How Cassie Got Her Grind Back (6 page)

“He’s executive chef at Hermione in Morehead.”

Her brows shot up. “In
Morehead
? And he never got in touch!” She missed a step in the dance, and he caught her before she slipped. “If I’d known he was so close, I would’ve visited him—
and
you
—for that matter.”

His hand slid down her back, the caress drawing her gaze to his serious blue eyes. “We didn’t think you still lived here. After everything had happened, and after we…talked about what the future held, I assumed you were in New York or LA or in Europe. You had a gift.”

She shook her head, pained by the disappointment in his eyes. “I never left Divine. I said I was sorry, Samson,” she added, embarrassed by the way her voice cracked a little.

As it had turned out, the only time she’d ever played an instrument was to either soothe or entertain her kids when they were itty bitty, by playing her guitar and singing for them. Once they’d learned to walk and then started school, she’d been too busy to get it out and play or to attempt to write any songs. The guitar had gathered dust in her closet during the years that had raced by.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Cassandra. You have nothing to apologize for.” He let out a sigh. “I keep putting my foot in my mouth and making you uncomfortable. Let’s talk about something safer. I understand you have grown kids.”

She nodded. “Tamara and Joseph.” They were the lights of her life and her biggest accomplishments next to owning and operating Divine Drip.

“Joseph?” he asked with a grin, and she smiled back.

“Yes, small world.”

She spent the next minute or two telling him all about them and what they were currently doing before veering to other subjects, such as his career as a military police officer in the Army. Even in civilian life, his career choice had involved law enforcement, as an officer for the Morehead PD before being injured in the line of duty and taking on the role of emergency dispatcher in Morehead.

“I can’t believe you were so close all that time and never came to see me.”

He gently squeezed her hand. “I doubt your husband would’ve appreciated me showing up on your doorstep for a visit, Cassandra.”

“My marriage ended a few years ago. I don’t mind if you call me Cassie. Everyone does.”

He gave his head a definite shake. “To me you will always be Cassandra.”

Suddenly brave, she said, “Remember what else you called me? Usually when you wanted your way.”

“
Chiquita
. I didn’t forget. Although…”

“What?” she inquired softly.

“I lost the right to call you that, or gave up the right, when we left.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say he hadn’t lost the right, but she didn’t want him to think she was coming on to him. Some ingrained patterns never died. She looked up at him.

As if searching for something to say, he stroked the strap of her red dress. “Did Bunny want all of you to dress like bridesmaids?”

She shook her head, not sure what he was getting at, but the discomfited feeling returned. Bunny and Grace had sworn the style fit her well, and she liked the bright red color.

“No. We wanted to buy dresses in the same color because we thought she’d like it. Do you not like my dress?”

“I do, but—”

“But what?” One of his dark eyebrows arched momentarily at her interruption, and she arched both of hers in response. “What is it? Do I have something on it? Oh gosh, did I sit in something?” She looked behind her, worried she’d embarrassed herself.

“No, no, Cassandra. Stop, honey. Listen. Your dress is fine. Not messed up or anything.” He slid a long gaze from her toes to her shoulders and back down again, pausing at her hips for moment that seemed to last an eternity. “It’s just very form-fitting.” He backed away a bit but didn’t release her hand. “That’s all.”

I was
right
. It’s too tight. Even with the Spanx. Under the lights, the red must make my dimples even more obvious. Oh, hell.

She took a step away from him. “I need to go…uh…check on Bunny. Thank you for the dance, Samson. It was nice seeing you again,” she murmured as she plucked her hands from his, not even giving him a chance to reply before she walked on stiff legs across the dance floor.

“Cassandra,” he called after her, but she didn’t look back.

Depression settled on her like a stifling blanket as she slipped in through a different set of French doors and hurried upstairs to collect her purse and other belongings. The wedding cake top had already been carefully wrapped by the Hazelle House staff and was in storage in the large kitchen freezer. Her duties were finished.

She made excuses to her friends, bid a puzzled Bunny and Joseph a safe journey and many blessed years together, and hurried out to the front, evading another confrontation with Samson when she spotted him talking to Travis and Hank in the lounge.

The valet was quick in pulling her car around to the front and seemed happy with the generous tip she gave him for aiding her hasty exit.

Her mood continued to plummet in a manner she hadn’t experienced since before Bill had divorced her. Had she really lost so much appeal? Why did what one man thought of her hurt so bad?

He’s not just any man. He’s the knight in shining armor of my memories. And I’m older, rounder, and past my prime.

* * * *

Hours later, in a different part of Hazelle House from where the wedding and reception had taken place, Samson hooked Victoria’s padded suspension cuffs to the chains hanging from the ceiling and then flicked the switch to lift her until just the pads of her toes touched the floor.

He squeezed her upper arms, checking for tension. “Feel all right?” He checked her grip on the bar inside the cuff and made sure she could reach the emergency release snap.

“Yes. Thank you for doing this on a moment’s notice, Samson. I needed it.”

Samson patted her tense shoulder. “It’s my pleasure. I’m glad Joseph decided to open the club after the reception was over. Did you hydrate like I asked?”

She gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir. Taken care.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, not surprised. When they got together for play, she was usually well prepared. “You’re very tense tonight.”

“I stretched in the locker room first, but every time I try to clear my mind, I keep reliving this afternoon in the operating room. I just…need your help with it.”

“I understand. I’ll start out slow.”

