CASIMIR
Casimir Amsberg—for he still thought of himself by his proper name even though everyone in California had taken to calling him “Cash”—closed his office door and leaned his back against it.
Roxanne had been in his arms. Her soft heat had soaked through his clothes until he could nearly feel her. He could have pulled her against his body, turned her face up, and kissed her, right there, in that moment.
For a blink of an eye, it hadn’t mattered to Casimir that she was married. Her husband had gone off to Thailand of all places and left her when she had needed his protection, no matter what the order of events had been.
It galled Casimir that Rox hadn’t called him when she had needed someone to help her. Anger still coursed through him, running hot in his blood, and that was why he had taken a few moments to quiet himself before they drove out to his house in the foothills.
All right, he told himself. Yes, she was staying at his house for a night or two. It would be just like when they traveled together.
Friendly.
Platonic.
Uneventful.
There was no reason that he should think otherwise.
It made no difference that this was not a hotel but his home.
He hadn’t been shocked to discover that, when threatened with losing her home, she had chosen her pets over her apartment even though he hadn’t known she had pets. Rox was a kind woman, he knew. She was loyal. She cared for those she committed to.
And she was married. She had been married before he had met her.
Cash had never had a chance.
When Rox had begun working at the firm, he had liked her professionalism, even though he had eyed what had to be voluptuous curves under her business suits. Each day, he had found more to admire about her, more to talk with her about, and more that kept him agile in the office or in negotiations.
When she took vacation days, he emailed or texted her constantly, just to see her words coming back to him.
In the intervening years since she had been hired, every other woman Casimir had dated had been found to be lacking in some essential quality that Rox had in abundance: in humor, in presence, in intelligence, in maturity, or in gravitas.
Or in loyalty.
Rox was loyal to everyone, even to himself as a friend, and surely she was faithful to her husband.
Casimir bounced the back of his head softly against the door in time with his thoughts.
She. Was. Married.
It did not matter if Rox would be under his roof for a day or two. It did not matter that sometimes a ghost of other circumstances had flitted through the house and through Casimir’s mind, a ghost that looked suspiciously like her sumptuous dark hair spread on his pillows or her plush body sprawled on his sheets.
She. Was. Married.
Perhaps his attraction for her was merely for forbidden fruit, he consoled himself. If he’d had a chance with her, perhaps he wouldn’t feel so strongly. It was probably an illusion.
Perhaps she wouldn’t walk through his dreams, handing him contracts and then looking up through dark eyelashes with her hazel eyes that reminded him of pale caramels from home before she melted into his arms.
She would only be at his home for a day or two.
Casimir would survive a day or two of her walking around his house, drinking coffee with him in the morning or maybe a cocktail after work, perhaps watching a little late-night television on the deep couches in the media room before they retired, or perhaps, finally, she might steal into his bedroom near midnight—
She. Was. Married.
He rubbed the back of his skull. That last bonk had smarted a bit.
And if Rox did steal into his bedroom late at night, it would probably be because she was taunting him, because that’s what women always did.
All his teenage years, the girls had told him that they liked him, that he had a good personality, and he had believed them so many times. Hell, one had told him that she was just after his family’s money, and that was perfectly fine with him because he could believe that.
But they were all just screwing around with him.
Now, however, he watched the women he dated, and sooner or later, every one of them proved that they only wanted something from him, whether it was notoriety or money or travel.
There was never any genuine emotion.
If Rox did steal into his room after midnight, she would eventually turn out to be like all the others, not the paragon of virtue and sweetness that he found whenever they worked or traveled or spoke together.
The suspicion that Rox might be different, might actually have feelings for him, faded away.
No one could fool Casimir anymore.
IMPRISONMENT
Rox was crouching behind her desk, shaking the bag of shrimp treats. The fishy smell wafted out of the bag because she had probably pulverized the treats inside with her insistent shaking. “Come on, you cats! I have treats?” she begged.