M. Leighton - Dashing Through the Snow -

dashing through the snow A Sexy, Snowy Christmas Tale by M. Leighton



Dashing Through the Snow: A Sexy, Snowy Christmas Tale A dash of perfect for the holidays! Dilyn Hart hates Christmas, so when her boss (and ex-boyfriend) hands her an assignment to interview champion snowboarder and gorgeous playboy extraordinaire, Dash Grainger, on Christmas Eve, she takes it. There are several things she doesn’t plan for—a surly driver, a chalet in the middle of nowhere, a freak snowstorm—but the biggest surprise of all is Dash himself. Dash Grainger lives for the high, and so far in his twenty-six years, he’s never met anyone or anything he loves more. Nothing has ever thrilled him as much as slick snow, cold air, and breakneck speed. Until he meets Dilyn. But one perfect night doesn’t mean clear, blue skies the next day. Some storms can’t be weathered. Christmas might just be one of them. ******** To receive new release alerts, exclusive first chapters and giveaways, sign up for my NEWSLETTER. I promise not to spam you:) For more information about me, my books, or how to reach me, please visit my website. Look me up out there. I’d love to hear from you!

First Edition Copyright 2016, M. Leighton Cover photo by pawelsierak http://www.depositphotos.com http://www.mleightonbooks.com All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.



For those who have been hurt or suffered loss and just need Christmas to be good again, this is for you.

CHAPTER ONE Dilyn “Do I taste balls? I think I taste balls,” I tell my editor, smacking my lips in an unsavory way. “What?” “Almost like someone I love and trust just teabagged me.” I pause, sticking my tongue out in a silent yuck! “Yep. I taste balls. I just got a holiday teabag.” “You’d better shut that sassy mouth of yours, Dilyn,” Jacob hisses as he looks left and right to make sure no one else heard me. “Just because we used to date does not mean you can talk to me like one of the guys.” “Well, if you’d start treating me like a journalist you respect, I’d start talking to you like a boss I respect. Until then, I’ll mention your balls in my mouth as often as I like.” I cross my arms over my chest and tip my chin up in defiance. “Jesus, Dilyn. Get in here,” Jacob snaps through gritted teeth, grabbing my arm and pulling me into his office. He looks around one more time before he shuts the door and turns his glower onto me. “You can’t say shit like that out there.” “Why? Afraid Patrick will get jealous and want your balls in his mouth?” “Christ Almighty, Dilyn, you just… Can’t you just…” My ex stops trying to finish his sentence, settling instead for dropping his head and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. It’s a gesture I know all too well. It means he’s frustrated. When he finally raises his head, there’s anger in his dark blue eyes. “Keep this up and you’ll end up suspended. I can’t let you cost me my job.” I back down immediately. I would never hurt Jacob Mullally. No matter how much he hurt me two years ago. I sigh, letting my arms drop. “Oh come on, Jake. You know I’d never do anything to get you in trouble. So everyone around here knows we used to sleep together. What’s the big deal?” “The big deal is when you try to use it against me. Or bring it up when you don’t like your assignment. It doesn’t look good, D. And it’s gotta stop.” I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. “Okay, fine. All ball references aside, could you please give someone else this story and let me take something less…unpleasant?” “Every female in this business would give their left tit for an exclusive with Dash Grainger. I thought you’d be happy about this.” “Oh sure, he’s a rich, famous champion snowboarder who’s traveled the world. And sure, he’s a

professional playboy with a string of conquests long enough to stretch the length of the Swiss Alps. And sure, he’s so gorgeous it hurts to look at him, but anyone who knows me at all knows that it takes more than that to get my juices flowing.” “Is that what this is about? Are you afraid you’ll be attracted to him?” I hate the hurt that I see flit through Jake’s eyes before he catches himself. We used to be lovers, yes. We’re friends now, yes. But our relationship was a complicated one, and there’s always one person, it seems, that you just can’t get over. I think Jake and I are that person for each other. As much as we tried to make it work, it wasn’t meant to be. And sometimes that still hurts. “Jake, no.” I have the nearly unbearable urge to go to him, to reach out and touch his lean cheek in that way I used to. The way he used to love. But I can’t do that now. Not after everything that’s happened. I curl my fingers into the hem of my shirt to keep them still. “He’s an adrenaline junkie. He gambles with his life. You of all people should know how I feel about men like that.” I watch as realization dawns. It spreads across the landscape of his face like the orange and gold rays of sunrise. “I didn’t…I didn’t even think about that. God, I’m such an inconsiderate asshole.” I laugh at that. “Only on Tuesdays. And two days before Christmas.” He tips his head back, massaging the nape of his neck, exposing the long, muscular column of his throat. I stare at it, a little twitch of want firing in my belly. Jake always did have a great body, throat included. And I happen to know every single inch of it. And sometimes those memories come back at the damnedest times. “I’m really sorry, Dilyn, and I wish I could fix this, but it’s too late. I don’t have anyone else to put on this, and the interview was practically handed to us on a silver platter. I hate to say it, but you’ve gotta go.” TCC, also known as The Celebrity Channel, is a growing online magazine, a large portion of which is dedicated to celebrities and their lifestyles. Obviously. But within the last year, they’ve started to run a couple more respectable segments that go in depth with important or influential figures, people who actually contribute to the planet in one way or another, not just make it pretty. And dramatic. Around the office, we call it the Walters side, as in Barbara Walters. That’s where I like to work. But even so, I’m well aware of what kind of opportunity this is, and why we can’t screw it up. Why I can’t screw it up. Exclusives like this are a big deal. “Fine,” I say, resigned. “I guess this is what I get for running from Christmas like a coward.” Jake steps toward me, rubbing his hands up and down my upper arms causing chills to break out along my skin. “Anyone would understand your reasons, D. And of all the things I might call you, ‘coward’ has never been one of them.” I stare up at him, wishing my body wasn’t reacting to his touch. Wishing my heart had recovered from losing him the way I did.

“Is ‘bitch’? Because you know I hate that word,” I tease, anything to lessen the tension that’s becoming a palpable presence in the room with us. “Never,” he assures me with a crooked grin. “Stubborn. Willful. Talented. That’s where I’d start.” I smile. “Keep going.” His grin deepens. “Brave. Compassionate. Beautiful.” Without really meaning to, I lean toward him slightly. “Now you definitely have to keep going.” The sparkle of humor fades from Jake’s eyes and they fall to my lips. “Smart. Sassy. Sexy as hell.” My mouth goes dry and his fingers still on my arms, tightening as he tugs me closer. “And?” “And hearing you talk about my balls in your mouth makes me ache to be inside you again.” I watch as his face draws closer and closer. I should stop him, but I don’t. I want this, too. Since the day we broke up, I haven’t given in to the desire to start something up with him. Not one time, no matter how desperate I felt to talk to him or see him. Or feel his touch. Not even when my vibrator couldn’t bring me the release I needed. I never gave in. But now…here…like this… I want nothing more than to give in. A knock sounds at the door, startling us both. We spring apart, my cheeks heating guiltily as Travers, one of our photographers, walks in. “Hey, boss. Got those candids of Kim K. you asked for.” “Great. Upload them to the server. I’ll take a look at them before I leave tonight.” Travers nods and backs out into the dark and deserted bullpen, but the moment is gone. His interruption was as effective as a bucket of cold water dumped on Jake and me. “Okay, well, you’d better get ready to leave,” Jake says, the hands that were just touching me now dangling at his sides. “If I’m not mistaken, your flight leaves in the morning.” “Figures.” I try to be light and casual, but I don’t feel light or casual. When the hell am I going to get past this? When the hell am I going to be over him? “And pack warm clothes. They’re calling for some snow.” “Of course they are. It’s Colorado. Doesn’t it snow year round there?” “You’re bound and determined to hate every second of this, aren’t you?” My lower lip pushes out into a pout, like it has a mind of its own. “Maybe. But no one said I had to enjoy it, just that I had to do it.” “I guess I shouldn’t be quite this happy that you won’t be enjoying it. And him.”

Travers’s earlier entrance was like a needle to the balloon of tension that had formed between us, though, and now I feel the need to bolt when the man I used to love—and likely still do—says things like that to me. “Well, lucky for you, what and who I enjoy—or don’t enjoy—are no longer your concern.” For just a moment, Jake looks like I slapped him in the face. But then his normal business-like expression descends like a curtain, carefully concealing whatever he might be feeling. “Safe travels, Dilyn.” And just like that, he dismisses me, walking around me to circle his desk and plop down in his chair. I smother my sigh and put on my most professional smile. “Thanks, boss. See you in three days.”

CHAPTER TWO DASH “How the hell do I let you talk me into this shit?” “Look, man, it’s just an interview. Go do your thing, talk about yourself for an hour, and then enjoy the rest of the week at the chalet. Didn’t you say Bridgette’s coming the day after Christmas?” Manny, my agent, knows about some of the women I keep company with on occasion. They’re never anything serious, just some beautiful and very…bendy distractions for a night here and there. But he has no shame in using some of those sporadic “perks” as he calls them to paint even the worst things in such a way that they sound like a vacation on a tropical island. At least they sound that way at first. But I’ve been with him long enough to know they’re almost always a bigger pain in the ass than he lets on. Luckily, he’s good at what he does, and he keeps the endorsements—and, therefore, the money— coming, so I can’t complain too much. “Yeah, her flight gets in early that morning.” Manny grins and elbows me. It’s the kind of grin I see from men all the time, the kind that says “you lucky bastard” because I get to have dirty sex with some of the hottest women in the world. “See? This is going to be much more pleasure than it is business. One hour. And you don’t even have to change clothes if you don’t want to. After that, you and Bridgette will have nothing but alone time. The two of you will be so secluded, you’ll wake up thinking you’re in Switzerland.” I shoot him a look from the corner of my eye. “Why do I get the feeling I’m gonna wanna kick your ass when this is over?” He holds his hands up, the picture of innocence. Which he is absolutely not. “It’s an hour-long interview. What could go wrong?” Famous last words.

CHAPTER THREE Dilyn It’s taken me over half the day to reach Colorado and get a ride to the interview location, but I’m finally on the road. “I hope you’re prepared to stay for a while,” the weathered old driver tells me as he competently (if a bit hurriedly) navigates the winding mountain road. I glance out the window at the majestic, snow-covered mountains that rise up on every side like quiet, white sentinels. The jagged peaks seem to reach up and grab at the bright blue horizon, like dozens of gnarled fingers. I can easily think of a handful of words to describe the sky, but ominous is not one of them. Still, I don’t argue with the crusty old man. I simply shrug and say, “I don’t have any big plans I need to get back to, but thanks for the heads-up.” “Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” he adds cryptically. I dismiss his words as the typical townsfolk-trying-to-scare-the-tourist thing. But even if he’s right, I’ll just stay a few days longer. No big deal. In fact, it might be nice to stay locked away in a luxurious lodge for a few days, getting spa treatments and drinking hot toddies by a roaring fire. Anything to keep me away from home during the holidays. And this…this sounds so romantic. Hmmmm. Impulsively, I dig out my phone and pull up Jake’s number. Whether it’s the crisp mountain air, the suggestion of being snowed in, or the sensual residue of what almost happened in his office yesterday, I don’t know, but something prompts me to call him. And for purposes I haven’t called him for in two years. Not since we split. Not once have I given in to the urge to call him for a social reason. Or a romantic reason. Or a sexual reason. When he ended it and we decided to remain friendly enough to work together, I made up my mind to leave Jake in that category—just friends. Coworkers. Boss and employee. Nothing more. And I’ve managed to stick to that, regardless of how many times I’ve wanted to drag him back into my heart and my bed. But the things he said in his office last night… We aren’t over for him yet either. And hearing him express his feelings for me… Well, that’s changed everything for me. It’s removed my restraints. Unlocked the cuffs. Torn down my walls. That’s why I press send as my thumb hovers over his cell number. I listen to the ring, frowning when I get his voicemail. Jake always answers his phone. Always. Of course, it is the day before Christmas. Maybe his parents got into town early. I know for a fact that his mom would flip if he took a call while she was in the room. She’s very old-fashioned that way. Thinks cell phones are the devil and all that.

I grin, feeling mischievous all of a sudden. I redial his number, intending to leave him a scintillating message that he’ll have to listen to at some point when he can check his phone. When he calls me back— which he’ll inevitably do after fighting off a boner in front of his super conservative mother—I’ll ask him if he wants to join me in Colorado for a couple of days so I can help him take care of that. What the hell. Why not? If he’s ready to jump back in, then I’m willing to give it another shot, too. I’m taken by surprise when my call is answered. The line clicks and there’s a pause, during which I imagine Jake locking himself away in the bathroom so he doesn’t have to hear his mother bitch about him working too much. But then a woman’s voice comes on the line. “Hello?” It’s a breathless sound, something totally befitting of Marilyn Monroe. Caught off guard, I stammer, “Oh, s-sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number.” I’m getting ready to disconnect when the woman laughs, a low, sexy sound, and adds, “Oops! I mean Jake’s phone. How can I help you?” In the background, I hear Jake’s voice. “Don’t answer my phone. Give it here.” “Get back in bed,” the woman says. “I’ll come to you.” I hang up, staring at the phone in my hand like it sprouted a head and two red demon eyes. I don’t look away for several long, awful seconds afterward. My face burns with humiliation. My heart spasms with pain. Jake is seeing someone. Obviously. He didn’t even have the nerve, or the decency, to tell me. I let the hand holding my phone drop into my lap as I turn my gaze back out to the passing landscape. Bastard! I was going to ask him to come to me. I can’t believe I was going to cave. After all this time, after all the distance I’ve finally managed to put between us emotionally, I was going to give in over a few simple comments he made. Only the comments weren’t simple. My lips thin with my rising anger. I feel them turn in against my teeth, teeth that are set on edge, upper gnashing against lower.

That asshole. He practically hit on me last night and he’s sleeping with someone else. Evidently, he went home to her last night. After more or less propositioning me. He was going to kiss me, for God’s sake. And I was going to let him. What. The. Hell? The longer I think about it, the angrier I get, so when the phone rings and I see that it’s Jake, no doubt returning my call when he saw my number, I let it go to my answering service. Thank God I didn’t get his voicemail again. Thank God I didn’t have the chance to leave him some humiliating message about things I’d like him to do to me. Oh, Jesus. That would’ve been a disaster. A few seconds later, I hear the beep that indicates a message has been left. I punch the button to bring up the screen and tap to listen to Jake’s message. “Uh, hey, D. It’s me. Sorry I missed your call. A, uh, a friend was here and she answered the phone. Just joking around. It was…it wasn’t what it sounded like. So, uh, call me back. K. Bye.” A friend? Just joking around? Wasn’t what it sounded like? I growl in agitation. Does Jake really think I’m that stupid? Apparently so. And maybe I am that stupid. I mean, I just called the man to ask him to come and have hot snow sex with me in Colorado. That’s pretty damn stupid, no matter how you look at it. We are over. We’ve been over, and it’s time I put the thought of him and the idea of us out of my mind for good. He tossed me aside two years ago. There is no future for us. No hope. And the sooner I get that through my head—and my heart—the better off I’ll be. Even though he can’t see me, I jack up my chin a few notches. I’m stronger than this. Stronger than letting something like this, someone like him, get to me. I take a deep breath and tighten the muscles of my chin, muscles that want to quiver. He will not break me. Not again. I won’t allow it. I won’t. It’s that simple. It has to be.

******** Fifteen minutes later, the sturdy four-wheel drive pulls to a stop. I’ve been lost in my own thoughts, alternately berating and bolstering myself, and haven’t paid much attention to my surroundings. But I do now. “Where are we?” “This is the chalet.” I take in the single A-frame cabin tucked in what looks like a cleft in the mountain, completely enveloped by trees and utterly consumed by solitude, and I think that there must be some mistake. “Um, no. I’m supposed to be going to a chalet. Like, a big one. With more than one room. And a spa. And a fireplace in every room. This is… No, this has to be the wrong place.” The driver reads the address to me and I confirm it with what Starla, the office assistant, sent to me. It’s correct. This is where I’m supposed to be. Only it’s all wrong. All. Wrong. I grit my teeth. Jake. He did this. He did this to me, knowing I’d get the wrong impression. He let this happen. Maybe even did it on purpose. Asshole! I think for the fortieth or so time. But then I realize I’m making no sense, not even to myself. Why would Jake purposely strand me here? Especially with a man, when “a man” was the reason we broke up in the first place. Well, at least he thought it was about a man. Jake dumped me because he thought I was cheating on him. I wasn’t, of course. I would never have done something like that to him. I loved him. I just wasn’t ready to commit. But he was, and he thought my reluctance must mean I was seeing someone else. Nothing I said or did could convince him, so he ended it. Threw away everything we had because he couldn’t believe that I just wasn’t ready. The problem was he just didn’t trust me. “All right then, but can you wait? Or, if not, can you come back and pick me up in a few hours? Looks

like I’ll need to head back and find a place back in town.” “No, I can’t wait. But you can call if you have cell service. Or a satellite phone. I’ll come back for you if the weather hasn’t turned by then.” I sigh, one of those irritated ones that sound like a snake hissing in the back of my throat. My disposition has darkened and become snappy after my call to Jake, so I’m in no mood for this guy’s stupid hoaxes. He needs to give it up. “Look, sir, you can drop the act. I was born and raised in Philly, so I don’t scare easily.” “I’m not trying to scare you, but you should be scared. People have died up here because they didn’t have enough respect for this climate.” I snuff the urge to roll my eyes. “I have plenty of respect for it, but that sky is as blue as Matt Bomer’s eyes. If a snowstorm is coming, my middle name is Pippy Longstocking.” “Well, then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Pippy. Now, can I help you with your luggage?” Before I can answer, he’s out of the SUV and going around to the hatch, where he stowed my single small suitcase. I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder, following it with the strap of my purse, and let myself out of the back seat. “It’d be much easier if you’d just wait. That way, you’d only have to unload my things once. Back in town.” His smile is smug as he slams the rear lid shut. “I’m happy to unload them a second time if I can make it back up here to get you.” I don’t even bother responding. He’s obviously not going to give up this ruse, so there’s no reason for me to keep banging my head against that brick wall. I spin on my boot heel and stalk off toward the front of the cabin. Behind me, I hear the crunch of the driver’s boots as they compact the thick layer of snow already covering the ground. The cabin is set on what looks like the only flat place on the side of this mountain. There are trees on every side, and no signs of life as far as the eye can see. And when I look way up behind the pointed roofline, I see nothing but a clean, white slope glistening in the sun. It’s beautiful and quiet and picturesque, but good God, is it remote. When I reach the wide porch, I stomp my feet to get the snow off them and walk to the door. I knock. When there is no answer, I knock again. When there is still no answer, I try the knob, which turns easily. I poke my head inside and call, “Hello?” I don’t hear a voice, but I do hear soft instrumental music playing and the soothing crackle of a fire. I push the door wider, taking in the chalet’s open floor plan. There is an ultra high-end kitchen to my left, a big king-sized bed framed by intricately carved wood to my right, and a great room that really is

great directly in front of me. There is evidence of luxury in every material, on every surface. It’s understated, which still gives the place a rustic feel, but it’s there. From the polished quartz countertops in the kitchen to the polar bear skin rug in the front of the enormous fireplace, the space reeks of extravagance. And I’ve seen enough multi-million dollar homes to know extravagance when I see it. This is it. The only parts I hate are the Christmas decorations sprinkled throughout the space. They’re cleverly placed and beautifully elegant, but they’re there nonetheless, and I pick them all out instantly. A slender tree decked out in red and silver, a dazzling platinum sleigh atop the mantle, reindeer with red bows dancing across the coffee table—there are little bits of torture everywhere I look. “Where do you want this?” I turn to find the driver standing just inside the door, holding my case. I swivel, looking around once more. “Give me just a minute, please,” I request, taking out my phone and pulling up Calvin Phillips from the directory. He’s the photographer responsible for collecting footage of Dash’s run down the mountain as well as some candid shots of him during the interview. And this cozy, indulgent environment couldn’t be more perfect. I fire off a quick text to Calvin.

