by Remy Rose
“Sounds like a plan. I'm off...going to take some customers to lunch.”
“Enjoy.”
“And I want to wish you the best of luck with your...um, project.” Brock throws a smirk over his shoulder as he leaves.
Prick. I won’t need your luck. But thanks.
Sitting down at my desk, I wake my computer out of sleep mode. My fingers hover over the keys as I type CASSANDRA.
I can’t help but smile.
chapter eleven ~ Cassandra
“My feet are freaking killing me,” moans Allison. We’re walking out of Tucker's into a gorgeous, mid-August twilight after an eight-hour Saturday shift.
“It's your shoes—I keep telling you. Spend the money on good sneakers.”
“I know. I should be able to look this weekend. It's been a combination of a sick kid and the car in the shop.” Suddenly, she grabs my arm. “Girl...look to your right. Is that who I think it is?”
I feel my heart leap in the split second before I command it not to.
Carlo.
He’s leaning casually against his black Mercedes, his arms crossed in front of him, wearing a charcoal gray V-neck t-shirt, pale denim shorts ending just above the knee—distressed-looking, with gashes in the fabric—and black leather flip-flops. His hair looks freshly tousled, like a rogue wind came out of nowhere to ruffle it. His aviator sunglasses hide his eyes, and his mouth—that mouth—is easing into a grin as I come closer. He is all confidence and daring, with a dash of arrogance.
There are two words in my head as my steps get slower.
I'm. Fucked.
“Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Cass.” Allison is beaming.
I shoot her a withering glance, then a pleading one to convey don't leave me. But she does.
Carlo nods at her and she smiles in return as she walks away. Whaaat? It’s almost as if they were in on this together. I curl my toes inside my sneakers. It’s completely ridiculous, the way I’m feeling. I’m not interested in getting involved with any men. Period.
And I’ll fight like hell to ignore the nagging thought that Carlo Leone can’t be considered just any man.
“Hello, Cassandra.” His voice is warm, rich, deep.
It’s been just over two weeks since I've seen him, and during those two weeks, I called forth his image more times than I want to admit. But nothing, nothing can compare to the in-the-flesh, up close and personal version of him, standing here in front of me.
“Hi. What are you doing here?”
“I think that's rather obvious, don't you?”
He’s smooth. Water-rippling-over-rocks smooth. But I’m not about to let him have the upper hand. Two can play that game. “I hate to tell you, but you have holes in your shorts.”
His face breaks into a surprised and delighted smile. “Excuse me?”
The dimple. God. “I thought you should know.”
“Thank you. But I paid a lot of money for those holes.”
I grin in spite of myself. “I'm sure you did. So you came to see me. And I'm guessing you're not going to tell me how you knew when I'd get out of work. Although I think I have the answer.”
“I'll never tell. But I decided it would be better to meet up with you here, instead of at the stable. I'd prefer you to smell like food rather than horses.”
“You shouldn't be hating on horses. Especially since you own a stable full of them.”
His eyebrows arching in surprise, Carlo takes off his sunglasses and looks down at his hands as he folds the earpieces. “So you found out.”
“Yes. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought it was best that you didn't know. I didn't want to intimidate you.”
“I'm sure I could have handled it. I don't get intimidated easily.” I’m bristling a little, raising my chin.
“All right.” He’s smiling broadly.
“I'm serious.”
“I can see that. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm kind of a private person.”
“So. Back to why you're here. Were you planning to save me again?”
“It depends on how you'd define 'save.'”
Deep breath. Reaching up to tighten my ponytail, I open my mouth to speak and am flustered when I realize I have absolutely no clue what to say.
“Feeling intimidated?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Perplexed, then. But I have to say, it's a very charming look for you.” He takes a step closer. “Would you like to go for a drive?”
“What would that involve?” I can practically hear Teal's voice urging me on: Jesus Christ, what are you waiting for? Get in the goddamned car!
His eyes are traveling over my face as he answers me in a serious tone. “It would involve you in the passenger seat and me at the wheel, and the car moving forward. And sometimes turning and stopping as required by law.”
I stifle a laugh. He makes it so effing difficult for me to be cautious and sensible. “I see. And what would you be hoping to get out of this drive?”
I draw in my breath as Carlo leaves his car and walks toward me. He stops a foot away, crossing his arms in front of him. The thin fabric of his t-shirt strains against his muscles. His gaze is warm, and Jesus, I’m getting that way myself.
“Cassandra, there are two things I hope to get out of this drive. One is your phone number. And the other is for you to view me in a different light.”
“A different light meaning...?”
“I want you to see that I'm not a threat to you. It's obvious you've been hurt before, and this has made you reluctant to let your guard down. I want to change that.” He pauses, looking intently into my eyes, his voice soft. “I'm just asking for a chance. Let me in, Cassandra. And then you can decide if I can stay.”
I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears. There are so many reasons I should say no. So many.
But at this moment, I can’t think of one of them.
“All right,” I answer slowly. “A drive. Just a short one. And then we'll see.”
The look of pleasure on his face is instantaneous. He walks around the car to open the door for me, as if I’m wearing an elegant gown and heels instead of a waitressing uniform.
