As he braced for the ascent, he cursed himself.
The idea was to keep that woman away from him. Why was he paving her way to his bedroom?
Because, his inner idiot pointed out, at least if she were upstairs with him, she wouldn't be in the arms of that pale-eyed, slick-suited, flashy bastard.
Alex pegged the crutches into the first step and pushed himself up.
Damn it. He should have taken the front stairs when he'd had the chance.
Cass heard the kitchen door swing shut as Joy went back to the party. She also registered the sounds of people moving around in the dining room on the other side: footsteps, talking, laughter, a bottle of wine being uncorked with a pop.
But what she listened to were the grunts and thudding as Alex dragged himself upstairs.
“So that's Alex Moorehouse,” Sean drawled. “The Alex Moorehouse. I've read about him. Won the America's Cup how many times?”
Cass tried to remember what she was doing in the kitchen. “We're bringing in the food,” she murmured. Sean flashed her an odd look. “Yes, we are.”
She went over to the massive Viking stove and started cracking the doors on the different ovens. There were so many covered dishes warming, she wondered where to start.
“Not exactly the friendly type, is he?” Sean said, leaning against a counter. “Even busted up like that, he was ready to ring my head like a bell.”
Sean didn't seem offended in the slightest, though why would he be? Given the way O'Banyon lived his life, he was probably most at ease around hard-core men like himself, especially if things were getting aggressive. Wall Street just hadn't managed to tame the South Boston street thug he'd once been.
“Was he always like that?” Sean prompted.
“He's been through a lot.” Using a pair of folded dish towels, she drew out a roast beef that rested on a spectacular Royal Crown Derby platter. Her arms strained and she hoped she wouldn't drop the thing. The plate was worth more than the stove.
“I'll take that,” Sean said, relieving her of the load like it didn't weigh more than a potholder.
Working in tandem, the two of them brought in covered dishes of wild rice and minted peas and broccoli au gratin and pearl onions. By the time everyone had drifted in from the living room, the buffet was set up. Cass let the others go through the line first. When the other guests were all sitting down and eating, she picked up a gold-rimmed plate and a damask napkin roll.
She tried to imagine what Alex would want to eat. Did he like his roast beef from the pink center or the more well-done edges? And how much rice? Would he want gravy? When she passed by the basket of freshly made rolls, she put one on the side and then thought of how thin he was. She added another and put a big slab of butter next to them.
“I'll be right back,” she said to no one in particular.
Silence sucked the party sounds out of the room as every person at the table stopped eating and talking and just watched her go. As if she were heading into a lion's den.
Why did he pick me? she wondered.
Unless he enjoyed torturing her.
As she walked upstairs, she was anxious even though she told herself to stop making such a big deal about it all. He was just a man. Just another human being.
She paused in front of his door.
No, he wasn't, she thought. There was something about Alex that was different, and she'd recognized it the moment she'd first met him. He was raw and wild where other men were tame and bland.
No wonder he was drawn to the sea. It was probably the only thing on the planet big and mean enough to challenge him.
She thought about her husband. Reese had loved sailing, but he'd had a thriving business and a home life he'd enjoyed. Though he'd be gone a week at a time or sometimes even more, he'd always returned to her and been glad to be off the yacht. Alex had never stopped. She'd heard that he was on land maybe only four or five weeks a year. The rest of the time he was captaining boats, training crews, fighting the ocean and his competitors to win.
The past three months must have felt like a prison to him, she thought.
“I can't eat if the food's in the hall,” Alex said from inside the room.
Cass jumped. Taking a deep breath, she balanced the plate on one hand and opened the door. “How did you know I was—”
“The smell.”
She looked around the room to avoid meeting his eyes. “Where do you want this?”
“Here.” He made space on his bedside table by pushing pill bottles and an empty glass to the side.
“I—ah, I didn't know what you liked. So I brought you a little bit of everything.” She put the plate and the napkin roll down. “Do you want me to get you some water?”
“Thanks.”
She picked up the glass and went for the bathroom. At the sink, she ran the water until it was cold under her fingertips and then filled the tumbler up. When she came back, she noticed he hadn't touched the food.
She looked at him. His eyes were hooded as he watched her every movement.
“You should eat it while it's hot.” She put the glass down.
“Probably.” He shifted his head, regarding her with disarming stillness. “So how well do you know that guy?” “Who?”
“O'Banyon. Wasn't that his name?”
Talk about out of left field, she thought.
“I, ah, I know him fairly well. He was Reese's investment banker, but he's also a dear friend of Gray's. They went to school together.” She frowned. `Are you going to eat?"
“You sound like my sisters.” But he picked up the napkin, unwrapped the heavy silver and leaned to one side, considering what was on the plate.
He looked about as enthused as someone facing a traffic jam.
After dropping a couple of peas on the way to his mouth, and struggling to cut up the meat, he leaned back against the pillow. He wasn't giving up, she thought. Just bored and uninterested.
