“You are so right.”
“Would you like to dance, Cat?” Casperson asked. “I feel like dancing.”
She hesitated, wondering if her inexperience and high heels would betray her. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Not to worry. I’m good enough for both of us.”
He led her onto the small dance floor, where the others gave them room. More knowing glances and whispers passed through the crowd. Casperson shot a look at the guitarist in the band, and as if they’d used a secret code, the band switched songs. They played “What a Wonderful World.” The music had a sad, mournful quality, as if this were the last day on earth. Maybe that was the way Casperson wanted her to feel.
He was right about his dancing. He made it easy to follow him. Without knowing any steps, she found herself turning in his arms, going where he nudged her to go. Everyone was watching them. She hoped that Curt had kept Jungle Jack far away, where he wouldn’t see Cat and Casperson together.
“You move very well,” Casperson told her.
“That’s all you.”
He knew that was true, but he smiled anyway. She felt small and light in his arms, and he made her a little dizzy. She tried not to think about where she was and what she was doing. The only thing she knew was that his fingers were pressed firmly on the bare skin at the small of her back.
“So you write,” he said.
“Yes.”
“What do you write?”
“It’s not exciting. New restaurants, upcoming events, that kind of thing.”
“Have you thought about acting? You have the looks for it.”
“I don’t think I could ever do that,” Cat said. “I’m sure it’s way too hard.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s really not.”
“I’m sure it’s impossible to break in.”
“Not when you know the right people,” Casperson said.
They kept dancing. The slow song ended and blended without a pause into something with a salsa beat. Casperson switched his movements effortlessly, and Cat tried to keep up, but she felt awkward on the dance floor. Casperson seemed amused by her lack of grace. He let half the song go by, then took her hand and guided her away. Others in the crowd filled the space they’d left behind.
Everyone stayed away from them. The crew. The money men. The staff. Security. They all knew what was going on.
Cat fanned herself. “It’s warm.”
“Too many people here,” Casperson said.
“That’s true.”
“Would you like to get some air?”
“It’s cold, and it’s snowing,” Cat replied, smiling.
“Well, I have a waterfront cottage a few steps away. There’s wine, fresh air, and a fireplace.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Come on, then.”
He guided her to the glass door that led outside. Cat found herself on the balcony, looking down at the trees and the lakeshore. Someone had built a campfire in the snow that looked oddly appropriate and inviting in the winter. There were a handful of people in silhouette around it, laughing and drinking. The wind sang an ominous song, and the snow refused to let up. It landed on her skin like little needles. She heard the rhythmic thump of the waves.
“I don’t think I can walk in these heels,” Cat said.
“Do you trust me?”
She blinked. “Of course. You’re Dean Casperson.”
He literally swept her off her feet. One moment she was standing on the balcony, the next she was in his arms. He carried her as if she weighed nothing. He made his way effortlessly to the path and through the trees to a two-story cottage not far away. With a tap of his foot, he kicked open the door and carried her over the threshold and set her down.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Wow,” she said.
Music already played from hidden speakers, a low piano solo so clear and perfect that she thought he must have a pianist in the cottage. The gas fireplace was already lit. That was the only light in the room. The white wine was in an ice bucket with two crystal glasses next to it on a wet bar. This had all been planned. A girl was going to come here with him this evening, and whatever was going to happen was going to happen. If not to her, then to someone else.
She didn’t have much time to think. Her gaze explored the room quickly. The fireplace was surrounded by flagstone that took up the entire wall. Among the stone shelves near the glow of the fire was a large flat-screen television. The picture window had no ledge and looked out on the lake. There were two leather chairs and a table with a lamp, but the lamp was turned off. A plush red sofa waited for them with multicolored pillows and a chaise. It had plenty of room for two. Beyond the sofa, a doorway led into the full kitchen. The bedrooms were upstairs, but she didn’t think they’d make it that far.
She thought: Where?
She had only seconds to decide. She sat down on the sofa and kept looking around the room.
“Would you like a drink, Cat?” Casperson asked. “Trust me, the wine is superb. It’s one of my favorites from a little winery outside Lyon.”
“Actually, could you get me some water first? I’m really dry.”
He smiled at her. “Of course.”
Casperson turned around and disappeared into the kitchen. Cat moved fast. She grabbed her purse and took out her phone and tapped out a quick text to Serena. Then she leaped off the sofa and endured five seconds of interminable hesitation as she tried to decide the best place in the room. Not the floor. Not the windows. Not the table. She ran to the television and propped her phone against it, with the black case covering up everything except the camera. She didn’t have time to go back and check the angle; she had to hope that it was right and that there was enough light from the fire. She already could hear the refrigerator door closing. She ran back and settled down on the sofa just as Casperson loomed in the doorway again. He handed her a small open bottle of Fiji water.
“Here you go,” he said.
“Thank you, Dean.”
She held the bottle, which was almost impossible because her fingers were shaking so hard. The reality of everything, of where she was, of what she was doing, of what was about to happen, crashed down on her. She’d planned it all out, but now she didn’t know if she could do it. She wanted to run. Her throat felt tight. She drank half the water with one thirsty swallow and gave him a nervous little smile. Then, trying to hide her fear, she finished the bottle and put it on the floor.
“How about that wine now?” he asked.
“Sure. That sounds great.”
He went over to the wet bar, and she watched him carefully. The wine was already uncorked, bathing in the ice bucket. She heard the slosh of water and ice. He glanced back at her with a confident, seductive smile. He was going to do it now. Definitely. Absolutely. He was so smooth as he poured that she didn’t even see it happen. She didn’t spot his hand dipping into his pocket for the vial. No one would know he’d done it. No one who didn’t realize it was about to happen.
“So what’s it like being Dean Casperson?” she asked him.
Casperson turned around with two wineglasses in his hand.
Don’t look at the television, she thought, staring at him, holding on to his gaze with her smoky eyes.
“Honestly? It’s an amazing life.”
He came and sat down next to her and handed her a wineglass. If you knew what to look for, you could see the predatory anticipation in his face. This was more than romantic seduction. Most of the women who came here would have slept with him anyway, but it wasn’t about that. She’d been with men who needed to dominate. Who needed to win. Who needed to abuse. She’d seen that sickness, and there was no cure.
“To the most beautiful girl I’ve met in Minnesota,” he toasted her, clinking their glasses together.
This was the moment. It was now or never.