*****
Renner set the highball glass in front of Cassie.
She grimaced. “I don’t want to drink that.”
His client was still pale. Not as white as her robe, but at least she’d stopped gasping for air to control her anxiety. Tonight had been a failure. She was just as coiled as last night.
Only now, Renner was just as tight. He’d never take advantage of a woman, especially in that state. Whether she knew it or not, Cassie was a damn knockout. And thoroughly irresistible.
“It’ll calm you faster than a bath,” he urged, pouring a glass of whiskey for himself. “Though not as fast as a Xanax.”
“Are you trying to get me hooked on alcohol to solve my anxiety problems?”
“One drink does not make you an alcoholic.”
She eyeballed the glass again, the scowl more defined.
“Just one sip, and then wait five minutes.” Renner plopped in the chair across from her and put the glass to his lips. Finding the untouched bottle of whiskey in the cabinet above the fridge was nothing less than a miracle. There were only two choices; this or tequila. A newbie like Cassie would find the tequila too abrasive.
“Hardly feels like the right circumstances to start the habit.”
He chuckled. “You don’t know the real purpose behind a good drink.”
She pursed her lips and held the glass between her fingers. Staring at it like a vial of rancid medicine, Cassie took a deep breath and forced a gulp of the amber liquid.
The gulp rippled down her delicate neck to the hollow base of her throat; adorable and just as creamy as the rest of her skin. It warmed him more than the whiskey and settled in his gut.
He shifted in his chair and took another sip.
God, Renner. She’s just a client.
“That’s strong,” Cassie choked between a cough and a wince.
“The choices were limited. Sorry.”
“I forgot he had these up there.”
He watched her, refusing to respond to the last comment. Mentioning her husband wasn’t on his list of things he’d expected her to say.
For a long moment, they both sat in silence. As if she waited for him to ask a probing question just so she could ignore it. Renner wanted her to feel comfortable talking about anything. Pushing her always made her back off.
Still wet from the bath, her hair was pulled up into a clip. The darker ash hue brought out a touch of olive in her skin, as if a distant portion of her was Latina. The clover eyes reminded him of the Irish highlands depicted in travel magazines. And were just as deep.
“Do you mind putting on a shirt?” Cassie blurted.
Renner coughed through a sip. “What?”
“Your abs are…distracting.”
He held back a chuckle, but not a smile. So is your neck. “You ripped my shirt earlier.”
“I did?” She finally looked up.
“You have the grip of a ninja.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flamed, but it was hard to tell whether from attraction or embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged and took another sip.
“Thanks for…helping.” She ducked her eyes again.
“I wouldn’t leave you alone in the middle of that.”
“I’m sure it’s not the kind of thing you expected to deal with as a…”
Renner set down his glass and waited for her to finish. Couldn’t help the glare. Through her scowl and cutting tone, he’d expected her to make some snide comment about escorts. Or gigolos, whatever label she wanted to slap on him.
But she didn’t finish.
“I’m not a heartless prick, out for an easy score or a quick payday, Cassie.”
His harsh tone caught her full attention.
She squirmed and squeezed the glass.
“When I see someone who needs help,” he continued, unable to keep the edge in his voice. “I help them. Simple as that.” Chalk it up to his protective nature, but he hated sounding defensive. He’d never felt the need to justify his job choice—most of the time it wasn’t worth fighting. People had stereotypes locked in their brains tighter than Fort Knox. Defending it with Cassie was different. For some reason, her approval mattered.
Only God knew why.
“You sound just like him.”
The words caught him off guard. Again, she didn’t need to specify who ‘him’ was. Her husband. Still, Renner wasn’t a fan of what felt like jealousy swirling in his abdomen.
She wasn’t blushing anymore and had stopped fidgeting. The alcohol must have kicked in. Her grip loosened on the glass and her shoulders weren’t as bunched under the robe.
“So direct, no nonsense, and everything is black and white.”
Renner hid a smile when he watched her scowl down another sip of whiskey. Pointing out his surprise at her less reserved behavior would’ve the opposite effect. So he sipped his drink again. “I never said everything was black and white,” he prodded.
“You don’t have to,” Cassie returned and reclined in the chair.
“You don’t believe in gray areas?”
After a deep sigh, she took another sip. “Gray areas are like dating. Covering the flaws long enough to entice someone to become invested in a relationship until the true nature is revealed.”
“You don’t believe in dating?”
“I don’t believe in hiding flaws. Another way of lying.”
This is what Cassie looks like uninhibited. Playfully combative, with a hint of condescension. Not what he’d expected. She certainly looked more comfortable.
“Your point is, everyone’s either an angel or a devil. No middle ground?”
“I didn’t say gray areas don’t exist. Just that they’re a waste of time.”
“So, let’s stop wasting it.” Renner set down his whiskey and watched her eyes flare. “Tell me what you want, Cassie.”
Their eyes locked.
Something in her stare told him not to move. Not to push. To let the words form in her mind and make their way to her mouth, past those whiskey-covered lips.
“I want to rewind,” she murmured.
He tilted his head.
