Point of Submission (Point Series Book 1)

by Remy Rose

  I settle into my seat, trying like hell to ignore the throbbing between my legs, and start the car. “Would you prefer the top down, or up?”

  She glances at me, one eyebrow playfully raised. “I assume you prefer the top down.”

  “Always. What man doesn’t?”

  Cassandra shakes her head, laughing, and turns to look out the window as we back out of the parking lot.

  “I know how you women are about your hair.”

  “Oh, really? Now I’m like all other women?”

  “Only in that regard. I've never known a woman who wasn't concerned about wind messing up her hair.”

  “Which proves you don't know me. Because I couldn't care less.” She folds her arms across her chest and straightens in the seat. “Top down, please.”

  “As you wish.” I grin, pushing a button on the center console, and the car's roof folds smoothly into its rear compartment.

  “Thank you. So you didn't have any trouble finding my place?”

  “Not with the GPS. Although I'm rather familiar with E-town.”

  “Let me guess. Your sister lives here.” She makes air quotes.

  “No. My company has a warehouse here.”

  “Oh. So no romantic interests in this town?”

  I can’t hide my smile. “Only one.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her clasping and unclasping her hands. She’s flustered. Good.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Lititz. Is that all right?”

  “Yes...it's just farther than I thought.”

  “It's not that far. I just drove it.”

  Cassandra turns to look at me in surprise. “You live in Lititz? You should have had me meet you there or something.”

  “That wouldn't exactly be the gentlemanly thing to do, would it? Not to mention I would have missed out on riding with you.”

  A warm wind begins to pick up, swirling around the two of us and pulling at Cassandra's carefully-arranged bun. I have to bite my lip to keep from chuckling. She’s trying to be subtle about tucking the strands back in.

  “Wind bothering you?”

  “No. Not at all.” She quickly brings her hands to her lap and looks out the window.

  “I was just asking because your hair seems to be coming undone.”

  “You must not realize that the messy bun is actually considered a hairstyle.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. By the time we arrive, it should be just about perfect.”

  I burst into laughter. “You’re definitely different than other women I've known.”

  “Is that an insult, or a compliment?”

  “An observation.”

  We come to a stop sign. Cassandra turns toward me, half-smiling, tendrils of hair framing her face. She looks disheveled—and absolutely beautiful. And looking at her, I know without a trace of doubt that what I’ve fantasized about doing to her will soon become a reality.

  chapter fifteen ~ Cassandra

  Driving into the Bent Brook Country Club parking lot, I’m feeling way, way out of my league.

  The topiary display at the front spelling out the name of the club, the carport's massive white pillars, and just the size of the building are all intimidating as hell. Not to mention my date and his intimidation factor. But I’m determined not to let him know this. I’m going to stay cool, bordering on aloof, so that Carlo will get the clear message that first and foremost, I’m cool-bordering-on-aloof, and second, this is going to be a one-and-done kind of deal. One date, maybe one kiss. Okay, maybe one touch, too, because let's be serious—it’s killing me to imagine what it would feel like.

  My mind screeches to a halt. No. Touching is not what cool and aloof people think about. It’s what horny and weak people think about.

  “All set to go in?” Carlo turns off the ignition and sits there looking at me like he’s in possession of some glorious secret. His smile is dazzling, almost triumphant.

  Cue the sweaty palms, the pounding heart, the feeling of my stomach tossing and lurching like a rowboat in a typhoon. But I’ve got to suck it up.

  Let’s do this. Pasting a bright smile on my face, I nod and climb out of the car.

  I thought I’d be a little less keyed up once inside, but no. The décor of the lobby is amazing: warm, rich hues of cranberry and cream with burnished, heavy-looking gold mirrors and antique paintings. There are cozy-looking armchairs and a gleaming cherry coffee table in front of a granite fireplace and French doors leading to other rooms I’m sure are equally as gorgeous.

