Table for Two (23 page)

Cassie cleared her throat. "I guess I should be going." She was ready to make an exit. She didn't want to meet the new woman in his life. She was pretty and petite and looked oddly familiar.

He nudged the woman with his elbow. "This is my sister, Jackie."

"Nice to meet you," Cassie said, inching away.

Drake stared at the book, then at her. "What's your name?"

She glanced at one of the book displays. "Barbara."

"Thanks for the suggestion, Barbara."

The way he said her name made her swallow. He seemed to caress the syllables of her name. He was definitely a flirt.

Jackie took the book from him and began scanning the chapters. "Do you know any good books on how to choose women? My brother could really use some help."

He snatched the book. "She doesn't care, Jackie."

She ignored him. "I mean this one woman pretended to like him, then stomped on his heart and cooked it."

He pushed her away. "Why don't you go find yourself a nice picture book to read?"

She shoved him back. "Let me finish, she'll like this story. Women love to hear stories like this." She turned to Cassie. "Both my brothers wrote this woman a poem and had it read by a famous poet and she didn't even care. Talk about a real—"

Drake covered her mouth and grinned sheepishly. "I made the mistake of encouraging her to speak."

Cassie nodded. "Well, good-bye." She turned and shoved her book in the arts section and left the store— her mind reeling. Was that how his family saw her? Was that how he saw her? She felt awful and thought of a nice place to grab a sundae.

* * *

Drake frowned at the cover of the book given to him, then returned it to the shelf.

"She seemed nice," Jackie said. "You should have asked her out."

"Sort of hard when you're driving her away."

"I wasn't driving her away. I was making her interested. Women like men who write poetry."

He gave her a significant glance.

"Right. Not all." She disappeared into the reference section.

Eric came up to him as he grabbed another book from the shelf. "Was that who I thought it was?"

He flipped through the pages seeing nothing. He wanted to feel anger, but couldn't ignore the layer of hurt. He kept his voice level. "Yes, that was Cassie."

* * *

Cassie almost stepped on the single yellow rose left on her welcome mat, when she returned from the gym the next day. There was no note attached, but she guessed who it was from—Timothy. She preferred it to the large bouquets. She smelled it as she opened the door, then dropped it in the trash bin on her way to the shower.

After her shower, she stared at her computer screen, her mind miles away from the necessity of completing her book. She had hurt him. That was what upset her so much. Not the fact that she had had to end their relationship, but the manner in which it was done. She finished her spaghetti TV dinner—it was supposedly low fat and tasted like it. She threw the tray away and stretched out on the couch. Why was Drake still buying self-help books? Didn't he know how wonderful he was? If she had been the type to settle down and marry, she would have snatched him up right away. She sighed. She hadn't done his ego much good rejecting him the way she had.

No, she had to fix things. She would fix things. She sat up and tapped her foot as an idea came into her mind. Perhaps she could give him confidence, help him through his reunion, and then once it was over he would discover that his desire for her came from a need, a lack of confidence, rather than from attraction. She knew all about transference of emotion and couldn't fault him. She was safe.

She sat in front of her computer once again. Perhaps they would end up as really good friends like she was with Kevin. Then she could feel happy knowing she helped someone reach their true potential, although getting Drake there wouldn't be too hard. She absently tapped her keyboard, watching a row of Es appear on the screen. The problem was how to convince him to take her back.

* * *

He couldn't focus, which was rare and a bad sign. Fortunately, his staff was competent and the business of the restaurant proceeded smoothly, allowing some lapses in the owner's mental capacity. He spent his time talking to Lance about deliveries and staff issues—namely Cedric's inaptitude—but he did so in an absentminded fashion that made the day a blur.

"Uh-oh," Monica, his pastry chef, groaned, shaking her strawberry-blond head.

Drake forced himself to concentrate on the sharp hazel gaze. "Uh-oh, what?"

"That's the second time you've called a dish nice. You've never called a chocolate soufflé sundae nice before, especially after you've tasted it."

"I apologize," he said humbly, taking another bite. "It is brilliant, creamy, with just the right amount of caramel. I have no complaints or suggestions."

