Chapter Fourteen #3
Afraid of the intensity of the moment, she picked up her purse and scooted toward the end of the booth.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, standing.
She felt his eyes on her as she walked to the ladies’ room.
Once inside, she rushed into a stall, closed the door, then leaned against it, breathing deeply.
I can’t let this go any further. I’m doing exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t do.
But damn, kissing him felt so good. Enough!
She didn’t trust herself around him. Her body misbehaved every time they were together.
She walked out of the stall and stopped at the mirror. Her hair was slightly disheveled and her lips were swollen from his mind-blowing kiss. Shaking her head, she reapplied her lipstick, fluffed her hair, and walked out.
When she returned, she saw a clamshell container on the table.
“I figured you’d want to take the rest home,” Rags said. “Do you want any dessert?”
“No thanks on dessert, but thanks for your thoughtfulness. This’ll be my dinner tomorrow.”
“I thought we could head over to Blue’s Belly and check out the band.”
She would’ve loved to spend the night dancing in his arms, but more booze, close dancing, and more kissing spelled disaster. She wasn’t ready to give herself to him; as nice as he seemed, she could already see him breaking her heart.
“Maybe another time. I still have a freelance project I have to finish tonight.”
“On a Saturday night?”
“The client paid me a lot of money and wants it by Monday. It’s a complicated assignment, and it’ll take me tonight and all day tomorrow to finish. I’m sorry.”
“No worries. Blue’s Belly isn’t going anywhere.”
The waiter brought the bill. Rags took out his money clip, and peeled off three hundred-dollar bills, and told the server to keep the change.
He clasped her hand as they walked out of the restaurant.
A pale yellow moon hovered over the mountains and glittering stars sprinkled across the inky sky.
The valet opened the passenger door; Rags helped Casey in, then went around and slid behind the wheel.
He leaned over, kissed her lightly on the lips, then straightened and drove out of the lot.
On the way home, he pointed out the high school he’d attended, the restaurant bar where the Insurgents held a lot of their family nights, and the pool hall the club was negotiating to buy.
While he talked, Casey kept thinking about whether he would understand why she didn’t want to invite him in or storm off in some macho huff.
I have only myself to blame for this. I should’ve stayed far away from him the minute he walked into the nursery.
And it’s just my luck that Clara works at the theatre, and he’s her brother.
Bad luck or fate? She didn’t want to think about any of it.
She just wanted to go back in time, before she met him, when her life was simple and her emotions weren’t out of control.
He pulled up in front of her townhouse, and she jumped out of the car. She tried to beat him to the door, but his stride was longer than hers. In seconds, he was beside her, his arm curving around her.
“What’s the rush?” he asked.
“I’m just cold. The wind’s chilly tonight.”
“I can warm you real good, woman,” he said, nuzzling his face against her hair.
I’m sure you can. I have to get inside. Fast.
She had to stop the thoughts swirling in her head.
And she definitely had to stop the way she felt with his arm around her, pulling her close.
She rummaged through her purse for the house keys, yanked them out, and inserted the right one into the lock.
The door swung open. Rags stood behind her, his arms circling her waist, tugging her back against him.
He moved her hair aside and trailed kisses down the side of her neck.
“You’re so sweet,” he murmured against her skin.
Each featherlight kiss, each soft bite, each tug on her earlobe, sent waves of passion through her, pebbling her skin and tightening her nipples against the lace fabric of her bra.
“Rags,” she moaned.
“Case,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.
He turned her around and peppered kisses down her throat to the creamy swells exposed by her neckline, then dipped his tongue into her cleavage.
Suddenly, a phone buzzed, slowly tugging her out of the haze. He cursed under his breath as he grabbed his cell phone from his pants pocket.
“Yo,” he said into his phone. “Hang on.” He mouthed “Sorry” to her, then walked down the steps toward the crabapple tree at the corner.
She heard his low voice, but not the words.
She tipped her head back, gazing at the stars, the glowing moon, the darkness stretching above.
Her mind cleared; her senses came back. Casey knew all too well that the call was club business.
She was crazy to let herself get pulled back into that world again.
She watched him lean against the tree, the murmur of his voice drifting on the wind. A moment later, he slipped the phone into his jacket and strode back. In seconds, he was beside her again, arms wrapping around her, pulling her in.
Casey stiffened, then stepped back, gently pushing out of his grasp.
“What’s going on?” he asked, confusion lining his features.
“Nothing. I have to work, remember?”
“You’re not gonna work all night, are you?” He reached for her hand, but she stepped away.
“I had a great time tonight,” she said. “The food was excellent, the conversation and company even better, but—”
“You’re pissed because I got a phone call?”
“No. I’m not mad. It’s just that this”—she gestured between them—“isn’t going to work.”
“What the fuck are you afraid of?”
“Nothing,” she lied.
“Bullshit. Who the hell burned you so bad you can’t recognize your own feelings?”
“I pay a therapist to psychoanalyze me, so save the pop-psychology.”
His stare drilled into her. “Whatever, Casey. Go inside. Bury yourself and your whole fuckin’ life in your work.”
“I did enjoy having dinner with you,” she said quietly.
“Don’t fuckin’ patronize me.”
“I’m not.” Her voice hardened.
“Like I said, whatever.”
He turned and jumped off the porch. She watched him stalk down the sidewalk. For a split second, she almost called him back, but didn’t. When he reached his SUV, he climbed in, slammed the door, gunned the engine, and peeled away without a backward glance.
Casey closed the door, a rush of emotions flooding through her. You did the right thing. Then why did she feel so crappy?
She glanced over at the computer and knew she couldn’t do any quality work. She’d get up early and work on the project all day.
She padded to the kitchen, put the leftovers in the fridge, and took out a bottle of chardonnay. With the wine and a glass in hand, she walked to the bedroom.
Thirty minutes later, she sat cross-legged on the bed in her fleece pajamas, sipping a second glass of wine, and staring at her phone.
Did you really think he was going to call you?
She’d hurt his pride; he probably wouldn’t forgive her for that.
I bet he’s going to spend the night with a club girl or a hoodrat who’ll stroke his ego.
The thought made her both sad and jealous. Damn, I’m fucked up.
And to prove it, she pulled a large tin box from the bottom drawer of her nightstand and popped off the lid. She picked up the photographs of her wedding, bike rallies, and silly snapshots of her and JT over the years. She traced the strong line of his jaw with a rose-tipped fingernail.
She kept staring at the photo as JT’s face blurred, morphing into Rags’s. Pressing the photo against her chest, she rocked back and forth as tears spilled down her cheeks.