“Samson, you don’t have to—”

He grabbed on the loose knot of hair pulled up at the back of her head, ready to get started. “What did you call me?” He didn’t personally give a rat’s ass what she called him since they didn’t have a Dom/sub arrangement, but it was important to have her in the proper mindset before the fun started.

A breath rushed from her lips, and she smirked. “Sir, I meant Sir. You don’t need to go slow with me—”

“Wouldn’t you agree we’ve known each other long enough for me to know what you need and how you need it?”

She bit her lip, probably trying to hide a smile judging by the way her lips curled, and then she said, “Well, yes, Sir, but—” She twined her ankles, and he felt the vibration running through her body as anticipation built up.

“Excellent, I’m glad you
agree
, and now I know what else you need.”

She grew still as he released her, and he felt her eyes on him as he reached into his toy bag and pulled the cellophane from the brand-new ball gag before retrieving the spreader bar hanging on the wall nearby. He turned and faced her. “What’s your safe word?”

Victoria caught herself in mid-eye-roll and snickered. “Red,” she murmured, but her attitude, which was actually encouraging to him, clearly said,
as if—
with a cocked hip.

She’d called him a couple of hours before from the OR where she’d just lost a patient and asked him if he was available. When he’d told her he was already at the club, he’d heard the tears in her voice when she agreed to his suggestion that she come right over. A masochist, whose talent happened to be healing the hearts of premature and often as-yet-unborn infants. The losses happened, and when they did, he was around to help her out.

It was an honor to have any part in helping a woman whose hands were skilled with such a rare gift. Despite the connection between them as sadist and masochist, his interest in her was of a friends-only variety. And she’d made it clear her schedule played hell on relationships and she didn’t want to do that to anyone in her life. Samson respected the hell out of her because she put her patients before her own personal life. It was a sacrifice she said she would gladly pay.

With the squeak toy slid inside her suspension cuff and her feet spread a couple of feet apart, he adjusted the tension on the chains to accommodate her new stance and then came up behind her again and re-did the knot of her long hair for her so none of it would get yanked out accidentally. “All set now, little masochist. Unless you have any other helpful advice or instructions you’d like to give.”

She ordered attending surgeons and technicians around in the OR, expecting instant compliance and support. Purportedly had a core of phenomenal surgical nurses who could practically read her mind and gave her unswerving loyalty, if one was to believe Victoria. But at Hazelle House, she wanted to exchange all that power, give up all the choices and the outcomes to another kind of expert, and she trusted him with the reins…and the whip.

“No, Sir.”

“I’m about to gag you, so what’s your safe signal?”

She manipulated her fingers inside the cuff, squeezing the squeak toy so it sounded out loud and clear. “I’m ready when you are, Sir.”

After gagging her, he selected a suede flogger, anticipating her impatience and grinning. He’d get to the whip when he knew she was ready for it and not a moment before.

Someone walked by their play area, and the scent of vanilla wafted over to him. He glanced around, but the hope was unfounded. Cassandra’s skin had carried the scent of vanilla on it, probably from a natural source rather than a perfume. But she wasn’t anywhere nearby. It was probably a sub trying out a new fragrance or lotion.

But the sensory experience was enough to bring her to mind as he unwound the strands of the flogger. He enjoyed working with Victoria, but the anticipation he felt now was for the next time he talked to Cassandra…and found out the reason for her retreat.

Would she ever let him bind her like this and trust him to flog her, or more? Did he even want that with her?

Refocusing, he turned back to Victoria, only part of his heart in the scene to come. Not because he was no longer interested in helping her. Far from it. He just wondered at the lack of fulfillment he normally felt at taking the reins and the whip in hand.

All else faded from focus besides the impact of the falls. When he assumed control, and responsibility for Victoria’s wellbeing, he couldn’t afford to be distracted by anything else.

A few weeks later…

Cassie’s heart was thumping uncomfortably as she walked under the banner announcing the Divine High School Class of 1986 and into the ballroom. The crowd was thin, but she was early and had hoped for time to settle in and calm down a bit before the rest of the attendees arrived. She’d changed outfits and undergarments several times before finally settling on something modest and dressy-casual. The seductive purple dress she’d bought just for the reunion was still hanging in her closet, she thought forlornly, but at least no one could fault her outer appearance.

She wished she’d given more serious thought to securing a date for this event. Being married to Bill hadn’t always been fun, but he’d always come to the reunions with her in years past. The reunions happened every five years and this one was her first as a single woman.

Music was being provided by a DJ who was already doing his thing while chatting with Travis and Veronica. Knowing those two, they were requesting slow dance songs so they could get cozy on the dance floor later. Hank stood nearby conversing with another couple. At least she had people she could hang out with. She wasn’t sure if Bill was coming, and she hadn’t returned his call from earlier in the week. She made it a rule to avoid talking to him unless it was vital or concerned the kids.

She was scanning the room nervously for Lydia Carlisle, hoping she and Chance and Clayton had arrived, when a callused hand gently gripped hers. She turned and gasped in recognition. “Andrew? Andrew Portman, is that you?”

The tall man standing before her smiled, his green eyes twinkling as he held his arms open for a hug. “I wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me.” He patted his shirtfront and added, “It’s been a few years and pounds since the last time I laid eyes on you, beautiful girl.”

During high school they’d shared numerous classes, had both been active in the music and band departments, and they’d been good friends, even when scandal had occurred in their senior year. After graduation he’d gone away for college, and they’d lost touch.

She giggled and said, “Sweet talker, some things never change, do they? Don’t be standing there claiming to have put on weight or aged because you haven’t changed hardly at all.”