Point of Release (Point Series Book 2)

by Remy Rose

  “Dio mio! You did? That's awesome!”

  “I hoped it would be, but it scared her. She's very leery of me, and I can't say I blame her. As I told you before, I hurt her, and I don't want to make excuses for myself, but I do think the accident changed the way I looked at women. I objectified them. And I apologize to you for that, since I'm well aware this is an insult to females.”

  “But you don't look at Cassandra as just an object.”

  “No. She awakened feelings in me I never thought would resurface.”

  “Does she know about the accident?”

  “I alluded to how I lost someone in my past, and how it had been my fault. No details, though. We kind of got sidetracked.”

  “God, Carlo, I hope she doesn't think you murdered someone or something!”

  “I highly doubt it—unless she's okay sleeping with a killer.”

  “Well, maybe she should hear everything. It would be good for you to tell her, even though I know it's still very painful. But it would give her an idea of what that event did to you. And it would bring you closer to her.”

  “Maybe. Who knows if I'll even get the chance to talk to her again.”

  “I hope you do. Please don't give up, big brother.” Gianna lays her small hand on top of mine and squeezes.

  Leaning closer, I put my arm around her neck and pull her in to kiss her forehead. “I don't plan on it. It's just a tough position to be in, seeing as she wants space and I want her. But I only have myself to blame. Things have to be according to her timetable—on her terms. Which will be challenging for me. I've never been what you’d call patient.”

  “Um, no...you haven't.” Lifting her glass, she finishes her iced tea and frowns.

  “What's wrong?”

  “I'm wanting another one of these, but I'm really not feeling like going back up to the house to make one.” She looks at me hopefully.

  Sighing, I hold out my hand for her glass. “That pout gets me every damned time. I'll go make you one. Be right back.”

  Gi blows me a kiss and settles back in her chair as I head for the condo. It’s a short distance from the beach, less than three hundred feet. My stepfather bought the property for my mother as an anniversary gift five years ago, saying they were prime candidates to be “snow birds” who would want a place close to the water so it wouldn’t tax his bad knees and Paolo's arthritic hip. But this will be a place for the whole family to share, Scott had added. For years to come.

  None of us ever expected that he and Mama would be gone just a few years later.

  The last time I came to Clearwater was five months after I lost my wife, over three years ago. My mother had urged me to get away and go to the condo to soak up some Vitamin D. Leave your pain and sorrow behind, just for a bit, caro figlio. Take a vacation from it. It hadn't mattered, though, where I went. I carried that loss with me—the grief that had basically eviscerated me.

  And the soul-searing guilt.

  I carried it from room to room when I wandered, sleepless, at night. I carried it lying on the beach sand underneath the burning sun, wading in the cool waves, drinking and forcing smiles in the noisy bars. And I carried it back home.

  Gianna is similar to my mother in many ways, and she also believed this current trip would be good for me—to get away from my problems with Cassandra. But I’m carrying those with me as well.

  I get to the salmon-colored building of our condo, punch in the numbers to the combination keypad and unlock the door. The condo is bright and open, with twenty-foot ceilings and a travertine floor dappled with sunlight. I go into the kitchen, setting Gianna's glass on the granite countertop. The five different spirits, sour mix and Coke for the Long Island are still on the bar where she left them.

  Walking back to the beach with her drink and a Dos Equis for me, I’m noticing the brilliant color of the water contrasting with the white sand. The color changes, depending on the weather. On calm, clear days like today, the sea was a beautiful, clear green with a hint of blue. In wind or rain, the water looks darker, bluer. It reminds me of Cassandra's unique eyes, and how they can be different according to the lighting, her clothing, her mood.

  Looking into them after I made love to her, they had been wide with awe—clear, lovely, aquamarine. And then, after I said the words I couldn't keep in, her eyes had changed.

  Christ, I want everything to be all right.

  I settle into my chair and hand Gi her drink before opening my beer.

  “Mmm, this is perfect. Thank you.”

  “This is extraordinarily hard for me, you know.”

  “What is?”

  “Sitting. Doing nothing. I should be doing work.”

