She drove him nuts.
What had Troy been thinking? Dealing with the wrath of Dixon Daniels would be easier than fighting his own raging hormones. After being crammed in the cab of his small pickup with Cassie for the past two and a half hours, Troy was reaching his breaking point. At least his zipper was.
He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He enjoyed talking with her, but every time she turned her head, he caught a whiff of perfume, shampoo, soap—her. She smelled fresh, a bit like citrus. He felt as if he had completed a triathalon and desperately needed a cool drink. Cassie was a glass of lemonade on a hot summer day. Troy wanted to taste her, to quench his thirst.
He was in over his head.
For the last three days, he had thought about her at the most inopportune times—doodling her name during a MagicSoft board meeting and suggesting the name Cass Ale for a new beer during a meeting with a brewery.
Cassie spelled danger.
Troy even found her clothes a turn-on. And that surprised him. Nothing she wore could be considered “fitted” or “tailored.” Baggy, perhaps. Today, her oversize yellow sweater, calf-length gauze skirt and brown boots covered everything except her neck and head, but she looked sexier than the women wearing skimpy bikinis on “Baywatch.” It was a miracle he’d made it to Carmel without driving off the road. Luckily Cassie seemed not to notice. She questioned him about his background and seemed more interested in hearing about growing up in Missouri and his big family, than anything else.
“Turn right,” she said, as they drove along a treelined street with large, well-kept houses on either side. “Stop on the driveway. The gate should open automatically.”
Troy stopped in front of a pair of closed wroughtiron gates. Suddenly they opened as if on cue.
“Keep following the driveway.”
What kind of house needed a gated entrance? As he drove, he found out. In the distance, a two-story house stood out against the horizon. Like a Mediterranean Villa, the white stucco house had archways, terraces and balconies. Dixon Daniels had made a lot of money, especially in the early days of computers and telecommunications, but Troy hadn’t expected a house, an estate, this sprawling.
Someday. Someday, I’m going to live in a place like this. First step, becoming a partner.
As he turned off the ignition, Dixon walked out to greet them. This had better work, Troy thought, feeling as though his career hung by a thin, unraveling string.
Cassie slid out of the front seat. She greeted her father with a hug. “Hi, Dad.”
“Good to see you, sweetheart.” Dixon studied Troy’s truck. “Nice truck. Practical, too.”
Troy cleared his throat. He’d tried to rent a better car, but couldn’t find what he was looking for. Thank goodness he’d washed the truck before coming. “It gets me around.”
“Does it have four-wheel drive?”
“Yes.”
“Good in snow, I’ll bet.” Dixon smiled. “We have a cabin in Tahoe. Do you ski?”
Cabin? Troy bet it was more like a lodge. “I love to ski.”
“How was the drive?”
Sixty-five all the way, sir. Not. “Fine.”
“Did you take Highway 1?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a beautiful drive.” Dixon smiled as Troy nodded in agreement. “Did you hit much traffic?”
“A little in Half Moon Bay.” Troy grabbed the bags and his golf clubs from the back of the pickup. Surprisingly Cassie’s flowered print bag was smaller and lighter than his.
Dixon took her bag from Troy’s hand. “Vanessa’s fixing a snack. I hope you’re hungry, son.”
Son? Dixon said the word as if he meant it. Troy swallowed the sudden lump of guilt lodged in his throat. Respected and liked in the industry, Dixon made killer deals and never showed any weaknesses. But Troy saw one now. Dixon Daniels was a powerful and intelligent businessman, but he had an Achilles’ heel—his daughters. “I’m starved.”
Cassie took her father’s hand. “We didn’t want to arrive too late so we didn’t stop for dinner.”
“You should always eat, Cassie,” Dixon said like a typical father. “Troy, make sure she eats three meals a day. If she doesn’t, she gets cranky.”
“Daddy,” Cassie said, sounding horrified. She pursed her lips. “I’m never cranky. Emily’s the one who needs to eat, not me.”
With his forehead wrinkled, Dixon looked deep in thought “It is your sister,” he said finally. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Troy, forget what I said.”
