Chapter Twenty-One
Beau changed into a pair of tan slacks, a light blue button-down shirt, and a navy-blue sport coat. While Cassidy was getting dressed, he called the restaurant he had in mind and made a reservation.
Half an hour later, he was beginning to get antsy, pacing in front of the living room windows, tempted to pour himself a drink. On the other side of the glass, underwater lights illuminated the clear blue water of the swimming pool, which he usually found soothing.
Tonight he had too much on his mind.
He turned at the click of high heels on the hardwood floor, spotted Cassidy walking down the hall in the short black cocktail dress with the floaty little skirt he had seen hanging in the guest-house closet. Thick dark curls bobbed against her shoulders, making him want to grab a fistful and drag her mouth to his for a deep, burning kiss.
The bandage on her skinned knee had him frowning, but the cleavage displayed by the neckline and those fuck-me heels had his blood running hot. Grateful he was wearing a jacket that helped hide the bulge beneath his zipper, he smiled and started toward her.
“You look gorgeous.” He bent and pressed a soft kiss on her lips and they parted in invitation. Beau deepened the kiss, taking his time, enjoying the rush of heat. Just as he was settling in, Cassidy pulled away.
“I’m starving,” she said. “Looks like you’re ready to go.”
He was ready, all right. But not for supper. He sighed as she took his arm and they started for the car parked in the garage. Her soft breasts brushed his chest and he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Beau slammed to a halt. “You’re wearing your little black dress. What are you wearing underneath?”
She grinned wickedly. “I bet you can guess.”
“Jesus. Seriously?”
She took his arm again and urged him toward the door. “As serious as a heart attack, honey.”
“Which is what you’re going to give me if I have to sit through dinner imagining you across the table without anything under your skirt.”
She laughed. “It was your idea.”
For which he could kick himself right now. He smiled. Later, however, it would certainly make things interesting.
They reached the door to the garage. When he opened it, a low light came on, dimly illuminating the interior.
“You have the cleanest garage I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Not a spec of dirt on the floor, not a trace of oil or gasoline. How many times a week does somebody clean it?”
“My handyman washes the cars and keeps the garage clean. Vehicles like these deserve to be treated with care.”
She laughed. “That’s right, you think they’re human. I forgot. So where are we going for dinner?”
He pressed a button and the doors on the Lambo began to slide up. “A place called Antoine’s. It’s a little ways out of town, but the food’s worth the drive.”
He helped her settle into the car, her dress riding up just inches from a glimpse of heaven. Inwardly he groaned. At this rate, it was going to be the longest evening of his life.
Beau backed the sports car out of the garage, drove down the driveway and turned onto the street, heading for the little French restaurant owned by a friend.
Antoine De la Croix ran one of the best restaurants in the Dallas area. Antoine’s was intimate, with only fifteen tables, white linen tablecloths and fresh flowers on each one.
“It’s lovely,” Cassidy said as he guided her through the door. Pale amber lighting lent a soft glow to the dining room, and French music played softly in the background.
“Beaumont, mon ami!” Antoine, a big, burly, bearded Frenchman, was a racing fan. Beau couldn’t remember exactly how they had met, but it had something to do with the classic Bugatti that was Antoine’s pride and joy.
He clapped Beau hard on the shoulder. “It is good to see you, my friend. It has been far too long.”
“Yes, it has,” Beau agreed. He didn’t come here often. It was a place he brought only his closest friends. It occurred to him he had only brought one other woman, a lady stockbroker he had dated, a woman he still admired and respected.
“Antoine, I’d like you to meet my friend Cassidy Jones.”
Antoine, in his usual overblown manner, took her hand and kissed the back. “Such a beautiful woman. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jones. My friend’s taste in women is as excellent as his taste in automobiles. Come. I have saved for you the best table in the house.”
He led them to a quiet corner. Beau seated Cassidy, then took a seat across from her.
The big Frenchman beamed. “Perhaps you should let Antoine make the selections tonight so that you will not be disturbed. I promise, my friends, you will not be disappointed.”
Beau looked at Cassidy, who smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”
“You heard the lady,” Beau said. “Looks like tonight it’s up to you.”
Antoine shot him a devilish grin, then turned to one of the waiters and snapped his fingers. “Champagne! The best in the house for my friend and his lady!”
Antoine strode off and Beau smiled at Cassidy. “He can be a little overdramatic, but he’s a good guy, and his chef is one of the best in Dallas.”
“I’m looking forward to his selections.” She tossed him a glance from beneath her thick lashes. “I just hope they won’t be too filling.”
Beau silently groaned. There was no mistaking her meaning or the challenge in those big green eyes. “You are trying to kill me.”
