Point of Submission Read online

  POINT OF SUBMISSION

  by

  Remy Landon

  Copyright © 2014 by Remy Landon

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system) without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference, with no implied endorsement.

  Cover design by Michelle Preast of Indie Book Covers

  www.facebook.com/IndieBookCovers

  To my husband

  who read, listened, suggested, edited, comforted, supported, praised, formatted, and who was...

  let’s just say, there for me after I’d write a steamy sex scene.

  Although now that I think about it, maybe he should be thanking me...

  Table of Contents

  chapter one ~ Cassandra

  chapter two ~ Carlo

  chapter three ~ Cassandra

  chapter four ~ Carlo

  chapter five ~ Cassandra

  chapter six ~ Carlo

  chapter seven ~ Cassandra

  chapter eight ~ Carlo

  chapter nine ~ Cassandra

  chapter ten ~ Carlo

  chapter eleven ~ Cassandra

  chapter twelve ~ Carlo

  chapter thirteen ~ Cassandra

  chapter fourteen ~ Carlo

  chapter fifteen ~ Cassandra

  chapter sixteen ~ Carlo

  chapter seventeen ~ Cassandra

  chapter eighteen ~ Carlo

  chapter nineteen ~ Cassandra

  chapter twenty ~ Carlo

  chapter twenty-one ~ Cassandra

  chapter twenty-two ~ Carlo

  chapter twenty-three ~ Cassandra

  chapter twenty-four ~ Carlo

  chapter twenty-five ~ Cassandra

  chapter twenty-six ~ Carlo

  chapter twenty-seven ~ Cassandra

  chapter twenty-eight ~ Carlo

  chapter twenty-nine ~ Cassandra

  chapter thirty ~ Carlo

  chapter thirty-one ~ Cassandra

  chapter thirty-two ~ Carlo

  chapter thirty-three ~ Cassandra

  chapter thirty-four ~ Carlo

  chapter thirty-five ~ Cassandra

  chapter thirty-six ~ Carlo

  chapter thirty-seven ~ Cassandra

  chapter thirty-eight ~ Carlo

  chapter thirty-nine ~ Cassandra

  Acknowledgements

  chapter one ~ Cassandra

  “Move over, big boy, so I can take care of business.” Cassandra Larsen put her hand on the muscle-rippled flank and gave a gentle push. As usual, he was quick to comply.

  British Drummer stepped sideways in his stall, contentedly munching hay. He was a massive, sixteen-hand bay Warmblood with a sweet disposition, a woefully-thin forelock and an extreme fondness for peppermints. Ingrid, the stable manager, frowned upon horses getting treats, but Cassandra would sneak them to the gelding on occasion—especially now that he was on stall rest. Brownie, as he was nicknamed, was comically playful out of the ring, twisting his huge head sideways and letting his tongue loll out to attract attention, but enter him in competition, and he was a force. Cassandra loved both sides of him, the goofiness and the grace, and although she adored all twenty horses of Windswept Stable, Brownie was her secret favorite.

  She balanced her pitchfork on top of the wheelbarrow as she headed for the manure pile to dump. Fortunately, Brownie was a neat stall keeper, which balanced out the hot mess that was Rafsi in the next stall. Cassandra checked her watch. 4:15. She had agreed to cover the bring-in chore tonight for Sonya, the other barnhand, who was yet again MIA. But Sonya was Ingrid's stepsister, and Ingrid was not to be questioned. Fortunately, Cassandra had the night off from waitressing and was able to pick up Sonya's slack. Sonya was basically a good person, just a bit immature and flighty at times—always seemed to be thinking about what she'd say next rather than listening to you. And she didn't even really care for horses.

  Having finished the stalls, Cassandra dragged the hose along the concrete floor. Fill water buckets, get bales from the hay barn, bring in the horses, grain them, sweep...one side benefit of this job was definitely how it got you in shape. When she had started three months ago, she'd been surprised by how sore her muscles had been the first few nights. But she quickly became stronger and toned. It was like getting paid to work out. She much preferred exercise that was purposeful; she'd never been a runner or a gym princess—one of those girls whose primary concern was how good her ass looked in Spandex. A cool, cotton tank top, some well-worn, faded jeans and a pair of Dansko clogs (bought used on eBay) was what she felt most comfortable in.

  At five feet three, she needed to stand on her tiptoes to fill the buckets in the stalls. Draping the hose over the side of the stall, Cassandra flipped the valve on the nozzle to release the water and moved closer so the fine mist could kiss her face. July in Pennsylvania was always hot, but this week had been oppressively humid, even in the evening. As she slicked the moisture over her cheeks and forehead, she could see out of the corner of her eye someone walking toward her, down the center of the barn aisle.

  Late-day sunlight blazing in from the open door at the end of the barn swathed the visitor in a brilliant glow. Cassandra narrowed her eyes against the glare. It was a man. As he came into view, she could see that he was attractive. Correction: very, very attractive. Perfectly tousled, thick black hair and a broad-shouldered build tapering to a fit waist. His attire was completely inappropriate for a barn: a pristine white dress shirt, dark pants (which looked to be tailored), expensive-looking shiny shoes. A pair of aviator sunglasses hung in the V at the top of his shirt. He walked with confidence and purpose and style. Masculine elegance, Cassandra thought, as color unexpectedly rushed to her cheeks.

