Petite Madeleine: Drew's Story (Meadows Shore Book 3) (4 page)

“Somewhere airy,” she continued, “with soaring ceilings and an elegant garden. But one thing at a time. Why are you smiling? I’m being too indulgent with my fantasies, aren’t I?”

“No. I was just picturing you as a little girl with a big floppy hat, licking icing off your fingers. I think it sounds wonderful. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a place with all the feminine frills you’re describing.”

“Is that so? You couldn’t be enticed, huh? Not even by a decadent pastry?” Her eyes glittered, and that sassy tone was back, laced with a bit of playful flirtation this time, making him acutely aware of how much he wanted her.

“Oh, I can think of ways I might be enticed. Many of them decadent, but very few involving pastry.” His eyes met hers and she looked away, pretending to brush a crumb from the table.

“Cass, why did you need the Mediterranean sun to heal you?”

The color drained from her face, and he wished he could take back his words. And although he wanted an answer, he reached for hand and squeezed, “You don’t need to tell me. Not tonight.”

Just then the waiter brought the check, making it a little less obvious that she didn’t answer. That she had no intention of answering his question.
Ever
.

She let him take her hand again as they left the restaurant. “Want to walk a little?” he asked, hoping for another few minutes with her.

“I need to be at the bakery very early. Otherwise I’ll have irate customers beating down the door.”

“Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”

“You don’t need to. I’m just around the corner.”

He stopped and put his finger to her soft, full lips. “I want to.”
Because I’m nowhere near ready to let you go.

He slowed his pace and inhaled deeply. “I leave tomorrow.” He should have left tonight with the team, but she didn’t need to know that. “I’d like to call you, and have dinner again.”

“Let’s plan on dinner the next time the team’s in town.”

“That’s the middle of the summer. Cassie…”

“Drew, it’s been a long time. There’s so much water under the bridge. You can’t go home again.”

“You were always an optimist. I can’t believe you’re resorting to bad clichés to push me away.”

She chuckled softly. “Really bad clichés.”

He brushed the hair away from her face with the back of his hand, before sliding it under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’d like to see you again, soon. Tell me you’ll answer when I call.”

After a few nerve-wracking moments, she nodded.

“Not very convincing from a woman named after the goddess of unrequited love.”

“Anteros was a God.”

“But Cassie is a goddess. Always has been, always will be.”

“Good night, Drew,” she said taking a small step back. “Thank you for dinner.”

He moved toward her and lowered his head to place one chaste kiss on her forehead, right at the hairline. Not the kiss he wanted to give her, but one he thought she might accept. But when he leaned in, she put her hand on his chest and stepped back.

And while he watched her drive off, he was still clutching his heart, the very place she’d touched when she pushed him away.

Cassie slipped into Lola’s bright and early the next morning, turned on the music, and got right to work. The sun was up when she placed the last of the tartlets in the oven. Normally, she loved the quiet of the early mornings, but today she longed for noise, chatter—any distraction to get her out of her head, pry her away from thoughts of Drew.

Coming face-to-face with him again had left her reeling. Made her painfully aware of how much she pined for him. How much she missed him. In truth, she’d already known. It was just that it had been easier to pretend she was over him when he wasn’t standing close enough for his breath to warm her skin.

Her days were busy, with little time for whimsy, but at night, when she was alone in her bed, she allowed herself to daydream. Her mind almost always wandered to him, to a place filled with light and happiness, nourishing her soul, and easing her into a peaceful slumber. On other nights, when her mind went elsewhere, where there was only darkness and terror, she lay awake for hours before tumbling into a fitful sleep.

Bittersweet as the memories were, she far preferred dreaming of him and the wonderful times they’d shared at school. Sitting on the bleachers in the hot sun, her full attention on the baseball game. Her gaze locked on the catcher, the player positioned behind home plate, facing the field, controlling the game.

Drew was born to be a catcher, a position requiring quick judgment, an analytical mind, and unwavering leadership. Someone who didn’t need the spotlight, but whose value was in making others shine. And of course, there was the not-so-small matter of powerful legs.
God, did he have those
.

