THE MORNING SIDE OF DAWN Page 15

  The sofa, he realized. They'd fallen asleep on the sofa. And somehow he'd wound up behind her, the back cushions behind him, her long, slender and painfully alluring body pressed tight to his. He'd also wound up more aroused than he could ever remember being. Except perhaps for those painful moments when he'd braided her hair for her, as she sat before him wrapped in nothing but a skimpy towel.

  It certainly didn't seem to be bothering her a bit. She was snuggled up to him as if they'd been sleeping this close for years. Even as he thought it, she made a tiny little sound and wiggled closer. He nearly groaned aloud as her taut backside pressed harder against his erect flesh. He did groan aloud at the thought of what it would feel like to make some of the imaginings of those fevered dreams come true.

  Then he froze as Cassie stirred again, this time making a sleepy sound that made him want to hold her close and soothe her back into slumber. He even moved to do it, tightening his arm around her waist again. But then she moved once more, and he could tell by the lessening of slackness in her body that she was waking up.

  He pulled his arm back, not at all certain of how she was going to react to waking up like this. Especially when she realized he was as hard as a piece of titanium tubing. He lifted himself up on his elbow, watching her warily.

  She rolled over as far as she could until her shoulder jammed against his chest. Her thick, dark lashes fluttered, then lifted. In the pale light of morning she looked up at him, her green eyes wide and drowsy looking. Then, slowly, and so sweetly it made something deep inside him ache, she smiled.

  "Hi," she said, her voice deep and husky, and as sleepy as her eyes.

  He had to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat before he could answer. "Hi," he finally managed.

  "I guess we fell asleep."

  His mouth twisted. "So it seems."

  "Mmm," she murmured, her eyes drifting closed once more.

  He wasn't sure what that had meant, but she looked as if she had every intention of going right back to sleep. While that had been his intention before, just the thought of more time spent like this was more than he could handle now. His body was fiercely ready, and wasn't listening to any of his silent explanations that this wasn't the time, the place or the woman to relieve his lengthy bout of celibacy.

  Besides, he imagined Cassie might have something to say about that; she might have held him in the dark, but he was still the guy she'd been so furious at last night. But that did little to relieve his current condition, or to ease a body that was screaming out for this particular woman.

  "Cassie."

  "Hmm?" She didn't open her eyes.

  "Cassie, move."

  One thick fringe of lashes rose. "Hmm?"

  "Either move over or get up."

  The other eye opened. "What?"

  She was not, it seemed, a morning person. "I can't move until you do."

  She smiled for a second time, but this time it was a slow, sexy smile that made his already rigid body nearly cramp with need.

  "That sounds promising," she said, lifting a hand to trail a slender finger over his chest, sending a shiver through him.

  Then he saw awareness steal across her face, and knew she had awakened enough to notice his physical state. And then something else came into that smile, something that made him wonder just what she'd do if he—

  He broke off the thought before he went any more out of his mind than he already was. "Don't make promises you don't intend to keep," he warned. "Even veiled ones."

  "What makes you think I don't—"

  "Damn it, Cassie, move!" he ordered, his frustration at a peak and his patience at an end.

  The sleepy look vanished, as did the smile. "All right, all right."

  Slowly she rolled over, then stood up. The moment she had moved enough, he levered himself into his chair. She rubbed at her eyes, then gave him a sour look.

  "Are you always this cranky in the morning?"

  He'd started to turn away from her, but at her question he looked back at her. "Only when I'm horny," he snapped.

  To his amazement, she didn't recoil at his blunt statement. Instead she smiled, a smile even more loaded with blatant sexiness than the first one had been.

  "Well," she said, "that gives me hope."

  Without another word she walked toward the kitchen and his coffeepot, leaving him to wonder what the hell that had meant. And telling himself sternly that the only answer that made sense was impossible.

  * * *

  "Pro-what?"

