Weddings: the Brides: The Shy Bride / Bride in a Gilded Cage / The Bride's Awakening

“Good?”

“What could be more spontaneous than spending the day together?”

“We’re back to that, are we?”

His smile said they were indeed. “You need to take a shower. I will prepare your breakfast while you dress.”

“You can cook?”

“I did not start out life a rich man.”

“Granted.” But she hadn’t considered what that might mean practicality-wise about how he lived earlier in his life.

“Do you prefer a hot or cold breakfast?” he asked, managing not to sound like a waiter taking an order so much as a superconfident Greek man trying to sound like one.

“A toasted bagel with peanut butter would be fine.” She’d grab an apple on the way out the door and round out the meal nicely.

Which meant she was considering leaving with him. More than considering it, resigned to it. Maybe not even resigned, but actually looking forward to it. After a single kiss. She was in so much trouble.

Maybe his no-kissing rule for them was a good idea, after all.

“If they cut so much as a leaf off of my bushes, I will never forgive you,” she said as she walked out of the room and hoped he realized she was very serious about that one.

Neo felt like someone had kicked him in the chest.

Kissing Cassandra had been better than anything he had felt in a long time. Maybe ever. He had not wanted to stop, had felt helpless to do so. That shocking realization, more than anything—more than the knowledge that Geary’s team would be arriving soon, more than Neo’s own pressing schedule—had given him the impetus he needed to break the kiss.

Neo was never helpless. Had not once in his entire life considered that word applicable to himself. And he was not about to begin now. Almost as alarming, he could not remember the last time he had lost control sexually or any other way, much less so quickly.

When he’d touched her lips, he’d been close to climaxing and that had never happened, not even in his youth. From a kiss. He hadn’t even touched Cassandra’s small but tempting breasts, or gotten to naked skin at all. But he’d wanted to. More than he’d wanted to be on time for his morning meeting. Damn it.

She hadn’t touched him, either, except to respond to his kiss with her lips. That response had been untutored—innocently sensual, but incredibly, sweetly passionate. If his instincts were right, and they usually were, she was a virgin.

Which was one very good reason to steer clear of sexual intimacy with her. It had nothing to do with the fact she engendered such a surprising reaction in him. Neo was not afraid of anything, but he only slept with women who understood the expectations going in, experienced women who would not mistake physical desire for more ephemeral emotions.

His sex partners usually shared his jaded view of sex, but not much more. Women he would never consider spending an entire day with, not even in bed. Damn, he sounded like a chauvinist, even in his own mind.

But he could not help that he had never developed friendships with the fairer sex. He didn’t usually make friends at all. As Zephyr had pointed out with such relish.

Neo couldn’t say what drew him to Cassandra. All he knew was that the last few weeks, he had looked forward to his piano lessons and seeing her more than he ever would have expected. There was no denying he liked her as a person. With all her quirks, she was charming.

He liked how she seemed to identify with him on a level only Zephyr ever had before. She knew what it was to have a childhood in name only. She understood loss and fear and hunger, even if it had been for love rather than food.

Her friendship was all too important. He wasn’t about to jeopardize it for something as fleeting as sexual attraction. No matter how overwhelming.

He found the bagel she’d requested and started it toasting. He called Cole’s cell phone while he waited for it.

“Geary Security,” the other man answered on the first ring.

“She agreed to the substantive changes to the structure of the house, but doesn’t want the foliage touched.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“It doesn’t?” It sure as hell had stunned Neo. If it had been him, he would have had the opposite reaction.

“I researched her house’s history after dropping off the proposals. Her parents bought that house before she was born,” Cole said. “From the size of most of the bushes, I’d say someone planted them soon after her parents moved into the house. If I had to guess, I would suggest it was her mother.”

“So, it is a sentimental thing?” Not something Neo had much experience with, for with all the luxury now at his disposal, sentimentality was still something he could ill afford.

“That’s what I’m guessing, but they really do provide too much cover for burglars or stalkers.”

An image of Cassandra’s expression before she’d swept out of the kitchen played in Neo’s mind’s eye. “She’s not going to let that sway her.”

“You persuaded her to go for the doors and windows. You can convince her about the foliage. I’ll reschedule the gardener when you do.”

Neo wished he was as confident, but for the first time in years, he considered the possibility he’d met someone as stubborn as he was. In fact, the last time he remembered doing so, he’d befriended the man and ended up eventually making him his business partner.

There was only one word to describe Cassandra when she came downstairs, dressed for the day in a navy blue pantsuit.

Cranky.

She sat down to eat her bagel with a grudging thank-you tossed in his direction, the hapless bagel getting a glare before she took a resounding bite.

“You look nice,” he complimented. “I like the bright pink accents.” Most women he knew preened under directed praise.

And he did like the pink scarf and shoes she’d added to the more basic white blouse and dark pantsuit. Her oversized pink-and-white earrings were a nice, if unexpected touch, too.

Cassandra didn’t so much as smile, though he received yet another perfunctory, “Thanks.”

“I am surprised you wear so many bright colors.”

He got her full attention with that comment. She glared at him. “Why?”

“I would think you wouldn’t want to draw attention to yourself.” “Debilitatingly shy” did not equal “vibrant dress style” in his mind, but then he was no psychologist.

“What, you think I should dress only in shades of gray and wear my hair in a bun, or something?”

“No.” But he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had, knowing what he knew about her hermitlike ways.

“I’m not fond of talking to strangers.”

That was one way of putting it. Agoraphobic was another, but he didn’t say a word.

“That doesn’t mean I want to dress like a piece of cheap office furniture,” she huffed and then grimaced. “It’s important to me not be a caricature. I don’t like to perform, but I can leave the house. I’m uncomfortable meeting strangers, but I don’t need to dress like a hermit with no fashion sense. My life has enough limitations, I take pleasure where I find it and I happen to like bright colors.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d need to.”