The Maverick - By Jan Hudson Page 0,59
room.
Griff grinned, then began to laugh until they were both roaring. He hugged her to him, squashing her ball. “Cass, you’re one of a kind. And how I love you!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Griff had to chuckle. Cass had insisted on taking the bath he’d prepared for her, and they’d finally herded enough of the foam into the shower stall for her to do so. Towels lined the floor, capturing the rest of the mess, and Cass lay, her head on a plastic pillow, surrounded by slowly diminishing bubbles, sound asleep. He knew she must be exhausted.
He knelt by the tub and kissed her. “Babe?”
“Hmm?”
“You have to wake up. You’re getting wrinkly.”
She opened her eyes. “Was I asleep?”
“You were. Come on. I’ll help you dry off.”
Between the two of them, they managed to get her dry, and he wrapped his robe around her and carried her to bed. Before he could undress and join her, she’d curled up and was sound asleep again.
He eased in under the sheets, feelings of protective tenderness filling his heart to near bursting.
He’d heard sappy love songs forever, but for the first time in his life he understood the meaning behind all of them. Heart and soul, she was the one. Whatever it cost him, Cass was worth it. He wanted to slay dragons and lay the world at her feet, and God help anyone who ever hurt her. Moreover, he wanted to rip out his tongue and stomp on it for ever agreeing to romance her out of Chili Witches. Griff had gotten caught in his own trap, and ZASM had been the biggest dragon of all.
CASS PURRED AND STRETCHED in bed like a satisfied cat. Nothing was quite as nice as making love in the morning. She rolled over onto her side and glanced at the clock. It was after nine, and she didn’t care. She and Griff had all day to do nothing but eat, sleep and make love. How glorious. She stretched again, wondering if she should go join him in the shower.
On the nightstand a cell phone rang, and she automatically leaned over to look at the caller ID. ZASM. Walter Zeagler again. How did that jerk get her phone number?
Then it dawned on her. The phone wasn’t hers. It was Griff’s. What the—
Cass yanked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Honey, let me talk to Griff.”
A rock landed in her stomach, and horror spread over her like an alien blob. Bile rose up in her throat as things began to click into place. Oh, no. Please, God, no. She closed her eyes, hoping against hope…
“And who may I say is calling?” she asked as sweetly as she could manage.
“Tell him it’s Walt, Walt Zeagler.”
“And what is this in reference to, Mr. Zeagler?”
“Look, I’m his partner. He’ll know what it’s about. Now shake your tail, sweet-cheeks.”
Click. The guillotine dropped. Fury rolled over her in tsunami waves. “Kiss my ass!” She hung up and turned off his phone. Not again! Dammit, not again!
She strode to the kitchen, poured three bottles of beer into the ice bucket and stomped back to the bathroom. Griff was just turning off the shower when she got there.
She jerked open the door. As he turned to her and smiled, she screamed, “You son of a bitch! You egg-sucking, lily-livered, low-down, slithering son of a bitch!” and heaved the beer and ice in his face. “If I had a knife, I’d gut you like a fish!”
Dropping the bucket, she ran from the room and slammed the door behind her. If she hadn’t been naked as a jaybird, she’d have kept going, but she stopped to grab a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
“Cass! Wait!” Griff charged from the bathroom, dripping water and swiping a towel over his face. “What’s wrong?” He grabbed her arm.
She snatched it away. “Don’t you touch me, you conniving scumbag.” Not bothering with underwear, she yanked on the shorts and tee. “Don’t you ever touch me again. Not ever!”
“Honey, whatever’s wrong, I’ll fix it. Just tell me why you’re so upset.”
“Walt Zeagler called while you were in the shower. We chatted.”
Griff paled.
“Uh-huh.” She snatched up her shoes and strode from the room.
“Wait! Cass! I can explain.”
Spinning to face him, she said, “Explain this. Did you come to Austin to talk us into selling Chili Witches?”
He opened and closed his mouth.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked in a syrupy voice. “You’re lower than worm dirt.” She wheeled and headed for the front door, grabbing her purse on the way.
“Cass, please