Mistletoe Cinderella

Chapter Fourteen

Surprised to hear anyone knocking at this hour, Dylan went to the front door. More than once the easygoing but chronically forgetful tenant from the second floor had locked himself out and come up here to call friends who had a spare key. The guy owned a cell phone but often neglected to keep it charged. Dylan glanced through the security hole and found not his goateed neighbor but Chloe. She must have jumped in her car scant minutes after they’d hung up.

He opened the door and as soon as he got a good look at her tearstained face, ravaged with grief and guilt, he knew exactly why she was there. Thank God. She was confessing! He sent up a heartfelt prayer of gratitude. The ludicrous game that had spun out of control was at an end. He itched to pull her to him and rain kisses over her. He’d held himself in check until now, and his control was strained to the breaking point.

Her presence here couldn’t have happened at a better time. Earlier tonight, she’d been the only person he wanted to turn to, the person who’d given him the exact input he’d needed, and he’d realized just how much he’d fallen for her.

“Dylan.” She took in his partially dressed state of slacks and undershirt. “I hope I’m not bothering you, but-”

“C.J.” Chloe. He tugged her into his arms, tilting her face up to him. She cared about him enough to share the difficult truth, had driven all this way in the middle of the night. He was delirious with the need to touch her, the need to comfort her.

What seemed like a lifetime ago, he’d wanted to see her break down. Now all he wanted to do was kiss away her tears.

“I am so glad to see you,” he breathed, letting go of her just long enough to shut the door behind her.

“You might not be for long,” she warned.

“No, don’t say that.” He shook his head. “I’ll always be glad to see you. My heart does this stutter like it’s suspended in time for that second when I first lay eyes on you. It happened when I saw you in that hotel lobby and every time since.”

Unable to stop himself-not wanting to stop himself-he drew her back to him and kissed her. He was better at articulating his feelings that way. At the last minute, he made an attempt to slow down, softening the kiss so that he didn’t pounce on her like a starving man presented with a buffet.

Instead, he nipped at her lower lip, sucking gently. She hadn’t bothered with makeup before her late-night drive, and it was the first time he’d ever kissed her when she wasn’t wearing lip gloss. She tasted like…Chloe, the most erotic flavor he’d ever sampled.

Fingers meshed in her hair, he speared his tongue into the soft heat of her mouth. She whimpered, but it was clearly not a sound of protest since she was frantically wriggling closer. He kissed his way down the column of her throat, murmuring against her skin. “You are so beautiful. And I want you so badly.”

Joining their mouths once again, he cupped her breast through the cotton of her T-shirt, and she arched into his palm. Then he lowered his hand beneath the hem, skimming over the sensitive skin of her midriff.

Although it had never been a question he felt compelled to ask anyone before, he heard himself say, “Do you want me, too?” Even with all the physical evidence before him, there was the faintest note of uncertainty in his tone.

She swallowed. “God, yes. You…I…”

When the tenderness in her expression gave way to apprehension, he laid a finger over her deliciously bare lips. Now that they were finally body to body and he knew without a doubt he could trust her, he couldn’t bear to lose this moment. “Shh. It’s okay, you don’t have to put it into words.” He might not be able to throw his best fastball anymore, but physical therapy had left him more than able to scoop her up and carry her toward the bedroom. Since a charitable organization had come by to collect some of the pieces he’d be replacing, such as his nightstand, the bedroom was starker than it had been before, making the bed such a focal point of the room that it might as well have neon flashing arrows over it.

But, of course, arrows angled at him would be negative chi, and Dylan was feeling extremely positive about life right now.

As soon as he’d set her on the foot of the bed, he tugged off his shirt. Then he reached for hers, removing it so quickly it was as if the fabric obligingly disintegrated. She sucked in a breath, causing her chest to swell in the lacy cups of a pale pink bra. Her skin was pale, too, smooth and exquisitely delicate. Pressing her against the mattress, he dropped kisses across her shoulder and collarbone, his fingers tracing circles over her abdomen.

“I came here to tell you something,” she said.

He glanced up, meeting her gaze. “If it was to tell me that you think you’re falling in love with me, the feeling is mutual.”

She froze, her eyes widening. “It is? You are?”

