Best Friends With the Billionaire (The Rochesters) (7 page)

“Okay,” he replied.

For a Tuesday night, Emilio’s bar had a decent crowd. They made their way to the counter where Emilio was helping out his bartenders. He shouted out a greeting to them and poured them a couple of beers. Music played, but not too loudly. The clientele were mostly small groups of friends out for a relaxed drink rather than raucous partying.

Kirk finished his beer then visited the restroom. When he returned, a man was talking to Cassie. The stranger stood next to her bar stool, one arm propped up on the counter, leaning over her. He was well-groomed, probably in his thirties, and the way he was blocking Cassie off from the rest of the crowd indicated he was definitely interested in her.

Kirk stopped dead in his tracks. A strange, barbed feeling twisted in his gut as he stared at Cassie, trying to gauge her reaction to the dude. She sat straight, legs crossed, looking up at the guy hitting on her, and the small grin on her face said she wasn’t exactly discouraging him. Why the hell did she have to smile at him like that?

As he watched, Cassie straightened her Giants T-shirt, and the movement drew his attention to her breasts. He’d never studied her breasts before, but now he couldn’t help noticing they were round and firm and generous. He found himself noticing other things about her, like the soft fullness of her lower lip, the thick sweep of hair brushing her eyes, the curve of her upper thighs encased in denim.

The prickling in his gut intensified and rippled through his limbs. His fingers spasmed, and the muscles in his back contracted. Heat sparked and bloomed in him and spread to his groin in a hot, inexorable tide.

Shit, what was going on with him? He was staring at Cassie—leering at her—like a man who’d just gotten out of prison. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how sexy she was? Not glaringly sexy, not in a pouty, mincing, cleavage-thrusting way, but in a subtle, fresh, natural way, a way that snuck up and hit him on the head like a sledgehammer.

He rubbed the back of his neck, confused and dismayed by these novel sensations. How could he be turned on by Cassie now, after all these years? She was his best friend, she trusted him, relied on him. She’d never shown any amorous interest in him, not once in all the years they’d known each other. If she knew what was going through his head, if she knew he was sorely tempted to touch her, kiss her, run his hands all over her, she’d be horrified. Or frightened.

He couldn’t risk it. He’d already decided that he valued friendship over sex. Lust was transitory, and Cassie was too important to him to risk scaring her off. He had to forget how much he wanted to hold her.

The guy chatting her up let out a braying laugh, at the same time slipping an arm around her waist.

That does it!
Kirk strode up to Cassie’s bar stool, jostling the man’s arm so it dropped to his side.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked Cassie, acting like the other man didn’t exist.

“Hey, dude, what’s your problem?”

Kirk kept his focus on Cassie. She glanced between the two of them, bewildered. “Uh, sure.” As she stood, she looked at the other guy. “Sorry, we have to go.”

“But I don’t have your number.”

Kirk’s lips tightened. “It’s 1-800-in-your-dreams,” he snapped before he took Cassie by the arm and ushered her out of the bar, barely pausing to wave good-bye to Emilio on the way.

Outside on the sidewalk, Cassie chuckled. “1-800-in-your-dreams? I’ve never had the opportunity to use that line before.”

Kirk blinked at her, struggling to get his ruffled emotions under control. He was still holding her arm, and he realized how close they were standing together. Close enough to smell her delicate, lemony scent. Close enough to see the flecks of umber in her eyes, the smattering of freckles across her nose, the denseness of her eyelashes. Her head was tilted up toward him, her face filled with bubbling amusement.

“Don’t tell me you enjoyed having that guy hit on you?” he asked, surprised at the gruffness in his voice.

“I don’t know. Guys don’t hit on me very often. They’re more likely to treat me like one of the guys than a hot chick.”

Guilt panged inside his chest. Yeah, that’s what he’d always done—viewed her as one of the guys instead of a woman with feelings and needs.

“So?” he asked, defensive. “That’s better than having to fight off sleazebags, isn’t it? Or being treated like a sex object.”

Her eyes grew large, and she became very still in his grasp. “Maybe…” She bit her lip. “Maybe once in a while I wouldn’t mind being treated like a sex object.”

Her husky, uncertain murmur sent a shaft of heat through him. His fingers tightened around her arm as his attention focused on her lips. Her mouth looked soft, inviting. What was she saying? That she wanted
him
to treat her like a sex object
right now
?

Before he knew it, he was pulling her closer. She let out a small gasp but did nothing to stop him. The night air between them throbbed with heat and suspense and a myriad of unanswered questions. His brain felt overheated. His body had taken over, and all he could think about was tasting Cassie’s mouth, touching her intimately, ripping apart the boundaries that demarcated their relationship.

