The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels (24 page)

"I'm frightened," she gasped, pulling back from the intensity of emotion that gripped them both. She hoped she was doing the right thing. It certainly felt good.

"Of what?" He gently twirled a strand of hair around his finger. "That I howl at full moons? That I'll try to suck your blood?" He nipped the sensitive slope of her neck.

She shut her eyes, taking pleasure in being in his arms again.
No, that I'll fall in love with you and agree to marry you.
But she knew her fears could not be uttered aloud.

She shook her head. "I don't know," she said helplessly. "I just am."

"No worries, love," he said, his voice deepening into an island lilt that fell over her like cream. "Everything is perfect."

* * *

Cassie listened to the soft sigh of cotton sheets against Drake's skin as he moved against them. Some women needed lots of foreplay; for her the afterplay was becoming one of her favorite things. Drake was a thorough and compassionate lover and no part of her was ever ignored by his impatient, cunning fingers and hungry mouth. It was like a well-prepared dessert after a satisfying meal. Right now he was doing something to her ear that was probably illegal in some states. She lifted her foot toward his inner thigh.

His voice was hushed. "Let's turn on the lights."

Her foot fell to the bed. "Another time." Twenty pounds from now. Maybe never.

He sighed and rested his cheek against her chest. The night growth felt rough like a cat's tongue. "I just want to see you."

"You don't need to see me. Touch is enough."

He kissed one full breast. "Hmm."

She stroked his hair. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"My shoulders are wide."

"Yes, you've said that. That's not the point."

"What's the point?" He lifted her hand and sucked her pinkie.

She pulled away, determined to do her duty. "You know you're wonderful, right?"

He stiffened. "Where are you going with this?"

"I just want you to know that you can get any woman you want."

"Good, because I have her right here." He buried his face in her chest.

She closed her eyes, moaning with pleasure. He was effectively distracting her. "Not just me. You don't have to be shy about..." Her words trailed off, because Drake had halted as her words sank in. A dangerous quiet descended.

He lifted himself on his elbows. She couldn't read his face, but his words fell around her like lead stones. "If this was pity sex to boost my self-esteem, I swear I won't be able to control my next actions."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "Calm down, it wasn't. I'm sorry I'm not making sense."

"Then stop talking," he ordered. And she did.

* * *

The doorbell rang early the next morning as Drake sat in the kitchen deciding what to make for breakfast. He raced to answer it before it woke Cassie. He opened the door halfway, knowing of only two people it could be.

"We brought breakfast," Jackie said, waving a plastic bag. Eric added, "And coffee."

"I won't be able to join you," he said, trying to sound regretful, but failing.

Jackie frowned; Eric began to smile.

"Who is she?" he asked.

Jackie stared at her brother's smug grin. "Who is who?"

Eric's smile widened. "Can't you tell he has company?"

"No." She tried to peek around Drake. "Where is she?"

Eric took a sip of his coffee. "Better yet. What's her name?"

Drake rubbed the back of his neck. "She's sleeping." He hesitated. "It's Cassie."

"You took her back! "Jackie screeched.

Drake covered her mouth. "Keep your voice down. You won't like me if you wake her up."

She removed his hand. "But you're taking her back after the way she treated you?" She stomped her foot like an angry child. "That's not right."

Drake looked at Eric, knowing he would understand. "She comes into the Blue Mango wearing this hot red blouse. I ask her why she's there. She says because I want you."

"Enough said." They hit fist over fist.

Jackie was not convinced. "The woman says 'I want you' and that's enough? No pleading, no begging?"

Eric adjusted his glasses. "I'm sure the sex made up for it."

"Is that all you guys think about?"

Eric was silent; Drake flexed his fingers. "Food comes in a close second," he finally said.

Jackie rolled her eyes in disgust and marched to the elevator. Eric quickly saluted and followed.

* * *

He was happy to have Cassie back in his life. Although he was beginning to discover some of their differences. "Are you sure this will look good in my kitchen?" he asked, staring wearily at the elaborate wooden bowl Cassie had persuaded him to buy.

