down for a nightcap. Or not. At this point, I didn’t really give a shit.

The lobby was quiet, the front desk manned by one young man, nose buried in a Stephen King novel. He peeked up over the rim of the pages when I walked by; I gave him a friendly wave and moved on quickly so as not to interrupt him. I knew all too well the pain of being pulled out of a good book.

I peeked into the lounge, now occupied by half a dozen or so people, most of them gathered around the bar. I spotted Roz’s bright red hair back in the corner we’d commandeered yesterday and immediately headed her way. Maybe she knew where Connor was.

As I neared her, I realized Roz knew precisely where Connor was – sitting across from her in the oversized armchair, hidden from view from most angles. They appeared to be in the middle of a serious conversation, if the look on Connor’s face was anything to go by. He looked depressed.

I paused, suddenly uncertain how to proceed. It all seemed so clear when I was fantasizing about pirates.

I took a deep breath and approached their table. “Hi.”

Both Roz and Connor looked up when I spoke. Of the two, only Roz seemed pleased to see me.

Connor stared at me, anything but welcoming. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Connor scanned the room as if looking for someone. Probably anyone but me. “Well, actually, Roz and I are kind of in the middle of a private discussion and—”

“I’ll leave,” said Roz. “Our discussion can wait. Besides,” she added, patting Connor on the shoulder, “it was really more of an argument and you were winning. But only out of sheer bloody-mindedness.” She gave me a brief hug. “See you tomorrow, dear. Try not to kill him.”

I smiled, but it faded quickly when I sat down and faced Connor. He looked around impatiently, wanting to be anywhere but where he was. Or more specifically, anywhere but there with me. A daunting task, but I had to try.

“I...I wanted to apologize, Connor—”

“Don’t bother. What’s the point?”

Okaaay.

Admittedly daunted, I tried again. “Connor, I behaved like an id—”

Once again Connor rolled right over me. “I mean, why should you apologize for t’e fact I obviously misread a few signals?”

“But you didn’t, I mean, I didn’t...”

“After all, who am I to get in t’e way of true love? Sure now, and what’s an orgasm or two between friends, right? You and Raphael were obviously made for each ot’er. Your romance novels say so!”

I shrank back in my chair against the face of Connor’s anger. His words were cruel, yes, and they hurt badly, but I couldn’t summon up any self-righteous indignation because he was right.

“Connor, please. I know I behaved badly and I haven’t been fair to you, but please hear me out!” I rushed on before he could interrupt me again. “I’ve been living my life based on romantic fantasies I got from reading books. I know that. Raphael looked the part, but he was also safe because I could pretend he was anything I wanted. He’s safe and predictable and I didn’t have to worry about any real emotions.”

“Handy, that.”

I pressed on. “With you, everything was always so chaotic and exciting. You were just too real, Connor, and it scares me and now I’ve blown it and you hate me and—”

Connor raised his hand to stop me. “Cassandra, no more. I just don’t have the energy left to deal wit’ you and your rapid-fire mood shifts. I really wish I did, but I don’t. I’ve officially reached the maximum amount of rejection allowed for this relationship. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some sleep.”

I stayed where I was, shell-shocked, as Connor walked out of the lounge without a backwards glance. A cocktail waitress stopped by the table and smiled brightly, either unaware of or ignoring my unconventional evening attire. “Can I bring you a drink?”

“Yes, please,” I said in a voice that seemed far away. “A glass of the zinfandel, please. May I put it on my room tab?”

I could. The waitress returned in record time with a large glass of wine. I must be exuding especially pathetic “I need booze” vibes.

I was grateful for the initial numbness; I knew from past experience the almost pleasant disconnected feeling would fade into a hollow, gut-punched sensation, inevitably followed by a flood of tears. I had approximately a half-hour to get to my room or build an ark before the saltwater began to flow. Plenty of time to finish my glass of wine.

I took a swallow, barely tasting the rich, spicy flavor as I stared at nothing on the wall across from me, trying to keep my mind a blank so I wouldn’t have to confront just how stupid I’d been over the last few days and wonder how I’d get through the next few days, let alone years without Connor.

“You okay, hon?” Roz sat down next to me.

My half-hour until meltdown prognosis didn’t count when a sympathetic voice entered the equation. Five, four, three, two one ... drizzle. Yup.

I looked up at Roz, tried to answer, but only managed to get out “H-h-he hates me!” before the tears fell in earnest. Big, gut-wrenching, throat-ripping sobs. Right there in the corner of the Emerald Hotel Lounge after being told off by the man I suspected I loved while dressed in a nightgown and robe. My humiliation was complete.

