Double Down (31 page)

“Ready to go?” she asked.

For a second Ryan wondered if they’d arranged to meet and he’d just forgotten. He was doing a lot of that lately. His mind had gone to mush. Not surprising, considering that colossal fight with Cassandra took up most of his brain. Then again, he was being actively antisocial.

He scrubbed sleep out of his eyes. “What are you two doing here?”

Leah bounced on the balls of her feet. Her dark ponytail swung around the shoulders of her tank top. “Work out. Come on. Your building has the best gym.”

“That’s crap and you know it,” he said. “Tin Tin’s place is ten times nicer, and the gym on base is ten times bigger.”

“Fine.” Jon crossed his arms. “Truth, Fang?”

“I generally prefer it.”

The two traded a doubtful look. Ryan fisted his hand around the doorknob.

Finally Jon stepped forward. “We wanted to ask why you’ve been such a dick the past couple weeks. We wanted to do it here, where no one else could overhear.”

Leah tried a grin out on him. “Since you won’t go out with us, we figured we didn’t have a choice.”

Christ. That was just what he needed. Obviously they’d sat around discussing him.
Poor broken Fang. What’s wrong with our major?

That they could’ve discussed his goddamn proclivities was just the icing on the cake.

He set his back teeth together and let them grind. It did nothing to ease the brain-spiking tension locking him down. “Cassandra and I broke up. End of story. Go work out somewhere else. I’ll see you at oh eight hundred.”

He slammed the door and face-planted on the bed. If he could push it all away, he had a chance at another hour of sleep.

After all, it was the only place he still got to see Cassandra.

Even that didn’t keep the idiots at bay. Only a minute later his bedroom door opened. Jon pulled the pillow off his face. The comforter disappeared next.

“Let’s go,” Jon said in an obviously fake-cheery voice. “Up and at ’em, Major. Your chain of command would be very disappointed if they knew you were skipping out on PT.”

He levered to a sitting position. “Why in the name of heaven did I ever give you a key?”

“In case you were ever ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,’” Leah said. “Now where are your workout clothes?”

She pulled open his top drawer, and everything in Ryan went ice cold. “Get your fucking fingers out of my shit,” he growled.

Leah froze, her hands hovering in the air. The only part of her that moved was her head, swiveling to stare at him with huge, wounded eyes.

Ryan didn’t think he’d ever cussed around her, except maybe when he’d been drunk. Cussing
at
her, though? Never.

But that was where he’d shoved Cassandra’s plaid skirt and tiny white shirt.

He was up in a flash, slamming the drawer shut. Sharp-edged anger wrenched inside him. At this point, it wasn’t even fearing that they’d know what got him hot. They probably were fully aware.

No, the outfit was Cassandra’s. Hers. Not for anyone else to even look at.

With hands curled around the edge of the wood, he took a deep breath. “Look, I appreciate your concern. It’s best if you just leave. I’m not up to dealing with anyone else right now.”

To be honest, he missed Cassandra too damn bad. It was an empty ache in his chest. Every time he picked up his phone, he thought about calling her. Hell, every time he climbed in the cockpit, he thought about her, about how he’d love to recount his day of flying. He thought about
her
. What he’d had. What he’d done. What he’d lost.

She was in his head constantly.

He wanted her back, but that was the easy part. How to line up the pieces in his head… That was practically impossible. Only, the way Cassandra’s words still rang in his head made him think he could get his shit together. He
needed
to.

Jon laughed quietly. “We’re not really up to dealing with you either. Someone had to try.”

“Mind your own business, Tin Tin.”

Leah crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at Jon. “Go on. Tell him.”

“I don’t think so,” Jon said. “It’s obvious he just wants to ignore it.”

“Tell me what?”

“We’re going to the exhibit opening tonight.”

Ryan tensed. “The hell you are.”

Jon scrubbed a hand over his cropped hair. Leah edged around Ryan to stand beside him. Her mouth twisted into an apologetic attempt at a smile. “We are. Both of us. We
like
Cass.”

Ryan shook his head in denial, but it wasn’t working. They just kept talking.

“I also happen to like art now and then,” Jon said dryly. “Keeps up my old-money cred. So we’re going.”