"Trust me. It has the same feel as your kitchen. Look at the intricate wood burning. It just screamed out at me."

He put the bowl back in its bag. "You know I worry about your close relationship with inanimate objects."

Cassie laughed. He reached for her hand but she pretended to dust something off her jeans. She didn't want to draw too much attention to them by looking like a couple.

"I think I'll buy you a new pair of jeans," Drake said.

She frowned at him. "Why?"

"Because that's the fourth time you've brushed them off. Unless it's a nervous habit."

"Partly nervous. I feel awkward being affectionate in public."

He raised a brow. "Holding hands is too affectionate?"

"Blame my mother. The only time she'd be affectionate in public was when she'd pick fuzz off my sweaters."

Drake was about to reply when a voice caught their attention.

"Mr. Henson!" Pamela called. "It's good to see you."

"If only I could say the same," he muttered. Cassie hit him. He cleared his throat. "How are you doing, Pamela?"

"Just fine." She flashed an impish grin, tapping one of her large earrings. "I would be doing better if I got a position at a certain culinary establishment."

"Hmm."

She looked at Cassie, making her the new focus of her charm. "Hi, Mrs. Henson." She grabbed Cassie's hand and enthusiastically shook it. "I'm sorry. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Pamela Watkins...." She then went on to describe herself and her present and future goals and talents.

"You sound very experienced," Cassie cut in when the girl took a breath.

"That's not all," she said, sounding very much like a late-night infomercial. "I can also cook. You've got to try this." She dug into her backpack and pulled out a container. She lifted the lid and revealed cream pastries. "Take one."

Cassie took one; Drake watched a passing cyclist.

"This is delicious," she said, amazed. "Drake, taste one."

He glanced at the pastry Cassie held out to him. "I trust your judgment."

"Tell me this isn't the work of a future pastry chef," Pamela said.

Drake shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

She clasped her hands together. "Please give me a chance, Mr. Henson."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, reluctantly impressed by the young woman's tenacity. He had always felt that persistence should be rewarded somehow. "I'll think about it."

She let out a little squeal and grabbed his arm. "Oh, thank you."

"I only said I'd think about it," he grumbled.

"I know, that's a big improvement." She handed Cassie the container. "Enjoy." She rushed off.

Cassie watched her go, thoughtful. "I wonder why she called me Mrs. Henson. I'm not wearing a ring."

Drake scowled. "Because she knew that would please me. The little brat."

She smiled. "Stop scowling. She's adorable."

"Like a little pit bull."

"Why won't you offer her a job?"

"Because she doesn't need my help. She comes from a good family and goes to a prestigious school. What good would my helping her do? She has plenty of opportunities."

"So?" she said, not completely understanding his logic. "That doesn't mean she won't work hard. These pastries are good."

"Great. Then she'll go to a fine culinary institute and make a good living. You don't have to worry about her. I try to help the underprivileged. My goal is—" He abruptly stopped.

Cassie followed the direction of his gaze and saw a group of teenaged boys hanging outside a store. She tugged on his jacket. "What's wrong?"

His voice was almost too low to hear, heavy with a layer of anger. "One of those boys is supposed to be at work."

She grabbed his arm before he went toward them. "Well, don't talk to him now in front of his friends."

His eyes blazed, but she knew the anger wasn't directed at her. "Why not?" he asked in a harsh tone.

"Because you'll embarrass him."

He smiled coldly. She immediately let his arm go. "Good." He walked up to the crowd. "Cedric, you're supposed to be at work."

Cedric sent him a bored look. "I'm there, man, in a minute."

"You don't have a minute. You either leave now or there won't be a job for you."

Cedric turned to his friends. "I'll check with you. I've got business." Once his friends were out of hearing he said, "Get off my back. You think you're my old man or something?"

"I'm your boss. The man who pays your salary."

Cedric flashed a superior grin. "Man, you ain't doing me no favors with your little restaurant job. I could make your salary and more in two months."

