The way his eyes hold mine and his lips lift at the corners as he sweeps us onto the dance floor suggest he knows that I am still very much under his spell. His gears turn as he calculates how he’s going to embarrass me this time.
But as his eye smolder drops into a lip smolder, I can’t help but sense something sizzling between us like the start of a chemical reaction.
At that notion, and because I intend to dazzle, rather than sizzle tonight, I hastily look around. “The air smells funny. If there’s a fire, I didn’t start it.” Sniffing the air, I worry that my weird luck somehow tipped a candle over or sparked the electrical system.
“No fires. I think some of the guys are smoking cigars on the patio.”
“You should go join them.”
“I don’t smoke cigars. Have to keep my lungs in top condition. An exception might be made on important occasions—wedding day, baby’s birth...”
“Wedding day? Baby’s birth?” I whisper my life longings as the Christmas tree shifts to a soft and warm glow. But I can’t let it catch on fire. That would be a disaster, and Christmas trees are dry and highly flammable. I have a list of safety rules as well.
But with the way Chase’s massive fingers wrap around mine, I’d argue he could put out a blaze with his bare hands.
I’ve been holding my breath and inhale deeply. With it comes the reality of what’s happening.
I’m dancing with The Crush. Our feet move in time to the music: one, two, three, four. We glide as though we’ve danced together a thousand times before.
Heat pinches my cheeks as I try and fail to convince myself this is an impossible fairytale fantasy.
“I’m dancing with Chase Collins,” I say on my exhale.
“That’s me.”
“You weren’t supposed to hear that, but thank you for helping me out back there with Benedict.” Obviously, that’s why we’re dancing.
“Of course. Freddie would’ve insisted. Would’ve done the same.”
“Except, I have rules.”
“Do you mean standards?”
“Those and rules.”
“Rules about who you dance with? Glad I made the cut.”
“I mean, rules about being polite. Normal.” He wasn’t supposed to hear that last part either.
Chase wears a half smile. “Normal, huh?”
It’s too late to wish away the flush of my cheeks, so I plow ahead. “Yeah, not saying everything that comes to mind or rambling.”
“What if I said I like that?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. And rules about being nice and recognizing people’s feelings in a given situation.”
“I’m not convinced Benedict has those, so no worries there. Maybe he and Marlow will find each other and can somehow mathematically negate each other’s negative qualities.”
I tilt my head from side to side, trying not to smile in agreement because that would be rude—and not gossiping is onmy list. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing, but I thought you and Marlow were friends.”
He tips his head back and laughs. “Friends? Far from it.”
“She said you invited her to prom, but obviously couldn’t go because you left Hinnifin.”
“Pippa, that is so far from the truth, I don’t know what to do other than laugh.” But his expression is hard, like he’s upset—that she’d lie? That they couldn’t go together?
Shock, disbelief, surprise, suspicion, doubt, and wonder cascade through me at a rapid clip. “Yeah, but?—”