Roz quickly pulled the armchair around to shield us from view as much as possible, then put a comforting arm around me until the worst of the storm passed. I heard the cocktail waitress ask if she could get us anything. “Napkins and a glass of ice water. Oh, and a Manhattan.”

By the time the waitress returned with Roz’s order, I’d gotten myself under control. My sobbing had slowed to the occasional watery hiccup and I had that exhausted inner peace you get after a really good crying jag. I was still miserable, but the landscape of my future didn’t seem quite as bleak and blasted. There were at least a few buildings still standing.

Roz handed me a wad of cocktail napkins and had a swig of her drink.

I blew my nose and had some more wine, my feet curled underneath me on the sofa as I told Roz about my lifelong addition to romance novels, my quest for the ideal man, how Rafe seemed to fit the bill, but I just couldn’t accept it was Connor who made my toes curl when he kissed me. The whole sordid story ending with my failed attempt to apologize to Connor minutes earlier.

“Connor blew past me on the way to his room,” said Roz. “I figured things hadn’t gone so well between you and thought you might need a friendly ear.”

“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. “You were right. I might have made it to my room at some point, but I also might have thought it was a good idea to have a few more glasses of wine first. Maybe even graduate to something stronger.”

“Here, try a sip of this.” Roz handed me her Manhattan. I took a sip and enjoyed the mellow burning sensation it made going down my throat. Yummy. And dangerous. I handed the glass back. “I’d better stick to wine.”

“Wise girl.”

“Not so much.” I sighed, disgusted with myself. “There must be some sort of record for most directly idiotic behavior in shortest amount of time.”

“They’re called the Darwin Awards, hon,” said Roz. “And I hardly think you qualify.”

“I do so.” I blew my nose again, then dipped a clean napkin in some ice water and held it to my eyes. I did not get dewy-eyed and fragile when I cried. My eyes vanished into red, swollen lids and the tip of my nose lit up like W.C. Fields after a particularly long drinking binge.

“Just because it’s taken you a while to rethink a lifetime of romantic dreams?” Roz shook her head. “Give yourself a break, hon. It takes some people years to give up on dreams they outgrew years ago. Some people never do. It’s taken you, what? Less than a week? I’d say you’re ahead of the curve.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight, Roz?”

Roz laughed. “Oh, honey, I’m no expert on the subject. I just write about it.”

I wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily. “But you have to have some opinions or insights to write about relationships as well as you do.”

“Do I believe in love at first sight?” Roz took a contemplative sip of her Manhattan. “I believe in lust at first sight, definitely.”

“Maybe that’s all it is with me and Connor.”

“Maybe so. But that’s not how he sees it.”

I looked up eagerly. It was like being back in high school. “He talked to you about me?”

“Oh, yes. You actually interrupted a conversation all about you. And no,” she said before I could even open my mouth to ask, “I’m not going to tell you what he said.”

Rats. I sat back in my seat.

“Suffice it to say you caught Connor off guard, which almost certainly put him on the defensive. That might explain why he was less than receptive to your apology.”

“Maybe,” I said doubtfully. “But he seemed pretty much ‘I hate Cassandra’ to me.”

“Believe me,” said Roz firmly, “he doesn’t hate you. You’ve read enough romance novels to know how it works. It wouldn’t be a great romance without the arguments and misunderstandings. Obstacles must be overcome so the hero and heroine can fully appreciate what they have by the end of the book.”

“And then, happily ever after?”

Roz smiled. “At least happily for now.” She raised her glass to mine in a toast.

“That’s all any of us can really ask for, isn’t it?”

* * * *

Connor sat in his room, moodily tossing back Laphroig and watching a Ninja Warrior marathon on G-4. He almost didn’t answer the knock on his door, but Roz’s imperative, “Connor, I know you’re in there. Open the door and stop sulking.”

Slamming back his Scotch, Connor stomped to the door and flung it open. “Irishmen don’t sulk,” he said sulkily. “We brood, we suffer deep melancholy and we have good honest madness, but we do not sulk.”

“I stand corrected,” said Roz. “Now pour me a shot of whatever you’re swilling.”

“Irishmen don’t swill,” said Connor. “But I’m happy to share.” He poured her two fingers of Laphroig and handed it over. “Now tell me why you’re interrupting my sulk...er, melancholia.”

“Don’t worry, this won’t take long.”

“Good. They’re about to move into Stage 3 here.” He gestured towards the TV.

“Ooh,” said Roz. “Mount Midori-Yama? How many made it?”

“Three.”

“I’ll make it quick.” Roz looked him straight in the eye. “Did you really have to be such an asshole to Cassandra this evening?”

Connor poured himself another shot, feeling his calm fade away along with his aitches. “Yes, I t’ink I did.”

“Why?”

