Something to Talk About(22)

"Yes, it was." Rip unlocked his car, and they both slid inside. When they were on the road, he said, "You know your mother looked a little put out you weren't going home with them."

Casey grimaced, embarrassed about the way her mother had cornered Rip at intermission, and for her own cowardice in abandoning him. "She probably had a few questions left over from your interrogation."

"Yeah, I meant to ask if your mother trained for the bar. She could coax a confession out of a priest."

Casey winced. "Sorry about that. She can be a bit overpowering."

"Don't sweat it. I'm a big boy."

An awkward silence filled the space between them. Casey tried not to notice how handsome Rip looked in his tux, or to remember how easily he could shed it. No sense in going there. Not unless-or rather, until-she had a heart-to-heart with Ferrence. It wasn't fair to Ferrence to have these feelings for another man. She certainly wouldn't allow herself to act on them until she was free to do so.

That decided, she wondered how to fill the awkward silence in the car.

"Thanks for keeping your clothes on tonight," Casey said, then groaned aloud. "I can't believe I said that."

Rip laughed. "Was that a Freudian slip?"

I won't touch that line. "Um...this is a strange conversation. What I meant to say was I was surprised at how much you enjoyed the opera. Was this your first?"

"I've been once or twice."

"Really?"

"Don't be so surprised. As uncouth as you seem to think I am, I'm not totally ignorant."

"I didn't mean...oh, you know...it just doesn't seem your thing." Casey struggled with her words, finally leaning her head back against the seat and closing her eyes. "You know what I mean. I'm not trying to start an argument."

"You'd be amazed at my 'couth', Cramer, if you'd get to know me better." When she stole a glance, he winked at her.

She closed her eyes again. "The road goes both ways, O'Rourke." A wicked smile curved her lips, and she opened one eye. "And there's no way I could get starched underwear on beneath this gown." 

"I was sure you weren't wearing any at all."

She felt a blush rising to her face, and pulled her shawl tightly around her. He'd noticed! And he was nearly correct. She'd selected the miniscule thong because it didn't reveal panty lines-uh-huh, right!

Casey couldn't even lie to herself and keep a straight face. Her one thought when she'd scouted the lingerie section in Dillards was whether Rip would think the scrap of lace and elastic was sexy. Never mind she'd almost lost her nerve wearing the panties when she'd gotten a good look at her backside in the mirror-somehow sexy never entered the picture but Sumo wrestler certainly did with nothing but a black line dividing her pearly white cheeks!

Since Rip wasn't likely to get a peek at them-unless they were in a car wreck and the EMTs shredded her clothing pulling her past the jaws of life-she wore them for herself. Remember, Ferrence-boyfriend-fiancé. They didn't feel so sexy now-just like a giant wedgie.

Before she realized, the car pulled in front of her apartment complex. All she had to do was thank him, jump out of the car and run to her apartment. Nothing would happen. Her honor would remain intact. And she would discover whether a very cold shower could tamp down the fire threatening to consume her insides.

Easy, right?

Ferrence, who?

When Rip pulled to a stop and switched off the engine, her hand didn't grab the door handle. It remained clutched in her lap, worrying the strap on her purse.

"Casey?"

"Hmmm?" She smiled weakly.

Rip leaned toward her. So close, she could smell his woodsy aftershave and the manly scent of whatever men's hair product he'd tamed his hair with.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "My mother was impressed. I could tell," she babbled nervously, trying to remember something important. "Her trouble meter must have been ready to shoot through the roof. She only approves of the most eligible of bachelors, which you obviously are not. Not that you don't clean up well and look great in a tux. Sadly, my mother can be a snob." His lips were a breath away. She licked hers. "Sorry. I just wanted you to know." Casey's voice was a whisper as her gaze stayed glued to his very kissable lips.

"Shut up, Casey," he said, covering her mouth with his.

Casey's world rocked. The fireworks-blasting, mind-blowing kiss shook her to the core. When he broke it off, she blurted, "Would you like to come up to my apartment for a drink?" Although she heard herself asking, another part of her brain screamed, What am I doing?

