Point of Submission (Point Series Book 1) Read online

  “Your hair is really quite beautiful. I'm not usually a fan of redheads, but yours is a unique color.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Yes. What color would you call it?”

  He is making me feel seriously tongue-tied and awkward, like when I was in middle school in the presence of a popular high school jock. “I don’t know. Auburn, I guess.”

  I have to admit that my hair is one of my best features. When I take it out from its usual ponytail, it falls just past my shoulders. It's thick, wavy and deep red with natural blonde highlights, especially in the summer. I used to hate my hair when I was a little kid, mainly because of fat Ronnie Wilkins who used to taunt me by calling me “Firecrotch.” But I grew to appreciate its color once I started high school and my friends started making envious comments, teasing me that they hated me for it.

  At least I think they were teasing.

  “And your eyes. Also an interesting color, but they seem to change as you look at them. At first, I thought they were green, like sea glass, but now they look more blue.” A pause, and then he snaps his fingers like he's made a discovery. “The ocean. That’s what they remind me of.”

  Is this guy for real? He’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, but all this staring and complimenting is creeping me out. I pull the hose out of the bucket, shake my head and sigh.

  “Is something wrong?”

  I adjust my ponytail, tightening the elastic, and then put my hands on my hips. “What is it that you want?”

  A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. That mouth. “Now that’s a loaded question. I want a lot of things.”

  I'm struggling to maintain my composure. “Look...Mr. Leone. I don’t know who the hell you are, or what you're doing here, but I have work to do. I told you, this is a private stable—”

  “And I’m not welcome?”

  “I have work to do.”

  “Understood. I’ll leave you to it. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me...you’ve been a really nice distraction today.” He holds out his hand, and I take it. His fingers are cool as they close gently around mine, and an involuntary tremble ripples through me. “Maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

  Doubtful, I say silently, as he turns and walks away. He pauses beside Brownie’s stall, reaching out and cautiously stroking the horse’s nose before he's enveloped in sunlight as he leaves the barn.

  I want a lot of things.

  Jesus, stop it. I give myself a mental shake, determined to fill my mind and time with the mundane comfort of chores so I won’t keep wondering just what it is Carlo Leone wants.

  chapter two ~ Carlo

  What the Christ just happened?

  I walk out of the barn, plucking my shirt away from my chest. I'd felt myself start to sweat the moment I saw her, which was in and of itself a red flag. People—women—don't usually affect me that way. But Cassandra Larsen did.

  Meeting her was completely unexpected, and maybe that's part of what got me off my game. I'll go with that.

  I climb into my Mercedes convertible, thinking once again what a sweet purchase this baby was. The SLS AMG cost over $200,000, but it's been well worth it. Even with the high humidity in Manheim today, I'll drive home with the top down. No worries about the need to look cool and professional since I'm not going back to the office. And maybe the wind blowing around me will help take away some of this fucked-up feeling I have—restless, unsettled...can't even put a label on it. Like I want to go back in that stable, talk to her again...look in her eyes, watch her mouth. Kiss her.

  Definitely, fucked-up.

  I slip on my sunglasses and put the key in the ignition. The CEO of Miller Valves can't afford to be fucked up. Not when I'm responsible for two hundred and three employees, a hundred thousand square foot manufacturing facility and a hundred million dollars in sales. Can't have anyone questioning me like they did initially, when at age twenty-five, I took over for my stepfather last year after his unexpected heart attack. Scott Miller was a hard act to follow, not just professionally but personally, and I knew I'd have my detractors. But so far, I've proven them wrong—increasing sales by fifty percent, implementing quality control measures to make Miller products more reliable. Not to mention the takeover of one of our major competitors...I had to show them what I was capable of. Had to show me what I was capable of.

  And I wanted to make Scott proud.