  “You need to have more down time, and it's good for you to talk to someone. I like that you are sharing things with me, fratello. I hate thinking of you keeping everything all bottled up.”

  “Enough about my issues, Gi. Let's talk about you. How are the wedding plans?”

  “They're good! Estelle has been a huge help. I can't believe it's three months away. I'm finalizing the menu and the ceremony, and Jordan and I have been working on writing our own vows. We're going to the jeweler's next week. You’ve been an angel taking care of the financial part, but we want to pay for the rings ourselves.” Her face is glowing. “I'm so excited, Carlo. I wish it would hurry up and get here, but I know once it does, the day will fly by so quickly, and I want to savor every moment.”

  “It will be a very special day, cara. I'm really happy for you, but honestly, part of me doesn't want to give my baby sister away.”

  “I'll always be your baby sister, Carlo. Even when we're old.”

  “Good to know, because the women in my life have a tendency to leave me.”

  “Let's hope that trend stops with Cassandra.”

  Nodding, I force a smile and cast my gaze to the sea, thinking of ocean-colored eyes.

  chapter thirty-four ~ Cassandra

  I slip into the indoor arena, feeling a little like I’m eavesdropping, but wanting to watch Josh in his training session is overriding any hesitation I have. He’s been working with Rafsi for a couple of weeks on her ground manners, and I’ve already seen an improvement in the mare when I handle her. Ingrid, too, is very pleased.

  The arena is comfortably warm, and I feel a twinge as I take off my barn jacket and sit down on the long bench. For this Christmas, I give you warmth. Carlo is responsible for this—for my comfort, and discomfort. I’ve been feeling major guilt that my contact with him has been minimal these past few weeks. Of course, there’s the minor detail that I have absolutely no clue what to say to him. But I don't want to break contact with him entirely. Ironically, it seems like now I have the power. Even though I don’t really want it.

  I lean back against the bench. Josh is standing quietly beside Rafsi, facing away from me with his head tilted down. No cowboy hat this time. He has a long black rope looped in his hand with one end clipped to Rafsi's halter. She seems to be listening to him intently, one of her ears tipped backwards. He takes a few steps, and Rafsi moves with him. Leaving the lead line slack, Josh makes a sharp left, and Rafsi follows. A few steps forward, then a right, with the mare at his side. And another right, so now he’s facing me.

  He looks surprised, then pleased, giving me a little nod. I now feel at ease to be in here watching. I won’t talk till he does, though, since I don’t want to break any sort of connection between him and Rafsi.

  Josh walks up to the fence and stops in front of me with Rafsi in perfect sync. “Hey. I didn't think you were working here till later.”

  “I'm not. I have bring-in, but I thought I'd do my stalls early. Plus, there are some days I really feel like I need to be here, and this is one of those days.”

  “I get that. Being around them just puts you in a better space, doesn't it? Although I have to admit, there are a few people who do that for me. And I'm looking at one of them.”

  I fight the urge to scrunch up my shoulders and am feeling at a total
loss for how to respond. Josh is looking his usual gorgeous self, in a red plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, faded jeans and cowboy boots. He’s been wearing his hair a little longer this winter—short and wavy, which adds to his boyish charm.

  “Well, thank you,” I manage to say. “That's very nice of you.”

  “I speak the truth.”

  “So Rafsi seems to be responding really well to the natural horsemanship thing.”

  “Yep. She's doing great—much calmer and more in tune to me. I think she really likes the direction, the focus. She's too scattered otherwise, so she appreciates having a purpose.”

  “'Scattered' is the perfect word to describe Rafsi...poor girl.”

  “I've known some women like this mare.” Josh chuckles, rubbing a spot on Rafsi’s neck with his knuckles. “Gorgeous, but flighty as hell.” He pauses. “You, on the other hand...”

  “Are you saying I'm ugly and calm?”

  He laughs, his dimples deepening. “Gorgeous and grounded.”

  My face is flaming again. “I'd have to disagree with both of those.”

  “I'm just telling you what I see.”

  “Changing the subject. You're not wearing your hat today.”

