by Cara Colter
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE CHRISTMAS ENCHANTMENT BALL had been aptly named. Noelle felt as if she was walking into a fairy tale.
An ordinary, large conference room had been totally transformed into a winter ballroom. An illusion of it being outdoors had been created, with huge Douglas fir trees lining both sides of the room. All ten feet high and identical, as if they had been cloned, they could have been mistaken for artificial trees, except for the heavenly smell in the room. The firs sparkled with millions of tiny white lights and glittering silver ornaments so abundant you could barely tell they had branches.
The lighting was actually causing an optical illusion, as if giant snowflakes were falling inside the room. The dance floor was empty, as of yet, but there were clusters of glamorous people milling about, beginning to find their way to tables nestled amongst the trees.
The women’s gowns were jaw-dropping. Expensive—all in theme, all silver—jewelry dripped from fingers and wrists and necks.
A low murmur of chatter, laughter, filled the room.
Aidan was well-known and almost immediately swamped. She would never remember all the names of the people he introduced her to. He snagged another glass of champagne off a passing tray for her, and asked the server to bring him back a juice when it was convenient.
“Noelle?”
It was the last place she expected to see anyone she knew, but there was Gerald Simpson, the owner of the small oil field supply company Mitchell had worked for. Though she and Mitchell had attended a number of company functions she was astounded that he even knew her name. The Alberta oil patch really was a very small interwoven community.
Gerald introduced his wife, but when she went to introduce Aidan, he said, “No introductions necessary. I’d be interested in your take on our provincial government, Mr. Phillips.”
Noelle was frankly relieved he said that instead of mentioning Mitchell, but she also wondered if this was how the evening would go: networking, contacts, shoptalk.
But Aidan put a stop to it instantly. “I’d love to discuss that with you sometime, Mr. Simpson, but I hear the band starting and I’ve been dying to have a dance with Miss McGregor.”
Dying? Really?
It was early in the evening. No one was on the dance floor yet. They were milling about in glamorous circles, and three deep at the bar.
“No one’s dancing,” she whispered as Aidan took her glass from her and set it down on the nearest table.
“I know,” he said. “Isn’t that great?”
Great? It meant everyone would be watching. It meant that she would be in her least favorite position, the center of attention!
“I like this song,” he told her. The band was doing a really good cover of an Adele song. Aidan took her hand and tugged her out to the very middle of the dance floor. He faced her. She faced him. He took one of her hands in his, and tucked it close to his chest. He put his other on her hip.
He never looked away from her.
His hand on her hip, and the way his blue eyes rested on her face—intense, seductive, charmed, captivated—might have been just about the sexiest thing she had ever experienced in her entire life. Until he began to dance, that was.
This was one thing she would not have ever imagined about him. He was a great dancer. If she was out of practice, and not quite so great as him, it never showed. Because he was so graceful and so confident, so comfortable with his body. He was so good at creating an amazing world that held just the two of them. Soon, she totally forgot that others might be watching. They shut out the whole world.
Hips swaying, chests brushing, the distance between them closing and opening up again, the music swirling around them like a wave that they were destined to ride.
“Can I cut in?”
She saw Aidan frown. It was one of the people he had introduced her to when they had first come in. The vice president of his company? Mike Someone?
With ill grace he let her go.
“Where on earth did that lucky dog find you?” Mike asked her.
“Under the Christmas tree,” she said with a laugh.
Soon Aidan claimed her back, but then another of his coworkers came and asked to cut in. From these little interchanges she learned a lot about Aidan. It confirmed what she had seen in his office when she had been there briefly with him this afternoon. His people respected him, but they loved him, too. They liked to have fun, and there was lots of good-natured teasing between them. He encouraged that.
And she also had the feeling she was being vetted by them to see if she was worthy of the boss they clearly adored.
The evening was exhilarating. Noelle had never felt so beautiful, so much like a princess. She could not believe how quickly the time flew. Suddenly, it was midnight—hadn’t he promised to get her home before midnight, lest his means of transport turned into a pumpkin—and the last dance was being announced.
“May I have the last dance?” he said, bowing to her. It was courtly and old-world and charming, and he didn’t seem to care who was watching.
“You may,” she whispered.
* * *
Aidan took Noelle’s hand. He had thought, from the moment he first entertained the notion, that the Christmas Enchantment Ball was a gift to Noelle.
But from the moment she had opened the door of her tiny studio suite, he had known that was not the case at all.
Bringing Noelle to the ball was a gift to himself.
It was the first time he’d taken a woman out since the death of his wife.
And what a woman he had chosen! Being with Noelle was like watching a bud of a rose unfurling to its full glory. He’d watched her go from being shy and awkward in that dress, which was a different color than everyone else’s, to owning the dress, and her own beauty, completely. It was an astonishing metamorphosis.