Me: I’m at the chalet—I think—but no one is here. Have you heard from anyone else? While I await a response, I busy myself with checking my email so the driver doesn’t get squirrely and leave. Less than a minute later, thankfully, Calvin replies.

Calvin: Should be a note for you on the table. I’ll call after the shoot. I glance toward the kitchen, and sure enough, there is a note between the thousand-dollar wine glasses, leaning against a crystal vase full of fresh asters in warm crimson and icy blue.

Me: Found it. Where are you staying? Calvin: Across the ridge from the chalet. Gotta go. He might not get it right now, but I respond anyway.

Me: Well, you might have company tonight. I didn’t book another room. I thought this place had more than one room. Calvin: You’re thinking of a lodge. But my bed is always open to you. He adds a winking face to his message and I grin, sliding my phone into my pocket. I cross the room and grab the note from the table.

Dilyn, I’m so sorry that no one will be here to greet you. I got called away unexpectedly on other business, but I’ve made sure everything is in place. If you should need anything, please feel free to contact my assistant. Here is her card. Best, Kelly, Dash’s manager I glance briefly at the card—Vilma Jensen scrawled in cursive letters across the front, and her number and email printed on the back—then return it to its spot on the table. “Will there be anything else?” The driver has set my case down near the door and is now standing on the porch, ready to get the hell out of dodge. I give him a warm smile of gratitude. I feel guilty for my petulance and for taking my anger with Jake out on this man, even though he’s relentless in his humorless teasing of out-of-towners. “No, but thank you. I’ll give you a call for pick up later. Cell service permitting,” I add, going along with it. God forbid I alienate my only way out of this place. “My pleasure.” He nods once then pulls the door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the chalet. I walk to the wide, cream-colored sofa and perch on the edge, taking my laptop out of its case and settling in to await the man of the hour. I try not to watch the time, but I can’t help noticing how late it seems to be getting. The light is waning much faster than I expected. Nearly an hour after my arrival, the door flies open, cracking back on its hinges and letting a gust of frigid air into the room. A man decked out in black pants and a thick black jacket steps through, quickly flinging it closed behind him. “Hot damn! That’s one helluva storm coming.” I come to my feet, preparing to introduce myself after he strips off his hat and goggles, shakes out his longish black hair and then runs gloved fingers through it. But my response, whatever it might’ve been, dies on my lips when he turns a smile on me that nearly levels me where I stand. Holy. Shit. “You must be Dilyn. I’m Dash Grainger.” He crosses the room to where I’m standing, still as a statue, in front of the sofa. Even in the cumbersome clothes that don’t quite conceal the crazy-awesome body I’ve seen photos of, he moves with the fluid grace of a large jungle cat. No doubt his body is in peak physical condition—hard and muscular with lots and lots of stamina—a thought that causes an odd and very inappropriate fist to squeeze in my lower belly. “Pleasure to meet you.” He sticks a finger in his mouth and pulls off his glove with his teeth, then offers his hand. God, it’s such a hot, manly thing to do. So casual. So damn sexy. Or at least it is when he does it.

Automatically, I take it, tucking my hand in his. His palm is broad and rough, his fingers long and strong as they clasp around mine. We shake hands and still I say nothing. I can’t find my tongue. Or my wits. I mean, I knew what this guy looked like—masculine perfection—and I’ve heard all about his reputation—playboy extraordinaire —but even so, I was totally prepared for this interview, and for him. Or so I thought. But in truth, nothing could’ve prepared me for the real Dash Grainger. Looking at him, up close and in person, is like looking at the sun—dazzling. Breathtaking. Mesmerizing. And I’m mesmerized. ******** Dash We’re still shaking hands, but I haven’t gotten a single word from the woman I’m touching. And that’s a damn shame, because my entire body wants to know if her voice matches her looks. I was expecting a reporter, yes. I was expecting a woman, yes. But what I wasn’t expecting was for her to look like this: rich, shoulder-length hair that’s so thick my fingers itch to fist in it; skin so pale the blush in her cheeks looks like a pink sun is setting behind them; a small body perfectly formed, with high tits, a tiny waist, and long, long legs. She’s got it all, no question. True, I’ve dated some of the most perfect human beings on the planet, but this one…she has a real kind of beauty that hits me right in the gut. Very unexpectedly, I might add. It isn’t often that I’m wowed, but this chick is by far one of the most stunning women I’ve ever seen. I don’t think it’s something as trivial as just beauty that’s smacking me in the face, though. It’s her eyes that get me. They’re heavy-lidded and the color of bourbon. Soft. Sleepy. Sexy as all hell. And the way she’s looking at me… Holy God, I’m ready to skip introductions and beg her to let me peel her clothes off. But more than that, there’s something…vulnerable in them that makes me want to hide her away here in the mountains and protect her from…everything. What the hell? Whatever the exact reason actually is, this woman has my attention in a big way. She has it by the balls. And maybe something else. When she still doesn’t open that lush mouth of hers to say anything, I give her hand a tug to pull her closer as I lean in. I can’t resist a little teasing to loosen her up. Or at the very least to hear what her voice sounds like. “They didn’t tell me you were mute, but you’re so beautiful I don’t even care.”

******** Dilyn He’s so close I can smell mint and winter on his lips. His perfect, perfect lips. It takes a few seconds for his words to register, and when they do, my face heats to a thousand degrees in less than a second. I snap my eyes shut and shake my head, reaching for the calm indifference I always employ during interviews with impressive people. But for the first time in my eight years as a journalist, it’s nowhere to be found. But at least I manage to recover my voice. “I’m sorry. This day has just been… Well, nothing has gone as I expected. I’m just a little… discombobulated. That’s all.” ******** Dash Holy dick-suckin’ Saturday! That voice… Jesus. It’s even better than I hoped for. It’s like she took a long drink of hot whiskey and it burned her the whole way down. I smile at her, tickled as shit with the way this is turning out. “Well, I hope things get better. Starting now.” ******** Dilyn Dash shoots me another crippling grin, slowly releasing my hand so that he can reach up and unzip his jacket. I probably shouldn’t watch him do it—it’s too much like watching him undress—but I truly think looking away is beyond my control. I can’t not watch him. He’s pure beauty and raw, raw, raw sexuality. Oh, Lord, help me. He peels the jacket off his broad shoulders and tosses it on the chair behind him. Beneath it, his wide chest and flat stomach are encased in a stretchy, black Under Armor shirt. It’s so snug and fits him so flawlessly that I can see every hard, lickable ridge of his abdomen.

My eyes are trained on them as he bends to push the thick pants he’s wearing down his legs. When he stands, my mouth goes dry as a bone. He’s wearing the same type material on his lower half, too, and the material leaves little to the imagination. The man is just built. From the top of his sexily mussed head to the extremely impressive bulge between his thick, sculpted thighs, He. Is. Built. “Sweetheart, you’d better give me those eyes,” Dash says in a low, sensual tone that is all bare skin on bare skin. Per his request, I drag my gaze up to his. His eyes are the color of coal, but they sparkle like onyx. “I’m gonna go right over to that kitchen and make us a drink, because it seems like you need one.” He takes a single step toward me, bringing him close enough to reach out and swipe the pad of his thumb across my lower lip. “But if you look at me like this again, I’ll take it as an invitation to relax you in a much more pleasurable way.” Before I can even formulate a reply, he sticks his thumb in his mouth, as though licking my flavor off it, and turns to make his way to the small bar cart standing between the kitchen and living area. With his eyes, his attention, his presence focused elsewhere, I can drag in a deep breath. “So, tell me a little about yourself,” he says above the clink of ice cubes into crystal tumblers. It takes a few seconds for his words to penetrate, and when they do, I’m forced a little more toward the thinking woman that I usually am. “This…this isn’t about me. I’m here to interview you.” That’s right, dummy. You’re here to interview him. Get your head out of your ass and do your job. Dash doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he waits until he’s standing only inches from me, lips curved into a lopsided smile, offering me one of the drinks in his hand. “They must not have warned you about me then.” I frown, taking the short glass without really thinking. “Warned me?” Dash moves to my left and around to the sofa. I turn to keep my eyes on him as he goes. He plops down on one of the soft cushions, leans back in that manly way guys do, and motions for me to sit as well. I do, perching primly on the square I occupied before he arrived. Eyeing me, Dash laughs, a low rumbling that reminds me of an idling motorcycle engine. It’s a sexy, dangerous sound that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. “First of all, you need to relax. I don’t bite.” “Okay, so it wasn’t a rabies warning I missed,” I retort, leaning back a little and trying to appear as casual and confident as Dash. “So what was it?” Black eyes lock onto mine, blotting out everything around me. “That I like a little give and take. I don’t want you to strip me bare without seeing some of your skin, too.” My jaw goes slack until he grins and adds, “So to speak.” I raise the glass to take a sip, an effort to buy myself some time. Once again, he’s managed to tie my tongue into a tight knot with what seems like very little effort on his part.

If this is any indication of how Dash Grainger is going to affect my wits, I expect this interview to be long and difficult. I swallow a bit of the amber liquid in my mouth and it sears me all the way down, causing me to gasp. I sputter and sit up to take a deep breath. Dash leans toward me, bringing one big hand to my back. “You okay?” I nod, swallowing several times to dull the burn. His palm starts to move in slow, soothing circles over my back, the warmth of it bleeding through my sweater to tease my skin. My nipples tighten in response, and I feel the heat of embarrassment, coupled with the fire of the alcohol, blazing in my cheeks. I want to sit back so Dash will stop touching me. It’s hard enough to think around him at all, much less with his hand on me, his eyes on me, his clean, delicious scent surrounding me. But my sweater is fairly thin and I’m afraid he’ll see the…condition I’m in, so I can’t. Maybe if I cross my arms over my chest… I ease back against the cushion, forcing Dash to remove his hand. He doesn’t move away, though. He remains so close to me that our knees brush. Drink still in hand, I cross my arms protectively over my chest. Unfortunately, the action merely draws coal-black eyes to my breasts. At first, it’s a quick flicker, but then they dart back down and stay there. And, damn them, I feel my nipples tingle into even tighter little buds, like they’re screaming Touch me! Oh, God. When Dash finally pulls his eyes back up to mine, they’re filled with so much hunger I have to suck in a breath to keep from groaning. This is why Jake was worried about me being attracted to an adrenaline junkie, a type who normally repels me like bug spray does an ant. Dash Grainger—the legend, the playboy, the lady-killer—is no joke. Dash stretches his arm along the back of the couch, just above my head, his body still angled toward mine, and tilts his head as he asks in a quiet voice, “How about we go tit for tat?” Shit. Did he say “tit” because he makes my nipples hard? Or is that just an expression? I want to get up and walk away, just take myself into another room, another world until someone comes to drive me out of here. I’m bound to make an utter fool of myself before this is over. But the proud professional in me refuses to give up just because this guy seems to have my number. I have to salvage this, even if it means sitting here bravely with a straight spine and a raised chin while my body betrays every single feeling that’s racing through it. Because I run from no man.

I only run from Christmas. “I’ll be one hundred percent honest with you if you’ll be one hundred percent honest with me.” I watch him closely, and something in his expression tells me that this trade isn’t something he offers many people. Hell, he hardly grants interviews at all, so this is a big deal. This could an incredible opportunity for me professionally. I’d be an idiot not to take it. And I’m no idiot. “Fine. Tit for tat it is. One hundred percent honesty.” With my eyes on his, I raise my glass again, sipping slowly from it, this time prepared for the flames that scorch their way down my throat before settling warmly in my stomach. “I’ll go first. Why do these daredevil stunts? You’re an Olympic gold medalist, you already dominate in snowboarding all across the globe, you’ve got more endorsements than most NBA All-Stars, so why risk everything the way you do? The way you did today?” Thoughtful eyes search mine. “I love the high.” His answer is simple and, as promised, completely honest. There’s no hint of reservation. In his gaze, on his face is just bold, bare truth. “Isn’t there anything you love more than the high? Family you’d hate to leave, a life you’d hate to give up if you were in an accident that crippled you?” “That’s two questions. It’s my turn.” I start to argue, but when my mouth opens, one obsidian brow shoots up in challenge and I clamp my lips shut, nodding for him to proceed. “Why are you here on the day before Christmas Eve rather than spending it with someone you love?” I pause. He says nothing in the silence. Just waits. I consider making up something, like I usually do when someone asks me this question. But the scrupulous part of me squirms at the thought of agreeing to be candid and then not being candid. That’s too much like a lie. So, for better or worse, I tell him the real reason. “My father was a gambler. He said winning was the best high in the world. Gambling always came first, even before his family. On Christmas day nine years ago, when I was fifteen years old, he left my mother and me to go to a high-stakes poker game. It got robbed. He got shot. He died before we could even see him. My mother never recovered. Now she spends every Christmas drunk off her ass, breaking glasses and dishes and destroying what’s left of her life. So I work.” He nods slowly, digesting my words. “I imagine it wasn’t your choice to interview me then. Just to get away at Christmas time.” “That’s right,” I confirm softly, still holding to sincerity, whether it offends him or not. “I’ll ask you again. Isn’t there anything you love more than the high?” One side of his mouth twists in a wry, humorless way. “I haven’t found anything yet.”

“What about your parents? Your siblings? Your…your girlfriend?” From the corner of my eye, I see Dash’s hand reach toward me as he takes one curl of my sable brown hair and wraps it around his finger. “My parents are in Morocco. Or Sri Lanka. Or…some place, spending money. I haven’t seen them in years. My brother died of meningitis when I was sixteen, and I’ve never told a woman I love her because I’ve never been in love.” “So the only thing you love is the high? The slopes and the danger and the victory?” “I love the freedom. I don’t have to think or feel or worry. I just…ski. I fly. I conquer. And, for now, that’s enough.” “And what happens when it’s not? What happens when it’s not enough?” “I’ll do something else.” “So there will always be something more important than people.” “Yes. Until there’s not. Until someone walks away with my heart.” “How will you know? How can you be so sure you’ve never been in love?” His answer is spoken in a hushed tone that rasps across my nerves like crushed velvet. “Because she’ll be my high. That’s how I’ll know.” His eyes hold me. I want to look away, to let him have this moment, but I can’t. They won’t let me go. “She’ll be one lucky woman,” I confess, the words tumbling from my lips before I can stop them. Before I can think better of it. “I don’t know about lucky, but she’ll be strong. Fierce. She’ll have to be.” He’s sucking me in, pulling me under. He’s an avalanche and I’m being swallowed by him. A perfect stranger. How does he do it? How has he managed to throw me off, drag me in, lift me up, all in the course of a few minutes? My chest is full with him. My head is light with him. My body is achy with him. It’s like the world I know, the reality I live in, is far from here. Far from us. Time and space and thought are suspended, and anything goes. “My turn,” he says, winding his finger deeper into my hair. “Have you ever kissed a stranger in a snowstorm?” His face is drawing closer and all I can think of is how much I want this to happen. But then the last of his words sink in. “Snowstorm?” I mumble. He nods, his face still coming slowly toward mine.

“But, the sky…it was blue,” I offer weakly, melting into the cushion at my back. “Not anymore,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing mine. Just before my eyes drift closed, I notice how dark the room has become. It’s almost like night has fallen. I gasp, turning my head toward the window and bolting upright. “Oh shit! It happened?” Dash, leaning back onto one elbow since I slipped out from under him, gives me a sexy grin. “Your ‘it’ and my ‘it’ must not be the same thing, because I’m nowhere near making my ‘it’ happen for you yet.” The alarm buzzing through me has completely cleared my head, and now thought—real, coherent thought—is rushing back. “The snowstorm. The driver told me it was coming, but I didn’t believe him.” I get up and rush to the window. It doesn’t even look like the same place I arrived at. I walk to the door and jerk it open, stepping out on the front porch. The entire world beyond the sixfoot-wide wooden veranda is nothing but white oblivion. I can’t even see the tracks of the SUV that brought me here, and there’s a couple of inches of snow burying the footprints each of us left coming up the steps. “Well, I can tell you. Shit just got real.” There’s laughter in Dash’s voice and I turn to face him. “But…how did this happen? It was beautiful earlier. Like, just a few minutes ago.” Wasn’t it? I glance at my watch. Surprisingly, I’ve been here almost two hours. I don’t know where the time has gone. The only explanation I can think of is that Dash’s black eyes are like black holes—fathomless places where a girl can get lost if she’s not careful. He shrugs, stepping closer to me, his abs flexing as he moves. I have to make myself look back up at his face, and when I do, he’s grinning, like he knows how much trouble I’m having. Lord, have mercy. “It’s Colorado. When it storms…it storms.” “But…but…I can’t stay here. I have to get back to town. I have to call someone to drive me to a lodge where I can get a room. I need a room.” “You can stay here. I told you I don’t bite.” I look at him, feeling frantic, and realize that I’m not worried about his bite. I’m worried about his kiss. His touch. The magnetic pull of his eyes. I’m worried that, if he presses his attention toward me, I won’t be able to say no.

And that could be a disaster. “And Calvin, the photographer, he was supposed to be coming here. Where is he?” I take out my phone and hit the screen. I have no signal whatsoever. “What if he’s been trying to get a hold of me?” “I’m sure, like the rest of the crew, he got the hell back to where he’s staying. The locals have been talking about this all day. I assumed you knew.” “Well, I knew there was a possibility of snow. I mean, it’s Colorado. And the guy who drove me here mentioned it, but I thought he was trying to scare me. You know, prank the tourist. That type thing.” “They never joke about a storm like this.” “Well, I kinda wish I’d known that a couple hours ago. Before I let him drop me off here with no way out.” Dash’s eyes burn a softer black in the presence of the bright snow, midnight cashmere against white satin sheets. “I think you’re looking at this the wrong way.” “And how should I be looking at it?” Two big, warm hands rise to gently grip my upper arms, the thumbs rubbing back and forth in a way that should probably be more comforting than sexy. But it’s not. Any touch from this man is like fuel to a fire I had no idea even existed. I’ve never—never, ever— reacted to a man this way. So profoundly. So wildly. I’m not that girl—the one who can’t control herself, the one who makes decisions based on her body or her heart rather than her head. I’m not her. I’m the strong, sassy one. “You wanted to get away at Christmas, to get your mind off things, and here you are. You can freak out about something you can’t change or you can spend the night in a luxurious cabin with a charming man, getting the story you wanted. And maybe a little bit more.” A tingle races down my spine. “And exactly what constitutes ‘a little bit more’?” He smiles, wide enough to show a row of perfect white teeth and crinkle the skin around his hypnotic eyes. “I was thinking about filet mignon and s’mores and champagne. If I were offering anything else, I wouldn’t have used the word ‘little’.” I can’t stop the twitch that plays with the corners of my mouth. “I bet you’ve heard the word ‘incorrigible’ a lot, haven’t you?” He shrugs one thick shoulder. “A time or two.” I sigh, swiveling my head to look back out at the blizzard-like conditions. “This is such a bad idea,” I murmur.

