Call Me Casanova, Book One: What Meets the Eye Page 3

  Gregory glanced from his father to Preston, his eyes snapping back to Nigel. “Are you suggesting . . .” Tension gripped him and squeezed until he could barely breathe.

  Nodding slowly, Nigel said, “Abbott is in favor of his daughter being settled and secure.”

  “Wait.” A nervous laugh escaped Gregory as he rose slowly to his feet, anxious eyes darting between his father and brother. “Just wait. You're not suggesting that Eleonore Kirkland and I . . .”

  Preston scoffed. “Don't be ridiculous.” He approached the desk and sat on the edge. “I will be marrying Ms. Kirkland.”

  Relief rushed through Gregory, and he breathed free. “Well, okay then. I can live with that.” He smirked. “Let's hope Eleonore can as well.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Preston asked tightly.

  “Well, I've lived with you my whole life.” Gregory said. “And you're not fun at all.”

  Preston cast a glance at Nigel. “You didn't honestly expect him to take this seriously, did you?” He turned his patronizing stare on his younger brother. “If he can't screw it, it's of no importance to him. Isn't that right, Gregory?”

  His lips tightening, Gregory bit back a resounding Fuck You! and simply offered the guy a dry smile. “Well, that certainly does sweeten the pot.”

  Preston shoved up off the desk. “I think we need someone more responsible to handle this matter.” he said. “I don't trust him.”

  “Trust me about what?” Gregory inquired, curious as to why he had been included in this at all.

  Nigel stood and shook his head, ignoring Gregory's question and addressing his eldest son. “No, this is to remain within the family. If it gets out that Abbott is vulnerable, it could be disastrous. The merger, the marriage—it must all be conducted very discreetly.”

  Snapping his fingers, Gregory cocked his eyebrows questioningly. “What, exactly, is my role in this scheme?”

  “I want you to take the limo to the airport and pick up Abbott.” Nigel instructed. “He's arriving on his private jet this afternoon. Take him to the manor house upstate and get him settled in. Eleanore has made arrangements to meet her father there.”

  “Why the manor house?” Gregory asked.

  “Discretion, for one.” Nigel explained. “It's private and secluded. And also, as I explained, Abbott is in poor health and needs to be in a comfortable stress-free environment.” He left his desk and directed Gregory to the door as Preston followed. “Be at the airport by two this afternoon. Don't be late.”

  Gregory smiled. “Am I ever?”

  Sighing, Nigel added, “You will stay at the manor house, and you will be a gracious host. Respectful, and a gentleman.”

  “In other words,” Preston chided. “Not your typical self.”

  Smirking, Gregory flicked an eyebrow. “So, what does Eleonore Kirkland look like? Is she sexy?” He chuffed. “Not that you would know what to do with a sexy woman. Want me to break her in for you as well?”

  “Eleonore Kirkland,” Nigel said sternly, “is strictly hands off. Do you understand, Gregory? I had better not hear from Eleonore or Abbott that you have been making improper advances on the young woman.”

  Preston clapped his hand on his father's shoulder and smiled coolly. “Not to worry, father. A woman like Eleonore has much too high of standards to wallow in the mire with the likes of Gregory.”

  Just for that, big brother, maybe I will fuck her—just for spite.

  “I am dead serious, Gregory.” Nigel insisted nonetheless. “You keep your distance from the woman. This is one time we cannot afford you making a muck of things. Do you think you can handle this simple task?”

  Annoyance needled Gregory's gut. “Yes, father.” he answered with a note of smart ass. “I think I can handle being your glorified babysitter.”

  Chapter Three: A Likable Fellow

  The man was graying at the temples with a slight recession in his hairline, but he maintained most of his deep brown hair. He resonated power and strength in his thousand-dollar suit and piercing amber eyes. But if not for the slight hitch to his walk, one would never suspect his dire health conditions—until seeing him up close. The evidence was in the weariness around his eyes and his quickness of breath after making the walk from the jet to the limousine. Even so, Gregory could sense he was a force to be reckoned with.