As Cassie entered the house, Dixon grabbed his shoulder, holding him back. “Cassie gets cranky, too,” he whispered. “Make sure she eats.”
Troy chuckled. “I will.”
He stepped inside wondering if he’d stepped into a layout for Architectural Digest. Terra-cotta tiles covered the entryway. Original artwork, illuminated by recessed lights, hung on the textured walls.
“Leave your bags in the entryway. We’ll take them upstairs later,” Dixon said. “Let’s go into the living room.”
Cassie took Troy’s hand and led him into the large living room filled with elegant furniture. He’d grown up with five brothers and sisters in a four-bedroom farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The sculpture in the corner of the room probably cost more than refurnishing his parents’ house after a flood destroyed everything. The painting over the fireplace would pay off the mortgage on the farm.
Cassie stopped in front of an elaborate flower arrangement She broke a lily from its stem and tucked it behind her ear.
Dixon motioned him to sit. “Have a seat, Troy.”
The white couch looked too clean to sit on, but Cassie pulled him down next to her. As she and Dixon chatted, Troy took in the room. He wasn’t much into interior decorating, but he recognized quality. He’d visited mansions in Pacific Heights and estates in Hillsborough. He’d been impressed by more than a couple of places, but this house overwhelmed him.
Cassie elbowed him. “Honey, do you want a drink?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“What would you like, sweetheart, a beer?” Cassie asked.
As Troy nodded, Dixon spoke up. “I’ll have one, too.”
“But, Daddy, you always drink—”
“I want a beer,” Dixon said with authority, ending further discussion.
Cassie kissed Troy’s cheek. “I’ll be right back, sugar.”
“Don’t forget to see if your mother needs any help,” Dixon added as she left the room. “You’re going to have your hands full with her, Troy.”
He already did. “I can handle her.”
“Vanessa spoiled both of the girls.”
From what Troy had seen when picking Cassie up, she seemed remarkably unspoiled. She lived in a Victorian flat with peeling paint and squeaky steps. Her wardrobe consisted of casual and eclectic clothes. No designer labels that he could tell.
“I suppose I had a hand in spoiling them, too. It’s difficult not to when we have all of this.” Dixon glanced around the room until his gaze rested on a picture of his two daughters. The portrait showed a younger Emily and Cassie. Both wore sweaters and strands of pearl. Cassie looked so…normal.
“When was the portrait done?” Troy asked.
“After they graduated from college.”
“Different,” Dixon said.
“Yes.”
“She was, but…Let’s just say, Cassie got my stubborn streak. Once she makes a decision, there’s no turning back. And she’ll go to the extreme to prove her point.”
“She’s strong-willed,” Troy said. “I respect that.”
“Good.” Dixon smiled. “But remember, she’ll always assume she’s right. Compromise isn’t one of her strong points. Don’t let her get away with too much, Troy.”
He didn’t understand what Dixon was trying to say, but since Troy wasn’t going to marry her it didn’t matter. “Cassie and I will do fine.”
“It makes me happy to hear that.” Dixon smiled. “So, tell me. How is Mick treating you at the office? Has he offered you a partnership yet?”
Her mother was cooking and her father wanted a beer? Who were these strangers? Aliens, perhaps. Where were her real parents?
Cassandra entered the kitchen. A pan of brownies sat on the stove. Her mother stood at the granite counter, working on a tray of vegetables.
She blinked, wondering if the image would disappear. “Can I help, Mom?”
Vanessa turned and smiled. Usually the definition of refinement and elegance, she wore a pale pink apron over her black knit pants and white knit blouse. “I didn’t hear you come in. I told your father to let me know when you arrived.”
“He sent me in for beers. I think he wants to talk to Troy alone.”
“I’m sure of it.” Vanessa returned to arranging the broccoli florets. “He’s been talking about Troy all week.”