Rip was opening her door before the effects of the kiss diminished. Casey floated up the stairs ahead of him, then stood, fumbling in her purse for her key.

A hand stilled her efforts by tipping her chin upward. A pair of eyes, black as a moonless night, stared down into hers, drawing her like a hapless moth to a flame. Rip's lips claimed hers again, and his hands settled on her hips, pulling her against the rigid evidence of his desire.

Dropping her purse from nerveless fingers, Casey reached both arms around his neck, bringing him closer, until her lips ground against his and their tongues lashed out, twining and releasing in a primal dance.

When his hands slid from her shoulders to her waist and beyond, Casey grew bolder and ran her hands across his chest, down his side-and encountered something square and hard at his hip.

"Yes, sports fans. Those are the highlights of this evening's game. Spurs win 98 to 97."

She jerked back her head. "What the..." Casey started in confusion.

"Casey, it's not what you think," Rip rushed in.



       
         
       
        

"Don't move." Casey's hand clutched the rectangular object through the fabric of Rip's jacket then dove inside the pocket to retrieve a small transistor radio. She heard something fall to the ground and bent to pick it up. When she straightened, she held an earphone, the wire dangling between her fingers.

Realization dawned, and her eyes narrowed. "You pretended to enjoy the opera while you listened to your lousy game. You couldn't give up one evening of sports?"

Rip cringed. "This was all about compromise and sacrifice, remember? I gave up my tickets to the game to be with you. If it's any consolation, I enjoyed the evening," he cajoled.

Casey dug in her purse for the key. "And would you have enjoyed it if your team had lost?" Ah, there it was. Jamming the key into the lock, she twisted and the door opened.

"Can we discuss this inside?"

"What's to discuss?" she asked, her voice flat and emotionless. "You played me for a fool, I fell for it and that's that. Good night, Rip."

"But Casey, we need to talk." Rip put his foot in the door to keep her from slamming it.

"What's the use? You don't get it," she said, refusing to look up and show him the tears trembling on her lashes.

Rip reached out and gently brushed a tear from her cheek. "I had hoped to kiss you goodnight," he said softly.

Casey paused. She groaned, conceding she wished the evening could end another way. But Rip needed to learn a lesson first.

A thought occurred to her. Why not? Stepping out on the landing, she stood squarely in front of Rip. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulling him close to crush her mouth to his. With their lips fully engaged, she ran her fingers down his arms, rubbing her hips suggestively against him.

Her hands dropped lower to settle on the firm sides of his thighs, then with a determined grasp, she yanked the Velcro loose, peeling the trousers off him like a banana peel, and then ducked back into her apartment, slamming and locking the door, all in one smooth motion. Leaning her back against the hardwood paneling, she laughed, then jumped as pounding shook the door beneath her shoulders.

"Hey, Casey! You can't leave me swinging in the wind like this. Give me back my pants!" Rip called through the door.

Casey ignored him and headed for that cold shower. Let him stew in the drafty hallway-he deserved it. If she had let him inside, who knew where it would lead. First, she had some serious talking to do with herself-and Ferrence.

The most lasting realization of her night was that Rip wore boxers. With red lips all over them. Imagine that!

Casey's core ached.



Rip listened from his cubicle, hoping to catch Casey after her gardening show. Even though he'd made the extra effort to arrive early that morning, she'd refused to discuss their date before they began the morning drive broadcast. He'd opened himself up for public humiliation by introducing the subject of their date on "Something to Talk About" just to let her have a go at him. But every time he'd brought up the incident, she changed the subject. 

Enough was enough. He had a word or two of his own to say after she'd left him standing half-naked in her hallway, pounding on her door until a neighbor had complained. Finally, he'd stomped back to his car, the back half of his tux wagging like a tail before he'd seen the humor in his predicament.

The weird thing was he'd felt more exposed by his feelings than the lack of trousers. Casey made him want things he'd never wanted before-like second, third, and fourth dates. Or a quiet evening spent doing nothing more than curling up on the sofa together to watch TV. Casey could even operate the remote. He'd follow her into the kitchen to watch her make dinner. He smiled at the thought-Rip O'Rourke, domesticated man.