Connor actually sputtered. “Why? What d’ya mean, ‘why?’”

“Why are you so angry with her? You’ve known from the beginning Cassandra doesn’t entirely live in the real world as far as romantic expectations.”

“Yes, but—”

“But me no buts, mister!” Roz glared at him sternly, reminding him of one of the nuns at his Catholic school. The memory was enough to shut him up and let Roz have her say. “How long have you known Cassandra? Three days, right?”

Connor nodded – okay, let’s be honest, he thought – sulkily.

“And she’s had these romantic ideals for how long? Probably since high school, yes? So that would be, well, at least ten years, maybe more.”

Connor stared into his Scotch. He knew where this was going.

“So you’re pissed off because she didn’t discard romantic ideals of over a decade in less than a week.”

Connor thought about it. “Well, yes.”

“Does that seem fair to you?”

Connor hated feeling like a ten-year-old caught beating up on his younger, weaker sibling. “I guess not. But damn it, Roz,” he burst out, “I know I’m right! There’s something between us and all I want is the chance to prove it without being stuck in Raphael’s ridiculously good-looking shadow.”

“So you prove it by basically telling her to go to hell when she tries to apologize.”

There was a long pause, during which one of the Stage 3 finalists on Ninja Warrior bit the dust in a spectacularly painful manner.

“Well, shite,” said Connor.

“Shite indeed,” Roz agreed. “You’ve spent all this time telling her why she’s wrong. Now why don’t you try showing her why you’re right instead? And you might try apologizing yourself.”

Connor opened his mouth to tell Roz why she was wrong, then shut it again. Then he grinned. “Y’know, for someone who writes all of those outlandish romantic relationships, you’re not half bad when it comes to the genuine t’ing.”

Roz shook her head. “If you played tennis, I’d tell you to work on your forearm. You’ve got your backhanded compliments down pat.”

Chapter Fourteen

I woke up late the next morning with a sinus headache and a mood so gloomy it should have qualified for a local storm warning. All of Roz’s encouraging words rang hollow in the light of day, my brief burst of optimism totally false. I’d embarrassed myself in front of Raphael, Connor, and whoever had been in the lounge last night. I should just pack my bags, catch an early flight back to San Francisco and immerse myself into my job and the fascinating minutiae there within. I was certain enough brain-deadening work awaited my return; catching up on complaints from Mrs. “Twee Fairy” Kelly alone would take at least a day.

Whimper.

Okay. Maybe I wouldn’t pack up quite yet and rush back to my exciting life in the fast-paced world of Gilman Paper Products. A bath might help. Yes, a hot, soaky bubble bath was definitely the first order of the morning. With room service.

A half-hour later I lay submerged in enough sandalwood- and geranium-scented bubbles to supply three Doris Day bathtub scenes. A sterling silver tray holding a pitcher of coffee, white china cup, fresh cream and sugar, and a large selection of mini breakfast pastries rested on the extra-wide ledge, along with stacks of romance novels.

I’d already finished a chocolate croissant; a fresh raspberry Danish now sang its siren song, but it had to compete with the admittedly loud classical music emanating from the radio. This particular station should be named K-Dirge, with every piece bombastic and melancholy. Maybe there was a special series of pieces written by composers during suicidal phases in their lives. Whatever. It suited my mood.

I picked up the top book. Love Me Always by Maris Windspear. “Averil Monette, lovechild of a famous artist and one of his models, had inherited her father’s talent and her mother’s passion. She swore never to love after her mother’s suicide when her father turned to a younger model. She would be the one to break hearts, not have hers broken! Then she met Gaston Dupres, renowned writer with a bitter, tortured soul. Drawn to each other despite their mutual pain and distrust, would Averil and Gaston heal their emotional wounds and find love...forever?”

My mood darkened even further. I threw it across the room where it hit the half-closed door and fell to the tiled floor with a satisfying plop.

“Um. Cassandra?” The bathroom door opened slightly and Val poked her head in, glancing warily for more flying books. “Can I come in?”

She took my inarticulate growl for a yes and entered the bathroom, pausing to turn the radio down before sitting on a little vanity stool. I started on the raspberry Danish and stared dourly at the tips of my toes sticking out from piles of foamy bubbles.

“Um, so how are you this morning?”

“Fine.” I ripped off another piece of Danish and stuffed it in my mouth.

Val tried again. “Gerald and I are going to tea at the Horton Grand this afternoon. Sounds like your kind of thing. Want to come along?”

Tea sounded good, but Gerald did not. I shrugged and ate more Danish, unwilling to commit to anything at the moment.

Val absent-mindedly reached for a mini cinnamon roll, no doubt trying to decide what to say next. I grabbed the plate possessively and snarled, “Mine!”