“Fuck no, you’re not.” He was losing control of his mouth, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. He’d already lost control of his life. “That’s an order.”

Leah laughed. “Sorry, boss. You can’t order us around on this one.” She turned and walked out of the room, Jon following behind her. “So I guess you’ll either have to trust we’ll behave…or come and make sure of it.”

Ryan pinched a hand across his forehead. His head had started to pound.

He’d meant to stay away from the exhibit. Cassandra had settled on her decision. As much as he missed her, he wasn’t about to make her big night blow up in her face. Seeing her most recent ex might throw her off her game.

There was no way he could allow those two to go unchecked. He needed to attend, even if only to run herd.

If a small part of him sighed in relief at being able to see Cassandra again… He’d ignore that part.

He’d been ignoring parts of himself for years.

The gallery was packed with people. A steady hum of quiet voices dipped and rose around the room. Wearing the same suit from their call-girl game, Ryan could almost convince himself that staying anonymous was possible.

He’d spotted Cassandra almost as soon as he’d entered.

She looked beautiful. Elegant. Every bit in her element.

A black dress hugged her curves. Her strawberry-blonde hair had been scooped into a twist at the back of her head. With her only ornamentation a black silk cord that dipped under the boat neck of her dress, her pale creamy skin practically glowed.

Or maybe that was her happiness. A soft smile curved her mouth as she talked to the knot of shifting people that constantly surrounded her.

Jon slipped alongside Ryan, holding a glass of champagne. “If you don’t want to actually talk to her, you should probably stop staring at her.”

“Stuff it, Tin Tin. I’m not in the mood.”

He wanted to talk to her. The problem was how to line up his thoughts—his desires—with his quest for a perfect life. What was perfect other than having everything he wanted? He’d been denying himself for so long that his fantasies never figured in. The intimacy he and Cassandra shared had nothing to do with the world outside the bedroom. That he’d refused them both such a perfect alignment of sex and love was a goddamn disgrace.

I hope you figure out that there doesn’t need to be a choice.

She had seen it clearly, with the same open acceptance she’d always shown. Hell, her words had practically slapped him in the face, even though he’d been unprepared to accept their truth.

Disgusted with himself, impatient to talk with her, Ryan faced a large print. The vintage erotic photographs were remarkable. Dramatic. Cassandra had done well to volunteer to make this her first show.

Yeah, they were nudes—but they were more than that too. Frank examinations of the female form in an otherwise stark existence. Placards explained the setting: the famed Storyville, New Orleans prostitution district at the turn of the last century. Some of the women wore masks. On other prints the negatives had been scratched, the women’s faces transformed into sharp black amorphous forms.

It wasn’t right. No one deserved to have their true selves obliterated out of fear of exposure. Whether it was because of their profession or their choices. Their…appetites. In trying to obliterate that part of himself, he’d done the same to Cassandra. Tried to make her and their playtime anonymous. Safer that way.

Instead he’d made it shameful.

Admitting his fears was more than embarrassing, and yet the pain he’d caused the woman he loved was heartbreaking. Nothing was as important as the magic he and Cassandra had created.

Regret crushed in his chest, turning his lungs to stones. His skin flushed cold. Cassandra hadn’t deserved the way he’d treated her. He hadn’t deserved the way he’d treated himself either.

That he liked to play games wasn’t really what he’d blown it into. It was a choice. A private choice. He could partake or resist. The same could be said for any of his partners. But Cassandra, her laughing and teasing and enthusiasm, had made the experiences mind-blowing. More than fantasy. More than tab A going into slot B, even if slot B was decked out in a costume. She had offered the chance to claim everything he’d ever wanted.

He’d fended off his own doubts by assuming she would judge him like Ashleigh had.

What a coward he’d turned out to be.

He looked away from the prints, seeking her out. Christ, he had to fix this. Even if she refused to take him back—and she’d be totally justified in brushing him off—he needed to apologize.

He spotted her instantly, as if he maintained a constant awareness of where she was. She stood at the far end of the room, laughing with an older man.