The only time she looked away was when he threw himself across home plate, a defenseless human shield blocking an opposing player from scoring. Not caring about the scrapes and bruises that were inevitable from bodies colliding.

Someone from his family was almost always there, too. Sometimes more one. She’d sit and chat, focused on him in a catcher’s stance, crouching inning after inning, building muscle that made her knees weak to think about.

His body was spectacular, and she loved running her hands across his shoulders, down his chiseled back to his tight butt. When she kneaded the taut muscle, his kiss would deepen, marking her, until she was breathless with an ache between her legs that only he could satisfy.

He was strong—
so very strong
, adding a special dimension to their lovemaking. He could hold her up, in any position, until they’d had their fill. And he often did. Normally he was calm and measured, so there was nothing more arousing than watching him lose control, surrender to the passion, with an intense, rough quality about him. She’d been too shy then to tell him how much she loved it when he took her like that, but a part of her always suspected he knew.

Lindsey’s voice shook her from the dream. “Look what just came,” she said holding out an enormous arrangement of lilacs dotted with hundreds of forget-me-nots. “They’re for you.”

She took the beautifully woven basket and set it on the counter, burying her face in the purple flowers, absorbing the lovely scent of spring.

“Open the card,” Lindsey cried. “They’re from that hot guy who was in here the other day drooling over you, aren’t they?” she asked before Cassie could pry the small card from the envelope.

Cassie nodded. She didn’t need a card to know who’d sent them.

“What does it say?” demanded Lindsey from the balls of her feet, with her neck craning, trying to get a look at the card.

“It says, ‘I won’t forget you, either. Not ever.’”

“Oh. My. God. He’s romantic
and
gorgeous. That’s so not fair!”

“He’s a friend from college, in town for a couple of days. That’s all. Don’t get yourself all worked up over nothing.”

“Cassie, you need to get your head out of the brownie batter. No one sends those flowers with that card to say ‘it was nice seeing you again, maybe I’ll drop by in another ten years.’”

Cassie checked the flowers for water. “I bet Jodie could use your help out front.”

“Way to change the subject.”

After the door swung behind Lindsey, Cassie let herself enjoy the sweet scent wafting through the kitchen. Lilacs were the quintessential sign of spring, with its promise of new beginnings. “Not for me,” she whispered to the blossoms, giving them a fresh drink of water.

The next day came a Blues’ baseball cap, and a game jersey with the number twenty-four, Drew’s old number, and Anteros stitched across the back. The accompanying note read,
some things for you to grow accustomed to before you visit.

Later in the week, he sent her a jar of almond and honey body cream. Her hard-to-get favorite brand, rich and luxurious, made in the town where her grandparents lived in Greece. She remembered how good it felt when he’d lather it over her body, his firm hands working the cream into her skin until she dissolved under his touch.

Sighing, she opened the note.
Tell Reece I’ll be at the wedding after all.
She closed her eyes tight while her brain tussled with her heart, making her woozy. She’d been putting it off, but she owed him a phone call. Another text message didn’t seem like enough.

“Thank you for all the presents.”

“My pleasure.”

“You need to stop.”

“You don’t like them?”

“I love them. Even the baseball cap and jersey, now that the hives have gone away.”

He chuckled. “Immunotherapy, a painless desensitization. I love sending you presents. But I’ll stop if you’ll be my date for the wedding.”

She hesitated, and the silence blared louder than Chopin’s funeral dirge, and nearly as somber.

“You have a date.” It wasn’t a question but a statement, made in a thick, raspy voice heavy with disappointment. Or maybe it was sadness.

“Reece is my date.”

She could almost feel him relax through the phone.

“I can handle two dates.”

“Even if one of them is Reece?”

“Good point.”

“How about if I see you there?”

“You owe me dance.”

“Don’t you have Giants to slay?”

“I thought you didn’t follow Boston baseball. And don’t change the subject. Dance?”

