Chapter 6
Chapter Six
ISAIAH
I slap on aftershave and set the glass bottle between the double sinks in the Jack and Jill bathroom. Making certain I smell better than the dope who high-tailed it across the entire estate in time to shower stops me from pacing between the adjoining rooms. I may already have pit sweat, which I don’t get unless I’m on stage… Or apparently when I run through the fields at a ranch, so I’m not late for a date with a girl I feared would refuse the offer.
Like the backdoor to the inn, the suite has a keypad. However, when I arrived at Kingsbrier, Gatlin snagged a very low-tech antique key on a ribbon from a secretary desk to unlock the suite’s sitting room on my right because there was no employee available to key in the new code. I keep patting the weight it carries in my pants pocket. A sure-fire sign I’m anxious.
I enter the bedroom, glimpsing the unmade bed. I’m not a slacker. I can pull up the sheets and straighten the covers. But doing so seems presumptuous. I don’t want Cassidy believing I’m an arrogant celebrity who expects she’ll put out after an expensive meal.
Making the bed makes me feel pompous and overconfident that any woman would spread her legs for me. I’m not positive Cassidy’s even a fan. It might be as simple as she recognizes me from all the press last summer. She’s probably Kylie’s fan and too polite to mention that.
I’d also have to think long and hard to remember the last woman I had sex with besides my wife. So I’m not sure if I have any intention of sleeping with Cassidy.
Of course, you want to sleep with her, dumbass.
Cassidy mentioned one of these rooms was her father’s, and that adds to my second thoughts. I’ve passed her parent’s tidy ranch twice today. No one around the estate so far has given me shotgun vibes. But with a family this size, you never know. Something about laying Cassidy down on a bed in her dad’s old bedroom doesn’t sit well with me.
Maybe I have values. Maybe I’m experiencing the cold feet I should’ve felt on the way to the altar.
I fold the dirty clothes I changed out of and set them on the dresser. At this rate, I’ll have to use the laundry room again. Then I double back through the bathroom to find my phone.
It’s exactly where I left it, placed on the coffee table to break my incessant need to check the time. I told Cassidy seven and six-fifty eight and thirty-seven seconds is pushing it.
With my cell and the key in my pockets, I’m scrutinizing my reflection in the mirror, straightening my tie, mussing my hair—again because my stylist swears it’s sexy like this and I trust his expert opinion given the guys he’s dated since joining my team.
“You can do this,” I say out loud. Shaking my head, I immediately follow it with, “I can’t fathom that you’re giving yourself a goddamn pep talk, you fool.”
This isn’t a prayer circle before a concert. It’s a night out with a beautiful woman.
Fuck casually late. Fuck the nerves. It’s stupid that I’m more concerned about what Cassidy thinks of me when we weren’t around one another this afternoon than when I was shirtless and pouring her coffee. I’ve been dying to see her again all day, and I’m not getting over my idiotic self until I do.
I run my fingers through my tight-clipped sideburns and pull at the lapels on the burgundy coat, buttoning it over the matching vest of the three-piece suit Vespa had delivered from a tailor shop in Houston. Of all the weird things my assistant keeps track of for me, I’m glad my measurements are one of them. I have a similar Tom Ford collecting dust in my closet in Nashville. Kylie loved it, and as much as I don’t want her presence intruding, I appreciated my former wife’s taste in clothes and her interest in my wardrobe as our careers burgeoned from immature teens to sophisticated adults.
My knuckles rat-tat-tat on Cassidy’s door. She has to have been standing on the opposite side because I hardly have to wait for her to open it.
I step back on the landing, unprepared for what I see. Cassidy has curled and piled her blonde locks atop her head. The cranberry colored sweater dress she’s wearing has a mock turtleneck. Yet as my eyes drop lower, it not only reveals all of her curves, but just below her breasts the fabric knots and cut outs expose the skin on her hip. The hem grazes above her kneecaps. High-heeled boots cover her knees. The small glimpse of skin when she moves is seductive and surprising.
Cassidy licks her lower lip, painted red. Her eyes rake over me the way mine take in every inch of her. “You found your suit.”
At the same time, I blurt, “You look gorgeous.” Her cheeks turn a rosier shade of pink, making me wonder what she looks like naked with a flush all over. “Thank you for putting it in my suite,” I respond to her original comment.
“You’re welcome. We match. Everyone’s going to think we planned this.”
“Holiday colors, right? Are you all set?”
Cassidy turns to grab a clutch and I spy a small antique wooden box and the roses I sent to her in a vase on the bedside table. My mouth curls at the corners.