Right on the heels of what happened with Jake, not to mention the fact that I haven’t been with anyone since we broke up, it’s quite possible that I could be too weak to endure the considerable charm of someone like Dash. I mean, I just had no idea he’d be this…this…much. This gorgeous. This charismatic. This charming and fun and sexy and… That he’d have this way of stealing time and reason, and making me feel so much in such a short period of time. I have a healthy sex drive, just like any twenty-something woman, but it’s never ruled me. Never. Not once. But damn, I can see why women succumb to this guy despite their better judgment. I feel a rough finger at my chin, urging my eyes back to some of the most irresistible ones I’ve ever encountered. “It doesn’t have to be. It can be a very, very good idea.” I’ve never been one for mincing words, and that kind of directness has gotten me into trouble in the past. Sometimes I blurt things I shouldn’t. Like now. “Tell me how staying here, alone, all night, with you could not be a bad thing for me. Jesus, you’re like walking, talking ecstasy!” His grin is thousand watt. “I am?” “Don’t let that go to your head,” I rush to interject. “Which head? You need to be more specific?” “Oh, God,” I groan, covering my face. He falls quiet and, when I lower my hands, I find him silently considering me, his head tilted to the side again, a gesture I’m finding sexier and more endearing each time he does it. “It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be. I won’t deny that I’m attracted to you. Holy shit, am I attracted to you. And I won’t deny that I could list a dozen things in ten seconds or less that I’d love to do to you on a cold, snowy night in front of a fire. But I’m not a mindless, horny teenager. I can appreciate the company of a smart, sassy, beautiful woman, enjoying good food and good drink on the side of a mountain in a storm. This night can be whatever you want it to be. Just…stay.” As he says the last, his eyes stray to my mouth. I’m breathless and completely dazzled. “Has anyone ever said no to you?” He doesn’t answer, just raises his disconcertingly direct gaze to mine and watches me. “That’s what I thought,” I mumble with a laugh. With his eyes still on mine, lips curved into a vague smile, Dash reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. He angles his body slightly toward the cabin and tips his head at the door, a silent request for me to come with him. But what is really entailed if I say yes, if I agree? This night can be whatever you want it to be. Just good food and good wine and interesting conversation with a man I was only supposed to get an hour to interview—he says that could be on the menu if it’s what I want.

But what if I lose my head to this man and want more? What then? “Will you fend me off if I try to sleep with you?” I ask. Again with the bluntness. Someone needs to clip my tongue. His pupils swell, even in the brightness of the snow, engulfing his nearly black irises. He looks like a demon. A heaven-sent, angel-perfect demon. Those eyes…they offer sinful paradise, wicked utopia. “Would you really want me to?” Even his voice is a dichotomy—smooth as silk yet coarse as gravel. “I doubt it, but I’m not talking about want. I’m talking about need. And what’s best for me. In the morning. When the storm is over and I have to go back to reality.” “And what if I’m what’s best for you?” “But I can’t leave that up to you, now can I?” His grin returns, full of manly mischief. “Of course you can.” Somehow, we’re at the door. He’s managed to pull me, ever so slowly, across the porch without me even noticing. But I’m noticing now. And it’s time to make a decision. I dig in my heels, tugging back. Away. “Promise me.” He stops, fingers still entwined with mine. “You’d trust me if I did promise?” I pause to think on his question, and strangely, my gut tells me that I absolutely can trust him to keep his word. This man doesn’t need to resort to lies and false promises to get what he wants. All he has to do is smile and hold out his hand. “Yes. I would.” A small dent appears between his eyes. It’s there for a heartbeat and then gone, as though my answer confused him. “Then yes, I promise. I will fend you off if you try to have sex with me.” It’s my turn to smile. “Great. Then let’s go.” I walk around him, this time pulling him with me. When I meet with mild resistance I turn to look back at him. His expression shows a blend of consternation and exasperation. “Something wrong?” I ask. “I just promised not to have sex with you.” “You did.”

“Well, hell.” I laugh. “You’re not the only one who knows how to get what he wants.” One side of his mouth lifts into an ironic grin. “Touché, pussycat.” “Touché, indeed.”

CHAPTER FOUR Dash She’s got my interest. She had it the second I walked through the door, and now she’s just digging in deeper. I turn to watch her as Dilyn walks back into the room. She excused herself to the bathroom to set out a few of her things. She’s getting comfortable, and for some reason, I really, really like that. As she walks toward me, her breasts bounce deliciously under the thin material of her sweater. I follow her with my eyes as she passes on her way to the bar. My gaze drops to her perfectly tight, round ass as she goes. “So, what are we eating?” she asks after she kicks off her boots and slides onto a bar stool, turning those bedroom eyes my way. I can see laughter dancing around the corners of her kissable mouth. Jesus! What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to something like this? No sex? Not even if she begs? I swallow a groan. When I asked her to stay, it was with every intention of spending the bigger part of the night buried inside that delectable body of hers. But somehow, and I still don’t know exactly how she managed it, my goal morphed into just wanting her to stay. In whatever capacity. I want more of her. Just her. Even if there’s no sex, which is admittedly unusual for me. I just want more Dilyn. I’ve never met a woman who has piqued my curiosity as much as she has my libido, yet right this second, sitting a few feet away, watching me as though she wants to gobble me up, is one who has done precisely that. And I promised her I wouldn’t have sex with her. Christ Almighty, do I have my work cut out for me. I push up my sleeves, walking around the other side of the island to the refrigerator to pull it open. “Well, as I said before, we have filet mignon. We have lobster. We have caviar, if that’s your thing,” I add with a glance over my shoulder. Her nose is wrinkled in distaste. I curl my lip in response. “Yeah, mine either.” I turn back to the food. “Then why is it here? I assumed they stocked this place for you.” “Uh, they did.” I don’t face her.

“But, obviously, you don’t like caviar.” “No.” I don’t elaborate. After a few seconds, she mumbles, “Ahhhh. You were expecting company.” When I don’t answer, she continues. “And she likes caviar.” “There’s also fresh asparagus, stuff for a salad, Belgian chocolate tarts and—” “Oh, come on. I’m not insulted. No reason to hide it. I just hope she doesn’t mind that I’m here when she arrives.” I finally turn toward her. “She won’t be arriving.” “Why not?” “Because I texted her while you were in the bathroom and told her not to.” I hope she doesn’t pick up on the fact that I have a satellite phone. If she tried hard enough, she could find someone to come get her, even in this weather. But I don’t want her to go. I’m nowhere near ready for her to go. She doesn’t frown. She doesn’t smile. She simply watches me steadily. “Why did you do that?” I don’t tell her that Bridgette is a groupie. A beautiful groupie, but one who means nothing. We both know it. I’ve never made any bones about it. She’s around when I need something…hot. Nothing more. Hell, she doesn’t even know where I live. But she’s okay with that. She just likes the rush of having sex with a star. “Because it’s not her I want to spend time with now.” Although she makes no comment right away, her cheeks flush with color. That pleases her whether she’s willing to admit it or not. “I’m sorry you did that.” “Are you really?” The pink deepens. “No. Not at all.” “Good. Neither am I.” We stare at each other for a few seconds, until her blush brightens again and she looks away. “Okay, so does any of that sound good?” “All of it sounds wonderful,” she replies enthusiastically, smiling up at me. “I’m not picky. I like most

food. I love to eat.” “You do?” She nods several times. “The perfect woman.” I take out the steaks, the asparagus and the salad fixings, and lay it all out on the counter. “How are you at cutting vegetables?” “Excellent! It’s my only culinary contribution. I’m a terrible cook.” “Then we’ll make a great pair, because I can whip up things that will make your mouth water before you take the first bite.” She raises one arched brow. “Oh, I just bet you can.” Her quick, light banter is belied by the nervous laugh that follows I smile. I love that I throw her off balance. I love that she’s just as attracted to me as I am to her and she doesn’t quite know what to do about it. I could help her with that, of course. If I weren’t the dumbass who agreed to not have sex with her. But then it hits me. I’m a man who believes in the beauty of semantics, especially when they work in my favor. And in this instance, they very much do. There are a whole lot of things that don’t necessarily qualify as sex, as actual intercourse. And she didn’t mention a word about any of those. “It’s settled then. You cut the vegetables for the salad. I’ll take care of the rest. And then…we eat.” I don’t mention dessert. Semantics. I have much more in mind than just chocolate.

CHAPTER FIVE Dilyn Dash insisted that we eat in front of the fire. Something about the ambience and taking full advantage of being stuck in a luxury chalet in a snowstorm. Within a few minutes of sitting down on the polar bear rug and cutting the first bite of juicy steak, I was in complete agreement. Our conversation has been as easy as if we’d known each other for years before today. We’ve laughed and Dash has told funny anecdotes. His charming ways go far deeper than I originally thought. He’s not only gorgeous and sexy, but he’s intelligent and successful, and extremely well read. “That would be Mrs. Chatterley’s Lover. Shocked the masses long before Fifty Shades.” “I can’t believe you actually read Mrs. Chatterley’s Lover.” “Of course I did. What red-blooded teenaged nerd wouldn’t read a book that was originally banned for its sexually explicit content?” “You were a teenaged nerd?” “Oh, hell yeah. Still am in a lot of ways.” I take a moment to look at him, really look at him—at the broad shoulders and muscular chest, at the big hands and thick arms. He’s all physical fitness and smooth confidence. I find it hard to believe he’s ever been anything except muscular and sexy. “What did I tell you about looking at me that way?” he warns softly, pulling my eyes back up to his face. Those black orbs are trained on me and he’s sitting perfectly still. Watching. Waiting. “Sorry. Can’t seem to help myself,” I confess cheekily. “Oh sure, you can say that now, when you know there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.” I smile widely. “I have to admit it does make me feel a little more daring.” “Greeeat,” he mutters sarcastically, but he winks to let me know he’s teasing. “So when did the big switch happen? When did the nerd become the thrill-seeking playboy?” “A few months after my brother died. My parents lost interest in anything except their own pain, so I looked for attention in other ways. Didn’t take me long to realize that I could escape a whole lot of shit when my adrenaline was high enough. Before long, my coping mechanism became an addiction. The rest is history.” I study him as he chews, his strong jaw flexing with each bite, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Then

he takes a sip of his red wine, lips curving around the edge of the glass. Before long, I forget what we were talking about, content to just watch him eat. “Tell me about you. I know your parents aren’t in your life, so who is?” His question brings me back to the conversation quite effectively. I look away, turning my attention to the remainder of my delicious meal. I poke the last bite of my steak with my fork, but don’t raise it to my mouth. “Friends. Coworkers. The usual.” “The usual, huh? No boyfriend?” “Not for a while.” “How long is a while?” I don’t respond right away. I take a moment to consider the wisdom of being completely truthful. But then I decide that I’ve come this far, might as well keep going. This night will be over soon and we’ll go our separate ways. There’s no harm in telling him the truth. “Two years. The last guy I dated seriously is now my boss.” “Oh shit.” I grin at that. “Nah. It’s not like that. We agreed to be friends for the sake of work. It’s what’s most important to both of us.” “More important than each other? Sounds like it wasn’t very serious to begin with then.” I shrug, buying some time with a sip of my wine, emptying my glass. Before I can say anything, Dash is refilling it. “I thought it was, but…” “Maybe you’re more like me than you think,” he observes quietly. I frown. “How so?” His lips twitch at my insulted tone, prompting me to add a chagrined, “I didn’t mean it that way.” “Sure you did. And it’s fine. Most people treat love like it’s common, easy to come by, when in fact, it’s not. Until I find something that matters more than my job, I’m just gonna keep living my life. Whether that’s what you intended to do or not, it’s what you’re actually doing, too.” I hear him out, processing his words and how they resonate with me. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” He nods, spearing his last bite of meat and sticking it in his mouth. He chews, swallows, and then levels a glance at me over the top of his wine glass. “Most people don’t.”

“I-I’m sorry. It seems I’ve judged you unfairly.” “You aren’t the first.” I cast my eyes down again. “I guess I put all risk-takers in the same category as my father—people who choose the thrill over those they love. But I guess if the love isn’t there…there is no choice.” I’ve never considered that my dad hadn’t actually loved my mom and me. Not once in all these years. Warm fingers curl around mine and tug, forcing me to look up, up to eyes that seem to see right through me. “For some people, it’s not a choice. It’s a sickness. A sick need for something they lack. For those people, men like your father, it’s no reflection on how they feel about their loved ones; it’s simply a statement of how they feel about themselves.” I consider his reasoning. “I’m sure that’s true, too. But it felt an awful lot like a choice the night he left us.” A pause. “I’m sorry he hurt you. That he’s still hurting you.” “I’m sorry, too.” Another pause and then Dash begins to lean forward. I hold my ground as his face grows closer and closer. When his nose is nearly touching mine and I can see every individual lash in the fringe that rings his eyes, he stops. I wait, breathless, for him to do something. “I have something that is guaranteed to make you feel better,” he whispers. My heart pounds heavily against my sternum. “I…I’d like to feel better.” And I would. I want to get lost, like I do every Christmas, but this time I want to get lost in someone. In Dash. In his deep voice and liquid eyes. In his quick smile and profound understanding. Just when I think he’s going to brush that heavenly mouth over mine, he eases back and rolls smoothly to his feet to walk around me. I let out a sigh of disappointment. “Don’t sigh, gorgeous girl,” he says, his voice at my ear startling me. “This is just the beginning.” Chills down my spine. My lips curve into a satisfied smile. I hear the quiet pad of his socked feet as he makes his way to the kitchen, and I think to myself that this might well be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.

CHAPTER SIX Dash “I thought you were joking,” Dilyn says with a smile when I return with a plate containing a bar of La Maison chocolate, a handful of marshmallows, and four Graham Crackers. It’s dark out now, and the fire is the only light in the place. I purposely haven’t turned on any others. Her skin looks too smooth and perfect in the soft orange glow. “I never joke about s’mores.” I hand her a stainless kabob skewer and she looks at it dubiously. “Is this how the other half does it? Are sticks just too pedestrian?” I return her expression. “Do I look like a guy who would choose stainless steel over sticks?” She lets those heavy-lidded whiskey eyes of hers travel slowly from my eyes to my mouth, then down my chest and stomach. They pause on my dick, and she stares just long enough to make it twitch. Her cheeks stain and she brings her gaze back up to my face. “No, I guess you don’t,” she answers in a voice that’s gone all husky. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I squat down in front of her, my mouth inches from hers. I love how her pupils dilate. I know she won’t admit it, but she wants this as much as I do. I can feel it. My instincts are something I rely on heavily in my profession, in my life, and they’re screaming that we would be damn good together. So damn good. I take a marshmallow and bring it to her mouth, dragging it across her full bottom lip. “Would you like to hear the options for what to do with these? Making s’mores aren’t the only thing marshmallows are good for.” As I watch, she slips her tongue out to sneak a taste of the treat. Impulsively, I roll it into her mouth. She opens wider to accept it then closes her lips on the tip of my finger. She sucks just a little bit, just enough to send all kinds of want to my cock. Air hisses through my teeth as I inhale sharply. My eyes snap up to hers. They’re sparkling with feisty humor and brazen desire. “Damn you,” I croak, my balls tightening. “You did that on purpose.” I stick the tip of my finger, the one wet with her saliva, in my mouth. “Maybe,” she mumbles around the marshmallow, her eyes watching my mouth. After she finishes chewing and swallows, she looks back up at me, the corners of her mouth pulling up into a saucy grin.

“What, can’t take it when it’s dished out?” “Hell, yeah, I can take it.” I spike an eyebrow at her. “But can you?” She falters for a second, but then covers it nicely. “Of course I can.” “Then let’s make this a little more interesting, shall we? Ever had a deconstructed s’more?” Her eyes narrow on me. She’s in trouble, and that’s probably sinking in right about now. “No. What are those?” My smile is big and satisfied. Victorious. “Let me show you.” I set down the plate and skewers, and pull off my shirt. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she says, holding up her palms and shaking her head. I ignore her, loving how her eyes are glued to my abs. I give them a little flex for her. Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen. I chuckle. “You can go first,” I tell her, stretching out on the bearskin rug beside her, belly up, my weight resting back on my elbows. The stiff ridge of my hard-on is visible as hell in the firelight, but I don’t give a damn. I don’t mind that she can see what she does to me. “What am I supposed to do?” “Make a s’more. Only you have to eat it off me, one bite of each at a time. Separately. Deconstructed.” She says nothing, just watches me. I’m sure she’s weighing her options, measuring her level of resistance. Her next question proves it. “But you promised to fend me off and not have sex with me, remember?” Oh, God, this is too good. “I haven’t forgotten,” I assure her. She debates for a few more seconds before coming onto her knees at my side. “So what do I do?” “Well, I’m no s’mores expert, but I’d probably lay out my ingredients first. Then I’d roast the marshmallow.” Carefully, Dilyn sets a Graham Cracker square on my stomach then sets a piece of chocolate on that. “Ah, ah, ah. You have to lay it all out separately.” Giving me a roll of her eyes, she takes the chocolate off the cracker and sets it on my skin. Next, she takes one marshmallow and sticks it on the sharp end of the skewer. She half-crawls over to the fireplace, that pretty little ass of hers wiggling in my direction. I wonder

for a second what kind of panties she wears. I picture something demure, something that would make her look so chaste I’d be forced to do even dirtier things to her. And I’m already thinking of dirty, dirty, dirty things. The thought makes my dick strain even harder against the stretchy material of my Under Armor. Dilyn holds the marshmallow over the flame. I want to tell her not to get it too close or it’ll burn, but she raises it before I have to. White turns to golden brown within a few seconds, and she swivels back to me. On her knees, she returns to my side. She starts to lay the marshmallow on the chocolate, but catches herself and lays it on my stomach instead. I flinch just a little when the hot sugar meets my skin. When she’s done, she lays the kabob stick aside and eyes the buffet spread over my belly. She reaches for a Graham first, taking a small bite off one corner. Then she picks up the chocolate, her fingers lightly scraping my abs, taking a bite of it as well. She returns it and takes up the marshmallow, sinking her teeth into it, sending warm, sweet goo pouring onto her lips. She makes this soft moaning sound as she swallows, her mouth still wreathed in sticky white goodness. I react before I can think better of it. “Here, let me help you with that,” I say, sitting up, sending food all over the floor. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck to hold her still and I trace her lips with the tip of my tongue, licking up the sugar of the marshmallow. Dilyn’s hand has gone slack between us, but she’s not resisting, so I press my lips to hers and slip my tongue between them. The inside of her mouth tastes like sweet, sweet chocolate and sweet, sweet Dilyn. I groan, angling my head to better devour her. I make myself pull back after a minute, coming up onto my knees. Her expression is dazed, drunk with desire. “My turn,” I warn before I reach for the hem of her sweater. She doesn’t argue when I pull it up, but lifts her arms so I can ease it over her head. I toss it to the side, my eyes going immediately to the lacy little scrap of material covering her firm, round breasts. Her bra is practically transparent, and I can see the dusky peaks of her nipples through it. “Good and holy God! This isn’t what I was expecting,” I mutter. “Wh-what were you expecting?” she asks, pulling her arms toward her chest to cover up. I realize she totally took that the wrong way. I grab her wrists and tug them away so I can see her once again. “I thought maybe white cotton. Something prim and proper. But this…this tells me something else entirely.” “And what’s that?” I put my hands on her shoulders and nudge her until she lies back, her head tilting to one side so she can watch me. I let my fingers skate down her arms, my thumbs brushing her hard nipples as I drag my hands away. “This tells me there’s a little naughty in you. You like to feel sexy, even when no one is

looking. Unless, of course, you were lying about your boyfriend status.” She frowns down at me. “I wasn’t lying about my boyfriend status.” “Then do you put this on for your vibrator?” “How do you—” She stops herself, her cheeks pinking noticeably, even in the firelight. I grin. “So you have a vibrator. Nothing wrong with that. Just tells me I’m right. Under that sassy yet proper exterior, you’re a vixen.” “I’m not a vixen.” “Oh, but you are. You knew you were teasing me and you did it on purpose, knowing I couldn’t do anything about it. That, gorgeous girl, is the very definition of a vixen,” I tell her as I spear a marshmallow. I lay it to the side as I crumble up a Graham Cracker and sprinkle it over her pale, flat stomach, making sure to pool some in her bellybutton. Next, I break up the chocolate into a few smaller pieces and place them in a row along the edge of her pants. They’ll melt quickly, and that’s just what I want. I take my time as I get up and walk to the fire, squatting down to slowly roast the marshmallow. I don’t want to get the center too hot. Burning her is not what I have in mind. When it’s perfectly heated, I stand up and walk back to her. I stand over her, looking down. Seeing her this way—lying shirtless, flat on her back, looking up at me like she wants me to eat her and take my time doing it—has got to be one of the hottest damn things I’ve ever seen. And I’ve done this before. But something about Dilyn… Jesus H. Christ! She’s just something different. So sassy and brave in some ways, so innocent and wounded in others—she’s like the best of both worlds. Fire and ice. Heaven and hell. Sin and salvation. And the more I uncover, the more I want to uncover. I bend slowly until I’m on my knees, hovering over her. Her amber gaze is locked on mine, but from the corner of my eye, I see her quiver. I grind my back teeth together, reminding myself that this can only go so far and no further. Me and my stupid, stupid promises.

