Love Me Tender (7 page)

Cassidy stepped up with her tray. “Would anyone like another glass of passion punch?”

As Brooke and Sally reached for glasses, Dave smiled warmly. “Hey, Cassidy. Things are going well, don't you think?”

His smile was a magnet, tugging on something inside her. Making her want to move closer, to touch him, to press her lips to his smiling ones. Why did he have to be dating Sally?

She gave him a carefully professional smile. “Absolutely. Madisun's got everything spreadsheeted to death, along with Plan Bs and Plan Cs in case of glitches.” She said hi to Brooke and Jake, who she'd met before.

Dave said, “Cassidy, this is Sally Ryland. Sally, say hello to Cassidy Esperanza. She's Madisun Joe's right-hand assistant.”

The two women murmured greetings. Seeing Sally's face up close, Cassidy realized that she had to be several years older than Dave, just as Brooke was older than Jake.

When Dave gazed at Sally, Cassidy read fondness in his expression, and protectiveness. But not passion. And Sally mostly looked nervous. Was the woman so shy that it bothered her to attend a wedding reception with her boyfriend?

As Cassidy continued on with her tray of drinks, her mind was still on Dave and Sally. They had both lost the partners they loved deeply. Maybe they were a perfect match, but as Madisun and one or two other people had suggested, perhaps Sally wasn't right for Dave. Maybe each of them was stuck in the grieving stage and couldn't move on. The only person in Cassidy's life who had died—aside from her great-grandmother, when Cassidy was only six—was Gramps. She'd loved him so much and he'd been the only stability in her life. His death, when she was fifteen and her parents were breaking up for the second time, had shaken her to the core.

But you had to move on. Lighten up, loosen up, get on with life.

And speaking of moving on, a quick check of her watch told her it was almost time to herd the group into the dining room for a light dinner. Later, they'd return to the bar for dancing.

She loved dancing. She'd really like to dance with Dave. On line-dancing nights, she'd seen him dance with Karen, Brooke, Jess, and others while she'd been busy serving drinks.

Tonight, again she'd be staff. And—hah!—dancing? She just hoped her tingly left leg didn't go numb. It was tough keeping her balance when she couldn't feel one leg.

During her normal workdays, she would sneak into a vacant room during her breaks, curl up on the bed for a catnap, then smooth the bedspread and return to work refreshed. Tonight, all the rooms were full and she likely wouldn't get any breaks anyhow.

No, she wouldn't be dancing tonight. She'd be lucky if she could stumble the four blocks home to Ms. Haldenby's.

It was after midnight when Dave, tired but satisfied, walked from the dining room into the lobby and headed over to talk to Sam, at the desk.

“Everyone's cleared out?” the night manager asked.

Dave nodded. “Except for a couple of staff doing the final tidy-up.” With a sigh of relief, he peeled off his unaccustomed jacket and tie, and stretched. “The guests have all gone and the bride and groom are tucked up in the luxury suite. They've got a gourmet room service breakfast on order, then they'll head to the airport to fly to Maui.” He undid buttons at the neck of his dress shirt, then also undid the cuffs and rolled them up. Now he felt more like his normal self.

“Honeymooning in Hawaii,” Sam mused. “Romantic.”

“Yeah.” From the way the newlyweds looked at each other, Dave figured they'd be just as happy spending their entire honeymoon up in their suite at the Wild Rose.

He and Jess had never had a honeymoon. Never even had sex until after Robin was born. But then, their marriage hadn't exactly been the usual sort from the get-go. And that was a secret known only to him, Jess, and Evan—and Anita, but she was gone now.

“I'm glad Karen's going to keep working in Caribou Crossing,” Sam said. “She's a damned fine cop. She sure made a beautiful bride too.” He had stopped into the bar for a glass of punch before he'd gone on shift, and taken a whirl around the dance floor with Karen.

“She did.” Dave couldn't help imagining how Anita would have looked as a bride. She'd been traditional, so the ceremony would have been in a church. That would have suited Dave just fine, seeing her dressed in white lace walking down the aisle toward him. But then he'd have married her anywhere, anytime, and been the happiest man in the world.

After she'd been diagnosed, he'd kept trying to get his fiancée to marry him, even when she was so sick she couldn't leave her hospital bed. She'd turned him down, though. For some reason, she seemed to think it would be harder on him to lose a wife than a fiancée.

Crazy woman didn't seem to realize that, whatever the type of ring on her finger, she was the love of his life. Losing her wasn't
hard
; it was soul destroying.

“Dave?”

He forced his “I'm fine” face back in place. “Sorry. I was drifting. It's been a long day.” Sad, of course, in making him think of what he'd lost. But happy, too, to see his good friend Karen so confident and excited about her future with Jamal. He'd try to hang on to the happy.