  Dar sighed. Cassie seemed determined to drive him crazy. Up until today, she'd left him alone when he was working. But ever since he'd come back from his workout this morning—a workout that had been punishing, even for him, yet had done little to ease the frustration that lingered from the night spent on the couch with her—she'd been hanging over him, asking question after question.

  He supposed he'd brought it on himself, with that uncharacteristic outpouring last night, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with today. He shouldn't have gone to her last night. He'd fought against doing it, but hadn't been able to quash the feeling that he needed to mend some fences. He hadn't really been able to find the right words, but she seemed to have understood, anyway.

  She also seemed to have come to the conclusion that last night meant anything was now fair game.

  He'd tried to ignore her, but she refused to be ignored or hurt. He'd tried short, almost curt answers, but she just kept at it. He'd tried to look busy, but she'd ignored that. He'd actually become busy, but she just changed her line of questions to what he was working on. When he told her to go away and let him work, she just pointed out, with a logic he couldn't quite figure out how to argue with, that if they were talking about what he was doing, then she wasn't really distracting him.

  Cassie Cameron, he was discovering, could be as stubborn as her niece, who had a way of simply wearing down opposition until she got what she wanted. The question was, what exactly did Cassie want?

  "What was that word again?" she asked.

  "Proprioception," he repeated, reaching for a small wrench as he bent over one of the front forks of the off-road chair. "It means the body's ability to be aware of where it is spatially."

  "You mean what lets you pick up that tool without looking, right?" she said.

  "Right. Because I knew where my hand was."

  She was, amazingly, quiet for a moment. "And that's something a prosthesis can't do."

  He made an adjustment, then tested the tension of the suspension with a shove of his hand. "No. But they're working on substitutes," he said. "There are some university guys who've developed a feedback sort of system that lets you feel when your artificial foot touches something. People have even been able to drive with them, because they can feel the pedals."

  "You sound impressed."

  "I am."

  "I thought you didn't care for … all that."

  His head came up. "Just because I don't use prostheses much doesn't mean I'm not glad to see advances like that. They help a lot of people."

  "Why don't you use them?"

  He turned back to the chair. "We've had this discussion, haven't we?"

  "You said there were a lot of reasons why you prefer your chair. You only told me one."

  His fingers tightened around the wrench. "You think I should wear legs all the time, is that it?" He turned to look at her then. "You want me to wear them for me, or for everybody else?"

  "I didn't say you should. I just asked why you didn't."

  He let out an exasperated breath. He wasn't used to defending his choices, and he wasn't sure why he didn't just tell her to go to hell.

  "I'm not asking you to justify it," Cassie said, nearly making him jump with the unexpected accuracy of her words. "I just want to know."

  "Because I hate being clumsy," he said abruptly. "And I am, if I don't practice with the legs. And I don't have time to practice, not when I'm in training or racing." He gestured at the piles of
parts and pieces scattered around his workshop. "I cut out the track season altogether, and cut back to only ten road races this year, and I'm still behind."

  "Just as well," Cassie said brightly. "Not much room left in that closet."

  He glanced at the jammed closet where he habitually stowed away the trophies he'd won over the years, dragging one out only when his stacks of designs reached critical mass and he had to weigh them down with something. When he looked back at Cassie she was grinning at him, and he found himself chuckling.

  "This season I'm only entering races that give medals," he said. "I've got too much junk hardware already."

  Cassie nodded solemnly. "Good idea. Medals take up so much less room."

  He chuckled again and went back to work on the off-road chair. He'd installed shocks on the dual front suspension forks, but finding the precise adjustment he wanted was proving trickier than he'd expected. He'd take it out for another run soon, up that hill with the deceptively gentle slope that turned into a careening joyride on the other side.

  "You know, if it weren't for the fact that her eyes look exactly like Chase's, she could be yours."

  His head came up swiftly. Cassie was looking at the photograph pinned to the wall beside some of his drawings, a photo of himself holding a two-years-younger Katie. He remembered that day, the day she had started first grade, so clearly. She'd insisted that her family send-off would not be complete without him, and threatened to refuse to go at all if he didn't come. So he had gone, feeling a little foolish as he followed her instructions to "look nice" by digging out a tie—and his legs.