CHAPTER SEVEN DILYN The anticipation is killing me. Watching Dash watch me, knowing he’s going to touch me soon and that he’s going to do his best to make me regret the no-sex promise—it’s the most delicious kind of torture I’ve ever experienced. Dash’s black eyes leave mine and drop to his hand. He punctures the skin of the marshmallow, dipping his fingertip into the gooey center and wiping it in a straight line on my skin, from the lower edge of my bra to my navel. He repeats the process, this time tracing a sticky path along the cups of my bra, like he’s outlining my cleavage. My nipples prickle against their lacy confines. He uses the last of the marshmallow to make a slash from hip to hip, low on my belly, right above the chocolate. After Dash sets the skewer aside, he positions his body to hover, parallel, over mine. He braces a hand on either side of my waist then bends over me. He looks like a predator. Reflexively, the walls of my sex squeeze with the primal pleasure of becoming prey. His prey. “The key to deconstructed s’mores,” Dash begins in his dark, husky voice, “is to make sure that you never need to use your hands. And me? I like to start with the marshmallow.” He hovers over me, the muscles of his arms tensing like bands of steel under the satin of his skin. They stand out in sharp relief, making thick ridges of shadow backlit by the golden glow of the fire. Dash uses the tip of his tongue to lick away the marshmallow smeared along the swell of my breasts. A lick, a lick, and a long lap. Lick, lick, lap. Lick, lick, lap. Tease, tease, holy shit. He swirls his tongue over my skin, slipping just under the edge of the lace, coming so close to my straining nipples that I have to curl my fingers into the fur of the rug to keep from threading them into his shaggy black hair. “And then some cracker,” he mumbles, moving down on my body to press his open mouth to my stomach and gobble up bits of Graham Cracker. “Then the chocolate.” As he eats a chunk of chocolate off me, his chest brushes the tops of my thighs. I have the desperate urge to wrap my legs around him and beg, beg for what I made him promise not to give me. Dash lifts his head, pinning me with a look so hot, so…carnal, I feel myself melting. He licks his lips after he swallows then gives me a cocky, one-sided grin. “Good thing I made a little extra. I’m still very…hungry.”

This time, as he eases his body up over me, he lets one thick leg fall between mine so that when he hovers over my stomach, it grazes the apex of my thighs. I suck in a breath and bite back a groan. “Problem?” he asks, pure devilish delight in his eyes. I shake my head, unable to form the most basic of words in my current state. “Good, because this is the best damn s’more I’ve ever had.” Dash brings that wicked mouth of his back to my abdomen, licking and sucking away the marshmallow cream from my skin before scooping up cracker crumbs. He moans as he eats, a sound that lights a fire in my core. “I think I missed some,” he murmurs before plunging the tip of his tongue into my navel and swirling it around. I’m panting now. I can’t help it and I couldn’t hide it if I tried. I know where he’s going next. The chocolate. Dash licks his way lower, eating the final two pieces of chocolate. He insinuates his other leg between my thighs and then spreads them so he can sit up and unbutton my pants. “The chocolate melted. Let me clean that up for you,” he says, easing the zipper halfway down and shimmying the material over my hips enough to bare the top edge of my panties. Dash laves his tongue over the low part of my belly, licking off chocolate, pulling my skin gently into his mouth, sucking it clean. My heart is pounding as he works his way south, his chin grazing closer and closer to my most sensitive spot. “I think I smeared some here,” he rumbles, his lips pressing against the top of my mound, through my panties. My heart is pounding, sending blood pumping to the place just below Dash’s mouth. I don’t argue, I can’t argue, when he nudges the material of my panties down enough that he can slip the tip of his tongue into my slit. I buck against him, moving my hips toward the heat of his mouth, mindless with the need for him to keep going. I feel his hands come to either side of my hips, wrapping around to my ass, picking me up and pressing me to his face. He rubs back and forth over me, a growling sound rumbling in the back of his throat, the predator again, going in for the kill. I groan with disappointment and look down when I feel his weight disappear. Dash has rolled back onto his haunches to tug my pants off, his eyes fixed on my hot center. I watch him throw my bottoms aside. I see him put his hands on the insides of my thighs. I feel him push them apart.

I can’t take my eyes off him as he kneels between my legs and opens his mouth against me. At the first scrape of his tongue over me, I squeeze my eyes shut and arch my back. Dash palms my ass again, holding me up to him, holding me open to him, as he thrusts his tongue into me. I move my hips and he moves his mouth, working it over me, licking and sucking and circling and flicking until the pressure builds so high within me that I can’t take a deep breath. Air is huffing in and out of my lungs as fast as Dash’s tongue is licking and swirling between my legs. Higher, higher, faster, faster he pushes me until breath stops moving, time stops passing, and the world explodes in a shower of heat and light that shoots through me like the most exquisite shrapnel, ripping into me with a pleasure that feels like fire. Dash’s tongue laps in long, leisurely swipes over me, drinking up every last drop of my release. And when I’m finished, lying limp and flushed on the rug in front of him, he releases my lower half and skims his way up my body. With his thumb and forefinger, he grips my chin and tugs until I open my mouth. He covers my lips with his, kissing me deeply and dragging his tongue through the inside of my mouth. When he lifts his head again, I’m left with the taste of sugar, chocolate and me mixed with the faintest hint of Dash. It’s a heady concoction, one I find more erotic and more satisfying than any I’ve ever tasted. He watches me for a few seconds before he breaks into a satisfied smile. “That was the best damn dessert I’ve ever had.” I can’t help smiling. “I thought you were supposed to fend me off.” “You said no sex. We didn’t have sex.” I give him the stink eye. Well, as much as I can muster given my extremely languid and satisfied condition. “Semantics.” “Semantics are what separate us from the animals. You should’ve been more specific.” I shake my head, not in the least bit upset. “And here I thought it was opposable thumbs that separated us.” “Did you say thumbs? Wait until you see what I can do with mine.” He winks and my insides turn to mush. I knew this man was dangerous within about two minutes of meeting him, but something tells me that, even now, I have no idea just how dangerous. “Rules, man! Rules!” I exclaim in mock exasperation. I cling to our agreement with utter desperation, because some part of me knows that if he decides he wants to make use of that stunning erection that I know he’s sporting, I’ll be helpless to resist. “Rules schmules,” he scoffs, stretching out alongside me and pulling me into the curve of his body. “Let’s not talk about those right now. We need to keep warm.”

“Why? Not that I’m complaining, but that’s what the fire’s for. You know, heat.” “Well, since the power is out, I figured we should probably use our body heat to keep each other warm. Along with the fire, of course.” I can imagine the grin he’s wearing as he says that. I smile just thinking about it. “But the power isn’t out.” “Actually, it is.” I start to sit up, but he stops me, wrapping his arms tightly around me and snugging me up to his warmth. “Since when?” “I don’t know exactly, but when I went to get the chocolate, I tried to turn on the light, but it wouldn’t come on. I checked the fridge and, sure enough, no light there either. Power’s out.” “So we’re stuck in a snowstorm with no power now?” “Seems like it.” I ponder this news, but no sense of fear or panic comes with the knowledge. “Why am I not more upset about this?” “Because you know you’re in good hands, that’s why.” “How do I know that? I hardly know you.” “You know me. It doesn’t always take years to get to know someone. Sometimes you get a feel for people within minutes. And you know me. Trust me, you know me.” I wonder if I do. I wonder if what I feel that I know about him is accurate. We fall quiet and I consider the man at my back. I think about all the things, all the facts and details I don’t know. All the things I’d like to know. “I did a little research on you on the plane. Your name is Alexander Samuel Grainger. Is Dash your sports name?” “No, just a nickname.” “So it has nothing to do with your addiction to speed?” “I’m not addicted to speed. I told you it’s not like that.” He did, and I’d like to believe him, but my father has made it very hard for me to trust in men that are anything like him.

“Yes, you did. But Dash seems pretty perfect, though. How’d you get it?” “In high school I got busted at a girl’s house. I was up in her room and we were… Well, you know.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, her parents came home, so I had to sneak out the window. Bare-assed. All I managed to grab from inside was a fuzzy white pillow from her window seat. It was the middle of winter, snowing hard and cold as hell, but I made it to my car. Shriveled dick and all. The girl told her friends that I’d made a mad dash through the snow. Some guys on the football team got wind of it. Started calling me Dash. It stuck.” I laugh lightly. “That’s a great story.” “Those were good times.” I catch the hint of sadness in his tone, a wistfulness that says times weren’t always good. “Was that before your brother?” “Actually, no, that was after. That was the beginning of my downward spiral, I guess. I started acting out. Doing shit I knew would get me into trouble. I guess it started out as a way to get my parents’ attention, but then doing it and not getting caught became this kind of game to me. Sneaking into girls’ rooms, getting drunk and jumping off bridges into rivers. Then trashing the principal’s office, setting fire to all the trash cans on Main Street. It escalated pretty quickly.” “That doesn’t sound so awful. I’d bet a lot of teenagers do the same things.” Dash is quiet behind me for nearly a full minute before he speaks, and when he does, his voice is low and solemn. “I bet drugs aren’t a part of the norm.” “You got involved with drugs?” He doesn’t answer right away. “Can this be off the record? I have a lot of underage fans. I’d hate to set a bad example.” The fact that he worries about leading kids down the wrong path sends a spear of admiration followed quickly by deepening attraction tearing through my heart. I wiggle and scooch until I’m turned around in Dash’s hold, facing him in the circle of his arms. I gaze into his eyes, so he can see my sincerity, just in case he might doubt me “Of course we are off the record, but just so you can know something true about me, I would never include something like that without your express consent. I don’t… I just don’t do things like that.” His smile is soft, his eyes kind. “I think I already knew that, but…” He shrugs one massive shoulder, and, as I look up into his gorgeous face, I think I could lie here forever—with him, like this—and be perfectly content. I bring one arm up between us, tracing the slight cleft in his strong chin with the tip of my finger. “I think you’re right. About knowing people, I mean. I…for some reason I really trusted you when you said you’d fend me off.” “Always go with your gut. It will never lead you astray.”

“I guess I do when it comes to work, but never with people. I haven’t had a lot of really good experiences.” “Until now?” he prompts with a cocky grin. I smile. “Until now.” “Wanna play twenty questions? You can use it all for your interview if you want.” I don’t hesitate with my answer, again trusting him on a level that confounds the thinking part of my brain. “Sure.” “Cool. I’ll go first. What’s your favorite holiday? I know it’s definitely not Christmas.” “Probably New Year. Not only does it mean Christmas is over, which is always a good thing for me, but it’s sort of like starting over. What’s yours?” “Now? Christmas.” His smile is open and gorgeous, and I have to laugh. “What do you need to start over from?” “More often than not, it has something to do with a relationship. A failed relationship. Seems like things always go wrong around Christmas. Christmas just isn’t my holiday.” I glance up to meet Dash’s thoughtful stare. “But that might change this year.” He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine. It’s a tentative touch, not meant to incite, but to comfort. “What about you? Ever feel like you need to start over?” “Not really. Everything that’s happened to me, all the choices I’ve made and things I’ve experienced, have made me who I am. And while I’m not perfect by any means, I’m okay with who I’ve become. What I’ve done in life.” “So you’ve never wanted more?” “Not to be an asshole, but I usually get what I want. I don’t give up until I do, but I think it’s a waste of time to spend the now in search of what you may or may not get tomorrow. I’d much rather find a way to be okay with today.” I tuck those words away, knowing I’ll take them out later and re-examine all the wisdom they hold. “That makes sense. I wish I could be more like that.” “You can be. Stop looking back. Stop letting yesterday define tomorrow and do what makes you happy today.” “Who says I’m not?” “You’re holding back. I don’t think you can ever be free until you stop holding back.”

“Is this your way of trying to talk me into having sex with you?” He looks steadily into my eyes. “I’m not trying to talk you into anything. I want to have sex with you, which I think is fairly obvious. And if I really pushed it, pushed you, I could. Before you get mad, I’m not saying you have no choice. I’m just saying that I know you’re attracted to me, and I know you’d like to have sex with me, but you’re afraid. For whatever reason, you’re afraid. But the fact that you asked me to make sure we don’t have sex assures me that if I wanted to break that promise, I could.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “No, you’re right. It’s not because I don’t want to. I… I just…” He waits for me to continue, and when I don’t he asks, “What is it? Talk to me?” His eyes drift away from mine for a second as he uses one finger to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “That relationship I told you about?” “The guy who’s now your boss?” “Yeah, that one. Well,” I say on an exhale, digging up courage and pushing down hurt pride, “last night, we were in his office and I…I thought he was going to kiss me. I mean, he was definitely going to kiss me. I didn’t misunderstand that. The way he acted after… Well, anyway, he was going to kiss me. And I was going to let him. I’ve kept things strictly professional since we broke up. When he ended it, I didn’t do the drunken calls or the pining or the ice cream binges, I just let go. I moved on. Or at least I thought I did. But after last night, I wasn’t so sure anymore.” “So that’s why you don’t want to sleep with me? Because of him?” “Not because of the reason you think. I called him on the way up here today. I was going to invite him to come and spend a couple of days with me. I knew what that could mean for us, but I thought I was ready to dive back in if he was. Only—” I trip over the words, the fact that he was with another woman the whole time still stinging. “Only?” Dash prompts. I keep my eyes focused on his throat, concentrating on the manly curve of his Adam’s apple and the sexy way it hollows out right below it. What is it with me and men’s throats? “Only a woman answered the phone. And he hadn’t even told me he’d started seeing anyone.” “Should he have? I mean, he’s your boss. You two have been broken up for…” “Two years,” I supply in his pause. “You two have been broken up for two years. Do you really think it would be wise for him to discuss his personal life with you?” There’s no judgment in his tone, no condescension. Just calm reason, like he’s really asking my thoughts on the matter rather than condemning what he assumes my thoughts are.

“Absolutely not. Until he almost kissed me. I think at that point, he should’ve told me.” Dash is quiet for a few seconds, causing me to raise my gaze to his face. He nods. “I can see that. Agreed.” “I was pretty hurt when I heard her voice, but then I got up here and you walked in and…” “And?” “If I had any real feelings for Jake, there is no way I’d have been so attracted to you.” I feel a blush sting my cheeks, my embarrassment making itself known. The burn deepens when I see Dash’s smile— wide and genuine rather than cocky and self-assured. After a few quiet seconds, during which I fight the urge to bury my face, Dash asks, “Did you think you were still in love with him? Prior to that, I mean.” I mull over his question. “I don’t think I really thought about that at all. I used to love him, and I miss him, and, at that moment, I really wanted him to kiss me.” After a short pause, Dash says my name. “Dilyn?” “Yes?” “Have you ever really been in love?” “I…I think so.” “Do you think it’s ever really over when you truly love someone? Do you think you could ever turn it off? Outrun it? Drink it away?” “Do you?” “No. I think real love doesn’t ever go away. You can’t turn it off, outrun it, or drink it away. I’ve tried. My parents gave me every reason to stop loving them. But I couldn’t. As much as they’ve done, and as much as they haven’t done, I still love them, and I guess I always will. But I don’t think they ever loved me that way. If they did, they couldn’t have just walked away after my brother died. Yet that’s what they did. They just…disappeared.” “Maybe you’re right,” I confess, my words so soft even I can barely hear them. “Because as much as I’d like to hate my father and my mother, I don’t. I think that’s why it hurts so much. Maybe I’ve never really been in love. Maybe I don’t want to be. Maybe I don’t want to give anyone else that kind of power over me.” “I feel the same way.” I stare into eyes so black, I can almost see stars, like I’m looking into the glistening night sky. For the first time in my life, I can see how loving someone completely could be dangerous. I don’t need something as cliché as time to tell me that if I were to let this man in, he could hurt me. Badly. He could break me if he walked away. But would I risk it? Would I risk it for whatever glorious days, weeks,

months, years we’d have together? “What if we don’t have a choice?” “That’s when we go all in. That’s the kind of love I’ll stop skiing for. The kind that’s worth everything. It’s all or nothing for me. And when I find my ‘all’, I’ll give her everything.” There’s an odd pang in my chest when I tell him, “Then I hope you find her.” He laughs, a short, hushed sound. “That’s like hoping I ski off a cliff, isn’t it?” “Only if the cliff is worth it.” “No cliff is worth that. At least not that I’ve found yet.” Yet. Yet means maybe, just maybe, that could change. It’s in those words that I realize that, as preposterous as it sounds, I want desperately to be that cliff for him.

