by Jill Shalvis
which still meant a pathetic salary but she didn’t care. She was doing what she loved, what she’d always dreamed of, and she wouldn’t apologize. “Look, have a great evening. I think I’ll just go.” And for once she was going to make an exit on her own terms. Turning, she ran smack into a solid brick wall.
Or the chest of a man.
He was holding two drinks, or had been holding, along with a sort of lazy wicked smile that spoke of a confidence such as she’d never experienced, and as she plowed into him, the champagne flew out of the expensive-looking flutes and right on her, splashing down the front of her off-the-rack, five-year-old little black dress.
Her mother gasped.
Dani’s Perfect Stranger Guy swore and began to apologize, setting down the flutes, gesturing to a waiting server for assistance, but she backed away.
She didn’t need assistance. She needed a lobotomy for thinking she could come here and even partially fit in. Waving good-bye to her mother, nodding to the man she could happily look at forever but hoped to never see again, she moved away, more carefully this time, searching for her most direct escape route.
The iced champagne down her front made breathing difficult. Or maybe that was just humiliation choking her. Pulling her soaked dress away from her torso, she grabbed her own flute from a passing server and tossed it down the hatch as she hobbled on. There. Maybe that would help bolster her spirits.
And maybe Santa would really visit this year.
Just ahead, in front of the coat check where she’d left her coat, two women glanced at her, then back at each other, exchanging a look.
It didn’t matter what the Paris Hilton clones thought, she told herself. She was far more than anyone here saw. She knew it, and repeating it to herself, she passed them by without stopping to get her coat, forcing her head high, smile in place. It wouldn’t have fooled the mammals she trained, and it wouldn’t have fooled a single one of her friends, but it would fool people here in the Land of Fake Smiles.
At the front doors, her fake smile faded as she stumbled to a halt.
It was raining. Not just raining, but pouring, huge buckets of water falling out of the sky, hitting the pavement with such velocity the drops bounced back up again, nearly to her knees.
Damn it, and she’d forgotten to get her coat.
Turning back, she took in the party. People were dancing, talking, laughing, in general having a good time. There were several couples nearby, beneath various sprigs of mistletoe, kissing. Another couple about to kiss . . .
She sighed. Just once, she wanted to be beneath the damn mistletoe, just long enough to boost her failing confidence. Perfect Stranger Guy came to mind, but no doubt he had women lining up holding mistletoe over his head, their pulses racing, panties already wet.
With another sigh, she moved back to the coat check.
“He’s the hottest man here.”
This from one of the Paris Hiltons as the woman eyed no other than Dani’s Perfect Stranger Guy.
“You’re going to have to fight me for him,” Paris Hilton Number Two said.
“From what I hear, he’s ready, able, and willing. Why don’t we just share him?”
Okay, ew. Dani moved down a hallway, thinking she’d just find a ladies’ room to give herself a pep talk, and then, hopefully, the coat check would be clear. She opened the first door she came to, which turned out to be an office. A rather lush office, with candles strewn across a huge glimmering black desk, and behind it, a gorgeous man in the desk chair wearing a Santa hat. Perfect, really. Except he was clearly already taken, presumably by the beautiful woman in the Mrs. Santa hat, straddling him.
Whoops.
“Noah,” the beautiful woman said with a gasp. “You didn’t lock the door.”
“Sorry, I thought you did.”
“Excuse me,” Dani whispered, trying not to notice that the man’s hands were up the woman’s skirt, and Ms. Claus’s hands were . . . oh boy.
“My fault.” Dani shut the door and winced, even as a little part of her yearned. What she’d give to be in the lap of a man who couldn’t keep his hands off her. Shaking her head at herself, she kept going.
The next door wasn’t a bathroom, but a storage closet. A big one, the shelves filled with office supplies, organized and neat.
And then suddenly there was a hand at the small of her back as a big, tall male form squeezed in behind her.
“Hey—”
“Hey yourself.” Flicking on the light, he shut the door, then leaned back against it, flashing that lazy, wicked boy smile.
Perfect Stranger Guy.
Chapter 2
Dani gaped at him, the man who’d seen her graceless entrance to the party, who’d witnessed her social skills, all none of them. “What are you doing?”