Cassandra swallowed hard. Convincing her parents she and Troy didn’t belong together might be more difficult than she thought. Not that it wasn’t obvious they came from different worlds, had different goals. Maybe if he were still a farmer from Missouri, but he was a venture capitalist from San Francisco. Talk about repeating similar patterns. Her parents would have to realize the relationship would never work. If only Troy didn’t want them to act like the perfect couple. “Do you want me to do anything?”
“Why don’t you get the beers? I chilled some mugs in the freezer.”
Chilled mugs? Cassandra stared at the bowls and pans in the sink. The scent of the cooling brownies lingered in the air. With custom cabinets and state-of-the-art appliances, the kitchen was a cook’s dream. The remodeling job had been a present for her mother last year, after their longtime cook retired but Vanessa never had any interest in cooking. Her parents hired a caterer when they had company, even for Christmas dinner, and usually ate out or had their meals delivered. When had her mother turned into Martha Stewart?
Cassandra grabbed two mugs from the freezer and set them on the counter. Opening the refrigerator, she saw three different brands of bottled beer. “Does Dad prefer a specific kind?”
“Any one will do, but give them both the same brand. I’m sure your father will want to know Troy’s opinion about the beer.”
“When did Dad start drinking beer?” She opened the bottles. “I thought he only liked Scotch.”
“Your father’s always liked beer, but he enjoys the ones from microbreweries best. He’s got a database of all the brands he’s tasted.” Vanessa laughed. “He likes one so much he’s going to invest in it.”
As Cassandra started to pour the beer, her mother stopped her. “Make sure you tilt the glass. Your father hates too much head.”
Her father, a beer connoisseur? It was hard for Cassandra to believe, but she poured the beer as her mother suggested. “What are you making?”
“A light snack.” Vanessa wiped her hands on the apron. “Stuffed mushroom caps, a vegetable tray and brownies.”
Cassandra eyed the chocolate batter on a wooden spoon. “I thought you gave up cooking.”
“I did, but I missed it.” Vanessa removed her apron. “Your father had this wonderful kitchen remodeled for me so I figured I should at least attempt to get a small return on his investment.”
Cassandra grabbed the spoon and licked the chocolate off. “Dad must be happy.”
Vanessa nodded. “But he’s gaining weight again.”
“I’m sure the beer isn’t helping.”
“It isn’t,” her mother agreed, but didn’t seem to mind as long as Dixon was happy.
“Thanks for going to all of this trouble, Mom.”
“I want Troy to feel like this is his home, too. After all, he’s practically family.”
Practically family. The key word was “practically.” “Well, almost.”
Vanessa sighed. “There’s something you should know, Cassandra.”
Her mother sounded so serious. Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Your father and I have had several discussions about this weekend’s sleeping arrangements.”
This, she could handle. Cassandra smiled. “Let Troy have the guest room. I’ll sleep in my room.”
“That’s what your father said, but I don’t want Troy to think we’re, well, prudes.”
“Troy won’t think that” Cassandra tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “This is your house and while we’re staying here we’ll follow your rules.”
“You sound so grown-up, sweetheart.” Vanessa smiled. “I’m so happy you found someone like him. I don’t want to do anything to, uh—”
“Screw it up.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Her mother looked uncomfortable at the choice of words. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions.”
Now that Cassandra had found an acceptable fiancé, she could make her own decisions without parental interference. It boggled her mind. She ran a successful bookstore, paid all her bills, visited her dentist every six months and still received no respect. But bring home a handsome male and bam—she was an adult. Maybe she could market the idea of make-believe fiancés to other women.
“I don’t want to cause problems between you and Troy,” her mother said finally. “When your father spent the weekend with my parents for the first time, he was so nervous I thought he would sweat to death. Troy needs to have you close to him.”
Her mother was usually more direct. “What are you saying?”
“The two of you can share your room.”
Cassandra almost dropped the beer bottle. “But—”
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “I thought you would be happy.”
“I’m shocked,” Cassandra said, unable to believe what was happening. She didn’t want to share her bedroom with a stranger. Not that Troy was strange. He was cute. She just didn’t know him well enough. She knew him well enough to call him her fiancé, but not to share her room with him. Oh, no. Cassandra clutched the counter. There had to be a way out. “What about Daddy? I don’t want to cause problems between the two of you.”