His head dipped toward her. She quivered in his grasp. He was so close to having what he wanted.

But was that what he really wanted? If he kissed her, there was no going back. Once he stepped over the boundary, he couldn’t un-step it. Hesitation cooled the burning lust. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t risk losing Cassie with a stupid, ill-considered move brought on by a rush of illogical jealousy.

He released her arm so abruptly she stumbled back a pace.

“A sex object? You don’t mean it,” he said, his throat tight and rough. “You’re worth much more than that, so don’t you ever sell yourself short.”

She rubbed her upper arms, confusion clouding her face before she turned a little away from him, her hair shielding her expression.

“I was only chatting with the guy,” she muttered, sounding annoyed. “I was never going to give him my phone number.”

“Okay.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, disoriented, dissatisfied. “Next time I won’t interfere.”

They began walking back to his car, a good few yards between them, but to Kirk it felt like a yawning chasm.

…

Cassie tossed in bed, reliving the near-kiss that had ruined their night. Kirk had been so close to kissing her; if she’d only given him the slightest encouragement, it would have happened.

But she’d hung back. She hadn’t done anything. Because she was paralyzed by the memory of her first kiss with Kirk, an event he didn’t even recall.

It had happened two years ago, when she’d flown back to San Francisco following Alison’s death. She’d been shocked by Kirk’s gauntness, the hollowness in his eyes. He’d spent several long months nursing his wife, and the funeral on top of that had clearly taken its toll on him. Cassie had grieved for him, for Alison, and deep down, for herself, too, because she saw how much Alison meant to Kirk.

Several days after the funeral, Cassie had gone to see him in the palatial mansion he’d shared with his wife. Previously he’d been surrounded by relatives and friends, but this time she found him alone, wandering aimlessly about the echoing house. By his bloodshot eyes, unshaven jaw, and disheveled clothes, she judged he hadn’t eaten or slept in a while.

She’d made him a sandwich. She’d walked about the house with him. She’d sat and watched horror movies with him. Eventually he’d fallen asleep on the couch, slouched against her, his head resting on her shoulder. She’d let him sleep, taking comfort in his weight slumped on her. After a while she’d dozed off herself.

And then, in the middle of the night, she’d woken to find Kirk’s arms around her, his body pressing on top of hers. The room was dark except for the eerie flickering of the television. She whispered his name, but he didn’t answer. He nuzzled her neck, his stubble grazing her skin. She couldn’t breathe or speak or move, stunned by his actions. His mouth trailed over her cheek, and then moved over hers, his caress drowsy, languid, warm. Extraordinary. She began to open her mouth, to wrap her arms around him, to respond to Kirk’s incredible kiss.

And then he muttered a name. “Alison, Alison.”

Her blood froze, her breathing halted, and her heart collapsed into a black hole that sucked all the light from her.

After uttering those words that killed her, Kirk slid back into slumber, his body motionless. Cassie had eased herself out from under him, praying he wouldn’t wake up. He hadn’t. She’d tucked a blanket over him, found her shoes, and left as quietly as possible.

The next afternoon he’d turned up at her hotel to say good-bye, because she was flying out that night. He didn’t remember kissing her, or that he’d muttered another woman’s name while he did. That was glaringly obvious because he’d treated her the same as always.

The memory of that kiss still burned within her. It shouldn’t hurt her so much; it had happened at a very low point in Kirk’s life, when he was grief-stricken and lonely and bone-weary. But she couldn’t shake the memory. She didn’t blame Kirk. She blamed herself for taking it the wrong way.

And tonight might have ended in disaster, too. As much as she wanted Kirk to kiss her, sober, conscious, and fully aware it was her, she feared the aftermath. What if Kirk had kissed her and then regretted it? She wouldn’t be able to pass that off like the first kiss. This time, there would be no excuses, no hiding behind anything. This time, the stakes were so much higher, and she didn’t know if she had the nerve to gamble.

…

Kirk watched the clock on his nightstand tick over another hour. Was Cassie awake like him? Was she wondering what the hell had happened tonight?

He should have gone ahead and kissed her, like he wanted to. His blood surged at the image of Cassie pressed up against him, her lips beneath his, her body molded to him. Now that he was lying alone in his cold, empty bed, he couldn’t think of anything else.

He couldn’t remember ever wanting to kiss a woman this bad and not letting himself. It was damn torture.