Feeling far shier than he had when he’d first done this at sixteen, he nodded. She plunged her fingers through his hair, pulled him closer and kissed him fervently, putting her whole heart into it. He kissed her back, realizing that for the first time in his life, he had his whole heart to give. He’d always dated, but baseball had been his first love, demanding so much time and concentration. And after confiding in her the other night about his childhood, he felt he’d cleared out emotional cobwebs that had kept him from experiencing everything so vividly before.

His previous encounters with women had been grainy and blurred; Chloe was hi-def.

Kissing the slope of her breast, he was pleased to discover that her bra had a front clasp. He flicked it open with the enthusiastic awe of a boy unwrapping a long-awaited birthday present. Propping himself on an elbow, he simply admired her for a second.

She wiggled, and he wasn’t sure if she was trying to press their bodies closer because she missed the contact or because she was trying to shield herself from his gaze. “I’m not going to be able to talk to you naked,” she fretted.

“Excellent, then we’ll talk later.”

“But, I-”

“It will be okay.” He rubbed a thumb over one pebbled nipple. “It will be more than okay, I promise.” Then he lowered his head to take her in his mouth, and her words faded to gasps.

He managed to get them both undressed, although it was difficult to concentrate on the button and zipper of his slacks with Chloe raking her nails lightly over his chest and running her tongue across his earlobe. The shell-pink panties she wore were silky, but she was far silkier beneath them, hot and wet to his touch. He pressed his thumb against her, almost lost control himself when he slid his finger into her. Her head dropped back, her breathing erotically ragged. Watching her climax was humbling.

“You are magnificent,” he whispered, kissing her and tasting salt on her skin.

It wasn’t until he’d rolled on a condom that he realized the fundamental flaw in his interrupting her earlier. As he sheathed himself in the welcoming tightness of her body, he regretted not being able to call her by name. But if they had to stop now for questions and explanations…So her name became a wordless chant in his mind as he pulled back and slowly thrust. He slid his hands over the sleek muscles of her toned legs, which she’d wrapped around his hips.

Dylan lost himself inside her. Inside her eyes and her touch and the way she quivered around him. When she came a second time, she locked her arms and legs around him and cried his name. It sent him over the edge.

Afterward, he felt dazed and dumbstruck. He wasn’t even sure how much time had passed, although he knew it was late, when Chloe prompted, “Dylan?”

He yawned, his eyes feeling as heavy as two-ton weights. “Hmm?”

Her own voice sounded sleepy but determined. “Are you awake?”

“Definitely not. Best dream of my life,” he said, hugging her.

“Can we talk?”

“In mornin’,” he mumbled. His last waking thought was of how lucky he’d been to go to that reunion.

CHLOE WOKE INSTANTLY, jolted from a dreamless sleep. She felt as if she’d been unconscious for years-a naked and slightly sore Rip Van Winkle. Sunlight spilled around the edges of a window shade in an unadorned window. They’d picked out new window treatments Dylan planned to install this weekend. Dylan!

Emotion spasmed through her, intense joy at what had taken place between them and daunting trepidation that she still hadn’t told him who she really was. Last night she’d said she couldn’t talk to him in the nude, a tactical error on her part. Perhaps she had a better shot of helping him work through his understandable anger if there weren’t a lot of clothes between them.

“Hello?” She listened for the sound of water running or rummaging in the kitchen. “Dylan?”

Her voice echoed in the empty apartment. Confused, she wrapped the sheet around herself, trailing it behind her as she explored the place. No mistake about it, he wasn’t here.

But on the otherwise tidy kitchen counter sat a gold key on a Braves keychain and a note. It took her a second to adjust to his handwriting, definitely the kind described as chicken-scratch.

C,

Had to leave early-damn PR thing. Couldn’t wake you. Stay as long as you want. Lock up when you go.

Call you,

D.

For no good reason, despair filled her. She had next to no experience with mornings after, but while some of them had been awkward, this was the only one that had featured a jotted memo instead of the actual guy. What were you expecting, a sonnet? Well, no. But “last night was the most magical experience of my life” would have been nice. Or at the very least, “love, Dylan.” Even “fondly” would have been an improvement to the terse letter.

She found herself chewing on her thumbnail and she impatiently dropped her hand. Had he really tried to wake her? Sneaking off in the light of day with a vague promise of calling later sounded like the horror stories she’d heard from girlfriends on the unreliability of guys. Stop being so insecure. He’s never given you any reason not to believe him. In point of fact, she was the liar in this relationship.