“I want to go back to that night, and change my mind,” Cassie continued quietly, looking straight at him, but not really seeing him. “Not send him out for chocolate shakes for us, when that truck full of drunk kids wouldn’t be there. When my son doesn’t need his daddy’s pictures all around his room to fall asleep at night.”
Moisture built in her eyes, but she didn’t blink.
“When I didn’t feel aged twenty years overnight. Or have to call a stranger to take his place just so I could sleep.”
A teardrop traced down her cheek and plopped in her whiskey glass.
A lump formed at the base of Renner’s throat. She never would’ve revealed this much if it weren’t for the alcohol. It hadn’t been his intention either. Her story wasn’t unique.
People died every day from drunk drivers. Cassie herself was exceptional. A survivor with an iron will. A few misconceptions clouded among her sensibilities, but strong nonetheless.
And she still considers me a stranger. Which was true, but why did he feel like he’d lost something important?
Her eyes locked on his face. “Is that black and white enough for you?”
Renner cleared his throat and waited before he responded. This wasn’t about him. What he wanted or what he thought she needed. The pain in Cassie’s voice and fortified barriers around her heart weren’t something he could erase in a few nights, or even make sense of. It was definitely a no-fly-zone for his job. Nothing personal, or it warranted immediate cut-off, according to his boss. He couldn’t help but to reach out and try.
“Not that I’m a therapist.” He swirled the last few drops of whiskey in the glass. “But the last thing you need is to separate your feelings into neatly organized boxes in your head. Anger in a black box, happiness in a white box. Or go crazy figuring out where to shove the stuff that doesn’t make sense. For lack of a better cliché, life is unfair and…messy.”
“Like gray areas?”
His lip lifted in a small smile, but he shook his head. “No. Life is shit-loaded with colors, including gray.”
If he’d just materialized from thin air, Cassie couldn’t have looked more stunned. “That’s…pretty deep.” A wisp of hair, dryer than the rest, fell from her clip and dangled against her cheek.
Honey against her vanilla skin. Full of color.
“Yeah. Even deeper is to choose to see the colors, or be stuck in gray areas. And as you said, aren’t gray areas a waste of time?”
“You choose to see the colors?”
How can I not with this masterpiece sitting in front of me? “It’s a hell of a lot prettier…like you.”
She smiled, for the first time in over an hour. “In the grand scheme, what box would you put yourself in?”
God, this woman could make him grin like a schoolboy after his first kiss. Keep the smolder, Renner. “There’s no box big enough for me.”
When she laughed, he lost the heat. The closest sound to angels singing, if it weren’t for the tears rimming her eyes. She wiped them away. “You keep surprising me, Renner.”
“Too emotionally connected?”
The combination blush and smirk she gave didn’t fit the young housewife motif. More fitting for a playboy pinup in the Forbidden Fruit edition. Right in front of him, but couldn’t be touched.
Cassie bit her bottom lip, which only made him inwardly groan through the torment. She lifted the glass and drank the rest of her whiskey, staring with hooded eyes over the rim of the glass.
She didn’t even know she was taunting him.
“I’ll admit, I judged you before you walked through that door. Before I even made the phone call to your agency. You’re not what I expected.”
Renner lifted an eyebrow. “You imagined a piercing-covered, thong clad debaucher?”
“Um, yeah. Without the vocabulary and emotional intelligence.”
“Sorry to prove you wrong.”
“I’m not.”
God love her for that. “Doesn’t happen often, I take it?”
A simple shake of her head deflated every ounce of confidence he possessed. He might not fit the mold she described, but it was certain how little she regarded his profession.
“I opened that door and you completely threw me. You stood there looking just like him.”
He narrowed his eyes. From the pictures in the boy’s room, her husband hadn’t shared a single trait with him.
“Not your hair or eyes, but the way you carried yourself.” Cassie bit her lip and her eyes dropped to his mouth. “Confident and sturdy, except when you looked at me. You didn’t just look me in the eyes, you saw me. Studied me like a priceless oil painting, when I know I looked like hell. That totally threw me.”
“Cassie, if this is your worst, then God help me or any other man who sees you at your best.”
The red that dashed her cheeks reinvigorated his pride. She really was a tidal wave on the senses, one that knocked Helen of Troy and Grace Kelly off their pedestals.
She reached across the table and touched his hand. Her skin was warm and plusher than the robe. Her eyes were even softer. “I’m glad I was wrong. Once you knew what I really wanted, you didn’t judge me. You still looked at me like I mattered.”
He didn’t know where she was going with this, but he couldn’t let her get attached. As much as her confession flattered him—hell, outright thrilled him—she was still a client.
Don’t kid yourself, idiot. You’re already attached.
He also hadn’t told her about the robe falling away, but he wouldn’t embarrass her further. Renner pushed his glass out of the way and flipped his palm to cover hers.
Before he could reply, she squeezed his fingers.
“Now, get rid of that panic on your face, because I’m not confessing my love or proposing a relationship here.” She smiled.
He laughed nervously, and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “We’re just crumbling stereotypes, aren’t we?”