2. Cassidy
2. CASSIDY
Three days ago
The Slick Smugglers’ fast-fiddle number gets the crowd cheering and clapping. It’s country fest at the Thirsty Fox, and the bar is as busy as it can be for a Monday night.
After helping my Fox boys fix a clogged keg in the back room, I return to the floor, chatting with our regulars. The bar is only a couple of blocks from the Montana State Capitol, so it’s no surprise that many of our patrons are politicians whom I know well.
People nickname me ‘Hardy Cassidy’ or ‘The Sarah Connor of Helena’—depending on whether they see me as the manager or as a chick who’s not afraid to do boys’ work.
Most of the time, though, what I do is juggle fun, firm, and friendly. I’m twenty-seven years old, younger than the average age of bar managers in the country (which is thirty-eight, apparently). But when someone crosses the line, I’ll be the first to say, ‘fuck off.’
Tonight I’ve been keeping an eye on a potential pest. He’s the new city treasurer, and he’s been ogling my new barmaid since the minute he got here.
“You know, in Helena, by law, a woman can't dance on a table in a bar unless she has on at least three pounds, two ounces of clothing,” he slurs to the room over the live music. He then gets closer to my barmaid when she passes him by. “So if you wanna dance for me tonight, darling, I’ll get us a room.” He extends his arm, ready to ransack her bottoms.
I swipe at the man, yanking the back of his collar. “Out!” I drag the drunken mess outside.
“You yourself ain’t bad,” he giggles, eyes down at my cleavage.
“You’re banned!” I bark as I let him go, almost throwing him to the ground.
“Cunt!” he spits out. “You don’t know who I am!”
“Oh, I know you. And I know your boss very well. If I see you step foot on this bar again, I’ll make sure the mayor will be the first to know what you’ve been up to.”
“Fuck you!” The man points at me as he steps backward, almost losing his balance.
I leave the prick and return inside, where my barmaid is now serving other patrons as if nothing happened.
I pull her aside. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she replies.
“We’ve got this, boss,” Lisa, Fox’s longest-serving barmaid, and my friend, assures me as she serves alongside her.
“I’ll be at the back if you need me,” I say and head to the kitchen, exiting the bar through the back door as I try to cool the hell myself down.
God! Those bawdy pests really irk me. Sometimes I wonder if the likes of that city treasurer are an outcome of some sort of an evolution-gone-wrong—that they were supposed to belong to a different subspecies. Truly, some men are just born Homo sapiens assholus.
“Lisa said I’d find you here.” A man comes out of the darkness of the alley.
Now he, I can categorically say, isn’t one of the asshole-kind.
He’s Sam Kelleher, the co-owner of Red Mark Rescue & Protect, and a man who has me in knots every time he turns up. Maybe it’s because of who he is. Maybe it’s because of what he does. Or both.
“Look who’s back.” I step closer to the man whom I fondly call ‘Mr. Gray Diamond’ because of his gorgeous gray eyes.
Sam and his business partner Mark Connor are Montana heroes by day, putting their lives on the line to rescue missing kids. And by night, they’re the perfect gentlemen who keep a low key, stay pro no matter the situation, and tip generously. So, the Red Mark guys are definitely the opposite of assholes, or may I say, the crown jewel of human evolution.
The pair settled in Montana from New York just over two years ago. New York’s loss is Helena’s gain, even though men who are the epitome of sex and danger are naturally trouble for girls—especially in this city where you can count on one hand how many eligible bachelors are worth pursuing.
But Mark and Sam have proven that they are a rare breed who’s not the trouble kind.
Since I work at a bar, gossip flies my way all the time, whether it’s political or not. Mark doesn’t date—full stop. And Sam? Well, he’s technically single, but he and I usually hook up when he’s not away on assignment. ‘Hey-I’m-in-town’ kind of hookups.
And he never disappoints. The man is a concoction of the sought-after danger and sex. So far, sex is the only ingredient that I’ve tasted in him. He wears danger like a suit, but when he’s with me, he sheds it. And I’m only too happy to be tangled in his nakedness—literally or not.
“You’ve kept the city as I left it,” Mr. Gray Diamond quips, looking around the alley. He has come with his canine companion—Retired Staff Sergeant ‘Tripawed’ Maximus—who is tugging at him to get to me.
