by Frankie Love
Surely, this is not the pathetic bookworm who has to rely on his grandfather to arrange dates for him.
“Chuck?” I ask as Grace pushes me off the stairs toward him.
He smiles, a confident, slightly crooked smirk that actually gets me a little wet, and extends his hand. “You must be Cassidy.” He kisses the back of my hand and adds, “Or should I say Cookie?”
Call me whatever you want, I think, wishing for the first time ever that I didn’t still live with my parents. If I had a place of my own, I’d be severely tempted to say forget the date and simply drag this gorgeous man into my bedroom.
“Well, what are you two kids up to tonight?” my dad butts in, effectively dumping cold water on my racing thoughts. Nothing like a parent’s presence to kill the mood…
“I made reservations at La Rose,” Chuck says, and my dad nods his approval.
“Fancy place.” He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Expensive.”
Oh lord… we’ve got to get out of here before my dad asks Chuck how much he makes or what his intentions for me are. It’s not his fault—with five daughters, he’s bound to be protective—but that doesn’t make his pre-date questions any less mortifying.
I step toward the door and Chuck surprises me by draping my hand over his arm. I can feel the muscles beneath that finely tailored suit, and his cologne is rich and intoxicating. I manage to squeak, “Shall we go?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, his voice low and rumbly. Damn, everything about him is sexy. Charles should have lead with that information… although I suppose it would have been weird if he did. Hey, my grandson is a real panty-dropper… what do you say, want to take a ride?
No, that wouldn’t have worked at all.
Chuck opens the door for me and we’ve nearly made our escape when Grace calls behind us, “Don’t keep her out too late—she’s got work in the morning!”
My cheeks turn rosy but Chuck smiles as he opens my car door for me. “Your family seems nice.”
“If by nice, you mean nosy…” I say, sliding into the luxury car with its black leather seats. Sheesh… Charles said that his grandson had a decent job, but between this and the fancy restaurant, it seems more than decent to me.
When he slides into the driver’s seat beside me, I ask, “So what do you do for work?”
“Luxury real estate,” he says. “I’ve got my own brokerage.”
“Oh,” I say. “That sounds like a lot of work.”
Okay, so I’m fishing a bit—trying to figure out why this Adonis with great hair and a big… bank account… needs his grandfather to find him dates. And by the time we’re seated in the dim, candlelit dining room of the restaurant, I think I understand.
Chuck may be chiseled out of marble, but he’s as stiff as a statue too… and not in the fun way.
He’s perfectly polite, and those dark brown eyes rarely leave mine, but he’s proving incredibly difficult to draw into conversation. We talked about his real estate company in the car ride over, and I told him about why I wanted to follow in my older sister’s footsteps and become a librarian—because my mother’s a writer, our house was always filled with books when I was a kid, and reading got me through some tough, shy times as a teenager.
But Chuck just stiffens even more at that, and I’m starting to think that despite the obvious physical chemistry, this is turning out to be my worst date ever—not that there’s a large pool to choose from.
It takes a while for our drinks to arrive—I’ve got the feeling this is one of those slow, leisurely expensive restaurants—and by then, I’m determined to find a way to salvage this date. I will not sit here awkwardly for an entire meal, and I doubt he wants to do that either.
So Chuck doesn’t want to talk about his work, or mine.
He seems uncomfortable with the topic of family for some reason.
How about something completely different?
I’m just about to quiz him on his favorite book—Charles said his grandson was a reader—when Chuck surprises me. He takes a sip of his whiskey and says bluntly, “I know my grandfather twisted your arm into coming out with me tonight. To be honest, I wasn’t so crazy about being set up, either. Dating’s not really a priority for me right now.”
I quirk a smile at him. “Trust me, I’m not in a rush to settle down. I’m twenty-three, I’ve spent my whole life in school, and I’ve barely even dated. I’m not sure I know what I want yet.”
But I wouldn’t be at all surprised if what I want ends up looking exactly like Chuck. Smoldering eyes and all.
“This place was perhaps too romantic for a blind date,” he confesses, looking discreetly around at the other tables. “Look at all these lovebirds.”
“Completely head over heels,” I agree, taking in the many couples seated around us. I have to admit, if only to myself, that it’s sweet how absorbed in each other they all seem to be.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Chuck asks, nodding in the direction of a nicely dressed couple a few tables over who seem seconds away from lunging across the table and swallowing each other’s tongues.
I laugh, and realize this is as animated as Chuck has been since we left my house. I decide to take a risk.
I lean forward and lower my voice as I say, “I think he’s saying he’d like to eat her pussy for dessert.”
4
Chuck
I’m damn near a spit-take and it’s all I can do to swallow the whiskey in my mouth instead of spraying it across the nice linen tablecloth.
Cassidy must have noticed because she’s grinning at me, and I manage to regain my composure. I’ve got this girl all wrong.
When I picked her up at her parents’ house tonight, my first thought was, holy shit, this woman is gorgeous. In a fifties-style dress that hugs all her luscious curves, with red lipstick I’d love to see smeared on my cheek… among other places… I immediately took back my assumption that she’d be frumpy or in any way a stereotypical librarian.