“You looked like you could use a moment alone.”
“Yes, but I’m not alone,” she said pointedly.
He smiled.
Her happy spots stood up and tap-danced, but her brain beat them back down.
Then he stepped closer, and her happy spots won the battle. All around her, the closet seemed to shrink. The shelves closed in, the light dimmed, and she couldn’t see anything but this man looking at her, smiling easily, relaxed, laid-back.
Sexy.
Trying to be cool, she smoothed back her hair and attempted to balance on her one heel—and nearly went down. At least she caught herself before he could, at the expense of her pride.
And her hair.
It fell in her face and over her shoulders as one of the pencils she’d forgotten about hit the floor.
A pencil. The one she’d shoved in at work to hold her hair off her head when she’d been vaccinating a panda. God, she was such a hopeless geek.
Before she could beat herself up about it, he bent for the fallen pencil and handed it to her. “Yours?”
“Um. Yeah.” Be cool. Please, be cool. “It’s a new thing. You know, a casual/formal thing—”
At his arched brow, she sighed. “Fine. I was late and forgot to do my hair.”
He flashed that dimple, and just like that, her other senses kicked in. Mostly the lust sense. But she cut herself some slack because he was fairly dazzling. So dazzling that her skin was feeling too tight for her bones. Or maybe that was just her dress, shrink-wrapped to her body thanks to the champagne.
Following her thoughts, his smile faded. “I’m so sorry about the drinks. How can I make it up to you?”
Oh, let me count the ways. “No,” she told herself.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Talking to myself. Bad habit.” She realized she was inviting him to think she was as nuts as her family thought her. “I mean . . .”
“That’s okay. I talk to myself sometimes too. Look, can I get you something? Anything?”
Confidence on tap, please. “I’m good. Wet, but good.”
He laughed.
She blushed. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” He studied her for a moment. “You’re like a breath of fresh air, you know that?”
She started to squirm, then stopped and looked at him right back. Was he . . . flirting with her? “How many times has that line worked for you?”
Leaning back against the shelves, he flashed that dimple, looking fairly off the charts while doing it, but not very abashed. “Quite a few, actually.”
She laughed. Laughed. Ask him to stand beneath the mistletoe, her body begged. She opened her mouth to do just that, just as he pushed away from the shelves and brought that leanly muscled body closer.
Oh boy.
His chest pressed into hers, and his arms, when he lifted them, surrounded her. Oh, God. Someone here did look at her, did see her . . . desire her.
He was going to kiss her.
“Oh,” she whispered, thrilled, even as her breath backed up in her throat. Yes, he was going to kiss her and she hadn’t had to ask. That was the very best kind, and she stared at his mouth. “Thank you,” she wh
ispered. Thank you? God, be quiet. Don’t ramble now! “I’m just so glad—I mean . . .”
His mouth curved quizzically. It was a good mouth, an enticing mouth. Despite her reservations, despite the insane evening, she couldn’t wait to feel it on hers, to have him take her out of herself and make her feel wanted. Waiting for it, she closed her eyes, and—
“Here you go.”
She opened her eyes and met his golden ones.
He’d pulled something off the shelf behind her and was handing it to her.
A towel.
“You’ve got to be soaked through,” he said.
Well, her brain certainly. She took the towel and pressed it to her torso, because yes, she was soaked through. And that was the reason her nipples had gone all happy. The only reason.
God, she really was an idiot.
Pulling yet another towel off the shelf, he glided the soft material along her throat. “I’m really so sorry,” he murmured, his gaze on the task at hand.
Which was not kissing her.
“It’s okay.” Maturely, she closed her eyes again and wished for a huge, giant hole to swallow her up. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She heard him toss the towel aside, but she didn’t open her eyes. Couldn’t bring herself to. Until she felt his hand, his big, warm hand, cup her jaw. His fingertips were at her hairline now, just the simple, easy touch making her knees a little wobbly.
Damn champagne.
“Why do you look so familiar?” His mouth was close to her ear, close enough to cause a whole series of hopeful shivers to rack her body. He was rock-solid against her, all corded muscle and testosterone.
Lots of testosterone.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, still hoping for a big hole to take her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Completely.” Except, you know, not.
