KISS AND MAKE-UP (11 page)

Moving his mouth from her lips, he kissed his way down her neck. Cassie dropped her head back, throatily whispering, “Yes.”

With another quick movement of his hand, he pushed her silky panties aside and explored the warm, wet folds between her thighs. When Cassie reached down to unzip his pants, he sighed deeply, knowing this had been inevitable. Making love to Cassie again was something that had been destined to happen, ever since last week when he’d first walked into his office and found her here.

She began to shake, arching toward his touch, visibly and audibly aroused. As was he. So he gave her what she needed, let his thumb drop to that sweet, sensitive spot, and ever so delicately stroked her.

“Wyatt!” She grabbed his hair and tugged his mouth to hers for another mind-numbing kiss as he continued to caress her clit, bringing her higher and higher with every flick of his thumb.

She was gasping against his mouth, and he recognized the signs. Close. She was very,
very
close. He pulled away a little, wanting to see her reach that peak of pleasure, to see the way her eyes would close and her face grow flushed. Whenever he’d closed his eyes to try to sleep the night before, he’d seen this—Cassie’s pleasure, Cassie’s delight.

Instead, to his shock, he saw something else.

The door to the office…slowly opening.

One second, Cassandra
was feeling the waves of her climax rolling through her body and was preparing to ride them to full fruition. The next, Wyatt was hoisting her off his lap and hopping down to stand beside her, shifting in his pants, quickly zipping them back up, wincing in pain because he was so hard and aroused.

When she saw his secretary standing in the doorway, with a dark-haired man looking over her shoulder, Cassandra understood why.

“Brazen it out,” she muttered, knowing that to act guilty would make the situation worse. Without knowing just how much had been seen, there was no use acting all penitent about it.

Wishing her panties had snapped back into place more comfortably, she patted her hair. “Hi, Sylvia.”

The older woman’s eyes were wide, but her lips quivered with suppressed laughter. “Hi Cassie. Sorry to interrupt.” Everyone was apparently following Wyatt’s lead and calling her by the nickname only he had ever used. Somehow, Cassandra—
Cassie
—couldn’t bring herself to mind so much. “Wyatt, Mr. Katowa was hoping for a quick word.”

The man standing silently behind Sylvia was a conservatively dressed man of Japanese descent. Cassie realized she and Wyatt had been caught doing some serious making out by an important potential client. Damage control was definitely in order. “Oh, you caught us trying things out,” she said with a breezy smile.

Sylvia backed out of the office, mouthing,
I’m so sorry
to Wyatt, and the businessman stepped in. “Trying things out?” he said, his voice frosty.

Wyatt strode across the room. “Mr. Katowa, how nice to see you again. I wasn’t expecting you until later this afternoon.”

“If you’d prefer, I will come back later….”

“Oh, no, don’t be silly,” Cassie said, taking the man by the arm and putting on her best charming, nobody-says-no-to-me pout. “We were just talking about the revised campaign for your company. I was being naughty and insisting on demonstrating my idea to Wyatt.” Then, figuring Wyatt couldn’t kill her until after the automobile executive had left, she added, “I’m Cassie, by the way. Wyatt’s…wife.”

Wyatt coughed into his fist, but with a quick kick at his ankle, he quickly backed her up. “Right. Yes. Cassie, this is Mr. Katowa, one of our clients.”

The man bowed slightly, and Cassie responded with a bow of her own.

“I didn’t realize you had a wife,” the man said, thawing slightly.

“Cassie’s the only wife I’ve ever had,” Wyatt replied, not lying. Of course, Cassie hadn’t lied either…but Wyatt didn’t know that.

Quickly recalling the little bit of Japanese she’d grasped during a business trip to that country last year, she greeted the businessman in his own language.

He offered her a smile. “I am most pleased to meet you.”

“Thank you,” she said, not sure herself how she could sound so calm and normal when she felt anything but. Her lips had to look thoroughly kissed and her throat probably had a few reddish marks.

She was still a little light-headed, lost in a cloud of lust because of what had almost happened between them. But for the interruption, she might be making love with her husband right this minute. And she had no doubt she’d be loving it.

That hadn’t been her intent when she’d arrived. Having gotten Sylvia’s message this morning, she’d figured they would be talking business, and she hadn’t come here to initiate anything physical. She just wanted to be near him, to spend time with him. She needed to understand why he’d been her first thought every morning and her last dream every night since their paths had collided again.

Coming to Boston was supposed to be about closure, putting an end to her feelings for Wyatt and saying the things she never got to say before, and getting him to sign off on the divorce. Again.

After her phone call with Grandmother the other night, and some serious self-evaluation, however, she knew she no longer wanted closure and that her feelings were far from over.

They still needed to talk about what happened—how they went so wrong—and she still needed to let him know he had probably been right about what had driven her to make the choices she’d made. But she also wanted…
needed
…to find out what was in his heart. Maybe even what had been in those letters Jackie had mentioned the other night.

And yeah, telling him she was still his wife was pretty high on the to-do list.

Mr. Katowa cleared his throat. “So you were saying you were, uh, conducting a
demonstration
of an idea for my commercial?”

Wyatt opened his mouth, but Cassie spoke first. “Yes, absolutely.” This account was important to Wyatt and she knew it. Too important to have it slip away because Cassie had laid a kiss on the man right in his office where anyone could—and did—wander in. So she had to do something to salvage the situation. “The idea of showing men at varying stages of their lives stopped at an intersection in different cars—trying to choose which way to turn—was clever. But it was missing that one thing, that little spark that would make it truly stand out.”

