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She was surprised for a moment when she arrived back at the table to find Tuck Whats-his-name sitting there with Gina, apparently getting along just fine. She slotted the research into a file in her head and shut it down with a mental mouse click.
‘Everything okay here?’ she asked.
Tuck took a deep breath, then stood and used one of his very best hey-baby smiles on Cassie. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Reese’s cousin, Tuck.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘It’s mighty fine to meet you, ma’am.’
Cassie blinked up at him as he towered over her. Two things struck her at once. The man smelled incredible. Her nostrils flared as her senses filled up with him. And it wasn’t his cologne, because she was pretty sure she couldn’t smell anything artificial at all. Maybe a hint of soap or deodorant.
This was much rawer. More primal. Powerful. Overpowering, even. It made her want to press her nose to his shirt and inhale him. It demanded that she do so and she had to actually put her hands on the chair-back to stop herself.
So this was pheromones.
Scientists had known of their existence for decades, and perfume companies around the world had been trying to perfect them for just as long, but this man exuded it in hot, sticky waves.
Her salivary glands went into hyper-drive and she swallowed as she grappled with the urge to sniff him.
The second thing was his eyes. They were an intense, startling blue. The exact shade of an exploding star she’d once seen through the lens of a deep space telescope. They were out of this world. They were cosmic. Captivating.
Tuck looked into Cassie’s upturned face. She was staring at him, her lips slightly parted, the sound of her breath husky in his ears. He glanced at Gina and grinned.
Piece of cake.
‘Ma’am?’
Cassie dragged herself back from the universe she could see in his eyes, his intoxicating scent still singing to her like a Siren from the rocks. ‘Oh, yes…sorry.’ She shook her head. What had he said? Name. He’d introduced himself. ‘I’m Cassie,’ she said. ‘Cassiopeia.’
And then she made the mistake of slipping her hand into his and his pheromones tugged at her—hard.
‘So you’re the geek,’ he said softly, smiling at her.
Another dizzying wave of male animal wafted over her and it took a moment for Cassie’s brain to clear the fog.
Yes, she was the geek. And he was the jock. She had him by a good sixty IQ points—probably more. She didn’t get stupid around men. She didn’t get stupid, period!
So start acting like it!
She pulled her hand from his abruptly. ‘And you’re the jock,’ she said, as much to remind herself as a statement of fact.
Tuck refused to be offended. He shot Gina a faux insulted look. ‘Why do I get the feeling that Cassie isn’t fond of jocks?’
Gina lifted a shoulder. ‘Don’t take it personally. Cassie’s not fond of men generally.’ He shot her a look and she cut him off before he gave voice to what she knew he was thinking. ‘Not women, either.’
Tuck grinned, then turned his attention back to Cassie. Okay, so he had his work cut out for him. His momma always said things came too damn easy to him anyway. Her eyes were even prettier up close. A grey-blue, like a misty lake, with subtle charcoal and silver eyeshadow bringing out both colours perfectly.
He nodded at her place card on the table next to his and said, ‘Looks like I have the whole night to change your mind.’ Then he pulled out her chair and smiled at her.
Cassie didn’t move for a moment. She simply stared at him as the deep modulation of his voice joined forces with his heady scent to drench every cell in her body with a sexual malaise. Her nipples beading against the fabric of the flimsy dress Gina had loaned her snapped her out of it.
‘I usually require several pieces of evidence from trusted sources before I change my mind about anything,’ she said primly, taking the seat.
‘Noted,’ Tuck murmured, stifling a grin as he took his seat. He lounged back in it, regarding Cassie as she fiddled with her cutlery. ‘So, you don’t sound like you’re from around these here parts,’ he said.
‘No.’ Cassie refused to elaborate. Just because Reese thought it was a good idea to sit them together, it didn’t mean she had to be agreeable.
Gina rolled her eyes and took pity on Tuck. ‘Cassie’s Australian.’
‘Ah. Whereabouts? Sydney? That’s one pretty little city you have there,’ he said.
‘Canberra,’ Cassie said as she ran her finger up and down the flat of her knife. ‘It’s the capital,’ she added. A lot of people didn’t realise that.
And he was a jock.
‘Well, now,’ he said, leaning forward in his chair, his gaze acknowledging Gina before returning to Cassie, ‘we can have us a meeting of the United Nations.’