Since he’d started dating six months after Alison’s death, he’d kissed a lot of women. Too many women. At the time he’d told himself he was merely getting back in the game, enjoying his single status. But now he had to be honest with himself and acknowledge why he’d gone through so many women. Subconsciously he’d been trying to regain something, some memory. Not so much a kiss, but rather a feeling—a feeling of light, warmth, harmony. A feeling of pure bliss.

To his frustration, he couldn’t recall the source of this memory, and each time he kissed a woman, he found himself wondering if this time the feeling would return. But the sensation had remained elusive, and eventually he’d given up searching. It was just a figment of his imagination that symbolized something lacking in his life.

So in the past few months he’d stopped dating, stopped kissing women, and hadn’t regretted it. Until now. Now that he’d almost kissed Cassie but denied himself, that was all he wanted. Well, tough. He wasn’t young and impulsive anymore. He wasn’t going to risk everything important to him for some base urge. He needed Cassie as his friend, and if that meant throttling the beast in him, then he’d do it. She was too important to lose.

Chapter Four

Kirk wiped his forearm across his brow and grinned at Cassie. “Come on, Cooper. You’re trailing by two points.”

Cassie bounced the ball slowly, keeping her distance from him. “You haven’t won yet, Rochester, so don’t smile yet.”

He’d come home from work to find Cassie shooting hoops in his driveway. She’d challenged him to some one-on-one basketball, and he’d instantly accepted. Glad to put aside the troubling almost-kiss of last night, he’d donned T-shirt and shorts and joined Cassie in the warm summer evening. This was more like it. This was the Cassie he was used to. For half an hour they dribbled, hustled, feinted, and shot for the net, just like old times.

But as Cassie did a crossover dribble, her eyes fixed at the hoop, Kirk couldn’t help noticing how great she looked. She wore regulation baggy shorts and loose T-shirt, but that didn’t disguise the athletic curves of her long, endless legs or the mesmerizing bounce of her generous breasts. Her ponytail flapped in the air, tendrils of damp hair clinging to her cheeks. He enjoyed seeing her like this, disheveled, sweaty, and going all out. Alison had always been so immaculate—even when she exercised she looked like an ad for a sports deodorant. But not Cassie. She didn’t care what she looked like when she was doing something she enjoyed.

Cassie made her move, and because he was distracted by his errant thoughts, he was almost caught out. She drove to the center, he blocked her advance, and their bodies bumped together. Her breasts squeezed up against his chest and sent a sizzle through his veins. God, that felt so good. Holy crap. What was happening? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her breasts?

He stumbled back and Cassie took a jump shot.

“Yes!” she crowed as the ball swooshed through the hoop.

Not fair. He’d been ambushed by her breasts. Dammit, this one-on-one was meant to help him forget about Cassie’s physical attributes, not remind him. He grabbed the ball and dribbled it down to the top of the key. But his concentration was a mess, and he missed his next shot because he was too busy trying to avoid contact with Cassie. He didn’t put up much defense as Cassie’s next shot went in from behind the three-point line.

“I win!” She raised her arms and did a little victory dance.

“You look like a chicken hopping on a hot plate.” He breathed out a sigh, glad the game was over. He didn’t think he could risk pressing up against Cassie one more time.

Cassie tilted her head to one side. “I think you let me win. Want another game?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll have a shower instead.” A long, cold one.

“Okay.” She twirled the basketball in her hands, looking suddenly unsure. “Um, do you have any plans for tonight?”

It dawned on him that Cassie might still be uncomfortable over last night and was hesitant about spending time alone with him. Crap. He couldn’t have that happening.

“No plans. Why don’t we watch some movies?” he suggested.

Her expression brightened. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Yes, watching a movie together was safe and comfortable, like the old days. An hour later, after they’d showered and eaten a quick dinner, they settled down in Kirk’s custom-fitted media room with its giant flat-screen television and squishy, cozy couches.

Kirk put on a schlock-horror movie. “This is one of the DVDs you sent me, remember?” he said.

Cassie nodded. “I remember.
Slither
, right? The one where the slithering aliens turn humans into zombies.”

“It’s one of my favorites.”

As Kirk sat down next to Cassie, he recalled all the care packages she’d sent him when he was nursing Alison. Beef jerky and popcorn had usually accompanied the DVDs. Back in college, they’d often had movie marathons at their share house, and he and Cassie had discovered they both enjoyed a good horror-comedy.

He pushed the open packet of beef jerky toward Cassie. “Gotta have something to chew on when you’re watching this movie.”

She eyed the packet longingly but shook her head. “I promised my mom.” She sighed.