CHAPTER EIGHT Dash I watch as Dilyn pushes herself up onto one elbow, her golden eyes pouring down into mine like perfectly aged whiskey. “Maybe you’ll find the right cliff,” she whispers. Eyes flickering down to my mouth and up again, she leans in and kisses me. It’s soft, tentative. But it’s enough to make me want more. A helluva lot more. When I go to deepen the kiss, she pulls away to push at my shoulders. When I roll onto my back, she throws one leg over and straddles me. My hands go to her naked hips as she settles over me. I only feel smooth, warm skin because all she’s wearing is a bra and her socks. I squelch the urge to push up against the wet heat between her legs starting to penetrate my thin pants, leaving a damp spot. I clench my teeth. Jesus. Dilyn moves her mouth to my chin then down my throat to my chest. Her hands skim as she goes, roving over my bare skin and bringing my dick to raging life. When she gets to the narrow waistband of my Under Armor, she curls her fingers into the elastic and starts easing it down. She pulls the material up and over my stiff cock then pauses to suck the head into her mouth. With a groan, I push my fingers into her thick hair, my instinct to thrust into that hot cave, but she’s already on the move, continuing on and pulling my pants with her as she goes. When she’s dragged them off my legs, she tosses them aside, much like I did hers. I lift my head enough to look down at her. She’s watching me as she reaches around to unclasp her bra and let it fall from her shoulders. I groan, my abs tightening when she cups them in her palms and tweaks her own nipples. “Holy fu—.” The words die on my lips when she bends forward and smashes those sweet tits around my shaft, moving the silky skin over me, base to tip and back again. I flex my hips, rubbing myself through the canal of her perfect, firm breasts. It feels so damn good, but it’s not the friction I want. As if reading my mind, Dilyn raises, climbing up my body to straddle me again. Moist heat gushes over my dick and all I think about is impaling her on it. I sit up, grabbing her face in my hands and plundering her mouth like I want to plunder her body. I

reach between us and slip a single finger into her, instantly feeling the tight, hot clutch of her body as it milks it. “Oh, Jesus God. You’re so wet. So wet,” I murmur against her mouth, curling my fingers into her hair and tugging her head back. I lick my way to her skyward-facing nipples and suck one, giving it a soft bite with my teeth. She moans, arching into me, so I slip another finger into her, thrusting twice quickly and then dragging them slowly in and out, moisture oozing down over my knuckles. “Christ, I wanna be in you,” I admit, my cock painfully hard at this point. “Deep inside you. Stretching you so tight you’ll feel me tomorrow with every step you take.” She moans, her silky muscles flexing around my fingers. “Dash, please.” I’m so torn. So damn torn. “Is…is this what you really want? You made me promise.” Shit. I hate that I feel the need to bring that up, but hell, I like this girl. I don’t want her to hate me tomorrow because I can’t control my dick. Dilyn’s mouth is partially open, her breath coming in pants as she cups my face and looks deeply into my eyes, her hips riding my fingers. “I swear. I want this. I should never have asked you to promise not to give me something I want so much.” “You’re sure?” Christ, dude, let it go! But I can’t. I have to make sure. “I’m positive. I want you inside me. Right now.” “I’m not…not wearing any protection, but I swear I’m clean. I swear it.” “I’m clean, too. And I’ve got an IUD,” she breathes, moving on my hand. “Dash, please.” She doesn’t have to ask me again. I claim her mouth again, removing my wet fingers and moving them around to grip her ass and lift her onto me. When my head touches the sweet cave of her body, I pause. “What’s wrong?” she asks, practically vibrating with need. “Not one damn thing. I just want to enjoy every second of this. Feel every second of this.” Slowly, so slowly it almost hurts, I lower her over me. She takes me halfway before I meet resistance

and pause. I kiss her, suck on her lips, and then lick at her nipples until she relaxes around me. Only then do I lower her some more, leaning back until she melts down over me. When I’m buried almost fully within her, I lean back even more and flex my hips. One sharp move and I’m in so deep, I can feel her heat pour down over my balls. “Oh shit!” My cock shudders with the need to explode, but I bite down, clenching my teeth until the urgency passes. I’m nowhere near ready for this to be over. I’ve gone bare before, cautiously so, but it’s never felt like this. Dilyn pushes on my shoulders until I lie back, and then she starts to ride me. She’s glorious as hell with her wavy hair flowing over one shoulder, brushing one mouthwatering nipple, and her lush little mouth rounded into an O of pleasure. She rises up and then slams down on me, taking me even deeper, and I groan. She’s gonna keep pushing me until I come, and it’s too soon. Sitting up, I grab her around the waist and spin until she’s beneath me. I pull her legs up and out, spreading her wide enough that I can lever up on one arm and use my other to explore the slick, hard little nub between her thighs. She starts making these delicious sounds, like she wants to scream, but she doesn’t have the breath to do it. I pound her harder, pulling way out and slamming back in, grinding my hips against hers and circling my finger over her. I’m relentless. I clench my jaw, growling down at her. “I won’t stop until you come all over me. I want to feel everything you’ve got dripping between us.” That does it. She sucks in a breath, her thighs flexing around me, and then boom! Spasms, slow and tight, squeeze me as her insides roll in wave after wave of her orgasm. She gushes over the head of my cock and down my shaft, coming all over my balls as they slap against her. Before she can stop, I pull out and flip her onto her stomach, pulling her round ass up toward my belly and plunging into her from behind. She braces herself up on her hands, looking back over her shoulder at me. When she meets my gaze with those sleepy, sexy eyes of hers—eyes that were made for moments like this—I lose it. I grab her hips and pound into her, almost vicious in my need now. “I’m gonna come. Tell me you’re ready for it.” “Please, please, please,” she huffs, rocking her body back against mine, taking me deeper every time. And then I’m there, pouring come into her, every muscle in my body tightening until my back is arched away from her and my cock buried so deep I feel her give a little more. Finally, I collapse over her, resting my forehead against the curve of her shoulder. “Did I hurt you?” I manage to ask, my body shuddering involuntarily, my dick still pulsing inside her.

“No,” she says breathlessly. “I think you might’ve gotten me a little too excited,” I confess on a derisive laugh. “You don’t hear me complaining.” “Good,” I tell her, pulling out and laying my hand on the swell of her ass. “Don’t move.” My legs are like rubber as I make my way to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and take it back into the living room. Dilyn is lying, belly up, but otherwise where I left her. “I said don’t move.” “I couldn’t help it. My legs and arms don’t want to work any more.” She grins and I grin. “I know the feeling.” I kneel down and clean her up, wishing I could start all over and devour her again. I could drown in this woman and never want to come up for air. “What are you thinking?” she asks. My hand has slowed to a stop, not intentionally, so I move to give my dick a swipe then toss the damp washcloth on top of my pants before stretching out beside Dilyn. “That I would love to do that all over again.” She smiles and curls up against me, which for some odd reason causes me to admit, “And that I could drown in you and never want to come up for air.” At that, she lifts her eyes to mine. “Funny. I was thinking almost the exact same thing.” Seconds pass with her looking into my eyes, me getting lost in hers, and something happens. Something that makes me want to ski right off a cliff. I shake off the thought and go for humor to lighten the mood. “That you could drown in you? That would be interesting.” She slaps my chest playfully. “Smart-ass.” The excitement of the day, the exhilaration of conquering the mountain and then coming back to find a little piece of heaven waiting for me, finally catches up with me. Without meaning to, I doze off, my last memory of staring into Dilyn’s warm, smiling eyes and then…nothing.

CHAPTER NINE Dilyn When I wake, it’s morning. One arm is numb and my legs are pinned down by something. That’s when the night before comes back to me in a rush. Dash. I smile automatically. I will forever associate his name with wonderful, magical things. A charming smile, drugging kisses, a hypnotic touch, but so much more than that, too. I open my eyes. Dash is still holding me, his chin angled up toward the top of my head. His jaw is dark with stubble and his gorgeous mouth is relaxed in sleep. This way, he looks beautiful, innocently beautiful rather than the devilishly handsome man that appears when he opens those incredible eyes of his. I snuggle in closer, content to rest in his arms until he wakes. Seconds, minutes or maybe even an hour later, a sound rouses me. My first thought is of a car engine, but it’s quiet now, so I can’t be sure I didn’t just dream it. I turn my head to listen, but only the snap of the dying fire and Dash’s deep, even breathing break the silence. Then I hear a muffled thump. I know then that it’s definitely a vehicle of some sort, because that was definitely a door slamming shut. I get up quickly and scoop up the scattered bits and pieces of my wardrobe, tugging on first bra then shirt then pants, not seeing my panties right away. Before I can wake Dash, a knock sounds at the door. I race to the window, sidling up to it and peeking around so I’m not seen. What if it’s the woman Dash had coming? What if she came anyway and arrives to find me, naked, in the arms of her man? A spike of self-loathing rises up inside me, but I push it to the backburner and stretch out a little farther until I get a glimpse of the right half of a body. I straighten, a frown coming to my face. The person at the door looks an awful lot like Jake. I brush a hand over my hair to smooth it before I twist the lock and crack the door. Sure enough, Jake, my boss and my ex-boyfriend, is standing on the porch of a secluded chalet in the middle of nowhere, Colorado. “Jake? What are you doing here?” “Jesus, Dilyn! You scared the shit out of me. You called yesterday and when I called you back, I got no answer. I tried several times, and when I couldn’t get you, I texted Calvin to see if he’d heard from you. He said there was a big snowstorm and you would probably be stuck up here, so I hopped the next flight

out of the city and came straight here. It took me half the night to find someone who would rent me a vehicle that could get me up here in all this snow, and then the rest of the night to find you.” He takes a deep breath, rakes a hand through his hair. “Are you okay?” I stare at him for a few seconds, mouth agape, pondering all that he just told me. “I’m fine. There was no reason for you to come all the way up here.” “Of course there was. I thought something had happened to you.” “Well, it didn’t. I’m fine. I’m sorry if I scared you.” The skin between Jake’s eyes pinches into a frown. “Is something wrong?” I consider lying, but these last hours, spent in bold honesty with Dash, make the prospect of speaking anything less than the truth distasteful, like it would somehow diminish what Dash and I shared. I deserve someone who is completely straightforward with me, and I will give nothing less. “A woman answered your phone. I was…I was surprised. You hadn’t mention you’d started seeing anyone. I didn’t feel like talking to you after that. But I’m fine now. I hate that you made the trip.” “She’s just a friend. She has a twisted sense of humor. Thought it might be my mom, checking in on me because I was running late.” “A friend, huh?” “Yes, a friend. Like I said.” He shrugs. “She’s dating Chase. You remember Chase, don’t you?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “If I’d started seeing someone, I’d have told you. You know me better than that, D.” His use of his pet name for me, just the letter D, causes a little shiver of unease to skitter through me. That and the look on his face. “I…I’m actually glad you called, and then didn’t answer. It more or less forced me to do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while and just haven’t had the balls to do.” “Jake, I—” “No, Dilyn, let me finish. I…I made a mistake when I broke things off with you. I’ve never loved someone the way I loved you and it scared me. I’m man enough to admit that. I acted like a total pussy and pushed you away instead of trusting you and telling you how I felt, instead of waiting for you to get to a place where you could commit. I’ve regretted it ever since, but you seemed to recover so quickly, I didn’t think you felt the same way. At least not until the other night in my office.” Jake steps closer to me, moving through the doorway and into the cabin to put his hands on my arms. “I know you still have feelings for me, and I came to ask you to give us another chance. I’m in love with you, D. I’ve never stopped being in love with you. I don’t think I ever will. I tried to stop, but I just…I couldn’t. I can’t. You’re the one for me, and if you’ll just give me a chance, I think I can prove that to you.” I take a step back. Oh God. Oh, God!

I’m hyper aware of a sleeping, very naked Dash, lying on the other side of the sofa, curled up on a bear skin rug we had hot sex on a few hours ago. “Jake, I—” “I’ve known this for a long time. Two years, in fact, but I know this must feel sudden to you, so please, take all the time you need. I only ask that you consider it. Consider giving us another chance. At least that way you won’t look back and have regrets like I do. Give it another chance. Please.” I rub at my forehead, wishing I could ease the ache behind it. This is too much. For right now, for early in the morning, for this situation—it’s just too much. “Can we talk about this later? I didn’t get much sleep and I—” “Of course. Yeah, yeah. Of course. Why don’t you get your stuff and I’ll take you back to town with me? We can fly out today.” My brain…it’s spinning. My heart…it’s torn. I can’t deny that I’ve wished to hear something like this from Jake. But that was before Dash. Dash. Something in my chest, something in my gut twirls and dances at the thought of him. At the thought of what we shared. At the thought of what we could have. I consider my conclusion from last night when Dash pushed me to evaluate my love for Jake. I was the one who shed doubt on my feelings. “If I had any real feelings for Jake, there is no way I’d have been so attracted to you.” “Did you think you were still in love with him? Prior to that, I mean.” My answer had been fairly clear. Final. “I used to love him, and I miss him, and, at that moment, I really wanted him to kiss me.” But then after that, I slept with Dash, and I loved every single second with him. More than I could’ve imagined. And now I want more with him. There’s no question. Yes, I’m attracted to him physically, but we connected on a deeper, emotional level, which has taken me by surprise. Could we have something more? But then reality intrudes. He’s a celebrity. A celebrity athlete who goes through beautiful women like some men go through cases of beer. This...last night…it might not have meant anything to him. It might have just been a great night and now it’s over. Time to go back to regular life. But I can’t know yet because we haven’t talked about it.

Then again, would we have? Would we have talked about it today? It was just one night. One amazing night, but still just one night. Does one night ever change anything? Especially for a man like him, one who admittedly gets his adrenaline highs from being a daredevil because he doesn’t love anyone enough to stop? I’d be a fool to risk something that could be real on the chance that Dash could like me. Just like. Not love. We don’t even know each other. Of course he doesn’t love me. Like I don’t love him. Right? A crack opens up right down the center of my heart simply thinking those words. Because what if I do love him, or at least what if I could love him? Is it worth everything to see, to try, to find out? I’m so confused, and it’s making it so much worse that Jake is standing here, staring at me and Dash is lying a few feet away with no clothes on. “O-okay. Why don’t you keep the engine running and the heat on while I pack up my few things and brush my teeth? I’ll be right out.” I give him what I hope is a natural smile and step back. He returns it, looking more than a little relieved, and turns to walk back the way he came. When he’s off the porch, I shut the door and lean back against it. Oh, Lord, have mercy. What in the world have I gotten myself into? I walk lightly, quietly around the couch to where Dash is still asleep in the floor, completely oblivious to what just transpired and what kind of a conundrum I’m in. Oddly, I wish he were awake so I could talk to him about it, which seems insane considering he’s one of the biggest issues. But I do. I wish he’d open his eyes, ask me what’s wrong and hold me as I talk it out with him, tell him how I’m feeling, hope that he tells me something similar. And he would talk this out with me, just like he pushed me last night to work through what was on my heart. Jake’s not dating someone else. He loves me. Wants me back. But Dash… Only he’s not awake. And waking him now, to this, might be worse than taking some time to think things through and see where I am, emotionally. Or, more importantly, to see where he is emotionally. Hurriedly, I gather my laptop and case, taking a pen and pad from the front pocket, and scribbling him a note with my phone number on it. I’ll leave the ball in his court. That’s the only way I’ll know for sure. If this was just one night, he’ll walk away and never look back. If it was more…he’ll want to find me. He’ll need to find me. So I’ll make it easy for him. I fly through the room, silently collecting my things, collecting myself, and fighting back tears every time I look down into Dash’s gorgeous, gorgeous face. He’s perfect—body, face, heart. He’s not just handsome and funny and brave and amazing in bed, but he’s a great guy. Maybe too perfect for the likes of me. Maybe even thinking that I could mean more to him is like Icarus flying too close to the sun.

By the time, I’m dressed (still without panties), packed, and making my way to the door, my throat is tight, but not as tight as my chest. This shouldn’t hurt so much. But, God, it does. I open the door and turn back, taking one final look around the chalet. So beautiful. So private. So full of amazing memories. A place where I found myself in a lot of ways. But maybe a place where I lost myself in a lot of ways, too. I step onto the porch and pull the door shut behind me. I straighten and wipe the single tear from my cheek with the back of my hand, wondering why walking away feels like giving up a piece of my heart.

CHAPTER TEN Dash It’s only been three days since I walked into a private chalet in Aspen to find a beautiful reporter waiting for me, but it feels like an eternity. I wanted Dilyn Hart instantly, of course. I’m neither blind nor dead. But what surprises me—and thrills me, believe it or not—is how much more I want from her now that I’ve had her. It’s been years since I’ve been to Philly, and it’s been never that I’ve chased a woman halfway across the country. Yet here I am, swinging into the headquarters of the online magazine Dilyn works for, smiling like it’s Christmas all over again. My flight got in just after four, local time, but for some numbnuts reason, I listened to Manny and accepted a short interview with a guy who met me at an airport restaurant. That put me later getting to the magazine than I’d planned, but the main door is still open, so I’m hoping Dilyn will be here. I walk past the abandoned reception area and through one of only two doors that open off the lobby, striking gold with the first one. It’s the bullpen—the wide, partitioned area as deserted as the rest of the building seems to be. It’s dark outside and there’s one light on at the back of the room, so I head in that direction. The simple fact that it has walls and a door leads me to believe that the boss resides there, and if Dilyn isn’t here, I’m betting he can tell me where I can find her. It’s presumptuous to think he might, but there are advantages to being a celebrity. Getting unlikely favors from people in positions of power is just one of them. I approach the partially open door, raising my hand to knock. As I do, I get a glimpse of the people inside. It’s Dilyn. And a guy. A guy I’m assuming is her boss. The one she thought she’d been in love with. The one she’d called to invite to the mountains with her. His hands are cupping her face and he’s kissing her with enough fire to burn down the office we’re standing in. My lungs feel like they’ve collapsed under a sudden weight that crushes in on my chest. Like being punched in the stomach, only higher. And more painful. I say nothing, just spread my fingers and use the tips to push open the door. It makes a creaking sound and the two lovers spring apart like I fired a gun in the air. The guy looks first surprised then angry. Dilyn just looks…shocked. My fist closes more tightly around the package I’m holding, disappointment and humiliation and something more raw simmering in my gut. I brace against it, my abs clenching protectively, and I smile. I smile like this is nothing less than what I was expecting. I smile like it doesn’t bother me to see the woman I’ve been obsessing over in the arms of another man only days after she was in mine. I smile like it doesn’t hurt. “Sorry to interrupt,” I say, my voice gruff but steady. “I was in town, so I thought I’d return something

you left at the chalet.” They watch me, the guy’s mouth forced into a thin, tight line, Dilyn’s mouth hanging slightly open, as I lean in to toss the silk-wrapped package on a chair by the door. “I’ll let you get back to…work.” As casually as I walked in, I turn around and walk out. My steps aren’t hurried, my posture isn’t stiff, and my demeanor gives nothing away. Like always. I’m as cool as the snow I ski on. On the outside. On the inside…well, that’s a whole different story.

CHAPTER ELEVEN Dilyn My entire body is frozen. Solid. Like a flesh-colored popsicle. I haven’t heard from Dash. Not one word. Not a call, not a text, nothing. His silence only confirmed what I half-expected might happen—he’d go on like nothing changed. Like I didn’t matter. Like we didn’t matter. The thing is, I only half expected it. The other half of me thought he’d surprise me. Thought he felt something for me, too. Thought that the time we spent together, alone in the woods in a snowstorm, mattered. That’s why the disappointment nearly crushed me. I didn’t tell Jake what happened in Colorado. Not only was it none of his business—we weren’t a couple then and we aren’t now—but telling him after his confession seemed…callous. At least until I could figure out how I felt about him. About everything. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching since Jake brought me back from that mountain, and the only concrete answer I’ve managed to excavate is that, as unlikely and ludicrous as it sounds, I fell in love with Dash Grainger in less than twenty-four hours. Or at least I’m well on my way. Whatever label my feelings deserve, I’m not fool enough to pursue something with another man, whether I loved him once or not, until I come to terms with what my heart is telling me about Dash. Only Jake doesn’t seem to get that. He’s been courting me, hard, since our plane touched down in Philadelphia on Christmas day. It’s as though the ride down to Aspen and the flight back home were all the time he could give me before he started trying to convince me that I need him as much as he says he needs me. A few days ago, I’d have loved every second of it. But a lot can happen in a few days. A lot of unlikely, crazy-sounding shit. Like the man I can’t get out of my head turning up at my office, late in the evening, when my ex is kissing me. That thought is like kerosene to a small flame. Realization blazes to life then rages through me in a fire of desperation that results in my legs unfreezing and carrying me at breakneck speed through the office chasing after Dash. “Dash, wait!” I call, hoping he’ll hear me even though he’s out of sight. I sprint through the reception area and lurch through the door, out into the frigid night air just in time to see Dash ducking into a cab.

“Dash, wait,” I repeat. His head turns. His eyes meet mine. His lips lift in a small half-smile. Then he looks away, mouthing something to the driver before the cab pulls from the curb. “Wait!” I cry, waving at the red taillights as they melt into the busy traffic. But they don’t stop. They don’t wait. They just keep going. And Dash rides right back out of my life.

CHAPTER TWELVE Dilyn I don’t know how many minutes tick by as I stand on the sidewalk, watching the place where Dash’s cab disappeared around the corner. I only know the deep, bone-chilling ache of loss. I’ve lost him. Even though it wasn’t what it looked like—Dash walking in on me kissing another man (or, more like being kissed by another man) only days after making love with him. I know how it must’ve seemed. And I know what he’ll think if he doesn’t give me a chance to explain. But he’s gone. And I have no idea how to find him. Eventually, I feel Jake’s warm hands on my cold arms. I have no idea how long he’s been standing beside me. I only know that I’m numb when, without a word, he guides me back into the building. Turns out, I’m as numb inside as I am outside. Numb and confused. I don’t ask questions. I don’t offer explanations. I just follow the direction that Jake is urging my leaden feet to go, shuffling along beside him until we get back to his office and he plunks me down in a chair. He doesn’t say a word to me. Not for several long minutes. He just keeps casting me sidelong glances that ask all the questions I hoped he wouldn’t. I know by his expression that he understands all the things I haven’t been able to say. I see the disappointment, the sadness, the hopelessness written all over his face. It had never been my plan to hurt Jake, though. After several minutes in silence, Jake tosses something soft onto my lap. With unseeing eyes, I look down, puzzled. It looks like a Christmas gift, all wrapped in midnight silk and bound with a big red velvet bow. But Dash knows how I feel about Christmas. Or at least how I did until I spent Christmas Eve with him. That might’ve been enough to heal me. But this…this will only break me more than I already am. My fingers tremble as I tug on one end of the bow to loosen it. I part the folds of the small, oddly shaped parcel, tears instantly filling my eyes when I see my light pink panties lying on the black silk, with a handwritten note pinned to the front. I’m not used to missing people. Blunt. Simple. Honest. Just like Dash. He came to the office because he missed me. And found me in the arms of my boss. My ex-boyfriend.

