With an embarrassed laugh, I squat near Marissa, nodding at the animals. “Do you want to help me feed them?”
Dylan clears his throat, motioning to the door. “Actually, Marissa and I have to get dressed, or we’re going to be late.”
“What are you wearing, Poppy?” Marissa asks, and I glance down at my jeans and sweatshirt. “Not now. To the holiday party.”
“I wasn’t going.” Truth is, I didn’t know there was a holiday party.
“You have to go. It’s tradition.”
“I wasn’t invited,” I whisper, feeling my cheeks flame at his daughter’s insistence.
“Poppy, everyone is welcome. I apologize, it slipped my mind that you didn’t know about the party. But you must come. There’s all manner of food, drink and dancing. Plus, you get to watch the mayor make an ass of himself.”
I can’t withhold the chuckle, complete with the snort that Dylan holds so dear. “I see that on the regular, Mr. West.”
Damn this man and his infectious grin. I’d walk through the bowels of hell with that come-hither smile. “See? I knew that laugh was hiding in there somewhere. Come on, it’ll be fun. Let’s kick off the holiday season.”
I glance between the two of them before nodding. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll head home and change.”
Talk about wearing a ballgown to a picnic.
I should have inquired about the dress code for the party, because I stick out like a sore thumb in my full-length red dress complete with a side slit and stilettos.
The other partygoers look nice, but they might be attending a church service in their freshly pressed jeans and cowboy boots.
At least the great room in the ski lodge is decorated to the hilt, complete with servers in elf costumes and tinsel strung over anything that would stand still long enough.
Gazing down at my dress, I run my hands nervously along the fabric. Maybe I should drive back to the cabin and change. It’s hard to miss the wide-eyed stares from my fellow Yuletide residents.
I turn back toward the door, only to find Marissa and Dylan not six feet from me.
“You look like a princess,” Marissa breathes as she fingers the material of my dress, her eyes wide with wonder. “Daddy, look. Isn’t she beautiful?”
I flush, although I’m uncertain if it’s because of Marissa’s comment or Dylan’s smoldering gaze. “I’m so overdressed.”
Dylan lets his fingers glide down the length of my arm, before grabbing my hand and twirling me around. “You are, but you’re also stunning.”
“Am I? Good to know.”
He puts my hand behind my back, pulling me close to him. “You’ll have all eyes on you tonight.”
I stare into his warm soft gaze, feeling those last pillars of the wall I erected crumbling to sand. “I was really only looking for yours.”
Dylan’s smile. He has one for every mood. This one? A combination of sexual promises fulfilled via his hands and tongue. “Are you saying you dressed like this for me?”
I feel my cheeks flame, but I won’t break eye contact. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He inches in, that neatly trimmed beard delivering a delicious tickle as he strings a line of kisses along my jaw. “I think someone likes me way more than she’s willing to admit.”
I bite my lower lip, refusing to cave under his advances. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Dylan takes a step back, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. “It’s okay, Sunshine. I already know the answer, and I must thank you personally for such a treat.”
I scan the room, noting the scathing looks from some of the younger women, all aimed at me. No surprise, since Dylan is at the top of every woman’s wish list. “I’m beginning to think that not everyone shares your perspective.”
“If anyone is looking, which they all are, it’s because they’ve never seen a more beautiful woman. Own it, Sunshine.”
A partygoer interrupts our moment, complimenting my frock before whisking Dylan away to attend to some mayoral emergency.
I feel a tug on my hand as Marissa intertwines her fingers with my own. “Are you having fun, Marissa?”
The little girl shrugs. “I guess. Where’s Paddington and Mr. Whiskers?”
“At the store. They’re waiting for me to fetch them after the party.”
“Too bad they couldn’t come,” she replies, her eyes despondent on the floor. I suddenly recognize in this child the same emotion I see in my own reflection—loneliness. Despite being surrounded by people who adore her, she’s lonely. That she knows that emotion intimately at the age of six breaks my heart.
I squat down beside her, smiling as she fingers the clip holding my hair. “Do you like it?”
Marissa nods. “It’s sparkly. I love sparkly things.” She tugs at her own hair, done up in simple braids. “My hair is boring.”
“Your braids are beautiful, but you’re right. They could use some decoration.” I slide the clip from my hair, my long locks cascading down my back. With dexterous fingers, I twist her braids together, pinning them with the clip. “There you go. Now you’re a princess, too.”
Her eyes sparkle at the gift before wrapping her arms around my neck. Talk about an easy way to melt a heart. Marissa could turn an iceberg to water with a single smile. “I’m going to show Grandma!”
I chuckle as she runs off, any feelings of loneliness long gone.
Hey, a princess needs a crown.
I stroll over to the portable bar, ordering a glass of wine and earning an appreciative smile from the bartender.
“That’s a lovely dress.”
I turn, taking in the pretty blonde to my right. She’s a looker, not a day over twenty-five, with the perky tits to prove it. “Thank you. I didn’t get the memo about the dress code.”
“It’s nice to dress up. There’s so little reason to do it here. Not practical, as my mother would say. You know what I say? Screw practicality. Besides, you’ve caught the eye of the mayor, and that’s something few women have managed to do.”
I tap my fingers against the wineglass, looking for answers in the golden liquid. “I’ve heard he’s very popular with the ladies.”
“Can you blame us? He’s gorgeous, and totally unavailable. Word to the wise? Hold on to your heart.”
“We’re just friends,” I blurt, but I can tell from her sad smile that she sees right through my fib. “Is he really a player?” I’m not sure why I’m asking about Dylan’s sexual past. I don’t want to know, but I feel like I have to know.
“I’ve worked with him for three years. He’s a very nice man and so damn easy on the eyes. He has several women that he entertains, but he never promises them anything. They know the deal.”
“The deal?” Even the term sits in my mouth like a piece of rotten fruit, coloring every thought.
She extends her hand with a laugh. “I’m terribly rude. I’m Amelia.”
“Poppy. You were saying?” Yes, I’m pressing the issue.
“Oh, his whole hands-off approach with women. He doesn’t date, doesn’t believe in relationships or marriage or having any more children. Hell, I could post a billboard in the town square based on the amount of times I’ve heard him say that.”