Page 43 of Choosing the right Man

“No, of course not.”

“Good. Be ready at eight and dress to the nines.” He turns and begins walking away. I want to call out to him, ask for more information, but I can’t find my voice.

I stand in the doorway and watch him go. It’s a beautiful sight. The sweats hug the muscles of his ass. He has powerful legs. He walks with confidence no matter what he wears, no matter where he is. Still, he seems out of place in my Martha Stewart neighborhood.

He climbs into a shiny black SUV, looks back at me, waves, then drives away. I stare at the car until it’s completely out of sight. What just happened?

My neighbor steps outside to pick up her newspaper, her eyes following the SUV before she turns and smiles at me, giving a wave.

“Good morning, Chloe. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she calls out. This snaps me out of my haze.

“Yes, Betty, it certainly is.” I force a smile to my lips as I grab my own paper. I’m not interested in reading it, but I need a reason for standing here gaping at the road.

“What are you doing today?” Betty asks. It isn’t that the neighbors are nosy, it’s what we always do in this neighborhood. We share, we visit, and we help each other when help is needed.

I smile. I’m not sure what I’m doing. Going to a work dinner, apparently. But that isn’t until later.

“I’m going to do some painting,” I tell her. “I’m ready for a change.” Iamready for a change.

“Oh, that’s always pleasant. Do you need any help?” The offer is genuine, and she certainly can help me, but she has things to do herself. I smile in appreciation.

“No, I’m going to turn my music up and get dirty.” She laughs.

“I completely understand. I’m going to do the same and drive Mr. Edwards crazy because I’m doing it while I work in my garden.” She chuckles again. Mr. Edwards is a grumpy old man who’s deemed himself the neighborhood watch patrol. He shakes his head in disapproval so much that most of us have decided to have a bobblehead doll made for him. He won’t get the joke, but it’s a fun thought.

“Then we’re both going to have a wonderful day. Take care,” I say.

We say goodbye, and then each go into our houses. It’s time to get ready for the day. I have eleven hours until I see Masonagain. Maybe I’ll be somewhat normal by then. It’s doubtful, but I can always hope.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chloe

I feel like another person as I look in the mirror at an almost unrecognizable image. The dress is beautiful and subtle at the same time. It covers my shoulders but makes a small plunge down my neckline, showing a modest amount of cleavage. The dark blue fabric is soft and molds to my curves, but flares at my hips, the hem ending mid-calf with a flirty slit up the side that can only be seen if I move quickly enough for the material to swish.

I’m not sure how fancy this dinner will be. I don’t want to be underdressed, but I certainly don’t want to look as if I’m going to a ball. I bought my paint, then ended up at the mall, knowing I won’t feel good tonight unless I have a new dress.

I can wear a business suit, but it’s a dinner. I don’t want to look severe. The moment I tried this dress on, I felt like a million bucks even though I cringed at the price tag. I put it on my credit card and gave myself a break. I make enough money at this job that I can afford to splurge once in a while.

My hair’s down to partially conceal the plunging back. It’s curled and soft, and I love the scent of my new shampoo. I make my eyes darker, giving them a mysterious shadow, and top thelook off with glossy pink lips. It seems I can’t get away from this color. But I like the finished look.

There’s no time to spare. A driver will be here before I’m ready if I don’t quit fussing and slip into my strappy black shoes. I don’t like to keep people waiting. I broke that bad habit when I was younger and realized I had a reputation for never arriving anywhere on time.

Just as I buckle the last strap, my doorbell rings. My heart thuds as the sound echoes through the house. Is it Mason’s driver, or will it be him? This is only a work event, not a date. Still, my nerves are on fire.

I glance in the mirror one final time and trust that everything will be okay. I walk to the front of my house and open the door. My breath catches, and nothing can free it again.

Mason is here, looking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. His lips are pressed together as he looks me over. But I’m not only focused on his face. I’ve seen him in many custom suits, in jeans, in sweats. I’ve never seen him in a black tux before. Maybe this dinner is more formal than I’m prepared for. I’m glad I splurged on the dress.

He wears a crisp white shirt beneath his black jacket. It fits him to perfection, every single inch of the garment molding perfectly to his sculptured body. He’s an artist’s dream to sketch. He’s too beautiful to be real.

“Breathtaking,” he whispers, reaching out and taking my hand. I can’t pull it away. I’m fixed on his eyes. Flames leap within them as he stares at me.

He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers. A tingle races up my arm, then slowly travels through my body, heating my core, making me ache in a way that’s nearly unbearable.

“You’re a sight,” I say, my voice husky. I’m unable to hide my reaction to him. He smiles the briefest of smiles as he clutches my fingers.

“I think we’re going to have a difficult time getting business done. You’re definitely stealing the spotlight tonight,” he whispers. He’s shaken off the stunned look, and his normal mask is back in place. I wish I could do the same. I don’t have a response to his words. I try to come up with something to say to ebb the intensity I’m feeling.

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