by Remy Landon
“It's not that far. I just drove it.”
Cassandra turned to look at him 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 began to pick up, swirling around the two of them and pulling at Cassandra's carefully-arranged bun. Carlo bit his lip to keep from smiling. She was trying to be subtle about tucking the strands back in.
“Wind bothering you?”
“No. Not at all.” She quickly brought her hands to her lap and looked out the window.
“I was just asking because...well, 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.”
Carlo burst into laughter. “You are definitely different than other women I've known.”
“Is that an insult, or a compliment?”
“An observation.”
They came to a stop sign, and Cassandra turned toward him, half-smiling, tendrils of hair framing her face. She looked disheveled—and absolutely beautiful.
Although she held his gaze, the intensity of it seemed to rattle her. He liked this. And he knew, without a trace of doubt, that what he envisioned doing to her would soon become a reality.
chapter fifteen ~ Cassandra
Driving into the Bent Brook Country Club parking lot, Cassandra felt out of her league.
The topiary display at the front (spelling out the name of the Club), the carport's massive white pillars, and the overall grace and expanse of the building were all intimidating. But she was determined not to let Carlo know this. She would remain cool, bordering on aloof, so that Carlo would get the clear message that first and foremost, she was cool-bordering-on-aloof, and second, that this would be a one-and-done kind of deal. One date, perhaps one kiss—okay, maybe one touch, because let's be serious—it was killing her imagining what it would feel like...
Her mind screeched to a halt. This was not what cool and aloof people thought. This was what horny and weak people thought.
“Shall we?” Carlo had turned off the ignition and sat looking at her as though he was in possession of some glorious secret. His smile was dazzling, almost triumphant.
She didn't like the sweaty palms, the pounding heart, the feeling of her stomach tossing and lurching like a rowboat in a typhoon. But she had no choice. She forced herself to smile and nod, climbing out of the car before he could walk around it to meet her.
Once inside, the uneasiness persisted. The décor of the lobby featured warm, rich hues of cranberry and cream, with burnished, heavy-looking gold mirrors and antique paintings. Cozy-looking armchairs and a gleaming cherry coffee table were gathered in front of a granite fireplace, and French doors led to other rooms Cassandra presumed to be equally as gorgeous. She needed to get to the restroom, stat, so she could see how bad her bun was after the effing wind had gotten ahold of it. She didn't want to be the only one here who looked like gerbils had used her head for an amusement park.
They were 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 finest hostess in Lancaster County. The Club has been in her family for generations.”
Cassandra took Brenda's offered hand. “It's nice to meet you. You have a beautiful place.”
Brenda's blue eyes sparkled. “I'm so glad you like it. This is your first time with us?”
Carlo was 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. Cassandra felt the heat rise to her face as Brenda chuckled.
“I'm sure you are, Carlo. She's delightful. Let me show you to your table.”
“Could you tell me where the restroom is?” Cassandra needed to get her hair and thoughts back under control before they were seated.
“Of course.” Brenda pointed to a long hallway behind her. “First door on your right.”
“I'll wait here for you.” Carlo was smiling broadly.
She nodded and walked away, shivering involuntarily, imagining his eyes raking over her.
The restroom was thankfully vacant. She rolled her eyes at the complimentary lotions and soaps in the wicker basket. It figured. These kind of places should also offer Valium samples disguised as mints or chewing gum for someone like her who felt like a mutt in a dog show.
Cassandra quickly turned her attention to hair repair. Surveying her reflection in the mirror, she concluded that it wasn't as bad as she'd thought. She removed the clip, four hair pins and elastic, shook her hair free and smoothed the stray pieces around her side part. Putting her hair up was nothing new, yet this time felt different. This time, Carlo's eyes would be on her.
She pulled her hair into a low ponytail, coiled it tightly and spun it into a bun, re-inserting the hair pins and teasing out a few tendrils around her face to soften the look. She was good to go.
A wave of panic cascaded over her. In a matter of minutes, she would be alone with him at a table, and then who knows what would happen after dinner? That was what she was most worried about. She had to text Teal.