Val’s eyebrows shot up and she just looked at me. Ashamed, I put the plate back down – but snagged the cinnamon roll first.

“Cassandra, did something happen after I left last night?”

Well, since she asked – I unleashed my inner drama queen.

“I was humiliated! Disillusioned, destroyed, and ruined!”

“I take it that’s a yes.”

The events of the last few days came back in an inexorable wave of cinematic moments, played in unforgiving living color on the wide-screen TV of my mind. Every embarrassing second, from my tumble into the waters of San Diego Bay to Raphael walking in on Connor’s and my steamy embrace to Connor’s face when I left him to follow Raphael, with the whipped cream on the cocoa, of course, being the scene in the lounge last night.

“I screwed my entire life up!” I burst out, hitting the water with an open palm – fortunately not the hand holding the cinnamon roll – for emphasis. Water and bubbles splooshed up out of the tub. “Everyone but me had it all figured out, Val! It’s Connor I’m attracted to, not Raphael, even though he’s really good-looking and nice and all, but it took me too long to realize it and now it’s too late! Connor’s given up on me!” I stuffed the rest of the roll into my mouth, immediately looking for more pastry.

“It can’t be that bad,” said Val, using a spare hand towel to wipe bubbles off her skirt. “It—Cassie, stop stuffing yourself! – it couldn’t be that bad. Connor can’t have changed his feelings overnight.”

I laughed mirthlessly. “You didn’t see his face when I tried to apologize. He hates me. Loathes me! Despises me!”

Val heaved an exasperated sigh. “Well, color me dramatic here. Put down that croissant!” I did so, giving her a baleful stare. “Good. It’s not going to do you any good if you gain twenty pounds and can’t fit into any of your new wardrobe. Now tell me exactly what happened last night, and leave your drama queen at the door.”

“Can I have some coffee?” I tried not to sound sullen, but failed miserably. Okay, I didn’t try that hard.

“Yes, you can have coffee. Here.” Val poured us both a cup of coffee and listened carefully while I told her what transpired between Connor and me in the lounge. When I was done, she said, “So?”

“What do you mean, ‘so?’ “ I added another spoonful of sugar to my coffee before she could stop me. “He hates me!”

“Give me a huge personal break. So he’s mad at you and didn’t want to talk. You’re not even giving him a second chance, which it sounds like he gave you about ten times over. I mean, you were more interested in making things right with Raphael earlier and that had to hurt Connor’s feelings.”

I felt confused and a bit betrayed. “I thought you wanted me to get together with Raphael!”

“Well, sure! I mean, my favorite cousin and my best friend? It would have made holidays a lot easier, for one thing! But just because I’m disappointed things didn’t click between you and Raphael doesn’t mean I’d want you guys to be together if you’re not in love with each other. And it’s obvious you and Connor have something between you. Jeez Louise, Cassie, you’re acting like one of those goofy girls in your books.”

I glared at the pile of books sitting next to me. “These stupid books are to blame for this whole damned mess.”

“Well, you’re a little to blame too, if you—” She stopped as I just looked at her. “I mean, go on! I’m listening.”

“If I hadn’t been so caught up in my stupid, idealized version of romance, I would have realized Raphael is a really nice, extremely good-looking man. No less, no more. Then I wouldn’t have been so afraid of my feelings for Connor, just because he doesn’t look like the man of my dreams.”

“Yup.”

“I’m through with this trash!” I picked up the top book on the stack and threw it as hard as I could. It bounced off the wall and rebounded back to land by Val’s feet. “I’m not going to forfeit any more precious opportunities because of these stupid books!” I threw another one. This time it bounced back into the tub.

“Okay.” Val sounded a bit nervous and watched in apprehension as I launched yet another paperback missile.

“From now on, I’m going to live within the boundaries of reality!” I reached for another book and Val hastily stood up.

“Uh-huh. Well, that’s great, Cassie. I think you’ve got the right attitude now and maybe you should stop throwing books? Okay, I guess not. Well, Gerald is waiting for me so I’m going to go now.”

She backed out the bathroom door, leaving me to my battleground of dead paperbacks. I waited until I heard the front door of the suite close and grabbed another pastry. I wasn’t quite ready to give Val’s words the consideration they deserved, but I would. First I had a job to do.

* * * *

Connor had thought long and hard on Roz’s advice and had come to the conclusion she was absolutely right. Now he just needed to figure out how best to implement it. Somewhere in there, there needed to be an apology for acting like such an ass to Cassandra after she’d gotten together the courage to apologize to him. For fuck’s sake, she’d come down to the lounge in her nightie to find him. And he’d thrown her apology back in her face without even the courtesy of hearing her out. He’d been a right bastard, to be sure. Especially after Raphael had been such a gentleman in accepting Connor’s own apology for what amounted to poaching on his territory.