“I can handle your father,” Vanessa said with confidence. “It’s time he realized you’re not ten years old anymore.”
“Really, Mom. Troy and I don’t mind. We talked about it on the drive down. We don’t want to do anything to make you and Dad feel uncomfortable.”
“We are fine with the arrangements.”
Cassandra didn’t know what to say. What would Troy say? Her lips tightened.
“Wipe your face, dear, you have chocolate on it.”
Chocolate was the least of her worries, but she wiped her face with a paper towel anyway. “Thanks.”
“One more thing,” Vanessa said. “I do hope you’ve been practicing safe sex.”
“Mother, really,” Cassandra said, wondering how many times her mother would shock her tonight.
“There are some nasty diseases out there, Cassandra.”
“I know, it’s—” She was at a loss for words. Sex wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss with her mother.
“Just take care of yourself, okay?”
She gritted her teeth. “Okay.”
Vanessa grabbed the platters. “Let’s take the food out.”
Stunned, Cassandra picked up the two mugs of beer. How difficult had it been for her conservative mother to take on her even more conservative father over the issue of sleeping arrangements and to bring up the subject of safe sex with her own daughter? Very, she realized. “Mom. Thanks for being so understanding.”
“I was young once, Cassandra.”
“You’re still young, Mom.”
At midnight, Dixon told everyone it was time for bed. As Cassandra picked up her bag from the entryway, she couldn’t believe how smoothly the last three hours had gone. Every bit of her mother’s delicious food was gone, including the pan of brownies. Troy seemed at ease around her parents, almost like one of the family. His arm felt so comfortable around her, Cassandra could almost believe they were engaged. And her parents’ delighted smiles told her they didn’t suspect a thing.
Vanessa led the way upstairs, and Cassandra followed. Each step sent her closer to the impending doom. As her mother opened the door to her room, Cassandra’s stomach knotted. She would have to share a bedroom and a bed with Troy.
As Vanessa turned on the light, her shoulders slumped. “Dixon,” she yelled.
He ran up the stairs, gently pushing Cassandra aside. “Yes, dear?”
“What have you done?” Vanessa didn’t sound pleased.
“Nothing, dear.”
“I can’t believe you did this,” Vanessa mumbled to Dixon. “You’re going to mess this up.”
Cassandra couldn’t believe the indignant tone of her mother’s whispers. Eager to see what was happening, she nudged her way past her parents and into her bedroom. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the two twin beds.
Thank you, Daddy. She held back her laughter. Her mother might have won the battle, but her father had won the war.
“Where is Cassandra’s bed?” Vanessa asked.
“Cassie’s mattress was old and lumpy, dear. She needed a new mattress, so I bought her a new one.”
“You bought two new ones.”
“They were on sale,” Dixon said. “Two for the price of one.”
Her mother stared at the purple-and-white striped comforters. “Where did you get the bedding?”
“They were on sale, too.”
“Well, at least they match.” Vanessa shrugged. “I hope you don’t mind, Cassandra.”
She didn’t mind at all. Cassandra smiled at her good fortune. “This is fine, isn’t it, Troy?”
Troy entered the room and set his bag on a bed. “Yes.”
“Good night, kids,” Dixon said. “These walls are thin, so let us know if we’re keeping you awake.”
His comment earned him an elbow jab from Vanessa. On his way out of the room, Dixon left the door ajar.
Cassandra smiled, trying to ease her embarrassment. “My father isn’t known for his subtlety.”
“At least I know where I stand.” Troy flashed her a charming grin. “If I touch you, he’ll come after me with a shotgun.”
Cassandra laughed. “You’d better keep your hands to yourself, then.”
“I assume we’re sharing this room.” Troy didn’t sound too happy with the idea.
“Yes, and you can blame my mother. At least my father had sense enough to buy twin beds. He’s the greatest, isn’t he?”
“What used to be in here?”