“You sure?” He was about to say something about her figure but stopped himself in time.

“Yes.” She picked up the plate of carrot sticks she’d prepared. “This is what I’ll be chewing on.”

He frowned, then folded up the packet of beef jerky and stowed it away. He reached for a carrot stick. “Okay, I’ll keep you company.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “What? You don’t have to.”

He waggled the carrot stick at her. “Sure I do. I wouldn’t want to lead you into temptation.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she grinned at him. “Thanks, buddy.”

Yes, that was him. A good buddy. A supportive friend. Nothing more. He would ignore how his body had reacted to hers during their one-on-one basketball session. His blood stirred as another kind of one-on-one action sprung into his mind.
Quit it
, he sternly told himself. Folding his arms, he concentrated on the movie, hoping gore and slime would distract him.

Ninety minutes later, a soft snore alerted him to the fact that Cassie had fallen asleep next to him. With her head lolling back and her limbs relaxed, she looked so peaceful. And cute. And sweet, too. Did she always look like this when she drifted off in front of the TV?

A memory of the last time they’d watched a movie together slid into his mind. It had been two years ago, when she’d come round to keep him company after Alison’s funeral. He couldn’t recall the exact details, but he remembered his overwhelming exhaustion and deep gratitude at her presence. He hadn’t been able to sleep for days, despite the pills he’d been prescribed, which he’d taken in a vain hope of getting a few hours respite. But with Cassie there, the pills seemed to work, and he’d slept for ages, his slumber punctuated by bizarre dreams conjured up by his over-stressed brain.

He rubbed his chest as a weird feeling took hold of him, a feeling he couldn’t label, couldn’t even decide if it was good or bad.

Cassie snuffled in her sleep, curling up and hugging a cushion like a child. A smile tugged at Kirk’s lips. He picked up a cashmere throw and drew it over her, watching as she snuggled into its soft folds.

…

“Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you two?” Audrey asked.

Ignoring her mom’s prying eyes, Cassie bent to slide her foot into the shoe. They were at Neiman Marcus to buy wedding shoes to go with Cassie’s bridesmaid gown, but Audrey seemed more interested in dissecting Cassie’s friendship with Kirk.

“It’s a bit too tight,” Cassie told the store clerk assisting her. “Do you have a half-size up?”

The store clerk said she’d check and disappeared into the stock room.

“Well?” Audrey tapped Cassie imperatively on the arm.

“No, Mom. There’s
nothing
going on between me and Kirk.”

That near kiss the other night had been an aberration. When she and Kirk had played one-on-one basketball last night, there had been no repeat. It was like being back in college with him, a fact reinforced by their movie night. Everything between them was relaxed, friendly, platonic. Deathly platonic.

Audrey pursed her lips. “Perhaps he’d take more notice of you if you made more of an effort—put on a dress, have a manicure, do something with your hair.”

“Have you forgotten that he was once married to Alison Hancock?”

“Ah, Alison Hancock.” Audrey turned misty-eyed. “Now there was a beautiful girl in every sense of the word.”

Cassie ignored the sudden pinching in her stomach. Of course Kirk hadn’t noticed her yesterday when she was all hot and sweaty playing basketball. “Precisely. So do you really think Kirk would be interested in me?”

“I know it’s a long shot, but if you don’t try you’ll never know, will you?”

“Mom, we’re not having this conversation,” Cassie huffed, at her mental torture threshold.

She jumped to her feet and made a show of examining the other shoes on display. A pair of shimmering, jade-green stilettos drew her attention. Now these were sexy shoes. The front was sharply tapered, the straps delicate, the toothpick heels three inches high. If she wore these, Kirk was bound to notice. And she did need to buy a suitable outfit for tomorrow’s dinner with Hank Parnell and his daughter. Shawna would expect her to dress up like one of Kirk’s glamorous girlfriends, and these shoes were perfect for that.

“Cassie!” She started at her mom’s outburst. Audrey pointed at Cassie’s bare feet. “I insist you have a pedicure soon. You can’t walk around like that.”

Cassie self-consciously wriggled her unvarnished toes in the carpet. “Fine,” she replied.

Tomorrow she would buy those jade stilettos and a matching gown, and then she’d have a pedicure, manicure, her hair styled—the whole works. And then maybe Kirk would sit up and take notice of her.

…

Kirk stood in the hallway, waiting for Cassie to come down so they could set off for the dinner with Hank Parnell and his daughter. He jingled his car keys and wondered what was taking Cassie so long. He was about to call out to her when a slight noise sounded behind him.