But she’s so young—five years younger than me—and she still lives with her parents. I have to confess I instantly got this picture of her in my mind, prim, proper… innocent.
To hear her talk like that, though… well, she’s got my attention.
“You run the senior book club with that mouth?” I ask, leaning closer to her.
“Oh, shush,” she says, but she’s giving me a coy smile and she raises one finger to her plump red lips. Yeah, there’s definitely more to this girl than meets the eye… and from the sparks that have been coming off her all night, I know she’s up for a little fun.
“What are you going to do, Miss Librarian?” I ask. “Fine me?”
“Oh, more than that,” she says, one corner of her lips curling into a smirk as her green eyes challenge mine. “I will Dewey decimate you.”
“Well, if that’s not an invitation to break all your rules, I don’t know what is,” I answer. Yeah, this blind date just got a whole lot more interesting.
Before I can push this any further, though, the waiter returns with our food and I take a long sip of water, cooling myself off so I can get through the rest of the meal. I’m just making a mental note to thank Gramps for this pleasantly surprising date when Cassidy asks, “So, speed dating lightning round—five questions. Don’t think, just answer. What’s your favorite genre?”
“Self-help.”
“Fiction genre?”
“No time.”
Cassidy pouts at that, but lets it go. It’s the truth. She asks, “Watch the movie without reading the book first?”
“Never.”
“Do you dog-ear your pages?”
“Only when I’m desperate,” I say, and I can already see the judgment in her eyes so I hurry to add, “Never library books, though.”
She smiles, satisfied, and there’s that fire in her emerald eyes again as she asks her last question. “How come your grandpa’s finding dates for you?”
“Because he’s a hopele
ss romantic,” I say. “He married the love of his life and he won’t be content until everyone around him has done the same.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?” she asks, and I hold up a chastising finger.
“That’s six questions.” She just shrugs and waits, so I give in and answer. “No, I’m not looking for anything serious. I’ve got too much work to do… and I’m not as convinced about the whole soulmate thing as Gramps is.”
She nods. “Fair enough. Your turn.”
“For five questions?”
I think for a minute while I eat—I’ve got a juicy coq au vin, Cassidy’s having vegetable quiche. The questions don’t come as quickly to me as they seem to have come to her because it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date with a woman whose interests I actually shared. Who I was actually interested in. Finally, though, I’ve got it.
“Favorite book?”
“The Notebook,” she says, then immediately adds, “and if you pick on me about my gushy romance habits–”
“’I am nothing special, but I’ve loved another with my heart and soul, and to me that has always been enough,’” I paraphrase a line from the book, and Cassidy stops mid-sentence. I hope this hasn’t cost me a so-called Man Card in her eyes, but I can’t help it… it’s a good damn book.
“Wow,” is all Cassidy has to say, and now it’s my turn to interrupt.
Before she can comment on my secret Nicholas Sparks habit, I say, “Honestly, I only have one more question for now.”
“Which is?”
“Do you want to get dessert to go?” I ask. “We can eat it at my place, where I promise to think of three more questions for you.”
She smiles and glances over at the table where the lovebirds had been sitting. They’re gone now, and Cassidy nods eagerly. “Let’s go.”
5
Cassidy
Chuck’s house looks like something out of Architectural Digest. It’s all sleek lines and polished surfaces, with not an item out of place.
While he goes over to the bar to get a couple glasses and pour us drinks, I take it all in and say, “This is night and day compared to my parents’ house. You must have been internally pulling your hair out at all the clutter and knickknacks when you picked me up earlier.”
It’s not that my parents are hoarders or anything—they’ve just lived in that old farmhouse for the past thirty years and raised five daughters there. Nearly every square inch of wall space is filled with family photos, and there’s not a corner of the house that somebody hasn’t claimed for a reading nook, office space, or storage cubby.
Chuck smiles, those smooth, chocolatey eyes sweeping over me, as he comes over and hands me a whiskey neat, picking up where we left off in the restaurant. “Okay, here’s your next question: Is that what you want? The big family house, white picket fence, two kids, a dog?”
“Lord, no,” I say with a laugh that bubbles up my throat. “At least not for a long time. I am young and free and I intend to stay that way, thank you very much.”
He’s grinning now, that little half-smile that only curls up one corner of his mouth and has a way of making my panties damp. That, and the fact that he’s standing so close I can feel his body heat.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me.
I’d like that, I realize.
And then he says, “You’re not like most of the women I’ve been on dates with.”
“Oh?”
“They all want to settle down, and as fast as possible too,” he says. “They’re just after a ring, and sometimes it seems like it doesn’t even matter who from.”
“You’re right,” I say. “That’s not me at all. When I do get married, it’ll be because I can’t wait another minute, because I found The One, because I want to go adventuring with him, not settle down and be a boring old married couple.”
