“And then there was Paris,” Carver added.
Oomfaa whipped her hair around to shoot a dagger-sharp look at him. “Oh, yeah. We’ll always have Paris. Me, you, and . . . Guinevere?”
“Genevieve.”
She repeated the name just as Carver had said it, except with a heavy dose of venom. “Ah.
Oui
. Jen-vee-ev.”
“I don’t know how she got into the hotel room.”
“But you didn’t kick her out of the shower, either.”
“I had soap in my eyes. I thought she was you.”
Without responding, Oomfaa spun, and made for the door again. “Later.”
“Really?” Carver called after her. “Promise?”
Again, Oomfaa’s stride hitched.
Carver slid a glance Gabe’s way, and his hand shoved through his hair again.
What are my chances?
was clearly written on his face. He forked his fingers once more across his scalp.
As his arm came down, Gabe stared at the detailed tattoo inked there. He noted the voluptuous body. Took in the long, rippling hair. The face was still obscured by the other man’s sleeve, but shit, Gabe thought he knew who was the inspiration for the other man’s tat. “Hey . . .”
Carver noticed Gabe’s regard and dropped his gaze to the artist’s rendering on his arm. Then, grinning, he hurried after Oomfaa. “A minute of your time, sweet thing.”
They exited the shop.
Cassandra appeared a few moments later. Her brows drew together. “Where’s Carver?” she asked.
“Oomfaa showed up,” he said. “I guess he’s walking her to her car.” He handed over the knitting needles.
“Oh,” Cassandra replied.
He had no idea what she was thinking. “I’m sure he’ll be right back in.”
“Sure.”
Clear thought was difficult with that tattoo branded on his brain. Rippling hair. Incredible breasts. “What’s with you two anyway? Carver’s your . . . what, exactly?”
“Close friend.”
“Exactly how close?” he asked, though it was none of his business. “He comes back from tour and you two . . .”
She frowned, his insinuation seeming to sink in. “No! You know I . . . that I don’t . . . I made a promise to myself . . .”
He rocked back on his heels. “Are you babbling about your celibacy? I used to consider it amusing, a kind of hippy dippy affectation like your car that runs on used vegetable oil and your devotion to organic eating, but now . . .” He thought of that familiar naked figure on Carver’s arm. “Now I’m sort of wondering if you’ve been bullshitting me.”
Anger gave a sharp edge to his voice. It certainly wasn’t jealousy. But she claimed to be going without sex, when for all he knew she’d been bedding guys right and left while he was being best buds with barroom floors and bottles of booze.
“Why wouldn’t I be telling the truth?” A flush rose on her neck.
He shrugged. “It’s just hard to understand.”
She rolled her eyes. “The answer is simple. You know about my mother, right? Artificially inseminated. She’s never had anything against men or sex, she just doesn’t consider either of particular consequence. So maybe it’s classic rebellion on my part, but a while back I decided not to be so . . . offhand about either. I’m not casual about how I regard other people and I’m not casual with my body.”
He couldn’t say whether her explanation satisfied his curiosity or just pissed him off even more. And as for bringing up what had happened on her couch the other night and in her bed before that . . . no way. “Doesn’t it strike you as, I don’t know, sublimation, that you’ve so devoted yourself to work that keeps your hands busy and your fantasies firmly in G-rated territory?”
She slammed her arms across her chest. There’d been a lot of that going around lately. “You don’t know everything about me, Gabe. Certainly not where my hands and my fantasies have been.”
Now his face felt hot. “Cassandra, it’s just that—”
In the parking lot, an engine turned over and headlights flashed on. They both glanced out the shop’s front windows. Oomfaa’s car. As they watched, the passenger door opened, then slammed shut on Carver. The car reversed, then Oomfaa and the drummer drove off.
“Oh,” Cassandra said. A moment of silence passed. “He’s not coming back, is he?”
Was that a forlorn note in her voice? Gabe couldn’t tell, and he didn’t dare look at her. Yeah, it appeared her close friend the rocker boy wasn’t coming back, yet Gabe hated having to be the one to confirm that yet another man had failed her.
Which just went to prove that Gabe didn’t feel offhand about her.
At all.