“A full-size antique four-poster bed.” She left out the romantic description of the carved oak headboard. She didn’t want to scare Troy off, nor did she want to inspire any romantic dreams of her own.
“A full?”
She nodded, understanding his concern. “It would have been crowded. You don’t know how happy I am to see these twin beds.”
“I’m relieved,” Troy said. “I wish I could thank your father.”
Cassandra wished he didn’t sound so happy. Would sharing a bed with her be that miserable? Not that she wanted to, but his obvious relief stung a little. She might not be a cover model, but plenty of men asked her out. She just never said yes.
“I still can’t believe they’re letting us share a room.”
“As I said that was my mother’s idea, but my father drew the line at us sharing a bed.”
“I’m not sure he’d let us do that once we were married.”
“You’re probably right,” Cassandra said, wondering what it would be like to share a bed with Troy. Tall and well built, he would take up the entire bed and be a blanket hog. Still, his body could keep her warm.
Troy rubbed his eyes. “Not that we’ll ever find out.”
“Of course not.” She ignored the twinge of regret. It was for the best. She wasn’t interested in anything about Troy McKnight. And as soon as this pretend engagement was over, she would never set eyes on him again. “Do you want to use the bathroom first?”
“No, you can.” Troy opened his bag and tossed her a shirt. “Here.”
She stared at the white T-shirt in her hand. “What’s this for?”
“Did you bring pajamas?”
“No.”
“Wear it.”
The tone of his voice bothered her. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Only when my sanity’s at stake.”
His comment threw her. She wasn’t sure whether to take his remarks as a compliment or not. Remember he’s rigid and predictable. No spontaneity, no adventure. Maybe she could lighten him up a bit. “Were you a Boy Scout, Troy?”
“Eagle Scout,” he said.
As Cassandra stepped into the bathroom, she winked at him. “Does that mean you’re always prepared?”
The door to the bathroom opened. Cassie stepped out, carrying her clothes. She wore his T-shirt, but nothing else. The hem of the shirt brushed the top of her thighs. Her breasts pressed against the thin fabric. She shouldn’t hide such luscious curves under all those baggy clothes of hers. Troy sucked in a breath. And he should have brought the flannel pajamas his mother had given him last Christmas.
“It’s all yours,” Cassie said.
And he wanted it, all of it. His groin tightened.
“There are clean towels in the cabinet”
She’d meant the bathroom, of course. He forced his gaze from her never-ending legs. “Okay.”
Grabbing his shaving kit and a pair of shorts, Troy walked into the bathroom and slammed the door. How in the world would he sleep with Cassie a mere three feet away? He gritted his teeth.
He’d been without a woman too long.
Cassie might not be his type, but she was sexy and nothing like the career-driven women he dated. Or would date if he could ever afford the time. That must be his problem—he hadn’t been dating anyone. It wasn’t Cassie who was driving him crazy; it could be any attractive woman. That’s why he found someone so not-his-type appealing. Troy splashed his face with cold water.
At least he understood his physical reaction to her. Now, he could forget about it. Besides, he wasn’t here to appease his sexual desires, or frustrations in this case. He was here only because he had to be here. His current state of celibacy didn’t matter. His future as a venture capitalist did. He’d been handed a golden opportunity to spend time with Dixon Daniels—one Troy wouldn’t waste on hormones and the need for immediate gratification.
When Troy returned to the bedroom, Cassie was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back to him. She still had the flower tucked behind her ear. He studied her, ignoring the way the T-shirt had inched up on her creamy thighs. Cassie glanced back, but didn’t say a word.
She must have been meditating. “I’m sorry if I interrupted you.”
“You didn’t.” She rose from the floor. “I’m done.”
“Do you meditate every night?”
“Not every night.” She crawled into the bed closest to her. “But it helps keep the stress levels down.”
Troy couldn’t imagine what stress she could have unless the stars and planets were out of alignment.
Cassie covered herself with a comforter. “Have you ever tried yoga?”
“Uh, no.”
“Works wonders especially after long hours at the office.”