  Having never met the man, Gregory wasn't sure what to expect of Abbott Kirkland. Was he of the likes of Nigel Stanton? If so, they were about to have a long tense drive upstate.

  Gregory opened the rear door of the limo as the older man approached, a well dressed young man behind him, carrying his luggage. The limo driver opened the trunk and helped the young man pack in the expensive suitcases.

  “Mr. Kirkland.” Gregory held out his hand. “I'm Gregory Stanton. I'll be accompanying you upstate to the manor.”

  Abbott grasped his hand, and though he still retained a level of strength, Gregory could sense it wavering. “It's nice to meet you, Gregory.” His tone was that of a business man, though with an underlying pleasantness. Gregory stepped back and held the door. “Thank you.” Abbott crawled in slowly then looked relieved to be sitting down once again.

  There was something sad about seeing such a former powerhouse of a man coming to this end. It seemed unfair. Gregory climbed in and sat across from the man. Moments later, the limo was moving.

  “Did you have a good flight, Mr. Kirkland?” Gregory asked, for want of something to say.

  “We're going to be family, son.” the older man pointed out, without a trace of pleasantness in the statement. “Please, call me Abbott.”

  Gregory nodded. “Of course. Abbott.”

  “The flight was fine.” he added. The man seemed distracted, eyes distant, darting out the tinted side windows.

  “My father tells me your daughter will be meeting us at the Manor?”

  Abbott grunted and nodded.

  “I haven't had the pleasure of making her acquaintance.” Gregory said.

  The man's eyes focused and set on Gregory. A wisp of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I do hope it is indeed a pleasure.”

  Smiling, Gregory frowned a little. “Of course it will be.”

  “She can be a handful.” Abbott admitted with a tendril of amusement. “Preston may find he has bitten off more than he can chew.”

  Gregory liked this side of the man. He seemed at ease when speaking of his daughter. Gregory chuckled softly. “Perhaps.”

  The older man studied Gregory until he began to fidget. “I haven't seen you at our meetings. You don't work with your father and brother?”

  Shifting on the leather seat, Gregory shook his head slowly. “No.” He shrugged and could hear the trace of bitterness in his voice. “I'm more of their . . .” He faltered, not sure what title to give himself. Jackass seemed inappropriate, if not accurate.

  Abbott cocked an eyebrow. “Glorified errand-boy?”

  Snapping his fingers, Gregory pointed at the man and grinned. “There you go. That's it.” They both chuckled. Gregory shrugged. “Ah, it's fine. I would get cabin fever holed up in offices and boardrooms. Besides,” Gregory smirked, “. . . most rich folk annoy me.”

  “You and me too.” Abbott nodded.

  Gregory gazed at the man and wondered how he had missed out on a father like Abbott Kirkland. God knew Gregory had gotten the shaft when it came to parents—and siblings. Though he couldn’t complain that his material needs were always met.

  “Are you married, Gregory?”

  The question caught him off guard. “Uh . . . no.” He chuckled and rubbed his mouth. “Not really the marrying kind.”

  “I see.” Abbott nodded knowingly. “Bit of a playboy, huh?”

  “A bit.” Gregory smiled wryly. Why deny it? He wasn't ashamed.

  “Yeah, well, me too.” Abbott chuckled. “In my day.”

  Gregory stared at him, stunned. “No kidding?”

  “Find that hard to believe?”


  “Well, it's just . . .” Gregory shook his head, grinning. “You seem so . . . responsible and sensible now.”

  “Now, yes.” Abbott said. “But I had my wild streak.” He clucked his tongue and winked. “I think the best men do. I actually think it's good for them.”

  Gregory laughed low. “Clearly you and my father have nothing in common but business.”

  “Let me guess.” Abbott smirked. “He rides your ass about being irresponsible . . . but refuses to trust you with responsibility.”

  “I believe we're in sincronía.” Gregory chuckled.

  “Italian.” Abbott nodded. “I'm impressed.”

  Laughing softly, Gregory shook his head. “Don't be. I only learned enough to charm the ladies.”

  “Nice touch.” Abbott chuckled. “I should have thought of that when I was younger.”

  Likable fellow, Gregory thought with a smile. Was the man's daughter as pleasant?