  “No...I wanted to be able to get close enough to whisper sweet nothings in her ear.” Winking, he adds, “The horse, too.”

  Jesus. I fold my arms and shake my head as I look away, smiling.

  “Hey, I'm just about done with her for today. How about we go for a trail ride?”

  “Right now?”

  “Sure, if you have time. The snow's a good consistency—no crust to worry about, and there's only about six inches. But no pressure...I'm going to take Tango out anyway. Now that you officially own Brownie, you don't need Ingrid's permission anymore, right?”

  This is true. It is a beautiful winter's day, sunny and pretty mild, and I really don’t have anything else to do except a little studying when I get home. “Okay. That sounds fun.”

  Brownie nickers when he sees me at the pasture gate. He trots up and nuzzles me, lipping the piece of carrot out of my glove. I rub his blaze, feeling a rush of gratitude for this incredible gift. God, how I love this boy.

  Josh and I tack up and go out into the glorious day, the two horses walking side by side in the powdery snow. We head into the back field, riding past the other horses who look up in interest. It’s quiet and peaceful, with only the faraway drone of a small plane drifting lazily against the canvas of blue sky.

  Entering the woods, the trail is narrow, so we ride single file, with Josh and Tango in the lead. The trees overhead are frosted with snow, bars of sunlight streaming through the latticework of branches. Brownie's walk is big and springy; he’s no doubt happy to be ridden somewhere other than the arena.

  “Josh, thanks for inviting me...I honestly have never done much outside riding in the winter, but it's gorgeous out here.”

  He turns to respond over his shoulder. “It is. Some people can't stand the winter, but I love it—especially riding after a snowfall. Everything's so clean-looking, and the air is refreshing. The horses feel it, too. I missed the snow when I was in South Carolina.”

  The trail widens, and I squeeze my legs to move Brownie up beside Tango. Josh grins. “Much better. I like to look at you when we talk.”

  Thank God my cheeks are already red from the chilly air. “So when did you move south?”

  “A few years ago. I was under some stress and needed a change, so I moved to South Carolina to bartend for a while. That got old pretty fast. Then my mom was laid up with a back injury and needed my help. She's better now, thankfully, but I probably would have made my way back up here anyway. It's home, you know?”

  “I get that. E-town isn't perfect, but it's home. I can't imagine living anywhere else.”

  “Do you miss riding young?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The way you rode when you were younger—like balls-to-the-wall, galloping across fields without a helmet and no thought to gopher holes, or falling, or broken bones.”

  “Oh! Yes, I guess I do. We were blissfully ignorant then, weren't we?”

  “Yep. Not a care in the world—no responsibilities, and nothing bad happened. Ever.”

  There’s a change in Josh’s tone. I turn my head to look at him.

  “But you grow up, right?” he continues. “You learn about how vulnerable you really are, and about things like broken bones.”

  And broken hearts.

  “Hey.” His face brightens, and he’s back to his usual cheerful self. “Let's ride young. There's a little rise coming up—you want to gallop with me? Just a short distance. So we can feel like we're still fearless.”

  “Now? I—I don't know. I've only cantered on him.”

  “No pressure. Seriously. I won't if you don't want to.”

  I hesitate. I used to loved galloping when I was younger. Really loved it, that speed of light breaking the sound barrier so fast you can barely breathe feeling. But now...

  What did I tell Teal recently? I don't want turmoil. I want calm, and safe.

  But maybe calm and safe aren’t what I need to feel alive.

  I take a deep breath and then make a decision. “Let's do it.”

  Josh's face breaks into a delighted grin, and I’m so glad I’m being brave. “Okay, then.” He gathers up his reins in one hand, the other on his hat, and clucks to Tango as he urges him forward, and suddenly, I feel Brownie's pure power beneath me—really feel it, like never before—as his strides lengthen from a trot to a canter to a gallop within seconds.

  God, this is exhilarating: the snow from the flying hooves of Tango in front of me kicking up in a fine spray...leaning forward over Brownie's muscular neck like I’m a jockey...deliciously terrified, yet feeling secure and balanced in the saddle. It’s an incredible rush to not only let Brownie go like this, but to let myself go, too.

