Red Silk Scarf (29 page)

Soon, Sullivan’s
hand was on the move again, her emotions hitching a ride, up her side, over her
ribs, each spot claimed followed by smoldering lips.
 
Lost in the mind numbing sensations when he
paused to speak against her skin Cassidy’s trashing heart smacked against her
ribs.
 

“I've learned
that you're not someone I can take quickly, shabbily, such delicacies require
careful handling, like silk and crystal.
 
You need to know that I plan to have you Cassidy whenever I want,
wherever I want, with or without your permission,” intoxicating words that
brought about another gasp, hers Cassidy guessed, or, possibly his.
 
Staring at his alluring eyes, time had no
relevance, for it wasn't alcohol he was ingesting, but body parts masterfully
turned to liquid.

Oh, Cassidy was
fully aware Sullivan was naked, the expanse of his chest impossible to ignore
thanks to the dense, dark covering.
 
Regrettably, though other parts were not visible due to the lack of
light an over active imagination was having no problem remembering.
 
Still, she didn't dare peel her eyes off his,
the depths of which allowed calculating his next move the signal her mind sent
to her breasts, a false alarm.
 
Instead,
scorching her skin, the backs of his fingers swept upward between the heaving
mounds to the indentation of her throat where they paused briefly before
retreating in the same pattern.
  
Concentrating on the marvelous warmth would have meant closing her eyes,
an impossibility when the predators gaze spoke of an inner turmoil simmering
them to a darker blue that required a secret code to interpret.

“I . . . I just
need to touch you, that's all, don't be frightened.
 
I promise I won't hurt you.”
 
Pathetically spoken words defining a familiar
agony Cassidy endeavored to mollify before that forced him to break his
promises.
 
Now, recalling those promises,
she was glad he didn't keep them.
 
Lord
help her, she was in a whole lot of trouble.

Raising his hand,
as if she wouldn’t allow the touch, his fingers cautiously covered a
breast.
 
Despite her inability to move
throughout the torpid exploration, she bravely conquered the delicious
sensations until a forefinger lingered much too long on a nipple taut and
straining.
 
The impulse to arch her back
came too suddenly. A signal that told, him she was enjoying his inclinations,
and her of the three-alarm fire placed in the hands of a very capable
firefighter.

Dammit, Sullivan
did not play fair; beginning without her, meant he was far ahead.
 
Not only was his urgency now visible, but
also his body was trembling from longing, the pulse in his wrist beating wildly
against her breast, the heat of his body magnifying hers.
  
The level of desire flushing his face and
narrowing his eyes like a neon sign warning of the danger ahead.
 

There was no
patent for a shield to protect her against Sullivan; he had eliminated the
possibility the first time they shared sex.
 
Leaving no innocence untouched in one night, he taught her all there was
to know about intimacy between a man and a woman.
 
Now well educated, she knew, the liberty he'd
take, how he'd make her feel, that she could not stop him.
 
Not only was she helpless under his siege,
fighting him was hopeless considering her wants were far from virginal.

By the time his
position changed, Cassidy was delirious.
 
Lying on his side stretched out the length of her and beyond, resting
his weight on one arm above her head, a palm pressed on the side of her face
permitted a thumb to trace an eyebrow, eyelash, and cheek.
 
Deciding to freelance on its own a forefinger
began a slow circular motion tracing her lips, around and around until the
portals separated encouraging the finger to enter.
 
Buried in the moist, warm depths, as though a
magic wand, the staff coaxed her tongue to do his will, slight tugs that
persuaded a giant groan he was valiantly withholding to break the surface.
 
When his eyelids closed briefly then opened
revealing his strategy, she did not intend to stop him.

Moving on top of
her, the weight of him suppressing the parts of her struggling to writhe,
Cassidy didn't know which one was most desperate; Sullivan did.
 
His adept finger finding another opening
easily invaded the barriers.
 
Doing what
he did best initiated what came next.
 
“Sullivan,” Cassidy whined.
 
“Please,” she begged someone who never believed herself capable.
 
While lost in the fantasy he created, he
entered her, his every breath bringing him deeper until she willingly accepted
the challenge.
 
Riding the waves of
ecstasy, their bodies used every capacity, every ounce of strength to gratify
their selfish cravings.
 
Saying I love
you without words took a long, long time, saying goodbye even longer.

Before dawn,
standing in the deep shadows of the room, Sullivan paused at the door, his head
hanging as if hinged at his neck.
 
Appearing in great turmoil, he stared at his feet as if he could find
answers there.
 
The simple motion of
turning to face her made him list slightly, then straighten.
 
Feeling the weight of his stare, Cassidy had
no trouble decoding the message.
  

 
“You're the only evidence God exists on the
face of this earth.
 
Leave L.A., before
it’s too late.
 
Return to wherever you
came from.
 
Make a fresh start.
 
There's nothing here for you.”

A warning dipped
in arsenic that jerked her upright.
 
Clutching the sheet to her breasts so tightly her knuckles were pale,
she bit her lips hoping to halt marching tears behind the line of battle.
 
You would have thought the inability to
breath would have slowed her heartbeat, but dammit, it kept pounding
anyway.
 
Each hesitant movement signaling
his leaving painfully tugging her heart from its cavity shoved it back
again.
 
