Call Me Casanova, Book One: What Meets the Eye Read online

  It unsettled him that his impenetrable armor could be cracked by such a tiny dart as a wisp of disappointment in a woman's eyes. But then it was gone, as if it had never been there. Perhaps it hadn't.

  Cassandra's warm hands wrapped around his cock and began to slide smoothly up and down his shaft, squeezing firmly, twisting gently, working him perfectly. His eyes remained on her face, searching her seductive gaze for that ghost ship, but it didn't return. Nothing remained in her emerald depths to give cause to believe she suffered any level of disappointment in what she saw before her, what she held in her hands.

  When she took him in her mouth, the pleasure she received from satisfying him was evident in all that she was doing. Perhaps there had been no ghost ship, just his imagination. Yet that underlying sense of unease lingered, though buried deep beneath his rising passion and hunger for the woman.

  It further receded as he positioned her on the edge of the bed, stood behind her and plunged himself into her and fucked her as her elegant body swayed and rocked with his movements. Blond strands clung to her back and shoulder, stray bits sticking to her brow and cheeks. Gregory held her hips in a firm grip, pushing, pulling, lost in the tight heat of her inner caverns.

  “Fuck . . .” he grunted when her pussy muscles squeezed his hard cock, flexing around him as he shoved into her again and again. He rubbed his hands up her back and leaned over her supple body, pressing his hips to her ass and fucking her closer, deeper. Whimpers fell from her parted lips, faster, shorter, sharper. His hands caressed underneath and cupped her swaying breasts. “Baby,” he groaned against her shoulder. “You're the best I've had in a long time.”

  Pulling out, he laid her down on her back then pushed his hips between her thighs and slid his cock back deep inside her. He felt as much as heard her breath catch quick then release on a moan as he began to move against her, hips rocking, rolling, gliding. She matched his rhythm perfectly – something he wasn't used to. Few women he bedded seemed interested in truly savoring and enjoying the buildup and simply wanted to get right to the orgasm.

  Ah, but Cassandra was different. She took her time, didn't hurry him or urge him to fuck her too hard, too fast, but rather seemed perfectly content with the pace they had set—as if trying to prolong it, rather than bring it to climax.

  It was rarely his habit to hold a woman too close, too intimately, when fucking. Less chance of them misunderstanding the boundaries. But he found his arms sliding around Cassandra's body, pulling her tight against him. Her legs curled up around his waist, and her arms encircled his neck, offering no resistance to being held this way.

  Gregory realized he was clinging to her as he thrust into her heat; a reality that both startled and frightened him. For he held her not simply in want but in need.

  ......................................

  Let me disappear inside your arms, dear Casanova . . . and never be found again.

  The thought drifted through her hazed mind as the man's strong, urgent body rocked smoothly against her, filling her, stroking her, lifting her to heights of passion she had only ever dreamed about. And after tonight, would remain a dream once more.

  His lips brushed her mouth with what felt like hesitation, his warm breath puffing statically, his heart beating fiercely against her breasts as his arms tightened with the impending arrival of his orgasm.

  When it seemed he might draw away before completing the kiss, she fulfilled it herself, claiming his mouth, kissing him warm, deep, intimate. He shuddered and for a moment she thought he would tear away from the kiss as if in fear of its implications but rather succumbed, surrendering and letting himself fall into it.

  You have nothing to fear, my darling Casanova—I won't trap you. My own prison awaits me with the morning light.

  With that thought, she kissed him deeper, sliding her fingers up the back of his head, through his hair, drawing him more firmly into the kiss. As he began to drown, his body moved with increased urgency, pushing into her harder, wanting her, needing her, craving all she had to offer.

  “Yes . . .” She gasped, her hips lifting, rolling against his. She held his head, his face buried in her throat, as they moved together as one, their orgasms building simultaneously. She had never been so in sync with a man before that they could climax in near perfect unison, yet she could feel this lover about to release.