Cassandra smiled to herself as she drove home from Malibu & Ewe, Gabe’s headlights in her rearview mirror. Carver and Oomfaa. Months earlier, they’d each told her their half of the story of meeting in London and then their rendezvous in Paris. Both halves created a very entertaining whole.
Though she was disappointed she wouldn’t be spending time with her old friend tonight, she was delighted for the two former lovers, who just might be returning to that state. She wouldn’t be surprised by it, since so many around her were pairing off.
Which made her sigh a little, too. With Juliet on her honeymoon and the plans for Nikki and Jay’s wedding in full swing, she had romance on the brain. It wasn’t good to be thinking in terms of twosomes, though. There was her thirtieth birthday coming up. She should think about that.
She should think about the fact that her father wasn’t avoiding her. She’d been surprised by how relieved she’d been to know he was out of the country. And then there was his sons—her research had informed her that Dr. Frank Tucker and his wife had adopted them when they were small. Not really her kin, but it was interesting to get a look at them. There was the white-coated one, all Dr. Serious, and then the younger, more laidback guy wearing the Responsible Recycling, Inc., T-shirt. She’d done some googling and determined that Reed Tucker was the vice president of operations for a small start-up that recycled computer equipment from schools and colleges, diverting what was useful to needy organizations before selling as scrap what wasn’t. He sounded like her kind of guy.
Rain pounded on the roof of her car and she eased her foot onto the accelerator. Malibu had remembered it was winter and the temperatures had been lowering and the rainfall amounts rising for the last several days. She inched her window down to let in some fresh air and the smell of wet greenery mingled pleasantly with the fumes of the fuel that powered her car. The fragrance was reminiscent of a nighttime KFC-bucket picnic on damp grass.
Levering up the speed of her windshield wipers, she took another glance at the rearview mirror. Gabe had slowed, too. This was one of the less-traveled canyon passes that traversed east from the beach, and the windy, narrow stretch of road was empty of any but them tonight. Their private lane that led to Gabe’s property was a half-mile or so ahead, but here there was nothing on either side but muddy hillside planted with straggly foliage. A brushfire had gone through last year and the natural growth had yet to return.
She steered around another turn, losing sight of Gabe’s car. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the new darkness behind her, and she slowed more. Then, feeling foolish, she forced herself to bring up her speed. Gabe would be along, or he wouldn’t. He wasn’t following her home. He just happened to be going in the same direction.
Her life was full with friends and work and future plans. Invitations had already gone out for her party. She needed no man at her back, or otherwise. Her foot pressed harder on the accelerator.
The next curve came, this one pinched even tighter by yet another steep slope. Cassandra glanced back, still no Gabe. Despite herself, the sole of her shoe left the gas pedal and the car decelerated. She looked forward again. Her heart jumped.
Up ahead. Something tumbling. A big boulder, rolling down the hill. Onto the road. Her foot, already jerking to the brake, slammed down.
Slammed harder.
Her tires skated on the wet asphalt. The heavyweight Mercedes continued forward, headlights bright on the vehicle-sized chunk of earth settling onto the road straight ahead.
Her hands gripping the wheel, her eyes squeezing shut, she stood on the brake pedal. The Mercedes slowed, but still slid . . . slid . . . slid . . .
As it did, her mind kicked into high gear, ticking off regrets. No birthday party. No meeting with her father. She would never know if her mother met the Dalai Lama after all.
Worries followed. Juliet and Nikki. Would they be all right? They had each other. They had Noah and Jay. The only one alone like her was Gabe, and Gabe—
Car met boulder in a crunching crash.
At impact, her rear teeth snapped together. Her torso jolted forward, then was caught by the harsh straps of the seatbelt. Her left knee jerked up and banged the dashboard, while her right foot stayed jammed on the brake, muscles locked like rigor mortis.
As the noise of the crash died away, she could hear her own harsh breaths. They soughed from her lungs, loud in the suddenly quiet night. Apparently she was alive.
She opened her eyes. One headlight was out, but in the light of the other she could see the boulder. It appeared to be weeping—no, that was only the rain, rolling down her windshield. The still-moving wipers couldn’t keep up with the deluge.
She continued breathing, continued clutching the steering wheel with panic-cramped fingers.