She closes her door and I gesture for her to walk ahead of me so I can get a view of the way the dress clings to her ass. Then I lengthen my stride to catch up with her. My palm slides like a heat-seeking missile toward her bare skin, guiding her down the staircase. Her hip is soft. I’d like to drag her back to her room and touch the rest of her. But that’s not who I am or what she deserves.
One hand on the bannister, Cassidy’s mouth forms an “O.” She pauses, feeling the heat from my exploratory hand. I’m damn glad it’s not sweaty. I’d kiss the curious expression off of her face if she let me. I hoped the card from the flowers helped her understand how I felt without being too overt.
“Do you need a coat? Will you be warm enough?” I ask, prodding her to move along. Our car is waiting.
“I’m warm,” she says softly as we move over the tiles to the entry. “Maybe too warm.”
“Me too.” I chuckle, enjoying her honesty. I reach to caress her cheek. I swear I’m not imagining it when she leans in. “I guess the night air will cool us off then.” For now, anyway.
Are first dates like this? Does the chemistry swirl with awkward pauses? Did I always want to fill the silence so the woman I was taking out didn’t think I only had sex on the brain when I was hyper-focused on the reasons I’d asked her out in the first place? I can’t remember.
Monty is waiting outside by the car and opens the rear door.
“Cass, this is Montgomery. He’s part of my security team.” I clap Monty on the shoulder.
Monty is the yin to Vespa’s yang. Where she’s a polished viper, turning to civility and politeness when she needs to make a connection or call in a favor, Monty is affable until someone gets up in my business.
“It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Cavanaugh.” He dips his chin.
“Likewise.” Cassidy gapes in awe of the man built like a brick house. Then she turns to me. “You didn’t have security with you earlier, Isaiah. I could have driven.”
Shit. She’s rattled.
“Monty flew in with me for the interview I gave Gatlin yesterday.”
Outside of my gated residence, bodyguards are like an American Express card. I don’t leave home without them. But when Gatlin had the connections to get me a few hours with Cris Sanchez and a place to stay on short notice, I hadn’t wanted to impose any more than I already was.
“My sister lives about a half hour away,” Monty explains. “She’s putting me up. Probably because I work for this guy.” Having been with me for long enough that we’ve developed a sense of trust, Monty shakes me by the neck with similar familiarity.
“You don’t have to travel. We have plenty of room here.” Cassidy motions behind her at the bed & breakfast.
“Sometimes people need space. And having an unexpected chance to see my family at Christmastime isn’t something I’d pass up.”
“If you change your mind, you’re welcome.”
Monty thanks Cassidy, and I take the honors of tucking her into the car.
I’m impressed at her offer to take in another guest when the inn is closed. Yet, from Gatlin’s initial call to her older sister, Gracyn, to her Uncle Cris, every person I’ve encountered at Kingsbrier has expressed the same level of hospitality.
“I should have told you Monty would be with us tonight,” I whisper the apology as the car rolls along in the darkness toward Houston.
“He doesn’t hover. Taste your food or anything weird like that?”
Cassidy tried to keep her voice low, but Monty overheard. He meets my eye in the rear view mirror and winces.
“Nah, he’ll take a look around and stay close by. You probably won’t notice him at all, and you can pick anything you like off my plate if you think he’s slacking… Or that I am.”
Cassidy covers her face. “You noticed I picked at your tots during breakfast. How embarrassing.”
I remove her palm from her face so I can glimpse the ethereal beauty the head lamps from oncoming traffic give to her.
“I thought it was cute. I’m glad you were comfortable taking food off my plate. It makes me feel like you’re past the shock of seeing Isaiah Roomer scavenging in your refrigerator.”
“We’ve been doing a lot of eating. I do more than eat.” Cassidy worries her pretty lip.
I curl my fingers around hers, placing our joined hands on my thigh. “I’m trying to get to know you, Cass. You said your favorite thing was food. It was a jumping off point. A way of getting you off the estate.”
She mentioned having no choice but to cater to guests when she was at home. I’d like to spoil her, and if having her full attention indulges my needs, all the better.
“My new favorite thing might be when you call me Cass.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s the name the people who know me best use.”
I can’t help how my chest puffs out. Hearing this from her sounds like I have a chance.
“Okay, then I’ll keep calling you Cass if you call me Isaiah.”
“You said it was ‘just Isaiah’ this morning.” She shrugs, letting out a tinkling laugh.
“I did. But for all the talking we’ve done, you haven’t once called me by my name.”
The car has slowed. We’re within the city limits, close to the restaurant. Another car passes. The beams play off her dangling earrings, highlighting her gold-spun hair. It really is taking all of my willpower not to kiss her, especially when my name tumbles out of her mouth.
“Okay, Isaiah.”