Taking a sip from one, he marshaled his thoughts or he’d still be lusting after her pretty kitchen when she got home. The sangria went down easy and made him think of her kiss, that night at the club. Their first.
Standing there, taking in the warmth and tranquil atmosphere, he heard a sound from down the hallway. After listening, he realized it was soft music playing. Perhaps she’d forgotten to turn her radio off on her way out the door early that morning, or maybe she was the kind who preferred to have a little ambient noise all the time. A little music to cook by would be nice. Maybe once he had all his ingredients laid out, he’d go in the living room and see what his options were, but first things first.
He was in the pantry, selecting a yellow onion, a bell pepper, along with the stalks of celery he’d gotten from the refrigerator—the holy trinity of Cajun cuisine—when he heard the distinct sound of water shutting off somewhere inside the house. There was no way she could’ve made it back that fast from the bank and the store, and he wondered what was going on. Was someone using the faucet outside perhaps?
He looked out the front window but didn’t see any movement, just the vehicles parked in front of her house and the neighboring houses.
Listening quietly, he heard muffled noises from the back of the house and then a distinct clicking sound. His footsteps were softened by the carpet as he walked slowly down the hallway, drawn toward flickering light in the darkened bedroom at the end of the hall.
What the hell?
The humidity of the shower and the scent of body wash came to him as he passed three other closed doors. He paused at the sound of rustling sheets, and then a male voice called out. “I thought I heard you get home. Why don’t you join me, Cass? I’ve been thinking about you all day…and needing you.” A familiar male voice.
Red. It was, in fact, possible to see red.
He stopped in the doorway, imagining all the different ways he could kill Cassie’s ex-husband. Bill Resendez was sprawled on the piled-up pillows at the head of the bed, buck naked, pulling on his dick to get it hard. Bill’s pitiful effort went limp when he saw the shape in the doorway that could in no way be mistaken as Cassie. There were times when being tall and bulky came in handy.
“What the fuck?” Bill hollered, his voice cracking as he grabbed at the sheets—Cassie’s sheets—to cover up his now limp dick.
“Funny,” Ivan said as he flipped on the light switch, flooding the room with bright light and revealing Bill’s need for a little manscaping. He had no idea the guy was so hairy. “I was just thinking the same thing. What the fuck are you doing here, Resendez? Did you not get the memo about the divorce four years ago?”
“This is still my house!”
“Ergo, your ex-wife is still your property? I don’t think so. Get dressed before I puke.”
“Fuck you! What are you doing here?”
“Cooking a beautiful lady supper after her long, stressful day. I won’t ask what you’re doing here because it’s obvious…or at least it was before it shriveled to the size of a cocktail weenie. You thought you’d get laid pulling this bullshit?”
“I thought I’d surprise her. I talked to her about possibly rekindling—”
“The only thing getting kindled is your hairy ass if you don’t get dressed,” he said, growling under his breath as he advanced. Bill backed up until he bounced the headboard against the wall and could go no farther.
“You’re trespassing in this house,” Bill began, his face going ruddy, and he frowned as he flexed his muscles, trying to appear more intimidating.
“No. You are, chesty. I was expressly invited. You broke into her house.”
“I have a key. I own this house—”
He had no idea what Bill meant but planned to get to the bottom of it. “You entered a private dwelling without permission with intent to ‘surprise’ the resident with a proposal to have sex. Wonder what Hank would think,” he added, getting out his phone and pulling up Hank’s number.
“Wait!” Bill yelled, holding out his hand to stop him from placing the call. “Fine! I’ll get dressed, but I’m staying to talk to Cassie.”
Ivan growled but then said, “Whatever. Just put some clothes on.”
Chapter Eleven
With a pound of shelled crawfish in hand, Cassie came to a stop in the health and beauty aids aisle of the grocery store. Emma said lubricant. Lots of lubricant. She glanced at the jar of extra-virgin coconut oil in her little shopping basket, which Emma had suggested as a natural alternative, and wondered if it was obvious she intended to try it out as a lubricant, rather than to use it in her cooking?