“Listen, no one judges you or Ivan for what happened with your dad and Cassie’s mom back then.” Hank always made a point of mentioning it when they talked.
“I don’t have your faith in humanity. Time may have passed, but people don’t forget or forgive easily, and neither do I, for that matter.”
His friend continued coercing him, but his thoughts centered on the moment he’d seen Cassie again after so long, when she’d arrived at the funeral home before the service.
His heart had lurched at the first sight of her, out of habit established a long time ago. Normally, he took his feelings swiftly in hand, cutting off the hope and desire, telling himself it wasn’t her. It never was. Many women had dark hair that sparkled red in the sun. But he was in Divine. And it was her. He’d known it by the graceful way she moved.
She’d paused, probably letting her eyes adjust or savoring the air conditioning after coming in from the intense late-summer heat. His heart had swooped when she’d stepped beneath one of the recessed lights, which lit up the red highlights in her dark hair and illuminated her profile.
“I don’t believe it,” he’d whispered to himself.
After signing the guest book, she’d taken a memorial pamphlet and then had paused at the foot of the aisle and lowered her eyes. Praying. He’d known she was praying. She’d always had strong faith. He’d wondered over the years if she’d ever prayed for him and had taken comfort from the sense that she had. Relief had been evident in her demeanor when one of her friends waved her over and she’d joined the group.
Then her eyes had widened when she’d spotted him across the chapel. Her jaw had dropped, but she schooled the reaction as she’d greeted her friends. But time and time again, her gaze flew back to him, and he enjoyed her flush and the uncertainty in her expressive eyes as she looked him over. When she’d met his eyes, he’d seen a moment of…something…flicker there. Remorse?
A welcome breeze tempered the late-summer heat under the funeral home portico and drew him back to the present. Cassie chatted with her friends while everyone assembled, and he could tell she was nervous by the way she giggled as she searched her handbag, probably for her car keys. The more she dug for them, the more she blushed. Then she glanced up at him. The teenaged girl he’d adored was there in her tender smile and the glow in her cheeks as she talked to friends, but the woman standing across the way was a goddess in her full, voluptuous glory.
With her keys in hand, Cassandra looked his way again and gave him a tentative wave. Samson nodded back at her and then held up a hand to halt her. He needed to head to the cemetery with the other pallbearers.
Shouldn’t be doing this right now.
Her throat bobbed when she swallowed as she glanced at her friends dispersing to their vehicles to join the funeral procession. She surprised him when she waited in the shade as he excused himself from Hank, who was still going on about the reunion .
White-knuckling the strap of her handbag, she watched him as he approached. The thrill of having her on edge raced through him as he noticed her hardening nipples, visible through the brilliant plum-colored fabric of her top. He stepped just within the boundaries of her personal space so she’d have to look up at him, and her nerves were as palpable to him as the subtle floral fragrance she wore. She parted her lips to say something, but words failed her, so she held out her hand to him. He took it in both of his, and instead of shaking, he caressed her palm and the top of her hand, before drawing his fingers across her fingertips. The telltale calluses from guitar strings were gone.
“You didn’t keep your promise, did you?”
The light from the afternoon sun was awash in her suddenly tearful eyes, and Cassie swiped a windblown lock of hair behind her ear as she looked away. After looking down at her hand, she shifted her gaze back to him and cleared her throat. “No,” she whispered. “I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but her chin trembled. He loved setting a woman on edge. A good edge. The edge of fulfillment and release. Setting Cassandra on edge made him feel only regret, and want.
The hearse started nearby, surprising her, and she looked at the keys grasped in her hand. “I—I have to go to work. I’m sorry.” Her expressive eyes pleaded for understanding. She didn’t owe him an explanation, but he’d wanted so much more for her than staying trapped in that little gossipy town.
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he nodded and watched her walk away. Her posture was stiff, her movements jerky, as though she suspected he was watching her, which she confirmed when she glanced back and nearly tripped on a crack in the baking-hot asphalt parking lot.