“Go on up to bed. The inn's in good hands.”

Dave nodded and headed across the lobby to the corridor that led to his office, the back stairs, and the door out to the parking lot. Though he was tired and, yeah, a little melancholy, he was also still energized from the reception. Even though he'd let Cassidy persuade him to put Madisun in charge so he could play the role of guest, he'd kept an eye on how things were going. His assistant manager and the rest of his staff had come through beautifully. He'd be sure to thank them, and give Madisun a bonus. Mitch too, and Roy, and perhaps Cassidy.

She'd been a good hire. He only hoped her wanderlust didn't kick in before the busy tourist season ended. In the fall, Madisun would return to university in Vancouver. Likely Cassidy would head off somewhere too. He remembered what she'd said during their first conversation: India, Albuquerque, or Cuba.

He'd miss the two women. Madisun had become his right hand. Cassidy had become . . . what, exactly? A friend, for sure. Her bright smile warmed his workday, her rides with him and Robin were highlights of his week, and on the couple of occasions she'd mingled with his family and friends she'd fit in like she belonged there. Fit in, even though she was so different from anyone else he knew, with her crazy philosophy of life.

She was capable, but in an effortless way that made it look like she wasn't trying. She was fun; she'd say outrageous things; she was generous and occasionally quite insightful.

And why was he cataloguing her virtues? She was his employee. He didn't want a relationship. Nor did she, at least not with him. She'd stopped with the teasing, double entendre comments. He'd seen her out with other guys and she'd no doubt found someone who interested her more than he did. Which was good. It was crazy to feel a twinge of jealousy.

He stopped at the door to his office. Madisun and Cassidy had taken the unopened wedding gifts there for safekeeping. Brooke and Jake would pick them up tomorrow and hold on to them until the honeymooners returned and could open them.

Wanting to verify that they'd remembered to lock up, he tested the knob. It turned in his hand. He opened the door and glanced in. The room was dark, illuminated only by light from the hallway. He checked that the gifts were stacked in a massive pile in one corner, and was about to close and lock the door when something white on the couch caught his eye.

He flicked the light switch. And saw a slender form in white pants and shirt curled up, her back toward him. Cassidy. That black pixie haircut gave her away.

The light must have woken her because she stirred, stretched like a cat, then lazily rolled over. The moment she saw him, she jerked to a sitting position, then hastily rose. Her hands busily tidied her hair and smoothed her shirt and pants. She slipped her feet into black flats. “Sorry, Dave. When I brought in the last of the presents, I was tired and thought I'd sit down for a minute.” She glanced at her watch. “Oops. That was more like an hour than a minute.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“I'll go help the others tidy up.” She headed for the door.

He touched her upper arm to stop her. Then, because it felt too good, he let go. “They'll be finished and gone. Cassidy, you've put in a long day and you did a great job. Go on home.”

“Right.” She gazed at him and there was something soft, almost wistful, in her blue-gray eyes. “I'm going.” She turned away.

Leaving him shaken. Damn it, this was the thing about Cassidy. One look like that, and he wanted to smooth the hair off her face, brush his fingers across her cheek, touch his lips to hers. That urge was so much harder to resist than a case of simple physical lust.

After she went through the door, he followed and locked it. They both headed toward the lobby, where Sam clacked away at the computer keyboard and didn't even look up.

Cassidy walked toward the main entrance door slowly, as if she was as tired as Dave was. He knew she was strong and active, yet right now her white-clad back looked almost fragile. She veered to the left, toward the dining room. “There's a light on in the bar.”

Through the darkened dining room, he saw a glowing light. He followed her.

In the bar, the tables and chairs had been restored to normal, leaving an area of floor space clear for dancing. Someone had turned off the main lights, but not the light over the bar, which glinted off sparkling glasses and made liqueur bottles glow like jewels.

Karen and Jamal's music—the CD of their favorite songs that had played when the band took breaks—was still on, low enough that Sam couldn't have heard it in the lobby. Faith Hill was telling her lover to just breathe.

Cassidy turned to Dave. “I saw Sally leave early. I thought you'd go with her, or head over after the reception.”

Wondering what had made her think of Sally, he responded, “She's not big on social stuff, nor much of a night owl.”

“But the two of you, uh . . . you're dating, right?”

Dave huffed. “Why are people so determined to make two friends into a couple?”

Something sparked in her eyes. “You're really not dating?”

“No. She's a nice woman who tries too hard to be self-sufficient, and isolates herself from the community. She's my friend and I persuaded her to come to the reception because I thought she might like to get to know some more townspeople.”

“That's nice of you.” Cassidy moved a step closer.

One of the peach-colored blossoms she'd worn tucked in her pocket had fallen out somewhere, and the other was wilted and crumpled. Her clothing was wrinkled, there were shadows under her eyes, and yet her eyes gleamed with life. Something indefinable had changed. Now, rather than fragility, he sensed vitality. And, God help him, it was sexy.

