Mistletoe Cinderella. Tanya Michaels
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I order up a bottle of wine?” Dylan asked, scanning the list. “Or maybe a carafe?”
She gave a quick shake of her head. “No more for me, thanks.” As it was, she felt drunk on Dylan’s proximity and ten years’ worth of finely aged fantasies—not to mention two glasses of hastily quaffed chardonnay. What she needed now was to get some food in her system. She’d barely eaten today, distracted by primping and wanting to make sure the dress didn’t bulge in the wrong places.
“Can I see that menu?” she asked, extending her hand.
“Absolutely.” He passed it to her. “I think I know what I want.”
Her heart thudded faster. Since when did everything sound like a double entendre? Since someone as sexy as Dylan Echols is the one saying it. The man could read aloud from programming manuals and make them sound hot.
After she’d decided on the steak salad and he chose the prime-rib dip, he called down to the kitchen.
He hung up the phone and smiled that same grin she remembered from civics class. “They said about twenty minutes. Can I get you something to drink in the meantime? I’ve got bottled water and colas.”
“I could use a water, thanks.” She closed her eyes for a moment. While the room wasn’t quite spinning, it wasn’t as stationary as she was used to, either.
Leaning into the minifridge, Dylan reverted to his earlier questions. “Just to clarify, did we establish that you’re in interior design or—”
“Uh-huh.” Interior design sounded like a far more sophisticated profession than computer nerd, even if it was absurdly out of character. “Interior designer. That’s me,” she said wistfully.
“You like what you do?”
She took a chilled bottle from him, nodding. “It might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but yeah. I started out helping friends like Natalie, and word of mouth spread. I size up new clients, try to understand how they see themselves and how they want others to see them. Then I figure out the best way to capture them visually, to help them present that image.” She put a lot of thought into which fonts, graphics, color schemes and page layouts conveyed the most effective mood and brand.
“You must really be a people person to have that kind of insight into strangers and help them express themselves.”
A people person? “I never thought of it that way. Of course, this is Mistletoe. There aren’t that many true ‘strangers.’”
“So you did stay local, then.”
“Yes.” Thinking of Jane’s memorial service—all the things her vivacious aunt had done with her life and all the things Chloe had not—she added emphatically, “But I have plans to travel. Big plans!”
He chuckled. “You don’t have to convince me. I believe you.”
You shouldn’t. Half of what had come out of her mouth tonight was big fat lies. “Dylan…”
“Yes?” His voice slid down her spine, full of promise.
She shivered, whatever she’d been about to say evaporating.
Fresh air, that’s what she needed. Fresh air and an enormous do-over where this evening was concerned.
Chloe nodded toward the sliding-glass door. “Mind if we step out on the balcony while we wait?”
“Great idea.” He opened the door for them, and a pleasant breeze rippled into the room.
It was a beautiful spring evening, the night soft against Chloe’s bare arms, but the balcony itself was incredibly small. She hadn’t realized when she suggested coming out here that it would force her and Dylan even closer—not that she was complaining exactly. The heretofore undiscovered brazen part of her wanted to lean into him.
“Pretty night,” Dylan murmured, his profile to her. He glanced at the stars, then out at a landscape she imagined was worlds homier than Atlanta. “Nice view, too…even if we are only five stories up instead of looking down from one of the many penthouses to which I am accustomed.”
Chloe smirked. “You’re mocking me.”
He turned. “Maybe just a little.”
Smoothing a hand over her hair, he tucked a few strands behind her ear, out of reach of the light wind. His hand rested against her cheek. They stood motionless, so still that Chloe doubted she was even breathing. If asthma attacks felt like this, she wouldn’t mind them so much. What was oxygen compared to a moment like this, staring into those amazing deep green eyes and seeing herself—a more exotic, more sensual version of herself—reflected?
A mere week ago, she’d been chiding herself at Jane’s memorial service to start seizing the day, to take risks and reap the rewards. Now here she was, practically in the arms of the most alluring man she’d ever known. All it would take was a step forward…She stretched up to press her lips to his, although she might have lost her nerve if he hadn’t leaned down to meet her.
After one stunned second of paralysis, she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the moment, the once-in-a-lifetime chance to live out cherished fantasies. Wrapping her hand around his neck, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him back, dizzy with sensation.
Carpe Dylan.
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