A shout came from somewhere—inside her head? Then big hands were banging on the driver’s-side window. Wide and wet, they looked like the starfish in the aquarium at the Santa Monica Pier. It was said there were even larger ones at the bottom of the Pacific, but Cassandra had only seen those in the aquarium’s touch tanks and then others that were baby-sized in the local tide pools where they snuggled next to tiny sea anemones and were tickled by the spiderlike legs of traveling hermit crabs. Though she’d lived beside the ocean all her life, she’d never done any scuba diving or even taken a snorkel mask below the water’s surface. She was terrified of sinking into deep depths and that no one would care enough to come looking for her.
The pounding and shouting was getting louder—man, did she have a headache—but even if she could find some pain reliever in her purse, it had toppled during the crash, its contents spilled all over the floor of the passenger side. She’d likely never find her favorite pen, she thought absently. Her Mercedes was to writing implements what a dryer was to single socks.
Suddenly, a ghostly face pressed itself to the glass of the windshield. She shrieked, rearing back in her seat. Had she died after all? Was this creepy, ghoulish . . . Gabe come to take her away?
Gabe?
He slid his palm over the rain-dotted glass to clear a patch. She read his lips and heard his words at the same time. “Unlock your door, Froot Loop!”
It was Gabe all right.
“Unlock your door!”
Blinking at his vehemence, she did as instructed. Then wished she hadn’t. The instant she reached over and popped the lock, Gabe wrenched open her door, letting in the cold and the rain and the heart-in-the-throat knowledge that she might have died.
An instant later, Gabe had turned off the ignition and was pulling her from the car. Already she was shaking in delayed reaction. She knew her knees wouldn’t hold her, but she didn’t need them to, because Gabe kept her steady, one arm wrapping her against his chest. His other hand cupped her face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“F-f-fine.” Her teeth started to chatter and her heartbeat raced. For a few minutes shock had held the adrenaline at bay, but now it was speeding through her system, making her hyperaware of what was going on both inside and outside her body. “Just c-c-cold.”
“Damn it!” Tucking her close to him, Gabe drew her toward his SUV. “You need to get warm.”
Both of their clothes were soaked. He helped her into the passenger side of his SUV, giving her bottom a boost with his hand and then shutting the door with a thunk. The vehicle’s engine was running and the heater was on, but the warmth didn’t register. Her limbs were quaking and she looked over at Gabe as he slid behind the wheel, a little scared by her own physical reaction.
He cursed again. “Here,” he said, long-legging it over the console between the seats. Somehow he managed to get into her place, with her on his lap. His arms came around her. “See if this helps.”
She clung to him. “I-I-I w-want to g-go home,” she said.
“In a minute. We’ll have to take an alternate route. I can’t make it past your car and that rock.”
“I-it j-just came down,” she stuttered. “I couldn’t stop in time.”
His body stiffened. “I know, baby. I know. Maybe it’s all this rain.”
“C-course it’s the r-rain.”
“Yeah.”
“D-didn’t you s-see what h-happened?”
“I saw what happened,” he said, his voice gruff. His arms tightened around her. “You did a good job slowing the car. It’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be.”
Cassandra realized how it must have been for him. Gabe behind her, watching her heading for that boulder, watching her crash, a vivid reminder of what had happened to his wife and daughter a few years before. “Gabe.” She looked up into his face. “Gabe, I’m so sorry.”
He closed his eyes a moment. “Froot Loop. Cassandra. You are so . . . so—” Breaking off, he gazed into her face. “I’m so damn glad you’re alive.”
His mouth met hers.
The kiss was hot, demanding, frantic even. She met his tongue with her own, rubbing it, sucking on it, taking as much of him inside of her as she could. He groaned, his hands roaming over her body as if to assure himself she was in one piece.
She moaned, loving his touch, the warmth of him, the absolute yearning she felt inside her that let her know that yes, yes, yes! she was alive. Alive and in Gabe’s arms and it was his mouth that was sliding down her neck, it was his voice murmuring words she couldn’t understand, his face that he suddenly pressed to her throat as if to inhale her scent into his lungs. She held him to her, cradling his dark wet hair in her hands, both of them shivering with chill or leftover fear or panic or a potent cocktail of all three.