‘Hardly,’ Cassie said, desperately trying to sit as far back in her chair as possible and remember that he was a jock—a footballer—even if he did have pheromones so potent he should be being studied at the Smithsonian. Or milked and sold to the highest-bidding perfume manufacturer.
‘There are one hundred and ninety-three member states in the United Nations. And they meet in Geneva.’ She looked at Tuck. Jocks weren’t very good with geography. ‘That’s in Switzerland.’
Tuck raised an eyebrow. He was used to people making assumptions about his intelligence. Truth be told, he played up to them mostly—because calling people on their ignorance was usually an amusing way to pass the time.
It looked as if he was going to have a whole lot of fun with Cassie. ‘That’s just north of Ireland, right?’
Cassie pursed her lips. ‘It’s in Europe.’
‘Europe? Dang,’ Tuck said, broadening his accent. ‘I’m always getting them muddled up.’
‘Of course if you’re talking about the Security Council,’ Cassie plunged on, as the deep twang in his accent twanged some invisible strings low down inside her she’d never known existed, ‘that’s in New York. And you’d be in luck as Australia has just scored a seat on the Security Council.’
Tuck shot a look at Gina, who winked and grinned, clearly enjoying herself. Tuck was about to say something like, They wear those funny blue helmets at the Security Council, right? But the imperious tones of his and Reese’s Great-Aunt Ada interrupted.
‘Samuel Tucker,’ she said in her brash, booming New York accent. ‘How’d you sneak in here undetected?’
Tuck stood and smiled down at the self-appointed matriarch of the family. A died-in-the-wool Yankee, she liked to pretend that the Southern branch didn’t exist most of the time, but he had a soft spot for the sharp-tongued octogenarian.
‘Aunt Ada,’ he said, sweeping her up in his arms for a hearty hug. ‘Still as pretty as a picture, I see.’
Cassie felt herself sag a little as Tuck and his overwhelming masculinity gave her some breathing space.
‘Don’t sweet-talk me, young man. What are you doing all the way over here?’
Tuck gestured to the table. ‘I’m keeping Reese’s friends company.’
‘Reese…’ Ada tutted. ‘Running off after that Marine… That girl hasn’t got the sense she was born with…lucky she’s my favourite.’
‘Now, come on, Aunt Ada,’ Tuck teased. ‘I thought I was your favourite.’ Ada gave him a playful pat on the shoulder, then lifted one gnarled old hand and squeezed his cheek.
Gina’s mobile rang and she almost ignored it. She couldn’t decide what was more fascinating—the big blond quarterback sweet-talking an old lady or Cassie’s deer-in-the-headlights face. But it rang insistently, and Ada turned to her, looking imperiously down her nose.
‘Well, girl, are you going to answer that or not?’
Gina, recognising authority when she saw it, picked it up immediately. The screen display flashed a familiar number. ‘It’s Reese,’ she announced.
‘Reese.’ Ada tutted again. ‘Tell her to get back here. This non-wedding party was her hare-brained idea.’
Gina laughed, but as she answered the phone Ada’s interest had already wandered.
Cassie felt her shrewd gaze next.
‘This your girl?’ she said, turning to Tuck.
‘Absolutely not,’ Cassie said indignantly.
Then Tuck undid his jacket button and it fell open, wafting a heady dose of pheromones her way. She shut her eyes briefly as her pulse spiked in primal response.
‘She’s not your usual type,’ Ada said, ignoring Cassie’s denial.
‘I am not his girl,’ Cassie repeated, even though she could practically hear every cell calling his name.
‘It’s okay,’ Ada assured her. ‘I hate his usual type. Too…fussy.’
Tuck looked down at Cassie. She was frowning at him, her eyebrows weren’t plucked, and she wasn’t wearing a single scrap of jewellery. No one in the world would have described her as fussy. And yet there was something rather intriguing about her…
‘We are not together,’ Cassie reiterated. The thought was utterly preposterous.
‘Reese says she and Mason aren’t coming back tonight,’ Gina announced as she terminated the phone call, interrupting the conversation.
‘Right, then,’ Ada said. ‘Looks like we have a show to be getting on with. Samuel, go and tell that dreadful DJ to announce dinner. I’ll get the wait staff to start serving.’
The three of them watched her sweep away. ‘Wow,’ Gina said. ‘She’s scary.’
