Tanya Michaels - Mistletoe Cinderella

“Ah, good to know.” He paused, his tone less flippant when he spoke again. “I have to go to work soon, but I wondered if you had a few minutes to talk?”

“Absolutely.” She set the laptop to hibernate and put it aside, wiggling around until she was more comfortable against the pillows.

“Great. Because I’d value your opinion on something.”

“Decorating issue?” She eyed the stack of feng shui books on her nightstand.

“Career advice,” he corrected. “I told you that I had a very informative lunch with the coach yesterday. I keep tossing it over in my mind. He wants me to interview for the coaching position at the high school. I have my bachelor’s degree, but to work at a public school, there are some extra courses I’d need to take. If they were interested in hiring me, I’d probably start as an assistant to Asbury while I worked on rounding out my teaching qualifications, then I’d take over when he retires.”

“Sounds like you and Coach B. have given this substantial thought,” she said.

“That’s a nice way to describe my obsessing over it. I have to tell you, going back to school in any way, shape or form does not fill me with joy.”

“I can see where that would be one of the cons for you,” she empathized. “On the pro side, you should see yourself when you talk about what baseball meant to you as a teen. I know most of the kids who play ball here in Mistletoe are never going to get a shot at it professionally, but it can still make a major difference in their lives while they’re part of the program. You could make a major difference.”

“You sound so sure of that.” He, on the other hand, did not. “I worry about my father’s legacy. I still hear his voice in my head. I don’t want to pass that on to some other poor kid, lashing out at him because he can’t even hit a meatball pitch or because he went for the glory of tagging out a runner instead of tossing it to a closer teammate. Everyone makes mistakes, and I’m not sure I have Coach Burton’s tolerance and patience. He always made you want to try again and do better, to prove he was right to believe in you, but there are bad coaches out there, too, who can really sap your will to play.”

She hesitated. Giving the pat assurance that he’d do a great job would be easy for her to say, but it wouldn’t really address his fears. “I understand why you’re worried, but I think you’re overlooking an important factor. You’re not fully taking into account Coach B.’s legacy. You have so much respect and affection for him that you’re far more likely to follow in his footsteps than your father’s. And because you’re already hyperaware of the importance of being firm without being cruel, I suspect you’ll be extra vigilant, weighing all your words and actions more than most do.”

“Thank you.” He exhaled, relief clear in his voice. “That was exactly what I needed to hear.”

Her heart thumped with excitement. “So you think there’s a chance you might really do it?”

“I’m going to set up an interview with the school board,” he decided. “What happens after that, we’ll just have to see.”

Dylan might be moving back to Mistletoe! She could conceivably see him every day. Chloe hung up the phone and tucked her knees to her chest, grinning in the lamplight as she hugged herself. She was euphoric.

For all of two seconds.

If he lived here, he’d know who she was. The only reason she’d been able to keep her secret was because it had been a long-distance fib. She’d worried about hurting him, but at this point, it was inescapable. All that she could control was whether he found out because she herself took deliberate action, rather than his finding out from someone else. She had to tell him. The sooner, the better.

So how was she going to do it?

She’d been aware for years that she was a nervous babbler around people she didn’t know well-it was one of the reasons she tried to keep her mouth shut whenever possible. Better a stranger judge her aloof than think of her as the Crazy Woman Who Can’t Shut Up. Could she make Dylan understand that, when she’d seen him that first night, her mouth and brain had disconnected from each other and stuff had just started spilling out?

Yeah, that was going to make up for lying to the man for weeks on end. She’d just tell him her mouth had gone on autopilot, and he’d tell her he understood completely. People invented new identities all the time. In the witness protection program!

Disgusted with herself, she whipped back the covers, unbuttoning her pajama top as she crossed the room. Whatever she told him, he deserved to hear it face-to-face. And the drive to Atlanta would give her time to figure out what to say.

Surprised to hear anyone knocking at this hour, Dylan went to the front door. More than once the easygoing but chronically forgetful tenant from the second floor had locked himself out and come up here to call friends who had a spare key. The guy owned a cell phone but often neglected to keep it charged. Dylan glanced through the security hole and found not his goateed neighbor but Chloe. She must have jumped in her car scant minutes after they’d hung up.