  Chapter Four: Unexpected Turn Of Events

  “Has Ms. Kirkland arrived?” Gregory asked an older member of the staff when the limo was parked out front of the guest entrance of the Manor.

  “Yes, sir.” The man nodded.

  Gregory motioned toward the rear of the limo where the driver was removing Abbott's luggage. “Please bring Mr. Kirkland's belongings to the main suite.” The man nodded again and went to retrieve the luggage. Gregory turned to the open rear door of the limo and offered Abbott a hand as the man climbed out slowly.

  “Getting too old to move, it seems.” Abbott smiled, then patted Gregory's shoulder. “Thank you, son.”

  “Nah.” Gregory winked. “You're still in your prime. Men are like fine wine; we just get better with age.”

  Abbott chuckled. “Nice theory. Not sure the ladies would agree.”

  Smiling, Gregory offered, “Only those with good taste.” Gregory turned back to close the limo door.

  “Father. You're here.” The young woman's voice floated across the air lightly, softly and with a pleasant timbre. The slightest tint of recognition hit Gregory.

  “Eleonore.” Abbott greeted. “Come, my dear, and meet your future brother-in-law, Gregory Stanton.”

  When Gregory turned back, the emerald eyes he'd stared into a good part of last night seized his stare. Cassandra.

  Tension squeezed the young woman's face as she stared at him in what looked to Gregory as horrified disbelief. Had he seen her in passing, he might not have realized she was the same woman he'd taken to bed. Her clothes were conservative, hair done up neatly—not at all resonating the sexy alluring alpha-female from last night who had hunted him as surely as he'd hunted her. Yet the eyes were the same, and just looking into them again sent a shot of adrenaline straight to his crotch.

  This can't be right. His Cassandra was Preston's Eleonore? He might have found it amusing, considering Preston's insistence that the woman wouldn't touch a man such as Gregory, if he hadn't found it all quite disturbing and disappointing. The one woman he would have strongly considered seeing again was the very woman he had been instructed to stay away from.

  “Ms. Kirkland.” Gregory spoke politely and stretched out his hand. “A pleasure to . . . meet you.”

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

  Surely she was hallucinating. Her Casanova from last night could not be Gregory Stanton. She stared at his hand then grasped it before her father could question her hesitation. “Mr. Stanton.” She forced her voice to remain calm, strong. But she couldn't prevent her eyes from lingering on his mouth, images from the previous night exploding through her mind—his handsome face between her thighs, those lips, that tongue pleasuring her so thoroughly she had nearly passed out. His grip tightened around her hand, and her gaze dropped to his fingers, suddenly feeling them inside her again, working her to orgasm so skillfully.

  She barely caught the shaky breath as it rattled up her throat, and she swallowed it quickly. A low ache settled in her warm core, heating her up. Her juices began to churn when she chanced a quick, fleeting glance at the man's crotch and found it straining the fly of his trousers.

  This isn't good. Not good at all. How could Casanova be Preston Stanton's brother.

  Her hand was suddenly free, released from the man's grip. Cassandra quickly shifted her attention from Gregory to her father. “Come inside, father.” she said. “I've had your room prepared. You should rest after such a long trip.”

  “A pleasurable trip.” Abbott smiled then thrust out his hand to Gregory. “Thanks to my charming escort.”

  Gregory grasped his hand, a genuine smile sliding across his lips. He winked. “Il piacere è tutto mio.”

  The way her father chuckled, their exchange struck her as some private joke between the two men. And what was that—Italian? Spanish?

  “We shall speak again later, my good man.” Abbott told Gregory.

  My good man? Wasn't her father aware of just who Gregory Stanton was? It was common knowledge the man squandered the Stanton fortune as if it were monopoly money with no true value. And his playboy activities were enough to make Hugh Hefner blush.

  You didn't seem to mind engaging in such activities with him last night. That was one time. And out of character for her. She didn't make it a habit. And certainly not a way of life.