  She felt a twinge of excitement edged with uneasiness as he approached. Random men didn't usually visit Windswept, unless they were accompanied by a horse-crazy young daughter or seeking riding lessons for said daughter. This man definitely did not look like a dad.

  Cassandra returned her attention to filling the water pail, then decided it was rude not to at least greet him. Adjusting the valve to slow the stream of water, she turned toward him. He had slowed his steps, looking at the empty stalls with a stern, almost brooding expression.

  Anxiety bubbled up inside her with each step he took. Don't be an idiot over some random guy, she chided herself. You should know better by now.

  Cassandra decided he might be lost and in need of directions. When he was two stalls away from her, she addressed him. “Hello. Can I help you?”

  The man stopped. His expression seemed to brighten, his lips parting slightly. He took a few steps closer until he was standing just a few feet away.

  Cassandra drew in her breath. Oh, God. He had a beautiful mouth, a classic Grecian nose and eyes the color of smoke with just a hint of blue, hooded by thick but neatly-trimmed black eyebrows. His face was deeply tanned, a striking contrast to the crisp white shirt, and although Cassandra was not usually a fan of facial hair, the shadow of a mustache and goatee gave him an aura that hinted rebellion.

  “What makes you think I need help?”

  His answer was unexpected and disconcerting. How the hell was she supposed to answer that? A slow, lazy grin played with his lips. Cassandra took her hands f
rom the hose to quickly smooth the damp tendrils of hair away from her face. She suddenly felt awkward, sweaty, unkempt in the presence of this cool, poised stranger.

  “It's just...we don't get many visitors here. It's a private stable.”

  “Is it?”

  Another question that threw her off balance. She was contemplating how to respond when he spoke again.

  “You seem to be overflowing.”

  “What? Oh, shit—” Cassandra hastily flipped the nozzle as water began to splash on the stall floor, staining the shavings. Her face was burning as the man took a step closer. It occurred to her in the dark part of her mind that she should consider this stranger a possible threat, and this realization sent fresh apprehension skittering up her spine.

  “My apologies for distracting you.” His eyes, although a cool gray, projected warmth as they regarded her. She noted that they were fringed with thick, dark lashes. It figured.

  Cassandra shook her head. “No apology necessary.” She pulled the hose over to the next stall and began filling the bucket. “Are you looking for someone?”

  Another smile, this time broader. And with a dimple, which made him look boyishly endearing. “Always.”

  Her apprehension was quickly replaced by irritation. Okay, so he was a player—that was now totally obvious. No matter how hot he was, she didn't have time for his games, or his cryptic responses. And the way he was staring at her...it was too intense. She didn't need intense; she needed to bring in the other horses, finish her chores, go home to shower and maybe meet Teal at Rudy's for a beer. Teal would love hearing about this guy.

  He seemed to sense her shift in attitude. “I haven't introduced myself. I'm Carlo Leone.”

  She nodded. “Cassandra Larsen.”

  “You're most likely wondering what I'm doing here.”

  Cassandra found herself looking again at his mouth. It seemed to have some sort of magnetic pull. Shrugging, she hastily averted her gaze to his eyes, which were equally disarming.

  “I'm actually wondering that myself. Frustrations at work, left early and found myself driving here on the way home. I used to ride when I was younger. Haven't been here in months, so I thought I'd stop in, check things out.” He turned and walked down the aisle toward Brownie, who was tossing his head in anticipation of receiving attention. “Is this one in time-out for bad behavior? Not playing well with others?”

  Witty as well as gorgeous. “Stall rest. For a stone bruise. He should be running around the playground in a few more days.”

  “I see. What breed is he?”

  “A Hanoverian.”

  “Stallion?”

  “He'd like to think so.” Cassandra smiled. “But he shoots blanks.”

  Brownie stretched out his neck, his nostrils flaring. Cassandra turned off the water, watching as Carlo ran his hand down the gelding's white blaze. Suddenly, Brownie snorted, spraying Carlo's shirt with droplets.

  “God damn!” Carlo jumped back as Cassandra stifled a giggle. Around horses, one didn't wear white, because it ended up being quickly not. She dropped the hose and went into the stable bathroom for paper towels. Returning, she found Carlo standing at a safer distance from Brownie.

  “Here,” she said, handing him the paper towels. “I dampened one of them.”

  “Thanks.” His smoky eyes lingered on her mouth. Jesus.

  He dabbed at his shirt, shaking his head in mock admonition. “I'm being nice to him, and this is what I get.”

  “It's nothing personal. He does it to me all the time.”

  “Occupational hazard, I suppose.”

  “Yes. One of many. But it's all worth it.”

  “You find this work rewarding?”

  “Very.” Cassandra felt herself bristle at his question. So many people, especially professional people like him in the white collar world, looked down on barn employees. Even Ingrid did, which was ironic, because although she had a title, she was one of them.

  “What are you...nineteen? Twenty?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Ah. Still at the age where you don't enjoy being told you look younger.” He grinned, his dimple deepening. “That will change, of course. So you're in college?”