“I just wish you’d told me up front you were into her,” had been Raphael’s response. “I would have backed off. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Connor didn’t have an answer for that, although he was uncomfortably sure his ego had something to do with it, wanting Cassandra to make a sort of Sophie’s Choice. Bather than go into embarrassing and slightly too complex explanation for Raphael’s straightforward way of thinking, Connor had just said, “You liked her right from the start. It sort of sneaked up on me.”

“I like her, but it’s obvious she’s more interested in you than me.” Raphael’s tone had revealed this last was a bit of a surprise to him, definitely a first in his romantic career. When meeting them both for the first time, most women gravitated to Connor only after they’d tested the waters with Raphael first and found them too cold.

On the way to breakfast, Connor ran into Val and Gerald in the lobby. He hoped Cassandra hadn’t told her friend about his behavior; Val’s good opinion was surprisingly important to him. Val’s greeting was as warm as ever, so either Cassandra hadn’t ratted him out, or Val was too polite to call him the scum that he was. Gerald’s “Hey, Connorino,” was par for the course. What did Val see in him? Ah, well, that, luckily, was not his mystery to solve.

“So Val,” said Connor after pleasantries were exchanged “Is Cassandra out and about yet?”

“Um, last I saw her, she was taking a bath, eating pastries and throwing books,” said Val.

Connor nodded as if it were the most perfectly reasonable thing he’d heard all day. “I’ll just go look for her, then.”

Val smiled at him. “Good.” To Gerald, “C’mon, sweetie! Let’s go shopping!”

“Sure thing, sugar.” Gerald beamed at Val as though he’d won the lottery.

“Have fun, you two.” If Gerald could put up with Val’s shopping marathons, maybe he was the right man for her – and who were the rest of them to tell her otherwise?

Connor went off in search of Cassandra. Hopefully she was done with the book throwing, but if not, he’d always been good at dodge ball.

Chapter Fifteen

Fog drifted in off the ocean, a definite change from the clear, sunny weather of the past few days. It suited my mood and the task at hand. My yoga pants and long periwinkle blue cotton tunic I’d brought just in case of cooler weather were perfect.

My little bonfire was crackling quite merrily within the confines of the concrete fire-pit I’d commandeered. There were three others, none of them in use due to the unexpectedly gloomy weather. I’ve always preferred clouds and fog for beach outings that didn’t involve sunbathing, but was just as glad my fellow Esmeralda Hotel guests didn’t share my tastes. I had the entire beach to myself for the time being. A good thing, because I wasn’t sure if my current activity was actually legal.

I turned to the pile of books at my side and picked one up.

“Love’s Fiery Flame. You first.” I tossed the book into the bonfire, ignoring the all too obvious symbolic irony here. Stupid irony.

“Passion’s Liquid Fire.” Okay, enough irony already. I tossed it in. “Love’s Reckless Lust.”

And so it went for a good dozen books – although not a dozen good books, ha ha. Notably absent from the pile was anything by Lucinda Lusthaven. Roz was too good a writer for her work to be consigned to flames. Besides, I wasn’t ready for total cold turkey.

I reached the end of the pile and lifted up the last book. Sweet, Simple Savage. Oh yeah, this one had to go. I picked it up and stared at it. “You, my friend, are single-handedly responsible for all my pain. Oh, maybe I’m being a little unfair. Yes, I realize I had a hand in my own downfall, but I’d rather blame you.” I threw Sweet Simple Savage on the fire and watched as flames licked at the edges of the insipid cover. Burn, baby, burn.

But as the fire started to engulf Ace and Angel, I couldn’t stand it. Snatching it out by an as yet untouched corner of the front cover, I tossed the burning book onto the beach and buried it in sand to smother the flames. When I pulled it out, it was crisped around the edges, but Angel and Ace were still untouched. I’d keep it as a reminder of my stupidity. Maybe next time I’d get it right.

* * * *

There was no answer in Suite 15 when Connor knocked. He tried the door just in case – if Cassandra were still taking a bath, he’d risk her wrath in order to tender his apology – but it was locked. Connor went back downstairs to check the restaurant and lounge, but there was no sign of her.

Shite. Now what?

He got a cappuccino from the breakfast buffet and wandered out onto the restaurant’s terrace for some fresh air. Instead he got a noseful of acrid fumes from a plume of smoke drifting up from the beach. Some idiot was having a bonfire and no doubt burning stuff other than wood. He went over to the railing to give them a piece of his mind, then stopped. The idiot in question was Cassandra, doing her own little impression of Farenheit 451, burning books. She had her hair drawn away from her face in one of her ubiquitous clips, the result an untidy birds nest sprouting from the back of her head. She wore a long sweater of an indeterminate shade of blue, which accented her curves. He found himself staring at the subtle swell of her breasts, the way the fabric clung to them. His pants suddenly felt too tight and he shut his eyes for a moment. Christ, the woman could even give him a long-distance erection if he didn’t control himself.