  He was the only father I'd ever known, since my biological father died soon after my little sister Gianna was born. Scott had been ferocious in business dealings, but with family, especially my mother, he'd been nothing but kind and affectionate. The macho side of him would protest that label, but he was tender, fiercely protective of my mother—right up until the day she died of an embolism, two years ago. I'd always appreciated him for loving and revering Mama the way she deserved. I wanted to follow in his footsteps...treat women with utmost respect, like he did.

  I've unfortunately been unable to keep that promise. Not unwilling—unable. Big difference.

  I sometimes catch myself wondering what Scott would think of me now. If he was still alive, I'm betting he would have had some wisdom to share. Or more likely, shaken some fucking sense into me. Better not to even go there. It is what it is.

  I accelerate down Route 72, the cornfields a blur on either side of me. The definite bonus of the fucked-up, restless feeling I had today was that it caused my impromptu detour to the stable—the first time in months. Which is probably too long of an absence...seeing as I own it.

  Mama had loved horses—used to show them when Gianna and I were young. She'd entered Gi in lead-line classes and me in walk-trot competitions. Neither of us had been as horse-crazy as she was, but we'd loved her, so much. Horses were an extension of Paolo Leone Miller—what made her eyes shine. I feel connected to Mama, being in that stable. It occurs to me that one reason I've been feeling restless is because I hadn't connected in that way with my mother in a long time and maybe needed to, which is why I found myself driving to Windswept.

  And then I met Cassandra.

  What was it about this girl? Obvious answer: her looks. The uniquely-stunning color of her hair, the way wisps of it frame her delicate face. Those aquamarine eyes that seemed to keep changing every time I looked into them: not only the color, but what they projected: boldness, innocence, allure. Some curiosity and a hint of arousal, too.

  I feel my cock harden, remembering.

  But it's more than this. It's the contradictions I saw in her: feisty but cautious, confident but vulnerable. I liked that.

  Most of all, it was the potential challenge. I'd realized it the moment we met.

  Decision made.

  Without taking my eyes off the road, I reach for my iPhone and tell Siri to send a text.

  There are three words: I found one.

  chapter three ~ Cassandra

  “So this guy...he was seriously hot?” Teal swirls the straw in her margarita glass, her blue eyes round with expectation.

  “Um, yes.”

  “As in, fuckably hot?”

  “You know I'm not into that.”

  “Into what? Fucking?” Teal looks at me innocently as she takes a sip of her drink.

  “Behave. I meant guys in general.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you're gay? Cass, is this your way of coming out?” Leaning across the table to put a hand on my arm, she lowers her voice. “In that case, there's this person in my Gender Studies class I'd like to hook you up with.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  “So you liked him, obviously.”

  “I didn't spend enough time with him to actually like him. But he was...intriguing.”

  “Is that another word for fuckable?”

  It's impossible to be pissed at Teal, even when she's a relentless pain in the ass like this. Teal is adorable: blonde and kind of waif-like, really, with these angelic cornflower-blue eyes. But she's far from angelic. She loves sex, drinking, swearing
and the occasional cigar. And she's crazy smart...pre-law smart. I met her two years ago at Franklin Marshall in General Psych. The class was in a huge lecture hall with a couple hundred students. I'd come in about ten minutes late, it was raining, I'd gone to the wrong building first...when I pulled open the heavy door to the hall, there was this loud creaky-groany sound, and two hundred pairs of eyes fell on me, watching with blank expressions as I entered, my wet flip-flops slapping against the tile floor. I was so embarrassed, so intimidated—cringing inside as I was looking for a seat. Then I see this blonde girl waving and waving at me, like we were old friends. So I went up a few rows to where she was and slid into the empty seat beside her. I seriously wanted to hug her. We clicked, instantly. And the rest, as they say, is history.

  Teal and I ended up rooming together for the spring semester and would have stayed roommates if I hadn't dropped out. That wasn't the plan, but my mom got sick, and I was the only one to take care of her. Then the bank took the house, and I had to find my own place (and job to pay for it). So I left college. I told myself this wasn't such a bad thing—I didn't know for sure what I wanted to do, anyway, and Franklin Marshall was super expensive. The scholarships and financial aid had helped when I started, but my grades slipped during everything going on with Mom, which meant I lost the scholarships.