  I have to get to the restroom, stat, so I can check out how effed up my bun is after all the wind. I really, really don’t want to be the only one here who looks like gerbils used my head for an amusement park.

  But before I can fix my hair, we’re greeted by a slender, silver-haired woman in a raspberry-colored linen suit. “Mr. Leone. What a pleasure to see you again.”

  “It's a pleasure to see you as well, Brenda. This is Cassandra Larsen. Cassandra, Brenda—the best hostess in Lancaster County. The Club has been in her family for generations.”

  I take Brenda's offered hand. “It's nice to meet you. You have a beautiful place.”

  Her blue eyes sparkle. “I'm so glad you like it. This is your first time with us?”

  Carlo is quick to respond. “Yes. But I'm planning on it being the first of several.”

  I'm thinking you may not want to assume that. I feel the heat rise to my face as Brenda smiles.

  “I can see why, Carlo. She's delightful. Let me show you to your table.”

  I feel a little more relaxed now that I know the hostess approves. But still, my hair...“Could you tell me where the restroom is?”

  Brenda points to a long hallway behind her. “First door on your right.”

  “I'll wait here for you.” Carlo’s smiling at me, and now I really need to get away for a few minutes, to get both my hair and my thoughts under control. As I walk away, I shiver involuntarily, feeling like his eyes raking over me.

  The restroom is empty, thankfully. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the complimentary lotions and soaps in the wicker basket—so not the kind of establishment I’m used to. This type of place should also offer Valium samples disguised as mints or gum for someone like me who feels like a mutt in a dog show.

  Okay, hair repair. Checking out my reflection in the mirror, I’m relieved to see it isn’t as bad as I'd expected. I take out the clip, four hair pins and elastic, shake my hair free and smooth the flyaway pieces on either side of my part. I’ve put my hair up before, yet this time feels different—because this time, Carlo's eyes will be on me.

  I pull my hair into a low ponytail, coil it tightly and spin it into a bun, re-inserting the hair pins and teasing out a few tendrils around my face to soften the look. Now, I’m ready.

  But not really.

  A wave of panic cascades over me. In a matter of minutes, I’m going to be alone with Carlo at a table, and then who knows what will happen after dinner? This is what I’m most stressed about. I’ve got to text Teal.

  Dying a little bit here.

  The response comes almost immediately, like she’s been waiting to hear from me. YOU'RE FINE! Put on your big girl panties and enjoy it. Or maybe I should say, take OFF your big girl panties and enjoy it.

  You are soo not funny. I'm in the bathroom and Carlo's waiting for me.

  Take a deep breath and GO. Order a couple drinks and you'll relax. Let me know how it goes. Love you! xoxo

  The restroom door opens. I jump, thinking it might be Brenda sent to look for me. It’s instead some forty-ish woman in a strapless black dress and hot pink pumps who nods coolly at me before reaching into her clutch for lipstick, and now that I’m not alone in here, I have to leave. I send a quick xo to Teal and slip my phone into my purse. Deep breath. Open door. Step out.

  And there is Carlo.

  He’s holding his phone and looks up immediately when I approach, his eyes meeting mine and then travel
ing down my body, creating in me a ripple effect of shivers. The gray jacket with a hint of sheen, contrasting with his bold jade shirt, makes him look cool and silvery, like a refreshing burst of winter on this summer night.

  The feelings he’s causing in me are the opposite of wintery.

  Carlo looks back down the hallway that leads to the lobby and signals to Brenda who appears in seconds, smiling brightly and holding two menus. I pull my purse in closer like it’s some sort of protection shield.

  “Everything all right?” he asks.

  “Yes. It is. Definitely.”

  He’s looking at me quizzically and moves closer to put his hand on my bare back, gently guiding me as we follow Brenda into the dining room. His touch...it feels a little like I’m being branded.