  “Fuck!” He hissed, confirming her suspicions. “Oh god . . . I'm there . . . Shit!”

  His arms squeezed like two vices, forcing her uneven breath up her throat and out in sharp gasps as her orgasm burst and she screamed, her nails gouging his back, body arching forcefully to his as he fucked her without reservation, shouting out loud and coming hard, unloading himself deep within her.

  They clung to one another almost desperately, panting, gasping, their bodies working out the last remnants of their orgasms. Then their strength fled, and the tension binding them together drained away. The man's arms loosened, and he rolled over onto his back, chest rising and falling erratically.

  “You were wonderful.” Cassandra whispered, breathless. “I shall call you Casanova.”

  Chapter Two: Cold Light Of Day

  A hard nudge against the bed woke Gregory with a start. “What?” he groaned without waiting to see who was there, knowing full well the identity of the intruder. Lying on his stomach, he clutched a thick pillow under his face. The satin sheet only covered a portion of his bare ass, leaving the remainder of his nude body exposed. He didn't bother trying to cover himself. “What do you want? Don't you have some bigwig client to meet with today? Why are you bothering me?”

  A low disgusted tsk, then, “You're a disgrace, Gregory.” Preston Stanton grabbed the blankets and tossed them over his younger brother's naked body. “You would do well to show some modesty and a little self-respect.”

  “I respect myself just fine.” Gregory muttered. What the hell was Preston even doing here? All he'd heard about for the past two weeks was some monumental merger about to take place. And negotiations were to begin today. Not that Gregory asked for or received any details. He was fine with his role in this family; it seemed to suit everyone just fine, and it kept him out of the way.

  Like some underfoot stray dog, that's what you are. Too stupid to train but yet too pathetic to turn out.

  “I assure you . . . you are the only one.”

  “Fuck you.” Gregory mumbled into the pillow.

  “Your eloquence is staggering.” Preston's words dripped with distaste and a measure of sarcasm. “You're twenty-five, Gregory. When are you going to grow up?”

  Gregory rolled onto his back, knocking the blankets off again, displaying his strong bare thighs and heavy cock. His hard stomach flexed as he stretched his arms up and tucked them behind his head, showing off his ripped body. “Why would you want me to grow up, Preston, ol' boy?” he smirked. “You might have to compete with me.”

  “Even at your best, Gregory,” Preston stated dryly, “you would not be a worthy opponent. And this is why.” He reached down and, with the bare tips of his fingers, picked up a pair of black lace panties. “You think with the wrong head.” He tossed them at Gregory with disgust, the panties landing on the younger man's chest.

  Without flinching, Gregory just smiled. “Is it my fault the ladies prefer me over you? Jealous, big brother? I could always pass one or two along—after I'm through with them, of course.”

  “Trust me.” Preston said. “I wouldn't touch one of your little high-class whores if she came begging on her knees. Our bodies are our temple, Gregory. But you treat yours like an amusement park.”

  Chuckling, Gregory raised an eyebrow. “Everyone has fun at an amusement park.”

  Preston sighed, not at all amused. “Get in the shower and wash off the stink of your latest whore, then come downstairs. Father wants to see you in his study.”

  “Father wants to see me?” Gregory was genuinely surprised. “Since when?”

  “Since now.” Preston said.
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br />   “Why?”

  “Because he said so, Gregory.” Preston spoke with a bite to his tone. “That is all the reason you need.”

  Sitting forward, Gregory plucked the panties off his chest and fingered them absently as he stared at his older brother, glamored up in suit and tie, short cropped dark blond hair neatly styled and entirely under control, face so closely shaved he almost looked plastic. Like a Barbie doll. Billionaire Ken. “That's all the reason you need.” he mused. “You're such a lap dog.”

