The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels (19 page)

Drake wrote down the messages, then listened to the last one again. It was the tone rather than the message that disturbed him. Who was this Glen guy and what did he mean to her? How many more Glens were there? One thing was for certain, Cassie would certainly keep him alert. She kept an active social life and enjoyed her freedom in this sea of admirers. It would take a lot of strategy to stay on top.

Suddenly, the refrigerator began its strange vibrating dance, and he kicked it. It shuddered, then stopped. He'd worry about Cassie later. Right now he had to do something about that.

* * *

"Who's Glen?" Drake asked once he had returned. "He left a message on your machine." He waved the note in the air.

"Oh, no. I forgot about him," Cassie said, trying to snatch the note.

"Who's Glen?" he repeated.

"Glen Randall? He's a forty-year-old English teacher at—"

Drake shook his head. "That's not what I mean."

A slow smile spread on her face. "Are you jealous?"

"Insanely."

Cassie laughed, certain he was teasing her again. "Careful, I didn't ask you to check my messages." She waved a finger at him. "That's what happens when you snoop. You find out things you might not want to."

He hesitated then sighed. "I was trying to be helpful."

She nodded and her smile grew. "I know."

He nodded also, biting his lip. Though he didn't repeat the question, it still burned in his eyes.

"He's just a friend," she answered. "I'm supposed to go out with him to a poetry reading at eight-thirty on Thursday. Do you like poetry?"

"It seems to make Hallmark very rich." He handed her the note. "So he's just a friend?"

She quickly read the message and folded it in two. "You don't approve?"

"Oh, I approve. If he's anything more, it will give you the perfect opportunity to say good-bye."

"I'm not saying good-bye. He's a nice guy. It's comforting to be with a man with no hidden agendas."

Drake flexed his fingers. "I don't have any hidden agendas."

Cassie tapped the note against her lower lip. "Don't you?"

He took the note and tore it in half. "Actually, my agenda is quite clear."

She pursed her lips and sent him a coy look. "And just what would it be?"

"I plan to marry you."

She rolled her eyes. "You do know how to ruin a good flirtation, don't you?"

"I'm serious, Cassie."

She stared at him for a moment. "Was that a proposal?"

"Not yet."

"Good, I would hate to have to reject you right now."

He sat down. "I know you enjoy your carefree life—"

"I don't just enjoy it," she said firmly. "I treasure it. Being married to Timothy was the lonely hell of just being someone's wife and I don't intend to do that again."

Drake recognized any amount of discussion was fruitless. He nodded. "So he's just a friend?"

"I said yes."

He was quiet in consideration. "What's the name of the other guy you're seeing?"

"Other guy?"

"Yes, the one you're involved with."

She had forgotten about that lie. "Oh, yes. Right. He's out of the picture right now."

"If he ever was in it," he muttered.

She changed the subject. "Did I get any other messages?"

"Kevin has a hangover." He handed her the phone. "And I suggest you call Adriana. She's in a panic."

Cassie quickly dialed, knowing her friend was probably dreaming up horrible events of Cassie's demise since she hadn't heard from her.

"Where have you been?" Adriana shouted, after Cassie spoke.

She held the phone from her ear. "You don't have to shout."

She heard Adriana take a deep breath. "All right. I won't shout. So please tell me where the hell you've been!"

Cassie winced, sure that she had busted an eardrum. "I'm at Drake's place."

"Since the party?" she asked, amazed.

"Yes."

She heard the phone being dropped, a great big "Yes!" shouted in the background, and then the phone was picked up again. "I'm proud of you, but next time call. I was about to send a search party."

Cassie laughed. "It's not as romantic as it sounds. I got sick. And not heroine 'falling in a faint' sick."

Her enthusiasm faltered. "Uh, yes, that would put a damper on a romantic interlude. Are you feeling better?"

"Much."

"Good. Now you can jump his bones."

"Adriana!" she scolded.

"I'm serious. I was so worried you had lost him."

Cassie glanced at Drake and lowered her voice. "He's a hard man to lose."

"Still you shouldn't string him along without satisfying some curiosity. I mean aren't you curious how he is in bed?"

"Not anymore."

Adriana let out a little squeal, then drowned her with questions. "Was it good? Was he good? When did it happen? Where did it happen? Were you safe?"

"I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said delicately, "it's not appropriate."

Adriana began to laugh, understanding her friend's caution. "He's right there, isn't he?"

Drake was sitting next to her pretending to read a magazine, but she knew he was listening to every word. "Yes."

"I want to speak to him."

"Adriana," she warned.

"I'll be good, I promise."

Cassie reluctantly handed the phone to Drake. "She wants to talk to you."

He took the phone and listened gravely. Soon a smile touched his mouth. "Of course," he said simply. He handed the phone back to Cassie.

"What did she say?" she demanded.

He shrugged and returned to his magazine.

"What did you say to him?" she asked Adriana.

"None of your business," she said lightly. "Now are you two free for dinner in two weeks?"

"Perhaps, why?"

"I was thinking of a double date. You and Drake, me and Mike."

Cassie grimaced. "You're not seriously interested in that guy, are you?"

"He's fascinating."

She switched the phone to her other ear and turned away so Drake couldn't hear. "Yes, and so are butterflies. Unfortunately they have the same IQ."

Adriana let her statement pass. "His band is playing at the Colossal. We could have dinner afterward."

The thought was not at all tempting, but Cassie did not want to hurt her friend's feelings. She chewed on her lower lip. "I'm not sure Drake will be free. I will—"

Drake grabbed the phone. "I'm free," he said, winking at Cassie's stunned expression. "Uh-huh. We'll be there. No problem. Bye." He hung up, flashed a victorious smile, and returned to his reading.

