by Remy Landon
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I'm okay.”
“Good. You're just so goddamned hot, Cassandra.” He was breathing harshly, and she took a few seconds to study his face before he resumed kissing her again. He was so attractive, his hair in damp curls that she could picture running her fingers through. The light dusting of freckles across his nose was just enough to make him look endearing.
Closing her eyes, she parted her lips to take his kiss. Her body still felt rigid against his, and she tried to soften it as his hands came up again—this time, lifting the bottom of her shirt and reaching under. His hands were cold, and she shivered as she felt them slide into the cups of her bra, his fingers finding her nipples. Josh had a gentle touch, and what he was doing felt good. Yes, very good.
Why was she so stiff against him, though? She had always felt comfortable around him—he was so easy to be with; making out with him should be as well.
And then she was thinking too much, and goddamn her for thinking at this moment instead of just feeling.
Feel, she snapped at herself silently. Let go. She opened her mouth a little wider, pushing her tongue against his, and this seemed to excite him. He sighed against her lips, taking his hands from her breasts and moving them down to cup her ass. She was wearing full-seat riding breeches, and although yes, her ass did look good in them, the material was thick and not exactly suitable for groping. But Josh didn't seem to mind, judging from the hardness she felt at the front of his jeans as he pulled her close.
He put his lips to her ear as his hands worked the clasp at the top of her breeches. “Be fearless with me, Cassandra,” he murmured. “Let me make love to you.”
Sweet baby Jesus, this was starting to feel not okay. It was happening too fast. This must be why she was so rigid, because it was happening too fast. Like going from a slow jog to a gallop. It was frustrating as fuck, because she really, really liked him, and he was not only hot, but nice and kind and kissed great and talked to horses, and she was going to have to stop him.
“Josh,” she mumbled against his mouth.
Instantly, he took a step back, rubbing a hand across his mouth. His face was clouded with concern. “Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that.”
“No! It's not you. You're very attractive, to be honest. It just—”
“Doesn't feel right,” Josh finished. “It's okay. I don't want to rush you. I mean, believe me, I want you, but only if it's something you want, too. I'll wait. You're worth it.” He was smiling again, his face relaxed and easy like it usually was.
Relief mingled with gratitude. “You're very sweet. Thank you for understanding.” And now she was feeling like she really wanted to get out of here. “Come talk to me over a wheelbarrow, okay?” She smiled at him, hoping he could see the sorry in her eyes.
“You got it.”
“I've got some snacks in my car—I'll share, if you're hungry.”
“I am, actually. I seem to have worked up an appetite, for some reason.” He winked.
Impulsively, she leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed her bottle of water and headed out of the office, determined that she would not act awkward around him. The unexpected physical encounter with Josh had rattled her a bit. But she needed to also focus on what else had happened today: an invigorating trail ride in the snow with galloping—and fearlessness.
She went out to the small parking lot, blinking in the bright sun. As she approached her car, she could see there was something tucked under the windshield wiper. It looked like a parking ticket, but that made no sense.
Coming closer, she was able to see that it was an index card. Left by Carlo, no doubt. Oh, God— had he seen her riding off with Josh? Or worse, had he somehow known what they were doing in Ingrid's office? Barbs of guilt pricked at her, quickly followed by anger, because he didn't own her. They weren't even in a relationship. Not really.
She pulled the card out from underneath the wiper and turned it over. The words were written in black marker—large, aggressive-looking words: NOT YET. BUT SOON.
The card began to quiver in her hand. This wasn't from Carlo. And suddenly, all the fearlessness she had felt earlier today was nowhere to be found.
chapter thirty-five ~ Carlo
There was only one other time in Carlo's memory when Estelle had missed a day of work, and that was due to the death of her brother several years ago. Given this fact, Carlo was instantly apprehensive when he got a text from Estelle telling him she would not be in. I'm a bit under the weather. Will be back in as soon as I can. Betty will work on the GE proposal today. My apologies for not being there.
Estelle had looked pale these past few days, and she'd had a cough she couldn't seem to shake. Most likely a simple virus. But still, it worried him.
Valentine's Day had come and gone. The day before the holiday, he had asked Cassandra if he could see her and was stunned when she said yes. They had met for coffee at a small cafe and bookstore in E-town, not far from her apartment, and although it had virtually killed him not to sweep her into his arms, he maintained a respectful distance and kept the conversation light.
They had sat in two leather chairs in front of the fireplace, Cassandra with a chai and he with a latte, talking about Windswept, her re-entrance into college, his sister's upcoming wedding. Cassandra had acted quite interested in Gianna's plans, although she did blush a bit when she asked for details. She had seemed unusually subdued, avoiding eye contact with him, and he wondered about this but attributed it to the general limbo-feeling their relationship had. He knew it couldn't survive for much longer like this. But he wasn't going to be the one to throw in the towel.
At the end of their visit, he had followed Cassandra to her car. She walked while looking down at the snowy pavement, her arms wrapped around herself in her pale blue coat while tiny falling snowflakes nestled in her wavy hair. Cassandra, he had said as she unlocked her car, I would like to hug you.