He opened the door and as soon as he got a good look at her tearstained face, ravaged with grief and guilt, he knew exactly why she was there. Thank God. She was confessing! He sent up a heartfelt prayer of gratitude. The ludicrous game that had spun out of control was at an end. He itched to pull her to him and rain kisses over her. He’d held himself in check until now, and his control was strained to the breaking point.

Her presence here couldn’t have happened at a better time. Earlier tonight, she’d been the only person he wanted to turn to, the person who’d given him the exact input he’d needed, and he’d realized just how much he’d fallen for her.

“Dylan.” She took in his partially dressed state of slacks and undershirt. “I hope I’m not bothering you, but-”

“C.J.” Chloe. He tugged her into his arms, tilting her face up to him. She cared about him enough to share the difficult truth, had driven all this way in the middle of the night. He was delirious with the need to touch her, the need to comfort her.

What seemed like a lifetime ago, he’d wanted to see her break down. Now all he wanted to do was kiss away her tears.

“I am so glad to see you,” he breathed, letting go of her just long enough to shut the door behind her.

“You might not be for long,” she warned.

“No, don’t say that.” He shook his head. “I’ll always be glad to see you. My heart does this stutter like it’s suspended in time for that second when I first lay eyes on you. It happened when I saw you in that hotel lobby and every time since.”

Unable to stop himself-not wanting to stop himself-he drew her back to him and kissed her. He was better at articulating his feelings that way. At the last minute, he made an attempt to slow down, softening the kiss so that he didn’t pounce on her like a starving man presented with a buffet.

Instead, he nipped at her lower lip, sucking gently. She hadn’t bothered with makeup before her late-night drive, and it was the first time he’d ever kissed her when she wasn’t wearing lip gloss. She tasted like…Chloe, the most erotic flavor he’d ever sampled.

Fingers meshed in her hair, he speared his tongue into the soft heat of her mouth. She whimpered, but it was clearly not a sound of protest since she was frantically wriggling closer. He kissed his way down the column of her throat, murmuring against her skin. “You are so beautiful. And I want you so badly.”

Joining their mouths once again, he cupped her breast through the cotton of her T-shirt, and she arched into his palm. Then he lowered his hand beneath the hem, skimming over the sensitive skin of her midriff.

Although it had never been a question he felt compelled to ask anyone before, he heard himself say, “Do you want me, too?” Even with all the physical evidence before him, there was the faintest note of uncertainty in his tone.

She swallowed. “God, yes. You…I…”

When the tenderness in her expression gave way to apprehension, he laid a finger over her deliciously bare lips. Now that they were finally body to body and he knew without a doubt he could trust her, he couldn’t bear to lose this moment. “Shh. It’s okay, you don’t have to put it into words.” He might not be able to throw his best fastball anymore, but physical therapy had left him more than able to scoop her up and carry her toward the bedroom. Since a charitable organization had come by to collect some of the pieces he’d be replacing, such as his nightstand, the bedroom was starker than it had been before, making the bed such a focal point of the room that it might as well have neon flashing arrows over it.

But, of course, arrows angled at him would be negative chi, and Dylan was feeling extremely positive about life right now.

As soon as he’d set her on the foot of the bed, he tugged off his shirt. Then he reached for hers, removing it so quickly it was as if the fabric obligingly disintegrated. She sucked in a breath, causing her chest to swell in the lacy cups of a pale pink bra. Her skin was pale, too, smooth and exquisitely delicate. Pressing her against the mattress, he dropped kisses across her shoulder and collarbone, his fingers tracing circles over her abdomen.

“I came here to tell you something,” she said.

He glanced up, meeting her gaze. “If it was to tell me that you think you’re falling in love with me, the feeling is mutual.”

She froze, her eyes widening. “It is? You are?”

Feeling far shier than he had when he’d first done this at sixteen, he nodded. She plunged her fingers through his hair, pulled him closer and kissed him fervently, putting her whole heart into it. He kissed her back, realizing that for the first time in his life, he had his whole heart to give. He’d always dated, but baseball had been his first love, demanding so much time and concentration. And after confiding in her the other night about his childhood, he felt he’d cleared out emotional cobwebs that had kept him from experiencing everything so vividly before.