Page 6 of Mistletoe Masquerade
Yet again, another partygoer clumsily invades ourpersonal space. I see it happening in slow motion and am able to spin us out of the way before either of us can be jostled. In the process, the raven-haired beauty ends up pressed flush against me.
A tiny gasp slips past her lips, drawing my eyes.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t want her to spill your drink,” I murmur distractedly. My thoughts are now fixated on her incredibly lush lips.
You’re still clinging to her, asshole. Time to let go.
One frenetic heartbeat after another ticks by until I’m able to convince my hand to relax at her back, giving her the space to pull away. Except that doesn’t happen. The dainty fingers of her free hand clutch my lapel while she holds her champagne out to the side. She doesn’t budge an inch before peering up at me through a forest of thick black lashes and stunning me with three simple words.
“Dance with me.”
CHAPTER 3
SACHI
I wear Velcro kids’shoes with flashing lights and neon colors because I can—one of the perks of being short. I sculpt animals out of mashed potatoes when I eat at fancy restaurants and collect pictures I take of dogs I see at the park because I think they’re cute.
I suppose it shouldn’t come as a shock to me that I just asked a stranger to dance with me, yet I’m a bit flabbergasted at myself. Not a single person is dancing in the entire ballroom. I’m not even sure there’s a dance floor. And I didn’t just ask the man to dance, I practically demanded it.
The man I only know as Malone never even flinches.
He sets down our drinks on a nearby table, then guides me back into his arms. A small ensemble of musicians is playing an assortment of Christmas classics in a corner of the ballroom, filling the air with cheerful ambiance. The current number is a sultry rendition of “I’ll Have a Blue Christmas Without You”—perfect for a romantic turn about the floor.
I adore the way I feel in Malone’s confident hold. His one hand holds mine while his other hand rests at my lower back, keeping my body close to his.
I’m not sure which is more tantalizing.
The hand at my back radiates warmth to an already volcanic heat building in my center, while the skin-on-skin contact of our joined hands sends bolts of liquid lightning through my veins enough to power the entire Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center.
“Considering I’m pretending to be your date,” Malone begins as we gently sway in tandem, “surely, it’s not too forward to ask your name.”
Name? Oh my God.
I’ve been so caught up that I completely forgot he doesn’t have any clue who I am. Not that I know him all that well, but I knewofhim, and I had a name. I could be Joan of Arc for all he knows, and he certainly has no idea I’m friends with Sante and Tommy.
A sliver of unease trickles down my spine.
It’s fine, Sach. None of that matters. This is just a dance—a single night of fun, okay?
Absolutely. Right. No reason to worry.
“Sachi,” I offer, keeping my last name to myself. “And you are?” I ask because he doesn’t need to know that I know, but I also have no clue whether Malone is a first or last name. Hell, my memory could suck, and I could have the wrong guy altogether.
“Dean Malone. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Sachi. Of course, I hope you’re aware that half this room probably knows you called me Daddy by now.”
I was right. He is Malone, and that’s his last name. Good to know.
“A tough guy like you can handle a little ribbing, right?” I fight back a grin.
“I tell you what,” he says, then pulls me closer—close enough that our bodies graze one another. “You call me whatever you want, so long as you’re calling me.”
Ohdamn.
He’s good. Like, really freaking good.
Because despite the corniness of his lines, the sincerity in his voice has me gobbling up every word.
Tonight was supposed to be a simple indulgence—a little fun and a good story—but I get the feeling something big is being set into motion, and I don’t want it to stop. I’m enjoying myself with a man more than I have in … maybe ever.
