Silk on the Skin: A Loveswept Classic Romance by Linda Cajio Page A

had just arrived, and naturally I was a threat to her newlywedded bliss, so it was back to boarding school again. I asked my father why he kept marrying
those
women, and he looked at me so sadly and said that they were nothing like my mother. That stuck in my brain, and eventually I understood he was a desperately lonely man who had only loved once. After that, acting like a spoiled brat just seemed silly, somehow.”
    “It sounds like your father is some romantic ideal. Is that why you’ve never married? Because no man could match your father’s love for your mother?”
    Cass stared at his barely visible face, then burst into laughter. “Lord, but you make me sound like some antique spinster. I’m only twenty-eight, and I’m not waiting for some Prince Charming.”
    “But you’re waiting for something.”
    “Dallas, I’ve had a business to start up. Pardon me if I’ve been a little busy to be thinking of getting married. And if the fact that my father is best friends with his divorce lawyer adds to my being an old maid, then I think that caution is normal. Anyway, I don’t see you driving around a station wagon full of kids. What’s your excuse?”
    “I haven’t found the right woman?”
    Cass gave a satisfied laugh. He joined her.
    “I see your point,” he said.
    The silence stretched, and she sensed a tension in him. Finally she said, “I guess neither of us has found someone we liked well enough to marry.”
    “You mean love.”
    “That, too,” she said. “But I think it’s just as important that you like the person you marry. Otherwise, how would you live happily with that person?”
    “You’re probably right.”
    She smiled as he yawned widely. Obviously the pills were taking effect. She realized her own body was relaxed and heavy-limbed. Their talk had disarmed her. As the quiet lengthened into minutes, Cass whispered, “Dallas?”
    No answer.
    Realizing he was asleep, she rolled onto her side, facing the wall. She considered the man on the other side of the bed.
    Dallas was nothing like her father.
    The thought was terrifying.

Seven

 
    As the morning sunlight penetrated his sleep, the previous day’s events tumbled through Dallas’s fogged brain. Cass, he thought. Beautiful, delicious Cass was sleeping next to him. He rolled over and stretched out an arm.
    The bed was empty.
    He opened his eyes and sat up. “Cass?”
    The silence in the house told its own story. She was gone.
    With growing disappointment, Dallas shoved back the bed sheet and got up, gingerly wrapping the towel around his waist. He was still an angry-looking red, but the pain was tolerable. He’d felt worse as a teenager after a high-school football game.
    In the kitchen the only sign that she’d even been there was the coffee left warming in the pot. Then he spotted a note lying on the counter. Picking it up, he was disappointed to read the tepidwords that she hoped he was feeling better and would lock up when he left. He tossed the paper aside.
    Dammit, he thought as he absently scratched at his upper arm. He appreciated her allowing him to stay on and sleep while she went to her store. But the least she could have done was to shake him awake long enough for a “good morning.”
    After pouring himself some coffee, he returned to the bedroom. His clothes, neatly folded on the dresser, only aggravated his temper. He forced it under the surface and slowly dressed. Looking in the bedroom mirror, he saw his skin had the bare beginnings of the peeling process, and he resisted the urge to fool with the few whitish blisters. Then he realized that, in the last twenty-four hours, he’d barely thought about the job he had to do for M & L.
    Dallas sipped the last of his coffee and frowned at the admission. His work had always been his first priority, and he had never completely lost sight of it before. But something had changed. Somehow the laughter, the talk, and the caring of yesterday had brought him to a more intimate level