  I miss it—college. The big things, like the mental stimulation of the courses and challenging myself, but the little things, too—like when you and another classmate make eye contact during an insanely difficult final and you exchange a holy shit glance. But really, it's all good. I'm lucky to have a job I love at Windswept and another job I can tolerate at Tucker's which pay for my one-bedroom apartment.

  My loves right now are Teal and Brownie. I don't need anything else. And “anything else” includes anyone.

  “You're a fucking tease, Cass, you know that?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I need details. I've had a dry spell lately, so this is all I've got.”

  I shake my head, laughing as I take a bite of my quesadilla. “A 'dry spell' for you translates into a day without sex.”

  Teal nods thoughtfully. “That's about right. How long has it been for you, anyway?”

  “No comment.”

  “Since Dylan?”

  “No comment.”

  The waitress comes over with our second margaritas. I'm glad for the interruption, but it doesn’t last—the future attorney in Teal makes her push. As far as I'm concerned, though, my ex-boyfriend is a closed subject.

  Sighing, Teal tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Okay, okay. I'll leave Dylan alone, but this mystery guy...tell me more.”

  “Honestly, there isn't much to tell.”

  Teal narrows her eyes, waiting.

  “My God, you’re persistent. So Mystery Guy came in looking hot wearing a white shirt, got snorted on by a horse and left wearing a not-so-white shirt. But still looking hot. End of story.”

  “I think it's interesting that you're admitting he's hot. That you noticed.”

  “I can look. I'm not dead, for God's sake. Just don't want to partake beyond that.”

  “I wonder what his deal is. I mean, just showing up randomly in a horse stable on his way home from work?”

  “He said he used to ride. Maybe the barn was a happy place for him and he needed that.”

  “I'm betting he got even happier when he saw your fine ass.”

  “Stop. Can we please talk about something else?”

  “Oh, all right. Fine.” Teal sips at her drink as she scans the restaurant. “I'll just scope out the place, see if there's someone I'd like to—” She clips off her sentence and quickly looks down at her plate. “Ah, shit.”

  “What is it?”

  “Coming in the door. Don't look. It's—fuck, what are the chances?”

  Of course, being told not to look somewhere literally pulls my gaze to that exact spot. Greeted by the smiling hostess is someone I didn't want to ever see again. Dylan.

  My heart is thumping loudly, and I so hate that. I'm trying not to keep looking, but I watch him follow the hostess to a table across the room. He's got a girl with him—a tall brunette wearing a clingy, pink strapless dress, her hair falling to her shoulders. She looks beautiful and bubbly. I instantly hate her, then hate myself for hating. What does it matter, at this point? Dylan and I broke up over a year ago—his choice, not mine—and he's obviously free to do whatever the fuck he wants—or whomever the fuck he wants. I know this, but there's still a part of me—the scarred part that's probably inside every girl, aching with the memories of broken promises—that wants him to be alone and unhappy for the rest of his life.

  “Just ignore that asshole. Think of a happy place, like inside Mystery Man's pants.”

  I grin in spite of myself. Teal knows how to handle me.

  I can do this. I can keep my cool, my pride, my sanity—and my resolve. “My happy place is at Windswept Stable. Or Target.”

  “Then I suggest you focus on that big red bullseye, because Dylan's heading over here.”

  “He's what?” I can feel a hot flush blazing in my cheeks. What is he thinking? The only other time we've seen each other was at a bar near campus, and that was a few months after splitting up. We'd made uneasy eye contact from across the room, and I’d ended up leaving early.

  Teal leans across the table, her lips barely moving. “Stay calm. This could be a big break-through. Prove that you're over him—prove it to Dylan, and prove it to yourself.”