She was babbling, pulling ideas out of the air. Beside her, Wyatt watched, one brow up, laughter dancing in his eyes as he probably wondered how she was going to talk her way out of this.

“Cars are very important to Americans, and a lot of life’s most important moments take place around them. Private moments. Joyful moments.” Giving Wyatt a wickedly suggestive smile, she said, “Sometimes very intimate moments.”

Thinking of the teasing suggestion she’d made the other night when they were driving to his place, about women having various things happen to them while in, or near their cars, she continued. “It isn’t enough just to have the men sitting there at an intersection trying to choose a direction. What about showing the same street corner, with different cars, a succession of men in various scenes, a continuing series of commercial spots that would be like snapshots of important moments in the men’s lives, and where they go takes them to those important moments.”

Mr. Katowa had his head back, and was looking at the ceiling. With his hands clasped behind his back, he appeared to be deep in thought.

Cassie didn’t wait for him to disagree, quickly adding, “They’d convey the same message, but there could be more chance for variety. More opportunities to hammer home the message that your automobiles can take a man through his whole life.”

“Interesting,” Wyatt murmured, his amused expression fading as he narrowed his eyes in thought.

Though it had started as a joke, she was warming up to the idea. She could see it. “There’d be a young man who opened the door to one of your less expensive models for his date, and when he turns it’s to go toward a drive-in movie theater. A bride and groom smiling out the window as they drive off in a midsize sedan, heading toward the airport for their honeymoon.”

She gave Wyatt a quick glance and saw him watching her with interest and speculation. He was catching the vision. “A happily-expectant couple turning into a hospital,” he said. “Parents buckling their kids into the seats of the SUV and turning toward the elementary school.”

“Exactly.”

“All at the same corner, but at different times, alternating seasons, varying points in people’s lives, and they end up different places. So the intersection itself is not real, it’s figurative—a representation of the turns in the road. Where you are in your life determines where you end up when you make the turn.”

“Right!” she said. “The connection is the place and the
brand
of car.”

Wyatt was bent over the table, sketching on a large art pad, muttering as the vision came to life in his mind. “The vehicle gives the viewer an immediate hint of what moment in someone’s life they’re going to see, and the street corner is the window through which they watch it.”

Moments in people’s lives.
For some reason, Cassie suddenly began to think in terms of more than cars. Much more.

Relationships were just as changeable at different moments, weren’t they? Who didn’t dream of going back to an important point in their life to see if things might have turned out differently? To determine if they could make it work out better the second time around?

She and Wyatt were embarking on just such a risky endeavor. Only there was a lot more on the line than the sale of an expensive automobile. Cassandra’s future happiness was at stake, and she knew it.

Forcing the worrisome thoughts out of her mind, she focused on the task at hand. Mr. Katowa was stroking his chin with the tips of his fingers. He said nothing for a long moment. Cassie almost held her breath, wondering if Wyatt always felt this sense of anticipation and excitement when pitching a new concept. It was intense. Dramatic. No wonder the man got off on it. For someone as creative yet grounded as Wyatt, it was the perfect career.

Finally, when she thought for sure they’d blown it, Mr. Katowa spoke. “It couldn’t be a very busy corner. Not too many people around.”

She didn’t follow, but wasn’t about to argue with the man.

“Because,” he continued, “a couple having a
passionate
moment on the hood of our 340L convertible would need a little privacy.” He straightened and looked at them both, his eyes twinkling. “The consumer wouldn’t want to think just anyone could walk up and interrupt them.”

Cassie sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, realizing the man had seen more than they’d hoped. But the amused smile on his face told her it was okay.

His words confirmed it. “I like this idea. Now, let’s get to work.”

W
yatt spent the
rest of the afternoon with Mr. Katowa. After two hours, he had Sylvia order some takeout, and got the rest of his staff in on the creative meeting. It was high-energy, high-voltage and intensely creative. And the client
loved
it.

He felt positively high with the thrill of it all by the time they wrapped up the session and bid Mr. Katowa good-night. As he drove away from the office that evening at eight o’clock, he realized there was someone he wanted to share that dizzying excitement with.
Cassie.

It was probably both stupid and crazy but she was the one he most wanted to see right now. And not just because a lot of today’s success was entirely due to her quick thinking in his office earlier. Frankly, whether she’d been involved or not, he’d want to celebrate with her. To laugh and plan, to have a drink and to enjoy the thrill.

“Why?” he wondered aloud as he pulled out of the parking garage.

Why her? Why now? Why
again?

He didn’t have the answers. He only had the desire. So without giving it too much more thought, he turned up Lexington Street and headed toward Cassie’s hotel.

He was in the lobby within a few minutes. The friendly clerk at the desk wouldn’t give him her room number, but did offer to connect him. She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me. You want to come down and meet me for a drink?”

He heard the audible breath she sucked in. “Did you get it?”

Smiling, he replied, “We got it.”

“Yes!”

“So whaddya say? Still drink cheap Asti Spumante?”

“I prefer expensive champagne,” she said with a dry laugh.

“You’re on. Tonight, I can afford it. Come downstairs.”

She hesitated for a second, then murmured, “I’ve got a better idea. This place has great room service.”

Room service. In her room.

Don’t do this.
He heard the voice of caution whispering in his subconscious, but somehow Wyatt didn’t want to listen to it anymore. He’d known when he decided to come over here tonight that this could happen. Hell, the condom burning a hole in his pocket told him he’d known it could happen since the day she walked back into his life.