Oh, God. I look up at Jake, whose expression tells me that he understands exactly what’s going on. Finally. Even though I didn’t have the nerve or the heart to tell him. He knows, so that’s why I don’t bother with explanations. I only tell him, desperation ringing in my voice, “I need his number, Jake.” He shakes his head, something akin to satisfaction lightening the dark blue of his eyes. “I don’t have it. I never did.” “Then the number of the person you talked to. Whoever set up the interview. It doesn’t matter who.” “I’m sure not just anyone can get a hold of him.” “Then maybe I can at least get a message to him. I just…I have to get in touch with him, Jake. I have to try to reach him. I need to explain. I…I can’t just leave things like this. I need him to know…to know…” I feel frantic with the need to get to him before he disappears. A man like Dash Grainger will be impossible to find if he chooses to be. People with that much money can buy an island to hide out on if they want. My window to find him is narrow, and time is wasting. With lips pinched into a thin line, Jake gets me Dash’s agent’s number. I don’t even leave the room with it; I just pull my phone out of my pocket and start dialing. It goes straight to voice mail. Of course. I rack my brain for any other way, any tiny thread that might be able to connect me to Dash. But my search only underscores how very different, how very far apart our worlds actually are. Then I remember the business card his manager, Kelly, left. What was her assistant’s name? Vilma, wasn’t it? She left it for me at the chalet. I’m encouraged for exactly three seconds, right up until I remember that I picked up the card, looked at it, and then laid it back down on the table, never to think of it again. Until now. “Can you think of anyone else? Anyone at all?” Jake shakes his head, still quiet. Mind spinning and whirling, I sink back into the chair. It’s sometime after that when Jake finally speaks. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened in Aspen?” I raise watering, burning eyes to my ex, who is watching me with a grim expression on his face. “Something I never expected,” I tell him.

He smiles a humorless smile, his gaze narrowing on me. “Somehow I did. He’s Dash Grainger. No woman can resist him. Why should you be any different?” “Jake, it’s not like that. It’s not…it wasn’t what you think.” “I might’ve believed that before you left. I might’ve thought you were better, stronger than that, but now…” He looks disgusted with me, which both pains and angers me. “I’m not that kind of woman, and you damn well know it.” “I thought I did.” I exhale into the back of my throat. “Don’t be an asshole, Jake.” “I’m not.” “You know what?” I begin, whirling around to collect my panties from the chair. “Never mind. This isn’t your problem. I’m going home. See you tomorrow, Jake.” I’m nearly out of the bullpen when I hear his voice, uttering my name so softly I could almost have missed it entirely. “Dilyn?” I turn, meeting his eyes, realizing in this moment that we were never meant to be. Knowing without a doubt, all the way down into my soul. “Goodbye, Jake.” I don’t wait for his response. We both know it won’t make any difference. This is not just goodbye for the night. It’s goodbye forever.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Dilyn For three days I’ve tried every long shot, ridiculous, pathetic way I can think of to reach Dash. I’ve pulled the press card, I’ve pulled the woman card, I’ve pulled the “I’ll owe you one” card, and no one is biting. I’ve tried every back door way I know of to find out where he might be staying in the city, but I’ve come up empty-handed at every turn. As I suspected, when a man like Dash doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. Until he surfaces in the most public—and excruciating—of ways. I’m on my way back from an assignment, walking up the street toward my building when I pass a bar with one of its many televisions tuned to a sports station that’s covering Dash. Dash and his social life. I see the picture of his smiling face and it literally stops me in my tracks. I stare through the glass, mesmerized, thinking how much shaggier his hair seems now, how much blacker his eyes are in real life, how much more richly tanned his skin looks in the waning light of a fire. I’m physically staggered by it, by the sight of him, and the depth of my feelings for him. I’ve ceased wondering how love could happen so quickly. I’m done trying to excuse it and chalk it up to something else. I’ve just given in to the facts—I’m in love with Dash Grainger, for better or worse. It is what it is, but without the happily ever after I’d dared hope for. Stupid heart. What it is is pure, unadulterated agony when the camera pans back and captures the full picture—the one of him snuggled up to one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. As is the case with many sports bars, the sound isn’t on, so the caption shows at the bottom of the screen, which I read as the white writing ticks by. “Champion snowboarder and sought-after eligible bachelor, Dash Grainger, has been spotted once again with Swedish super model, Carmella. According to a spokesman from the model’s camp, Carmella and Dash have recently reconciled after three years of separation. The couple started the rumor mill churning when speculation about an impending engagement surfaced. Sources confirm that, earlier in the month, Grainger was seen leaving a Los Angeles jeweler who is renowned for his selection of loose diamonds.” The report scrolls on, but I have to turn away, a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.

I meant nothing to him. I can’t have meant anything to Dash if he picked up and went on with his life, with his love life this easily. It meant nothing. That night…all that we shared…all that I felt… It meant nothing to him. We meant nothing to him. I meant nothing to him. And, oh, Jesus God, that hurts! Because he meant everything to me. And, even now, standing in the bitter cold outside a bar in downtown Philly, watching the man I love smile with another woman, he still means everything to me. ******** The thing about media is that it’s great when you want information, but not so much when you’re trying to avoid it. And I’m trying to avoid any information I can about Dash Grainger. Every word, every photograph, every video clip is like a knife to my heart. One would think after seeing it everywhere, hearing it everywhere—for weeks—I’d have become immune. Not so. It hurts just as much, maybe worse, with every day that passes. Even now, two weeks later, it still hurts. That’s why I avoid it. As much as possible, I try to keep every media outlet tuned to stations that couldn’t care less about an Olympic snowboarder and his new love. It’s the only way I can lead some semblance of a healthy, sane life. I go through the days on autopilot, hoping nothing will trigger a tailspin that will send me crashing into a mountainside of agony. “So, what’s on the New Year’s resolution list this year, D?” Jake asks me as he passes my cubicle. “You’re usually knee-deep into some sort of self-help shit by now.” I cast him a sidelong glance. “That doesn’t make me sound flaky at all.”

“I didn’t mean it that way and you know it.” And he’s right—I do know it. For years, it’s been a bit of a joke between us. Everyone knows how I am in January. But everyone also knows how I am in February. In 2014, the office actually took bets to see how long I’d last as a vegan. No one won. Everyone assumed I’d make it more than two days. But I didn’t. When I don’t make any move to answer him or comment further, Jake prompts, “What got the axe this year? Coffee? Reality television? Pants with stripes?” I don’t want to tell him that there was only one thing I needed to give up this year. I don’t want to tell him that I’m more addicted to it, to him than I was to a hamburger in 2014. This is much worse. And as much as I want to, as imperative as it is that I put Dash Grainger behind me and accept that I didn’t really mean anything to him, I just can’t seem to do it. The crevasse in my heart is only widening with every passing day, rather than shrinking like I hoped it would. Rather than healing like I need it to. “Oh,” Jake interrupts my thoughts with, his expression going dim. “I guess I should’ve known the answer to that.” After a couple of uncomfortable minutes, he adds, “I suppose I should tell you now, then.” My heart plummets. The tone of his voice tells me that I will not like what comes next. “What? Tell me what now?” “His agent called yesterday. Wants you to do a follow-up to the interview. Apparently he has some news.” News. That speaks volumes. In this business, “news” often translates into “announcement.” And since Dash and an old love have reconciled, I can imagine what that announcement might be. When all the blood drains away from my face, my head swims lightly, like I’ve got an unpleasant buzz. “Can someone else cover it?” Jake shakes his head slowly. “Has to be you. You had the original byline.” “Oh God!” I double over, wondering how in blue hell I’m going to face Dash and his beautiful new fiancée. Because I know that’s what this is about. It’s about announcing to the world that he’s officially off the market. It’s about shattering the dreams and fantasies of women across the globe. It’s about destroying what’s left of my heart. Crushing it, like he crushes the slopes. “Would it help if I go?” I straighten and lift my eyes to my ex-boyfriend’s. Somehow he’s managed to be civil with me this week, even kind. But I know how much it must hurt him to even offer such a thing. And I know how much it will hurt him if I accept. But that’s exactly what I want to do.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Jake. Not after…” Jake’s grin is wry and lopsided. “I’m a big boy. I can deal. I’m your boss first and foremost now, and if one of my people needs some back up, I’ll give it to them.” His words are bold, but I know him well enough to know that he doesn’t feel quite as bulletproof as he’s letting on. “I’m glad one of us can be a mature, rational adult.” “I think this will be good for both of us. So I’m going.” “How on earth do you imagine this will be good for either of us?” “Closure. We all need it.” I can’t really argue that. Dash is like the world’s biggest splinter. He’s under my skin in the worst way. And deep. I need to grit my teeth and pull it out so that the wound can start to heal. Maybe this is the way to do it. See him face to face, see how happy he is, how perfect he and Swedish Barbie are together, so I can begin the long, painful road of moving on. And at least I’ll have a friend by my side. Moral support in my time of need. Because I’m certain I’ll be in need for quite a while after this. I stand, giving Jake my best wobbly smile. “You really are a great guy, you know that?” His expression turns more melancholy, his smile melting away like Frosty the Snowman’s in the sun. “Just not great enough.” Before I can respond, he turns to walk away, throwing over his shoulder, “We fly out Saturday morning at seven forty. Be ready.” I don’t stop him to ask for any details, like where we are flying to and how long we’ll be there. Or why he already had Starla make reservations for both of us. I know he needs to go. And I know I need to let him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Dilyn The boardwalk at Santa Monica Pier—it’s as lively and picturesque in person as it’s portrayed in movies. It’s the visual epitome of California life. There are lots of smiles, lots of blondes, and lots of skin. Lots of skin. It’s warm here, even in January. Warm and humid and…beachy. Every facet of the environment is the absolute antithesis of where you’d expect to find a snowboarding champion. So, the question is, why is a snowboarding champion here? Jake and I have discussed this at length—why the interview had to be done here. We’ve speculated about everything from a movie deal to a California wedding to a reality show, but have absolutely nothing concrete to go on. So here we are, in the land of all things beautiful, watching. Waiting. Wondering. I glance at my watch. We’re a few minutes early, so I walk to the railing to look out at the turquoise water, closing my eyes to the light breeze that ruffles my hair. When I inhale the perfect California air, when it soothes me down to my core, I have to wonder if maybe this is why Dash chose to have his follow-up done here—the calm. There’s a frenetic energy to the boardwalk itself, but the ocean that lies beyond…it’s the picture, the sound, the very smell of tranquility. A tiny bubble of perfection. Until I open my eyes. My gaze is drawn to a dark head as it moves up the beach toward me. I don’t have to be able to see him up close to know it’s Dash. I’d recognize that walk, that build, that irresistible pull he has anywhere. My stomach lurches into my throat for about ten seconds. Right up until I see the lovely creature walking at his side, holding his hand. And then it plummets into my open-toed shoes. I watch as they approach. Even from here, I can see she’s stunning. Just as stunning as she is on television and on the covers of magazines. Maybe even more so. I stand, my feet glued to the wooden planks of the boardwalk, and wait for them to reach me. She laughs about something. I see it from the corner of my eye, eyes that are trained unwaveringly on Dash’s. Just like his are trained unwaveringly on mine. It’s as though our gazes would’ve, should’ve drifted past one another, but they got stuck, like a faulty door latch or a stubborn window. Somehow, we got stuck on each other.

My guts coil into a writhing mass of anxiety and agony. I knew this would be hard, but even I may have underestimated just how hard. I can’t help wondering if it would have made a difference if Jake hadn’t kissed me when Dash arrived at the office. Would I be the one holding his hand right now? Or did his card mean nothing when I’d thought it meant he cared? My eyes flicker over to the woman as they approach. Is she his cliff? Will he stop seeking his highs because he’s found the one person who makes them obsolete? Is this the woman who is everything I am not? I glance back to Dash, but he looks away. Since Jake and I are on the boardwalk, they have to walk around to get up on it. I’m actually grateful for the break from his disconcertingly piercing gaze, though, as it gives me a few minutes to compose myself. If that’s even possible at this point. A voice sounds right by my ear. “You okay? You don’t look like you’re even breathing.” I jump in alarm, grabbing my fluttering heart. “Oh, Jesus, you scared me.” “Sorry.” I turn to face Jake, his eyes scanning my expression then narrowing as they meet mine. “Never mind. He must be here.” I don’t answer. God, am I that transparent? I need to chill. I don’t want Dash to ever know he’s wrecked me the way he has. He never promised me anything. I need to remember that and at least appear poised and professional. Unaffected. Like he so obviously is. Impulsively, I throw my arms around Jake’s neck and hug him tightly. “Thank you for coming with me,” I mutter against his shoulder. When I lean back, I smile up into his face. “I don’t know how much I’d need some moral support, even though you apparently did.” Jake shrugs, not fully able to hide the pain this is causing him. “It’s what any good boss would do.” I stop him before he can turn away. “It’s what any good man would do. It’s what any good friend would do. You’re more than just a boss to me. You always will be.” “But not nearly as much as I want to be.” I ease back a step. I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing, unwilling to hurt him anymore than I already have. I wish I could love him like he loves me. It would be so much easier. So much less

painful. But I just…can’t. No matter how much sense it makes to my head, my heart just won’t get on board. A throat clearing draws my attention to Dash. He and his gorgeous companion have arrived and are standing within a couple feet of us. I stare at him, like a mute, pathetic dumbass. Despite seeing him walking up the beach, despite giving myself a dozen pep talks over the last few hours, despite the memories, the hopes, the pain and the time that has passed, I am once again completely unprepared for Dash and what his presence does to me. Those eyes…and the way he watches me, like he’s looking into me and seeing things I don’t want him to find… It’s unnerving. But most of all, I’m unprepared for the little flicker of want and then the pain that I see flash through those eyes before he turns his attention to Jake. Dash offers his hand. “We haven’t officially met. Dash Grainger.” Jake shakes it, giving Dash a professional if tight smile. “Jacob Mullally.” “Do you normally travel with your journalists? Or is this a…preferential thing?” My eyes widen. Oh shit! It never occurred to me that Dash might antagonize Jake. I mean, why the hell would he? He’s the one who walked away from me. Jake stiffens visibly, his spine straightening to bring him up closer to Dash’s six-foot-plus height. “I like to tag along any time I feel there might be a problem.” The two men eye each other like two cocks getting ready to rip each other to shreds, but then Dash cracks a grin that nearly buckles my knees. “No problem here, man. I’m cool.” His inky eyes dart to mine for a brief moment before he turns to look at his girlfriend and then brings her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles, smiling at her over them. She blushes beautifully and, for a second, I consider pushing her over the railing. But, clearly, that would be insane. Wouldn’t it? For a few seconds, I’m lost in that fantasy. In my mind, I can actually hear her surprised scream followed by a big splash when she hits bottom. Then I take a moment to wallow in the pleasure of hearing her delightful whining from the edge of the surf. I picture her emerging like a drowned rat, mascara running, blonde hair stringy. I almost smile at the imagery. But then she leans into Dash, pressing her whole rail-thin body against the rock-hard length of his. That breaks the spell and I grit my teeth. “So, where would you like to do this? Did you have a particular restaurant in mind? Or down on the

beach?” I ask, digging deeply and desperately for the reporter in me, the serious journalist who would never let a playboy celebrity like this ruffle her feathers. “Down on the beach,” Carmella suggests in her thickly accented voice, bouncing like a gleeful child trying to persuade her Dash daddy to let her go play in the sand. Blech! I smile around my clenched teeth until I can say, “Then the beach it is. Let’s head down there. I’ll text our photographer and let him know where we’ll be. He’s supposed to meet us here in about fifteen minutes.” I take out my phone, ignoring the tremble in my fingers as I text Travers, who was in Cali for another shoot anyway, and let him know where we’re going. I feel the weight of Dash’s dark, discerning eyes as I tuck my phone away and turn to smile up at Jake. “Ready?” He smiles down at me, steady and unwavering love in his gaze. “Ready.” Dash and Carmella both turn and wait for us to fall in beside them then we all walk to the end of the boardwalk and down onto the sand. I pause to take off my shoes. Jake keeps going, and only Dash glances back to make sure I’m still with them. Our eyes lock again and I smile into his like all is fine and right with the world, even though this whole day is tearing through my heart, and will tear through my memory, like a hurricane. Standing here, looking at him, I can’t breathe. It’s like he’s taken the air from the world around me and left me with nothing but emptiness, a vacuum where there used to be love and life and vitality. Without him there is just…nothing. Before I fall completely apart, my survival instincts kick in. I raise my chin and rush to catch up to Jake, elbowing him and saying, “You remember that time we worked on that story at Martha’s Vineyard? It started pouring and we ran all the way back to the van in the rain? God, I don’t think I’ve ever been quite that wet before.” Even as the words leave my lips, I regret them. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but it’s too late to explain when Dash’s head snaps my way and he gives me a withering look. My cheeks sting furiously and I lower my head to hide them, deciding that my best course of action is to keep my mouth shut. Period. We walk the rest of the way to the surf in silence. When we are close enough to dip our toes in, Dash stops and turns toward us. Carmella does, too, and I notice that she can’t stop smiling. She’s practically glowing. A wave of nausea ebbs and flows in my stomach, much like the salty Pacific water ebbs and flows around my feet. Thankfully, a distraction comes at just the right time. “Don’t start without me,” orders Travers from behind us. I turn to see him lugging two stuffed bags that no doubt contain all the trappings of a man in his profession. I smile at him, grateful that he chose this moment to arrive. Plus, I haven’t seen him since before

Christmas. Since before Dash. I internally smack myself at the thought. Is that how my life is going to be divided now, Before Dash and After Dash? “Hey, gorgeous,” he says, throwing one arm around my waist and hugging me to him. He’s always been a very friendly guy. Friendly, but completely harmless. Probably a lawsuit waiting to happen, but it won’t come from me. “When you gonna dump this guy and give me a chance?” I catch my breath for a fraction of a second until I realize that he tipped his head toward Jake, not Dash. I laugh lightly. “You’d break my heart. I can’t have that, now, can I?” “Never.” He gives me a wink then introduces himself to both Dash and Carmella. Dash is calm and quiet, more so than when he first arrived. I can’t help wondering why, not that I’d be able to ask. I’m not supposed to know him intimately enough to notice such small shifts in his mood and personality. “Let me unpack and we can get this party started,” Travers says, setting his things down carefully and quickly unsnapping compartments until he has assembled a large and very expensive-looking camera. He’s our candid guy. He doesn’t do shoots with special lighting or staged anything; he goes for au natural, which is what we were told Dash wanted. Just some follow-up shots of him. And his…person, I guess. As Travers positions the couple in different directions to capture the best natural light, I take out my small digital recorder and prepare to ask questions that I know the answers to will destroy me. “So, Dash, word on the street is that you and Carmella are back together, and that it’s serious. Care to comment on that?” Dash glances at Carmella, smiles, and then turns that devastating face in my direction. “That’s actually part of what I came here to discuss.” “Fill us in. Something big must’ve changed, since we just completed the first interview a couple of weeks ago. So, what gives?” I’m trying to keep my questions and the feel of the follow-up as light and airy as the beach. He picked the location. I’m just working with what was given to me. Dash takes a deep breath. Noticeably deep, his wide chest expanding and then slowly contracting as he exhales. “I’m retiring.” If it’s possible, a hush falls around us. The ocean, the air, the world pauses as if to say, “Did I hear that correctly?” “Retiring?” I repeat, giving him a chance to set the record straight if I misunderstood. Only he doesn’t. “I thought the high was what you loved more than anything?”