“One dance. Lady’s choice. I don’t remember you being quite so relentless,” she sighed.

“That’s because back then I had everything I needed.”

* * *

She was right; he didn’t know what had gotten into him. He was acting like his brothers, pushy and demanding. Not his usual style. Sure, he was often determined to get his way, especially when it came to signing a player, and he was always willing to sweeten the pot under the right circumstances. But that was his job, and even then he never pushed too hard, never promised anything he couldn’t deliver, anything he shouldn’t deliver. Most of the time he gave people space to make their own decisions, their own choices, and that was especially true of women. It worked out better that way.

It was never a good idea to try to convince someone to act against what their heart wanted. It rarely worked out in the long run—not with baseball players, anyway. Probably not with women, either. But his gut was telling him that, despite the mixed signals, Cassie’s heart was already on deck. It was her head he needed to get in the game.

Drew sneaked into the church just before the first bridesmaid made her way up the aisle. He stood at the back, scanning the congregation for Cassie, and slipped in beside her as the organist began to play the wedding march.

She was so close his skin prickled from the heat off her body. Oh, God.
Not in church. Clean wholesome thoughts, only—God, country, baseball, apple pie…

The guests oohed and aahed while the bride and her father made their way down the aisle. He knew if his brothers were here they’d be smirking at one another, thick as thieves, only too happy it wasn’t them waiting at the end of the white carpet. All except for Cole, who was counting the days until Alexa was his forever.

Drew didn’t have the same aversion to marriage his brothers had. He faked it some so they wouldn’t think he was supremely whipped, but he’d found the love of his life at an early age, so it wasn’t difficult to imagine why someone would want to share a lifetime with just one person. It’s what he wanted.

They sat in the old white church just a few blocks away from where they first met. A few blocks away from where they’d whispered promises, shared secrets, and fallen in love. But today they weren’t here to profess their love for each other, they were simply witnesses to someone else’s love.

He stole a glance at Cassie out of the corner of his eye. Her dress dipped in the front, and he caught a hint of cleavage when she reached for a prayer book.
God, country, baseball…

After the ceremony, they stood on the steps outside the church with the other guests, and showered the happy couple with birdseed. Cassie and Reece laughed together like old times while Jay and Briana, the giddy newlyweds, ran down the stairs, shielding themselves from the onslaught of seed.

Reece was a tall, cool drink of water with auburn hair and expressive green eyes. Sassy and smart as a whip, she’d been Cassie’s freshman roommate, and, although on the surface it seemed that no two women could have less in common, they’d grown to love each other.

Cassie was a petite brunette with lots of soft curves, charming and polite, the only child of a Greek Wall Street mogul and his adoring wife. Reece was from a working class suburb of London, the only child of a hardworking single mother. Coddled and endlessly doted on, Cassie was born after her parents tried for more than a decade to conceive, while Reece was the product of a wild, drunken night. But both women were loved unconditionally by their parents.

During the first few weeks of school, Reece had referred to Cassie as Princess Cassia, often with a disdain reserved for mortal enemies. But try as she might, Reece was unable to push her big-hearted roommate away. She was stuck with her. And although Reece never borrowed Cassie’s rose-colored glasses, by the end of freshman year, their love and their loyalty for each other knew no bounds.

“Drew, I see time’s treated you well.”

“Reece,” he said wrapping her in his arms. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, and still sexy as hell. Is your Australian friend with you?”

“Cassie told you about Jesse?” she asked, beaming.

“She did.”

“No, he couldn’t be here.” She stuck out her lower lip, feigning a pout. “They’re in training for the America’s Cup, and he couldn’t abandon his mates.”

“Too bad. No one knows how to have a good time like the Aussies.”

“You have no idea,” she said giving him a wicked look. “But Cassie’s my date for the evening, and she’s a lot of fun too. Not in quite the same way, at least not with me.” She winked at Drew, with a knowing grin.

He shook his head, and watched Cassie’s eyes roll over flushed cheeks. “How about if we take one car over to the reception?”

