The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels (39 page)

"I'm sorry," Drake said with regret, breaking the heavy silence that permeated their drive home.

Cassie noted the tense lines of his jaw that the passing city lights lit up with harsh accuracy. His large hands swallowed up the steering wheel in a vicious grip. "It's all right." She patted his knee. "You tried your best."

The simple gesture eased the tension coursing through him, but it wasn't enough. He needed something more. At the stoplight, he lit up a cigarette and angrily inhaled. "She's awful," he muttered, still shocked that such a woman existed.

"And now she knows it. You told her so in no uncertain terms."

He silently swore, vexed with himself. "I didn't mean to."

"I know."

He sighed. The evening had started out fine. He didn't mind Angela Graham turning her insolent honey-colored gaze on him and quickly exposing him for the street urchin he used to be. He wasn't bothered about the questions about his work, his parentage, or his schooling. He didn't care about the pointed remarks that smacked of prejudice. He could understand her viewpoint; those who had never been poor rarely understood what it was like and somehow thought that those in poverty deserved their fate.

She later congratulated him on his success although, she pointed out, she would have preferred it in another field. Throughout this inquisition, Cassie squirmed and tried to soften her mother's remarks, but her opinion ultimately meant little to him. The evening would have continued to go smoothly if Angela hadn't made a mistake—she attacked Cassie.

She despaired of her daughter's clothes, her job, her hair, her friends, but then she clinched it by mentioning her weight. To everyone else it was an innocuous, casual remark. Cassie could easily have turned it into a joke, but Drake stared at Angela with such anger she nearly choked on her food.

"Did I say something wrong?" she stammered, wondering what she had done to become the recipient of such a fierce gaze.

"I suggest you start your apologizes now, ma'am."

Cassie nudged him. "Drake, it's okay."

"It's not okay." He placed his utensils down in controlled anger. "My parents are dead, Mrs. Graham, and for a long time I didn't appreciate them the way I could have. Parents are wonderful people. I now see that I succeeded because of them while Cassie has succeeded in spite of you. In spite of your bitterness, your vanity, and your acrid wit. You wouldn't care if she dropped dead tomorrow, would you?"

Angela held a hand against her chest, horrified. "Of course I would."

He pounded his fist on the table, rattling the fine china and glasses. "Then act like it! I for one know that we don't have every day to tell our family that we care about them, or make them feel good to be alive. And everyday you squander your chances. Every chance you get, you tell her how little she means to you. How would you like to have the words you have just spoken be the last words she'd ever hear?"

"I think that's enough," Oscar said.

Drake redirected his glare. His voice was low, dangerous. "No, I haven't talked to you yet."

"But I—"

"You think your silence is neutral? You think that watching this drama only makes you the audience? You're the stage that allows the drama to continue. Your silence is as painful as your wife's words. I didn't come here to hurt either of you. I'd actually hoped..." His eyes fell. "Forget it. I only say this to protect my family. I want to make sure our kids have a safe place to come to. A place where their grandparents are their champions, a mountain of strength they can rely on in this harsh, cruel world. And, boy, do I know how cruel it can be! I will not allow my children in this house until you start treating your daughter with the dignity and respect she deserves." He stood and held his hand out to Cassie. It was a silent test of where her loyalties lay. She glanced at his hand and then at him, her butterscotch eyes unsure.

For a moment, he felt his throat close as the possibility of failure clawed at his heels. But she did not let him suffer long. She rose and took his hand.

Drake inhaled, feeling the smoke burn his lungs. He wasn't sorry about what he'd said, just how he'd said it. He could have been more subtle, more refined. Instead he'd left her mother in tears and her father in shock. Not the best way to endear yourself to the woman you wish to marry. He angrily stubbed out his cigarette. He had blown his last chance. She might be by his side, but she'd never belong to him.

"Your parents love you," he said quietly.

"I know."

He gripped the wheel until his palms burned. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Because I'm so proud of you."

He glanced at her, trying to read her mood. "You're proud after I... I..."

"Stood up for my honor, my pride, my dignity?" she finished. "Announced that you are my protector and champion? It was so romantic I nearly clapped."

He stared at the road and shook his head, hurt that she could make a joke out of it. "You're making fun of me."

"No." She rested a hand on his sleeve. "I have taught a lot of people about social graces—small talk, flattery— but I could never teach anyone what you have in buckets. Integrity. Something beyond class, beyond wealth, beyond intelligence that makes a man truly great. Yes, I'm proud of one of my best students for showing others what grace truly is. I'm proud of the man I hope will always be in my life."

He was too moved to speak or even look at her. Cassie wisely stared out the window.

* * *

Drake dropped Cassie's bags near the door. "This is illogical," he said, glancing around Cassie's apartment. "You liked staying at my place, you're over there often enough, and we get along well."

"I love my little place. I like my freedom." Besides, moving in with him wouldn't be enough. She wanted to be married. She laughed at herself. She'd never thought she'd feel that way again.

"Cassie, you wouldn't be losing your freedom."

She put a finger over his lips. "Let's not have this conversation."

He felt restless and frustrated. He hated knowing that she thought she was losing her independence by being with him. "You can still have your friends. You'll have your own study to work in."

"I know."

"You wouldn't regret it."

She shook her head.

"Mr. Gianolo says you're not safe here."

"He's overreacting. It's probably a student with a crush."

"I don't like it."

"I'll be fine." She kissed his frown. She wondered if she would have to ask him to marry her. She would have to think about it. He cared about her, but she wasn't sure he loved her. "I love you."