  The formal dining room is airy and spacious, with cathedral ceilings and crystals dangling from chandeliers like sparkling icicles. Enormous arched windows look out upon the golf course, and panels of floral wallpaper in delicate, swirling designs interrupt the cream-colored wall. There are square tables cloaked in thick ivory cloth with matching napkins in fan-like shapes. At the center of each table is a spray of fresh wildflowers in a tall, crackle-glass vase (my mom would approve), surrounded by softly-glowing tea lights.

  It’s even more beautiful than I’d imagined. I turn to look up at Carlo with raised eyebrows.

  “I know. It's a bit different than Tucker's.”

  “Definitely not what I’m used to. But I could seriously get used to it.”

  He laughs, and we follow Brenda to a table for two in the far corner. “I hope this is all right?” she asked.

  “Very much so. Thank you.”

  “Of course. Enjoy your dinner. We have some new specials listed inside.” Brenda lays a menu at each place setting and then puts a light hand on my arm. “It was very nice meeting you.”

  “It was very nice to meet you, too.”

  Carlo pulls back one of the chairs and I settle into it, feeling my uneasiness begin to evaporate. “I like her.”

  He nods, taking his seat. “Everyone does. She's a class act, and very kind.”

  “This whole place...it's amazing. Do you come here a lot?”

  “I'm a member, of course, so I do come here quite often. I play a lot of golf in the summer...it's a beautiful course.”

  I wrinkle my nose.

  “Not a golfer?”

  “Um, no. I've never really seen the point. Hitting a little ball where you don't want it to go and then walking forever to find it is not my idea of a good time.”

  Carlo chuckles. “You seem to have captured the essence of golf perfectly. But it can be more than that. Some of the biggest business deals are made on the golf course.”

  “Are you a good golfer?”

  “Cassandra. I'm good at everything I do.”

  Heartbeat pounding. I’ve got to lighten the mood. “Very funny.”

  “I'm not joking.”

  “Well, I guess...I mean, I...” I stammer. God damn, the effect he has on me—just when I feel like we’re on equal ground, wham, he throws a curve ball and takes me completely out of the game.

  Unexpectedly, he comes to my rescue. “I'm good at golf when I want to be, and not so good when I have to be.”

  “What do you mean? When wouldn't you want to be good at it?”

  “There's something known as 'business golf.' You never want to show someone up when you're trying to strike a deal. You let them think they're better than you. It's good for their ego, good for business.”

  “Excuse me for saying this, Carlo, but I'm not thinking that losing would be good for your ego. And you do have an ego.”

  He grins. “Touché. But I'm not actually losing in that case. I get what I'm really going for. Ultimately, I win.”

  I venture further, finding confidence in my boldness. Let him see me as a worthy opponent. “There must be some instances when you don't get what you're going for.”

  “I assure you, Cassandra...” He pauses, leaning slightly forward and lowering his voice. “If I want something...I get it.”

  Jesus.

  My pulse is throbbing in my ears. I try to swallow and discover my throat’s gone dry, and like an angel sent from Heaven, a busboy appears with a pitcher. I focus on the water and ice tumbling into my glass and lift it quickly to my mouth. As I meet Carlo's gaze, I can’t help but wonder if his last statement is more of a promise...or a warning.

  chapter sixteen ~ Carlo

  I watch as Cassandra studies her menu, her forehead creased in concentration. So this is most likely the fanciest restaurant she's ever been to. Makes me glad I can be the one to give her this experience. I want everything about tonight to be special for her.

  Especially after dinner.

  The thought is making things happen below the belt—big things—and I have to shift in my chair. Easy, boy. I’ve always been able to control myself very easily with other women, but this girl…

  I’m glad she’s intent on reading the menu so that I can just fill my eyes with her: the curling strands of her hair falling against her high cheekbones, the rest of her hair gathered up to expose her neck...the tantalizing deep V of her cleavage and barely-visible nipples through the fabric of her dress. I start to imagine how it would feel to trace one of them with my thumb, feel it respond and harden…

  Leone. Get ahold of yourself.

  I clear my throat. “If you’re having trouble deciding, the Beef Wellington is exceptional.”

