“Infatuated?” Chris murmured to himself. “I suppose that’s as good a word as any.” He wasn’t so fond of the chasing him out of town part.
Still not hearing him, Nick stepped even closer to his fiancée, a bold grin on his face. “She is a lot like my favorite McCullough cousin.”
“Ha! Anne only goes for superficial—sure to be temporary—relationships.”
Chris was glad to know he’d gotten that part right. Well, not exactly glad, but at least it confirmed his assessment of the dancer’s dating habits.
Nick chuckled, and Skye’s cheeks turned pink as she realized she was describing herself—before she fell for him. “Okay, but Anne is a lot more stubborn than I am.”
Nick cocked his head to the side.
“Okay, maybe not. But I came around, didn’t I?”
Nick’s hands went around her tiny waist, and suddenly he was wishing that the house they had rented wasn’t two blocks away. “You did indeed.”
Recognizing the seductive look in his eyes, Skye smiled up at him as she took a step back. “Watch it, Cowboy. You gave up your studio upstairs, remember?”
“I remember,” Nick groaned. “Unfortunately.”
Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. “Be my guests,” he said, but the couple was too preoccupied to hear him.
Skye stepped toward Nick and reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Maybe when Marty shows up for her shift, I’ll ask Uncle Palmer to cover for me for a bit, and we can sneak off home.”
“Sounds good to me.” Nick took a deep breath and struggled to focus on their conversation. “Uh, what were we talking about again?”
“I was saying that I’d just like to see Anne as happy as I am.”
“And you think she’ll be happy with me?” Chris asked.
They glanced up at him in surprise as if remembering that he was there. “Not sure why, but I like you.” Skye studied him for a moment. “And the fact that you’re still interested in her after what—six, seven months—says a lot.” And the fact that he had studied her through the lens of a camera and seemed to understand her passion for dance gave him a big advantage over the other men Anne had dated.
“What does it say?” Nick asked, winking at Chris. “That he’s tough enough to put up with the torment of a female McCullough cousin?”
“Pretty much. But hey, we’re not all like that.”
“True.” Nick waved good-bye to Skye’s cousin and Palmer’s daughter Kelly as she headed into the office to see her dad. “Some of the cousins are very sweet. You and Anne just aren’t two of them.”
“Hey!”
“Do you disagree?”
“Okay. Anne and I are probably the toughest on men.” Although her Cousin Megan was very adept at giving the male of the species fits as well. “But for good reason.”
Her fiancé already knew her reason. And Anne’s? Skye sighed as she considered her own question. She was afraid of having to give up herself and her dancing if she got too involved with a man. Skye understood. Dance was her cousin’s life. She just needed to find a man who understood and accepted that. And she had a strong feeling Christopher Newell could be that man.
She took another step closer to Nick and encircled his waist with her arms, glancing over at Chris. “So, tell me what I can do to help.”
Chapter 4
Chris scanned the photographs that were spread across the desk of his new studio apartment, stopping when he came to his favorite. The picture of her smiling directly at him—even if she had no idea she was—as she leaped into the air and reached out to him had to be at the top of his list. Cover shot, he thought.
He stood up and stretched and walked over to the window seat. It was snowing again. Twice in as many days. He looked up at the sky to watch the gentle snowflakes drift to the ground. They were actually sticking. Unusual here in the valley, not that he knew the valley that well, but he knew its history and climate.
He wondered what she was doing right now and if she knew it was snowing. He glanced down at his watch. Almost time to meet her. He only hoped he could actually open his mouth to introduce himself. Damn. Just looking at her always took his breath away. The last time he’d seen her, choreographing in her studio, she had looked so incredibly beautiful with her hair twisted back in a pony tail, loose tendrils flying every which way as she twirled and leaped through the air, he doubted he could have uttered a word.
But he’d be damned if he was going to wait a minute longer and risk her meeting someone else and hooking up with him. He could handle observing her from a distance, but he sure as hell couldn’t handle watching her fall for another man.
Besides, wasn’t that the point of his being here? Not only to get this article finished and make a good start on his book, but to actually meet the dancer who was the subject of both. He hadn’t gone to all this trouble to stand on the sidelines. Hell, he had even rented a studio apartment in this tiny village.
He glanced down the main street of Canden Valley and chuckled to himself. What would his family think if they could see him now? But the truth was, he liked this place. Even more than the first time when he had come here to observe Anne teach. Oddly enough, while he was away, he had missed the tiny village and all the activity and gossip. Apparently two of the cousins had gotten married. Two more were engaged. All in the span of a few months. Fast workers, these McCulloughs.
He smiled when he thought of Nick. At least someone else had gone through a lengthy illusive courtship to win the heart of a McCullough cousin. From what he could tell, half of the people in Canden Valley were McCulloughs or related to them. After he’d learned that Palmer was her uncle and Skye was her cousin, he’d done some more in-depth research into her family. He didn’t want to make that mistake again. Although now he was going on the assumption that everyone in town knew Anne and several were related to her, especially since Palmer had mentioned that there were fourteen of them, cousins, that is. All he’d had to do was punch in Canden Valley and McCullough into his laptop, and up came the whole family. Grandparents, their four children and their spouses, including Palmer and Emily Burnett, owners of the pub and his apartment, and Anne’s parents, Grant and Nan Jameson.
