She laughed at that, too. “You may be grown-up, but you look like a little boy caught with his fingers in the jam jar.”
He couldn’t help himself. Dropping the tart to his plate, he reached out with his sticky hand and wiped strawberry “goo” onto the tip of her nose, chin, and cheek. Her mouth dropped open, and she danced back out of his reach before suddenly doubling over with laughter. Setting aside both plate and saucer, he went after her, catching her easily in one arm as she squealed and tried to defend herself with the handkerchief.
“This, Miss Penno,” he teased, “is how little boys play with jam!”
Laughing and struggling, she twisted her body against him. Playfulness fled before a very adult surge of lightning-hot desire, and he found himself looking down into her upturned face, marveling, as she grew still, at how attuned she seemed to be to his every thought and mood. He pushed away the knowledge that he had no right to secure this young woman’s affections and very deliberately wiped his sticky fingers across her mouth before lowering his head for surely the sweetest kiss he’d ever known. Her arms slid around his waist, holding him lightly as he forced her head back, licking and tasting and finally swirling his tongue around the inside of her mouth.
Gradually she pulled away and cleaned her face with the handkerchief. He saw in the bleakness of her moss green eyes that she knew what a foolish, pointless thing he had just done. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, retreating to his chair.
“It’s all right,” she said softly, offering him another hanky.
He took it this time, smiling wryly. “No, it isn’t.”
She sighed. “Whatever you say.”
He retrieved the cup and saucer, but had lost his appetite for the pastry. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I usually have better sense—and manners.”
“You’re probably just feeling trapped,” she said offhandedly, wavering between her own disappointment and compassion for his obvious misery.
“You know don’t you? I suppose William told you everything.”
She shrugged. “He told me that your grandfather set up his will so that you have to marry a certain woman.”
“Betina,” he said bitterly.
“Betina of the Halloween costume party,” Cassidy reminded him gently.
He smiled in spite of everything. She had such a way about her, this tall, slender, angelic woman. Meeting her had been the bright spot in the dark sky of his future, the oasis in the desert that had become his life, but that’s all she could be, momentary, transitory, just a short stop along his way. She was right, of course, about him feeling trapped, and no doubt that had colored and intensified his every response to this woman. It wasn’t fair, not to her and not to him and not to the marriage that he was obligated to try to build with Betina, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t enjoy his moments with Cassidy Penno. He had a right to that much, didn’t he? So long as he didn’t step over the line again. Mentally he drew that line boldly for himself: They could laugh together, talk together, work together, but there it stopped. He would not kiss her or touch her in a “romantic” fashion again. That gave him something to look forward to in the coming weeks but at the same time protected them both. His smile broadened. He drank his coffee and watched her drink hers.
Finally she set her cup aside. “We’d better get to work,” she said, reaching for a blue plastic measuring tape, which she draped about her neck. Next she found a sheet of paper with a silhouette of the human body and lined brackets representing different measurements printed on it. She fixed the paper to a clip board and slid a pencil behind one ear, then positioned her stool in the center of the floor and motioned for him to stand before her. He did as she indicated, spreading his blue-jeaned legs slightly.
She wrapped the tape around his waist and snapped it apart again instantly before snatching the pencil from behind her ear and scribbling a notation on the paper. She measured his hips, legs, arms and shoulders in the same manner. “Man, you’re good at this,” he said, chuckling.
“Part of the job,” she replied, then clamped the pencil between her teeth. “Wif oo ahms.”
He laughed. “What?”
She took the pencil out of her mouth. “Lift your arms.”
“Ah.” He lifted his arms, and she wrapped the tape around his upper chest, pulling it tight in the center, her body moving close to his. The tape parted and slid free, but before she stepped back, he let his arms drop around her. She froze, and then she simply dropped down to the floor.
“Almost through,” she said, as if he had not just tried to hold her.
Disappointment, relief, embarrassment and frustration percolated through him all at the same time. He ground his teeth. Obviously she had more sense and wisdom that he did. Just as obviously he couldn’t trust himself with her. He waited for her to finish, but seconds ticked by and she made no move. When finally he looked down, it was to find her head bowed, her hands and the tape on the floor. Before he could say anything, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and brought up the tape. As her hands rose slowly toward his groin, he realized in a flash that she had yet to take his inseam. In an instant he was hard as stone.
Catching her hands in his, he sank down with her on the floor. Placing her hands on his shoulders, he took her into his arms. Unresisting, she leaned forward awkwardly and laid her head on his shoulder. He placed his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes.
For a long while, he simply held her. The sudden rush of desire gradually faded, leaving in its place an odd sort of contentment tinged with sadness. He sighed and kissed the top of her head, saying, “I have no right to this. I can’t change anything. The business is at stake, and my whole family’s depending on me.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He ran his hands over her back, feeling the sharp little bumps that defined her delicate spine. Her breasts felt surprisingly heavy against his chest, given her small frame. He closed his eyes again, imagining her long, slender body lying alongside his. He could almost feel the jut of her hipbones, the softness of her flat belly, the firmness of the little mound at the apex of her thighs, her long legs tangling with his. “I wish I’d met you a long time ago,” he said.
She lifted her head. “Before the affair, you mean.”
He winced, loosening his embrace. “Will didn’t leave anything out, did he?” He smiled at himself, at the irony of this whole thing, and teased gently, “I’ll have to speak to him about that mouth of his.”
She gasped and pulled away. “Oh, no, don’t! He’ll never understand. Please, Paul, don’t—”
“Hey! It was a joke. I’m actually glad that he told you everything.” His smile twisted wryly. “I’m not sure I could have. I think the temptation not to would have been too great.”
He saw a spark of pleasure in her soft green eyes before she bowed her head again. Her fingers picked at the tape. “You just think that now. Probably if you didn’t have this thing hanging over your head, you wouldn’t even notice me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is,” she insisted quietly. “It’s all right. I’m used to it. I’m just not the sort men notice.”
He laid his hand against the side of her throat and neck, feeling her pulse quicken. “What about Charlie Chaplin?”
She made a face. “Tony’s not interested in me,” she said firmly. “He just thinks that because I’m a virgin I must be frustrated enough to eventually give in if he keeps at me.”
A virgin. Paul gulped. Heaven help him. When had he last met one of those? When had he even wanted to? What an utter fool he’d been, what a complete and total ninny to waste his time on experienced,