“You're a nice guy,” she said. “Everyone turns to you when there's a problem. You help people, you fix things.”

He shrugged. He didn't know if it was nice, so much as part of who he was. If someone was hurting, in trouble, had a problem, he was driven to help.

“But what do you do for you?” she asked. “What do you do for fun?”

Holding her would be fun. So would kissing her. His throat was dry and he had to swallow before he managed to say, “Hang out with Robin. See my family and friends.”

“You dance sometimes. I've seen you on Sunday nights.”

“I do dance sometimes.” He barely knew what he was saying.

Cassidy was no more than five feet six compared to his six two, and she stood at least a foot away from him. And yet her presence overwhelmed him. Was it his overactive imagination, or was something going on here? His heart belonged to Anita. But the rest of him wanted to grab Cassidy and hang on to her.

“I like to dance,” she said softly. “But I'm always working.”

He swallowed. He was vaguely aware that Faith Hill had given way to Elvis Presley singing “Love Me Tender.”

“I'm not working now,” she said, tugging his jacket and tie away from him, then tossing them over the back of a chair.

When he didn't say anything, she prompted, “This is where you say, ‘Cassidy, would you like to dance?'”

Was she flirting, or did she just want to dance? Though the need to hold her in his arms was painful, he couldn't shape the words or even move toward her.

That didn't discourage her. “And then I say, ‘Thank you, Dave, I'd love to.'”

She stepped forward and some muscle memory or instinct or pure blind need had him raising his arms so she could step into them.

As Cassidy raised her arms and twined her hands around the back of his neck, as she pressed the front of her body lightly against him, his blood stirred. Oh God. Small, firm breasts lightly brushing his chest. Curved hips swaying gently as he and she shuffled in place. The heat of her back through wrinkled cotton, the total femininity of a bra strap under his fingers.

Arousal was fierce. Inevitable, irresistible, powerful, and now he had a full-blown erection. No way could he disguise it, with the way her pelvis shimmied against him.

Shit. How junior high. How mortifying. Cassidy was his friend. She worked for him; she'd been sexually harassed at her last job. She would be disgusted, embarrassed; she would . . . press seductively closer, shifting back and forth to rub against him, making him even harder.

His heart thundered against his rib cage and he held his breath, losing himself in this amazing, impossible moment.

Until she faltered, stumbled, like her leg—the one that gave her occasional trouble—had given way. “Shit,” she muttered.

He tightened his grip, steadying her. Gazing down into her face, that exotic, elfin face, a slight frown of annoyance creasing her brow, he asked, “Are you okay?”

She shook her head, rueful humor chasing the annoyance away. “That wasn't how I wanted this to go.”

He swallowed. “How did you want—”

She silenced him by rising on her toes—her leg must be steady again—and touching her lips to his.

Oh God, what soft, tender lips. He was so shocked, he couldn't even respond. Her lips were parted slightly, warm peach-scented breath caressing his mouth as she slid kisses across it. Open-mouthed kisses, with the damp inner side of her lips moistening and tugging his skin, her tongue giving tiny, darting licks. The sensations were so delicious, so foreign, he simply savored them, standing there like a dummy, not kissing her in return.

She eased back in his arms and broke the connection. Mouth pouty now, she teased, “Hey, mister, I'm trying to seduce you, in case you didn't notice.”

Seduce him? So that meant she wasn't dating some other guy? This vibrant, sexy woman actually wanted
him
? Before he could fully process that thought, her lips were back on his. This time, his mouth caught up with the arousal that raged through the rest of his body, and he kissed her back. Not lightly and teasingly, but with all the need and passion that had lain banked deep inside him for more than three years.

He plundered her mouth, diving deep, his tongue dueling with hers, his lips claiming hers. She gave back just as greedily, as demandingly. His hips thrust against her firm belly; his erection strained against his fly. God, he wanted her, needed her, had to have her. Now.

Still kissing her fiercely, he released his grip on her slim torso and reached between them, fumbling for the button at the waist of her pants. She came down off her toes, lost her balance, and stumbled backward, her hip banging one of the tables. “Ouch,” she grumbled.

That brought Dave to his senses. He caught her arm to steady her. Feeling totally unsteady himself, he ran his free hand through his hair. “Jesus. What just happened?”

Cassidy sank into a chair and grinned up at him. “Not enough, but it was a good start. To be continued, somewhere private?”

Sex. She meant sex. He could have sex with this captivating woman.

But no, that would be wrong. For a whole bunch of reasons he was having trouble recalling at the moment. “Look, it's not that I'm not attracted to you, but, uh . . .”

She rolled her eyes. “Translation: my dick wants to jump your bones but my brain has reservations.”