  “Hey. Cassandra.”

  I will myself to turn around, to look at his smooth, unblemished face and cool hazel eyes, the sandy brown hair neatly parted and combed...nothing has changed. Still just as handsome as ever.

  His eyes are locked on mine, his face bland as he speaks. “What's up?”

  This is what he wants to ask me? Maybe I could recap the past fifteen months. Let's see...my stress level, my guard, the wall I've built around myself after you laid the foundation. After you laid others during our relationship. That’s what's “up.”

  I arrange my face to look disinterested, hoping my emotions will follow. “Just having dinner with Teal.” I sneak a glance at Dylan's date, who is looking at us suspiciously. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

  Dylan flashes a grin at Teal who smiles frostily and busies herself with her phone. He turns his attention back to me. “So how've you been?”

  “I've been good.”

  “You're looking good.”

  Seriously? Does he really think I want to hear a compliment from his lying mouth? I find myself staring at it, wondering how many other girls he'd kissed since we were together—or even while we were together—and I realize I can't even remember what his lips felt like.

  I lift my margarita and take a long sip. Dylan appears to be waiting for a response. I'll give him one.

  “I don't think your date would appreciate you telling me that. You apparently still have quite a bit of work to do on that whole being faithful thing.”

  His eyebrows lift in surprise, his lips curling into a smile, and suddenly, he is soo not attractive. Shaking his head, he laughs—too forcefully to be sincere. “Just trying to make conversation. Guess I'll get back to my table. Have a good dinner.”

  I watch him walk off, aware that my tension is melting away with each step he takes.

  Teal reaches across the table to lightly tap my hand. “Girlfriend! You totally rocked that. Put him right in his place without flipping out.”

  Shrugging, I exhale. “I just want that part of my life to be over.”

  “It will be. It is. This was a big step. Proud of you, hon, for showing him that you're okay. Better than okay.”

  “Thanks. I guess I'm proud of me, too.” I feel something close to hope pooling in the hollow places Dylan carved into me. Seeing him was unexpected, but actually, it turned out to be a good thing. He asked me how I was. I told him I was good—and I'm getting closer to believing it.

&nb
sp; chapter four ~ Carlo

  “Carlo. Are you seriously interested in this girl?”

  Ingrid's sitting at her desk in her red polo and jeans. Her office is air-conditioned and comfortable, but I'm feeling the heat from her disapproving gaze.

  “Somewhat.”

  Even though I know Ingrid isn't happy about sharing information about Cassandra, I also know she won't refuse me. Not so much because I'm the owner of Windswept Stable and therefore her boss, but because Ingrid has wanted to get in my pants for the last eight years.

  We have a basic understanding: she wants to fuck me, and I won't let her.

  She gestures toward the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, vitamin water. Or Yuengling and IPA, if you want something more potent.”

  “I'll take an IPA. Thanks.”

  She bends down to open the fridge, making sure I have a good view of her ass. I can't help but grin. Subtle, Ingrid is not. She's attractive, athletic and toned with sleek blonde hair cut crisply at her jawline. High cheekbones, fair skin, features a little too sharp for my liking, and light brown eyes that never seem able to keep eye contact. Hired by my mother, she’s managed Windswept for the past eight years. She takes excellent care of the horses and the business. I trust her—mostly. Just not around my dick.

  Ingrid hands me my beer and takes a bottled water for herself. She's looking amused as I crack open the can.

  I flash her a wide grin. “So. Cassandra has a second job waitressing at Tucker's. Windswept employee for three months. What else can you tell me?”

  She rolls her eyes and sighs. “She has a few redeeming qualities. Prompt, hard-working. Clearly loves horses. Lives by herself in Elizabethtown. She's a private person, almost standoffish. Doesn't talk much about her personal life or her family. She did mention that her mother was dead. No siblings that I know of. Cassandra and I are not what you'd call close.”

  “Is she seeing anyone?”

  “I wouldn't know, or care.”