“Evening, Brielle,” his husky voice is close to my ear as he greets me. “You look...you look...just, wow,” he stutters abit,and I cannot help but grin at how damn adorable he is.
When I turn to face him, I am not prepared. He always looks handsome in his suits or even jeans and sweaters.Tonight,he looks.... amazing. His fitted tux shows how big and broad he is. His tie iscrooked,but I thinkit'sperfect. His golden eyes shine in the dim lighting of the room and when he smiles at me, that dimple that drives me crazy pops and I almost swoon.
“Thank you, Ace,” I manage before I compose myself. “Looking good yourself, Brett.”
Watching him flush pink makes my heart turn over.God he is so cute. Well, really,he isbeautifulwith his straight nose and strong jaw. His smile flashes his perfect white teeth before his tongue comes out, swiping sensually over his full mouth. Lord, that mouth. It’s sinfully hot, full, soft bottom lip, perfect sexy top lip.
Brett grins down at me, reaching out to take my hand. I let him because I am so stunned by him tonight, I forget I am supposed to be pushing him away, not letting him pull me close. He lowers his head, brushing a kiss at my wrist. My pulse thrums against his lips and his eyes flash because he feels it. Dammit. I flush and glance away, but I don’t pull my hand away.
His grin widens and he laces his fingers with mine, I know I am in trouble. My palm presses against his and our hands fit together perfectly. A cyclone of heat races up my arm and settles in my chest. He pulls mecloser,and I let him, making cute banter with him that I always refuse us.
Before I know it, we are headed for the glimmering dance floor as slow melodies play. I don’t know how it happens, but I wind up pressed against his chest, his palm at my back. I lay my head on his shoulder as if we have done this a dozen times. It feels too right to be wrapped in his arms. To feel him sway us to the music as I his scent and the firmness of his strong arms around me wraps around me.
It feels as if I am floating on air, not dancing with a famous playboy.
We dance to half a dozen songs before I notice people are watching us. Others dance with us but circle around as if watching us put on a show. I start to pull away because I hate having eyes on me, but he tenses. I tilt my head back to see distress on his face. My heart pitter-pats again.
“Don’t go,” his voice ispained,and I blink up at him. Brett lowers his head until his brow touches mine.
“Stop,” the word punches out of me along with my breath. His eyes close and he shakes his head, starting to back away. Once his warmth is gone, I feel panic bubbling beneath my surface. My eyes circle the room looking for something to calm me. When I come up empty, I reach out to him, dragging him back. He lets out a rumbling sound, his hands closing at my waist to pull me close.
“You asked me to stop. But you won’tlet mestop,” hewhispers,and I know he means more than this back and forth tonight.
He means all the time since we met at his skilodge,and I blew him off. I was so overwhelmed when I first saw him, waiting at the bottom of the slope I was careening down. When he broke my fall, he just flashed that stunning smile of his and offered to show me how to survive on skis. I thought he was making fun of me after I'd made a fool of myself.
Later, when I found out who he was—a professional skier who could ski circles around everyone on that mountain—I really felt like a fool. When I heard about his little reality romance show, I saw him for what he was. Another hot shotheartbreakerwho loved attention and accolades.
Once again though, it seems my first impression was wrong. He may have filled a playboy role for thecameras,but he seems anything but. Brett can be found one of two places: his ski lodge, keeping his grandfather’s dream alive or brooding in the coffee shop in town. Well, three places—lately he seems to be just about anywhere I am.
After we met at the lodge, I tried to ignore him. I tried to pretend all those times we wound up at the same place were mere coincidence. And I tried to tell myself that his fumbling flirtations were passing fancy. But no matter how often I brush him off or push down what he makes me feel, there he seems to be, waiting for another shot.
“You don’t mean tonight, do you?” I ask him to confirm my suspicions.
“No, bunny, I don’t mean tonight,” his voice is rough and sexy as he whispers these words against my ear.
My hands clutch at his jacket, and I realize I am pulling him closer. I want to push him away at the same time I can’t let go of him. He scares me. He rattles my senses and I hate that. I swore I would never be like my mother who devoted her life to her family and never lived for herself.
Something about him makes me wonder things I never thought I would. About weddings and me in a white dress and him in a tux. I close my eyes now and can imagine this is us sharing our first dance as husband and wife. It is beautiful to picture it and pretend it could happen.
Of course,I know better—Brett Shea is not the guy who settles down. Good thing Brielle North is not a girl looking to settle down.
Chapter Three
Brett
Holding Briellefeels like takinga hold of my future.
We dance to half a dozensongs,and she lets me hold her as close and as tight as I want. Truth is, I don’t want to let her go. Not when it is the first time she has let me get this close.Usually,we flirt a little before she shuts me down, pretending she does not enjoy this back and forth as much as I do.
Tonight, I called her out on it. When she started to pull away, I panicked. I was drowning in her sweet scent and soft curves. I was not ready to let her go, so I begged her not to go. I may have sounded pathetic, but I don’t care. I will beg for her, I will plead, I will get down on my knees if that is what she demands.
Whatever it takes to make her mine—whether it be romantic flowers or candies or diamonds and gold—whatever it takes.
“Why did you call me bunny?” she whispers as we sway to another song.
Easing my hands over her hips and up her back, I smile. I have called her that more than once, but she never seemed to notice before. Tonight, she seems very attuned to me, shifting her body closer whenever I pull away. I test this out by pulling back to answer her. To my pleasure, she lets out a sound of protest and presses closer, locking her arms around my neck.
“That day we met,” I answer, sliding my hand to the nape of her neck to tilt her head back. “You came crashing down that slope. I thought you were beautiful and brave. You did not belong on that slope,” I say with a chuckle, smiling when she flushes. “You should have been on the bunny slope.”