Tuck grinned. ‘Hell, yeah. Excuse me, Gina, Cassiopeia.’ He dropped his voice an octave, then bowed at her slightly, finding and holding her gaze. ‘Keep my seat warm, darlin’, I won’t be long.’
Cassie gaped as his cosmic blue eyes pierced her to the spot and his voice washed over her in tidal wave of heat.
Gina’s low throaty laughter barely registered.
Two hours later Cassie was strung so tight every muscle was screaming at her. Tuck was holding court at the table, charming all and sundry.
Big, warm-blooded, male and there.
A giant sex gland, emitting a chemical compound her body was, apparently, biologically programmed to crave.
Him. A jock. Why him?
Every time their arms brushed or his thigh pressed briefly along hers her pulse spiked, her hands shook a little. And when he laughed in that whole body way of his, which he did frequently, throwing his head back, baring the heavy thud of his jugular to her gaze, her nostrils flared and filled with the thick, luscious scent of him.
An insistent voice whispered through her head, pounded through her blood. Smell him. Lick him. Touch him. With every tick of the clock, every beat of her heart, it grew louder.
It was insane. Madness.
This sort of thing didn’t happen to her. Hormones. Primal imperatives. She was above bodily urges. Her head always—always—ruled her body.
But here she was, just like the rest of the human race, at the mercy of biology.
It just didn’t compute.
The man was as dumb as a rock. He’d thought they were talking about food when she’d mentioned Pi. He’d called a truly amazing piece of equipment unlocking the secrets of the universe the Hobble telescope. He didn’t even know the Vice-President of his own country.
He was a Neanderthal.
But still every nerve in her body twitched in a state of complete excitement.
Cassie desperately tried to recall the aurora research waiting in her room—the research she’d been looking forward to getting back to at the end of the night. When was the last time she’d gone two hours without thinking about it? She’d been working on the project for five years. She ate, slept, breathed it.
And for two whole hours it had been the furthest thing from her mind.
Marnie laughed at something Tuck said, dragging Cassie’s attention back to the big blond caveman by her side. She checked her watch—was it too early to leave? She wasn’t used to feeling this out of her depth. Sure, social situations weren’t her forte but this was plain torture. If she could get back to her room and the comfort of the familiar Tuck and the awful persistent thrum in her blood would surely fade to black.
She glanced up at Gina, who shook her head and mouthed, ‘Don’t even think of it.’
Cassie sighed, resigned to her fate, as the raunchy strains of Sweet Home Alabama blasted around them. Marnie whooped and leapt up to dance along with a few others from the table.
Tuck looked across at Gina and winked. He stood and looked down at the woman who had sat beside him for two hours as if she was afraid his particular brand of stupid was contagious. Didn’t she know he was God’s gift to women?
He grinned as he held out his hand towards her. ‘What do you say, Cassiopeia? Fancy a dance?’
Cassie stared at his hand. It was big, and she swore she could see waves of whatever the hell he was emitting undulating seductively from his palm. ‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t dance.’
Tuck hadn’t got to where he was today by giving up at the first hurdle. He kept his hand where it was. ‘It’s not hard, darlin’,’ he murmured. ‘Just hang on and follow my lead.’
Cassie swallowed. That was what she was afraid of. She had a very bad feeling she’d follow that intoxicating scent anywhere. She shook her head again and looked at him. A bad move as his cosmic gaze sucked her in closer to his orbit.
‘I’m a terrible dancer,’ she said. She dragged her gaze from him. ‘Isn’t that right, Gina?’
Gina nodded. Cassie had no rhythm at all. ‘She speaks the truth. But…’ She looked at Tuck, then at Cassie. Her Antipodean friend looked as if she’d rather face a firing squad then dance with Tuck. Interesting. She’d never seen Cassie so ruffled and, bet or no bet, she wanted to see where this went.
‘I think every woman should dance with a star quarterback once in her life,’ Gina said.
Tuck raised an eyebrow at her as Gina conceded the bet to him.
‘Ex,’ Cassie said. And when Gina looked at her enquiringly she clarified, ‘He’s an ex…quarterback.’
Gina drummed her fingers on the table. ‘You know, it is customary at weddings for the bridesmaids to dance with the groomsmen,’ she pointed out.