  She'd been surprised to see him standing, then teased him about his artificial legs being stuck in his dress-up pants, because the only time she'd ever seen him standing was when he was wearing them. Her simple innocence had made him laugh and hug her. And when she'd trotted off into the big school building, he'd felt a moment of terror as this tiny child he loved so much began her journey through the huge and often ugly and unfair world.

  "No," he said. "She's her father's daughter, all right. Stubborn." He gave her a sideways look. "I think it runs in the family."

  "No doubt," Cassie agreed cheerfully, still, apparently, determined to take no offense at anything he said today, "Well, someday you'll have one of your own."

  He snorted in disbelief. "Not likely."

  "Why not? You're so good with Katie—"

  "Katie's … different. Special."

  "Well, I'm certainly not going to argue that, but someday—"

  "No."

  "Why so certain?"

  "It's just not for me."

  She looked at him consideringly, "You're afraid of the idea, aren't you?"

  He gave her a sour look. "Who wouldn't be? It's a crazy world out there, especially for kids." He nodded toward the photograph. "Just watching Katie walk into that big school all alone that day was enough for me."

  "Katie's tough. She'll be fine."

  "Like her aunt?"

  Cassie grinned. "Yep."

  "Maybe she'll grow up and follow in your footsteps."

  "Lord, I hope not," Cassie said fervently.

  He leaned back in his chair. "Why?"

  "There are better things to do with your life than live in a world where you're only as good as you looked on your last shoot."

  "But you make a lot of money."

  "Sure. If you do well, and really hit, you can bring down well into six figures a year. More if you become the flavor of the month."

  Dar let out a low whistle. He knew from Chase that Cassie had been doing well, but he hadn't realized just how well.

  "Yeah," she said, "it sounds great. And for once, it's double what most men make. But don't forget that for women, the career span is ten or fifteen years, max. Twenty if you're exceptionally lucky. Besides," she added, looking at the photograph once more, "I wouldn't want to see Katie get sucked into that world. You have no idea what it's like to live like that, to have to be obsessed with, and have everyone else judge you, by your looks."

  "Oh, no?" Dar said softly.

  Her head came around sharply. After a moment a look of quiet chagrin came over her face. "I suppose you do know, don't you? In fact," she added thoughtfully, "I'll bet you know better than anyone."

  "I know how little looks are really worth."

  "Even when sometimes that's all people seem to see?"

  "It's all they want to see. Watch how fast they take off when those looks aren't there anymore."

  She nodded slowly. "And how many women threw themselves at the handsome, sexy, rising young baseball star?"

  He let out a compressed breath as his mouth twisted ruefully. "A few."

  "I'll bet it was more than that."

  He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Well, I only caught a few."

  She laughed, then hit him with a blow he'd never expected. "Including your fiancée?"

  He drew back a little, staring at her. Then he shook his head in disgust. "Sean has a damn big mouth."

  "It wasn't Sean," she said quickly. "Don't be angry at him."

  "Sean's the only one who knows about Valerie."

  "Valerie? That was her name?"

  He glared at her. "Nice try. Who told you?" She avoided his eyes and shook her head. "Cassie," he said warningly. She shook her head again.

  He knew Sean was the only one who knew about Valerie. He'd never told anyone else. So Cassie had to be lying. Or…

  "Damn. Rory. He told Rory."

  Cassie looked at him then, and he saw the truth of his guess in her troubled eyes. His jaw tightened.

  "Don't," Cassie begged softly. "He told her only because she was so afraid of you."

  "I know she's afraid of me. She's got some crazy idea I still haven't forgiven her. I've told her, I've tried to—" He broke off, shaking his head. "What's that got to do with it? How does telling her my fiancée walked out on me make her less afraid of me?"