Noelle was each of the things he had always known her to be: wholesome, giving, pure somehow. But now he could clearly see that there was a hidden layer, a depth of passion that was her secret, and which she had saved for just the right man.
And tonight, it was her gift to him, to Aidan, that he was the right man, the one who was there when she awakened fully to her power and beauty and sensuality. The one who was there when she owned all the sides of herself.
Every man in the room saw it in her, her confidence and her hunger, and they were drawn to her like bees to the opened flower that she was.
And yet, as he took her hand for the last dance, he felt her giving this gift into his keeping exclusively. Something tried to nudge him, to warn him to keep a distance, but he chased all the voices away.
He had always been ruled by reason, and he could see the delicious irony that it was this wholesome woman from the country who was making him just embrace the moment, in all its exquisite glory. And its exquisite glory was awareness of her, so sharp it was almost painful, so heady it was more intoxicating than champagne, so complete it made him feel as if he was full to the top and then overflowing.
He took her hand and led her right to the middle of the dance floor again, just as he had for the first dance.
He knew they were both exhilarated and exhausted by the evening, that neither of them could believe how quickly it had gone by or what a wonderful time they had had.
They waited, gazing at each other for the music to start.
The song that began to play was Canadian music icon Anne Murray’s “Could I Have This Dance.”
“Could I?” Aidan asked gruffly.
She mock-curtsied to him and took his proffered hand. He drew her close, closer than he had for any other dance. He rested his chin on top of her head, and they swayed together to the beautiful song. He was suddenly aware of how little she had on under the dress, and that rather than making her feel self-conscious, it made her feel all grown-up, sexy, desirable.
It felt as if th
e song was being sung just for them, as if each question was being asked of them, as if each observation was being made by them.
The music ended.
Still they stood, looking at one another. Aidan dropped his head over hers and claimed her mouth.
His lips were tender on hers. The world faded. It was just the two of them, in a winter fairy tale. He could tell she loved his taste, his scent, his touch as much as he loved hers. Her lips parted even more...
And then he broke away, and felt the shock of it. In his well-planned life, this was an unplanned moment, in the middle of a crowded room. He had not expected this.
To feel so alive again, after such a long time of allowing himself only one feeling: the victory of success in his chosen field.
It took them a long time to leave, saying goodbye to everyone, getting stopped by so many people along the way.
But finally they were outside.
To find a complete enchantment. Snowflakes as big as feathers were falling from the sky.
A complete enchantment unless, of course, you had been planning on flying a helicopter.
It seemed to him the fates had chosen to laugh at him when he most needed control.
* * *
Noelle watched as Aidan whipped his phone out of his pocket before taking off his jacket and settling it around her shoulders.
It was still warm from him as if it had been heated in an oven. Noelle wondered if she should object, but then she snuggled in his jacket and the old-fashioned concept of chivalry.
“My grandmother used to say snowflakes were angel kisses.”
“Where did this come from?” He scowled as he glared at his phone. He didn’t appear to have heard her remark. He flicked to the weather. “It’s not even showing it snowing.”
She lifted her face and felt the kisses land, wet and delightful on her cheeks. Her sense of magic in the air increased. Apparently his did not. She watched him run a hand through his hair, sending snowflakes flying.
She reached up and tucked a stray strand back into place. It felt exactly as she had known it would from the very first moment she had dreamed of doing it. Just right.
“We can’t fly in this,” he said. “We’ll have to wait and see if it clears.”
They were so, so different. She saw angel kisses; he saw obstacles getting in the way of what he wanted.
And yet, maybe because of the magic they had just shared, she saw their differences could be good things. Life was about balance, wasn’t it?
Her elbow firmly in his hand, she began to navigate the steps that had not been snow-covered when they came up them. Unfortunately, her shoes were not intended for slippery conditions. Her foot slipped out from under her and her ankle twisted.
She probably would have tumbled right down the steps if his reflexes had not been so swift, his hold on her elbow so strong.
“Lean on me,” he said. And then he practically carried her to the waiting limo. She was not even sure how he knew which one it was; there were so many limos here.
But he didn’t give her address to the driver, he gave his own.
“Did you want to drop me at home?” she asked, thinking he must have overlooked the fact that she needed to go home.
“Why don’t we go to my place? I don’t want to leave you on your own with a possible twist to your ankle. As soon as it clears, we’ll make a run to your place and pick up what you need to go back to the ranch. I’m afraid—” he squinted out his window “—it may be morning before we can go.”
He was inviting her to his place. The circumstances were hardly romantic. She should insist she would be fine on her own.
But the temptation to see where he lived—and how—was just too great. She settled back in the deep luxury of the limo cushions and watched as they sped through a night that was turning from magically snow-filled to a full-blown blizzard.
Aidan lived on the top floor of one of Calgary’s premier downtown condominiums. Though it was only blocks from her own apartment, it was a different world entirely. Noelle had read the starting price to get into one of these units was over three million dollars.
