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“I don’t do tartlet performances,” she started. Though she didn’t deny the piss-off-your-old-boyfriend part at all, which irked him, because he liked to think that on that one night six months ago she had felt the slow burn between them.
“Too old?” he questioned, mainly because he was irked.
Her dark brows furrowed in anger. He held up the hand of peace. “Apologies. You bring out the worst in me.”
“An auspicious way to start a relationship, Mr. Barclay. I would think you’d be running hard and fast in the opposite direction. Some repressed need for self-punishment, perhaps?”
He balanced his chin on his hand, content to drink in her face. It was like pouring one-hundred-and-forty proof right onto his crotch. He’d never met a woman who was so completely aware of her own power.
“I’m not giving up,” he said.
“Cocky, aren’t we?” she asked with a cold look in her eyes that should have kept him away.
“Cocky? You’ve been stuck up here for the past six months,” he said, pointing to his head. “I can’t look at another woman, I can’t sleep because of the dreams, and I didn’t want to come tonight because I knew what would happen.”
“What?” she asked quietly.
“It’ll start all over again. You’ll ruin me for another six months, only now, well, it’s worse. So I’m thinking it’s now going to be at least a year. Yeah, I see that smile. You think this is funny, but I don’t. This is all about survival, sweetheart. Mine.”
There. He’d told her. It wasn’t the sophisticated approach he probably should’ve used, but he hadn’t had much sleep lately and it was all because of her.
Then she got up to leave. He’d blown it. His one shot. Gone. She glanced around the room and cast one anxious glance in his direction. “The store. Tuesday,” she whispered, and then quickly walked away.
ON SUNDAY MORNING, Cassandra was up early. She always squeezed in a workout before she started the day, but last night she’d had very little sleep, and it was all Noah Barclay’s fault.
Everything had been fine until she’d looked deep into his dark, tortured gaze. This was a man who looked to be in pain, and she’d put him there. There was the usual victory dance of power in her head, but this time the victory dance wasn’t nearly as much fun.
In fact, this time the victory dance was completely unfun.
It was that complete lack of fun that prompted her to give him a second chance. That, and the fact that the man had the most mesmerizing eyes. Honest and completely unsmarmy. She’d actually checked. But there was no telltale hand over the mouth or the shifty-eyed marker of dishonesty. He’d met her gaze square-on and she’d gotten a jolt that she hadn’t been expecting.
Okay, sue her, she was attracted to the man. She would give him a shot, then he’d show his true colors and, yeah, she’d seen the end of this movie before.
Cassandra picked up her mop from the broom closet and jabbed at the floor with more anger than precision. Nothing like a little housework to ease frustration.
She lived in a little, two-bedroom, one-tiny-bath, no-garage in Hardwood Heights. It was her sanctuary and she loved it. The community had strict rules about noise and behavior, so it was always quiet. Peaceful.
So peaceful that it was unnervingly loud when she heard a scratching noise at the front of her house.
That was odd, she thought as she peered through the glass in her front door. No one was there. But then the scratching started again.
She flung open the door. Still nothing.
Then she looked down.
Some people might have called it a dog. Cassandra was horrified, and slammed the door on it.
She hated dogs.
The scratching started again.
Her fingers drummed against the wood door frame, knowing that if that stupid animal didn’t stop, her brand-new, seven-hundred-and-eighty-six-dollar door was going to be ruined. It was a honey, too. Golden oak with beveled glass that just dressed her place up so nicely.
No way was that dog going to ruin it.
She marched to the kitchen and filled a pitcher with water. Then she opened the door and doused him.
The mutt retreated to the lawn and sat on his haunches, fur bunched and smelly—now a wet smelly—and glared back.
“You’re a stupid dog, aren’t you?”
She slammed the door and waited. The scratching started again.
Darn it. He wasn’t leaving.
Where did the thing belong? Maybe a neighbor had lost it? Not that she thought anyone was going to claim it. Something that huge and that old and that ugly wasn’t going to be popular anywhere. Worst of all, it had big, mean teeth.