Thinking about moving his feet wasn’t necessary. They took off on their own, heading for her. The crowds parted around him, then melted into the background until there was only Cassandra. Just like it had always been.

She saw him when he was a few feet away. Her blue eyes widened and her shoulders went stiff. Slim fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass.

“Ryan,” she said, with a tiny incline of her head.

“Cassandra.” He wanted to say more. Tell her how much he’d missed her. How badly he wanted her back.

This wasn’t the time or the place. He wouldn’t ruin her moment.

“Ryan, this is Mr. Hungerford, the gallery owner.” She waved a hand toward the older man. It pained him that her eyes begged him to behave. “Mr. Hungerford, this is Major Ryan Haverty.”

The two shook, then Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets. They wanted too badly to reach out for her, to touch her. He didn’t have that privilege anymore.

“Mr. Hungerford, you should be very happy with Cassandra. She’s put on quite the event.”

The older gentleman had a wide smile. “Oh, trust me, I am. Very proud of her choices.” He looked back and forth between the two. “If you’ll excuse me, I see a patron I should greet.”

Cassandra and Ryan stood staring at each other, alone in the middle of the crowd. Reading her eyes was impossible. He couldn’t see past his own hurt.

“The exhibit looks like a huge success.”

She glanced around. “Yes. We’ve gotten a great response.”

“I’m happy for you.”

Finally he was able to read her. The pain that washed over her face and dimmed her smile was impossible to ignore. “Are you?”

“Absolutely.”

Being so close to her without touching her was torture. He reached out with one hand and looped his fingers around her wrist. Under that tentative touch, her pulse fluttered wildly. Her throat worked over a swallow. Her gaze dropped to his hand, where they were connected.

He had to cough back the tightness in his chest. “Can I talk to you? Just for a minute.”

For a second he thought she’d say yes. Her face was so open. Hopeful. Then she shuttered down.

He had the sudden realization of how shitty it was to be on the receiving end of that reaction. She’d never closed herself off from him. She’d offered him the deepest, most hopeful parts of herself, and he’d brushed her away.

Cassandra pulled her wrist from his grip. A single lock of hair curled around her pixielike jawline. “I can’t do this here, Ryan.”

His body leaned toward her of its own volition. “You can’t do this here, or you can’t do this ever?”

She took one step back. Then another. “I really don’t know.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

“Cass, my little girl.”

She turned just in time to be swept into her father’s arms. It probably wasn’t the most professional thing to do, but her dad wasn’t any ordinary patron.

After the brief, tense encounter with Ryan had yanked the air from her lungs, Cass needed a bear hug. Tears borne of too many emotions pricked behind her eyelids. Anxiety, relief, pride…and heartache.

“Thanks, Dad. I needed that.”

“I just wanted to let you know that we’re leaving.”

“So soon?”

Something unreadable flashed across his familiar features. “Your mother has made it impossible to stay any longer.”

Cass’s spirits plummeted. On top of all the worries about the actual mechanics of the gala opening, she’d also dreaded her parents’ reaction to the Bellocq photographs. Though not prudes by any means, they probably hadn’t expected vintage erotica. How could she defend her career choice if they looked on her first professional success as smut-peddling?

“I’m sorry to hear that, Dad. I mean, I know the photos are—”

He leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. “Save it, Cassie girl. We’re leaving because your mom can’t keep her hands off me.”

Slapping her mouth shut, she didn’t know whether to laugh or groan in embarrassment. At least they weren’t ashamed.

Her mom arrived after having fetched her pashmina from the coat check. Together they looked elegant and happy. A twist in the vicinity of her heart made her want to search for Ryan.

Instead she gave her mom a fierce hug. “Thanks for coming. It means the world to me.”

“You’ve really achieved something here, sweetie,” her mom said. “I hope your boss appreciates it.”

“He does. Mr. Talbert wants me to lead up another exhibit this year, one I’ll plan start to finish. He’s recommended that I represent the gallery at an exhibition in Florence later this summer.”

“Then I’m glad we already had our talk about you and the tours. You belong here. We’re both so proud. But we’ll let you get back to work.” She kissed Cass’s cheek, where she whispered, “He hasn’t stopped watching you all night.”