Just as I expect, the convertible's interior is spotless—woven black leather upholstery with red stitching, a pushbutton start and an impressive, elaborate dashboard. I reach for the seatbelt and lean back against the supple leather.
“Is the seat too far back? You can adjust it if you want. The wind shouldn't bother you, but if it does, let me know, and I'll put the top up. And there’s Sirius radio, so listen to whatever you want.”
“Thank you. The dashboard looks a bit more complicated than my Chevy Malibu.”
Carlo grins. “It has some nice features.”
“It looks like a spaceship. Where are we going?” Now that we’re on the road, I’m feeling a tiny bit shuddery.
“I thought we'd head up 72. You don't have a hot date later, do you?”
“I told you I wasn't interested in having a relationship.”
“How have you managed to stay unattached? I find it really hard to believe there aren't men constantly after you.”
I blush and shift in my seat. “I don't make myself available. And maybe I'm not as appealing as you seem to think I am.”
He takes his eyes off the road to glance at me. “You don't get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“How beautiful you are.”
“Can we please talk about something else? You, for example?”
“If we have to.”
“So you own Windswept Stable.”
“Yes.”
“And you're also the CEO of Miller Valve.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Someone's been doing some research.”
“No. I heard from Ingrid's stepsister.”
“That would be correct.”
“You're pretty young to have that position, aren't you?”
“There are many people who’d agree with you.
I took over when my stepfather died.”
“Oh...I'm sorry.”
“Thanks. I am, too. He was a great man. I never really knew my biological father...he died when I was a toddler. Scott was my father figure. He taught me a lot.”
“He must have, if you were able to take over at such a young age.”
“I'd like to think part of my success comes from my own talents. Taking over is something I've become quite good at. And it's something I enjoy as well.”
I’m very aware of his gaze sliding over to me, and I quickly turn my head to look out the window, willing myself to focus on the hills and farmland instead of the heat spreading through my lower half.
We pass an Amish buggy on the side of the road, pulled by a weary-looking Standardbred. Carlo makes sure to give them a wide berth, and the driver of the buggy touches the brim of his hat in thanks.
I frown. “That horse looks thin.”
“I noticed that, too.”
“Makes me wish I could control the world, or at least the animal owners in it.”
“You don't seem the controlling type.”
“Is that an insult, or a compliment?”
“Neither. It's an observation.”
“You make a lot of observations.”
“Is that an insult, or a compliment?” Carlo flashes a smile.
I feel myself start to melt into the seat but quickly recover. “Well-played.”
“Thank you.” He pauses. “I realize this is supposed to be a drive, but would you mind if we stopped for a few minutes? I find it difficult to look at you when I'm supposed to be keeping my eyes on the road. And I really want to look at you.”
Fuck. Why, why, did I agree to get in the car? My resistance is definitely weakening. I can’t let him know. I make myself turn to look at him. I’m going to focus on his ear since that’s non-sexual and relatively safe. But like everything else about him, that, too, is perfect.
I clear my throat. “Stopping during the drive was not part of the original plan.”
“I know. Just for a few minutes.”
God damn, this is difficult.
“Cassandra. The first time I kiss you is not going to be in a car—I can assure you of that.”
So. There’s not going to be a kiss on this drive, and I am wildly pissed at myself because my relief is blended with something dangerously close to disappointment. “Okay. We can stop. But then I need you to take me back.”
“Deal.”
Carlo is smiling as he clicks on his blinker and turns onto West Brubaker Valley Road. I’m guessing he’s headed to Speedwell Forge Lake, a popular spot in Lancaster County.
And I’m right about our destination. The lake is still and quiet, the last remnants of dusk enveloped by the night, with only a few cars in the parking lot. A thirty-ish man and woman are walking hand in hand near the boat landing. As Carlo pulls in to the upper part of the lot, I feel my stomach lurch with uneasiness.
He turns off the car and shifts in his seat to face me. The streetlight is bathing his face in a silvery glow so that he looks almost statuesque. He is, quite simply, jaw-droppingly beautiful.
“I first want to thank you for letting me bring you here. I know you were reluctant, and I can’t blame you. You don't know me...it was a risk for you to get in my car. I understand that, and I'm glad that you trusted me enough to do it. I'm asking you for a little more.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Carlo interrupts me, his hand raised.
“Before you say anything, you need to realize that I'm not looking for a serious relationship. I know you don't want that in your life right now, and neither do I. I'm just asking to get to know you better. I'm...drawn to you, and I know you feel the same way about me.”
So now I’m rattled. And a little annoyed. I inch away to press myself against the car door. “That's a little presumptuous, don't you think? You don't know anything about me.”
“I know that you want me.” His voice is husky. “Are you going to deny that?”
My heart is hammering in my chest as Carlo reaches for my hand and turns it over.
“We're not that different from each other, Cassandra. We have a few things in common. For one, our initials.” With feather-soft strokes, he traces a C and an L on my palm. His touch is electric, and I realize I’ve never known a man who was able to incite such a reaction in me by simply stroking my hand. Christ, what would it do to me to actually be with him?