“Not at the moment.” She grinned. “I can’t promise what might happen later.”
He felt like tossing down his napkin and dragging her out of there right now. Instead, he forced himself to smile. “If you don’t behave, this is going to be the shortest dinner in history.”
Cassidy laughed. “I’ll behave . . . for now.”
God, he liked this woman. She gave as good as she got and never backed down.
For the next two hours, they drank champagne and ate some of the most incredible French food he’d ever tasted—though both of them were careful not to eat too much.
They skipped dessert, which Antoine pouted about, but Beau had been aroused for most of the evening and enough was enough.
He drove Cassidy back to the house, wishing he could just pull over somewhere and satisfy the hunger they both were feeling; would have if the weather had been warmer.
As it was, he drove into the garage and closed the door, rounded the car to help Cassidy out. Her skirt slid up just to torture him. He set a hand at her waist and urged her toward the house just as her phone began to ring.
She cast him a glance. Both of them knew it might be important. Cassidy dug her cell out of her little black purse and pressed it against her ear, started nodding and talking.
“Okay, yes . . . that would be great, Jase.”
Jase. The big, overprotective cowboy who worked in her office. Irritation rolled through him.
“I’ll be in tomorrow,” Cassidy said. “We can talk about it then.” She laughed at something Jase said, and Beau’s irritation grew. “Okay, fine, I’ll buy lunch. See you tomorrow.”
Lunch? No way.
Cassidy ended the call, stuck the phone back in her purse, and looked up at him. “I left a message on Jase’s phone before we left. He’s going to make a few calls, see what he can find out about Vaughn that might be useful.”
“And then the two of you are going to lunch,” Beau said darkly.
“I told him if he found something, I’d buy him lunch. It’s no big deal.”
“Is that so?” He barely recognized the emotion sliding through him as jealousy, but it made him angry and hot all at once. Cassidy squeaked as he dragged her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers. She could go to lunch with Maddox, but she’d be thinking about a different man while she was there. Beau intended to make sure of it.
He deepened the kiss, wanting more of her, all he could get. He thought she might pull away, but her arms went around his neck and she pressed herself more fully against him. He could feel her soft breasts against his chest, moved his thigh between her legs, lifted a little and heard her moan. His tongue slid into her mouth, tangled with hers, and heat rolled through him. He was rock hard and aching, wanting her and determined to make sure she wasn’t thinking of anyone but him.
The kiss went on and on, both of them making little erotic noises and gasping for breath. His hands found their way inside the bodice of her dress to cup her breasts, massage and caress them. Her nipples were as hard as he was, and he knew she was ready, wanting this as much as he did.
He nipped the side of her neck as he turned her around, a hand drifting between her legs. “Brace your palms on the hood of the car,” he said softly.
“What?”
“Do it,” he commanded.
Cassidy made a sexy little sound in her throat, bent over and flattened her hands on the still-warm Lamborghini. When he flipped up her little black skirt, the vision of hot, half-naked female against an equally hot car made one of the sexiest pictures he’d ever seen.
Moving behind her, he lifted her silky dark hair and pressed his mouth against the nape of her neck, gently kissed a bruise he found there. Sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders, he kissed each little scrape and scratch he found on her back.
Cassidy whimpered.
Beau ran his hands over the firm little globes of her bottom and nudged her legs apart. He could feel her trembling.
“You want this?” he asked.
“Yes, Beau . . . please . . .”
She whimpered as he entered her, seated himself and began to move. Cassidy arched her back to take him deeper and he nearly lost it, took a deep breath and fought for control. Gripping her hips, he drove into her, determined to make it good for both of them, make it a ride she wouldn’t forget.
She cried out as she started to come but Beau didn’t stop, not until she came again. Clenching his jaw, he finally allowed his own release, a hot tide that swept through every muscle and bone in his body.
When they finally drifted back to earth, he eased her dress back into place, turned her into his arms, and just held her. She felt so good, fit him so perfectly. Such a beautiful woman—his beautiful woman.
Beau shook himself. What the hell was he thinking? Cassidy wasn’t his woman. No way was he letting himself go where that thought led. He pressed a last soft kiss on her forehead. “You okay?”
She smiled at him softly. “Way better than okay.”
“Yeah, me too.” He kissed her one last time. “It’s getting late. We’ve got work to do tomorrow.”
Cassidy just nodded.
For a while he’d been able to set his troubles aside and enjoy the evening. He’d thought of nothing but Cassidy and how much he wanted her. Now his worries were back full force.
Was Malcolm Vaughn behind his father’s murder? And if he was, how the hell did they prove it?