Chapter 2
Chapter Two
ISAIAH
I open the fridge for a second time. Finding the quart-sized carton I was looking for, I wait to remove it from the door. The cool air settles on my bare skin, taking my temperature down a notch.
I owe Gatlin Newhouse big time for finding me a secluded place to crash overnight. But no matter how popular the guy’s morning show is—or how much my PR team says I need the publicity being interviewed by Gatlin and Bellamy will bring to my upcoming tour—I also want to wring the DJ’s neck for not telling me his cousin was a bombshell.
As if it has a sixth sense, my dick started twitching the instant Cassidy walked into the kitchen. But reacting to female pheromones is giving my cock too much credit.
I made a rule to never mix business with pleasure before Kylie and I got married. Since she’s been gone, I’ve kept that rule along with the calluses on my right hand. Although I’m sure playing the widower card would have nabbed me my fair share of pity pussy.
I think I’ve had too much on my mind to consider rebound sex. I prefer the company of the women who work for me. It’s less pressure. And hiding out in my home in Nashville over the past six months to avoid the press at all costs and maintain privacy was a unique form of intimacy I’ve seldom experienced since hitting it big.
Giving Cassidy my back, I stride toward the gurgling coffee pot. It finishes perking and beeps. I had found mugs in the cabinet above, and I pull out a second one for her. I’m also using the lower cabinets to hide the bulge in my pants.
Being an entitled asshole who walks around shirtless in someone else’s house? That I can’t do much about.
I noticed last night I spilled something on my shirt and hadn’t brought a change of clothes with me. I’d rinsed the spot out, but the darn thing hasn’t dried.
I peek to the side and yup, the stunning blonde isn’t a figment of my imagination.
Cassidy is gorgeous. She has big brown eyes a man wants looking up at him while she’s on her knees and a pouty lower lip capable of rocking your world. Clutching her breasts, she’s forgotten it makes her top ride up, exposing the soft skin of her belly. It doesn’t do a damn thing to hide the bell of her hip, a place my palm wants to slide over.
My cup brimming, I stop pouring and clear my throat. Cassidy is beautiful and I’m struggling for a way to keep her attention
“Now that you know how I take mine, how can I make your coffee?”
“Cream. No sugar. But um,” Cassidy pauses. “Can I get another mug instead?”
She moves closer, erasing all other senses when the scent of berries and something sweet and musky invade my nose.
I sniff the air surrounding us more than I should. My subconscious is determined to find out why she smells amazing. Whatever it is, it makes me salivate like a hungry kid who has had a giant piece of sugary cake placed in front of them.
I’m hyper aware of Cassidy reaching past me. She replaces the first mug on the shelf and opens the next cabinet over.
“I can’t use this when anyone else is here. I hope you don’t mind. I don’t mean anything by it. It’s more of a vacation tradition,” she explains.
I hadn’t missed the words on the Christmas pajamas stretched over her ample chest, so I fully expect a kitschy “Santa’s favorite” mug. But the one she puts down is plain white with black lettering that reads “This is my fuckoffee.”
“Promise I won’t take it to heart.” I laugh.
The words don’t match her sweet aroma.
I add the cream and fill her cup to the rim. Then I bring both of our drinks over to a large kitchen table, hoping she’ll sit a spell. As much as I fucking shouldn’t be, I’m enchanted.
My stomach bottoms out when she stays by the counter.
“I’m not responsible for anything when the B&B is closed.” Cassidy explains what Gatlin mentioned to me. “I have a few day-old muffins if you’re hungry?”
I open my mouth to reply, but she’s already gone to fetch them, calling behind her, “It’s normal for me to eat one before breakfast.”
“Are you part hobbit? Is that why you need a snack before and between every meal?” I raise my voice so she can hear me in the next room.
She reappears from wherever she went wearing a zipper-front sweatshirt and clutching two enormous muffins that look like they’ve come from a gourmet bakery. “Aw, hobbits steal my heart.”
