“I love to stargaze.”
“Me, too. Growing up on the farm, I got spoiled. With no city lights to interfere, the sky is always full of stars.” Troy searched for other constellations. He found Andromeda and Eridanus. “Who did this for you?”
“When I was younger, I would lie in the backyard and stare at the stars with my planisphere in hand. One winter, it got so cold my mother thought I’d catch pneumonia. My father had these glow-in-the-dark stars put on the ceiling so I could stay warm while I scanned the sky for constellations.”
“Your dad did a great job.”
“He hired astronomers to place them, so it’s pretty accurate. For a bedroom ceiling, that is.”
Troy located the Pleiades. He couldn’t imagine having Vanessa and Dixon Daniels as parents, or the money they must have spent to replicate the stars by sticking fluorescent replicas on a ceiling. Someday…
“My mother hated us going out in the winter, too.” Troy could barely move by the time his mom finished dressing him for an evening of stargazing in the chilly air. “But on the clearest and coldest night, you could see what seemed like a million stars in the sky.”
Cassie sighed. “Sounds like heaven. Why did you leave?”
“I got tired of living on a farm. I watched my parents grow old worrying about money, about the weather, about grain prices…”
About how to pay for their children’s college education, their own retirement, and groceries. His father was only fifty-two, but he had lines of worry etched on his forehead. It wasn’t fair how little he had to show for all his hard work.
“That’s just life,” Troy admitted. “But the hardships are multiplied by five, sometimes ten, when you’re a farmer.”
“But aren’t there pluses to living on a farm?” Cassie asked. “No crowds, no traffic, lots of open spaces.”
True, but Troy didn’t want to live hand to mouth or harvest to harvest. The only way to get what he wanted was to move to the big city. Leaving his family and the only lifestyle he’d known had been a sacrifice, but one he’d make again.
Cassie grew up rich. She wouldn’t understand his reasons or be able to comprehend how his family still struggled although he sent money and flew back on his vacations to help during the busy times.
“There are pros and cons. Floods and droughts,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “So many things are out of your control. Farming isn’t an easy way to make a living.”
“I always thought farming would be fun.” Cassie sounded as if she disapproved his reasons.
“At times, it’s fun, but there’s work involved. Hard, back-breaking work no matter what the conditions are outside.”
A star fell from the ceiling.
“Did you see that?” she asked in a wistful voice.
“What?”
“A falling star.” Her childlike excitement brought a smile to his face. “Make a wish, Troy.”
Wish on a plastic star? He rolled his eyes. She probably tossed coins into fountains, too. “It’s not a real star, Cassie.”
“So? It can’t hurt.” She went quiet. “Did you make a wish?”
“Yes.” He had wished for a BMW. He didn’t need a Ph.D. in human behavior to know she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “What did you wish for?”
“If I tell you, my wish won’t come true,” she said. “Although, I’ve always thought you could learn a lot about a person by knowing what they wished for.”
Troy wondered what he could learn from Cassie’s wish. She probably wished for world peace or an end to hunger.
“I’m happy you made a wish, Troy. I thought you were a total stick-in-the-mud.” She rolled over so her back faced him. “Sweet dreams.”
“You too, Cassie.”
He stared at the ceiling. Another star fell. He made a wish. No way was he a “stick-in-the-mud.” Except…
His muscles tensed.
Did wishes tell something about a person? If so, what did his say about him?
Troy wasn’t sure he wanted to know because this second wish shocked him. He should have wished for a partnership or his own company, but he hadn’t.
He had wished for Cassie.
6
The smell of freshly brewed coffee tickled Cassandra’s nose. She stretched her arms over her head and then slowly opened her eyes. Sunlight peeked through the blinds. Unbelievably, she felt well rested.
That surprised her.
With Troy only a few feet away, wearing a pair of gray athletic shorts and no shirt, she couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep. But she had and dreamed of a man with brown hair. A surprisingly romantic dream, full of long glances and slow kisses.
But she knew better than most that dreams didn’t come true.
Still, she kept wishing on stars and blowing out candles, just in case. Hoping for the best didn’t hurt. And if today went as well as last night, tomorrow she would be able to say goodbye to her fiancé for the weekend. She wiggled her toes in anticipation.
Smiling, she glanced over at Troy.
His bed was not only empty but had also been made.
Oh, no. Troy and her parents.
Alone.
Panicked, Cassandra bolted upright. She gripped the edge of the comforter. One tiny foul up and her intelligent parents would figure out the engagement was a scam. The whole fake fiancé ruse would blow up in her face.
She could handle the consequences, but what about Troy? Just because she’d made a mess of her life didn’t mean she needed to wreck his, too.
Cassandra jumped out of bed and raced for the door. Halfway down the hall, she skidded to a stop.
Pants. She needed pants.
Running to her room, Cassandra saw a pair of gray shorts on Troy’s bed. She tossed them on, pulling the drawstring tight so they wouldn’t fall off.
Let me get there in time. Please.
Cassandra ran down the stairs.
Voices sounded in the kitchen.
Heart pounding, she picked up the pace.