I’m being gushy again—he already told me he’s not sold on the whole soulmates idea—but I guess I can’t help it. The library at home contains a romance novel or two thanks to my mother, and I guess those ideas have rubbed off on me after all. Or maybe it’s the whiskey talking.
“We’ve still got dessert to eat,” Chuck says, and for a moment I wonder if he’s really talking about food. But then he nods in the direction of the take-out boxes on the bar countertop and I remember the chocolate lava cakes we ordered to go. “It’s a nice night out. Want to eat on the deck?”
“Lead the way,” I tell him.
We gather up supplies—the cakes, forks, our whiskey glasses and the nice crystal decanter it came out of in case we want more. Then Chuck guides me over to a sliding glass door that leads out to an expansive deck at the back of the house.
Chuck flips a switch on the wall and the space is illuminated by soft lights installed along the railings. It’s just enough light to see where we’re going, and to hint at the view of Golden Creek itself, which our town is named after, burbling in the distance.
“Oh, this is beautiful,” I say as my eyes adjust. It’s nothing like the sleek bachelor pad on the interior of the house—out here it’s soft and romantic and welcoming. A little chillier than I expected, but I’m sure the whiskey will keep me warm… or maybe Chuck can.
“My favorite part of the house,” he says. “You should see the view at sunrise.”
“I’d like that,” I say before I’ve got a chance to second-guess myself. I may not be too experienced with flirting, but something about Chuck makes me feel adventurous. Confident. Sexy.
He takes my hand and leads me over to the railing, where we set down our dessert and drinks on a wide ledge. He pops open one of the containers of chocolate cake, and I think he’s about to hand me a fork, but instead, he takes it back, smiling wryly at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I can tell that you’re hungry,” he says. “I see it in your eyes. But I don’t think it’s cake that you want.”
Heat crawls up my neck and into my cheeks. Am I that transparent? But I can see the desire in his eyes too, and I’m not sure a man has ever looked at me like that before. Chuck’s right—I am hungry for it.
My heart is beating fast while I wait to see what he’ll do next. I feel paralyzed, in the best possible way, surrendering myself entirely to him, to whatever comes next for us.
And then he casts the fork aside and takes my face in his hands, his fingers threading through my hair. I’m glad I wore it down, I think just before all thoughts cease and I give myself over to him.
He tilts my head up, brings his lips down to mine, his scruff scratching against my cheeks as he deepens the kiss. I don’t mind—in fact, I think I love it.
Chuck backs me up against the railing until my hips press against it, and then his body is against mine, his tongue teasing at my mouth. His lips are soft against mine, and his thick, dark hair is soft when I run one hand through it. But he’s also all kinds of hard—his abs against my belly, his biceps beneath my hands, his scruff against my cheeks… and I can’t wait to see where else he’s hard.
But then he draws back slightly, resting his forehead against mine and rubbing his thumb over my cheek. “You’re cold.”
“I barely feel it,” I breathe.
“I know how to warm you up,” he tells me, and whatever he’s got in mind, it’s already working.
I look into his eyes, like gemstones glittering in reflected light at this short distance, and I know I’ve never wanted anyone like I want him.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and leading me away from the railing. He takes me over to a part of the deck I haven’t even noticed yet, a nook covered by a pergola and housing a large hot tub. “What do you think?” he asks, reaching over to turn the hot tub on. “I can go inside and get you a T-shirt if you want–”
But I don’t want to cover up. I’m done being shy—Chuck makes me want to be bold instead.
So I reach behind my back and draw down the zipper of my dress. I shimmy out of it and stand before him in nothing but
a red, lacy bra and matching panties, and my heels.
“God damn, you’re hot,” Chuck says. “Come here, Cookie. I need a taste.”
6
Chuck
I can’t believe she just stripped down for me like that.
I’m sure I’ve never seen anything sexier than that little strip tease, I can’t tear my eyes off her body. What looked good in that cute little retro dress is absolutely mind-blowing in the flesh.
Cassidy’s got supple curves in all the right places, and her breasts are so full they threaten to spill over the cups of her little lace bra with every breath. God, I’d love that.
My cock is rock-hard and I’m practically salivating to get close to her.
She takes a few sultry steps forward, her emerald eyes full of desire, but then she arches a challenging brow and turns back toward the hot tub. Her plump round ass cheeks peek out from beneath her panties and I stare openly at her as she saunters away again. She’s teasing me, relishing every second, and I know I’ve met my match.
In fact, I think it’s more than that. I think I’m actually falling for this girl.
I watch as she bends over and unbuckles the straps of her heels, then steps out of them. Her hands go to the clasp of her bra and she pops it open, letting it fall, and then she steps out of her panties too—never once turning around, knowing that my eyes are locked onto her.
I’m tearing at my tie and kicking off my shoes when she goes up the three-step staircase and then into the bubbling hot tub. Finally, standing on the seating within, submerged up to her knees, she turns around to face me.
Her nipples are taut, her glistening pussy peeking out beneath a neatly trimmed bush. God damn, what am I doing wasting time out here when I should be in there with her?