  “I don't eat beef. Remember?”

  “My mistake. All right, then...the pork tenderloin has an amazing sugar-bourbon glaze...” I trail off as Cassandra shakes her head. “So you're a vegetarian.”

  “I guess you could call me a vegetarian wannabe. I'm a pescetarian, which means I eat seafood.”

  “Oh. How long have you been a...uh, pesca...”

  “Pescetarian. Since I was old enough to understand that beef was really a cow. And that pork was really a pig.”

  “And that chicken was really a...chicken.”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Not at all. I admire you for your compassion and for wanting to eat healthy.”

  “It's mainly about the animals. I didn't say I ate healthy. I'm a junk food addict.”

  “Never would have guessed that.”

  “I told you, there are things you don't know about me.”

  “I'm looking forward to changing that.”

  Ken, my favorite waiter, comes over to stand at the table. “Mr. Leone. Welcome back.”

  “Thank you, Ken. How's the family?”

  “Fine, thank you. Have you had a chance to look at the wine list?”

  “No need to look. We'll have the Dom Perignon.”

  He nods his approval. “I'll be back after you've had a chance to peruse the hors d'oeuvres.”

  I direct my attention back to Cassandra. “Define junk food addict. I'm intrigued.”

  “There's no mystery. I eat junk. Healthy stuff, too, of course, but my downfall is convenience store fare.”

  “Such as...”

  “Such as Fritos, cheese puffs, Swiss rolls, Ring Dings...”

  “Ring Dings?”

  “Yes. Those are at the top of the list.”

  “What about those pink, fluffy-looking cake things—they come two in a package...”

  “Sno Balls? You actually know about those?” Cassandra looks like she’s struck by a wild urge to giggle.

  “Why wouldn't I?”

  “I can't picture you eating something like that.”

  “I didn't say I actually ate it. Speaking of eating...we need to choose one of the hors d'oeuvres. I'd recommend the crab risotto cakes, but I'm assuming you'll be ordering seafood for your main course.”

  Cassandra skims the menu, her eyebrows raised. “Wow—these prices.”

  “It's worth it. Although had I known about your simple taste in food, I could’ve saved myself some money. Perhaps next time I'll take you to the 7-Eleven.”


  She looks up at me, blushing and clearly exasperated. The effect is enormously charming. “Very funny. How about the vegetable spring rolls?”

  “That works. Are you going to view me in a negative light if I order beef for dinner?”

  “You're assuming I don't already view you in one. But no.”

  I’m struck by how easily she makes me laugh. I lift the water glass to my lips and sip. She’s looking at my mouth, and this gets to me. Ms. Larsen, what is it you are thinking at this very moment?

  Blushing again, she quickly averts her gaze, her eyes darting around the room.

  Love it—she’s flustered. Things are going very, very well.

  Ken reappears with the bottle of wine and takes our appetizer order. I watch as he fills Cassandra’s glass, knowing that the alcohol will help her relax, let her guard down. I’ll definitely use this to my advantage, while being careful she doesn’t drink too much.

  I want her senses to be very heightened and intensely aware of every moment she has with me tonight.

  She starts to take a sip but hesitates when I hold up my glass for a toast. “To a memorable first date.”

  “I don't know what that means.” She clinks her glass against mine, looking at me warily.

  “Neither do I. But that's what makes tonight so exciting. That neither of us really knows what will happen—or what the other person is hoping will happen.”

  “I thought I’d told you there would be a date. One date.”

  “I know what you told me, Cassandra. I'm talking about what you're hoping.”

  I let my words linger in the space between us, watching the color rise to her cheeks once again. She opens her mouth as if to speak and then closes it, shaking her head and crossing her arms, looking as though she’s hugging herself.

  She seems a little more shaken than I'd expected. I can’t chance her getting up and leaving, not when I have plans for her tonight: taking the first steps of what will be a mutually-rewarding journey toward my ultimate goal. I’ll ease up on her. For now.