Page 45 of Rumor Has It

“You aren’t going to give me the ‘if you break her heart, I’ll break your neck’ speech?”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Roomer.” She pats my face, articulating a fear that’s taking root. “A Cavanaugh lies underneath Cassidy’s adorable and gracious exterior. Don’t underestimate a woman with the power to snap you like a twig.” Rhiannon spins on her heel with a finger wave goodbye. “Catcha later.”

I blow out a breath when the door shuts. Shaking some sense into myself, I stow the vacuum in the closet and take the steps two at a time back up to Cassidy’s suite. I close the door so she doesn’t wonder where I am or if I’m eavesdropping. Then I kick my feet up and open my notebook to scribble a few lines that began swirling through my head when Rhiannon scolded me.

Hand to God, I’ve never felt less like a celebrity and more like an average man than I do with Cassidy. Putting aside what I’ve been through, everything about her makes me wonder if I’m good enough. If I was a nobody who met her in a bar would she refuse to dance with me or pretend she was shy if I asked for her number? Would Rhiannon be as protective of her as she was during our little chat? How far would things go between us? Because in any other circumstance I can’t see any way in hell that I’d be living out of a suitcase in Cassidy’s room after a day of knowing her.

And why does a day in Cassidy’s company feel like I’ve known her a lifetime?

The next thing I know, I’m staring at a full page of lyrics, humming an upbeat tune about the provocative girls guys chase with their tongues hanging out. The ones that challenge a man’s preconceptions with brains and beauty. The woman who you completely miscalculate. Who you’re damn sure is a wallflower, needing to be drawn from her shell. Then she jumps on stage with her friends to sing karaoke at the top of her lungs without missing a beat. Or who accepts the bet with a glimmer in her eye and hands you the 8-ball to break. But what you don’t know is she can run the pool table and you’ve just handed over your balls. Double or nothing, she’s taking your heart along with them.

While I’ve used a bit of the personality of each woman I’ve met at the ranch, all of the idiosyncrasies are things I’ve seen in Cassidy. Her eyes, her smile, her tenacity and heart. The way she shoots from the hip. And perhaps a little bit of her wild side. I’ve watched my girl touch herself, there’s no denying Cass knows she’s sexy.

Why am I pretending I’m sticking around for her family’s holiday party? From the moment Cris said to use the idea of falling in love to revive the energy for writing a love song, I’ve been writing love songs with Cassidy in mind.

Kissing her makes me want to fuck her until she’s on the brink, screaming my name the way she had the second time I took her to bed last night. I want her thrashing underneath me when I ease up and won’t let her get there. I want to tease her into submission. For her feisty side to get fed up with my demands and for her to shove me onto my back and climb on top. I want to feel her slick pussy slide down my cock and massage her tits as they jut out when her head falls back in divine surrender. I want her to ride me until her cunt clamps down and, spent, I can’t do anything more than endure the lingering pulsing between her legs.

Afterwards, I want Cassidy to look at me the way she talks about this ranch—like I’m her whole goddamned world and the only thing she’s ever known.

Maybe she started as a muse, but the attraction I swiftly began to feel toward Cassidy is like none other.

The knob turns and I tent my legs, I set my notebook to the side. Cassidy enters with her shoulders slumped. I chew on my pen waiting for her to speak. She lowers herself to sit at my feet, one knee pointed in my direction

“Well, that was… embarrassing,” she sighs. “I wouldn’t blame you if you high-tailed it out of here after all” her hands wave in the air, “that.”

“It’ll take more than one of your sisters being concerned about safety and the other one wanting to make sure that I’m leaving you sexually satisfied to run me out of town.”

I’m used to drama. I could fill her in on celebrity bad behavior. Not that I will.

For better or worse,“Chou, what do I need to do to convince you that I’m not leaving anytime soon?” I toss the pen atop the notebook. Touching her knee, I try to alleviate her concerns.

Cassidy ducks her face to her hands. Her groan changes into a loud, irritated growl. “I’m overthinking. Again. It doesn’t seem to take much,huh?And it isn’t your fault that one minute I’m all in and the next I’m freaking out like my car is stuck on the railway tracks with a runaway train approaching.” She presses her fingertips to her forehead like she has a migraine. “Let’s do what we said we were doing with no expectations. This is my vacation week!” Her frustrated voice raises at the end of the sentence.

I shimmy closer and slide my hand onto her hip. “How about we agree that my sole reason for being here is to make your holiday fun, Cass? But you should also know, on a personal level, I’m looking forward to our New Year’s date and everything in between.”

“Okay. But I’m suggesting we don’t have sex again until you see the doctor and we’re sure the fall didn’t do any permanent damage.”

“To my back? It’s a bruise. It’ll be fine.”

“Nah.To your brain.” She makes me laugh. “I would’ve thought it knocked some sense into you. What’s so special about celebrating a Cavanaugh Christmas at Kingsbrier?”

“You.”

I fall back onto the pillows dragging her with me so Cassidy straddles my lap. I cup my hands around her palms that she’s using to steady herself on my chest.

That’s how it feels being with Cassidy. Steady as a stream. Like we’re both floating in the same direction. I just hope I haven’t gotten it wrong and when the river begins flowing swiftly we’re still able to hold onto one another.

Chapter Eighteen

CASSIDY

It’s a hard-fought battle—mostly because Isaiah kisses me and we’re both aware of where is apt to lead—but I keep my head on straight and convince him to leave the bedroom.

The desserts are cold, so we bring the basket downstairs. Isaiah works his culinary magic, pressing the thirty-second button on the microwave. He won’t let me help and is sort of adorable standing guard with his tongue peeking out, waiting to tap stop before the pastry gets too hot.

It makes me want to break my no cooking during vacation rule and show him how… Maybe because his current look of concentration is similar to the expression he wears when he’s trying to get me off, and Isaiah pushing my buttons brings me immense joy.

That’s what the season is all about, right?

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