She had turned then, looking at him with large, glistening eyes, and he thought he saw a hint of a shy smile on her lips as she told him, All right.
He had taken her in his arms carefully, as if she might break. Breathing in the clean scent of her hair, he closed his eyes and felt her body molding into his. He hadn't wanted to feel her pull away, so he'd let her go. Reaching into his coat pocket, he brought forth a small velvet jewelry box containing a diamond and platinum horseshoe pendant from Tiffany's. Cassandra had begun to protest, but he had gently stopped her, telling her he couldn't let Valentine's Day go by without getting her something. No expectations, he had added firmly.
Reluctantly, she had taken the box, her brow lined with creases. Later, she had texted him thank you, followed by another text a few moments later, stating, Target would have been more than enough. He had grinned reading this, buoyed by her humor.
He pulled himself back into the present. Waking his laptop out of sleep mode, he began drafting an email to his regional managers. Moments later, Betty, Estelle's replacement, buzzed him.
“Mr. Leone...Martin Hewitt is calling for you.”
“I'm trying to recall if I know a Martin Hewitt.”
“You do, sir. It's Estelle's significant other.”
“Thank you. Put him through.” Anxiety began to ripple through him. He didn't have a good feeling about this.
“Carlo? Hello. Sorry to bother you at work, but I thought you should know. Estelle was admitted to the hospital last night.”
His stomach lurched. “The hospital? Why?”
“Pneumonia. She was having trouble breathing—very weak, and with that nasty cough. I finally convinced her to let me take her to the emergency room.”
“I'm very glad you did that. How is she?”
“They've given her strong antibiotics, and she's been sleeping a lot. She didn't want to worry you, but I thought you'd want to know.” Martin chuckled. “I hope she forgives me.”
“She will...and you were right to tell me. Can she have visitors?”
After ending the call with Martin, Carlo took his coat, told Betty he would be back in a couple of hours and headed out of the office, fighting the rising fear clutching at his heart. He made two stops on the way—bookstore and florist—and dealt with a fresh layer of dread as he entered Lancaster General. Hospitals were one of the very few things that scared him, given that he had learned, repeatedly, that sometimes people couldn't be saved. But he was damned if he would let that fear prevent him from seeing Estelle.
A smiling young nurse pushing a computer on wheels greeted him at the door of Estelle's room.
“How is she?”
“I just checked her vitals. Fever's down, oxygen level up. Things are improving. Are you her son?”
Carlo paused, a small grin flickering on his lips. “I suppose in a sense, I am.”
Smiling at him quizzically, the nurse moved aside so he could enter the room. Estelle was sitting upright in bed, her head turned to the side and her eyes closed. She looked pale and wan, her vivid blue glasses on the small table next to her. His throat tightened.
Careful to keep his steps quiet, he took a seat in the chair next to her, setting the vase of delphinium, tulips and fragrant sweet pea beside her eyeglasses. She awoke almost immediately.
“Carlo. What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded raspy, and she cleared her throat as she reached for her glasses.
“I might ask you the same thing. If you'd wanted the day off, all you needed to do was tell me.” He smiled.
“You didn't need to come.”
“Yes, I did.”
“It was brave of you. I didn't want to put you in that position. I know how you feel about hospitals.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in her sheet and folded the top of it over. “Did Martin call you?”
“Yes. That man cares for you very much. And he's not the only one.”
“He's a dear. And you are as well. What a gorgeous bouquet.”
“Yes. Early spring flowers. To represent hope, and all that.”
“We all could use some springtime about now.”
“Agreed. And I brought you this.” Carlo reached into his coat pocket and took out a small hardcover book of poetry.
Estelle smiled, taking it. “Mary Oliver. You know I love her. Thank you.” The lines in her face softened as she looked at him. “Is Betty doing all right with that GE proposal? Tell her she can text me if she needs to. I don't like just sitting here with nothing to do.”
“Your job right now is to rest and recover. Are you happy with the doctors and your care here?”
“Very much so. I have vowed to think of this as a mini-vacation with labored breathing and sub-par meals.”
“I'd be happy to bring you something to eat. You name the restaurant.”
She waved her hand at him. “I'll be fine.”
“I hope so. Otherwise, I don't know who would take care of my Boston Fern. That damned plant needs you.” He blinked against the sudden stinging in his eyes.
“I'm not going anywhere, Carlo.” Estelle beckoned for him to come closer. Once he did, she reached out, and in a rare show of affection, patted his cheek.
He took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it, grateful that she understood everything without him needing to say a word.
chapter thirty-six ~ Cassandra
Driving to waitress at Tucker's, Cassandra found herself surrounded by a triangle of stress. First, there was the growing apprehension (bordering on true fear) that her stalker was planning something. She was convinced it was Brock. He had become an unwelcome intruder in her dreams, and she hated feeling like she was always looking over her shoulder. So far, Teal was the only person she had told. She was still hoping that the stalker/Brock would get bored, and this crap would just fade away. Somehow, keeping it to herself made it less of a big deal. She'd decided against mentioning anything to Carlo, because she knew he would want to protect her—and he was the second point of the stress triangle.