Her mother, her father, and Troy.
What a nightmare!
As she entered the kitchen, she crossed her fingers behind her back. Sunlight streamed through the windows. Everything looked bright and cheery. She hoped that was a good sign.
Her mother stood at the counter while her father and Troy sat at the table in the breakfast nook.
“Good morning,” Cassandra said.
Troy’s royal-blue polo shirt intensified the color of his eyes. The power of his gaze took her breath away. Her pulse sped up.
“Good morning, Cassandra.” Her mother closed the waffle iron and wiped her hands on the front of a yellow apron. “You’re up early.”
Cassandra glanced at the microwave clock. “What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty,” her father said with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Couldn’t you sleep, Cassie?”
She combed her fingers through her messy hair. “No sense sleeping the day away, Dad.”
He laughed. “Troy, you must be a good influence. When Cassie was a teenager, she never woke up until noon.”
Troy’s smile showed off his straight, white teeth. “Nine o’clock seems to be her usual time now.”
Wait, what? How did he know what time she got up?
He picked up his mug and drank.
Cassandra found herself staring at him again.
She frowned. Why was she having such a difficult time not looking at him?
His hair, of course. Troy’s damp waves begged to be touched. That had to be the reason.
“Did you sleep well, beautiful?” Troy asked.
He’d called her beautiful. Not that he meant it, but her pulse kicked up a notch. “Yes, so well I didn’t hear you get up.”
“I tried to be quiet. Looks like I succeeded.”
Cassandra ignored his playful tone. “Yes, you did.”
She had been too busy dreaming about him.
She should have asked someone else to be her fiancé instead. Troy was too gor
geous for his own good. And hers, too.
“You said good morning to me,” Troy said.
“I did?”
Cassandra couldn’t remember. She hadn’t made a pass at him, had she? No, she hadn’t. She didn’t sleepwalk or anything as far as she knew.
Nodding, Troy set his coffee cup on the table. “Come over here, so I can say good morning properly.”
Cassandra blushed.
Her parents’ pleased glances matched their wide smiles. They thought she and Troy were a couple. She should be happy, but she couldn’t quite relax.
As she walked toward Troy, her heartbeat resembled a drum roll.
This is an act. This isn’t real.
She repeated the mantra in her mind.
Troy pulled her onto his lap. He caressed her cheek with his fingertips, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.
“You look cute in my clothes.” He winked and then kissed her.
His mouth was warm. He tasted like French roast coffee and something else she couldn’t define. His kiss was softer than she expected—a little tentative but sweet, too.
He pulled away.
Too soon.
As his lips hovered near hers, his breath fanned her mouth like a soft feather.
The tingles on her lips spread through her. Cassandra wanted more.
“Good morning, my love.” Leaning back, Troy broke the spell.
She blinked. He’d mesmerized her. But none of this was for real.
The kissing had been an act. A visual effect like the sound effects he’d mentioned last night. Her body, however, seemed to be unclear of the point. Every nerve ending pulsated with sensation and electricity. Goose bumps covered her legs and arms.
The kitchen must be cold.
Except she wasn’t cold. She felt downright feverish. That must be from the heat radiating from Troy’s body. Men were always warm.
Maybe some distance would help. She scooted to the empty chair next to Troy. He placed his arm around her shoulder.
Be careful. Be very careful.
Her mother set a plate with a steaming Belgian waffle in front of Troy. “Would you like strawberries and whipped cream?”
“No, thanks.” He removed his arm from Cassandra’s shoulder and placed his napkin on his lap. “Butter and syrup are fine.”
“Want a cup of coffee, Cassie?” her dad asked.
Iced coffee would cool her down, but she nixed the idea. She needed to keep everything as normal as possible. “I’d love a cup.”
Dixon filled her mug and then added a dash of milk and sugar, which was how she liked it.
“Thanks, Dad.” Cassandra took a sip. The coffee tasted like Troy. And his kiss. Something she didn’t want to think about during breakfast.
Or ever.
You haven’t been kissed in over a year. That’s all. After Eric, you didn’t like being kissed. Forget Troy’s kiss.
Cassandra set her cup on the table.
Her mother placed a plate in front of her. “Here’s your waffle, sweetheart.”
The waffle was piled high with strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce. Her favorite breakfast dish looked delicious. So how come she would rather have another taste of Troy instead? “Thanks, Mom.”
Troy raised an eyebrow. “You like chocolate sauce on your waffles?”
“Yes,” she said. “Among other things.”
“I like peanut butter and syrup on French toast,” he said.
“So does Cassie.” Her dad smiled as if he’d made another million. “Vanessa, did you hear that? They both like peanut butter on their French toast.”
Her father sounded pleased, but liking peanut butter and syrup wasn’t a strong enough foundation to build a relationship on. She and Troy were unsuited for each other. He wore Italian silk suits and leather shoes, while she wore one-hundred-percent cotton and preferred going barefoot. He worked to make money—she worked to enjoy her passion—books. She could list other examples.
They had nothing in common.
As soon as they stopped pretending to like each other, their differences would be crystal clear to both of her parents. Peanut butter and syrup aside.