  Cassie shrugged. "It does make you seem a bit less intimidating. Less perfect."

  "Perfect?" He gaped at her. "Me?"

  "Yes, you," she said, her tone dry. "Look at you. You're a star athlete. Twice over. You've saved lives, and you've made them easier for others. You have a successful business. You're stronger, tougher, smarter and better looking than most of the world. You—"

  "Whoa," he said, throwing up his hands. He could feel himself flushing, but when she'd begun to rattle off that string of compliments, uttered in the cool, offhand way of someone merely reading a list of facts, he'd felt an embarrassed pleasure he hadn't experienced in a very long time, if ever.

  "What?" Cassie asked. "I'm just pointing out—"

  "You've got me headed for sainthood, and I ain't ready yet," he said, trying to stop himself from asking her if she had really meant all that.

  "I think Rory has something a little fiercer in mind when she thinks of you," Cassie said.

  He sighed. "So Sean tells her my miserable life story."

  "She's his wife, Dar. Of course he told her."

  "Yeah. Of course."

  He snatched up the wrench again and went back to work. It slipped, and he had to try again. He was tired. Not just physically tired, although he'd pushed harder than ever this morning. He felt mentally exhausted, as well; he wasn't used to all this … intense conversation. It was worse than doing hill climbs and sprints on the same day.

  "That's what's really bothering you, isn't it?"

  Oh, God. Here we go again, he thought. Maybe if I ignore her…

  "It's not Rory at all, is it? It's everything. Sean getting married. Stevie and Chase's new baby. And now Rory getting pregnant."

  The wrench slipped, and he skinned his knuckles. He swore, switched the wrench to his left hand and shook his right until the stinging began to ease. "I don't," he said, determinedly not looking at her, "know what you're talking about."

  "You're envious."

  Sean's words and his own inner reaction, the day Sean had told him about Rory, echoed in hi
s mind.

  You could do anything in a couple of days if you set your mind to it.

  Except get what you've got.

  Thank God he hadn't said it; it had remained an unspoken and guilty thought that Sean never knew about.

  "It's perfectly normal, you know," Cassie said.

  "Thank you, Dr. Cameron," he said through gritted teeth. Her guessing, which was yet again probing far too close to the bone, was stinging much more than his hand was.

  Cassie laughed. "Actually, a doctor told me that. My folks sent me to a therapist, after my brother was— Well, after we thought he'd been killed. I was feeling awful, hating everything, even my friends. Especially when something good happened to them."

  So she wasn't guessing, he admitted silently. He kept forgetting she'd been through some hell of her own, kept seeing the glossy exterior that masked the toughness of the woman beneath.

  "Dar, don't you see?" she asked. "Stevie, and Chase, and Sean, they're your closest friends. And their lives are changing every day. They've married, they're having babies and they're deliriously happy. If you don't have all that yourself, it's darn near depressing just to look at them. Of course you're envious. I'm envious. Who wouldn't be?"

  He looked at her then, the pain in his hand forgotten. "You're envious?"

  "Of course I am. It doesn't mean I begrudge them—God knows they've earned their happiness. It just means … I can't help wondering if I'll ever be that happy." She shrugged. "I'd like a Katie of my own, someday."

  Oh, and she'd have one, too, Dar thought. A fiery little miniature of herself, dark silky hair, vivid green eyes and too much sass for her own good. Not exactly Katie—no, Cassie's daughter would be her own person, just as Cassie was. The image took his breath away.

  Slowly, he felt the tension that had built in him ebb away. He leaned back in his chair. As she had with his quandary about his supposed heroics the day of his accident, she had taken one of his most guilty, darkest secrets, his selfish reaction to his friend's happiness, and dragged it out into the light. And shown him it wasn't so bad after all.

  "Maybe," he said tentatively. "Maybe I am … envious. Or maybe I'm just… Hell, I don't know. I'm glad they're so happy, and I would never want that to change, but things are changing, so damn fast. New lives, new babies…"