It was wonderful to ride up a private elevator, to exit into a plush living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the Calgary downtown skyline and the dark ribbon of water that was the Bow River.
The decor was like something out of a magazine: low-slung white leather furniture, shaggy area carpets, an open concept plan with a huge granite island with stools around it, a high-tech kitchen beyond that.
But the space seemed so very sophisticated, adult. Christmas had been ignored. There was no tree, and no decorations up. A single childish drawing of Santa had been attached to the stainless steel fridge with a magnet.
“No wonder you can’t have a puppy,” Noelle murmured. “Where on earth does Tess play?”
* * *
Even before Noelle spoke, Aidan felt as if he was looking at his space with vision altered by his few days on the ranch.
It didn’t seem friendly, at all, never mind child-friendly.
“Tess plays wherever she wants,” he said, and heard a bit of a defensive note in his voice. “The housekeeper has been in. That’s why there are no toys about.”
“The housekeeper,” Noelle echoed.
“You’ve gotten wet,” he said. “You’re shivering. It’s late. Do you want me to show you a room? Are you tired?”
“Not really. I feel a little wound up still. What a wonderful evening. I can’t thank you enough. I should call Grandpa, though, and let him know we will be delayed.”
“You’re not concerned about waking him?”
“I’m more concerned about him worrying.”
It had been a wonderful evening. He felt reluctant to let it go. Did she, too? Somehow this feeling he had wasn’t part of what he’d bargained for when he’d thought of giving her this gift.
The feeling of being aware of her. That dress had taken his awareness to a new level, and then dancing with her, touching her, watching her awaken to her own glorious sensuality and power had intensified it even further. He was totally bewitched. He had to get her out of that dress, and not in the way a man would normally be thinking of doing with a beautiful woman!
“Why don’t I find you some dry clothes, and we’ll have a hot chocolate before we turn in. I need to check weather forecasts.”
He found her one of his T-shirts and a pair of his pajama bottoms and showed her the guestroom. He noticed she was still limping slightly as she went to put them on.
When she emerged again, he realized getting her out of the red dress had not accomplished what he wanted. At all. Who could have anticipated that she would look more beautiful in an oversize T-shirt than she had in that stunningly spectacular dress?
After she made her phone call, she sat down on his sofa, curled her feet under her and took a sip of her cocoa. There was a little dot of cream on her lip. He hurried off to find ice for her ankle and made her set it on it. She glanced around and blew on the hot chocolate.
“What?” he asked.
“This space doesn’t seem like you,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Or Tess.”
He debated sitting on the couch beside her, but opted for the much safer chair across from her. “I lived here before I met Sierra. When we were married, she brought in a designer. After the fire, I had the option of moving, or doing things differently, but it was suggested to me that Tess needed to come back to familiar surroundings, not something brand-new. I didn’t want to feel as if I was erasing her mother from her life.”
He could see the way Noelle was looking at him. Though he had kept his tone neutral and tried to strip his words of emotion, something had betrayed him. He’d given away one of his secrets. He had a feeling that Noelle McGregor could divine secrets the way a water witcher could find water. She was looki
ng at him now as if she knew he’d been unhappy, as if she knew something had not been quite right in a relationship that had been so carefully and consistently portrayed as perfect.
Or perhaps it was the decor that had given away something. It was so unlike the ranch, so unlike Noelle’s own cluttered, but friendly, little apartment.
This space struck him as being like the movie sets his wife was so familiar with. It created an illusion of a home, without quite ever being a home.
“I don’t understand why there are no decorations up,” Noelle said, probing the secret.
“We’re never here at Christmas.” Aidan made his voice cool, uninviting.
But Noelle was looking at him with a softness that threatened his every hard edge, that shone like a beacon beckoning him home from stormy seas.
“Why are you and Tess so alone at Christmas? Where’s your family? Where’s Sierra’s family?”
“It’s been such a good night,” he said. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”
“You know how you told me I could trust you in the helicopter? I did, and I don’t regret it. I discovered I’m braver than I think.”
She gazed at him, not saying the obvious. She was requiring bravery and trust from him, also. A different kind of bravery and trust. She looked adorable in his T-shirt, the pajama pants swimming on her, her feet tucked up under her, the ice pack sliding off her slightly swollen ankle.
She had washed off her makeup and let her hair down.
Her eyes were as deeply green as a shaded place in the forest. He hadn’t known her very long. And yet, he felt as if he could trust her as much as he had ever trusted anyone. Had he ever told anyone of these dark secrets in his heart?
No.
And suddenly, looking at her, he felt a terrible weakness. To tell someone. To trust someone with it. To not be so alone in the whole world. He had always felt alone. Even when he was with Sierra. Even though he had hoped for something different.
“You know that day you put up the wreath, and I saw that word? Hope? I told you that hope was the most dangerous thing of all?”