He turned as a tall, curvaceous beauty clad in a shimmering dress descended the stairs. The dress was sparkly silver, cut low in the front and tight at the waist, folds sweeping over her hips. The air caught in his throat as he took in the generous curve of her breasts highlighted by the clingy material. Her hair, streaked with blond highlights, was casually piled on top of her head, emphasizing the slenderness of her neck. As she moved toward him, a slit in her dress parted, revealing long, toned legs clad in sheer stockings and pointy-toed, high-heeled jade stilettos.

“Cassie?”

His brain stuttered, his heart pounded, his body surged. White-hot lust streaked through him and consolidated in his groin. A silent groan lodged in his throat. That dress… So help him God, that dress was made for pulling off. He could picture it already—sliding the fabric off her shoulders, moving his hands to cup her naked breasts, lifting her legs in those come-fuck-me heels so they wrapped around his hips as he pressed into her.

“Hi, Kirk.”

She paused a few yards away, hands twisting together. She was nervous, he realized with a shock. She might have glammed herself up, but beneath the dress, the shoes, the makeup, she was still the Cassie he knew.

Conflicting emotions rushed over him. He couldn’t show her how much her appearance turned him on. He had to treat her like always, like the familiar, old friend, not a horny goat.

He cleared his throat. “You look, uh, very nice.”

A small
V
appeared between her eyebrows. “Nice?”

He forced himself to look away from her cleavage. “Very…glamorous. You sure you won’t get too cold in that?”

She pressed her lips together. They were colored with scarlet lipstick, plump and luscious and inviting. Heaven help him, how was he going to ignore her lips all night?

“I have a wrap.” She lifted a diaphanous wrap from the coat stand and settled it over her shoulders. Her gaze ran over his dark suit and clean, white shirt. She gave a nod of approval. “Shall we go?”

As she walked out the house ahead of him, he found himself hypnotized by her hourglass figure. Why had she kept this hidden for so long? Or was he only noticing now? The dress, which should come with a warning label, stretched seductively over her ass, inviting him to squeeze and caress. His cock hardened in anticipation. Damn, this was not the time or place to sport a boner. But it seemed his self-control had deserted him. He was flustered, turned on, and very confused.

He slammed the front door shut, his frustration leaking out. One way or another, this was going to be a tough night.

…

“Charming, charming.” Hank Parnell shook Cassie’s hand for a few extra seconds, his expression filled with appreciation.

Cassie finally got her hand back and took her seat at the table. At least Hank had complimented her on her appearance. He hadn’t labeled her “nice,” like Kirk had. Nice. Huh. All that effort she’d gone to, and all he could say was “nice.” And then he’d qualified it with “glamorous” after a very long pause that had revealed his true feelings on the matter.

She should have known that no amount of tarting up could put her on par with Alison. To Kirk she would always be one of the guys. He probably didn’t even notice she had boobs.

But at least Hank noticed, and Shawna, too. The young woman put on a languid, don’t-care attitude, but her sharp eyes darted between Cassie and Kirk, and Cassie sensed she hadn’t completely given up on Kirk.

The restaurant was packed with well-off diners. Reservations at Rawlins had to be made months in advance, but she guessed being a Rochester meant Kirk could jump the queue.

She was studying the menu, which featured “infusions” and “emulsions,” and prices that made her eyes water, when Kirk leaned in and murmured, “Try the caviar, it’s really good. And the sea urchin. I think you’ll like it.”

Caviar and sea urchin? She’d never had either before, but she trusted Kirk to know what she liked foodwise. “You order for me,” she said.

He lifted his eyebrows, smiling. “Okay.”

As he gave the order to the server, Cassie couldn’t help the warm toffee feeling inside her at his solicitous manner. Even though they were pretending, she knew this was how he’d treat her if they were a real couple—taking her to a Michelin starred restaurant, helping her to choose exotic food, ordering an expensive bottle of wine that he knew she’d enjoy. For a few moments she indulged in her fantasy, imagining that Kirk was really hers.

He and Hank quickly fell into business talk. As Cassie listened on, she saw the intelligence in Kirk’s arguments and admired his business skills. He’d always been the smartest man she knew, and now she got to see his cleverness in action. But Hank seemed less enthusiastic, so Cassie turned her attention to Shawna, thinking she could at least keep Hank’s daughter occupied.

Her attempts at conversation were met with general indifference until Shawna eventually asked, “Have you known Kirk long?”

“Years,” Cassie replied. “I met him in college, but we’ve only been dating recently.”

Shawna pursed her lips, reserved and suspicious. “You’re a lucky girl.”