The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(38)

When she turned away, he took her hand, stopping her.

“Cassandra. Look at me. Please, just…look at me.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Why? So you can—”

“I’m so sorry about the way I left things with you.” The anguish in his voice stilled her. And as if he recognized her change in mood, he reached out and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “That night…It wasn’t that I didn’t want to…you know. I did. God, I really did.”

“Alex—”

“It just felt unfair to you.”

Unfair to her…?

Oh, right.

Cass closed her eyes. “So you were thinking of her the whole time, is that it? And that’s why you wanted me. I must look like her, huh?”

His eyes traced over her face, her hair, her body. “You are no substitute.”

Ah, yes. Because Miracle was perfection, Cass thought.

Okay, she really had to get out of here. Her self-esteem was getting cut to ribbons. Next on the hit parade would be bursting into tears in front of him. And wouldn’t that be a terrific way to start her birthday?

“Let me go,” she whispered, pulling at his grip.

He only tugged her closer.

“That night, all I saw was your hair on my pillow. Your skin in the dim light. Your beautiful, beautiful body. All I heard were the gasping sounds you made deep in your throat. Do you know what it did to me to hear you moan like that?” His voice became a low growl as he leaned down and spoke into her ear. “I want to go back there, Cassandra. Back to where I was with you. I want to taste you. I want your mouth under mine. I want to kiss your secrets. It’s all about you.”

Cass swayed, clinging to his arm. She didn’t understand him, but she didn’t doubt him. He was a lot of things, but never a liar.

And she wanted the same thing he did.

Oh…hell, it was happening again. Her rational thoughts were getting sucked under by her body’s instinct to bring him inside.

What a perfect recipe for disaster, she thought. More sex with a man who had proven capable of hurting her over and over again.

Was she insane?

She looked at his lips. “Prove that I’m really the one you want tonight. Kiss me.”

He stared at her long and hard. Then he murmured something that sounded like I’m such a bastard.

Before she could ask what he meant, his lips came down lightly on hers. They were soft as suede, brushing, stroking, so very gentle. And they trembled. In fact his whole body trembled, making her feel both precious and powerful.

He kissed her delicately for the longest time, sipping and teasing. When his tongue finally licked for permission to enter her mouth, she opened for him.

As he slid inside, he groaned. So did she.

He tasted like scotch and man and need. She smelled his aftershave, felt the hard muscles of his chest against her breasts, his flat belly tight on her own, his thighs.

His hard arousal, thick and straining.

Yes, she thought, sliding her hands around to his hips and bringing him closer. Oh, yes.

Dimly she heard the fireworks go off. Alex lifted his head.

“Cassandra…” He was breathing heavily and she had a feeling he was going to break off the embrace. But then he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms all the way around her until his forearms were on her back. He tilted her off center and kissed the holy heaven out of her.

His mouth was hard on hers. No more gentle searching, no soft caressing. A man’s passion unleashed, a male’s primal need given free rein. She absorbed him, welcoming the rush, the demand of him—

Spike’s voice carried into the room. “Hey, Lex, where—whoa. Ah…sorry.”

As she and Alex broke apart, Cass felt a rush of blood hit her face. The blush got worse as Spike quickly started backing out of the room and shutting the double doors.

“Wait up, buddy. I need a ride home,” Alex said.

The man gave him a long look. Kind of like someone would if their friend was thinking of jumping off a bridge: You crazy idiot.

“Now?” Spike asked.

Alex stepped back. “Yeah.”

“Do you have to go?” Cass whispered as the sound of oohs and aahs joined all the popping and cracking coming from outdoors.

“It’s better if I do.” He lifted his hand to her face and brushed her lips once with his thumb. Then he limped out of the room.





Chapter Twelve




As Spike pulled up to the workshop, Alex reached for the door handle. “Thanks, man. Eventually I’ll be able to drive again.”

“You know I’m cool with being your taxi.” Spike looked across the seats. “Ah, listen, Lex, it’s none of my business—”

“You’re right.”

“But I’m a nosy bastard.”

“Just my luck.”

“What’s doing between you and Cass? I mean, she’s righteous beautiful and a really good person, so I get all that. But if you want her and she wants you, why don’t you just muscle O’Banyon out of the picture? He’s a tank under all those pinstripes, but you could serve him up.”

“You know it’s more complicated than that.”

When Spike fell silent, Alex glanced over.

The man’s yellow eyes were narrow as he stared out of the front windshield. In the glow from the dashboard, his face was grim, his saw-toothed, jet-black hair like a cap of thorns on his head.