Dying a little bit here.
The response came almost immediately. 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 opened. Cassandra jumped, thinking it might be Brenda sent to look for her. It was instead some forty-ish woman in a strapless black dress and hot pink pumps who nodded coolly at Cassandra before reaching into her clutch for lipstick.
Okay, now she couldn't just stand in front of the mirror with this other woman here. She sent a quick xo to Teal and slipped her phone into her purse. Deep breath. Open door. Step out. And there was Carlo.
He was holding his phone and looked up immediately when she approached, his eyes meeting hers and then traveling down her body, creating in her a ripple effect of shivers. The gray jacket with a hint of sheen, contrasting with the bold teal shirt, was extremely attractive; he looked cool and silvery, like a refreshing burst of winter on this summer night. But the feelings he evoked in her were far from chilly.
Carlo looked back down the hallway that led to the lobby and signaled to Brenda who appeared in seconds, smiling brightly and holding two menus. Cassandra pulled her purse in closer as if it was some sort of protection. Unexpectedly, she felt her stomach growl. Well, at the very least, she could focus on the fact that she'd get a good meal out of this.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn't it be?” Cassandra smiled brightly and squared her shoulders. Let's do this.
He regarded her quizzically but moved closer to put his hand on her bare back, gently guiding her as they followed Brenda into the dining room. His touch...it felt a bit like she was being branded.
The formal dining room was airy and spacious, with cathedral ceilings and crystals dangling from chandeliers like sparkling icicles. Enormous arched windows looked out upon the golf course, and panels of floral wallpaper in delicate, swirling designs interrupted the cream-colored wall. Square tables were cloaked in thick ivory cloth with matching napkins in fan-like shapes. At the center of each table was a spray of fresh wildflowers in a tall, crackle-glass vase, surrounded by softly-glowing tealights.
Cassandra turned to look up at Carlo, her eyebrows raised.
“It's a bit different than Tucker's, I know. But I hope you'll be able to manage.”
They followed Brenda to a table for two in the far corner. “I hope this is satisfactory?” she asked.
“Very much so. Thank you.”
“Of course. Enjoy your dinner. We have some new specials listed inside.” Brenda laid a menu at each place setting and then laid a light hand on Cassandra's forearm. “It was very nice meeting you.”
Cassandra smiled back. “It was very nice to meet you, too.”
Carlo pulled back one of the chairs and Cassandra settled into it, feeling her uneasiness begin to evaporate. “I like her.”
He nodded, taking his seat. “Everyone does. She's a class act and very kind.”
“This whole place...it's just gorgeous. 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.”
She wrinkled her 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 chuckled. “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.” He was staring at her.
She decided she needed to lighten the mood. “Very funny.”
“I'm not joking.”
“Well, I guess...I mean, I...” she stammered. God damn, she wished he didn't have this kind of effect on her—just when she felt like they were on equal ground, bam, he'd throw her a curve ball and take her completely out of the game.
Unexpectedly, Carlo came to her 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,” she added sweetly.
He grinned. “Touché. But I'm not actually losing. I get what I'm really going for. Ultimately, I win.”
She ventured further, finding confidence in her boldness. Let him see her as a worthy opponent. “There must be some instances when you don't get what you're going for.”
“I assure you, Cassandra,” he paused, leaning slightly forward and lowering his voice, “if I want something...I get it.”
She forced herself to hold his gaze, although her pulse was throbbing in her ears. Swallowing, she found that her throat had suddenly gone dry, and as if on cue, a busboy appeared with a pitcher. She focused on the water and ice tumbling into her glass and lifted it quickly to her mouth. As she met Carlo's gaze, Cassandra couldn't help but wonder if his statement was more of a promise—or a warning.
chapter sixteen ~ Carlo
Carlo watched as Cassandra studied her menu, her forehead creased in concentration. He was quite confident that this was the fanciest restaurant she'd ever been to, and it pleased him to think she could have this experience. He wanted to make everything about tonight special for her—especially after dinner. Feeling the beginnings of arousal, he shifted in his chair. He'd always been able to control himself with other women, but Cassandra...Cassandra was different. He was glad she was intent on reading the menu so that he could just fill his eyes with her: the curling strands of her hair falling against her high cheekbones, the rest of it gathered up to expose her neck...the tantalizing deep V of her cleavage and barely-visible nipples through the fabric of her dress. He imagined how it would feel to trace one of them with his thumb, feel it respond and harden...