“Why Andrew Harrington, are you offering to be the designated driver?” asked Reece without missing a beat.

“At your service,” he added quickly, leaving Cassie with little choice but to go along.

It was a short car ride along familiar streets to the reception at Roger Williams Park. One in which Reece never shut up. She’d ask a question and answer it before anyone else could squeeze in a word. Once or twice, he was sure his ears were going to fall off before they arrived. But it was mostly entertaining, and her endless chatter made for a less awkward ride.

He pulled up to the Casino at Roger Williams, a building whose grand style reflected a more genteel era, with its wraparound porches, grand ionic columns, and railings fitted with turned balusters. Its semicircular porticos, overlooked voluptuous plantings and a small pond with a charming gazebo.

Hors d’oeuvres and drinks were served on the front veranda overlooking the freshly mowed lawn, with dinner and dancing in the lavish ballroom on the upper floor. Its twenty-foot ceilings were the perfect backdrop for the plaster friezes and frescoes of cherubs serenading guests on miniature harps, trumpets and violins. The space was exquisite, yet welcoming, with not a staid bone in the structure. Erected during the Gay Nineties, it had been built for fun.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Cassie gasped. Her eyes strayed around the room, examining the fine details, searching for hidden treasures in the craftsmanship. “It’s the sort of place I always imagine for my tearoom. This setting reminds me of the…”

“Orangery in London,” he finished her thought, completed her feeling before she could even get it out.

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “Doesn’t it, Reece?”

Reece narrowed her eyes at Drew. “It does. Not exactly, of course, but it has that same feel to it.”

A short while later, Cassie excused herself to find the ladies’ room. “You’re not playing fair,” admonished Reece when Cassie was beyond hearing distance.

“Excuse me?”

“You come sashaying back into her life, like you’d just gone out for a case of beer and a bag of pretzels. Then you insinuate yourself, tossing out little scraps that come to mind. Scraps that remind her of what you once shared. Hoping those reminders will get you back into her bed.”

“I’m not trying to get into her bed.”

She gave him a raised, searing look.

“Okay. But that’s not all I want. It’s never all I wanted from her.”

“She’s not the same person you knew. She’s stronger in some ways, and more vulnerable in others.”

“I’m not the same person, either.”

“Hmmm.” She let her eyes wander from head to toe, boldly appraising him, without the slightest hint of interest. “Probably not. Although the guy at Brown wasn’t
so
bad.”

“I wouldn’t have to insinuate myself back into her life if I’d been allowed to see her years ago when I called you for help. As I recall, you were the one who prevented me from contacting her when I tried. You’re the one who kept us apart.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you? I was just the messenger.”

Cassie approached and he swallowed his retort, but the air was charged, and he could see she knew something was amiss from the way she looked from one to the other.

Fortunately, there were lots of old friends to catch up with, and there was hardly a man there who didn’t want to talk to him about baseball, and plenty of women who wanted to talk to him, too. But the balls and bases they wanted to
discuss
had to do with a different sort of game.

He sat between Cassie and Reece at dinner. It was hard to stay annoyed with Reece for long. She was too damn funny, periodically tossing out some sarcastic but spot-on gem that kept the mood at the table light and playful.

The biggest benefit of sitting between them was that Cassie had to lean over him to talk with Reece, and when she did, he’d catch a whiff of her perfume or a glimpse of cleavage. And more than once or twice, her breast brushed his arm, testing his self-control, and the stitching on his trousers. Thank goodness they weren’t in church anymore.

After dinner the band began to play
Honky Tonk Women
by the Rolling Stones.

“I think I owe you a dance,” she said cocking her head to one side.

The tempo and beat were faster than he’d wanted for a dance with her, because he pretty sure he was just getting one. “Not exactly the dance I had in mind. I was hoping for something a little slower.”

“Lady’s choice. It’s all I’m offering.”

“Then I’ll take it,” he said easing himself out of his chair.