  We gallop up the slight incline, beneath the now-dripping branches, and Tango slows to a lope in front of me for a few strides...then a jog, finally settling into a walk, clouds of breath coming from the noses of both horses and steam rising from their sweating backs.

  With a long, deep breath, I loosen Brownie's reins and let him stretch his neck, riding up beside Josh again. He whoops and holds up his gloved hand to me. I laugh and give him a high-five, brushing strands of hair away from my lips and taking my feet out of the stirrups to dangle comfortably.

  “We did it,” he says breathlessly.

  “We're totally fearless.” I’m smiling.

  The horses are sufficiently cooled down by the time we get back to the stable. I put Brownie's blanket back on before turning him out. He seems relaxed and contented as I take off his halter and watch him amble toward his buddies.

  Back in the barn, I pull my hair into a low ponytail, go into the office and open up the fridge, taking out two bottles of Dasani when Josh appears in the doorway.

  I hand him one of the waters. “Looking for this?”

  “This, and you.”

  A tingle in my chest. My heart begins to pound as he closes the door behind him.

  Why is he closing the door?

  “Cassandra—I had a great time taking a risk with you.”

  “Me too.”

  “Are you still feeling daring? Even in Ingrid's office?”

  “I—I don't know.” Truth.

  “I've been wanting to do this for a while now. I'm probably stating the obvious, but I really like you. Sorry if that sounds lame and junior high-ish, but it's the best I got.” He’s smiling at me, his eyes light and playful.

  “I—I really like you, too, Josh.” My mouth feels cottony. I open my water and drink.

  And he comes closer.

  Gently, he takes the water bottle out of my hand and sets it on Ingrid's desk with his. All of a sudden, his arms are around me, and as I open my mouth to speak, his lips are on mine. My mind is in overdrive, trying to process what’s happening as my body responds—t
his is so unexpected. Confusion, surprise and arousal all blend together in a dizzying concoction as I tentatively return his kiss.

  Josh’s mouth is warm, his tongue seeking mine eagerly. It feels entirely different than Carlo. His kisses are softer, slower, more hesitant…

  Jesus, I hate that I’m comparing. I shouldn’t be. But I am.

  Now he’s kissing me lightly on one side of my mouth, then the other, before sliding his tongue between my lips. His nose feels cold next to mine. I’m just starting to get into this new kissing rhythm when his hands leave my waist and slide up slowly to my breasts, squeezing them gently through my jersey. For some reason, it surprises me that Josh would do this so soon, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. I stiffen slightly, and Josh notices, pulling back to look at me with an anxious expression.

  “Are you okay? Tell me if you want me to stop. I'm not going to do anything you don't want to do.”

  “Thank you. I'm okay.”

  “All right, good. You're just so goddamned hot, Cassandra.” He’s breathing hard, and I take a few seconds to study his face before he goes back to kissing me again. He really is so attractive, his hair in damp curls that I can picture running my fingers through. The light dusting of freckles across his nose makes him look even more endearing.

  Closing my eyes, I part my lips to take his tongue. My body still feels rigid against his. I try to soften it as his hands come up again—this time, lifting the bottom of my shirt and reaching under. His hands are cold...I shiver as they slide into the cups of my bra, his fingers finding my nipples. Josh has a gentle touch, and what he’s doing feels good. Yes, very good.

  Why am I so stiff against him, though? I’ve always felt comfortable around him—he is so easy to be with; making out with him should be easy, too.

  Oh, but Cassandra...you belong to me. You have from the moment I saw you.

  Fuck. Where did that come from? Now I’m thinking too much, and goddamn me for thinking at this moment instead of just feeling.

  Feel. Let go. I open my mouth a little wider, pushing my tongue against his, and this seems to excite him. He sighs against my lips, taking his hands from my breasts and moving them down to cup my ass. I’m wearing full-seat riding breeches, and although yes, my ass does look good in them, the material is thick and not exactly suitable for groping. But Josh doesn’t mind, judging from the hardness I feel at the front of his jeans as he pulls me close.