Page 16 of Rumor Has It

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 knucklesrat-tat-taton 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.

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