Oh God. She’d slept with a man under false pretenses. How had she let it get that far? Images played through her mind-the way he’d looked at her, spoken to her, touched her. Okay, she knew how she’d let it happen; she just wished she’d told him the truth first. Now it was going to be doubly hard. She wasn’t even sure when he would be back. Earlier in the week he’d mentioned a publicity function at Turner Field, some sort of all-day event each of Channel Six’s personalities were expected to attend. Should she-

The phone cut into the silence, making her jump. She didn’t answer, figuring that if Dylan wanted to talk to her, he would have tried her cell. A moment later, his voice filled the condo as he told the caller no one was available right now and instructed them to speak at the beep.

“Hey, dude, it’s Nick. Ran into Coach at the bakery and he said it looks as if you’re gonna apply. It will take someone special to fill his cleats-you’d be perfect. And I called ’cause my curiosity is killing me-what happened with Chloe? Next time you’re in town, holler. You, me and Shane will hang out.”

What happened with Chloe?

Nausea swamped her so hard she almost fell, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady herself. He knew! She’d racked her brain trying to figure out how to tell him, and he knew. Had known, last night when he’d made love to her. When he’d interrupted her multiple times as she tried to spit out the truth. Not only did he know, he’d told his buddies about it.

She pressed her hands to her eyes. Had this been a lark for him, or something more sinister like revenge?

While she had been dying a thousand deaths over her deception, had he been planning all along to seduce her and teach her a lesson? Boy, did you let yourself get seduced! They’d gone from first base to scoring pretty damn quickly. She was ashamed of herself. I should have told him sooner, should have tried harder…

True. But did that excuse his yukking it up with friends? Nick wanted an update. Would Dylan give him one? Would she become the grown-up equivalent of locker-room talk? She’d considered Nick a friend once, or at least a friendly acquaintance. Then again, he’d dated Candy Beemis, hung out with a lot of the same popular kids who’d sneered at her and called her Klutzy Chloe. Were they all laughing again? She knew she’d screwed up, but she hated that instead of just calling her a liar, Dylan had turned her into the butt of an old joke that hadn’t been funny ten years ago and wasn’t now.

The difference was, she was no longer a mild-mannered seventeen-year-old who lacked the backbone to stand up for herself. She was furious. What would C.J. do?

Looking around the kitchen with the strategic gaze of a woman scorned, she glimpsed the business card they’d picked up from the decorating warehouse, where Dylan had introduced her as his decorator. The card was pressed to the fridge with a magnet from a local Chinese delivery place. She retrieved it, staring at the promise that they provided the essentials for every design taste and philosophy. With an idea beginning to take shape in her mind, she slid the card into her purse-which also contained the uncashed check she’d planned to return as a symbolic gesture once she’d told him who she wasn’t.

Chloe scanned her mental library of everything she’d read about feng shui. She’d promised to help Dylan use the guidelines for more positive energy, after all, and she’d always excelled at book learning. Now she was going to take a bunch of suggestions and get Dylan Echols all the good chi he deserved.

IF GRADY MEDLOCK HAD made one smart-ass comment about how goodwill events didn’t involve being abrupt with the public…well, he would have been absolutely right. Dylan tried to tamp down his impatience, but he was dying to get out of there. It had nothing to do with being in this stadium, where he’d once played and hadn’t been able to imagine anything more thrilling than the roar of the crowd and the certainty that came with the perfect pitch that the batter would miss. Instead, it was all about the woman he’d kissed goodbye that morning. Although she’d snored through that, he recalled, grinning inwardly.

When he’d first awakened, a naked Chloe in his arms, he’d entertained calling in sick. But if his interview with the school board went well, he was about to spit in the faces of those who had pulled strings and lobbied for him to have the Channel Six job. The very least he could do was honor his final commitments.

Then he would be free to go home to Mistletoe, to baseball and to Chloe.

The day passed in an eternity of small talk and autographs. He stole a fifteen-minute break for a late lunch and tried Chloe’s cell number, but there was no answer. Since all the words that came to mind seemed inadequate, he didn’t bother with a message. Finally, he was free to go…and sit in Atlanta traffic. He glared at the cars moving so slowly they might as well be parked. What sadistic fan of irony had deemed this “rush” hour?

When he got home, he raced up the stairs two at a time, knowing even as he did so that it was foolish. There was a good chance she wouldn’t even be there. It had been a gift that she’d shown up last night, but he couldn’t expect her to put her life on hold and sit around waiting for him all day. It was a sweet fantasy, though, the idea that he would come home to find Chloe.