The McCullough parents were very clever. It hadn’t taken him more than a minute to recognize that each set had selected a particular first initial with which to name their children. Anne’s older brother was Alex and their younger siblings were Aidan and Allie. Then there was the bartender, Skye, and her brothers Sean and Sloan. He’d met Sean at the general store when he first arrived but as far as he knew, he hadn’t seen Sloan yet. Another set of cousins had grown up in Winslow—Matt, Megan, Morgan, and Mairi. And the remaining trio had grown up across the street from the pub which their parents owned—Kelly, Kieran, and Kayleigh.
He had only met a couple of them, but from what he could tell from the photographs he’d pulled up on the internet, they all appeared to resemble one another with their blue eyes and dark brown hair. There was something that set Anne apart though. Perhaps it was the grace with which she moved, or her sleek dancer’s body. Or the fact that her rich brown hair had just a few more specs of gold in it or her blue eyes resembled the blue of the ocean just a little bit more.
He shoved the photographs into the desk drawer. This was ridiculous. He was just under six feet tall and weighed close to two hundred pounds, and here he was afraid of getting tongue-tied in front of a five-foot, seven-inch tall sprite of a dancer. Hell, if he could stand up to his father and grandfather, he could introduce himself to Anne. What the hell was he afraid of? As he’d told Nick, rejection. He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. But when had he lost his confidence with women? He’d never had trouble getting dates or taking women to bed for that matter. So, why was his confidence failing him now?
It hit him like a ton of bricks. Because it mattered. She mattered. More than any woman he’d ever known, seen, or taken a photograph of. He hated to admit it, but it had never mattered
in the past. It wasn’t that he hadn’t respected the women in his life, but he had known that none of his relationships would become serious. He was honest with them, told them up front that he wasn’t in it for the long haul. Most of them believed him. Some didn’t. Some believed that they could change him, seduce him into a serious relationship. Others simply wanted to be able to say that they had succeeded in getting a Newell man to bed. He hated to tell them, but it wasn’t that difficult. All they had to do was flirt with his father or grandfather or any of his uncles or male cousins to succeed at that.
It turned out that, despite his belief to the contrary during his college years, being one of the most eligible bachelors around was not a fun ride. It meant a lot of unauthentic relationships with women who were as interested in his name and money as they were in him. Little did they know that he would never lay claim to a penny of his family’s fortune. Especially not once he’d had it out with his father and grandfather and had basically told them as much. It had taken him a while to reach that point. Several years. But now that he was there, he was glad he had achieved the unachievable—dividing the private club of Newell males.
One of the unexpected benefits of his achievement was that now he could actually see himself in a serious relationship. It was no coincidence that he’d first seen Anne Jameson on the stage in San Francisco the night after he’d had it out with his father and told him that he was never joining the family business and that he did not want any money or inheritance from them. It was as if he had stepped from a tarnished existence into a hopeful one. Even if his father refused to take his words seriously, he himself had. He could live his own life now, untainted by the callousness and selfishness that seemed inherent in his family genes. Narcissism, he had decided long ago, was the family disease, at least among the male members of the family. He could only hope that he had escaped that. His sister assured him that he had, but then she was prejudiced.
He was grateful for their relationship, and his relationship with Shelly’s daughter, Sara, his eight-year-old niece. They were his family. As far as he was concerned, they, along with the gardener and nanny who had basically raised him and Shelly, were the only family he had.
He glanced out the window. The snow had softened. He looked down at his watch again. Twenty minutes until her last class was over. He sucked in a breath and forced himself to release it. Nick was right. He could keep this on a purely professional level initially. Nothing more. Give her time to get to know him. Give himself time to work his way into her heart and convince her that she could handle more than a two-month or two-minute relationship.
He laughed as he imagined what the women from his glamorous city life would think if they could hear his thoughts. They would most likely think he was on drugs or had been taken over by an alien. He was actually considering being in a relationship that might lead to a future. He looked at his watch again. Fifteen more minutes. If he hadn’t been waiting for this moment for seven bloody months, he wouldn’t be such a damned coward. He winced, remembering when his father had called him a goddamned coward the first time.
He was ten years old and he did not want to confront the school bully who was two years older than he was. Unfortunately he’d listened to his father, and he had stood up to the jerk who ended up giving him two black eyes, a stomach ache, and a twisted ankle. Never had he been so humiliated. Never had his father been so proud. Of course, that was after he’d convinced him he’d pummeled the bully. Yeah, right. He hadn’t managed to lay a finger on him. The guy was a foot taller and thirty pounds heavier than he was. But, his father was very good at believing what he wanted to believe.
He glanced out the window in the direction of the dance studio. It was just out of sight, but he could visualize it. Her. Okay, he wasn’t in danger of getting a black eye—at least he hoped not. It was just that first impression. He wanted to make a good one. And that fear of rejection thing. Well, screw it. If he never made a first impression, he might never subject himself to rejection, but he also would be missing out on the potential for a long-lasting relationship. And if he didn’t act now, he might very well miss his chance. Hell, someone else could snatch her up and love her the way he wanted to. In fact, there could be numerous men standing in the wings just waiting for the chance to make a move.