Gina had taken it upon herself to be Cassie’s social guru during the year they’d roomed together, and Cassie had learned a lot about social mores that no textbook could ever have taught her. But she was big on survival instincts, and Cassie was pretty sure staying away from Tuck was the smart thing to do.
And she was very smart.
Even if she was rapidly dropping IQ points every time she looked at him.
‘But this is the wedding-that-wasn’t,’ she pointed out, striving for the brisk logic she was known for. ‘We are the bridal-party-that-wasn’t. Surely that cancels out societal expectations?’
Tuck waggled the fingers of his still outstretched hand at her. ‘I think it’s important to keep up appearances, though,’ he said. ‘These Park Avenue types are big on that.’
Cassie looked away from the lure of those fingers at Gina, who nodded at her and said, ‘He’s right. You wouldn’t want to embarrass Reese, would you? It’s okay,’ she assured her. ‘Tuck looks like he knows what he’s doing.’
Tuck grinned, but he didn’t take his eyes off Cassie. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
Cassie glanced back at him, towering over her in all his intoxicating temptation. Maybe a dance would help. Maybe if she got the chance to sniff him a little this unnatural craving taking over her body, infecting her brain like a plague of boils, would be satisfied. That seemed logical.
Cassie slipped her hand into his.
And her cells roared to life.
TWO
By the time they got to the dance floor the last notes of Sweet Home Alabama had died out and the music had changed to a slow Righteous Brothers’ melody. All the couples that had been boogying energetically melted into each other and the singles left the floor. Cassie turned to go as well, but Tuck grabbed her hand and pulled her in close, grinning at her.
‘Where are you going, darlin’?’
Cassie’s breath felt like thick fog in her throat. ‘I…can’t waltz.’
She found it hard enough co-ordinating her hands and feet with some space between her and her dancing partners. She was going to do some damage to his feet for sure.
And she did not trust herself too close to him.
‘Sure you can. Just hold on,’ he said, taking her resisting hands and placing them on his pecs, ‘and shuffle your feet a little. There ain’t no dance police here tonight.’
Cassie didn’t hear his crack about dance police. Her palms were filled with hard firm muscle as the fabric seemed to melt away. The music melted away too—as did the people crowding around them.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the sight of her hands on his chest.
Tuck smiled to himself. ‘There you go—see.’ He took a step closer, his chin brushing the top of her head. He slipped his hands lightly onto her waist. There was definite curve there and he snuggled his palm into it. ‘I don’t bite.’
Cassie fought through the fog, dragging her eyes away from how small her hands looked in comparison to his broadness. She looked up. Way up. He was tall. And close. A hand-width away, she guessed.
Before tonight she would have been able to assess the distance accurately, but she simply couldn’t think straight at the moment. He was radiating heat and energy and those damn pheromones, totally scrambling her usual focus. His hands at her waist were burning a tract right down to her middle.
He smiled at her, his starburst eyes showering their effervescence all over her. She looked down, but that was a mistake also as his chest filled her vision, the knot of his tie swaying hypnotically in front of her with every movement of his body. And all the time an insistent whisper played in her head, swarmed through her blood in time with the swing of him.
Smell him, lick him, touch him.
She dragged her gaze upwards, desperate to stop the pull of the hypnotic rhythm. It snagged on the slow, steady bound of his carotid, his growth of whiskers not able to conceal the thick thud of it. She wondered what he’d smell like there. What he’d taste like.
Her nostrils flared. Her breath grew thick. She dug her fingers into the flat of his chest as she battled the urge to take a step closer.
Dear God, she was growing dumber by the second.
Shocked and dazed, she dragged her gaze down. Way down. Down to their feet. Down to the hole she wished would open up.
Tuck also looked down, frowning at how rigid she felt in his arms. As if she was going to shatter at any moment. Or going to bolt at any second. No woman had ever been so reluctant to be in his company. Or so keen to be away from it.
She could give a man a complex.
One thing was for sure. She needed to relax or she was going to have a seizure. ‘So…Cassiopeia? That’s not a name you hear every day. Is that a family tradition?’
Cassie looked up. His eyes flashed at her and she lost her breath for a moment. Were they closer? He seemed nearer. More potent. His chest was closer.
‘Cassie?’
She blinked. What? Oh, yes. Talking. That was good. She was good at talking. Usually…
‘My mum…she named me. After the constellation.’ She paused. Did he even know what that was? ‘That’s a group of stars,’ she clarified.