“It was.” A pause. A heartbeat. A single space in time when my entire rib cage threatens to collapse in on itself. It was. Until he found something he loved more. Or someone. Someone else. “What changed?” “I told you I’d quit when I found something I loved more. And so I am.” I swallow, which is difficult considering that my mouth is dry and my throat feels swollen shut. “Can we assume that this beautiful woman has something to do with that?” I nearly choke on the words. I force my lips to maintain their pleasantly detached curve. Just for a few more minutes. Just until I can get away. “As a matter of fact, she does.” He turns those glowing black eyes of his on Carmella, the tick of Travers working his camera seeming to highlight every horrific second of it. I watch, nearly blind with pain, as Dash casts his glorious smile onto her. “We haven’t made it official yet, but…” He doesn’t say the words, thank God. It’s like he’s sparing me from having to hear them. I gulp. “Then congratulations are in order, I suppose.” Carmella, obviously ecstatic, throws her arms around Dash’s neck and starts bouncing again. It makes me want to kneecap her so she can’t do it anymore. She leans back just enough so that she can smash her lushly perfect mouth to his angularly perfect one, making my abs clench in rebellion. I turn my head. I can’t bear to even look at them. My heart just can’t take it. I’m in a dark gray haze throughout the rest of the short interview. I have no idea what questions I ask, if any, or how jubilant I seem for the couple. I only know that I can’t wait to get off the beach. Out of California. Away from Dash. I don’t emerge from the fog until Jake and I are on the red-eye, heading back to Philly, sand still grating between my toes, much like Dash’s words are grating on my soul. “You okay?” Jake asks softly, concern evident in every syllable. “I…I have no idea. I… I…”

I stop trying to formulate words that can express the way I feel, and simply shrug instead, turning to look out the small oval window. My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall until I’m alone. This kind of anguish deserves a safe place, a place where I allow it to overwhelm me. A place where the pain can shred me to pieces.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Dilyn When we touch down in Philadelphia, it’s pouring a cold, dismal winter rain. Every frigid drop that splatters my face as we race for a cab seems to further chill my already frozen heart. Jake tells the cabby my address so he can drop me off first. I nod in silent gratitude. At this point, I don’t trust myself to speak. It’s getting harder and harder to hold back the crippling agony. I fight back tears all the way to my street, only one managing to escape and snake its way down my cheek. The rivulets of water that slide down the glass of the cab window seem to mirror me. They look like tears, like the sky is crying with me. Like it feels my pain and can’t contain it either. At my building, I pat Jake’s knee in thanks, and then push myself out into the rain. Part of me wants to stand in it, to let it wash away the hurt, the disappointment, the gnawing torment. Or maybe just numb it with a thousand icy kisses. But I don’t. For one, the cab hasn’t pulled away yet, and the last thing I need is for Jake to see me break down then try to swoop in and make things better. He can’t. No one can. I trudge slowly across the width of the sidewalk toward the entrance, my legs as heavy as two thousand-pound weights dangling from my hips. They drag at me when I try to move them, they resist as though they’re giving up, too. As though they want to stand in the rain as well. I’m reaching for the door, wondering vaguely where the doorman is, when I hear my name. It’s distant, almost like the rain has carried it hundreds of miles to deceive my ears, because it sounds like Dash. My fingers curl around the handle, rain peppering down on my lashes, wetting them in preparation for the torrential downpour that will happen when I’m finally behind closed doors. But they stop when I hear the voice again. It’s louder this time, loud enough to cause me to turn my head and peer into the glow of the streetlight, to look into the glitter of the drizzle. Out of the darkness, out of the slashing sheets of precipitation, I see a man running toward me. Like a mirage, only rising from the cold, wet ground rather than the hot, steaming sand. Dash? I turn to face my delusion, ready to embrace my fall into insanity if it means I get to keep him in my craziness. But when he reaches me, when his strong fingers curl around my upper arms and grip me like he’s afraid I’ll wash away, I realize this is no delusion. No mirage.

This is real. What the hell is he doing here? He wastes no time getting right to the point. “Please tell me you don’t love him,” he says on a pant, his breath curling in a warm ribbon that drifts from his lips and fades off into the night. “What?” “Tell me you don’t love him.” “Love who?” His wide, tanned brow wrinkles. “Jake, that asshole boss of yours.” How is this happening? “What are you doing here?” It’s as though the freezing rain has numbed my brain. I just can’t seem to process this. I look up into his eyes, recognizing the identical desperation that I’ve felt so keenly over the last two weeks. This can’t be real. “I watched you walk away, Dilyn. I watched you walk away and I couldn’t breathe. I stood there, on the beach with a woman I don’t love, and watched everything I’ve ever wanted get farther and farther away. And I just…” He takes a step back and drags his hands through his wet hair. “Jesus, I couldn’t even breathe. Me, the guy who jumps off snowy cliffs for the hell of it, I couldn’t breathe. It’s like you took the air with you when you left. And I…I want it back. I need it back. I need you, Dilyn.” When I say nothing, primarily because I’m completely dumbstruck, he wraps those big hands around either side of my neck and presses his forehead to mine. “Christ Almighty, please tell me I’m not too late. Please.” The last word is said on a whisper, a whisper I can feel as a warm brush against my cheeks. I feel it more than I hear it. But he’s engaged. “It was Jake who kissed me, not the other way around. I don’t love him, Dash. It’s you. You. There will only ever be you,” I tell him in a broken voice, a sob building in my chest and gurgling up through my throat. “I’m just…I’m just afraid to believe this is real. What if I’m imagining this because I want it so much? What if you’re not really here? What if you’re on a beach in California with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen? What if you’re engaged to her?” My voice rises as panic starts to invade my leaden muscles and aching chest. Thumbs brush arcs through the water running down my cheeks, rain mixing with hot, salty tears. “It’s a long story, and I’ll explain later, but I’m not engaged to Carmella. I was helping a friend. That’s all. But I’m not there now. I’m here. I’m here with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’m here, baby,” he says softly, a shudder in this voice. “With you.” I drop my bag and purse and reach for him, feeling my way from his thick wrists to his muscular forearms, and from his bulging biceps to his broad shoulders. As I do, warm lips drop light kisses all

over my face, erasing every tear I’ve shed, wiping away the grief and sorrow and misery that have enveloped me over the last weeks. “I’m in love with you, Dilyn. The kind of love that makes a man do crazy shit like get his agent to schedule a follow-up interview for a fake engagement just so he can see the woman he loves one more time.” The woman he loves. I laugh at that, a laugh of pure, unadulterated relief. “Thank God.” He laughs, too. “You can kick my ass for that later. There might even be a line to do it.” “I only care that you’re here. You’re here. Oh God, oh God, oh God, you’re here,” I say melting against him, my legs finally giving out. As if sensing that, he bends and sweeps me into his arms and I wind mine around his neck, snuggling as close as I can get. We only spent a few hours together, but my heart made the decision that we were meant for each other. I’m not used to missing people. He came for me. He missed me, enough to create a situation where we could see each other again. This is real. “Can I come in? Or should we get pneumonia out here and have adjoining rooms at the hospital?” I grin. “Adjoining hospital rooms? I don’t think that’s a thing.” “If you have enough money, they’d probably tear out a wall if you ask.” “You’re spoiled,” I tease. Dash curls me up until he can tuck his face into my neck, next to my ear, “I’d trade it all for one more day, one more minute with you.” I press my fingertips to Dash’s cheek until he raises his head and brings those inky black eyes to mine. “I’m yours. I have been from the second you walked through the door at that chalet. You can have all the days, all the minutes you want.” His lips spread into a smile that takes my breath away. “I want them all. Every minute. Every day. But,” he says, pausing, his grin turning devilish. So devilish that my stomach does a flip. “I have a very specific idea for the next ninety to one hundred and twenty minutes or so. You in?” I worry my bottom lip with my teeth. “Did you…did you and Carmella…” “No! God, no. Since you, there has only been you.” Now I can return his smile, feeling warm all the way through, despite the cold, cold rain. “Then I’m in. All in.”

“Okay, so can I borrow your kitchen?” I lean back and frown. That was not what I was expecting to hear. “My kitchen?” “Yeah, I’ve got some marshmallows I need to roast.” A shiver works its way through me, and it has nothing to do with the winter wind. “In that case, third floor, apartment two-oh-nine. Make a right as you walk through the door.” I’ve never met a man who could run up two flights of stairs while cradling a one-hundred-ten-pound woman in his arms. At least not until the year I learned to separate anger and pain from Christmas. Until I learned to love Christmas again.

EPILOGUE Dilyn Nearly one year later Dash takes the blindfold off my eyes and I feign surprise when I see the snow-covered roof of the little A-frame chalet we met in all those months ago. “Oh my God, Dash this is great!” I turn my purposely wide eyes to him and lean over to kiss his lips, which are currently curved into a smirk. When I ease away, he’s still smirking. “What?” “I know damn well you figured out where we were heading.” “No, I…I…” I fumble. I’m a terrible liar. Always have been. “I’m really surprised.” He chuckles, nipping at my lower lip with his teeth. “Liar. But that’s okay. You’ve obviously missed the part I was trying to hide from you anyway.” I look back at the chalet, finally noticing the white SUV parked along one side, almost hidden from view. This time, my eyes are genuinely wide with happy shock when I turn them to Dash. “She’s here?” He nods, grinning. “With the baby?” He rolls his eyes. “Of course with the baby. You think she’d leave her this soon? Or maybe ever?” I grin. “Not likely.” I’m suddenly overcome with emotion for this man, for the kind, thoughtful way he has of doing anything within his power to make me smile. Especially now. We’ve been trying to get pregnant for several months, with no luck, and our dear friend Carmella just gave birth to a baby. She got pregnant without even trying. In fact, the baby was an accident. A happy one, but still an accident. Although a part of me is extremely envious of my beautiful friend, it in no way diminishes how ecstatic I was when I heard Carmella had become a mother a few weeks ago. If anything, it made me even more excited to see her, to hold a tiny life in my arms, press my nose to its baby-fresh cheek. I reach up to touch the tips of my fingers to Dash’s square jawline. “Although I’m anxious to see little Thea, this day would be perfect anyway. As long as I have you, every day is perfect.” His lips melt into the smile that I love so much, and he shrugs. “I know how hard Christmas is for you.”

I shake my head, injecting as much sincerity into my expression as I possibly can. “No, not anymore. I will forever love this holiday more than any other. It brought me you.” Dash presses his mouth to mine in a slow, gentle kiss that turns my heart to slush, like snow on a sundrenched road. “Then Merry Christmas, baby,” he finally says, leaning his forehead against mine. It’s a gesture that speaks volumes in our relationship. Since that night in the rain, when Dash puts his forehead to mine, it says I love you. I need you. I’m lost without you. I know this because it’s what it says for me, too. When he pulls away, his eyes are twinkling merrily. I know he wants to see the baby, too. “You go on in. I’ll be right behind you with our bags.” “Is she staying here, too? Because there’s…there’s only one bed.” He cocks a brow at me. “Not that we used the bed before, but no. She’s not staying here. She and Ami have a chalet a few miles up the road. A visit from Carmella and the baby are just Christmas present number one.” “Ohhhh, presents! And they’re numbered?” “Yep. Had to keep ‘em straight.” I rub my hands together. “Thank you, Dash. You’ve brought the joy back into Christmas for me.” I’m still hurt and angry at what my dad did all those years ago, and I still find it hard to understand why. But I’ve been able to separate the two events from one another. It’s not Christmas I despise anymore, it’s my dad’s sickness, his inability to deny his need for the high. I can finally love this time of year again. Dash has enabled me to find the childlike joy of the holiday. And he has presents. “Oh, I’m definitely loving Christmas now.” He laughs and rolls smoothly from the driver’s seat to walk around to the hatch. I hop out and make my way to the cabin’s entrance, kicking snow off my boots as I cross the planks of the wide front porch. Before I can even knock, the door swings open and a tall, radiant Carmella drags me into her arms, squeezing the breath out of me. “Can’t breathe,” I squeak, smiling and patting her slender back. “You can breathe after I’ve hugged you,” she says in her exotic accent. When she finally releases me, she smiles her dazzling smile down into my face. “I’ve missed you.” She kisses both my cheeks and I tell her when she takes my hand to pull me inside, “I’ve missed you, too.” After Dash explained the details of why the engagement rumor had been started, it was easy for me to like his gorgeous ex-girlfriend. It was a plan they’d devised in order to keep Carmella safe from a stalker until he could be found and brought to justice. The creep had broken into her apartment in L.A. and also left dead animals at two of her photo shoots. The fake engagement was a way to keep her safe in the short

term. It was Dash’s idea to schedule the interview and stage the public appearances. He did it for me, but a fortunate side effect was that it also forced Carmella’s stalker out of hiding. Now she’s safe, happy with her husband and baby, and I have my man. Win-win. Since learning all that, and since seeing the easy, almost brotherly way Dash has with Carmella, it wasn’t difficult to put their relationship into perspective and allow myself to really begin to like her. And once I saw how Dash didn’t look at her, but did look at me… Well, it left me with no doubts about where his loyalties lay. From there, a beautiful friendship was formed, and today I finally get to see my goddaughter, Thea. I spot the portable crib the instant I walk into the room, and I make a beeline for it. I peer down into it, into the tiny face of a sleeping angel, and my heart does a funny little flip. This…this is what I want with Dash. If my body is capable of creating and carrying such a miracle, I want it with Dash. Now more than ever. “Can I hold her?” I ask, keeping my voice hushed. “Of course you can hold her.” I reach into the crib and take the baby into my arms, snugging her against my chest, feeling full and complete in a way that a woman only feels when she has a child in her arms. Only this child isn’t mine. But maybe I’ll have my own one day soon. Maybe. Tears prick my eyes, and, as though he can sense it from across the room, Dash comes to me. I feel his big, warm, comforting hand slide around my waist seconds before he rests his chin on my shoulder to look down at the baby. Oh, God, how right it feels. Dash, a baby and me. A little family. He raises his head long enough to kiss my temple before resuming his position of chin on my shoulder. I don’t know how long we stand like this, but it’s long enough for the baby to open her muddy-brown eyes and stare, unseeingly, up into my face. We watch each other for countless seconds until, in slow motion, she screws up her face and lets out one garbled cry. Within a nanosecond, Carmella is by my side, crooning to her baby, who responds with another, gustier cry. “I bet she’s hungry. We need to get going.” I want to ask her to stay, but then again I don’t. In a way, it’s almost too painful to have Thea here, an angelic reminder of what I don’t have. What isn’t mine. That’s why I don’t argue. “Will we see you again before you leave?” I ask, carefully handing the squirming little bundle into her

mother’s arms. “I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon. How’s that?” I smile. “That’s perfect.” I think. I stand back as Carmella breaks down the crib with one hand, baby tucked safely in her other arm, and then slips Thea into what is now a baby carrier. She’s already an expert, and it’s only been a couple of months. Some women just take to motherhood. Carmella is one of them. I hope I’ll be that way. A lump the size of a Colorado boulder lodges in my throat, and I force those doubts aside. An act of sheer self-preservation. And weekend preservation as well. I’m sure Dash is tired of my crying jags, and I don’t want to spoil this trip with them. I don’t move from my warm spot near the fire as our friend carries her baby out to her SUV. Dash steps away from me only long enough to help her. When he returns, closing the door snugly on the cold winter wind, he makes his way back to me. Gently, he takes my arms and leads me to the sofa. I sit, but he doesn’t. Instead, he drops to one knee in front of me, his body outlined by the glow of the fire at his back. Dash takes my hands in his, raising his gorgeous eyes until they’ve captured mine, which they do— effortlessly–like they have since the moment I met him. “Even though I’m disappointed that we don’t have a baby yet, I know it’s only a fraction of what you feel. I know how much you want this, and you have no idea how much I wish I could take the sadness and the frustration away. To see you hurting the way you have been…” He trails off, looking down at our joined hands for a few seconds before bringing them to his lips for a sweet kiss to each of my knuckles. “I can’t change that, but what I can do is offer you the hope of having that some day.” He looks up again, fixing me with that sparkling gaze of his. “With me.” I swallow. My heart begins to thunder. Now I’m beginning to see what this speech, what this weekend has been about. Images flit through my mind and I think about the chalet as I entered. I didn’t pay any attention to it at the time, so focused was I on the baby, but it’s decorated like a romantic Christmas getaway—sprays of roses in sterling silver vases scattered throughout, clumps of garland set here and there with two large silver rings intertwined atop them, a fuzzy red throw tossed artfully on the white rug at the fire’s edge. I barely paid any attention coming in, but I’m paying attention now. “My life was cold and empty before I met you. I had no idea what I was missing until I found it. And now that I have, I never want it to end. I want to have a home with you, a family with you. I want to spend every Christmas with you, and I promise to make every one better than the last. But most of all, I want to make you happy. Every day. Marry me, Dilyn Hart. Say you’ll be mine. Forever. Say you’ll have our babies and grow old with me and spend Christmas with me always. Say yes and make me the happiest

man in the world.” Dash reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring, the most gorgeous square-cut diamond I’ve ever seen. He holds it between his fingers, fingers that have a slight tremble as he waits for my answer. Waits to be able to slip it on. My lips curve, my eyes water. It’s been hard lately, seeing a negative result on pregnancy test after pregnancy test. But this…this moment, this question, this man pours love into the hole, filling all the empty spaces with the hope of tomorrow and the love of today. I wasn’t expecting this at all, but it was exactly what I needed. And he knew that. He waited, waited to give me the perfect moment when I needed it most. Because that’s the kind of man Dash Grainger is. “Yes,” I whisper, overcome with the deepest sense of rightness that I can ever remember feeling. In this moment, I know that everything will be okay. That my life will be a good one, full of love and happiness and precious moments galore. And there will be babies. I feel it in my gut, in my heart. I know it. Dash pushes the ring onto my finger and I lean up, forcing him to sit back. I slide down onto my knees in front of him, grabbing his face and kissing him with all the emotion, all the love, all the hope, all the contentment I feel. “Make love to me,” I tell him, reaching to pull my sweater over my head. When I meet my fiancé’s eyes again, they’re even blacker, even darker with the want that springs up so quickly between us. “Put a baby in me. Tonight. On the night we start our new life together. A piece of you and a piece of me. Will you do that, Dash?” My voice is breathy with want, but deep with love. His answer is a voracious smile as he tugs his own shirt off. “Some days, I can’t think of anything except putting a baby in you. Of sliding into this sweet, sweet body of yours. Of tasting the nipples that I love so much.” With one arm clutching me around my waist, Dash jerks me close and bends me over his forearm, pulling my bra away from my breast as he lowers his head to suck one aching tip into his hot mouth. I groan, threading my fingers into his messy black hair. “These are mine. All mine.” “Just like me,” I tell him on a pant. “I’m all yours.” His deep, rumbling laugh vibrates through my tingling flesh, bringing every inch of me alive. “Damn right you are.” That’s the last thing he says to me for nearly an hour. The last thing I’d actually repeat in public, that is. Turns out my man has a very dirty mouth.

And when I’m lying sated in his arms, the fire heating my face from the front and Dash heating my body from behind, a warm glow starts to burn in my chest. We created a child tonight. A baby. Our baby. I know it. I can feel it, like a bone-deep certainty. With a contented smile, I let my eyes drift shut, thinking that we should come back here every year for Christmas. We can make new happy memories, and maybe make some babies here for a few more years, too. Maybe we can make a family. Our family. Either way, our future is bright and beautiful with a little dash of perfect. ******** For Dash and Dilyn’s happily ever after, click here. Read on for the first chapter of my full-length, stand alone romance, Levi’s Blue. To receive release notifications and occasional exclusive sales and giveaways, sign up for my NEWSLETTER. For more information about me, my books, or how to reach me, please visit my website. Look me up out there. I’d love to hear from you:)

BEFORE YOU GO If were touched by this story, loved it, thought about it, smiled over it, swooned over it, please consider telling a friend and leaving a review. Your words, spoken and written, are more powerful than you know, and to an author, they’re like water and air and life. You may think you’re just one person, just one reader, but to me, you are much more than that. You are a person who helped change my life. You are a person who can make a difference every time you pick up a book, leave a review, or recommend that book to a friend. Each and every time you do this, you play a vital role in an author’s life. You play a vital role in MY life, and for that I am more grateful than I could ever express. So, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU.