"Thank you." Monica had soon gotten over her crush on Drake, but was curious as to what or who now occupied his thoughts. Unfortunately, getting him to open up was like trying to bite into steel.

"Henson, there's someone to see you," Lance called, whizzing through the kitchen.

"I don't have any appointments today." He rinsed his hands at the sink. "Make up an excuse."

"I've used three of our best ones, but she won't buy it."

He dried his hands on his apron. "She?"

"Don't worry, it's not Pamela. She's a cute little thing, you wouldn't think she'd be so stubborn."

Drake silently swore, annoyed with the abrupt speed at which his heart began to race. "You know where to put her," he grumbled, quickly untying his apron.

A few moments later he saw Cassie staring out at the city scene that the gallery dining lounge offered her. She stood in the middle of the arched window, a small figure dressed in a red blouse like a candle in the window of a great cathedral.

He took a deep breath, determined not to weaken first, though the sight of her reminded him of the precious nights they had spent together.

"Well?" His tone was curt.

Surprised, she turned and bumped into a table, causing the vase of flowers to tip over and soak the tablecloth.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, righting the vase.

"Never mind." He seized her hand as she tried to wipe up the mess with a napkin. "Why are you here?"

She sat down. "You have a beautiful place."

He shrugged. It was one of many. "Planning on doing a course here?"

"Would you attend?"

"If you recall, I'm not one of your success stories."

She glanced around. "I couldn't afford it anyway."

Her nonchalance drove through his patience. He clasped his hands behind him. "Cassie, what do you want?"

"Isn't it obvious? I want you."

Damn.
Her words were like water eroding his resolve. He fought the dangerous impulse of grabbing her right now. Surrendering to her mercy. "Is that right?"

"Yes. I made a mistake before. I thought I wanted something else." She let her shoulders rise and fall, her butterscotch eyes melting into his. "But all I want is you."

Impulse won. He pulled her out of her chair and into his arms in one skillful swoop. His lips were on hers before she could speak. For both it was a homecoming. Their lips engaged in all the perfect eloquence that fevered passion communicates.

He drew away. "You didn't expect me to argue, did you?" he whispered, meeting her stunned gaze.

She could only nod.

He smiled, turning her insides to putty. "Isn't it nice to be proven wrong?" He captured her mouth again.

The hunger of his kiss shattered her calm. No longer would she deny him the truth of how he affected her. How his very lips drank in her essence, her soul. How the taste of him was better than any meal she'd ever consumed.

"I'm frightened," she gasped, pulling back from the intensity of emotion that gripped them both. She hoped she was doing the right thing. It certainly felt good.

"Of what?" He gently twirled a strand of hair around his finger. "That I howl at full moons? That I'll try to suck your blood?" He nipped the sensitive slope of her neck.

She shut her eyes, taking pleasure in being in his arms again.
No, that I'll fall in love with you and agree to marry you.
But she knew her fears could not be uttered aloud.

She shook her head. "I don't know," she said helplessly. "I just am."

"No worries, love," he said, his voice deepening into an island lilt that fell over her like cream. "Everything is perfect."

* * *

Cassie listened to the soft sigh of cotton sheets against Drake's skin as he moved against them. Some women needed lots of foreplay; for her the afterplay was becoming one of her favorite things. Drake was a thorough and compassionate lover and no part of her was ever ignored by his impatient, cunning fingers and hungry mouth. It was like a well-prepared dessert after a satisfying meal. Right now he was doing something to her ear that was probably illegal in some states. She lifted her foot toward his inner thigh.

His voice was hushed. "Let's turn on the lights."

Her foot fell to the bed. "Another time." Twenty pounds from now. Maybe never.

He sighed and rested his cheek against her chest. The night growth felt rough like a cat's tongue. "I just want to see you."

"You don't need to see me. Touch is enough."

He kissed one full breast. "Hmm."

She stroked his hair. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"My shoulders are wide."

"Yes, you've said that. That's not the point."

"What's the point?" He lifted her hand and sucked her pinkie.