  A wave of contempt sweeping through his eyes, Preston gave a single, sharp nod and jabbed a finger at Gregory. “Don't keep father waiting.” Then he was striding back out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

  Gregory scowled. “Prick.” He looked at the panties as last night with Cassandra resurfaced. When she had left his bed, it had taken strength of will not to ask if he could see her again. He never slept with the same woman twice. He understood women enough to know that a time or two being fucked by the same man began to develop an emotional tie within them. Gregory took great care to keep his heart out of his one-night affairs, which is why he typically chose married women or those just looking for the prestige of fucking a billionaire's son.

  Lying back on the pillow, Gregory slid the sleek panties through his fingers then pressed them to his face, breathing in the faint lingering scent of Cassandra's pussy. His cock instantly responded, twitching and growing hard. She hadn't been like the others. A breed set apart, she was. And the first woman he had ever desired to have back in his bed a second time. If a woman existed who could tame him, it would be a woman such as her.

  Unexpected regret pinched his gut. He didn't expect he would ever see her again. Though they had barely spoken, their time together had felt like a final goodbye, even though they had just met.

  “It was nice meeting you, Cassandra.” he murmured and pressed the panties to his lips, planting a kiss on the silky crotch. “I'm going to miss you.” The truth of his confession startled him, leaving him uncertain just how to feel about that.

  He'd never experienced the empty feeling of missing a woman before.

  ......................................

  The large plate glass window offered an expansive view of the city below the presidential suite. Cassandra stood dressed and ready to leave, gazing down at the streets and sidewalks, crowded by a flood of traffic and pedestrians on foot. How many were looking up at her posh hotel room and feeling envious of the occupant, their wealth? So many caught in the nine-to-five grind viewed wealth as a ticket to freedom. But Cassandra had witnessed more rich people bound and gagged by their wealth than any layman bound by a forty-hour-a-week job.

  Being born into wealth, having never had to want for anything, should have provided her with an appreciation for her financial status, except it had never awarded her freedom but rather locked her down. The eyes of man are never full. One of the few bible passages she had memorized. Perhaps because she understood it so well. The expression you can never be too rich seemed the proper insignia for the world she lived in. She often envied those without all of this. It was too easy to get trapped in the pursuit to secure one's fortune. As she was now trapped.

  This isn't fair, father, came the words she had screamed at her father over and over inside her mind, but she never once voiced them aloud. She would not allow disobedience and rebellion to be the last things her father received from her. Whether she wanted this or not, the man was doing this for her. She wouldn't let him down or let him see how it was killing the spirit within her. She was all he had, and she would step up—even if it meant sacrificing her free will to make that one choice no one should be allowed to make for another.

  “I will do what has to be done, father.” she whispered and closed her eyes, allowing herself one last long look at the life she was leaving behind, her thoughts coming together and settling on the previous night and . . . her Casanova. Her throat closed unexpectedly as tears burned beneath her closed lids and tried to seep out beneath her thick lashes. Why some philandering billionaire playboy left such a lasting impression, she couldn't begin to understand. Perhaps it wasn't him, per se, but the life he embodied, that he had allowed her to experience for one amazing night.

  She opened her eyes and warm tears ran a course down her cheeks as she gazed at her faint reflection in the large window. “Goodbye, Casanova.” she murmured. “Enjoy your freedom.”

  ......................................

  “Gregory.” Nigel Stanton stood up slowly from behind his polished mahogany desk. “So nice of you to take time out of your busy schedule to join us.”

  His father's belittling tone brought a twitch of a smile to Preston's lips which was meant to criticize Gregory for taking his time coming downstairs.

  “Not a problem, father.” Gregory smiled, wiping the self-satisfied smirk off his brother's lips and dulling his father's stare. “How can I be of service?”

  Preston stood near the bookshelf showcasing leather-bound books with gold trimmings that Gregory strongly suspected were there for image rather than reading. His brother clasped his hands loosely behind his back, his posture straight as a board. Gregory could play the debonair gentleman as well which he did more often than not. But he tried not to make a habit of it. It made his back hurt.