I sit back in the chair, trying not to let on that I’m put off by the sweatshirt. However, I’m not at Kingsbrier to stare at Cassidy’s tits, and other than our initial surprise at seeing one another, she seems relaxed around me.
Cassidy ties her shoulder-length hair in a loose knot and putters, comfortable in her space. She warms the muffins. Gets the butter from the fridge. A knife from a drawer. Placing a plate with a muffin on the woven placemat in front of me, she sits down at the head of the table where I set the fuckoffee cup intending to see if she’d sit beside me.
“It’s the oversized hairy feet that get to you.” I wink and gesture at my wiggling toes.
“It is not, stop!” She blushes and her lip quirks. “Don’t make sex jokes about cute little hobbits this early in the morning. Maybe later when you’re fully clothed,” she remarks, slicing the top off of her muffin and slathering it with butter.
“Who said anything about innuendo? Not me. Clearly you have a hobbit fetish or you wouldn’t be eating first breakfast.”
Her chest rumbles, and she covers her full mouth with her napkin. “Are you a reader?” she asks once she’s swallowed.
“Movies. Too many of them lately. Are you? Nope, wait! Let me guess, you’re into Christmas romance novels with short guys. Elves. Ooh, Legolas!”
This makes Cassidy crack up. “Legolas isn’t a short elf. Not Christmas elf short, anyway.”
“So, you’re into tall guys.” This feeds my ego. I’m over six feet.
What are you doing? You’ve hardly left your house since your wife died. My subconscious reminds me.
“I didn’t say that.” Cassidy looks up at me from under her lashes.
I have to shift in my seat to ease the bind of my jeans from the bulge in my pants.
“You know who you are, right?” she says, quiet as a mouse. “Are we allowed to have this discussion? Would it get either of us into trouble?”
I want to ask “with who?” Kylie won’t give a damn. Except, I understand where Cassidy is coming from. Celebrities get accused of taking advantage of their status all the time.
My flirting game is off. I should call it quits for both our sakes. I’m leaving tonight and Cassidy doesn’t deserve to be led on.
“I know who I am,” I say solemnly. I’m a guy who hasn’t been interested in getting to know a pretty girl for quite a while. “We’re discussing why you eat a muffin before breakfast. These are mmm... by the way.”
I pop another bite into my mouth to shut myself up. Good lord, if this is what yesterday’s banana nut muffin tastes like, I want a baker’s dozen fresh from the oven.
“I’m glad you like them. It’s a family recipe. I won a blue ribbon with it at the county fair. And I eat between meals because I’m surrounded by food all day long, but it’s rare for me to eat a meal at mealtime.” Cassidy notes how early she gets up to bake for the guests who take continental breakfast. After that comes brunch. She also creates gourmet sandwiches to order for anyone who is having a picnic.
“Where do they picnic?”
“The winery mostly.”
“There’s a winery here?” My brow raises. I didn’t pay attention to much in the dark.
“There’s a lot at Kingsbrier,” she chuckles.
I like her laugh and I think she’s right. I’ve found more than I expected.
“So, what do you make for dinner?” I want Cassidy to keep talking.
“Nothing!” She leans back with a broad grin. “I’m done cooking around three when I pass the canapés off to the bartender for cocktail hour.”
“And then?” What does she eat? Where does she go?
“If I’m lucky, I get a nap. Sometimes there’s an appointment or I go hang out with Bellamy or my cousins. If I wander out of my room, the guests assume I’m available for them to talk to.”
I feel a sudden twinge of guilt for making her stay. “You want to get out of here?” I promised Gatlin I’d fend for myself.
“Not in particular. I mean, you made the coffee. Which puts you into the top ten best guests.”
“I don’t mean to sound like an egomaniac, but how do I make it to number one?”
Cassidy leans forward, resting her chin on a fist. “I don’t mean to fluff your feathers, Mister-my-single’s-at-number-one, but I don’t recall assigning an actual number.”
“Would getting breakfast for you increase my rank? If I weren’t already your number one.”