  Cassandra directed her father up the cobblestone walk toward the manor. She cast a quick glance back at Casanova, who lingered by the limo, leaning against the side, watching her. Even knowing his true identity . . . he nonetheless retained a measure of charm she couldn't shake. Which made her very uneasy; he wasn't a man she felt comfortable putting her trust in. Yet her father had taken to him rather quickly. And Abbott Kirkland was rarely wrong about the character of a man.

  What troubled her most, if she were honest, was that her father seemed to show much more pleasantness to Gregory Stanton than he ever had to Preston Stanton, her soon-to-be husband.

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

  Gregory knew he was in trouble. Three days he had to spend in close quarters with this woman and remain a perfect gentleman. No touching, no . . . nothing. He wasn't accustomed to denying himself whatsoever he desired, especially when it came to a woman. Resisting temptation was an alien concept for him. He couldn't even describe how it felt to want something so fiercely and have to tell himself no. Yet suddenly he had to give himself a crash course in withstanding his base nature.

  And he hated it. This was not the least bit enjoyable.

  By the time he reached his own room and closed the door, his crotch was burning and throbbing with such intensity he could barely walk. He fell onto the bed on his back and rubbed his hard cock through his pants. “Fuck.” he groaned in agony. He wasn't even accustomed to masturbation. He was rarely without a woman to take care of him, sometimes more than one. But the only available woman here wasn't available.

  “Shit.” Gregory hissed low, tight, and shoved his hand down inside his pants, massaging his pulsing flesh. “This sucks!” he groaned, then whimpered at the sudden, unbidden recollection of Cassandra's hot, soft mouth on his cock, sucking him so good.

  Gregory pulled his hand out and trembled as he quickly unfastened his pants then tugged his cock free, stroking his thick shaft with a tight fist, hard, fast. His back arched off the bed, shoving his hips up as he began to fuck his hand with urgency. “Fuck!” he gasped, sweat breaking out across his brow and his body beneath his clothes. “God!” his jaw clenched and eyes squeezed tight, breath panting hard, as his ass bounced against the mattress. The first tingle weaved through his balls, causing them to tighten . . . when a sudden knock on the door made him yelp.

  “Who is it?” he snapped a little too sharp, needing the intruder to go away so he could finish the job. His cock pulsed in his fist.

  “Me.” Cassandra spoke from the hall.

  “Fuck.” Gregory hissed quietly and hurriedly stuffed himself back into his pants, fastening them up and leaving the bed. He wiped a hand over his face, dragging away a layer of sweat
. He walked across the room a bit stiffly, took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, then pulled open the door. He smiled as casually as he could, not wishing her to know that she turned him on to such a degree he'd just been beating off to the memory of her blowing him. “It didn't take you long to find your way to my room.” he smirked. “I must've made quite the impression last night.”

  A dull, humorless look filled her green eyes, but deep within he thought he saw a flicker of something he'd very much like to explore. “We need to talk.” She spoke with a neutral tone that was impossible to interpret.

  “Of course.” Gregory stepped back and swept his hand back toward the inside of his room, inviting her in. She glanced quickly at his king-sized bed then shook her head.

  “Not here.” she said. “Downstairs.”

  “You don't like my room?” he raised a single eyebrow, his smile curving up the left corner of his mouth. “Nice big bed. Soft too. Great place to . . . talk.”

  She gave him a doubtful look, implying her disbelief that he ever used his bed as a place to talk. But then, there was more than one way to talk to a woman. “Downstairs.” she repeated, then turned away and walked back down the large hall.

  “Be along in a moment.” Gregory called after her. Well, maybe a few moments. He closed the door and returned to the bed. Just standing face to face with her had increased the blood flow to his nether regions, and he surely didn't need any more blood there if he planned on having an intelligent exchange with her in which he was forced to use his thinking brain as opposed to his reactive one.

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

  Somewhere between the bedroom and the study, Gregory Stanton had adopted his debonair suaveness from the previous evening. The man upstairs had possessed a cocky tone while trying to coax her into his bedroom. And that Gregory she knew how to resist. But this one...

  Cassandra suspected the man was well aware of where her weakness lay as he walked through door with a sophisticated, casual air that hadn't been present upstairs, bringing back memories of last night much too easily and vividly.