As Cassandra took a bite of her waffle, she paid closer attention to her parents to keep from focusing on Troy. Her mother seemed to be comfortable cooking once again. Her father wore his golf attire—a purple shirt, an argyle sweater, and green pants.
“What’s your tee time, Dad?” she asked.
“Nine o’clock.” He leaned against his chair. “Troy and I are having lunch at the lodge after we finish.”
Daddy and Troy.
Alone.
No way.
She couldn’t let them go without her.
If Troy said the wrong thing and her dad discovered the truth, this weekend could backfire. Troy’s career would be ruined, and she would have to put up with her parents’ endless advice and matchmaking. Or worse, what if her father believed they were as perfect a couple as they pretended to be?
No. No. No.
Her father needed to see her and Troy together. That was the only way for her dad to understand why they shouldn’t get married or be upset when they “broke up.”
“Mind if I join you?” Cassandra flashed her cutest smile at her father—a grin that had been fail-safe when she was growing up.
“Don’t you remember what happened the last time I took you to the course?” Her dad laughed. “Troy, whatever you do, don’t let Cassie play golf. She loses too many balls.”
So much for being cute.
“The balls are small, and I don’t understand why there are so many ponds and sand traps between the holes.” Why anyone would pay all that money and suffer so much frustration was beyond her.
Time for a new tactic. “I won’t play, but let me drive the cart.”
“No,” her father said.
She slapped her palm against the table. “I’m a good driver.”
Her dad shook his head. “You don’t own a car, Cassie.”
She glanced at Troy, willing him to help her.
He shrugged.
What kind of a fiancé was he? She would have to talk to him about what was expected.
“I’ll caddy.” Unwilling to give up without a fight, she studied her fork as if the tines would provide inspiration. “I’m good with numbers. I can keep score.”
Her father narrowed his eyes.
She ran the risk of ruining her own plans with her good intentions. Her dad would see right through her. She hated golf. Her family knew that.
“Honey, I know you want to be with Troy, but your mother has a special day planned for you. It’s been months since you’ve been here.” Her father’s tone softened. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?”
The expectant look in her mother’s eyes hit Cassandra like a stack of George R.R. Martin hardcovers falling from a top shelf at her store. Guilt followed. Her mouth felt as if it were coated in sand.
She didn’t want to hurt her mom, but how far was Cassandra willing to go with this ruse? She’d created a fictional fiancé to stop her parents’ meddling. She’d brought home her pseudo fiancé. What came next? A pretend wedding? Or worse, a real one?
She fought the urge to grimace and forced a smile instead. “No, I’m sure Mom and I will have a wonderful time.”
“Oh, we will.” Her mother’s hazel eyes sparkled. “Just like the last time.”
Cassandra remembered spending a day at a trendy spa, aka the beauty salon from hell. She’d spent hours convincing a hairdresser named Jean-Paul that she not only liked the length of her hair, but she also liked the color, too.
Clenching her fork, she kept smiling. “What are we going to do?”
Vanessa’s eyes widened. “It’s a surprise, but we’re going to have so much fun. Just wait.”
Cassandra suppressed a groan.
More likely, she would hate whatever was planned. Her mother and Emily had a different definition of fun. Being primped and p
ampered didn’t appeal to Cassandra.
Not that she had a choice today.
Cassandra bit into a forkful of her waffle. She was tough. She was resilient. If Jean-Paul and her hair weren’t involved, she could handle anything.
At least, she hoped so.
♥ ♥ ♥
After breakfast, Troy stepped into the bedroom and then stopped. He’d thought Cassie would have been showered and dressed by the time he finished eating another waffle.
He’d been wrong.
Dead wrong.
His muscles bunched.
Cassie stood in the middle of the room. She wore a dark flower-print dress. A feminine pattern and style that looked good on her. The only problem—her fingers fumbled with the zipper. A black bra contrasted against white skin.
He stiffened. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“You don’t have to go.” She faced him. “I want to talk to you.”
Talk? How about another kiss?
No, that wouldn’t be right. Except he wanted to kiss her.
She’d looked cuddly, sexy, and sleep-rumpled in his clothes, when she appeared for breakfast. She looked downright beautiful now.
Focus. “Do you need help?”
“Help? Now you offer help.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “I needed your help downstairs.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I wanted you to convince my father that I should go golfing with you.” She struggled with the zipper again. “But you said nothing, nada, zilch.”
“What did you want me to say? Let Cassie drive the cart?” Troy touched her hand. “You’re going to ruin your dress. Let me try.”
Cassie lifted her single braid—a thick, golden plait that made him think of Rapunzel.
As he reached for the zipper, his hand brushed against her back. Her skin was warm.
She tensed. That caused him to do the same.
Man, this wasn’t good.
Whatever chemistry existed between them, Cassie felt it, too.
Knowing that didn’t help. Troy ignored the graceful curve of her neck and the softness of her skin. The zipper was stuck on the edge of the fabric. He tugged until he freed the teeth, zipped up the dress, and let go.
“All done,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs.”
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 293