“I’m not the yoga type.”
She stared at him. “No, you’re not.”
The certainty in her voice bothered him, so did her slight grin. Not that he cared what Cassie thought.
“The light switch is on your right.”
As he was about to turn off the light, he saw a white lace bra lying on top of her yellow sweater. Troy blinked and flicked off the switch. It was going to be a long night.
He got into bed. He hadn’t slept in a twin-size bed since college. His feet hung over the edge. “Good night, Cassie.”
“Good night, Troy.”
Unable to sleep, he stared at the ceiling. He thought he saw stars. When he found the Big Dipper, he knew that he had. “Cassie.”
“What?”
“There are stars on the ceiling.”
He searched the fluorescent stars, locating Orion. “Why are there stars?”
“I’ve always loved to stargaze.”
“Me, too. Growing up on the farm, I got spoiled. With no city lights to interfere, you can always see a sky full of stars.” Troy searched the ceiling for other constellations. He found Andromeda and Eridanus. “You still haven’t told me why there are stars on your ceiling.”
“When I was little, I would lie on the grass in the backyard and stare at the stars with my planisphere in hand. One winter it got so cold, my mother thought I’d catch pneumonia. My father had the glow-in-the dark stars put on the ceiling so I could stay warm while I scanned the sky for constellations.”
Troy located the Pleiades. “He did a great job.”
“He hired a couple of astronomers to do it, so it’s pretty accurate. For a bedroom ceiling that is.”
He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have Vanessa and Dixon Daniels as parents. He couldn’t imagine spending the money to stick fluorescent stars on a ceiling. Someday…
“My mother hated us going out in the winter, too.” Troy remembered how he looked like the Michelin Man by the time his mother finished dressing him for an evening of stargazing in the chilly night air. “But on the clearest and coldest night you could always see what seemed like a million stars in the sky.”
Cassie sighed. “Sounds like heaven. Why did you leave?”
“I got tired of living on a farm. I watched my parents grow old worrying about money, about the weather, about grain prices.” About how to pay for their children’s college education, their own retirement and groceries. It wasn’t fair. His father was only fifty-two, but had lines of worry etched on his forehead.
“But aren’t there a few pluses to living on a farm?” Cassie asked. “No crowds, no traffic, lots of open spaces.”
True, but Troy didn’t want to live hand-to-mouth or harvest-to-harvest. The only way to get what he wanted meant leaving the farm. A sacrifice, perhaps, but one he’d make again. Cassie grew up rich. She wouldn’t understand his reasons, understand how his family still struggled though he helped out as much as he could. “There are pros and cons. Floods and droughts. It isn’t an easy life.”
“I always thought it would be fun.” Cassie sounded as if she disapproved of his reasons.
“It’s a lot of work.”
A star fell from the ceiling.
“Did you see that, Troy?”
He squinted, trying to focus in the darkness. “What?”
“A falling star,” she said with childlike excitement. “Make a wish.”
Wishing on a plastic star? Troy rolled his eyes. She probably tossed coins into fountains, too. “It’s not a real star, Cassie.”
“So? It can’t hurt. Don’t be so unimaginative.” She paused. “Did you make a wish?”
“Yes.” He had wished for a BMW. It didn’t take a Ph.D. to realize she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And he wasn’t unimaginative. “What did you wish for, Cassie?”
“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” she said. “I’ve always thought you could learn a lot about a person by knowing what they wished for.”
Troy wondered what he could learn from Cassie’s wish. She probably wished for world peace or an end to hunger.
“I’m happy you made a wish. I was beginning to think you were a total stick-in-the-mud.” She rolled over. “Good night, Troy.”
“Good night.”
He stared at the ceiling. Another star fell. He made a wish. No way was he a so-called “stick-in-the-mud.” But…
Terrific, he thought, feeling himself tense.
Did wishes tell something about a person? What did it tell about him? He’d made a wish and it shocked the hell out of him. He should have wished for a partnership or his own company, but he hadn’t.
Troy had wished for Cassie.