Tuck chuckled. This woman was going to give him a complex. Who’d have thought he’d be interested in such a little snob? The endearing thing was she seemed oblivious to it all. ‘Like the Zodiac?’ he enquired, purposefully broadening his accent again.
Cassie gaped at him. How could she possibly want to lick the neck of a man with a pea-sized intellect?
There was just no accounting for biology.
‘No, not like the Zodiac.’
He feigned a frown. ‘Ain’t you into astrology?’
‘Astronomy,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘A-stron-omy.’
‘So, that’s not like…Sagittarius and stuff?’
‘No,’ she said primly. ‘It’s the study of celestial objects. It’s science. Not voodoo.’
Tuck laughed again. He liked it when she got all passionate and fired up. There was a spark in those blue-grey eyes, a glitter. Would they get like that when she was all passionate and fired up in bed?
Suddenly it seemed like something he wouldn’t mind knowing.
The song ended and the pace picked up a little. A couple behind them bumped into Cassie and she stumbled and stood on his foot. ‘Oh, God, sorry,’ she gasped, pulling away as her front collided with his.
His broad, muscular front.
‘Hey, there, it’s okay,’ Tuck said, steadying her under her elbows, holding on as she tried to pull away, keeping her close. Their bodies were almost—but not quite—touching. ‘No harm done,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Why don’t you just lay your head here on my chest and stay awhile longer?’
She should tell him to go to hell. But her nostrils flared again as something primal inside her recognised him as male. And he smelled so damn good.
A whisper ran through her head. Do it.
Lay your head down. Shut your eyes. Press your nose into his chest.
Cassie fought against the powerful urge as long as she could but she was losing fast. Each sway of his body bathed her in his eau-du-male scent and before she knew it her cheek had brushed against the fabric of his jacket and was angled slightly, her nose pressed into his lapel.
She inhaled. Deep and long. Every cell was filled with him. Every tastebud went into rapture. Every brain synapse went into a frenzy.
It was so damn good she never wanted to exhale.
It was only the dizzying approach of hypoxia that forced her hand. She quickly breathed out, then took in another huge greedy gulp of him. His scent seduced her senses, stroked along her belly, unfurled through her bloodstream.
She pressed herself a little closer and her eyes rolled back in her head as his heat flooded all round her.
Tuck was surprised when Cassie’s body moved flush against his after her standoffishness. But he liked the way she fitted, her body moulding against his, her head tucked in under his chin nicely. And she let him lead, which was a novelty. Most women he danced with weren’t so passive in his arms.
They danced all flirty and dirty and sexy.
Not that Tuck had anything against flirty, dirty or sexy. He was all for them. But too often it felt like an act. As if the women he dated felt they had to gyrate and shimmy and generally carry on like a B-grade porn star to attract or keep his attention.
Okay, he’d never had a reputation for longevity—his two-year marriage was a sure sign of that—but he was, at his most basic, a guy. And just being female was enough to keep his attention.
Ever since his divorce he’d gone back to his partying ways—living the dream, a different woman every night—the ultimate male fantasy. But he’d forgotten how good this felt, how nice it was to slow-dance, to hold a woman and enjoy the feeling of her all relaxed against him.
Even if she did think he was dumb as a rock.
‘I think you’ve got this dancing thing down pat, darlin’,’ he murmured against her hair.
Cassie just heard him through the trancelike state she’d entered. Each breath she drew in fogged her head a little more, stroking along nerve-endings and leadening her bones. She was pretty sure she was drooling on his jacket.
But he had her in his thrall.
His hands felt big and male on her hips, and hot—very hot. She was aware of every part of her body. It was alive with the scent of him.
His chin rubbed the top of her head and she glanced up. Her gaze fell on the heavy thud of his carotid again, pulsing just above his collar beside the hard ridge of his trachea. Her mouth watered a little more and Cassie sucked in a breath.
‘Well, hey, y’all!’
Cassie dragged herself back from the impulse to push her nose into Tuck’s neck, grateful for Marnie’s interruption. She looked at her friend, who was dancing with a preppy-looking guy, still a little dazed.
‘It’s getting hot in here,’ Marnie said, then winked as her partner danced her away.
Cassie blinked at her retreating back and then glanced at Tuck, who was looking intently at her with his intense extra-terrestrial gaze.