Dear God, Sullivan’s intended
words were going to strike her dead, Cassidy knew it as sure as she breathed.
 
The painful anticipation made her want to
scream, “Don't, Sullivan.
 
Just
leave.
 
Run away.
 
Hide.
 
Don't say something that will . . . will incriminate you.”

Having occupied
her soul, you would have thought he could hear her silent pleas, apparently,
not.
 
“There's something you need to know.
 
Something I should have told you before we,”
Patrick’s glance striking the floor once more remained for frustrating seconds
before finding her again. “DeMarco wasn't the killer.”

He should have
just, put the scarf around her neck, strangled the life from her, and finished
his game of deception that taught her how to give and take love. Was he stupid,
blind, lacking instincts that he didn't know she was going to betray him?
  

Then, Cassidy
decided, maybe he knew all along.
 
Most
killers were extremely intelligent, extremely cunning.
 
She should have allowed him to leave. God
forgive her, she was hurting so badly she couldn't help herself, blurting out
his name stopped and turned him.
 
Cassidy
wanted to run to him, pound his chest, kill him for stealing her heart, but
couldn’t.
 
What was worrying her now,
self-preservation had a mind of its own.

           
 
Her bleeding heart was pleading for what her
mind didn't want to know.
 
“Tell me it's
you.
 
Tell me.
 
I want to hear it from the lips that brought
me to life.”
  
Words never given life so
terrified she was he’d confess before reading him his rights.
 
Even if he did, she'd never believe him, not
as long as part of him remained inside her.

Of all the last
words her heart wanted to say, when given voice none made sense.
 
Still, he seemed to know, seemed to
understand.
 
“I need you, I want you, but
. . . I'm never going to love you.”

           
“I know.
 
I know,” whispers halted by the closing of
the door that brought a steady stream of tears trekking from the corners of her
eyes.

CHAPTER 23

Brimming with
brightness, a swollen sun blazing a trail through the bedroom window,
threatened to incinerate Cassidy, its destiny futile, for the iceberg encasing
her remained untouched.
 

Background noises
drummed in her ears of, Sullivan showering, his footsteps, his parting words to
Margie, his car leaving the driveway.
 
Falsely concealed behind sheer curtains, Cassidy's eagle eyes inspected
Michael through the windshield of his car feeling helpless as he set out to
shadow Sullivan at a slow, undetected pace.
 
Another car parked in the shadows once again went unnoticed.

Despite the
depression consuming her energy leaving little for anything else, somehow
Cassidy dressed.
 
Preparing to sneak
away, she turned the handle quietly, carefully, so as not to alert Margie.
 
Through the crack of the door, she could hear
muffled cries.
 
Determining whether the
pitiful whines came from a child or an adult was difficult so carefully
suppressed were they, nevertheless, they left no doubt they were heart
wrenchingly real.
 

Sorrow's call for
help did not come from the children’s rooms Cassidy learned after tiptoeing
beyond them, they were coming from the room Margie occupied last night.
 
Concerned, Cassidy paused wondering whether
to acknowledge or ignore.
 
The Brady
compassion left no alternative.

Clad in a
nightgown that did nothing for a voluptuous body, her back toward Cassidy,
Margie stood trembling by a window struggling to contain the sound of emotions
taking a visible toll.
 
It was difficult
to say if the upset was due to Sullivan's departure, or worrying over
Mark.
 
There could have been a million
reasons battering Margie’s mind, circumstances that made Cassidy uncertain as
to whether to stay or leave.
 
But, never,
never, did Cassidy

suspect
. . .

A wise person
would have suppressed curiosity ignored the call for help and ran.
 
No one knows when the decisive moment will
sneak up; this was one of those moments.
 
There was nothing to clutch, nothing to pad her fall had she fainted, a
coward's way of seeking respite that now, Cassidy wished she had chosen.
 
Certainly, so did Margie.

“Are you all
right, Margie?
 
Is there anything I can
do?
 
Please allow me to help.”
  
How was Cassidy to know when Margie turned
to acknowledge her presence it would be herself in need?
  
Slumping substantially signaled that
Cassidy’s body barely absorbed the blow.
 
Somehow, buckling knees locked in time to keep her upright.
 
Thousands of white dots darting across
visions pathway made everything frustratingly blurry until charging tears
cleared the fog enough to identify the red silk scarf clutched in Margie’s
hand.
 
Just as suddenly, Margie's facial
contortions made Cassidy forget the horror ransacking her mind, and bludgeoning
her body.
 

           
Frantic with fear, “What am I going
to do?
 
What am I going to do?
 
I couldn't tell Sullivan, I don't know how,”
Margie’s voice well into the hysteria zone.

Quick reactions
brought Cassidy alongside Margie in time to prevent her from crumbling.
 
Requiring a great deal of support, she
directed Margie to the edge of the bed before weakness had its way.
 
Never before did Cassidy, feel a body
trembling so violently, see such visible anguish, hear such terrible gushes of
regret.
    

           
Delirious and overwrought, “Dear
God, the children, Sullivan, the children,” Margie ranted.

Cold washcloths,
slow sips of water along with warm accepting arms finally summoned
silence.
 
Time had no place in the space
they occupied, there would never be enough to consume or rationalize.