Alyssa Goodnight - Austentatious

“You can just step in and take over, just like that?”

“Pretty much.”

This didn’t seem like a big deal to him, but I was very impressed. I had no musical skills whatsoever, hence my “no karaoke” rule.

“What else can you do?” I asked, suddenly fascinated.

He blinked but took the high road. “I play the guitar, I’m decent on keyboards, and I’m told my singing voice is not too shabby.”

“My next-door neighbors could really use you at their Friday night karaoke parties,” I joked.

“So invite me,” he flirted, sliding his thumb over the back of my hand.

With no clue how to respond to that, the suggestion ended up dangling awkwardly between us.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Sean said, clearly amused. “My band is playing Maggie Mae’s Thursday night. Will you come for a listen? I can leave passes for you with the manager.”

With the sconces above us flickering with candlelight, I opened my mouth to decline, but then glanced up at his face, letting that boyish grin melt me just a little. “Sure,” I finally answered, a resigned smile curving my lips. I knew that seeing him again and letting my mind get all tangled up in him was probably not a good idea. And yet, it’d be a shame to miss the chance, because I suspected he had a very talented mouth.

The sound of silver ringing against crystal kept that image from pulling me under, and as conversation gently died down, the announcement followed:

“The bride and groom will now be cutting the cake, if everyone would like to make their way into the foyer.”

My eyes met Sean’s, the question clear: Shall we?

Rather than answer, he settled his hand possessively at the base of my spine, gesturing gallantly for me to proceed him, and we abandoned our alcove to follow the crowd.

Even surrounded by wedding guests, I was aware of only Sean. Standing behind me, he was out of sight, and his hand, tracing shivery circles mere inches away from racy behavior, was driving me out of my mind. My breathing was erratic to say the least, and then he leaned in, his breath skimming my cheek.

“If he knows what he’s doing, he’ll muck it up, miss her mouth completely.”

His lip glided casually across my cheek, and my heart started to pound out a rhythm: Oh. My. God. Oh. My. God ... I didn’t even attempt a response.

“Real men lick the icing,” he teased, his voice as velvety as his lips. “I’ll snag you a piece.”

Then he was pulling away, taking all his warmth and innuendo with him. And cathartic relief was vying with pervasive disappointment. I was just barely recovering when he was back, with one single sliver, which he handed to me.

I awkwardly offered him the first bite. He grinned wolfishly and leaned down to take it. I forked up the second bite and closed my eyes in pleasure as the feather-light cake and decadent cream filling melded on my tongue. Finally ... cake.

Awareness snapped at me like a live wire. I’m having my cake.

Sean, who a moment ago had been intently watching me savor my first bite, was now looking at me curiously, probably wondering if my cake had gone down the wrong way. Sean, whom I’d just met.

Have your cake ... but meet him too.

Oh my God! How did I miss this? I was just about to follow Brett upstairs, thinking he was him, and then there was that damn mushroom ... and Sean. Oh my God! Is it possible the magic—or voodoo—or whatever it is—isn’t confined to the journal? Did Fairy Jane somehow flick a mushroom down my dress and finagle this whole thing merely to make me forget about Brett and ... Shit—Brett! I totally left him hanging—I never went up—Oh. My. God. I did go upstairs—I went up with Sean, danced with him, drooled over him ...

“Nicola, are you all right?” The concern was clear in Sean’s voice. But I couldn’t handle this right now—I didn’t want to think or explain. I just needed to go.

“I need to go.” This time I said it out loud, my voice watery. I looked for a place to dump my plate. Even the cake no longer appealed, almost as if it was tainted.

Sean stepped forward, took the plate, and set it in a niche beside a beautiful bouquet of wedding flowers. And then his hands came around me, moving me off, away from the crowd.

“What is it?” His eyes had sharpened their focus and darkened with concern.

Forcing a smile, I made myself look into his eyes as long as I could before letting my own dart away again. “It’s nothing. It’s just that I’m cold and my feet are nearly numb.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, Sean was generously shrugging off his jacket.

“Daft! Just distracted, I guess. I assumed you were warm enough wrapped up in your scarf. That’s not to say that I missed even a single opportunity to ogle your lovely bare legs.”

Now I definitely didn’t need the jacket—I could feel the warm tide of a flush creeping up my neck and settling on my cheeks. But as he swung it around my shoulders, I put my hand out, brushing his raspberry-colored sleeve.

“Seriously, though, unless you’re up for trading shoes, I should probably go. I just want to get out of this dress and these shoes and go to bed.” I heard the way that sounded and thrilled just a little at his pained expression.

“Is this your way of letting me down easy? Because if so, you’re failing miserably.”

I let a laugh escape and stepped backward, away from temptation. “Thank you for the cake and the dance. And the company. And the superhero save.”

“My pleasure. I’ll walk you out.” He stepped toward me, and in reaction, I stepped away.

“It’s fine. You really don’t need to—” I so desperately wanted to be out of there before I had to face Brett. Surely he’d come down at some point for cake—probably any minute now—and that could get downright awkward. Besides, a Band-Aid-style good-bye right here would really be best. I’d make a clean break and limp out the way I’d come in, and it’d be as if this whole evening was a dream.

“Ah, but I do.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, his own spicily scented jacket now settled between us, and began to lead me through the almost empty hallways of this little fairy-tale castle. “How else do you suppose I’ll snare a kiss?”