After gathering her courage, she threw on some shoes and went outside. She was prepared to confront the monster, using the back door of course.
She clapped her hands in what she thought was an anti-dog manner. “Go home.”
The dog growled at her.
Okay, let’s try something new. Kindness. “Here, buddy,” she sang, snapping her fingers.
The dog growled at her.
“You are a stupid, stupid animal,” she announced, and the dog promptly went and curled up on her porch. Not that her porch was large, mind you. In fact, the dog took up the entire space.
“No, no, no. You belong to someone else. This is not your home. Bad dog, bad dog.”
The dog opened one lazy eye and showed his teeth in a twisted-looking grin.
“Where’s Timmy, boy?”
The dog yawned.
Okay, this was getting her nowhere. She gave him the eye as she walked next door to Mrs. Mackenzie’s place. Mrs. Mackenzie was an elderly woman who, to Cassandra’s knowledge, had no pets, but maybe that had changed. After all, it was never too late to gain a pet.
When Mrs. Mackenzie answered her door, Cassandra smiled politely. “Did you lose a dog?” she asked with hope in her voice.
Mrs. Mackenzie squinted, her mind creaking. She was a dear old woman, but a little slow. “No. Can’t say that I did.”
“Do you know anyone in the neighborhood who’s lost a dog recently? Big, ugly, black and gray.”
Mrs. Mackenzie shook her head. “No, dear. The neighborhood board frowns on dogs. Don’t know anyone around here that has one. Sorry. Would you like some pie? I just made a fresh cherry. With ice cream.”
Cassandra shook her head, depressed at the fifty-pound spawn of Satan that had just been dumped in the lap of her lawn.
Still determined, she went door to door, covering thirty-seven houses in five blocks. And all she got for her trouble was seven chocolate-chip cookies and three lewd propositions. Damned perverts. Somebody out there was dog-less, probably crying and worrying.
She made her way home, munching the last cookie, thinking that maybe the animal had disappeared while she was gone. No such luck. As she rounded the corner, there he was, curled up in a big, ugly black ball on her porch. At least he had stopped the scratching. She stood at the end of her walkway, considering her approach. She really didn’t like dogs.
This one growled, showing really big teeth.
“Shoo. I’m going inside now.”
The dog ignored her.
“I’m walking to the door now,” she said, taking two slow steps.
The dog still ignored her.
“I’m coming closer. Don’t upset me, dog, or you’ll be sorry.”
The dog opened one sleepy eye.
Two more steps and he began to growl.
“Don’t mess with me.” And almost, almost, almost…
He jumped to his feet and started barking.
Not.
She blew out a breath and stared the dog down.
He glared back, showing more teeth. God, she hated those teeth.
As she made her way to the back door, she cursed all dogs, cursed all dog puppies, and decided that immediately when she made it to safety, she was calling Animal Control.
When she walked into the living room, she glanced outside. Spawn was still there.
“Fine. It’s your doggie hide.” She looked up the number for Animal Control, dialed, and got a recording. Due to budget constraints, they were closed on Sundays. So she left her name and number and hung up.
Then she opened the front door and yelled at the animal. “I’ll say this for you, you’re one lucky dog. You’ve got twenty-four hours and then the police are coming for you, Spawn.”
The dog lifted his big head and growled.
“If you think I’m going to feed you, you’re nuts.”
Later, after the sun had gone down, she peeked outside, just to see if he was still there. There he was, sleeping the deep sleep of the innocent—while trespassing on her property. He looked kind of thin, though, so she crept outside to look closer. She should feed him. Bad nutrition could cause all sorts of problems, like poor skin and weak bones. And Animal Control would be here in the morning and they’d take him away, so what harm was there in giving the mutt some food.
He didn’t stir when she approached and she noticed his ribs clearly showing through. Anorexic dog. Then she bent and put the rice cakes and chips on the ground. Not that close, cause she still didn’t trust him. Just as soon as she was done, she ran back inside.
After she left, the dog opened one eye and stared. Then he wolfed down the food and just as quickly went back to sleep.