Cassidy’s head bobs from left to right. “There’s a definite possibility. Are you prepared to show off your culinary skills? I’d put on an apron before cooking if you are. Grease splatters.” Her swirling finger points at my bare chest.
Oh yeah, that. I grimace, though hanging out half naked with Cassidy hasn’t been as awkward as it could’ve been.
I pull out my phone, scrolling to see what’s available for delivery. “Hard truth. Not only can I not cook, I’m not embarrassing myself by trying.”
“You don’t say?”
“But,” I punch a few buttons to order. “I know how to do laundry.”
“That’s impressive.”
I grab the back of my neck, uneasy. “I spilled on my shirt recording an interview with Gatlin that’s supposed to air after the New Year.” I leave off that it happened because, since Kylie’s accident, I’ve become anxious about talking to anyone. Cassidy’s cousin is one of the few in the industry I trust. Even so, my people sent Gatlin a list of topics to avoid. “Anyhow, my shirtfront is still damp. Is there a clothes dryer I can use while we wait for the food to arrive?”
Cassidy doesn’t make me feel foolish for food missing my mouth. Instead, she asks, “Is what you’re serving me for breakfast a secret?”
“Can’t it be a surprise?”
“Why not? The first surprise of the day was a welcome one.”
For me, too.
Cassidy shows me a washer/dryer set in the backroom where she disappeared to earlier and came back zipped to her chin in the sweatshirt. It looks like another kitchen of some sort. I’m the slightest put out when Cassidy busses the empty plates and cups to the sink. Part of why is that I should have done it. The other part happens as we leave the kitchen and round the corner to the staircase. We’ve been talking for over an hour and I’ve enjoyed her company. Even the idea of a minute break from having her around is bothersome.
Cassidy’s lure is likely as simple as I’ve spent too much time on my own recently.
When we part at the top of the staircase, she tells me she’s getting washed up and will be downstairs in twenty minutes and enters her room. On my way to mine, I try to shake it off the attraction I have to her. The problem is, I hear water running through the pipes as I jog back down the steps to toss my shirt in the dryer. The idea of Cassidy wet and naked makes me envious of the water falling over her while she showers.
I travel with a small toiletry bag. While my shirt is drying, I give my pits a swipe of deodorant. I’ll wash up the rest of the way after the food is delivered. I’m also certain I’ll have inappropriate visions of Cassidy when I finally do.
Well fuck, if that’s not new. I had started questioning if my libido was broken.
Like an idiot, I’ve kept the door to my suite propped with my shoe, listening for her on the landing. I stroll, nonchalant, toward her door when I hear it open and close.
We reconvene where we parted. Cassidy blushes seeing my bare chest. Her eyes fall to the floor. Not exactly where I want them. I’m honestly more interested in eating up her appreciation for my abs than eating. At least I’m man enough to admit to myself that I’m suffering from colossal horny jerk syndrome.
She looks as incredible ready for the day as having woken up in those candy cane pajamas. Her sweet scent is more potent. All I want to do is breathe her in.
Except, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it.” Cassidy bounds down the steps and across the foyer tile toward the massive front door.
“You’re on vacation,” I remind her, following along.
Look at the door, not at her ass.
Look at the door, not at her ass.
Look at the door, not at her ass.
Oof! Look at that ass.
Luckily, I look away before Cassidy catches me checking her out.
She spins, pointing a finger at me. “ Uh-huh. How do you think the delivery person will react to you opening the front door looking like that?”
“The same as you did.” My lip twitches with my taunt.
“ Ah, I see how it is.”
I don’t think she does. It’s Cassidy’s eyes I want on me, not anyone else’s.
“Here. Cash tip,” I say, pulling a wad of folded bills from my pocket and handing them over to her for the delivery driver.
I weave my way back through the hall toward the kitchen, making myself scarce. In the odd kitchen room, I snag my shirt from the dryer. Pulling it over my head and tucking it into my jeans, I cinch my belt around my waist. Then I check my reflection in the closest shiny surface to make sure my hair is still every bit as out of place as my stylist insists and that I’m presentable.