I kneel in front of the German shepherd and pat him rigorously. In response, he lifts up his right paw to give me a high-five, but in the absence of his other paw, he collapses onto me—his well-known strategy to get a hug from his human.
The mutt’s still eager to have me for himself, but I let him go. There’s only one thing in my mind now—Sam’s lips, and I waste no time plundering them.
He still tastes as divine as I remember, although the last kiss I had with him was to say, ‘see you soon, stay safe.’ Now welcoming him home, his response is that of a man staking his claim—valiant and sexful, if that’s even a word. My imagination runs riot, spitting out possibilities of where that luscious pair may land other than my own lips.
“My dog first, then me?” he complains over my puckering mouth.
“He’s your alpha,” I whisper back. Sometimes I just like to make my man wait.
“Don’t encourage him.” Sam tries to control his dog, who refuses to be ignored. “Down! Maximus, down!”
Maximus lost his handler in a blast in Iraq, and he himself lost his right leg. Since Sam adopted the mutt, Max has had a tough time transitioning into civilian life, giving his new master a handful.
I survey Sam from head to toe. Despite being off-duty and slightly upstaged by his canine companion, he looks every bit the hero. His biceps stretch his shirt sleeves, which are rolled up just below his elbows. He usually combs his fringe back, but tonight he lets it tumble over his forehead messily as if he had just saved the city.
“What are you doing back here? Reminiscing our first meeting?” He teases me after he finally manages to get his dog to sit.
“I just need fresh air,” I deadpan.
“Should I remind you?” He insists on being nostalgic and moves right next to me as if I’d forgotten where I was when his dog found me that afternoon. “You were right here.” He points to the ground.
Suddenly he drops himself on the dirt, lying flat right next to my feet.
“Sam, what are you doing?”
“I found you like this, didn’t I?” He looks up at me comically.
“Sam, get up!”
He ignores me. “Max, come here!” He taps at his chest, and soon Maximus pounces at him, growling playfully. “I found you like this, Cassidy Winter.” His eyes flare, and his mouth gapes.
I laugh at the reenactment.
Indeed, Sam crashed into my life six months ago in this very alley. That afternoon Maximus decided to change his master’s life—and mine—by pouncing at me, acting as if the dog had won me in a ‘catch the baddie’ game. I was lying like Sam is now, but he’s nowhere near as stunned as I was, no matter how much he exaggerates it. I was frozen by a presence that I thought was a dream. With the Helena sky spreading above us, he stooped over me, checking if I was okay. Never mind his handsome face and overall hotness, his eyes sparkled like gray diamonds—a first encounter that I’ll never forget.
“Come on, play time’s over,” I assert. “Max, sit.” The mutt gets off his master and sits next to me.
I cock my head at the hunky horizontal frame that’s still left lying on the ground. I can trace the contour of his muscles underneath his shirt, reminding me that despite him acting like a clown, he was a Navy SEAL—one of the military’s most lethal weapons—and his lethality hasn’t diminished just because he’s a civilian now. A lot of his assignments make the news, and most of the time, he tries to avoid cameras. But when he’s in view, in his full gear—covered in sweat, full of testosterone—God, even a full-grown lion would not want to mess with him.
“He listens to you, you know,” Sam remarks as he gets up and dusts off his shirt.
This man never hesitates to show that he’s happy to see me when he returns from assignments. But after an upbeat start, he’s usually turning serious just about?—
Now.
“Your place? My place?”
I frown—not the kind of seriousness I was expecting. Usually, he would hint that there’s a thing or two about his assignments that he wants to share with me. At other times, he’d look at me and beg please don’t ask .
He might have a different agenda tonight because his question about our rendezvous logistics is surely out of character.
“What do you say?” His smile disturbs the ebony scruff wrapping his square jaw. The scruff is studded with sporadic sprouts of silver. He said he was getting old, but for me, he has simply experienced life—too fast, too dangerously.
“You’re kidding, right?” His place is by the creek. The first time I went there, I had a panic attack, and I never returned. And my place? I have little Grace at home with her grandmother. “What happens to a hotel room?”
“Just trying to up the ante.”
“Hotel, Sam.”
“Okay. Join me when you’re ready,” he says. “You don’t mind a bit of a drive?”