Connor observed with a mixture of amusement and regret as she tossed paperback after paperback onto the flames, poking the fire every now and again with a long chunk of driftwood to keep it going. She picked up another book and stared at it, then pitched it into the fire pit. A few seconds later, however, she snatched it back out and threw it onto the sand until the flames were extinguished. She picked the book up again and looked at it with an expression so wistful it went straight to Connor’s heart. It also told him exactly what he needed to do to fix things – and to show Cassandra why he was right instead of telling her she was wrong.

Chapter Sixteen

I’d finished my book burning and now just sat in front of the bonfire, enjoying the crackling sound and warmth of the flames as yet more fog drifted in from the ocean. This was downright San Franciscan weather and I found it comforting. I wished I had some hot dogs and marshmallows to roast over the fire, but considering how many pastries I’d eaten during my self-pitying breakfast bath binge, it was probably just as well I’d neglected to bring them.

Shutting my eyes, I listened to the cry of the gulls against the backdrop of the crashing surf. A wild, lonely sound bringing to mind Old Spice commercials and movies like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir and The Uninvited.

I waited for my mind to travel along its usual romantic paths of fantasy, but it stayed rooted firmly in reality. Just where I’d told Val I wanted to live from here on out.

Sigh.

Sooner or later the depression would pass. If I told myself that often enough, I’m sure it would eventually be true.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

I hate being called ma’am. It makes me feel old.

I opened my eyes and found myself looking up at a bellboy, a young whippersnapper of about eighteen, wearing black pants and a white polo shirt with the hotel insignia on the pocket. He held an envelope in one hand and reminded me of a gawky puppy, all hands and feet and eager smile. No lolling tongue, thank goodness.

“Yes?” I decided to forgive him for the ‘ma’am.’

“I was asked to give you this.” He held out the envelope. My first name was printed on the front in block letters. Cassandra. Not Cassie. My heart leapt.

“Thank you.” I started to open it, then stopped. The kid still stood in front of me. “Yes?”

“Um, I’m also supposed to tell you you’re not supposed to burn books.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Mortified, I started throwing sand on the fire to put it out. “Is it against the hotel rules?”

“No. Your friend told me tell you it’s fascist.”

With that, he left me to my letter.

It could only be from Connor; no one else called me Cassandra. And who else would make the wise-ass crack about book burning? I looked around carefully, scanning the terrace above and the various balconies facing the ocean. No sign of him.

I opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of white, unlined paper with the following written on it: Come to Room 217 Immediately. Tell No One.

I tossed Sweet, Simple Savage into my purse, scrambled to my feet and hurried back into the hotel to Room 217. There was a Do Not Disturb sign on the handle. I took a deep breath.

Cassandra rapped firmly on the hotel room door, the force of her knock belying the nervousness she felt at this mysterious rendezvous. She hoped it didn’t prove to be a fatal mistake.

“Come in.” A gruff male voice from within spoke in low, commanding tones.

Cassandra hesitated for a brief second, then turned the handle and pushed the door open.

“Come inside and shut it behind you.”

She did so, stepping into a darkened room. The blackout curtains were pulled shut so that no light from outside could filter inside. Her eyes weren’t adjusted to the change; she could see no one in the darkness, not even a shadowy outline. Cassandra’s heart beat rapidly as she paused in the hallway. What was she doing?

Clutching the pepper spray even harder, Cassandra slowly walked forward. “Where are you?” she said, a slight tremor in her voice as she reached the end of the hallway and stepped past the dividing wall between the bedroom and the closet.

“Here.”

Cassandra gave a scream of fright, quickly muffled by a strong hand over her mouth. “Shhh, you’ve nothing to scream for.” His voice was a silken purr as his arm circled her body. “As long as you do exactly what I tell you to do.” Cassandra’s stomach gave a slow, lazy turn, like the sudden drop in a roller coaster ride.

The hand not over her mouth moved slowly down her arm to find the pepper spray. He pried it out of her fingers and looked at it with a chuckle and tossed it aside. “You won’t be needin’ that, girl. Now I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. Don’t make a sound.” His fingers slid away from her mouth, caressing her jawline.

“What—”

“Quiet. Not a word, I said. Or I’ll gag you.”