“Here, let me help you.” She snatched the fork from his hand.
“I don't need—”
Ignoring him, she sat down on the mattress and put the plate in her lap. With a low groan, he deliberately moved his body away. Even though it made him wince.
Trying to ignore his aversion, she made busy work cutting up the roast. Then she loaded the fork and faced off with him.
He glared at her, lips pressed tight.
“Open your mouth,” she said.
“I'm not a child.”
“Then prove it. Accept the help you need and eat.” Oh, man, he was pissed off. His body was practically vibrating.
But he did what she asked. And as soon as the fork was clean, she piled it high again.
On the fourth trip to his mouth, she made a mistake. She watched his lips as they parted. Watched the bright white of his front teeth clamp down on the silver. Watched the fork emerge, empty. She saw his jaw working as he chewed, the hollows under his cheekbones undulating. Then his Adam's apple slid up and down in his throat as he swallowed.
She became curiously aware of the width of his shoulders. Of the thick cords of muscle that ran up his neck. Of the way his hair curled over the collar of his shirt.
“Cassandra,” he snapped. As if he'd said her name more than once.
Startled, she looked at his face. His eyes were cold. “I said, that's enough. I'll take it from here.”
He grabbed the fork and the plate.
Cass got off the bed. “I'll be back for the dishes.” “Don't bother.”
“It's no—”
“Besides, I'm sure you'll be otherwise occupied at the end of the night.”
“What?”
“Does O'Banyon like to get babied? You cut up his meat for him, too? Mommy love ain't a turn-on for me, but hey, every man's different, right?”
It was hard to know whether his tone or his words were more insulting, she thought.
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.
“Before you tell me I'm a bastard, I already know that. And if you're thinking of branching out from there, I've had bigger, tougher and more creative sailors take a run atmy hide. You're going to have to do a real stand-up job with the curses to come up with anything fresh, sweetheart. Oh, I'm sorry, it's baby cakes, isn't it?”
His eyes raked over her with such complete dismissal, she felt as though she was mostly invisible but that what little he saw of her, he despised.
He laughed at her silence. “Not even going to take a try at it? Good call. Because there's absolutely nothing you can say to me that'll be a news flash.”
She brushed her hair back, hand trembling. In the space of a minute, he'd driven her to the brink of tears. Again.
“I just don't understand why I'm so repulsive to you,” she whispered. “I don't know what I've done to deserve—”
She stopped. Showing more vulnerability was not a smart move.
Cass turned away as the first humiliating tear got stuck in her lashes.
Damn it, she was not going to cry in front of him.
As she bolted across the room, the curse he let out was low and vile.
“Cassandra.”
She grabbed for the door.
“Cassandra.”
When she heard a flurry of activity on the bed and something hit the floor, she looked over her shoulder.
Alex was upright and wildly off balance, trying to lurch toward her after having dropped the crutch. If he went much farther, he was going to fall on his face. She rushed back for him.
Chapter Three
Alex had a feeling he was headed for the floor, but he didn't care.
Man, he'd been wrong. She had surprised him. Her soft, sad words had ripped through his chest.
As he tumbled forward into thin air, she lunged for him. But the moment before her body met his, he pushed her aside and threw his arms out, bracing himself for impact. Going solo for the thin oriental rug was a no-brainer.
Because however hard the floor was going to be, knowing how she felt against him would be harder.
He took the brunt of the fall on his right shoulder. By some blessing, his fragile leg was spared, though his other knee got twisted in the process. As he rolled over onto his back with a nasty curse, he saw he'd thrown her on the bed. He caught a gorgeous flash of her calf and thigh before she rearranged her skirt and stood up.
He knew damn well he'd better get going with the apology. She was on the express train out of his room and who could blame her?
“I' m sorry,” he said roughly.
She glanced down at him. Her eyes were too shiny. Ah, hell, he'd made her cry.
“I'm damn sorry.”
There was no real reaction, just a shift of her shoulders. “I'd offer to help you up, but I know you won't let me.”
“Cassandra, I—” He banged his head back against the floor in frustration. “I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. And you don't...repulse me”
Her laugh was a travesty. Which made sense because in a way, so was his apology. But what was he supposed to say? I want you until I hurt. Until I sweat.
I love you with a raw, bleeding need that I've never understood.
And all I know for sure is that you can never be mine.
“I don't repulse you,” she repeated slowly. “Is that why you'd rather fall down than have me touch you? God, you are the only person in my adult life who's ever made me feel dirty.”
He cursed again. “That's not—”
“Please.” She held her hand out and moved away. “Please, don't say anything else. I don't think I can bear any more of your apology. It's worse than your insults.”
“Damn it, come here,” he commanded.
Her eyes flared. “Screw you.”
When she made a move to step over him, he grabbed her ankle, holding her tight. “Come. Down. Here.” “Go. o. Hell.”