I hook my index finger under his chin, keeping his head still. “No. Wherever you are, baby, I’ll be there.”
I lock my gaze on him, and I gnaw my lower lip.
He draws me into his embrace, breathing hard like we’re already in our room. “Goddamn, you’re sexy like that.”
“Later,” I murmur.
He slowly lets me go and turns away. His perfectly rounded ass sways as he disappears into the night.
God! I can’t wait to have him.
If I was me six years ago, I’d take the plunge headfirst with this man. But for a single mother on the run, for now, our ‘Hey-I’m-in-town’ hookups are as far as I would go.
The hotel that Sam has picked tonight is a beautiful forest resort a couple of hours outside Helena.
I don’t even have to knock. As soon as I arrive, Sam presses his palm into the small of my back and leads me into his room, or should I say, his suite. It’s past midnight, and he’s still wearing the same clothes. It looks like he’s been working.
Not anymore, though.
He showers me with ferocious, lusty kisses, sending the room temperature to soar above the work-friendly threshold.
I meet that lust by parting my thighs, and he wastes no time in filling the gap.
That is some serious wood.
And he knows it.
“How do you want me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, very gentle for a man of his caliber.
Yes, that’s the kind of lover Sam is. Always asks, always puts me before him.
“You wanna be my cowgirl?” he teases me about the position I usually opt for.
Not tonight.
Toe to toe, I nudge him back, all the way to a wall. As he grunts in anticipation, I get my muscle to work and rip open his impeccably-ironed shirt.
Serenaded by the sound of plastic buttons hitting the wooden floor, I press myself against his bare chest. Then I ditch the ruined Armani shirt off him. Well, I’m sure he has plenty of them.
“You missed me?” he growls. “Or do you simply want to kill me?”
“The latter,” I moan and attack his lips, my tongue pushing in, demanding access. Meanwhile, my hands haven’t stopped stripping him. The clinking of his belt buckle has conditioned me that pleasure isn’t far away.
“Liar.” He breaks the kiss then exposes my chest, a little more civilized than how I did it to him.
“You don’t mind either way, do you?”
I strip to my underwear and rub my crotch against the strain behind his white boxer shorts. The sensation seems to drive him on. He forces himself on me, hitching my breath. As our lips collide once more, he blows warm air into my mouth. Who needs to breathe if a man is doing it for you?
Sam works his lips along my neck, planting harsh kisses down to my cleavage.
“Jesus, Cass.” He hisses at my bare boobs. I don’t even remember how my bra is now on the floor.
Slowly he dips, and his tongue soon toys with my nipples. His beard abrades my skin as he sucks them rigorously. At the same time, he slips his hand under my panties, poking a finger in to find my clit.
“Fuck, you’re wet.” His voice is hoarse. It sounds like he’s as short-winded as I am now.
I writhe from the sheer ecstasy, and he prolongs it by sliding my panties down slowly, heightening the contact between the fabric and my skin. Primed for Sam’s stimulation, my thighs shudder as the tips of his fingers trail along my leg.
He then gives his cock a few shakes. It’s already raging behind his underwear. If it grows any bigger, it will spill out.
I fling my arms around his shoulders and jump up to straddle him. He spins us around, pinning me against the wall. My heels perch at the small of his back, digging into the elastic band of his boxers, desperate to expose him. Responding to my struggle, he renders his help to complete the job.
His cock taps against my center as soon as the garment leaves his hips. I can feel the roundness of the tip rubbing my opening, so tantalizing I almost let myself go. His bare flesh in me? Fucking beautiful—if only reality wasn’t so complicated.
But I haul myself up, allowing Sam to suspend me above his waist so he can sheathe himself. Then, like the great lover he is, he enters me, making every inch count.
My body tightens as he cages me in. The man is safety, pleasure, beauty, and power in one.
“God…” I moan as he keeps thrusting.
Tack-size pain points scatter around my back thanks to the log wall behind me, while in front of me, the friction between my nipples and his chest sharpens. I rise up and sink down hard, over and over, sending me to a familiar place—a place of bliss that is only reachable when I’m with him. “I’m close.”
“Just how I like it,” he murmurs against my lips.
I’m burning. It’s hotter than fire—it’s a friggin’ furnace. “Bed,” I huff. “Sam, I want you in bed.”