Maybe even in bed? He had dyslexia and a bum rotator cuff. A naked Chloe reclining on his mattress would be the perfect way for karma to make it all up to him.

“Hello?” He was calling out even before he had the door fully open. “Is any-”

What in the name of all that was holy and good had happened to his apartment?

His gaze was bouncing around like a caffeinated preschooler, moving so quickly that he couldn’t really process everything he was seeing. Such as that one section of the room where there was so much purple and gold that it looked like Mardi Gras had thrown up in the corner.

Purple and gold. She’d said that those colors were associated with wealth, hadn’t she? In the “romance” area were fuzzy pink heart-shaped pillows resting on his couch. And a red throw rug with hideous naked cavorting cupids!

He stomped through the apartment. Was this her idea of a prank? Her way of saying she hadn’t found last night as satisfying as he had? In the kitchen, next to his spice rack, now hung a freakishly ugly still life of fruit in a bowl. It looked like it had been painted by a toddler with anger-management issues. Right after he noticed the gilded mirror she’d somehow affixed over top his stove, he realized that the business card from his fridge was missing. Surely she wouldn’t…

With a sinking feeling low in his belly, he wondered if he would still be getting that delivery from the warehouse tomorrow with the new odds and ends they’d picked out or if a certain interior decorator had changed the order?

He hurried to the phone, not sure yet if he intended to call the warehouse first or Chloe, to demand an explanation and offer the chance to grovel for forgiveness. This wasn’t bad taste-her own home might not have been a bastion of high design, but it hadn’t been Roy’s House of Tacky, either-this was deliberate. He remembered how he’d told her he didn’t want anything too effeminate or busy. Her exact words had been trust me.

Like a jackass, he had. Repeatedly.

It wasn’t until he reached for the receiver that the blinking red light on the answering machine finally cut through his murderous preoccupation. He stabbed the button, hoping to hear Chloe’s voice tell him that it was all a belated April Fool’s joke. Instead Nick Zeth’s voice boomed out. Dylan was about to hit the stop button, his potential job in Mistletoe currently the last thing on his mind, but froze when he heard his friend ask “What happened with Chloe?”

Oh, hell.

She’d heard the call. It was the only reason-besides her being psychotic, and possibly color-blind-for her going nuts like this after what had been one of the best nights of his life. For a millisecond, he was tempted to blame Nick for this fiasco, but Dylan wasn’t a moron. How could he fault Nick when he was the only person in this entire mess who’d been entirely honest?

Still, Chloe had a lot of nerve saddling up a high horse under the circumstances. He glared at the blinking lights that now hung from his bedroom ceiling but stopped when he started to develop a headache. When I get my hands on her…

No time like the present. He turned off the lights and left in such a hurry that he nearly forgot to lock the door. Of course, he reminded himself, anyone stealing from his apartment in its current condition would be doing him a favor.

ALTHOUGH SHE’D FELT grimly satisfied when she’d left Dylan’s apartment, impressed with her own speedy efforts, Chloe couldn’t sustain the feeling all the way back to Mistletoe. Had she stood up for herself, or merely thrown a peevish tantrum involving gilt light fixtures and cheap fabrics? Had she only made a bad situation worse?

You fell in love and got your heart broken. Did it get much worse? Her mother may have been right about the emotion. Chloe never should have trusted in it, especially when it had been formed on such a shaky basis. Trying to have a relationship with Dylan after she’d lied to him was like building a house on quicksand, then having the gall to look surprised when it turned out to be an unlivable disaster.

She wished she hadn’t fallen in love. She wished she hadn’t lied. She wished she’d never even gone to that stupid reunion.

By the time she got home, she was sniffling back a torrent of tears. She’d called Natalie earlier, but her friend had a consultation with a bride today and had sworn to come by the house as soon as humanly possible. Chloe kicked off her shoes and went straight for her freezer, wondering if it was possible to literally drown your troubles in ice cream. Death by fudge-mint ripple. There were worse ways to go.

When the frantic pounding came at her front door, she was relieved. She put down the spoon she’d been using to eat straight from the carton. Thank goodness, Nat’s come to save me from myself.

She swung open the door, and all the ice cream she’d downed threatened to come back up. “Oh, crap.”

“Nice to see you, too.” Dylan raised his eyebrows, taking a step forward so that she had no choice but to retreat, letting him inside. “Chloe Malcolm, I presume?”