She set her glass down on the countertop and stared out the tall window at the glistening snow. If she’d known she could fall in love with someone so quickly, she’d have run for those white-capped hills. Love—of all of the absurd, illogical things she could have done…
Cassie inhaled a deep breath, drained the last of her wine, and turned for the bathroom. She would not get worked up over him again. By now, he was back in New York, probably drinking it up with the Blackson and Goodwell partners.
She refilled her glass and wandered down the hall to the bathroom and turned on the tub. As the water ran, she peeled out of her skirt, blouse, and hose, and tugged on her bathrobe, clipped her hair up and removed her makeup.
When she’d finished scrubbing her face and the tub filled, she flipped off the faucets, then ventured down to the front room for something to read while she soaked. But as she rose to tiptoe and reached for a biography about Thomas Jefferson, headlights flashed through her front windows, across the room. A frown pulled at her brow. Who in the world was dropping by on a Friday night? Clinton, with some other maintenance project?
No sooner had she reached the window than the car backed onto the street again and disappeared the way it had come. Oh. No one dropping by, just a lost driver. Mumbling, Cassie returned to the tall shelf of hardcover books.
A knock on her front door startled her so badly she let out a squeak. Good grief, Clinton should have phoned… Cassie groaned inwardly. He couldn’t call. Her cell was still off. She’d turned it off when its utter silence became maddening.
Rolling her eyes, she tucked her robe about her more securely and went to answer his heavy knock. Prepared to give him a good ribbing for spending Friday night with her rather than his wife, she opened the door with a grin.
Amusement drained out through her toes, and her heart screeched to a halt as she stared at tousled blond hair. Not Clinton. Brad. Looking more frazzled than she’d ever seen him before.
Cassie clutched at the doorframe as her knees went weak.
…
The iron vise around Brad’s chest let go as Cassie appeared in the doorway. What happened in the courtroom didn’t matter—he had never been more grateful to see someone than he was at this moment. He’d planned exactly what he wanted to say, talked through things at least a hundred times before he climbed into the cab at the airport. Went over them again as he wandered absently around Veil all afternoon. Now, he couldn’t recall a single one of those fancy words.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I’m so sorry, please let me come in.”
Her surprise gave way to wary mistrust edged with more than a touch of anger flashing in her chestnut eyes. “It’s a little late for that. Why are you here?”
He didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d rushed out of the courtroom, afraid he’d fall on his knees in front of everyone, but the degree of ice that blanketed her words hadn’t made it on any list. He flinched at her sharp tone. “I don’t know. I had to see you.”
She gave him a lukewarm nod. “And so you have. Now you can leave.” Taking a step back, she made to shut the door in his face.
Brad wedged a toe in the jamb and set his palm on the wood. “Please, Cassie. I know I don’t deserve your time, but please let me come in.”
Her gaze narrowed. For several agonizing minutes, she stood in the doorway, unmoving. As if she weighed the consequence of either action. Just as Brad began to believe she’d push on the door and force him outside, she turned her back and walked away, leaving the door open. He’d take that as consent.
Drawing a deep breath, he entered her house. Moving beyond the front entry, however, seemed like intruding given how he’d left. He shut the door, and apprehension tightened his chest once again.
She stood a good six feet out of his reach, her arms folded tightly across her breasts. “What is it you wanted to say?”
Brad passed a hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. How could he make her understand nothing had been right since he’d walked away? Driven by a desperate need for her forgiveness, he closed the distance between them in three strides and gripped her elbows. “I don’t know. Cassie…” Words failed him, and he searched her pretty face for where to begin. “I miss you,” he whispered.