Table for Two (31 page)

Physically, they made a magnificent pair and it was evident by their warm tones and easy teasing manners that they meant a lot to each other. Drake was a complete gentleman, cool, calm, and best of all civil. No abrupt remarks or bored expressions, he was the man she had met that hot summer day months ago. This was what she had wanted, right? She had succeeded in training a rogue. Her triumph was mingled with heartache. She had helped him and now she had to let him go.

She glanced around the crowd, feeling a sense of alienation crawl up her spine. She was being forgotten in the presence of someone more attractive and more interesting, and more successful—again. She felt as if she were fifteen, standing against the wall because she had no more jokes to share, no other way to keep people's attention.

When Drake released her hand, she discreetly made her escape. She went to the table and stared at a tantalizing row of desserts. She resisted the urge to gather a few and stuff her face in the corner. Instead she rushed into the hallway and looked down the long corridor—patches of light followed darkness. She traced her fingers along the cold metal lockers, then slid to the ground in front of a classroom door. She loved him and it hurt to admit it. She had tried to run from it, ignore it, but now it stared at her just when she faced losing him.

She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath until the need to cry left her. There was no need to cry. Tonight she was Cassandra. Cassandra could love them and leave them, right? Cassandra was bold, sexy, and fearless. She definitely didn't let a roomful of strangers intimidate her or the loss of the man she loved get her down. There were plenty more men out there, much more fun to be had. She stood, took a calming breath, and gathered her courage before returning to the gymnasium.

An attractive woman in a cream dress came up to her. "Cassandra Henson," she said, reading her badge. "I don't seem to recognize you."

She smiled wearily. The night would take a long time to end. "I'm just a wife."

"Lucky. You don't have to get on the bragging bandwagon. I'm Frederica."

She shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Frederica looked around the room. "Whose wife are you, so I won't make fun of your husband?"

"Drake Henson."

She frowned. "I'm not sure I remember him."

"He said he was invisible."

"That explains it then." She narrowed her eyes. "You know, you look oddly familiar. That's the real reason I came up to you. Have we met before?"

"I don't think so."

The woman was insistent "What's your maiden name?"

"Graham."

Her eyes widened. "Cassandra Graham!"

Cassie stepped back as the woman's enthusiasm struck her. "Yes."

"You changed my life." She gave Cassie a fierce hug. "I went to one of your seminars and was never the same. I am so honored to meet you. You must do a session for young girls. It would help my twelve-year-old a lot."

"I'll definitely consider it I'm glad I was able to help you."

"You didn't just help me. You transformed me. I wouldn't have met my husband if it wasn't for you." Her voice lowered. "I'm sorry about your divorce. I know some people said nasty things, but you showed them, didn't you, keeping your marriage secret and all? You're truly an inspiration."

"No, it's people like you who inspire."

"Please consider doing something for young girls. Here's my card. Please call me. I could give you ideas for the new seminar."

"Sounds great." She watched the woman return to her table, then smiled down at the card, her spirits renewed.

"Cassie, right?" a cultured female voice asked behind her.

She pushed the card in her purse and turned to Brenda. "Yes."

"I seem to have lost track of your husband," she said with an ironic little laugh. "He left before we could exchange phone numbers. He wanted me to call him. I was hoping you could give it to me."

"Certainly." She rattled it off.

Brenda jotted the number down, then glanced up, studying her. "You're exactly what I expected Drake's wife to look like. He had it so rough it figures he'd marry a sweet... motherly type."

Cassie smiled. "Yes, like all mothers I cook his meal, tuck him into bed, then sleep with him."

Her eyes hardened. "You're a lucky woman, Cassie."

"I know."

"I didn't expect much from tonight, but I'm glad I came. Seeing Drake again has changed my life and by the look of things it's changed yours too." On that enigmatic note, she left.

She wants him
, Cassie thought, watching the predatory sway of her hips as she approached a small group. The question was, did Drake want her too? From her hint the answer was clear. Cassie glanced toward the dessert table suddenly feeling ravenous. She headed in that direction, but was ambushed by Frederica and her cohorts. They riddled her with questions and for a half hour her worries were forgotten.