The last time she had seen him, the day before Valentine's Day, she'd tried not to let anything show on her face. But she had the distinct impression Carlo had known something was bothering her, and she worried that her behavior had ignited a firestorm of thought behind his smoky eyes.
Third, the physical encounter with Josh had left her perplexed. Part of it was the continued guilt—as though she had somehow been unfaithful to Carlo, of all things, and this was seriously pissing her off. Of course, she'd called Teal after she'd left Windswept that day, telling her emphatically, I'm a slut.
Teal had tried to reassure her. You're not. You're confused.
I slept with Carlo, and then a little less than a month later, I have someone whom I really don't know that well feeling me up and unbuttoning my pants in the office of my place of work.
Teal had paused. Okay, so maybe you're a confused slut.
That was an accurate description.
She decided she would use distance as a strategy with all three stressors. Keeping things friendly but cool with Josh, keeping interactions with Carlo to a minimum so she could continue processing everything, and staying in close proximity to buildings and people whenever possible to reduce the chances of an actual encounter with the stalker.
In addition to the stress of the triangle, her father seemed to want to become a fixed point in her life. He had sent her another invitation to dinner, which she had ignored, then a short letter asking about her life and telling her about his job, his wife and stepson, which she had ripped up. It affected her somehow, that he could only communicate with her through snail mail, since he didn't have any other way. But she wasn't ready to let him in her life any more than this.
She opened the door of the restaurant, the warm air and familiar, comforting smells greeting her. At least she could keep busy here, and maybe get some motherly advice from Allison. It was relatively quiet this Wednesday night. She would be the first waitress off, so she could do some classwork when she got home.
Allison greeted her as Cassandra was tying her apron. “Hey, girl! Long time no see. We don't see too much of each other now that my schedule's changed.”
“I know, and I miss you! We need to catch up.” She sighed. “I could use some maternal wisdom.”
Allison snorted. “Ha! I'm not sure how much wisdom you'll get, but I'll be glad to mother you, honey.”
“Which side of red room do I have?”
“Left. Just one customer for now. He looks familiar.”
Cassandra drew in her breath.
“No, no, sweetie...it's not the Italian Stallion. An older gentleman.”
“Okay. The older ones I can handle.” She flashed a smile at Allison as she headed for her section.
The man had thick, white hair and a ruddy complexion. He brightened when he saw Cassandra approaching him. She recognized him immediately: Estelle's boyfriend.
“Hello, young lady.”
“Hi, Martin...how are you?”
“I'm a little out of sorts, to be honest. Missing my lady.”
“Ohh...where is she?”
“In the hospital. Bacterial pneumonia.”
Cassandra's eyes widened with concern. “Oh, Martin—I'm really sorry. Is she all right?”
“She will be. Showing steady improvement. She's tough, as you know.” He smiled broadly, the skin around his eyes crinkling.
“Yes, she is. How—how is Carlo doing? I know Estelle means a great deal to him.”
“It's shaken him up. He's gone to visit her every day this week. They have a special bond, those two.” He paused, his pale blue eyes beginning to water. “Estelle insisted I come here tonight. Said I needed to get out. She doesn't understand I don't want to. It's not the same without her.”
Martin's words were sweet and sincere. Cassandra wanted to hug him, but instead nodded and smiled encouragingly. “I'm sure it's been very hard, worrying about her. But I'm so
glad she's doing better.”
She took his drink order and went to give it to Eddie at the bar. Allison came up beside her to order two margaritas and flung an arm around Cassandra's shoulders. “So, sweetheart...we have a few minutes, and you've got me curious. What sort of maternal wisdom are you looking for?”
“Advice about men.”
“Are we talking the Italian Stallion, or the cowboy?”
Cassandra sighed. “Both.”
Allison whistled her approval. “Whoa! Ha—see what I just did there?”
“Very clever.”
“Girl, with two men on the hook, it sounds like you should be giving advice instead of getting it.”
“It's not as fun as it sounds, believe me. I talk to myself so much I feel like I have a personality disorder.”
“Honey, I have to tell you, it sounds like you're over-thinking things. I'm no expert, but I've always believed that with matters of the heart, you have to go with your heart and not your head. When you start thinking too much—that's when things get messed up. Try to feel,not think. When you're ready, let your heart go, and follow it.”
Cassandra took the frothy beer mug that Eddie slid toward her and flashed Allison an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Al. For being a good mom.”
“I'm always here for you, sweetheart.”
At the end of her shift, Cassandra felt her anxiety climb as she prepared to leave the restaurant, wondering if she would find another note on her car, or if someone would be following her. Even though Bruce asked his employees to leave the nearby spots for customers, she had parked close to the building this time.
Once her car was in view, she could see that there was nothing on the Malibu's windshield. The tension in her shoulders eased. She pressed the unlock button on the remote and quickly climbed in. So far, so good.
She started up the car and turned the heat on, shivering. Taking her phone out of her purse, she sent a quick text to Carlo to tell him about Martin coming in, and that she was sorry about Estelle. Even though she wanted to keep Carlo at a safe distance, it would be mean of her not to acknowledge Estelle's illness.