Mistletoe Cinderella

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.

Chapter Five

In the past, Dylan had prided himself on having finesse and being in control, but now he found himself reacting with pure instinct and enthusiastic need. C.J. tasted like woman and chocolate and wine, addictive, her mouth smothering his soft groan. It was the kind of kiss a man wanted to crawl inside, losing himself. Everything that had been eating at him lately, all his doubts and frustration, melted away.

Dropping one hand to her waist, he threaded the other through her hair, tilting her head back and deepening the kiss. But he was restless, craving more of the tantalizing contact, not content to keep his hands still when there was so much of her waiting to be explored. He skimmed over the smooth warmth of her shoulders, curving up to the straps of her red dress, letting his fingers slide slightly beneath the fabric. He heard her breath hitch and pulled away slightly.

“Let’s go back in,” he said with an involuntary glance at the king-size bed just beyond.

“’Kay.” She looked shell-shocked, in an adorably feminine way, her bourbon eyes dazed and her lips swollen.

“You taste like chocolate,” he heard himself say, a bit dazed himself.

She raised a finger to her bottom lip. “It’s my gloss.”

Which he’d no doubt kissed off of her by now-or would in the immediate future. Grinning, he reached for her again.

They were interrupted by a rap on the door and a cheerful male voice calling, “Room service!”

Dylan groaned. The intrusion was his own damn fault-after all, he’d been the one to order the food-but right now the only thing he hungered for was C.J.

She, however, had sprung back at the sound of the knock, guilt stamped all over her features as if she and Dylan were Mistletoe High students again, caught by the principal making out. Would it make her feel self-conscious if Dylan hollered out just to leave the food in the hall?

With a sigh, he opened the door. A guy in a dark suit and his very early twenties was beaming behind a silver cart. “Mr. Echols? It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Several of us flipped a coin to see who’d get to bring up your dinner.”

Dylan managed not to grimace at the sir, feeling much older than the hotel employee even though they were probably only separated by half a dozen years. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, too-?”

“Artie. My brother plays catcher over at the school. I made the team when I was there, but mostly warmed the bench. We think he could go all the way. Pro, like you.” At Dylan’s polite but cool nod, Artie stopped gushing. “Um…where would you like the food, sir?”

As Dylan turned to indicate the table and two chairs, he realized that C.J. had disappeared-into the restroom, he suspected, to freshen her lipstick and smooth her mussed hair.

“Over here is fine,” Dylan said, signing for their dinner. “Tell your brother I said good luck.”

Artie’s youthful grin flashed again. “Will do. Thanks, Mr. Echols!”

It wasn’t that Dylan was completely bitter about baseball-he still loved the game and always would-but it continued to sting when people referenced his baseball career. His dream had been to be remembered as truly great at the game, and now there was no way of ever knowing how close he could have come.

The creak of the bathroom door was a welcome distraction. C.J. stepped back into the room, and as he’d anticipated, she looked more composed. Except for her eyes. They shimmered with barely banked panic.

“Hungry?” he asked her, gesturing toward the food.

She clutched her purse tightly. “A-actually, I have to go.”

“Now? But the food just…Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” She hurried toward the door, slowing only long enough to thrust a twenty-dollar bill at him. He was so startled by her exit that he took the money automatically.

“Candy, wait.”

She flinched. “I can’t.” Then she hurried out into the hall.

His impulse was to go after her, find out what had prompted her to flee and try to change her mind, but it seemed unchivalrous to pursue a woman so adamant about leaving.

Bemused, he returned to their dinners and slumped into a chair, thinking that it was a whole lot of food for one man with a dwindling appetite. Intriguing woman, C.J. Beautiful, seemingly successful, funny when she wasn’t rigid with anxiety. But she definitely gave some mixed signals. One moment they’d been hot and heavy-

Had he been too aggressive, the way he’d kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her? Echols, you ass. She’d admitted earlier that she was a bit nervous, spending the evening with a former crush, had even blushed sitting right here in this chair. And what had he done? Practically fallen on her like a ravenous beast or, worse, a horny teenage boy.

In a lot of ways, Mistletoe was a quaint, old-fashioned place and C.J. was a local girl. She wasn’t a baseball groupie who’d picked him up in a bar or a jaded sophisticate like Heidi. Instead of lobbing her a nice, simple practice ball, he’d brought the heat, scaring off the most promising thing that had happened to him in weeks.

“I AM A BAD PERSON,” Chloe told her reflection in the mirrored elevator panels. She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, trying to figure out what the devil she’d been thinking. You weren’t. Her brain had short-circuited as soon as she’d seen Dylan down in the lobby. That was the only explanation for everything that had transpired.

She’d wanted so badly to kiss him, to take the chance she knew she’d never be given again, but it had quickly spiraled out of control, leaving her feeling shaken and inexperienced. So that’s what lust feels like. With a shiver, she recalled his gentle tug at the straps of her dress, the rasp of his callused fingers against her skin. It was all too easy to imagine those fingers sliding down the bodice of the dress, exploring her. Chloe Malcolm was not the kind of woman who went to a man’s hotel room after a few minutes of conversation and let him feel her up!

Especially when she’d lied to the man in question. She’d let him think she was a cheerleader, for crying out loud! And a decorator? When he’d called her Candy as she made her escape, she’d wanted to throw up from guilt.

Once she stepped off the elevator, she hurried toward the front of the hotel to catch a cab. She’d text Nat on the way home to let her know so her friend didn’t worry. Something casual like “Tired, think I’ll turn in early,” rather than admit that she was fleeing into the night like the proverbial Cinderella at the stroke of twelve. Thank heavens for room service.

If not for the interruption that had broken the sensual spell, would Chloe even now be in the arms of a man calling out another woman’s name?

THOUGH DYLAN MADE a halfhearted stab at eating, he conceded defeat pretty soon and placed the tray in the hall for pickup. He flipped on the television to check scores, but nothing held his interest. Sitting on the bed only reminded him of what he’d rather be doing. Whichis probably why she took off. Get your hormones under control. Had she left the hotel, or had she gone to their reunion after all?

It wasn’t a bad idea, he decided. He was restless, alone in the small room. Why not go downstairs, attend the party as originally planned?

In the back of his mind was the thought that perhaps he’d see her there, that he could apologize if he’d offended her with his amorous enthusiasm and maybe even convince her that it would be safe to go out to eat with him tomorrow. Trying to pretend he didn’t have ulterior motives, Dylan quickly showered. Then he changed into