"Are you ready?" Drake asked behind her. It was the male equivalent of "let's go."

"Oh, don't drag her away yet," a woman protested. "We're just getting started."

Cassie laughed. "It's past his bedtime, but it was wonderful speaking with you. Good-bye."

* * *

"So did you have a good time?" she asked as they rode the elevator to his place. He'd been quiet and restless on the drive home. No doubt trying to reevaluate his feelings for her. She had expected him to drop her home; at this point she would have preferred it, but he hadn't. He'd driven straight to his place. She wondered if he even remembered she was there. Here she stood next to him, her heart trembling, waiting for the big blow.

"Yes, I did." He opened the door and Cassie followed him inside. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No."

He turned on the kitchen lights. Cassie took a seat.

He opened the fridge. "Something to eat?"

"No, I'm full."

He shut the fridge and wandered to the sink. "The food was okay. Except the chicken had too much..." He searched for the word.

"Cilantro," they said and shared a smile.

"And the rice?" he asked.

"Overcooked. The wine wasn't bad."

"It was as appetizing as sewage."

"Drake," she scolded.

He grinned. "I only said it to shock you. You seem a little tense."

She loosened her grip on the table. "I'm not."

He sat down in front of her and drummed his fingers against his palm. "So."

"So."

He stared down at the table. "Cassie, you know I'd never intentionally hurt you, but seeing Brenda again—"

A cold knot formed in her stomach. "You don't have to say any more," she cut in.

His eyes met hers. "Yes, I do. It will be gnawing at me if I don't."

Let it gnaw,
she silently pleaded.
Let it eat you up inside, just don't say it. Don't make me have to hear the words.
She bit her lip to keep from speaking.

"This is hard for me. I don't do this."

Lucky her. She abruptly stood, her mouth as dry as paper. "I think I'll get a drink."

He stood behind her as she poured herself papaya juice. "Cassie, this is important. I need you to look at me."

Why did people always want your attention when they were going to hurt you? "Just let me finish my drink." She took a long swallow, placed the glass down, then turned to him.

His voice was low, his eyes intense. "Cassie, I'm sorry, but I don't think—"

"You're right," she readily agreed. "And though it hurts I understand. These things happen. We've had a good time and perhaps we could stay friends. You know, Brenda is a..." She broke off, unable to think of a positive attribute. "And you deserve someone like her. I hope you're happy." She smiled bracingly although the need to cry tightened her throat.

Drake looked as if she'd slapped him. "You want to break up with me just because I failed?" He hit the counter with the flat of his hand. "Damn it, I tried. Doesn't that count for anything? I know I didn't do my best with Greta but I didn't do too badly with Brenda. I even mingled. I know that's nothing big to you, but that's monumental for me."

"I know that."

"But that's not enough. You still want your flash man so out I go."

She hesitated. "What are you talking about?"

"You think a man doesn't recognize when he's being dumped?"

She patted her chest. "You're dumping me first."

"Why would I be dumping you?"

"Because you've fallen in love with Brenda."

Drake fell into a chair, resting his head on his arms, and groaned. "Cassie, Cassie, Cassie."

"What?"

He glanced up. "How did you come up with that?"

"You said you didn't want to hurt me."

"That's right because I don't think your social method worked for me," he explained patiently. "I used
Surviving a Crowd
as a reference."

"But you said 'I don't do this'—"

"I don't ask people to rate me. You're always teasing or scolding me about my manners and I wanted your opinion of tonight."

"You were wonderful."

"Obviously so wonderful you thought I was in love with a woman."

"She's very attractive," Cassie said, sheepish. "And she liked you a lot."

He shook his head, tired. "I can never convince you that you're the only one I want."

She unbuttoned the top of his shirt. "I'm up for a little persuasion."

His eyes smoldered. "Fortunately, I'm in the mood to persuade."