When the song ended, the band went right into another song, slower, and he pulled her toward him. “Don’t make me beg.”

* * *

She gulped softly, unsure if she should run and hide. But she didn’t want to, not tonight. What she wanted, what every pore ached for, was to dance against him, moving like their bodies were one. She stepped forward and wound her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder, because she couldn’t risk looking into his eyes while they swayed so close.

The feeling of being this close to him overwhelmed her senses, and she fought the tears stinging the back of her eyelids. She was swamped with emotion, overwhelmed by the way he felt against her, the way he made her feel. It took all her strength to resist the powerful urge to burrow into his body, to rub herself wantonly against him, to allow herself the familiar comfort of his body, of him.

She was in over her head right now, because she’d never stopped loving him. Yes, she knew there was no future for them. But tonight, just for tonight, she’d indulge the fantasy, imagine the pleasure of having him inside her. The hard bulge that brushed against her belly tempted her beyond reason. It was a vivid reminder of how she felt when her fingers, her tongue, slid over the smooth shaft, licking the quivering bead, letting her know that there was no turning back.

* * *

He rested his cheek on the top of her head and closed his eyes, letting her scent fill every corner of his soul. It was a sensory overload, her hair like fine silk teasing his skin, and her breasts pressed lightly against him. Her beautiful, luscious breasts that he’d feasted on so often he could describe the look, the smell, the taste, even though it had been years since she’d offered them to him.

Her heart raced between them, matching his beat for beat, in a gallop driven by excitement and fear.

He knew she could feel him hard against her, like so many other times they’d danced. But instead of pushing her hips into him, grinding against his growing need, propelling him toward madness until he couldn’t survive another second before tearing off her clothes and pulling her into his bed … tonight she left distance between them, making the temptation slightly less excruciating.
Slightly
.

He didn’t attempt to draw her closer. It wasn’t where she wanted to be.

Not yet.

The dance ended, leaving him struggling with his caveman instincts, but his evolved self eventually won out.
Barely
.

“Cassie, just so you know, we’re not done. We’re nowhere near done,” he whispered in her ear, knowing exactly how her body would react to his warm breath tickling the tight orifice. And he wasn’t disappointed.

At the end of the evening, when he dropped them off at their hotel, after he’d given Reece a peck on the cheek, she let him place his lips on her skin, too.

“I’ll call you,” he murmured, letting his hand rest briefly on her arm.

* * *

Cassie said goodnight to Reece, and went to her room. She undressed in front of a large, beveled mirror, one that was far too pretty for what it reflected. She rarely examined her body in the mirror anymore, but when she did, shame and harsh judgment were the lenses she wore. She scowled at the reflection: two mutilated breasts, one grotesque, and the other moderately damaged. At least that’s how they looked to her.

In reality, the scars had faded quite a bit. They were no longer red and angry, threatening to open and ooze unspeakable fluid all over her clothes. And although her breasts weren’t the same, once you got past the scarring, they looked almost normal. Well, maybe not exactly normal, but she no longer resembled Frankenstein’s bride.

They were the parting gift of a talented surgical team and an endless supply of money. First, they’d scraped all the tissue from her left breast, and then they’d made her a new one, “a better one,” the doctor joked, making her want to jump out of her hospitable bed and strangle him. If only she hadn’t been sedated and bogged down with drains and IVs.

They also made her right breast
perkier
to match the left. She’d been only twenty-one when the ordeal began, but the numerous surgeries and nasty drugs, not to mention the nightly dragging of the Grim Reaper’s staff across her bedroom floor, made her feel like she was ninety, nearing the end of her life.

Exhaustion and pain became daily companions, and even the small tasks of living, like taking a shower, amounted to a full day’s work. And she wondered, nearly every day, if she’d ever feel like her old self, if she’d ever be young again.

But eventually she healed on the outside, and later on the inside. Took her life back, recreated it in a way that gave her purpose, made her happy. On most days the scars were all that were left to remind her of that awful period in her life. The scars and the Tamoxifen.