ON MONDAY MORNING, Animal Control appeared before Cassandra had even done her makeup, so she shoved a baseball cap on and pulled it low. Spawn was still happily curled on her porch, oblivious to his impending doom.
The Animal Control guy, Gus, was very nice. Cassandra asked him all sorts of questions about what would happen with the dog, merely because she was ignorant about how these things worked. Spawn had a thirty-day shot at adoption and, if he was voted off the island, then they’d put him to sleep.
It seemed harsh, but the city was cutting back. She considered the big monster, realized that if there was an island castoff, he was it. Nobody would adopt this dog. Finally she shook her head. He didn’t deserve this, not with those teeth, and his owner could still be out there, searching.
“Let him stay here for now.”
Gus frowned. Obviously he didn’t like having his power of life and death usurped. “You’ll have to get him shots and tags. It’s illegal for him to be without them. And watch the noise. Too much barking and I’ll be back.”
She smiled and easily summoned a thousand watts of sexuality—guaranteed to weaken the strongest man’s will, even without her makeup. “I’ll take care of it today, assuming that I can get in to see a vet.”
“There’s a new place on Cedar Avenue. They’ll do him. And Tuesday night he stays open until nine. If you decide to keep him, get him neutered. Pet population—it’s all our responsibility.”
She tugged at the brim of her cap. “Of course. Thank you for your help, Gus. Sorry to have dragged you out here for nothing.”
“You brightened my day, ma’am. That’s enough.”
After the Animal Control truck pulled away, Spawn lifted his massive head and eyed her.
She narrowed her gaze. “Don’t think I was being nice, you understand? You’ve got twenty-four hours to find your owner. Twenty-four hours, that’s it. After that, you’re on your own.”
FOR THE FIRST TIME in her thirteen years in the diamond biz, Cassandra was the sole proprietor of Diamonds by Ward & Ward. Jozef Ward, her father, had left for the summer. His destination: the lake cabin in Minnesota. Thereby leaving Cassandra solely in charge. His last words before he left were, “Don’t let the power go to your head. I’ll be back.”
Before he’d gone, Jozef hired Kimberly for the summer help. Heavy accent on the word “summer” and light on the word “help.” The girl had brains, her father wouldn’t have hired her otherwise; however, Kimberly also had attitude in spades. And if Cassandra hadn’t felt minor sympathy for her—the girl was a fashion train wreck—she would have fired her after two weeks.
Cassandra dug under the papers on the counter, searching through the notepads that had been so nicely organized before she’d taken her day off. Her one day off, thank you very much. Then she came back and everything was a mess.
“Kimberly, did you see the notes I took for Mr. Amesworth? He’s got an appointment on Thursday and I wanted to pick out a few stones for him.”
“Did you check on the counter?”
Did you check on the counter? Cassandra mimed to the god of patience. “Yes, I did.”
“Haven’t seen it,” yelled Kimberly from the back.
“Can you help me look for it?”
Kimberly appeared in the doorway to the front area, in full confrontational stance with her fists on hips and jaw set tight. It was more pity than fear that struck Cassandra. She shook her head at the loose brown shirt, faded brown jeans and wiry brown hair. The girl needed a renewed body outlook, that was for sure.
“I haven’t seen it. By the way, Mr. Liepshutz was by yesterday, looking for you.”
Cassandra stopped looking. She didn’t like Sidney Liepshutz. Didn’t want to be alone with Sidney Liepshutz and Kimberly knew it. Kimberly smiled a screw-you smile. “I told him you’d be working today.”
Cassandra was about to start yelling when the door buzzer sounded and a construction worker came in. Mark, Matthew—he had some “M” name that Cassandra had forgotten. The twenty-two-year-old boy-toy had developed a crush. On her.
He doffed his hard hat, a rather sweet gesture, and coughed. “Miss Ward, I just wanted to tell you that we’ll be working on the water lines again today.”
Which translated to: the power was going to be cut. “How long will you be working today?”
“All day, ma’am,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard on you.”
