“Then you’ll come up with something else. You’ll make it work. You’ll get what you want.” He leans closer, tucks the flask away. “Because Pia Lindberg always gets what she wants.”
I smile at him, even though I am pretty sure what he just said was a big fat fucking lie.
Turning my head back to look at the traffic on I-110, I bite my lip and try to ignore my racing heart. I also don’t push Jon away when he finds my hand and holds it for the rest of the journey.
I’m out of the car before it stops moving. I’m rushing up to Cassie’s front door, not giving my luggage or Jon a second thought. I lift my hand to knock on the door or to pound my fist against it, but it moves before I make contact.
And there she is.
Cassie.
Blonde waves falling around her pretty English rosebud face. A white dress and a cream cardigan that swamps her. Her floral scent hitting me like a wave of heaven.
Like a literal angel.
I dive in, my lips finding hers. Then her hands are around my waist, and mine are on her face. She stumbles back, and we’re pressed up against the door.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I question what the driver must be thinking, if he’s going to tell some crappy gossip rag. If my lack of self-control is what undoes us. But even with that devastation a possibility, it wouldn’t stop me doing this.
Every single breath I have taken since I last kissed Cassie has been for this moment. Every note I’ve sang. Every guitar chord. Every autograph I’ve scribbled in a book or on a poster. Every can of Coke I cracked open instead of stealing one of Jon’s beers. Every time I hit Jakob for farting, Geert for belching or Jon for scratching his nuts while right in front of me. Every single mile covered in our bus. Every flight. Every single time I’ve climbed into a cold, empty hotel bed. All of it has been so I can be back here and kissing Cassie Everard.
The relief of her body pressed up against mine. The sweetness of her heat and softness. The thrill of having her moans vibrate into my mouth and down my throat…
“Ahem!” Jon clears his throat very,veryloudly. Most of the time, I love how much my hearing aid helps me, but this is one moment where I am not at all grateful.
Cassie turns her head away, and I reluctantly pull back, not without licking my lips to taste her on my lips, where she fucking belongs.
“I’ll just leave these here, shall I?” He gestures to my suitcases and duffel bag, which he’s clearly gotten out of the car and hauled over for me.
Cassie ducks out from my hold and walks up to Jon with her hand out. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” she says, as polite as a fucking librarian. “Cassie Everard.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” Jon says with that boyish grin I’ve seen work so well on all ages and genders. But much to my delight, Cassie seems oblivious. “Jon Davies.”
“Thanks for getting my bags,” I say, leaning against the door frame and crossing my arms. “You can fuck off now.”
“Charming,” Jon says, laughing, and nods at Cassie. “I don’t know what you see in her.”
Cassie looks back at me, but doesn’t say anything. I hold her stare, telling her all the million things I want to do with her once we’re inside her house, alone. I’m hopeful she’s picked up on a few of them as she turns back to Jon.
But then she speaks, and I am apparently very wrong.
“Would you like to join us for some tea? I have PG Tips tea bags,” she says, and a slap around the face would have been more welcome.
“No, Jon, can’t stay,” I say quickly, striding towards them both.
Jon glances at me mischievously, and I mouth all the curse words I know in Swedish, Dutch, and English as he catches my eye.
“Yes, unfortunately, Jon can’t stay,” he says. “But maybe I could come round for a cuppa another day?”
“That would be lovely,” Cassie says, and that’s it. I am absolutely going to punish her for this behaviour. With orgasms. “We’ll call you.”
“We won’t,” I add.
“Yes, wewill,” Cassie says, and she taps Jon on his upper arm before grabbing my duffel bag and throwing it over her shoulder. I step in before she has her hand around one of my suitcases.
“Get inside, Miss Everard,” I say warningly.
Her cheeks blush pink and her eyes sparkle as she raises an eyebrow. “Or what?” she whispers at me.