Cassandra flushed from head to toe, the heat centering between her legs as her panties were suddenly damp with desire. Her heart pounded in her ears, so rapidly she thought she might pass out. She knew her captor, recognized Connor’s voice, and yet it was as if a ruthless stranger had taken over his mind and body. The air suddenly thickened with a palpable scent of arousal between them.

“Now turn around and face the wall.” She hesitated and Connor spun her around and pushed her up against the wall, pinning her hands on either side of her body. He held her there with the weight of his body so she could feel his already engorged cock against the cleft of her ass. “What did I say about doing what I told you?” he growled softly in one ear, sending feverish chills rippling down her spine. “Not a very good start, girl. Now. Don’t. Move.”

Connor let go of her. Cassandra, torn between doing what he said and disobeying just to see what he’d do, stayed where she was. She regretted her decision briefly when Connor fastened a soft, opaque cloth over her eyes, then changed her mind when he turned her around again and kissed her, tongue caressing the outline of her lips before exploring the depths of her mouth with leisurely expertise. Still kissing her, he walked her backwards until her knees hit the foot of the bed. She tumbled backwards, Connor on top of her before she could do more than gasp in surprise.

“Connor, what—”

He kissed her again, roughly. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” The bulk of his weight resting in his forearms on either side of her shoulders. “Now, listen. You are to lie here and let me make love to you. You have one chance to tell me yes or no. If you say no, I let you go. If you say yes, you don’t leave this room until I let you leave. I’ll give you a few minutes to think about it.”

His weight suddenly lifted off her.

Cassandra heard him moving about the room. Deprived of sight, of her senses were heightened; sounds were crystal clear. The sound of a fridge opening. The gentle hiss of a champagne cork being expelled from the bottle. The scratch of a match being lit and the residual smell of sulfur quickly replaced with the scent of bergamot and geranium.

The bed creaked as he sat back down next to her. “Tell me what you want, Cassandra.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I want you to make love to me.”

Was it her imagination or did the tension in Connor’s body just evaporate?

He put an arm around her and helped her sit up. “Here.” He held the rim of a glass to her lips. She took a sip of ice-cold champagne. It tasted of yeast, honey, toast and melon. The bubbles tickled her nose.

Connor took the glass away. “Do you trust me?” His voice was low, seductive.

Cassandra licked her lips. “Y-yes. Yes, I trust you.”

Connor gave a low, wicked laugh and Cassandra’s thighs quivered.

“Then the same rules apply. You do exactly what I say. Agreed?”

Before Cassandra could even finish nodding her acquiescence, Connor took hold of her sweater and drew it over her head in one smooth motion. She shivered briefly as he ran a finger across the creamy flesh of her shoulders and cleavage before deftly unhooking her bra and tossing it aside.

“Jaysus, you have beautiful nipples.” Connor dipped his head down, briefly kissing the tips of her breasts before pushing Cassandra on her back. “Put your hands above your head.”

“Why?”

“You’re a slow learner, girl.” Connor grabbed her wrists and, holding them together with one hand, quickly wound another length of soft fabric around them, which he then fastened to the headboard. Cassandra gasped with shock and an arousal so sharp and immediate it blotted out anything that went before. Her yoga pants and g-string were soaked with her desire and she could smell her own musk.

Connor tossed aside Cassandra’s shoes and then slowly pulled her yoga pants down and off her legs. He then ran his fingers oh–so-slowly back up her leg, all the way to her inner thighs. He stopped right before reaching the edges of her g-string, chuckling when Cassandra involuntarily lifted her hips to meet his exploring hands. “Not quite yet, mo mhuirnín.”

Moving quickly and decisively, Connor tied Cassandra’s ankles to the foot of the bed, spreading her open to his gaze. He debated giving her the illusion of movement, but decided against it. If his intuition were correct, the lack of control would only heighten her pleasure.

Cassandra moaned with frustrated desire. She had never imagined being on fire so quickly. Her clit throbbed insistently and if her hands had been free, she would have played with it until orgasm was reached.

Connor nearly came himself, looking at Cassandra’s face flushed with need, her beautiful body spread-eagled and so eagerly helpless. The thought of having her there at his mercy was almost more than his frustrated libido could handle without erupting on the spot. But Connor wasn’t about to let her off so easily. He wanted Cassandra to reach the pinnacle of desire before he granted her release, wanted her to be driven as crazy with lust as he’d been the past few days. Call it petty, but he’d make sure she enjoyed his particular form of revenge as much as he did.

Her panties tied at the sides. Good. He wouldn’t have to tear them off of her.