OTHER BOOKS BY M. LEIGHTON All the Pretty Lies All the Pretty Poses All Things Pretty Down to You Up to Me Everything for Us Always with You Levi’s Blue Pocketful of Sand The Empty Jar Dashing Through the Snow Strong Enough Tough Enough Brave Enough The Wild Ones Wild Child Some Like It Wild There’s Wild, Then There’s You YA and PARANORMAL Fragile Madly Madly & Wolfhardt Madly & the Jackal Blood Like Poison: For the Love of a Vampire Blood Like Poison: Destined for a Vampire Blood Like Poison: To Kill an Angel The Reaping The Reckoning

New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author, M. Leighton, is a rarely ever comfortable speaking about herself in the third person, but here goes. Michelle is a former nurse who has always harbored a passion for the written word, a weakness for alpha males, and a profound love of all things romantic. Never in her wildest dreams did this Yankee-turned-Southerner imagine her life as it is today. She has the best job in the world, a husband who treats her like a princess, and a dog that's so smart she may one day write a novel, too. You can often find Michelle hidden away in her cave, crafting a new story, or out in the sunshine enjoying some quiet time with her man. Movies, wine, and good food are frequently thrown into the mix, and exercise on days that start with Q. She loves laughter, chocolate, the color red, and you can find out more about her at www.mleightonbooks.com. Sign up for her newsletter here: http://smarturl.it/MLeightonNews. She promises not to spam your inbox:)

Levi’s Blue Levi’s Blue Four beautiful days. Three steamy nights. One breathtaking love. Levi Michaelson. He wanted four dates. Four opportunities to prove I could trust him. Four chances to change my mind about him. I agreed. Probably not my smartest decision. He was everything I knew to avoid—gorgeous, charming, sexy as hell—but I couldn’t help myself. When he touched me, the whole world disappeared. I should’ve known I could lose myself to him, that he could be the one man to destroy me. I guess it’s true what they say—some things are too good to be true. And Levi Michaelson might just be one of them.

CHAPTER 1 EVIE I STOP in the doorway and reach for the wall. The plaster feels good against my damp palms. Cool, refreshing. Stable. I’m nervous. It’s hot in there, in the next room. I can tell because the humid air gushes through the opening and caresses my face like the kiss of summer, warm and moist. I take a steadying breath and reach out with all my senses. It’s second nature to me now. I hear the shuffle of feet, the rustle of movement. I smell the scent of a dozen colognes and perfumes, mixing with the faint aroma of alcohol. And I feel the presence of people nearby, their charge, their… static. They change the air around them, the way it sounds and smells, but also the way it feels as it washes over me. It feels heavier. More electric. And what does all that mean? People. Lots of them. A crowd is waiting for me. I know they’re there, even though I can’t see them. I haven’t seen a face, a color, a sunset, or a star in thirteen years. These days, all of my mental pictures are made from what I can hear, taste, smell and feel. The only things I see are memories that are locked away inside my head, in a palace with a thousand rooms, each filled with sights from the first half of my life. When I could see. I pull in a single deep breath, drawing in all the concrete and certain elements I can detect. They are my sight now. They are the things that soothe me. Ground me. Comfort me. Well, sometimes. When I’m not a jumbled mass of nerves, all twisted and tangled around each other. For the most part, I’ve learned to take comfort in different things since the accident, to find peace in different ways. And tonight, braving a crowd of people who have come to see my work, my art… Well, I’ll need all the comfort I can get, wherever I can get it. I hear the delicate click of footsteps, stilettoes on polished marble, as someone—Cherelyn, I presume —walks toward me. It’s a purposeful gait, a completely different sound than the casual meandering of those walking around the room next to the one I’m in, looking at the walls, at all the squares and rectangles that colorfully display little bits and pieces of my soul. “You ready?” a voice says as the steps draw nearer. As I suspected, it’s Cherelyn. “Not even a little bit,” I admit, my innards knotted like a clutch of angry snakes, hissing and spitting. “Too bad. This is your night and you’re going to enjoy it if I have to hog-tie you and drag you out there.” I smile. “Hog-tie me? What the hell is that?” “It’s a Texas thing. Now come on.” She tugs gently at my arm, but I resist. “We aren’t in Texas, though. We’re in Shreveport, Louisiana.” “I realize that, dingus.” Her answer is droll. I imagine her expression is, too, but I can’t see her, so I

wouldn’t know. I’ve felt her pointed chin and high cheekbones, her pert nose and broad forehead, though, so I can conjure up what expression I think she might be wearing—a wry one. “You brought all that ’80s shit with you to school in New York. I brought Texas with me to Louisiana. Get over it and move your ass.” “The ’80s were great for movies and music, and I’m offended that—” “Stop right there. You’re stalling, and I can’t let you stall, because if you stall I might lose my nerve, and then I’ll stall and—” “If you say ‘stall’ one more time, I’m gonna gag you and throw you in the closet.” I lay my hand over hers where she’s gripping my arm. Her fingers are digging in like someone who’s falling off a cliff that has no visible bottom. “Hey, it’s going to be fine. You know that, right?” She sighs. I feel her minty breath breeze over the skin of my temple. “I know. I’m just nervous.” Cherelyn is not only my best friend, she’s my biggest fan. She’s also the person who organized this showing, which is taking place in the gallery of a friend of her father’s. She has a lot to prove tonight, too. “Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be nervous? This is my opening after all.” Just saying the words out loud causes my insides to dance and fidget. This is my opening, for my work. Holy shit! “Oh, God!” I exclaim, my fingers tightening over the back of her hand. “I may hurl.” That snaps her out of it. “Stop that! Stop that right this minute! You’re going to pull yourself together and go out there and charm the pants off of every person in that room. It’s what you do. It’s who you are. Now let’s do this.” Cherelyn is the type of person who can’t be calmed by anyone when she gets in a snit. However, if she feels like she has to be strong for someone else—me, for instance—she’ll puke and rally (hopefully without the puking). It’s like she kicks into best friend mode. Shamefully, I sort of use that when I need to calm her. Kind of like reverse psychology. I let her come to my rescue. Even though I wasn’t entirely exaggerating about the throwing up part. I genuinely feel queasy. Regardless, I continue with my role. “Okay, okay, okay. Go introduce me then. Let’s get this over with before I change my mind.” She doesn’t budge, but after a short pause, she gives me a request that has become something of a game between us. “Tell me about the blonde first.” I smile. We’ve done this since I started to get back out into the social world my junior year of college. I make up stories about the people I can’t see. It used to ease my tension and lighten my mood, make me feel less nervous and self-conscious, but it didn’t take long for either of us to realize that it worked just as well for Cherelyn. “The blonde with the big mouth? That one?” “Yeah, her.” I lower my voice like I’m telling State secrets. “She says her name is Petunia, but I heard through the grapevine that her stage name was Pussy Aplenty. You know, sorta like that Bond girl. Anyway, she’s an

ex-porn star who took out a second mortgage to pay for her triple F boobs and then got a job as a fluffer for John Holmes. Rumor has it that he broke her gag reflex and she became a star overnight. She can swallow anything without barfing. You should probably keep all the men away from her.” Cherelyn giggle-snorts, and I can feel some of her tension melt away as she relaxes, leaning against my side to rest her head against mine. “You should write stories.” “I do. I just don’t use words.” “You use paint. And you’re damn good at it, too. Maybe you should paint Porn Star Petunia one of these days.” “I’d need the side of a building to do those boobs justice. Not my style. Sorry.” “Eh, a girl can hope.” Suddenly, I’m pulled into a tight embrace and kissed on the cheek. “You’re gonna be a star, Evie. A bona fide star.” “I’d settle for enough money to pay my bills and not have to do the classes.” “But you love teaching those classes.” “I do, but I hate taking money for it. I do it because I want to help those kids. It seems…dirty to get paid for it. I’d rather be able to do them for free. I’d feel much better about it.” “You get paid because the companies that donate to Healing Art need a tax write-off. You shouldn’t feel bad for taking their money. Those rich assholes can afford it and they undoubtedly need some good karma. Look at it as a service to the kids and the tyrants.” “You’re not bitter at all,” I assert dryly. “You forget. I know how those people work. I grew up in it. Lived around that corporate bullshit for half my life and was engaged to one for way too long. It’s an ugly, ugly business. Rich people can be so cruel, so ruthless. Unscrupulous. I mean, look at what happened to you!” I close my unseeing eyes. I hate going back down that road. I’ve spent a lot of years letting it go, refusing to spend one more minute of my life dwelling on something I can’t change. Cherelyn is still furious about it, but I’m tired of wasting my energy. I’d much rather just move on and find a way to be happy without becoming consumed with the person who wrecked my life. “I think I’ve done a pretty good job of making lemonade from those lemons, don’t you think?” There’s a long, thoughtful pause as Cherelyn takes the hint and abandons that sore subject. “You’re the best maker of lemonade that I know.” “Then how’s about going out there and introducing me so they don’t think I’m a no-show?” She takes a deep breath. She’s bolstering herself. I can imagine her squaring her shoulders almost as clearly as I heard her suck in a gulp of courage. “I’ll make you proud.” “You always do. But don’t make me sound like a superhero this time. That gets a little awkward.” “What? You didn’t like my Dare Devil reference when we pitched to that new company who wanted to donate to Healing Art last week?” “You’re joking, right?” “Hell no! I thought they loved it. I mean, they donated enough to keep it going for, like, three years. In

fact, I considered dressing you in red leather tonight just for effect.” “Note to self: Never let Cherelyn pick out my clothes again.” “Like I’d be able to pull that over on you anyway. You’re too damn smart and…sensey. I can’t even get you to wear a sheer blouse because you can feel the difference in the way the air flows over your skin. Weirdo.” I shrug, unconcerned. “Comes with the territory. Lose your sight and everything else starts working overtime.” I pretend glance down at a watch I’m not wearing and couldn’t see even if I were. “Speaking of time…” “Shit! Right. I’m going, I’m going.” I grin as she takes off like a shot. I hear the light click of her hurried steps as she walks briskly across the gallery floor. Seconds later, I hear the delicate clink of metal against glass as she taps her champagne flute to get the attention of the crowd. Her voice rises above the ambient noise, and she gives a blissfully short introduction. “Now, the woman of the hour. Please welcome Evian de Champlain.” I inhale, memorizing the scent of this moment, the taste and texture of it. I lock it away in a room all its own. It deserves its own space since it’s the first of my dreams to come true. I’ll revisit these details hundreds of times before I die. Maybe paint something to give it life outside my head. Hesitantly, I start out across the gallery. The light tap tap, tap tap of my cane’s tip grazing the floor is enough to quiet the audience. Silence falls around me like dusk, and I imagine that all eyes turn to watch me enter. I squeeze the grip of my cane, the fingers of my free hand trembling at my side. My lips wobble as I attempt to keep my smile in place. I count each step, having rehearsed this entrance a dozen times in the last week. There are forty-eight of them from the back doorway to the center of the room. I’m on twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. So far, so good. I hear hushed murmurs and the soft slap of skin meeting skin as someone begins to clap. Others join in, and a subdued applause welcomes me to one of my biggest goals in life. The moment is magical. Exquisite. Surreal. I’m so caught up in the splendor of it that the sound of something dropping and rolling across the floor barely registers in my mind. I only feel the rush of accomplishment. I only hear the heavy beat of my own heart. I only smell victory. That is, until my foot skids over something and sends me tumbling backward. Then I hear nothing but my own gasp, one of surprise and humiliation. It happens in slow motion, my blunder. Or at least it feels like it does. One foot flips out from under me, causing me to lose my balance. My other foot wavers unsteadily on my three-inch heel. My fingers open reflexively, and my cane goes flying out…somewhere. My arms flail as I reach out for stability and find nothing but air. And my face… I hate to even imagine what my expression is like.

I’m going to fall. In an art gallery. On opening night. On my opening night. In front of an assortment of rich and powerful people. And just like that, my confidence, my moment, my dream comes crashing down around me. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact. I know I’m racing toward the hard ground and can’t do a damn thing about it. But that impact never comes. Instead, I’m caught by a strong arm and jerked up against a warm body. A chest, I imagine. A wide one that’s as solid as a brick wall and as welcome as a feather mattress. It takes me a second to realize I’m safe, but the instant I do, I turn my face into the expensive material of my savior’s jacket and hide. It’s the only thing I can do, because facing all these people is obviously out of the question. At least for a few more seconds. A few more heartbeats. It’s during those few heartbeats of reprieve that some part of my humiliated brain notices two things, two very specific details, and tucks them away in an empty corner of my mind, to be taken out and looked at—and likely enjoyed—again later. Much later. Scent. The scent of the man holding me is curved as tightly and protectively around me as his arms. It’s a dark, manly aroma, equal parts high speed car chase and hot wax dripping onto bare skin. Inanely, I think to myself that this must be what heaven smells like. This man. The second thing I notice is that where my breathing is erratic and shallow, his is deep and even. Measured. He is the calm in my storm, solid and steady and…comforting in an odd sort of way, like he has me and I don’t need to worry. But that’s only one small part. The rest of my brain? It’s in a tizzy. As I’m nearly hyperventilating into this random guy’s tuxedo, I become aware that my fingers have a death grip on his lapels, and I’m holding on like white clinging to rice, even though I can feel how strong he is and that there’s probably zero chance of him dropping me. Still, I’m not letting go until I absolutely have to. Held against him is a very nice place to wither and die if one must. As my flustered mind begins to clear, I listen to the utter silence around me. That’s when the tears, a bitter mixture of humiliation and gratitude, begin to prickle at the backs of my eyes. I know everyone else is feeling as uncomfortable as I am. They don’t know what to do or what to say, so they do and say nothing. They just watch as the poor blind girl struggles to get her bearings. Moments tick by, moments long enough to die a thousand deaths within. They’re painful and tense and never-ending. Finally, the man who caught me begins to straighten, slowly settling me on my feet. For one panicked second, I consider asking him not to let go. His hold on me feels so good. So strong. So…right somehow.

It’s been years since I’ve been held this way. So many I’ve lost count. However, I know I will need to move eventually. Two big hands come to my upper arms to steady me. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice a low, deep whisper. My chin trembles embarrassingly, but I manage to nod and attempt a smile. “Can I help you to the front?” I nod again, forcing my fingers to relax their hold on him. When they do, he slides his grasp down my arms and entwines the fingers of his right hand with my left, then gently turns me toward what I assume is the front of the room. My spill caused me to lose my orientation in space, and I have no idea which way I’m supposed to go. I let him guide me until he slows to a stop and nudges me to turn again, presumably to face the attendees. I blink against the brightness of the overhead lights as I look out, unseeing, into the crowd. I’m glad for once that light and dark are the only things I can perceive. It hurts to even imagine the pity in their expressions. I clear my throat. This will be my first speech. Given to patrons who came to see my work on opening night. My first ever opening night. This is one of the most important nights of my entire life and…the words won’t come out. After long, strained seconds, some finally do, but they’re nothing like the ones I prepared. At this point, however, I just want to welcome everyone and excuse myself to go shrivel up and blow away in peace. I swallow once. Then I swallow again, willing the lump in my throat to go away. “Thank you all for coming. Everything you’ll find on these walls tonight represents something that inspired me when I could see. These images stuck with me, and now they’re all I can see. I hope you find something here that inspires you as well.” After a short pause, I add, “And be careful. The floors are booby-trapped.” I hear a few hesitant laughs, so I smile, I nod, and then I turn to the man at my side and say, “Would you mind escorting me to the ladies’ room?” “No, of course not,” he replies, his words nearly drowned out by a second, louder round of applause. With one hand at my lower back, the other still holding the tips of my fingers, my rescuer guides me away from the electric buzz of people, away toward the quiet. I can hear the way it sounds as we approach, the silence. It has this empty, flat quality about it that can’t be duplicated. Like it swallows up sound, and that sound is never to be heard from again. And, right now, I crave that emptiness, that swallowing like I crave air and sight. The instant we step into the back room, the coolness of the dark envelops me. In here, there is no hum of florescent lights, there is no humidity from dozens of other bodies, there is no soft murmuring about what just happened. There is only the echo of my own sigh as it bounces off the walls and returns to me in a whisper. I reach out until I feel something solid, and I sag against it. I take a deep, steadying breath and exhale slowly.

“You can go now. Thank you very much for your help. I’m sure my friend will bring my cane shortly,” I tell the man who’s been kind enough to assist me. I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to be completely and utterly alone in my mortification. “I don’t mind staying until you’re ready to go back out there.” “I won’t need any more help, but I appreciate the offer.” “It would make me feel better.” I release another breath, half-cry, half-groan, and let my head fall back against the wall. “Please. Just go. It makes it worse to be treated like a frail blind woman.” “Am I treating you like a frail blind woman?” “A little, yes.” “I didn’t intend to. I don’t see you as frail, but… you are blind.” “No shit,” I snap. I regret it immediately. “Sorry. I…I just...I just hate being treated differently.” “People who treat you with compassion don’t mean it to be insulting, I’m sure.” “I know, but I still don’t want to be treated differently. I get so tired of it—the stuttering and stammering. I get so tired of being tiptoed around. For once, just once, I want to be treated like every other woman on the planet.” There is a short pause before he responds, a response I was far from expecting. “Would it make you feel any better if I hit on you?” Stunned, I raise my head, and my mouth drops open. “Out of pity? Seriously?” Now I am insulted. “No. I’m pretty sure that would just send me on a mission to find the necessary materials for making a noose.” “You know how to make a noose?” he asks incredulously. “Beside the point,” I growl. “Right. But what if I meant it? What if I wanted to hit on you? What if I’m intrigued by a woman who knows how to make a noose?” I sigh. I give up. I’m too exhausted for this. “I’d say you should wait until she’s had time to recover her wits and piece her pride back together.” “Is that going to take a while?” “Depends on how long you stand here arguing with me.” “Are we arguing?” “Apparently.” “Already?”

“So it would seem.” “Wow. I’ve never argued with a woman before I’ve kissed her.” “Your kissing induces arguments? Maybe you should work on that.” His voice drops to a quiet, sensual rumble. “Is that an offer to help me with my kissing?” “If I say yes, will it make you go away?” “Probably.” “Then yes, it’s an offer to help you with your kissing.” “Good. I’ll hold you to that. Later, of course. After you’ve recovered your wits and pieced your pride back together.” I feel the corners of my mouth threatening to curl up into a reluctant smile. “Fine, but this is a limited time offer. You have to leave now and let me mourn in solitude or the deal is off.” I hear him draw closer. His body, which must be big and dense, blots out more of the noise coming from the next room. It narrows the sounds to only the ones we’re creating—the rush of breath between us, the thud of my heart, the shift of his expensive tux on his skin. It makes it seem like we’re more alone than we are. His voice is a mere vibration that resonates in my chest. “There’s nothing to mourn. All those people are here to meet the brilliant artist behind these beautiful paintings. That hasn’t changed.” I feel his closeness, too. It leaves me breathless with a strange anticipation. The heat from him radiates toward me, causing chills to break out down my arms and, if I’m being honest, it scrambles what’s left of my brain. That’s why I say the first thing that pops into my head. “You…you smell like the woods after it rains at night.” “Is that right?” “Yes. Like sweet moss and musk and midnight.” “Is that a bad thing?” “No. It’s not a bad thing. It’s…soothing.” He says nothing for a long while, not until I both feel and hear him step back. “I’ll take soothing. For now. See you out there, Ms. de Champlain.” I make no move to respond as I listen to the heavy thump of his footsteps get farther and farther away. Click to continue reading Levi’s Blue