She didn’t move away. It was as if once she realized he would let her set the pace, she relished frustrating him, keeping him near but nowhere near enough.
She took a breath that sounded shaky and, God help him, she pressed her lips to the crook of his neck. In automatic reaction, he pulled her a little closer, close enough for her to feel his erection against her flat, smooth stomach. They had done this a few times before, gotten this close, and if she followed her usual pattern, she would pull away in a huff any second now.
He waited.
“You get hard just holding a girl in your arms, Tommy?” she asked in a little voice, stepping closer.
He held off a groan and looked down at her, more turned-on by just this slight contact with her than he was when he was jamming his dick into any other girl.
He wanted to say something snappy or full of bravado or even disgustingly coarse. But all he whispered was, “I get hard just looking at you, Cassie. Thinking of you.”
Lame. Oh Christ, so very very lame.
“Why? I know you’re screwing anything in a skirt in this town. Even that disgusting Mrs. Rafferty.”
Eliza Rafferty, a highly sexed thirty-something divorcee who gave head like a pro, wasn’t what any red-blooded male, himself included, would exactly call disgusting. More like soft-core porn material. But he neglected to defend her to Cassie. She meant nothing to him. Less than nothing.
And Cassie meant…
But he couldn’t put it into words. Couldn’t say it. Didn’t even know what he meant.
“Aren’t you?” she prodded.
“Aren’t I what?” he asked, dazed.
“Screwing other women.”
“Cassie.” He leaned in to kiss her and she jerked her head back.
Tommy O’Neal stared down at her through those dark black eyelashes, his deep blue eyes glittery, his hands light and restless against the bare skin of her midriff. And his reputedly huge penis hard against her stomach.
The jerk.
He did sleep with everything that moved. Always had. While he was trailing after her, pretending to be her friend, he was kissing every other girl in their class and then more than kissing and way beyond just their school.
The jerk.
The gorgeous jerk. He’d been the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen. Bleeding and scrapping and tough, but with those big blue eyes and high cheekbones and black curls. Beautiful. Though if she had ever called him that to his face he would have been horrified. He was so proud back then. Still was probably, but he hid it better. And his betting and undoubtedly not-quite-legal other extracurricular activities kept him from being as poor as he was in those days.
She had a crush on Evan Reynolds. Of course she did. What girl wouldn’t? He was rich and gorgeous, a romantic figure all alone on that island of his. But as much as she flirted with him and mooned after him, it was a crush like you’d have on a movie star.
It was different with Tommy. She dreamt about Tommy. She felt jittery when he was close. Depressed when he wasn’t.
And deathly jealous. So jealous there was barely a girl in town she didn’t hate for having been with him.
Pushing him away at the thought, she stepped out of his arms. “Go find Mrs. Rafferty or one of your other groupies. I’m not interested.”
He let her go easily and shrugged. “That’s your story and you’re sticking to it, eh?”
“Shut up.” Grabbing an oversized sweatshirt from a hook, she slipped it over her outfit. Putting up with Tommy’s smart remarks about throwing herself away on Evan Reynolds was one thing. Getting the same similar disapproving look from her dad for wearing such a skimpy outfit to deliver groceries was another. Ever since her mom had died when she was little, she and her dad had been pretty tight. Hardworking, quiet and not very demonstrative, Greg Bailey nonetheless loved his only daughter. Cassie knew he did and knew he wanted the best for her too.
Well, that made two of them, even if she for one had no idea what that was. “You better get lost, Tommy.” As much as her dad wouldn’t approve of her crush on Evan—if he even noticed it, that is—he was livid at the mere sight of Tommy O’Neal hanging around Cassie. Always had been. He seemed to be convinced Tommy planned to leave her pregnant and unwed or some such Lifetime movie thing. No danger of that. For one thing, Tommy was famous for never doing it without a condom. And for another, he was famous—in her book anyway—for never doing it with her.
Unwed and pregnant! Hell, she’d probably go to her grave a virgin at this rate.
“I mean it, Tommy. You’re not my dad’s favorite person, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Yeah, I have, but maybe he should start paying a little more attention to the rich guy who lives out in the middle of nowhere that his daughter has the hots for. Maybe he ought to be chaperoning you or delivering the groceries out to that damn island himself or something.”