"Hmm." He sighed, defeated. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Okay," she agreed. Then she closed the door.

She was glad to be back in her apartment. She liked seeing the signs of the Cassie she used to be. A desk filled with unfinished outlines, a Rolodex of acquaintances, but she also saw Drake's umbrella still sitting in the corner. That's how life with him would be. He'd be a wonderful accessory to a complete life. She just had to convince him to make it permanent, and then she would seduce him into loving her. With that thought, she went to bed.

* * *

Drake decided to stop by the bookstore. It was no use going home since every nerve ending seemed to hum with a certain restlessness. Cassie said she was proud of him, that she loved him, but would that be enough for her to marry a man her family disapproved of? He didn't have much of a family to offer her. Just Eric and Jackie. Would that be enough on holidays? He aimlessly searched the aisles until he saw Cedric in the poetry section.

"You surprise me," he said. "I never would have thought you enjoyed poetry."

Cedric grimaced. "I don't. I'm only here because of her." He moved and revealed Pamela peering at the lower bookshelf. She angrily shoved a book back and grabbed another.

Drake watched her, worried. "Should I ask why?"

Pamela straightened. "Because that archaic, old fogy Mr. Randall gave me a C on my paper. And I'm going to prove to him that I deserve an A."

"Archaic?"

Cedric raised his hands. "Don't argue."

"Yes, archaic," Pamela said. "He belongs in the Middle Ages. He thinks women are too free now and that romantic love has suffered for it. I'm going to prove him wrong."

"Randall... that name sounds familiar. I think Cassie knows him. A teacher, right? Glen Randall?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Cassie doesn't seem to have the same opinion as you. Personally, I think he's a drip, but she told me that's because he's divorced."

Pamela snapped the book shut and stared at him, confused. "Divorced? His wife is dead."

Drake's cell phone suddenly rang. "Henson."

Gianolo's voice came through in an urgent whisper. "I heard the footsteps go to Cassie's door...."

Chapter 17

It was the whispered words along with the distinct feeling that something was wrong that woke her. Something about the air being too still, a faint familiar smell that didn't belong there. She felt Drake's arm around her, but somehow it felt different. The cotton of his T-shirt felt coarse against her skin and his grip was unusually tight. She turned to him and realized why. It wasn't Drake at all.

Glen covered her mouth before she could scream. "You don't want to do that."

She nodded and he slowly removed his hand.

She had an unnatural desire to laugh. The whole situation was preposterous. "What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to understand the punch line to this joke.

"I've been a very patient man, Cassie." He softly touched her hair, then her cheek. "Don't you think it's time I got to be with you for a change? After all those times you've teased me and kept me just out of reach?" His beautiful booming voice shook with pain, his eyes making it clear that this was no joke. In the moonlight she could see the serious contours of his face.

All humor disappeared, replaced by a rush of fear. Fear that the man she had called a friend was not a friend at all. Had never been one. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't act coy." His gentle caressing became painful, a mixture of desire and anger, causing hot friction against her cheek. "You knew how I felt about you and you used it against me, always calling me a nice guy while you went out with Neanderthals. I thought you were different, I thought you liked class, sophistication, tenderness; but like most women you like the challenge of taming the beast. So here I am willing to be tamed. I'm not going to be nice anymore. I'm going to get what I want the way other men have, by taking it."

She smelled the stale stench of whiskey on his breath. "You've been drinking."

"Only to clear my thoughts." He pressed wet lips to one cheek and then the other. "I've been thinking about this—about us for a long time. You've hurt my feelings a lot."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You're always sorry. It was your fault Mr. Gianolo nearly died. He insulted me. I couldn't have that, now, could I? A man's pride is everything and he threatened mine. He thought he knew what was best for you, but he was wrong. He knew it was me. Therefore, I had to keep him quiet. I slipped a bulb in his beloved soup."

"You poisoned him."

Glen traced her brows and shrugged. "The same way I poisoned you. It's amazing, the power of flowers."

"That night—" She remembered not smelling the onions for his minestrone.

"That night you got sick after the party you dumped me for. Yes, that was me. The particular bulb I used takes about six hours to get the effect. I wanted you to attend the party, but I had to make sure you didn't enjoy it too much. After all, I wasn't there with you like I am now." His eyes filled with tears. "You forced me to do it. I was going to make it up to you, but you didn't follow the plan. I called you, but you weren't home. You were supposed to come home and let me take care of you. I told you that you and I were part of a different time, but you had begun to stray. Just like Rita with her extravagant hair, clothes, and love for rock music. When I met her at college she was much more conservative than that. But society changed her, changed her from the woman I loved. The woman who adored and catered to me. You're luckier than poor Rita. I let you live."

Cassie swallowed. "Why the flowers?"

"It was the perfect way to portray my feelings as any man would in the 1800s. I had given you fair warning of how I felt with the carnation. Oh, how you teased my poor heart! The yellow roses were eloquent enough, although you chose to ignore them. I made it clear that I was jealous of your unfaithfulness. It wasn't hard to get them delivered. I had plenty of students who would do anything for a no-homework pass."

She firmed her voice, determined to talk reason. "Glen—"

He grabbed her chin and squeezed so tight she thought the top of her head would shoot off. "Don't Glen me. You can't fight me on this. You can't manipulate me any longer. You wanted friendship and I gave it to you. You wanted space and I gave it to you. The least you can do is give me what I deserve. I'm much stronger than you and I'm not going to be nice about it."