Carlo cleared his throat. “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...” Carlo trailed off as Cassandra shook 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.” Carlo's eyes were dancing.
“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, Carlo's favorite waiter, appeared in a crisp white shirt and black pants. “Mr. Leone. Welcome back.”
“Thank you, Ken. How's the family?”
“Fine, thank you. My son will be starting grad school in the fall.”
“Excellent. You must be very proud.”
“Oh, we are, sir. Have you had a chance to look at the wine list?”
“No need to look. We'll have the Dom Perignon.”
Ken nodded his approval. “I'll be back after you've had a chance to peruse the hors d'oeuvres.”
Carlo directed his attention back to Cassandra. He had to hear more. “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 looked like she was 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 skimmed the menu, her eyebrows raised. “Wow—these prices.”
“It's worth it. Although had I known about your simple taste in food, I could have saved myself some money. Perhaps next time I'll take you to the 7-Eleven.”
She looked up at him, blushing and clearly exasperated. The effect was 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.”
Laughing softly, he lifted his water glass to his lips and sipped. He caught her looking at his mouth. Ms. Larsen, what is it you are thinking at this very moment?
Blushing again, she hastily averted her gaze, her eyes darting around the room. Excellent, he thought. Things were going very, very well.
Ken reappeared with the bottle of wine and took their appetizer order. The alcohol would not only help Cassandra relax but would inevitably allow her to let her guard down. Carlo planned to use this to his advantage, although he wanted her senses to be very heightened and intensely aware of every moment she would have with him tonight.
Cassandra started to take a sip when Carlo held up his glass for a toast. “To a memorable first date.”
“I don't know what that means.” She clinked her glass against his, looking at him 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 had
said what I wanted to happen,” Cassandra answered, her voice low. “There would be a date. One date.”
“I know what you told me, Cassandra. I'm talking about what you're hoping.” He let his words linger in the space between them, watching the color rise to her cheeks once again. She opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it again, shaking her head and crossing her arms, looking as though she was hugging herself. Her defenseless appearance fueled his want for her, yet he was equally aroused by her independent, feisty side.
She seemed rattled more than he'd expected, and he didn't want to chance her getting up and leaving. Not when he had plans for her tonight—the first steps of which would be a mutually rewarding journey toward his ultimate goal. He would ease up on her—for now.
“I hate to admit this, but you were right.”
Cassandra looked at him, her face a blend of surprise and confusion. “About what?”
“Your hair. You said it would be just about perfect by the time we got here, and you were right. What did you call it? A messed-up bun?”
Her expression lightened as she tried unsuccessfully to keep from smiling. “I'm not gonna lie...I fixed it while I was in the bathroom. And I said it was a messy bun. But your people might call it a chignon.”
“My people?” He was amused.
“Yes. Upper class...the elite...the privileged. You know what I mean.”
“I'm not sure that I do.”
“Carlo. Seriously.”
“I like hearing you say my name.”
This last statement rattled her again—he could tell by her eyes and by the way her chest was rising and falling—but he knew what he was doing. It was a matter of balance and timing: shake things up, smooth them over...and repeat.
Ken delivered their appetizer, and Cassandra seemed grateful for the distraction. The Club was fairly quiet tonight with a few empty tables scattered here and there. Carlo was well aware that the men in the dining room were appreciating his date. It was comical when they would eye her up and down, realize he was watching them, and then quickly look away, reddening with embarrassment. The women had noticed her, too, a few of them displaying mild irritation on their overly-tanned faces.