She pulled away, determined to do her duty. "You know you're wonderful, right?"

He stiffened. "Where are you going with this?"

"I just want you to know that you can get any woman you want."

"Good, because I have her right here." He buried his face in her chest.

She closed her eyes, moaning with pleasure. He was effectively distracting her. "Not just me. You don't have to be shy about..." Her words trailed off, because Drake had halted as her words sank in. A dangerous quiet descended.

He lifted himself on his elbows. She couldn't read his face, but his words fell around her like lead stones. "If this was pity sex to boost my self-esteem, I swear I won't be able to control my next actions."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "Calm down, it wasn't. I'm sorry I'm not making sense."

"Then stop talking," he ordered. And she did.

* * *

The doorbell rang early the next morning as Drake sat in the kitchen deciding what to make for breakfast. He raced to answer it before it woke Cassie. He opened the door halfway, knowing of only two people it could be.

"We brought breakfast," Jackie said, waving a plastic bag. Eric added, "And coffee."

"I won't be able to join you," he said, trying to sound regretful, but failing.

Jackie frowned; Eric began to smile.

"Who is she?" he asked.

Jackie stared at her brother's smug grin. "Who is who?"

Eric's smile widened. "Can't you tell he has company?"

"No." She tried to peek around Drake. "Where is she?"

Eric took a sip of his coffee. "Better yet. What's her name?"

Drake rubbed the back of his neck. "She's sleeping." He hesitated. "It's Cassie."

"You took her back! "Jackie screeched.

Drake covered her mouth. "Keep your voice down. You won't like me if you wake her up."

She removed his hand. "But you're taking her back after the way she treated you?" She stomped her foot like an angry child. "That's not right."

Drake looked at Eric, knowing he would understand. "She comes into the Blue Mango wearing this hot red blouse. I ask her why she's there. She says because I want you."

"Enough said." They hit fist over fist.

Jackie was not convinced. "The woman says 'I want you' and that's enough? No pleading, no begging?"

Eric adjusted his glasses. "I'm sure the sex made up for it."

"Is that all you guys think about?"

Eric was silent; Drake flexed his fingers. "Food comes in a close second," he finally said.

Jackie rolled her eyes in disgust and marched to the elevator. Eric quickly saluted and followed.

* * *

He was happy to have Cassie back in his life. Although he was beginning to discover some of their differences. "Are you sure this will look good in my kitchen?" he asked, staring wearily at the elaborate wooden bowl Cassie had persuaded him to buy.

"Trust me. It has the same feel as your kitchen. Look at the intricate wood burning. It just screamed out at me."

He put the bowl back in its bag. "You know I worry about your close relationship with inanimate objects."

Cassie laughed. He reached for her hand but she pretended to dust something off her jeans. She didn't want to draw too much attention to them by looking like a couple.

"I think I'll buy you a new pair of jeans," Drake said.

She frowned at him. "Why?"

"Because that's the fourth time you've brushed them off. Unless it's a nervous habit."

"Partly nervous. I feel awkward being affectionate in public."

He raised a brow. "Holding hands is too affectionate?"

"Blame my mother. The only time she'd be affectionate in public was when she'd pick fuzz off my sweaters."

Drake was about to reply when a voice caught their attention.

"Mr. Henson!" Pamela called. "It's good to see you."

"If only I could say the same," he muttered. Cassie hit him. He cleared his throat. "How are you doing, Pamela?"

"Just fine." She flashed an impish grin, tapping one of her large earrings. "I would be doing better if I got a position at a certain culinary establishment."

"Hmm."

She looked at Cassie, making her the new focus of her charm. "Hi, Mrs. Henson." She grabbed Cassie's hand and enthusiastically shook it. "I'm sorry. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Pamela Watkins...." She then went on to describe herself and her present and future goals and talents.

"You sound very experienced," Cassie cut in when the girl took a breath.

"That's not all," she said, sounding very much like a late-night infomercial. "I can also cook. You've got to try this." She dug into her backpack and pulled out a container. She lifted the lid and revealed cream pastries. "Take one."