Cassie stared at him, outraged. "You don't know what you just did."

"Yes, I do. I made a date. Now since you had me bring half of your apartment here you better find something to do." He caressed her cheek. "You can't expect me to keep you busy all day. A man can only do so much."

She slapped his hand away and began unpacking her things.

* * *

Cassie tried to work on her book, but her mind was still blank. When she ended up doodling more than typing, she abandoned the project and read a mystery novel. Unfortunately, the villain was so obvious, she hoped the inspector would be killed for pure stupidity. She tossed the book aside and read one of Drake's many food magazines, getting lost in the gorgeous pictures and descriptions of culinary treats.

Drake proved to be a comfortable companion. Since he felt no need to entertain her, she felt more like a resident than a guest. Soon dangerous thoughts of a more permanent situation began to fill her mind. She dismissed them.

Lunch was an uneventful affair. Chicken broth with apple juice. They ate it on the balcony, watching the people down below and guessing what they were up to.

"She is going to meet a man," Drake said, spotting a striking woman in a tailored black suit. "They're going to the National Theater, but first they'll have an early meal where she'll order the ostrich in red sauce and a Chardonnay."

"Very good, but how can you tell she's meeting a man?"

"No woman would glance at her reflection that often for a woman."

"You lead a sheltered life," Cassie teased. "She could be meeting a lady companion."

"I say it's a man." His comment was confirmed when the lady in question threw her arms around a man standing by a taxi.

"Lucky guess."

"No, pure observation. I've taught myself to try to understand people."

Cassie rested her chin in her hand and studied him. "If you understand people so much, why are you so awkward in crowds?"

"Socializing and business are two different mediums. I know how people like to be pleased. Since in my business I have to please them, it is helpful to know who my clientele is."

"And no doubt your clientele is the wealthy elite who can afford to spend the equivalent of a designer dress on a meal."

"You sound disapproving."

She hadn't meant to, but she'd attended a number of those types of restaurants with Timothy. Instead of being an enjoyable evening it turned into a battle with his ego as he spent extravagantly because he didn't want to be seen as cheap yet chastised her for every bite she took. "I'm not, but dining has not always been fun for me."

Drake lifted his glass and narrowed his eyes. "Well, I'll have to change that."

He wouldn't be able to, but she wisely kept her opinion to herself.

After lunch, Cassie returned to the computer, muttering curses under her breath as she tried to break through the emptiness of her mind. Drake stopped her from her self-imposed torture when he announced dinner.

He had turned the dining room into an atmospheric affair with golden candles, hand-painted china plates, polished utensils, and champagne glasses. All the lights were off.

"It's lovely," she said. "It's a shame it must all be wasted on broth."

He pulled out her chair. "Good presentation is never wasted."

The broth wasn't too bad either. She didn't know what he did to it, but it had a full, rich taste. She watched him eat—drink, she thought spitefully, eating involved chewing—his broth and guilt crept up on her. He was doing all this for her in spite of the way she had treated him before.

She put her spoon down. "I can't take it."

He glanced up, startled, the candlelight highlighting the golden specks in his eyes. "What?"

"I can't stand watching you eat something that looks like dirty water because of me."

"Now wait—"

Cassie waved her hand, dismissing any explanation he had. The candlelight flickered. "Drake, you're too big to survive on broth." She glanced down at the watery dish in front of her. "I promise I won't drool if you eat solid food. I'll pout and whimper a bit, perhaps burst into tears on occasion, but I won't drool."

He wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin and laid it on the table. "No, we're in this together. Besides, I've survived on a lot less."

"You've survived on less than beef broth?" Cassie asked, appalled.

"Yes." He stood, becoming part of the darkness. "Would you like to listen to some music?"

"Sit down. I'm not letting you get away with ignoring the issue. When did you have to starve?"

He looked decidedly uncomfortable, but Cassie wouldn't relent. She wanted to know more about him. "I didn't starve," he quietly corrected. He pushed in his chair. "It's not important." He reached for her bowl. "Are you done?"

"You know I can do a brilliant silent treatment when I put my mind to it."

"That's good. We all have our special gifts." He went into the kitchen.

"You are extremely aggravating," she said, meeting him at the sink. "You said you wanted a relationship."

"And I suppose that includes baring our souls?" He turned on the faucet.

"I told you about Timothy."

"Only because it affects the present. The past is something that should stay in memory. All that matters is now."

"The past is what makes you who you are."

He cut the faucet off. "Who I am is what you see," he said roughly. "My past is off-limits."

Chapter 9

"If you're ashamed of your past, then you're a fraud in your present," Cassie argued. "It's like a tree looking at its root in disgust when that's what keeps it grounded and firm."

"Not all roots are so generous," he said in a low voice. "Some are weak."

"True, but they're still there or the tree would never have grown."

He rested his hands on the sink and studied her. "You really believe that?"

"Of course."

"Hmm, must be nice." He began to wash the dishes.

Cassie threw up her hands in surrender. It was clear he was not going to share anything. "You're right. It's not important." She returned to the dining room and cleared the table, then blew out the candles, encasing herself in blackness. The smoke danced for a while with the moonlight before it dissipated. She sat down and held her chin in her hands.

It didn't matter. Nothing about him mattered. He was a passing diversion like the smoke—something seen but intangible. He wanted a woman he could marry, someone to look good on his arm and in his restaurants. She did not want to be another man's wife again. Especially someone powerful and used to getting his way. Someone who was used to possessing things. He was doing her a favor by hiding his past. Knowing it would make him more real. A childhood and parents would make him whole with no room for fantastic thoughts—let him continue to be a sorcerer.