  Here in his father's study he slid into his prestigious role and gazed back at the older man with equally dull eyes. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  A slight huff sifted out of Preston. He didn't seem approving of Gregory's presence. But then that was nothing new. Gregory was fairly certain his brother had opposed his very birth—five years old and, no doubt, already gunning for control of the family fortune.

  “As a matter of fact, there is.” Nigel motioned to one of the two leather armchairs before his desk. “Have a seat.”

  It had never been his father's habit to trust Gregory with any task of importance, so this must have been something menial. He could deal with being their pack mule—or jackass—now and then if it meant they left him alone the rest of the time. Gregory sat as his father took his seat again and leaned forward on his desk, hands clasped before him.

  “I'm sure you're aware our impending merger with Kirkland enterprises.”

  Gregory straightened. “As in Abbott Kirkland?” Multi-billionaire Abbott Kirkland?

  “Yes.” Nigel said.

  “It was always my understanding he refused every merger proposition.” Gregory said. “That he wanted to keep his business strictly within control of family.”

  “Indeed. And that is still the case.”

  His brow pinching, Gregory's eyes narrowed slightly. “I don't understand. Then why has he agreed to merge with us?”

  Nigel leaned back, cast a quick glance at Preston then let his eyes rest heavy on Gregory. “You are aware Abbott has a daughter. Eleanore.”

  “So I've heard.” Gregory nodded. “Though few even know who she is.”

  “He's done his best to give her a normal life.” Nigel said. “Keep her out of the spotlight and prying eyes of the press and public.” He raised an eyebrow and drawled, “Must be nice to have a kid who doesn't seek to shock the world with their . . . colorful activities.”

  Gregory smiled dryly. “Oh, come now, father. Isn't it the black sheep that keeps the family interesting? You get to play the ever-patient father, and think of the sympathy awarded you for having to deal with a son like me. And, dear Preston.” Gregory gestured towards his brother. “You're the good son, the responsible successful heir to the Stanton fortune. I would think you two would be thanking me. Because of me you have the love and sympathy of the people.”

  “Why must you treat life as a game, Gregory?” Nigel sighed.

  “If not a game?” Gregory posed. “Then what is it?”

  Shaking his head, Nigel swiped his hand in front of his face as if erasing their current conversation. “I'm not going to get drawn into this ridiculous drivel.” He sat forward. “Back to the matter
at hand.”

  Already bored, Gregory willed the man to hurry and assign his task so he could be on his way.

  “What I'm about to tell you is privileged information. Under no circumstances is it to be repeated.” He looked at Gregory sternly. “To anyone.”

  “He means the whores you allow into your bed.” Preston spoke up. “Any of which could be a reporter in disguise or an informant for another company. Which, if you ever thought with your big head, you might consider that possibility.”

  A smile dragged up the corner of Gregory's mouth. “First of all, the head I think with is my big head. And second, I don't know what you do with a woman in bed, but I prefer to fuck rather than talk business.”

  “That's enough.” Nigel cut in sharp. “Both of you. And Gregory, I would appreciate it if you would choose your words more carefully. Your speech can be quite vile.”

  “My apologies, father.” Gregory offered without conviction or sincerity.

  Nigel nodded absently and continued with the current issue. “Abbott's health is failing. And he wants his fortune secured for her future. He is concerned that without the proper manpower behind his business, it will suffer a hostile takeover and Eleanore will lose everything.”

  “Understandable.” Gregory murmured, a frown beginning to tighten his brow.

  Clearing his throat, Nigel said, “Abbott and I have been discussing the merger for some time, but we haven't been talking about just a business merger.” His lips pressed tight. “He wants to know his daughter will still maintain control at all times along with . . . her husband.”

  “Excuse me?” Gregory cocked his head. “Since when is Abbott Kirkland's daughter married?”

  “I told you.” his father said slowly, as if explaining details to a child. “We haven't simply been discussing a business merger . . . but a uniting of our families as well.”