He scoops my ass cheeks and carries me. All the while, we stay connected.
My back bounces against the soft mattress, and soon Sam blankets me. I know missionary is his favorite—a no-frill position that often gets unfairly labeled as boring. But I’ve had it with Sam enough that I can guarantee he’ll deliver it on a silver platter.
Sam glides long, creating steady friction between his cock and my core. Comforting, lingering. And just like that, he slows the tempo as if tempering the heat, so our passion doesn’t burn off prematurely.
Battering my face with his breath, he then takes the time to appraise me.
It takes two to tango, and I rein in my desire to go all-out again.
His solemn stare tells me that he needs time.
He needs closeness.
He needs to be in me—with me—to reset himself from whatever he has seen out there.
So I give myself over to him, granting him a moment to lose himself in our togetherness—his way.
My arms slink behind his back, steadily massaging his spine. His way is now my way. Our way . Every now and then, he moves his shaft as if reminding me that he’s still highly aroused.
“Sam,” I whisper.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
I tighten my walls slightly. “Do you feel me?”
He sighs in my ear, “Every damn pulse.”
Right then, he crawls up, nudging his hard erection deeper.
The impact sends my pussy clenching.
His abs contract and relax repeatedly as he changes gear, gliding faster.
He’s ready for me. Oh, he’s always ready for me, but this is Sam’s cue that he’s about to take me to the peak. His straight arms bend and he drops just enough weight on my pelvis, knowing how I like it—tight, painful, and deep.
His kiss is venom, yet it’s what I feed on.
The way he makes love to me is murderous, but it’s the only way I’d rather die.
Sam grinds his hips faster. His pecs descend on me, giving my breasts a good rubbing. The tightness creates balls of pleasure in my core, along with his relentless thrusting.
Something’s got to give.
The balls of pleasure burst as Sam releases in one long glide.
A damn beautiful climax.
And he makes sure I know he’s responsible for it. He lets out a grunt—so masculine, and sexy as fuck.
My body stretches, absorbing the euphoria.
“Sam…” I squeeze his traps, trying to cling to the sensation. My pelvis raises to his, hinting that I’m still enjoying him inside me. The swelling of his cock has eased after the release, but it doesn’t mean it’s not hard still.
Reading my signal, he helps me milk the last aftershocks of my climax by driving his length just a step deeper.
I release an exhale, letting the onslaught of pleasure shut my system down.
Sam hurls himself next to me, and I climb onto him, not wanting to be apart. My system might be down, but I don’t even dare close my eyes. I ought to indulge in his company for a while longer.
My breath reflects back on me as it hits the surface of his skin. I watch his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he pants.
Then I hear him say, “I missed you, Cass. It’s only been three days, but it felt like weeks.”
Since I met him, Sam has been on longer missions—up to two weeks at a time. Three days should’ve felt like a breeze, but I must admit it has drained me just as much, if not more. Perhaps duration has nothing to do with it. I’ve been keeping my feelings behind my never-miss-you stance, but the fact that Sam is away creates a storm within me, knowing that anything can happen no matter how long or short he’s out there.
I look at him. While I’m still dealing with the afterglow, the man is fighting with something. If pain has a color, it will be that tinge that darkens his gray diamond eyes.
Something happened during the assignment.
“Tell me, Samuel.”
He sighs deeply, grimacing.
After staring at the ceiling for a few moments, he turns to me, running his fingers through my hair. “Never mind.”
I caress his cheek, telling him with my eyes that I’ve got him—whether he wants to share the pain or not.
He finally explains, “We rescued the boy, he was safe. The ransom his parents paid was returned. What disturbs me, though, Cass… The boy just smiled as if nothing had happened. His kidnapper was a total stranger. But there was no cry, no sign of fear. I should be relieved, but somehow I just couldn’t get that smile out of my head.”
Sam closes his eyes as if the smile is hounding him.
He sighs. “It was like what he went through was an everyday thing. He’s nine—a bright, active student. So he understood what was going on. He should’ve been scared. He should’ve.”
I caress his cheek. “A smile can mask a thousand things.”
He nods, pulling me close as if that was exactly what’s on his mind—the boy’s coping mechanism at the time might have long-term implications.
“He’s got his family who will do their best, I’m sure,” I say.