"True," Drake said slowly. "But would you live to spend it all?"

Cedric rubbed his nose and kept his smile. A smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We all gotta die sometime."

"I understand—"

His voice hardened. "You don't understand a damn thing. You've got your fancy car, money, your little restaurant." He glanced at Cassie. "And that—"

Drake's eyes turned to stone. "Whatever you say about her, you say about your mother." He measured him in one quick glance. "A woman I feel sorry for." He turned.

Cedric watched him, pushing down any feelings of regret with anger. He was glad to be rid of that job. Glad to become his own man. He could do better than cleaning up after other people and taking orders all day. Henson didn't know what the real world was about. It was about honor. And there was no honor in being a damn busboy. He turned to his friends, who were laughing at some old lady struggling with her bags as she crossed the street, her panty hose slipping down to her ankles. His first impulse was to go and help her, but he brushed the thought aside and joined in with his friends. Where would he be without them?

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cassie asked, watching Drake check his pockets and swear.

"I forgot my cigarettes."

"That's not what I mean."

"No. I don't want to talk about it." It made him angry. It angered him to see Cedric throw away all that he was offering. It angered him that he had failed.

She tugged on his sleeve. "You haven't failed him. He made a choice."

He slanted her a quick glance.

"The real issue is that you now have a position free for someone who will appreciate it."

Drake shook his head and walked numbly through the crowd. Suddenly, he felt soft fingers curl around his hand. He glanced down and felt some of his anger ebb as he faced the truth, then gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

* * *

"Do you want me to call Pamela for you?" Cassie asked once they'd reached his place.

Drake placed the new bowl on the dining table. "I don't have her phone number."

"That's supposed to go in the kitchen."

He picked up the bowl and moved it there.

"You do have her number," she said when he returned to the living room.

"Where?"

"She taped it to this container."

"Figures. If I'm not careful she might tattoo it to my— arm," he said, censoring himself.

She rested a hand on her hip and studied him. "You don't understand her persistence, do you?"

He shrugged.

"A good home doesn't automatically equal opportunity. Sure, things come more easily, but you still have to fight for what you want. I got into college with my parents' help, but didn't know what I was going to do until Mrs. Soughton told me I should be a speaker. If she hadn't been my mentor, I could have floundered like a lot of kids. The people who succeed are the ones who work at it. The ones who want an easy break, either rich or poor, are the ones left behind."

Drake pinched the bridge of his nose, stared at the phone for a moment, then dialed.

* * *

Cassie was right. Success came to those who worked for it and Pamela would definitely be successful. In only two weeks she had blended into the staff, secured three repeat customers, and elevated the overall of appearance of the restaurant.

"Have you told her what a wonderful job she is doing?" Cassie asked as they sat in his restaurant before the dinner crowd came.

Drake shrugged. "Why would I? She knows."

"Everybody needs an ego boost sometimes."

He rested his chin on his fist and watched the tables being set. "I doubt it."

"Since you missed my last class on social graces, let me show you the art and benefit of flattery." She turned. "Pamela, come here."

Pamela approached the table wringing a dishrag with nervous fingers. "Yes, Mrs. Henson?"

"Actually, I'm not—"

"She has something to say to you," Drake cut in. Cassie narrowed her eyes; he smiled.

"I just wanted to tell you what a wonderful job you're doing," she said. "You keep the customers happy and we adored your cream pastries."

Pamela loosened her grip on the rag and sent Drake a quick look. "I could make you some more if you'd like."

"We would love that."

The girl smiled and went back to her duty, completing it with extra care.

Cassie looked at Drake with triumph. "You can now thank me since you'll have an even more productive employee and free cream pastries."

He winked. "You're a true talent."

"It doesn't take talent, just common courtesy." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "It doesn't hurt to be nice."

"I am nice." He straightened. "She has a job, doesn't she?"

Cassie stood. "I don't know why I try."

"I'll see you tonight."