“Because I can’t help but think I’m missing something here.”
Yes, yes, he was missing something. He’d missed her whole pathetic attempt at a kiss seduction, for instance. And the fact that she was totally, one hundred percent out of her league here with him. But his eyes were deep, so very deep, and leveled right on hers, evenly, patiently, giving her the sense that he was always even, always patient. Never rattled or ruffled.
She wanted to be never rattled or ruffled.
“Am I?” His thumb glided over her skin, sending all her erogenous zones into tap-dance mode. “Missing something?”
“Yes. N-no. I mean . . .”
He smiled. And not just a curving of his lips, but with his whole face. His eyes lit, those laugh lines fanned out, and damn, that sexy dimple. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Definitely missing something.”
“I’m a little crazy tonight,” she admitted.
“A little crazy once in a while isn’t a bad thing.”
Oh boy. She’d bet the bank he knew how to coax a woman into doing a whole host of crazy stuff. Just the thought made her feel a little warm, and a nervous laugh escaped.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
She had to let out another laugh, but he didn’t as he traced a finger over her lower lip. “You are,” he murmured.
Beautiful? Or crazy?
“You going to tell me what brought you to this closet?”
“I was garnering my courage.”
“For?”
Well wasn’t that just the question of the night, as there were so many, many things she’d needed courage for, not the least of which was standing here in front of him and telling him what she really wanted. A kiss . . .
“Talk to me.”
She licked her lips. “There’s a man and a woman in that first office down the hall. Together. And they’re . . . not talking.”
“Ah.” A fond smile crossed his mouth. “You must have found Noah and Bailey. They’ve just come home from their honeymoon. So yeah, I seriously doubt they’re . . . talking.”
“Yeah. See . . .” She gnawed on her lower lip. “I was hoping for that.”
“Talking.”
“No. The not talking.”
Silence.
And then more silence.
Oh, God.
Slowly she tipped her head up and looked at him, but he wasn’t laughing at her.
A good start, she figured.
In fact, his eyes were no longer smiling at all, but full of a heart-stopping heat. “Can you repeat that request?” he asked.
Well, yes, she could, but it would make his possible rejection that much harder to take. “I was wondering your stance on being seduced by a woman who isn’t really so good at this sort of thing, but wants to be better . . .”
He blinked. “Just to be clear.” His voice was soft, gravelly, and did things to every erogenous zone in her body. “Is this you coming on to me?”
“Oh, God.” She covered her face. “If you don’t know, then I’m even worse at this than I thought. Yes. Yes, that’s what I’m pathetically attempting to do. Come on to you, a complete stranger in a closet, but now I’m hearing it as you must be hearing it, and I sound like the lunatic that everyone thinks I am, and—”
His hands settled on her bare arms, gliding up, down, and then back up again, over her shoulders to her face, where he gently pulled her hands away so he could see her.
“I saw the mistletoe,” she rushed to explain. “It’s everywhere. And people were kissing. And I couldn’t get kissing off my mind . . . God. Forget it, okay? Just forget me.” She took a step back, but because this was her, she tripped over something on the floor behind her. She’d have fallen on her ass if he hadn’t held her upright. “Thanks,” she managed. “But I need to go now. I really need to go—”
He put a finger to her lips.
Right. Stop talking. Good idea.
His eyes, still hot, and also a little amused—because that’s what she wanted to see in a man’s eyes after she’d tried to seduce him, amusement—locked onto hers. She couldn’t look away. There was just something about the way he was taking her in, as if he could see so much more than she’d intended him to. “Seriously. I’ve—”
He turned away.
Okaaaay . . . “Got to go.”
But he was rustling through one of the shelves. Then he bent to look lower and she tried not to look at his butt. She failed, of course. “Um, yeah. So I’ll see you around.” Or not. Hopefully not—
“Got it.” Straightening, he revealed what he held—a sprig of mistletoe.
“Oh,” she breathed. Her heart skipped a beat, then raced, beating so loud and hard she couldn’t hear anything but the blood pumping through her veins.
His mouth quirked slightly, but his eyes held hers, and in them wasn’t amusement so much as . . .
Pure staggering heat.
