Mistletoe Cinderella

“C.J.?”

Oh God. This was karmic punishment for her dishonesty last night.

Did she dare ignore him? If so, he might call out louder and create a scene. It was in her best interest to get their encounter over quietly-and quickly. Trapped, she turned with a weak wave as Dylan closed the distance between them. A smiling middle-aged woman stepped aside so that he could get in line behind Chloe.

If anything, he looked even better this morning, in a close-fitting T-shirt that did amazing things for his biceps. And he was making the most of the unshaven look that worked so well on some guys, lending a rugged touch.

Chloe was at a loss for what to say. “Hey.” Even that monosyllable strained her current capabilities.

For an instant, Dylan’s expression was inscrutable. Then he gave her a grin so wolfish she almost felt the top of her head to check for a red hood. “It is you. Must be my lucky day.”

Chapter Six

Dylan wanted to pump his fist in the air and let out a whoop of victory. He couldn’t have asked for a better moment than this, his beautiful liar of last night caught off guard, her eyes wide and stricken. When he’d read her bio at the reunion, he’d been furious and imagined a straightforward confrontation, asking her point-blank about her identity and watching her squirm over the inevitable truth. But some imp took hold of him as he studied her. With all her hair skimmed back in a high ponytail and wearing practically no makeup, she looked as fresh faced and innocent as she probably had in her teens.

It incensed him anew that a woman who would knowingly make a fool out of him looked so damn much like a schoolgirl. Only her colorful shirt-get lei’d?-and shiny full lips hinted at possible naughtiness. He was annoyed to find himself wondering if she once again tasted like chocolate.

“I was sorry you had to leave in such a rush last night,” he said, trying to forget how hopeful he’d been about seeing her in the ballroom. And how terrible he’d felt for possibly scaring her off with overzealous ardor. Idiot. He managed not to grit his teeth. “I hope it wasn’t anything I did?”

“N-no. Nothing like that. I had somewhere I needed to be.”

“The reunion?” he pressed. “I looked for you downstairs.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “When I was fixing my makeup, I noticed…that I had a text message. From a friend. Needing help.”

“I see. Is everything okay?”

“Mmm-hmm. It was just a, um, girl thing. All taken care of now.”

The fact that she was a lousy liar made him feel like an even bigger chump for not seeing through her last night. How could he have fallen for anything that came out of her mouth? Maybe because you were too busy fantasizing about the mouth in question.

He handed over a twenty that covered the few basics he’d picked up for his mother, then followed Chloe out the door without bothering to wait for his change. No way was he letting her escape before she confessed her perfidy.

“I was sorry we didn’t get to talk longer about your job,” he said.

“My job?”

He nodded, grinning as a spontaneous plan took shape. “The interior decorating. What’s your specialty?” He had no idea whether decorators even had specialties.

“Feng sway?” It came out as a tentative squeak. “Shui. Feng shui.”

“Because I was thinking of having my condo redecorated.” He wondered how much rope he needed to hand her before she hanged herself.

“B-but you live in Atlanta!”

“Hardly the far corners of the earth.” He shrugged. “It’s not too bad a drive. Surely not all your clients are in Mistletoe? If I hired you, I’d know I wasn’t getting ripped off by some stranger in the city. And as an extra bonus, I’d get to see you again.”

“No, I-” She broke off, looking even more alarmed than before, if such a thing were possible.

He followed her gaze to a pregnant woman farther down the sidewalk. The spring breeze plastered her blue maternity dress to the small baby bulge, and a headband was keeping the raven-black hair out of her eyes while she took pictures with a digital camera. She seemed to be photographing storefronts.

Turning back to Chloe, he asked, “Someone you know?”

After a brief hesitation, Chloe admitted, “Rachel Waide. But she’s working right now. For the chamber of commerce. Very artistic. She hates to be bothered while she’s trying to get the perfect shot,” she added, already striding in the opposite direction.

Dylan amiably tagged along. “I don’t know if you realize this about me, but I’m very stubborn. Coach taught me to hang in there all nine innings and go for the win. I really would like to talk to you more about decorating my place. Or at least coming to look at it before you turn me down completely.”

They were passing a woman with what appeared to be her teenage son, and Chloe ducked her head, clearly hoping not to be recognized by any of her fellow citizens.

“How about I buy you lunch and we can chat?” He aimed his most charming smile directly at her. “Come on, you owe me for running off last night, C.J. Is the Dixieland Diner still in business?”

“I can’t go out to lunch. My ice cream would melt.”

“Dinner, then?” he persisted. “Or why don’t you just give me your business card. I’ll come by your office later and-”

“I work from home.”

“Even better. We can go there and have lunch together. To protect your ice cream,” he added with a smile.

She stared back with a deer-in-the-headlights look, finally sighing in resignation. For a moment, he thought she was about to cop to not being an interior decorator. “Fine. Follow me.”

Game on, then?

He nodded. “Lead the way.” This should be interesting.

CHLOE BRIEFLY entertained the fantasy of mashing down the accelerator and not stopping. She’d recently decided she wanted to see more of the world-here was her chance! Yet she was slowly realizing that Dylan Echols wouldn’t be that easy to shake. Besides, she only had about a quarter of a tank of gas. As great escapes went, that wouldn’t get her far.

Cursing her luck, she stayed right at the legal speed limit, neither too slow nor too fast, and dutifully signaled with her blinker well before each turn. Story of my life. Until this weekend, anyway. Dylan stayed close, impossible to miss in her rearview mirror. Even his car was sexy-a recent-model dark metallic-blue Mustang convertible.

Driving around with the top down, he looked like a man without cares. If she hadn’t known about his shoulder injury and subsequent career disappointment, she would have bought into the illusion. He seemed to have bounced back well, though. She wondered if he enjoyed his sports reporting job. Addressing a faceless audience with a camera trained on her sounded like purgatory to her. Chloe did better in front of a computer than she did in front of people.

Which made it thoroughly ironic that she was having two meals with Dylan in as many days. Why in heaven’s name had she capitulated to his suggestion that he come over for lunch? Well, there had been the fear of being recognized, of course, and her escalating need to end their conversation in front of the store, but that was the logical, intellectual reason. On a purely instinctual level, when a man like Dylan Echols said, “Take me home,” a woman’s automatic response was yes!

When Chloe parked under the carport, he was quick to hop out of his own vehicle and offer a hand with the groceries. She thanked him as she gave him the bag of ice cream.

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you have anything you need to put in the refrigerator?”

He shook his head. “I just grabbed a few things to take over to my mom’s this afternoon. Nothing that won’t keep for a little while.”