Heart of the Raven(17)

       
           



       

She'd read baby-care books while she rocked and walked him, and decided  he had colic. He finally took a bottle and fell asleep, worn-out. When  he woke up he was his placid self again, undemanding and content while  they had dinner. Heath had headed to his office again after dinner,  prodded by Cassie, who did some work herself, until it was time to feed  Danny again.

When she realized she was falling asleep standing up in the shower, she  turned off the water and stepped out. A few minutes later she folded  down the quilt. She found an envelope with her name on it. Inside was a  short note:

Dear Cassie,



It was wonderful meeting you. Thank you for making our son laugh again.  And remember, you only regret what you don't do. Peace, Crystal and  Journey.



What did they mean by that thing about regret? she wondered, even as she  smiled at the note itself. She'd found them to be down-to-earth, fun  and warm. Yes, she could see Heath's point-his mother talked a lot. But  she told great stories and wasn't mean-spirited or gossipy. If things  were different …  Well, she was glad she hadn't spent more time with them  than she had. She'd liked them both.

Cassie climbed into bed just as Danny's cry came over the intercom. She  heard Heath walk down the hall and decided to stay in bed. She would get  Danny the next time.

She was almost asleep when there was a knock on her door. "Cassie?"

She sat up. "What?"

"Danny and I want to know if you'd like to watch Letterman with us."

She stifled a yawn. "Sure. Give me a minute."

"We'll be in my bedroom."

He padded across to his room. Cassie sat staring at the opposite wall. In his bedroom? O-kay.

She'd remembered to bring a robe this time, so she put it on before  crossing the hall. He was propped against his headboard with his knees  raised, Danny nestled along his thighs. She looked for a chair to drag  close to the bed. The only chair in the room was an overstuffed lounge  chair, far too big to move.

"We won't bite," he said, patting the bed beside him, his eyes on the television as the Letterman theme song started.

I might bite you, though, she thought with a smile. How he tempted her,  tormented her. The way he'd kissed her that afternoon when she thought  she'd been warning him off … she had to admit she liked it. Liked the way  he took charge. Now here she was in his bedroom, albeit with Danny, too,  but he was no threat to her equilibrium.

She shoved a few pillows against the headboard then sat, stretching out  her legs, drawing her robe tighter. It would be a testament to her  self-control if she resisted inching closer. How long had it been since  she'd cuddled up with someone to watch television? Had she ever? She  must have, but she couldn't remember when.

As the monologue began, Cassie let Danny grab her finger and hold tight. He turned his head toward her when she spoke.

"Does he watch the whole show?" she asked.

"He likes the Top Ten list."

"Seriously?"

"I think it's the laughter. Maybe he's destined to be an actor."

They lay there on the king-size bed. She closed her eyes and listened to  the monologue, smiling at the jokes, hearing Heath laugh occasionally.  It felt good. Nice …

She woke up with a start. Panic gripped her. Darkness surrounded her. She clutched her robe

"Easy," she heard Heath say soothingly. "You're okay."

"No." She jackknifed up, started to scramble off the bed. She had to find light. She had to see.

"Cassie-"

"Turn on the light. Turn on the light."

He did. Light flared from his bedside lamp across the bed. She saw the  questioning concern in his eyes. Sweat pulled her pajamas closer to her  skin.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded. She was, now. "Sorry."

"What happened?"

She didn't want to talk about it with him. Not now. Not yet. It was  embarrassing that a twenty-nine-year-old woman had to have the light on  to sleep.

"I put Danny to bed," he said, filling up the silence. "I turned off the  television. Then as soon as I turned off the light you woke up," he  said.

She said nothing. After a minute he put his arms around her and drew her  close. She held herself stiff, her arms tucked close to her chest as a  barrier, not wanting to give in to his comfort.

"Rest," he said, his breath dusting her hair.

"Don't turn off the light."

"I won't."

She let herself relax, taking several minutes before she nestled against him, both of them still sitting up.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I should go to my room." But she didn't make a move to do so.                       
       
           



       

He tightened his hold. She liked the feel of his body, the scent of his  skin and the warmth of him, top to bottom. She wanted to get closer, to  lie down with him. She didn't dare to.

"You're afraid of the dark," he said.

She didn't respond.

"I'm afraid of falling asleep," he said. "I dream about my son. About Kyle. I hate falling asleep."

"I'm sorry."

"It's been better since you've been here."

"Since Danny," she corrected.

"Both of you."

She was too comfortable with him. She wanted too much to stay with him,  to sleep in his arms. She couldn't. She could fall in love with him so  easily, and he was just beginning to open up to the world. He had a lot  of catching up to do. He couldn't be tied down again so soon.

And she had an ideal of a happy family, one that was probably impossible  for her to attain. She would ruin things at some point. She always did.

But how could she ignore him when he rubbed her back like that, the strokes long and even. Her eyes stung and her throat burned.

"Want to lie down?" he asked.

"I need to go to my own bed," she said, pushing away.

He let her go. She didn't even say good-night but hurried across the  hall. As soon as she reached her bedroom she regretted leaving him,  knowing she was giving him mixed messages. She turned to go back, not  sure what she would say, and came face-to-face with him. She hadn't  heard him follow.

He moved a little closer to her, not crowding her but not giving her a  lot of space, either. "If you'd stayed in my bed," he said, "I wouldn't  have touched you unless you wanted me to. You don't have to be afraid of  me."

"I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid of me. I don't trust myself. I told  you that earlier. Last week when you kissed me-here, in this room-if  your parents hadn't been here … "

He framed her face with his hands, his touch gentle, and then he kissed  her, a long, searching, tender kiss that made her eyes sting and her  toes curl. She slid her arms around him, giving in to the demand  building inside her. Without her wearing her boots he seemed so much  taller, which made her feel feminine, a rarity for her. She wished she  was wearing something silky and soft.

He moved his hands down her back, a long, slow drag, ending at her hips,  then pulled her against him. She moaned at the feel of him, hard and  tempting, pressed into her abdomen. His mouth opened, his tongue sought  hers. She met it, welcomed it, welcomed him, as she went up on tiptoe,  winding her arms around his neck. His lips were soft and firm, gentle  and bold, cautious and daring. A kiss for the memory book from this  stealer of breath and heart.

"Come sleep with me," he murmured in her ear. "Just sleep."

"Too tempting." She hated to say it, hated being sensible and reasonable  and mature, but she was looking out for him as much as herself. And yet  she couldn't stop touching him, letting her fingers comb through his  hair, drift down his neck. She wanted so much to give in to him, to the  pleasure, to the joy.

He scooped her into his arms, drawing a shriek from her. "We're going to  my room," he said. "Sleep in my bed. What happens after that is up to  you."

He carried her across the hall and set her on his bed. After a minute she felt him touch her braid.

"I've never seen you with your hair down," he said. "May I?"

The question required more than an answer-it required a decision.  Freeing her hair meant freeing her passion. She didn't doubt that for a  minute. What should she do? Anything could happen between them. Should  she give in to her need for him because it might be her only opportunity  to do so? Or not give in to her need because it might be her only  opportunity?

Make a memory or not? Now or never?

You only regret the things you don't do. The words from his parents'  note to her came back. Whether or not she bought into the theory, she  wanted to believe it was reason enough to make love with him tonight,  with no regrets in the morning or the future.

She started to pull off the band from the end of the braid.