At this point in our acquaintance, his nerve didn’t even faze me, but despite the runaway thrill that went coursing through me, I felt the need to call him on it. “You really have a knack for those one-liners, don’t you? A perfect mix of charming and presumptuous so that a girl doesn’t know quite how to take you.”

“I’m not at all picky. Just take me.”

My laugh slid out on a sigh, and the moment felt oddly bittersweet. Sean and I would never be more than strangers, crossing paths for one magical night. Disturbingly magical, if it came to that.

Reality whipped in with the tingly cold snap of wind as we stepped out of the castle, away from the reception. The temperature had probably dropped ten degrees since the ceremony, but snuggled as I was into Sean’s jacket, inhaling deep breaths of spicy male, his arm wrapped snugly around my waist, I barely noticed the cold. After stumbling over a chunk of limestone and having Sean pull me more tightly against him, I decided to fake-trip all the way back to my car. He probably thought me an utter klutz. I preferred the term “go-getter.”

When he took the key from my hand to unlock the door, I was charmed. When he started the engine and cranked up the heat, I was enchanted. And when he leaned in to me and hovered just a whisper away from my lips, I was full-out panting. I held completely still, afraid to move, to break the spell, desperately wanting this one star-crossed kiss. I could have leaned in myself, but that would have been rushing things, and I most definitely didn’t want that. So I waited.

And then he shifted, just slightly, brushing his lips over the corner of my mouth before slowly pulling away. Not the cheek, which after the time we’d spent together would have been a bit of a letdown, and not technically the lips, which might have been just a little presumptuous. A perfect compromise. I’d congratulate his ingenuity, but I figured it might ruin the moment.

My fingers were itching to touch that little wonder spot, but I didn’t give in to the cliché. Instead I hugged his jacket even closer, knowing I was just seconds away from giving it up.

With a little separation once again between us, he looked down at me, and I realized he must be getting an eyeful of my self-induced, chilly weather cleavage. I peered back up at him, unwilling to move.

“You have a dress under there somewhere, right? Let’s have a look at it, shall we?” A nod toward the car. “Your heater’s on, and you’re going home alone. And I am a superhero.”

“A superhero looking for quid pro quo?” I lifted an eyebrow and tried to hold back a grin, because I’d already decided to give him a peek. Someone should see the magnificence of this dress, and who better than him?

Or maybe Brett ... Not now, Nicola. Not now!

Shrugging off his jacket, I offered it back to him, and shivered in its absence. Then I unpinned the brooch holding me together, shifting and rearranging until I was gripping the ends of my glamorous pashmina right in front of me. I closed my eyes and braced myself against the shock of cold air before yanking the ends open, waiting two excruciating beats, and swooping them closed again. Opening my eyes to sneak a peek at his face, I couldn’t help but wonder just how nippy it really was.

“Bloody hell. Come back inside ... ?”

It was obvious he didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t offer one. Instead he held the door for me, and we shared our last moments.

“You’ve promised to come Thursday?” His tone was almost urgent, insisting.

“I did,” I said, wondering even now if I’d manage it.

“Perfect. So this really isn’t good-bye, just au revoir.”

“Definitely,” I agreed, not nearly as confident as I sounded.

“Well, then. It was lovely to meet you, Ms. James. I very much look forward to the next installment in what proves to be a very interesting saga.”

Saga? I couldn’t tell whether he was being deliberately obtuse or merely his charming, playful self.

“Likewise, Mr. MacInnes,” I countered, extending my hand for a businesslike shake.

With a twinkle of moonlight in his eyes, he took my hand, twisted it, and brought it to his lips.

And then somehow I was in the driver’s seat. Having turned from the moon, Sean’s eyes and face were dark, and it was slightly easier, like this, to shut the door.

Driving away, I watched him, watching me, his hands sunk deep into his pockets, until all that was left was to drive out of the woods, out of the fairy tale, back to the city. The stroke of midnight was still another couple of hours away, but Cinderella had definitely left the ball.

With the nursery rhyme playing over and over in my mind on the drive home, I couldn’t help but wonder how long it was going to take to get Sean out of my thoughts. But it had been worth it—so worth it. And Fairy Jane had known all along. As predicted, I’d had my cake—and it had been melt-in-your-mouth memorable—and I’d met “him” too. And he’d trumped the cake, no contest.

At that point I was trying to balance being totally freaked that my journal could predict—or possibly manipulate—the future, jealous that it seemed able to make deliriously sexy men do its bidding, and seriously impressed with its exquisite taste.

I had no doubt that I’d met the appropriate “him.” A fairy godmother worth her salt couldn’t possibly have meant anyone else—he was even British! And dreamy and charming and funny and sexy. But it was just a chance encounter, a memorable one-night fling that never made it past first base. And what about Brett? Had I absolutely killed my chances?

I reached over and turned down the heat in the car, suddenly overwarm.

It could never work. Shit! My mind had dodged away from Brett and bounced back to Sean all over again.

It could never work, and yet it had all been leading up to this. All of it had been intended solely as a means to this particular end, this guy, this date. The first little snippet I’d found in the journal had been my invitation to the ball: Ms. Nicola James will be sensible and indulge in a little romance. The second—cleavage is as cleavage does—had set the scene for my encounter with Sean and eventually our very sexy good-bye. And the third—have your cake but meet him too—had been the good solid nudge I needed to keep from getting too distracted to recognize what had been right in front of me.