Starting down at her feet, Connor licked the sensitive flesh of her inner ankles, rapid caresses of his tongue interspersed with small nibbles as he worked his way up to her thighs, alternating between each leg. He lengthened the strokes of his tongue when he reached the top of her inner thighs, stopping maddeningly short of her silk-covered mound each time. The cloth covering her vulva was soaking wet, the smell sweet and spicy and guaranteed to drive Connor right to the edge of his rigidly maintained control. His cock ached within the confines of his jeans, so hard he feared it would leave an outline in the denim. Well, he could at least give it some breathing room.

Cassandra moaned in protest when Connor’s mouth left her legs and the creak of the bed told her he was getting up.

“Patience, girl. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cassandra’s hands and legs strained at the restraints, a subtle sheen of perspiration covering her limbs. In all her wildest fantasies, she had never really captured how intoxicatingly sexy it was to be at someone else’s mercy this way. The loss of control didn’t frighten her, but the depths of her arousal did. She wanted Connor to fill her with tongue, fingers and cock, all at once, until she screamed with the power of her orgasm. The fact that she could imagine how it would be was nearly enough to make her come on the spot.

Connor got back on the bed; she felt naked flesh against hers and the heaviness of his cock as he deliberately rubbed his body against hers. She gave a hiss of indrawn breath as he pressed the head of his penis against the center of her sodden g-string. She bucked up against him, desperate to feel him inside her, but he quickly shifted his weight and replaced his cock with his mouth, exhaling warm breath through the silk to her clit. Cassandra keened in frustrated desire, wanting more.

“Do you like that, then?”

Without waiting for an answer, Connor ran his tongue over the silk covering the length of her folds. Insinuating a finger underneath the cloth, he teased the sensitive nub lightly, loving the way Cassandra kept arching upwards to increase the pressure.

He decided to have a little bit of mercy on her and unfastened the silk bows on either side of her g-string. He drew the fabric away from her, deliberately running it along her cunt, making her squirm. Then he dropped his head back down and laved her with long, firm strokes of his tongue, focusing on either side of her clitoris with a few flicks to the center of the nub itself. She tasted sweet and salty at the same time, as intoxicating as he’d imagined when he’d teased her to orgasm on the beach. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

Cassandra writhed in almost unbearable pleasure as Connor pleasured her with his mouth. It was as if he knew her innermost secrets, all the hidden desires she’d barely confronted even in her fantasies. Her hips began to move in slow circles as he found the rhythm of her building desire, the glowing ember of heat igniting into molten pleasure as her breath quickened along with the strokes of his tongue.

One hand found her breast and began to tease the nipple while the other slipped between her legs. “You’re so wet,” he whispered, fingers finding and entering her. His fingers fucked her as his tongue once again found her clitoris, working together with his lips to suck and lick the now swollen bud until the writhing and bucking of Cassandra’s hips became frantic with her impending orgasm.

She came in his mouth, waves of shuddering, screaming release. Connor’s hand was drenched in her juices as her hips bucked against him. While her body still rippled with her orgasm, Connor grabbed the condom he’d readied on the bed, slid it on in record time and entered her with one hard thrust of what would definitely qualify as a throbbing manhood. As his cock slid inside her hot, wet walls, he could feel her still spasming and that was all it took. He came within seconds, an almost painfully intense orgasm that wracked his entire body from the small of his back to the base of his cock.

He collapsed on top of her, their bodies intertwined as their breathing slowly returned to normal. . Connor loosened the ties that held her to the bed, gently massaging each limb where they’d been bound.

Connor and Cassandra looked at each other.

Well, who would have thunk it?

“It’s even better in real life,” I exclaimed in delight.

“I’m glad to hear it, love.” Connor kissed me, then reached over the bed stand and grabbed a glass of champagne. He kissed me again, pulling me up to cradle me in his arms for a moment before we settled against the headboard side by side, sharing the champagne in contented silence finally broken by Connor, who looked at me and said, “I promised Roz I wouldn’t say I told you so.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re entitled.”

“Maybe. But I shouldn’t have been such a bastard last night.”

“Well, I won’t argue with that.”

“Something you won’t argue with? A red-letter day, it is!”

I pulled him to me for another kiss, only partly to shut him up.

When we’d finished, he stared down at me as though I were the most precious thing in the world. “So in your books, is this happily ever after then?”

I smiled and brushed my finger across his lips. “Roz would call it ‘happily for now.’ It’s up to us to make it last longer.”

“Is that a challenge, Miss Devon?” Connor took my nipple gently between his teeth and blew. It stiffened immediately, joined by its twin, jealously clamoring for equal time. Always a gentleman, Connor obliged.

I couldn’t resist it. “Are you up to it?”

“Oh, you’re askin’ for it, girl.”

“And?”

“I believe in giving a lady what she asks for.”

I rose to meet his thrust, confident we were both up to the challenge.

THE END

Visit www.ravenousromance.com for more great stories by Inara Lavey.