“A date, Cassandra,” he says softly. “Just a date, and we'll go from there.” His hand closes over mine, clasping it gently.
“I don't date,” I answer weakly. “I don't have good luck with men.”
“I'm not like other men. And I think you know that.”
I don't know anything anymore. No—that’s not entirely true. I do know one thing: reluctant or not, I am going to go on a date with Carlo Leone.
And even before I give him a barely-perceptible nod, I realize that he knows it, too.
chapter twelve ~ Carlo
“Thanks for asking me to lunch, fratello. It worked out perfectly since I had a hair appointment in Lancaster anyway.”
My baby sister and I are eating at Tucker's, even though it’s not Cassandra's day to work. As crazy as it sounds, I feel connected with Cassandra, here in this restaurant. We’re being waited on by an older, slightly grumpy woman—I was hoping it would be Allison, because I wanted to thank her for telling me when Cassandra got out of work the other night.
I turn my attention back to Gianna and reach for a lock of her hair to inspect it. “Did you actually have anything done to it?”
She looks at me in mock exasperation. “Yesss.” Putting down her fork, she slides her hands up under her hair, spreading the shiny ebony mane over her shoulders. “I had like two inches taken off, and it's more angled around my face. Can't you tell?”
“I'm your big brother. I'm not supposed to notice things like that.”
“True. As long as Jordan notices. Which he does.” She lowers her voice and leans forward, her dark eyes sparkling. “He's actually talking about going ring shopping!”
“As in, engaged? At your age?” Jesus. Gianna's free-spirited boyfriend is likable, but he doesn’t have the kind of aspirations I want to see in a prospective husband for my little sister: he runs a small photography studio in King of Prussia. But he’s young, and Gi, a grad student in art history at age twenty-four, doesn’t exactly have her future mapped out, either.
“My age?” Gianna laughs. “You're one to talk, Carlo, with how you and—” She quickly closes her mouth, her eyes filling. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
She places a gentle hand on my arm. “I shouldn't have teased. It was insensitive of me.”
“It's all right. Really. It's been three years.”
Gianna's eyes hold mine, warming me. I reach out to squeeze her hand, feeling my throat tighten. God, she reminds me so much of our mother: small and delicate with beautiful olive skin and expressive eyes. We’ve always been close, but we got even closer after Mama and Scott died.
“Back to you, mia cara. I just don't want to see you rush into anything.”
“You are totally sweet to be concerned, Carlo. But you don't need to worry about me.”
“It's what I do.”
Gianna lifts a spoonful of steaming chili to her mouth and gently blows on it. “I know. And little sisters worry about their big brothers, too.”
“No need.”
“I wish you'd find someone. I want you to have someone wonderful in your life again.”
I have no doubt that Gianna would be thrilled if I told her about my upcoming date. She'd approve of Cassandra. But Gi would be full of questions, some of which I can’t answer. I’ll keep this quiet, since Cassandra, like the several others before her—and those who’ll be after her—will be short-term.
“Carlo? What's the matter? You look so serious all of a sudden.”
I’m about to respond when I notice Allison standing
in the archway looking in my direction, tying the strings of her apron behind her back. I smile at her and wave, and she gives me an unmistakably cold nod before walking away.
Whaaat? Why would Allison—ah. Got it. I’m having lunch with a beautiful woman. Who isn’t Cassandra. Maybe I should go find Allison and set the record straight. Or maybe...I shouldn’t. It might be good if Allison was to pass this along to Cassandra— create a little jealousy to stir things up. It’s kind of a prick move, but it’s about reaching the goal.
Gi and I finish our lunch and make plans to have dinner in a few weeks, after she and Jordan get back from vacationing at our family summer home in Maine. I pay the bill, and as the two of us head for the door, I notice Allison out of the corner of my eye, watching. I can almost feel the resentment simmering in her gaze and can’t help but chuckle to myself. Cassandra has my phone number—who knows? Maybe I’ll hear from her about this. In fact, I hope I do.
I give my little sister a quick kiss on each cheek. “Enjoy Maine, Gi. And tell Jordan to watch the speed on the boat.”
“He doesn't drive that fast!”
“I was talking about you.”
She pouts, making me laugh. I blow her a kiss as I walk toward my car. Just before I pull out of the parking lot, my phone chimes. A text from Cassandra.
Did you have a good lunch?
I’m a dick, but I can’t help myself. I’m grinning as I text back. Yes, as usual. Although your service would have made it even better.
No response. She’s pissed, I’m sure. I can picture her frowning, tucking her hair behind her ear as she contemplates what to say.
I'm wondering if your date would think so, too.
Bingo. Jumping to conclusions, are we?
Another pause from her end. When I agreed to go on a date, it was with the understanding that you weren't seeing anyone else. Apparently, I was wrong. Again. Don't contact me anymore.
Whoa. I feel a surge of adrenaline. Her assertiveness, her attempt to push me away, makes me want her even more.
I text her back immediately. I want to take back some control here. Don't tell me what to do. We have a date. And unless you have a problem with me having lunch with my little sister, I'll see you Saturday night.