He scooped up his keys, pocketed them, and headed out into the snow. He would take Nick’s most recent advice. He would keep his eye on the goal. Happily.
“Anne Jameson?”
“Yes?”
He extended his hand and she took it. Shit. He was touching her. How the hell was he supposed to maintain a semblance of professionalism when all he wanted to do was grab her and devour her?
Anne looked into the chocolate brown eyes that were staring into hers as if they could see all the way to her soul. She yanked her hand out of the man’s grip and forced herself to look away. But all she found was an even more alarmingly perfect face. Strong chin, tempting mouth. Lopsided smile. The man was gorgeous.
The eyes that she could easily get lost in were bad enough. But that face? She was never this attracted to a man at first sight. This could not be good. Who was he, and what the hell was he doing in her dance studio?
Oh, yeah, that. He was probably inquiring about lessons for his kids. Married. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at that realization.
Feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, she forced her eyes away from his face. Big mistake. His shoulders were broad and muscular, as was his chest. She could tell even hidden beneath the dark corduroy jacket he was wearing.
Again she diverted her eyes. This time lower. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. She could see the outline of thick muscular thighs through his jeans. It made her wonder if he danced, rode horses, ran, hiked, played soccer. All of the above? She resisted the urge to ask him to turn around so she could admire his ass which she was certain was perfect as well.
“Are you okay?” his deep husky voice asked. God, the man was sexy.
“Huh? What? Oh, yes, I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t. Chris knew it from the moment he had taken her hand. Something had happened. Something similar to mixing compounds in a high school chemistry lab. Or fireworks on The Fourth of July. “Can I get you something? A glass of water?”
She shook her head, her dark brown hair flying, most of it having freed itself from its pony tail already. “I’m fine. Really,” she protested. The deliberate deep breath made him smile, and he felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. For the first time since he’d seen Anne McCullough Jameson nearly seven months ago, his courage was restored. She was attracted to him. All the signs were there. The way she had stared into his eyes and then had forced herself to look away, her eyes trailing a path the entire length of his body. And judging from the heat flaring in her cheeks, she hadn’t been disappointed. All that bike riding and hiking had paid off. He was surprised she hadn’t asked him to turn around so she could see if his ass was up to her standard.
“I’m Christopher Newell,” he said with renewed confidence.
“Yes?”
“I’m the photographer? You agreed to pose for me?”
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“Ohh.” She vaguely remembered her agent mentioning a photo spread. “But that was over three months ago. It got postponed.”
“Right. Until now.” Due to his finding any excuse he could to procrastinate their meeting. And, as his highly-educated best friend had accused, of his being chicken-assed afraid of her.
She tensed. “Now? When I’m in the throes of teaching and rehearsing my kids for their Nutcracker production? You’ve got to be kidding.”
The last thing he wanted was to have her mad at him five minutes into their relationship. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Obviously not. It’s my busiest time of year, other than when I’m out on tour. My students are my top priority right now, and it’s not as if I have hours a day to pose fo
r photographs.” But damn. He was offering to do a photo spread of her. Opportunities like this didn’t come along often. So, why was she being so cranky and rude about it?
She didn’t have to ask Arielle, her therapist cousin-in-law, why she was trying to sabotage this opportunity. She already knew what she’d say. She was scared. And it had nothing to do with posing for pictures. It had to do with the man who would be holding the camera and his passionate brown eyes and his incredible magnetism and that deep husky voice.
“What if I said I won’t ask you to spend more than an hour a week on it?”
“You’ll be here for more than a week?” Her voice was suddenly hoarse.
He stepped closer and stared into her eyes, forcing her to meet his when he spoke. “I’ll be here for as long as it takes.”
“As long as it takes?” She vaguely heard herself repeating his words. As long as what takes? Fortunately she managed to hold onto that question. Instead she asked, “How is that even possible? I mean, just an hour a week?”
“I specialize in candid shots, not posed.”
“But I’ll be teaching and rehearsing my kids.”
“Works for me.”
“You don’t want any shots of me dancing?”
He didn’t think that telling her he had several hundred of them already would be beneficial to their relationship. “Uh, that’s what the one hour a week is for. Does that work for you?”
What could she say to that? “As long as you don’t interfere with my rehearsals or get in the way.” Or get anywhere near me.
“I’ll go one step better. How about if I help out?”
“Help out? With what?”
“Whatever you need. Lighting, props, music, snacks, anything.”
“That might be a bit odd considering that you don’t have a child in the show. Or even at my dance studio.” Anne glanced away so he couldn’t read her expression that was in total contradiction to her words. After all, her two main assistants were her childless cousins, Kelly and Megan. She had wanted all the parents to be able to enjoy the performances so she had resisted the urge to accept their offers of help, instead commandeering her school teacher cousin and her doctor cousin. But to accept Christopher Newell’s help would be a prescription for disaster. It meant he would be near her constantly, and she would be sure to lose focus on the performance. She couldn’t afford to do that.
December Dance Page 3