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“I’m sorry, AJ,” he says smoothly. “But Scarlet isn’t single right now. She’s with me this evening.”
AJ looks momentarily confused, probably wondering who the hell Scarlet is, but he has a goofy grin on his face and a glassy-eyed expression that tells me he won’t remember a word of this conversation tomorrow. He might, however, be in dire need of a sick bag and a handful of Advil.
Charlie towers over us both, holding his hand out to me. I look at the waiting hand, then up at the rest of him. God, he is so damn tall. I could climb him like a tree.
I smile and slip my fingers into his, letting him lead me to the crowded dance floor. The band is playing something slow and sultry, and before I have time to think, he slides his arms around my waist.
“Thank you,” I say to him, a blush creeping over my cheeks as we move to the music. This is dancing, but it feels like so much more. My hips are crushed up against his, and his thick thighs are warm and solid against mine. “For the rescue.”
“No problem. I’m sure Scarlet could have dealt with him anyway. We can go and sit back down as soon as you’re safe from your would-be suitor. If you want to, that is.”
The heat of his firm body radiates through the silky fabric of my dress, and that plus the touch of his fingers on my waistwreak havoc on my brain function. How is a girl supposed to think clearly when a man like this is holding her so close? My hands rest on his wide shoulders, and I flex my fingertips, feeling the hardness of the muscle that lies beneath the perfectly tailored tux.
“Actually, I quite like dancing. I don’t think I’ve danced like this for years. Or maybe ever.” I blush again and scold myself for being so open with a complete stranger. We’re playing a game, this man and I, and it’s not a game that involves me revealing intimate details about my pathetic life.
“Oh?” He narrows his eyes at me. “Your husband didn’t take you dancing?”
“He wasn’t much of a dancer.” I shrug. “Not like you.”
Shit! Just shut the hell up, Amelia. Remember, you’re Scarlet. Be Scarlet.
He laughs softly again, and I feel the sound deep in my bones. “Well, I had lessons when I was younger. My mother insisted.”
“I’m glad she did,” I reply, leaning into him. I’m hyperaware of his warm hand moving to the small of my back. He tugs me a bit closer, his eyes on mine, and the intensity of his gaze makes it impossible to look away. Not that I want to look away. All I want to do is dance, to lose myself in his eyes, to enjoy the touch of his breath against my skin as we sway together in our own world. My fingers curl into the thick hair at the back of his head, and I wonder what the hell has gotten into me. But as I relax into his chest, inhaling the scent of his mouthwatering cologne, I realize that I don’t care what’s gotten into me. I’m simply glad that it has.
Chapter
Two
AMELIA
The music has stopped and the band is packing up to go home. Most of the guests have left, and Tucker and Emily are long gone. The dance floor is strewn with multicolored streamers, discarded name tags, and a solitary red stiletto. A Cinderella mystery that may never be solved. The weary staff is clearing up, but my friend and I have grabbed a bottle of champagne and moved outside. I don’t want the night to end, and he seems to feel the same.
Charlie and I are sitting at a small patio table in one of the hotel’s luxuriously landscaped gardens, and he’s placed his tuxedo jacket around my shoulders in a chivalrous attempt to keep me warm in the cool night air. We talk and laugh and flirt beneath the dark blanket of sky and the shining lights of New York City. He’s funny and charming and has listened to me ramble on about my mom and my cheating husband. He must be bored by it all—I know I am—but he shows no sign of being fed up.
In return, he tells me about his childhood, about growing up in a loving family as one of five boys. I’m an only child and was raised by a hardworking single mom, so our early years couldn’t have been more different. Still, it’s fun listening to hisstories and sharing mine. I can’t remember the last time I felt so comfortable with someone I just met.
“How did you two meet?” he asks after I get done telling him about the time I lost a bet to Emily and had to wear a Mets jersey to a Yankees game.
“We met on our first day of college. We’ve been best friends ever since.”
“That kind of enduring friendship is rare. Where did you go to college?”
I know he’ll be surprised by my answer. Everyone always is. “Harvard.” His eyebrows shoot up, and I have to grin. “You look shocked. Is that so hard to believe?”
“I never said that.” He laughs, the sound so deep and sexy and genuine that my heart jumps in my chest. “You talked earlier about doing temp jobs, and I assumed…” He takes another sip of his champagne. “Well, I assumed, and we all know what they say about that. I’m trying to make a good impression, so I’d hate for you to think I’m an ass. And you are far too lovely to be compared to a donkey.”
He is so damn charming. I roll back my shoulders and pretend like I’m not about to melt into a puddle in this chair. “That’s okay. I’m used to it. There’s this pervasive belief that everyone who went to Harvard has some high-flying corporate job, like most of those stiffs we just spent the evening with.”
“Ouch!” He places a hand over his heart and grins at me. “That hurt.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive.” I chuckle at his wounded expression. Talking to him feels so easy and natural, like we’ve known each other a lot longer than a few hours. I consider giving him the sanitized version I tell during job interviews when asked about my unconventional career path, but that half-truth doesn’t seem appropriate when we’re both being so candid. “I did have plans, but I put them on hold while we moved around the States.Then, somehow… well, I suppose I kinda got lost along the way. I started seeing work as a job rather than a career, and there is a difference, isn’t there? It felt like there was only room for one of us to reach the stars, and that was my husband.”
“Isn’t there always room for two? Success is better when it’s shared, or so I’m told.”
He’s right, of course, and I see that now. But Chad had the charm and smarm of a good snake oil salesman, and he convinced me that we would both be better off if we focused on getting him to the top first. That there would be time for me later, maybe after we started a family.
Looking back, it was a mistake—at least for me. But we’d been together since high school, and it seemed like our relationship was worth the investment. It’s only recently that I realized how much I bent and gave and made it so he didn’t have to. During college, I was the one who always made the trip home to see him at Columbia. In fact, our biggest point of contention back then was his unwillingness to come to Boston for even a single weekend. I shake my head and take a long sip from my glass. That’s all in the past, and even now, I’m not sure it was my choices that were wrong so much as the person I was making those choices for. “Well, relationships are complicated beasts, aren’t they? You do odd things when you’re in love.”