  “No. Used to be.” What the hell was this, twenty questions? Why was he so interested in her life? Why was he even here? He was studying her carefully, his eyes sweeping down the front of her, hesitating at her breasts, then back up to her mouth, her eyes, the top of her head.

  He crumpled the paper towel and slid it in his pocket as he took a step toward her. Cassandra's heart began to pound.

  “You have something in your hair.”

  Cassandra felt his fingers brush her forehead as he gently worked them through the strands at the side of her face and brought forth a piece of hay. He held it in front of her. “Another occupational hazard. But you wear it well.”

  “I—um—thank you.” She was feeling more and more like a total moron. Best to get back to doing her chores. She retrieved the hose and pulled it to the next stall, hoping Carlo would get the hint that she was busy and go along his way.

  “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 was making her feel seriously tongue-tied and awkward, like when she was in middle school in the presence of a popular high school jock. “I don’t know,” she answered curtly. “Auburn, I guess.” Her hair was admittedly one of her best features. When she released it from its usual ponytail, it fell just past her shoulders in thick, soft waves, a deep, rich red kissed with natural blonde highlights in the summer. She’d hated her hair when she was a little kid, mainly because of fat Ronnie Wilkins who used to taunt her by calling her “Firecrotch.” But she grew to appreciate its color once she started high school, and girls started making envious comments.

  “And your eyes.” He was peering into them intently. “An interesting color as well, but they seem to change as you look at them. At first, I thought they were green, like seaglass, but now they look more blue.” A pause, and then he snapped his fingers as if he’d made a discovery. “The ocean. That’s what they remind me of.”

  Was this guy for real? He was, quite possibly, the hottest thing she’d ever seen, but all this staring and complimenting was creeping her out. She pulled the hose out of the bucket, shaking her head and sighing.

  “Is something wrong?” Carlo seemed genuinely concerned.

  Cassandra adjusted her ponytail, tightening the elastic, and then put her hands on her hips. “What is it that you want?”

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

  She struggled to maintain her 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 my presence is no longer welcome?” His expression turned somber.

  “I have work to do,” Cassandra repeated. She hoped he couldn’t detect the tremor in her voice.

  “Understood. I’ll leave you to it. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. You’ve been a very welcome distraction today.” He extended his hand, which she took. His cool, dry fingers closed gently around hers, and an involuntary tremble rippled through her. “I hope our paths will cross again one day.”

  Doubtful, thought Cassandra, as Carlo turned and walked away. He paused beside Brownie’s stall to gingerly stroke the gelding’s nose before being enveloped in the blinding, late-day sunlight as he exited the barn.

  I want a lot of things.

  Cassandra gave herself a mental shake, grateful she could fill her mind and time with the mundane comfort of chores to keep her from wondering just what it was Carlo Leone wanted.

  chapter two ~ Carlo

  Climbing into his Mercedes convertible, Carlo was once again struck by how pleased he was to ha
ve purchased this car. The SLS AMG had cost him over $200,000, but it was well worth it. He enjoyed driving with the top down but did so at night since the humidity in Manheim could be heavy, as it was today. Having hot, sticky air swirl around him, especially during the work day, was not conducive to looking cool and professional as his job required him to be.

  As CEO of Miller Valves, Carlo Leone was responsible for two hundred and three employees, a hundred thousand square foot manufacturing facility and a hundred million dollars in sales. His stepfather, Scott Miller, had run the family-owned company for thirty years until his untimely death last year from a heart attack, and Carlo, at only twenty-six, had taken the helm. There were some who grumbled and doubted, given his young age, but he had so far proven them wrong, increasing sales by fifty percent and implementing quality control measures to make Miller products more reliable. He had high expectations for himself and others working for him. He was suave and charming and used this to his best advantage in business dealings, most recently during the takeover of one of his major competitors. Office staff morale was at an all-time high as Carlo frequently went a step beyond bringing in coffee and donuts and would instead surprise them with catered lunches, a drawing for Eagles tickets or a Friday afternoon masseuse to give chair massages. He had quickly learned that a happy employee was a devoted employee, and he would stay at the office longer than any of them. A ten to twelve hour workday was the norm for him with only a short lunch, so his impromptu detour at the horse stable in late afternoon was completely out of the ordinary. As was meeting Cassandra Larsen.

  He'd been to Windswept before, seeing as he owned it. His late mother Paolo had loved horses and used to show them when he and his sister Gianna were young. She'd even entered Gianna in lead-line classes and Carlo in walk-trot competitions. Neither of her children had been as horse-crazy as she, but they had loved their mother so much, and horses were an extension of her—what made her eyes shine. Carlo viewed his visits to the stable as a way to connect with and honor his mother.

  Carlo's father had died shortly after Gianna was born, and his stepfather had truly been the only paternal figure he'd ever known. Scott had been fiercely protective of his wife until the day she died. The man had been ferocious in business but tender in his personal life. Carlo had always respected him for this, vowing once he reached adulthood to emulate his stepfather's treatment of women. He had been unable to keep that promise. Not unwilling—unable. And there was a big difference.