* * *

The phone rang early the next morning. Cassie reached from under the covers and answered it.

"Hello?" she grumbled.

"Hi," a familiar female voice replied. "Could I speak to Drake?"

"Sure." She rubbed her eyes. "Who is this?"

"Brenda."

Her eyes flew open. "Oh, one moment."

She put the phone down and nudged Drake's sleeping form. When he didn't wake, she pinched him. One fierce amber eye glared at her. "What is it?"

"Brenda's on the phone."

He closed his eye and groaned as if in pain. "I gave her my home phone number? Was I drunk last night?"

"No," she said, chagrined. "That was my fault. I'll explain later. Here."

Drake growled and took the phone. "Hi, Brenda. What? I can't. Another time. Right, right, uh-huh. Good. Bye." He handed Cassie the phone. "Why did you give her my number?"

"She asked me for it. She was your first love, how could I refuse? I assumed you had forgotten to give it to her. She said you changed her life."

He drew her close. "So how many other women did you give my number to, you little romantic?" he grumbled.

"I thought one was enough."

"At last we agree," he said and they both drifted into sleep.

* * *

Cassie woke to the sound of rushing water and muted Calypso music. Her first impulse to join Drake in the shower was followed by doubt. She pushed the bedclothes away and sat up. She knew it was time to take the relationship to another level if this relationship was to have any sense of permanency. She loved him and if they were going to stay together, he would have to love her too—all of her.

She gathered her courage, wrapped a towel around herself, then crept into the bathroom. Steam rose like a fragrant mist and moistened her skin. The white and black tile floors were cool beneath her feet and her eyes fell on the sunken tub and separate shower stall.

She grasped the handle of the shower door, then stopped as doubt assaulted her again. Perhaps she could try this little test another time. Twenty pounds later. She took a step back. Suddenly, a hand reached out and pulled her in.

"It's about time you joined me," Drake said, smiling down at her, his wet eyelashes clinging together, surrounding a warm amber gaze.

"My towel's getting wet!"

"Then take it off."

"But—"

"Having a hard time?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Let me help you." He yanked off the towel and tossed it over the side. His appreciative eyes traveled from her feet to her breasts. His gaze was as tangible as a touch.

She covered her chest. "You're embarrassing me."

He stared at her with bewilderment. "Can an art collector embarrass a Rodin, a sommelier a Pinot Noir?" He grabbed a bar of soap, a wicked smile touching his mouth. "I'm going to enjoy this."

Who enjoyed it more was debatable. Drake's hands roamed over every part of her with masculine deliberation—not one part of her cocoa skin was missed and Cassie surrendered with pleasure. She later returned the favor, creating a soapy path up the muscular form of his chest and down the solid column of his legs. Showering took up the best part of an hour.

"We should do this more often," Drake suggested, shaving in front of the mirror.

Cassie sat on the rim of the tub and watched him—the quick, sure movements of his razor, the final fragrant splash of aftershave. She felt more intimate with him as he completed this simple morning ritual than at any other moment. She had never watched Timothy shave or even brush his teeth. Once he closed the bathroom door, no entry was permitted until he left it. Being with Drake was so natural. He welcomed her into every aspect of his life. Why couldn't she just accept that? Why couldn't she accept what he felt for her? Her eyes involuntarily strayed to the weight scale in the corner, her unconscious answering that crucial question.

"Don't bother. It's broken," Drake said.

Cassie stared at him. "Can you read minds now?"

He winked at her in the mirror. "Only when they're obvious."

She made a face and left to change.

* * *

"I want you to move in with me," Drake announced as he sliced tomatoes for breakfast.

Cassie shook her head as she set the table. "No."

"Why not?"

"Watch your fingers," she admonished him when he cut with extra vigor. "If you're not careful you'll cut them off."

He put the knife down. "You haven't answered my question."

"I don't want to move in." She straightened a fork. "I like my place."

"We can make this place work." He glanced around the kitchen. "Or get another one and decorate it together."

She placed coffee on the table and sat. "That sounds too much like people engaged."