“One should hope so.”
Sam is highly trained. Anyone who passes Hell Week in the BUD/S training is equipped to thrive in any kind of situation. But he’s no Atlas. He can’t bear the world on his shoulders.
If he falls apart, he won’t be the one to blame.
If he falls apart, I’ll be there for him.
“It’s so messed up,” he sighs. “The world is so messed up.”
God creates assholes because he has a bad sense of humor. But the people that Sam is up against as a Red Mark are as good as proof that evil flourishes on earth.
I shift myself up and then encircle one arm around his shoulder. My other hand stays on his cheek. “It is messed up—so badly that even a slither of kindness or care can make a big difference. That’s what people like you, and Mark, do in this world. I’m not saying what you’ve achieved is small. For that boy and his family, what you did was huge.”
“How do you know?”
“We’ve both lost someone.” My fingertips trace the contour of his cheekbone. “Saving a family from a tragic loss is one of the greatest things a man can do.”
Sam nods, drawing my hand off his cheek, and then kisses it.
“Kids are resilient, Sam. Maybe more than you think.”
“I guess it’s the adults who can’t handle it, huh?”
Including him—that’s what I interpret in his remark.
And his parents for that matter.
The way he folds his hand around mine, and his distant gaze, tell me that he’s thinking about his missing brother. I’m still learning the details of his disappearance, but enough to know that the family was torn apart—to the point that Sam and his father have become estranged.
Following a moment of silence, a soft kiss lands on my forehead. “Cass…”
“Yes, Sam?”
He breathes into my skin, then his lips slowly part. “Suppose I moved out of the creek house and found a new place. Would you move in with me?”
I feel a nervous whir behind my chest. “Sam…”
“Suppose. Hypothetically.”
He might still be shattered from his assignment, and I have promised myself that I’ll be there to comfort him, but not by saying yes just for the sake of it.
His gray eyes pierce me.
It hurts.
But I have to tell him as it is.
“No. I wouldn’t. I can’t, Sam.”
He sighs. “Okay.”
I take his hand. “I’m here for you. But you’ve got to understand, I have Grace.”
“So you don’t want us to be together- together?”
“What’s wrong with how we are right now?”
“I want you and me to be more than—this.” He gestures at the hotel room. “When you said Grace, is it about your ex?”
Yes and no.
Grace barely knows her father—I’ve kept it that way for good reasons.
So yes . Because my daughter has had her share of instability and chaos, and I have to protect her from any further life disruptions.
As a mother on the run, I vowed not to introduce a man into my life again. That went out the window when I met Sam. He’s the most genuine man I’ve ever known. Being a specialist in missing children, it’s well-documented how well he handles kids. So if Grace had tasted Sam’s love and care, and if my relationship with Sam fell apart one day, I wouldn’t want her to bear the heartbreak.
And no , because there’s something bigger than my ex. It’s not an enemy you can touch—it’s real and unreal at the same time, and I’ve kept it locked behind the Hardy Cassidy fortress that people see.
I’ve made a rule never to fall for a military man. Separation and loneliness aren’t my problems. Possibility is my problem. The possibility of him not coming back, the possibility that he might come back as a mangled, lifeless body beyond recognition. I have lost someone I loved that way, and I’m not about to test whether I have the courage to face it again. And there’s no way I’ll let Grace go through what I went through.
But goddamn, Sam has forced me to break that rule. And before things get out of hand, I’ve got to set boundaries. Going back to the danger and sex thing—I’ll stay on the sex side for the sake of stability.
“Well, my ex—it’s over between us. I mean, I haven’t seen him in years,” I say, emphasizing ‘years’ as I try to play down the scumbag’s possible return. “He’s gone, but we’re still dealing with the aftermath of our divorce.”
Sam pulls me closer, his lips hovering near my ear lobe. The fire he kindles melts me, but he’s not going to change my mind.
I add, “Grace doesn’t deserve more disruption.”
He nudges himself up, so he faces me. “So I’m a disruption?”
I shake my head. “Not like that.”
“So what are we doing here?” he asks.
“What do you want us to be, Sam?”
Just as he straightens himself to explain, his phone rings. It’s Mark.
“Sorry, Cass. I have to take this.”
I glare at him, telling the man silently that this is exactly why we can’t be together -together.