The candlelight haloed his face, giving his eyes a golden glow and inviting an intimacy she ignored like the electricity traveling up her arm. She pulled out of his hold and waved away his concern. “Yes, thank you. Please don’t use anything I said during my aura-induced state against me, okay?”
A dimple flickered in his cheek. “And where’s the fun in that?”
Heat skittered up her spine at the theatrical combination of charm and good looks. Oh, how she loved fiction. “Right. Well, I’m sure your day with a crazy Appalachian provided lots of entertainment.”
He closed in and all sorts of strange fireworks shot off in her stomach. Okay, so admiration from afar may not be far enough, but this was the wonderfully impossible kind of admiration. She could enjoy it while it lasted since it was perfectly safe and deliciously one-sided. Very movie-like.
“I haven’t had such a pleasant afternoon in a long time. It must be the company I keep.” He winked, controlled grin honed to perfection. The actor emerges.
Yep, totally fictional.
“Are you anxious?”
She followed his gaze to the jittery movements of her hand against the dark green satin covering her stomach. The last time she’d worn this particular dress had been pre-Emily and post Mama’s Marshmallow Cookies. Now it gave a firmer hug around her middle before cascading to the floor in a pretty rain of her favorite color.
“Of course I’m anxious.” She released her hold on her gown and stood up straighter. “How many times do you think someone like me visits a place like this? Three guesses, and they all end in ‘never’.” She smoothed her palm over the wrinkles her jittery fingers made against the fabric. “Actually, I’m trying to hold my breath. I haven’t worn this dress in years and I don’t want to show off my baby roll.” She looked up and her mouth dropped open. She didn’t voice those thoughts out loud to Christopher Wesley Harrison, did she?
She snapped her eyes shut and prayed for the rapture. “Never mind.” Heat coursed into her cheeks with such vibrancy, she had the sinking suspicion her face color matched her hair. Red face, green dress. Perfect for Christmas. She bit back a whimper.
“Eisley.”
She peeled open her eyelids with a subdued wince. Wes worked those perfect lips of his like he wanted to laugh. Who could blame him? She sighed. It didn’t matter. Soon she’d be miles away from dashing actors and safe within the folds of Uncle Joe’s research. Maybe then humiliation wouldn’t be an every half-hour occurrence.
“I can’t even blame a migraine on that comment.” She groaned. “Can you just pretend I didn’t say anything?”
“You don’t have one wit of pretension, do you?” He chuckled, a sound that somehow made her think of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. “I appreciate that more than you know.”
“Really?” She gave a mental eye roll. “So, you appreciate me humiliating myself with country girl flare?”
“I appreciate sincerity. The country girl flare is merely a charming bonus.”
Yeah, right! “That line was sweet as pie.”
“Chocolate pie?”
“Well,” she drew out the word. Oh heavens, talk about charming. “That’s a pretty prestigious rating. Give me some time and I’ll let you know if you reach chocolate-status, but you’ll have to work for it. Only the cream of the crop, so to speak, need apply.”
A dimple flickered like a temptation, which might have made the little dialogue worth the heat planting in her cheeks. “Is that a challenge?”
The sweet banter teased a new addiction. Oh, she could really like this guy.
“Pardon me. I don’t believe I’ve met your guest.” The cobalt glare of Vivian Barry burned into view.
She wrapped her arm around Wes’s with red claws clutched tight. From the snarl on her lips and the fire in her eyes, every pale piece of her very visible skin screamed one message loud and clear: Stay away from Christopher Wesley Harrison.
“You must be Estley Ferret?” Vivian raked her gaze down Eisley’s body, her tone in unison with her frosty expression.
Eisley’s smile froze in place and Polyanna died a painful death. Yep, mean people live everywhere, even jolly ole England.
“Her name is Eisley,” Wes interrupted, his quick reaction meant to lessen the blow. He withdrew from Vivian’s clutches and placed a bit of distance between them. “Eisley Barrett. Would your middle name be as unique as the first?”
Vivian’s blood-red lips took a dive toward a snarl.
Eisley’s grin resurfaced with full force. “I’m afraid so. My family has this crazy tradition of naming the first two grandchildren after grandparents from each side.” She placed her palm on her chest. “I am named after my English grandmother, Eisley, and my Irish grandmother, Honora. Neither of which are fun to spell in Kindergarten.”
Wes’s eyes lit with a smile. Vivian’s lit with something less inviting. Well, for the sake of her lovely hosts, she’d look for the silver lining around Ms. Barry’s heart.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Barry.” Eisley offered her hand, but Vivian barely acknowledged it with a look. Ah, a silver lining made of steel. Fabulous. Eisley’s teeth gritted.
“Vivian?” The crinkle just beneath Wes’s Superman curl deepened, clearly surprised by her blatant rudeness. His stare locked with Vivian’s until she produced a reluctant palm, slow enough to prove his influence wasn’t touching her will.
“A pleasure.”
Eleanor Harrison emerged into the conversation. “Eisley has come to stay with us for a few weeks as our particular guest. We hope to make her stay as pleasant as possible.” Her gaze fastened with potent accuracy on Vivian.
Now that was a well-honed mama-look. Eisley shivered from the sheer perfection of it.
“Of course, you’ve always been so kind to”—she peeked back at Eisley—“strangers.”
“I’m grateful for their kindness.” Eisley turned to the welcome warmth in Mrs. H’s face. Maybe Eisley was growing on her a little. It was hard to tell under all the properness.
“Eisley is doing a bit of research with Lizzie Worthing.” Wes was trying to bridge the glaciers in the conversation, and looked pretty stunned from the process. Poor guy. “She’s visiting from a small town in Virginia—in the Blue Ridge Mountains, no less. Lovely country, from what I understand.”
“And what is it you do in this small place?”
Eisley didn’t even blink from the disdain in Vivian’s voice. “My family runs a private preschool in town and my younger sister and I work as a team with kids who have special needs. She’s a speech-language pathologist. We stay pretty busy, so this visit is a wonderful break.”
“Your sister is some sort of teacher for proper English?” Her smile flamed into a wicked grin. She lifted a challenging brow as her glass touched her lips.
Vivian’s attempt at intimidation rolled right off of Eisley’s bare shoulder. Seriously? She worked with preschoolers who were more mature. “Proper where I come from, I guess, but to be like you I imagine I’d need a totally different education.”
“Hmm, I’m not certain you would be allowed into my circles, dear.” Vivian’s voice dropped words like ice cubes.
Eisley forced her snarl and fists into submission. Well, you’d fit right into mine. She’d worked with brats before.
“Eisley, perhaps I could encourage you to dance with me?” Wes stepped past Vivian and offered his hand. “It seems Vivian is somewhat unfit for pleasant conversation at present.”
Vivian’s gaze brightened with enough sparks to celebrate the Fourth of July and her syrupy smile took a menacing turn. Fine. Getting away from Vivian deVille was worth a temporary agreement to dance with Wes. Once safely out of earshot, she’d politely decline. She wasn’t tempting her or Wes’s fate by dancing with him. No matter how adorable his dimples.
***
Wes barely noticed his steps as he moved toward the dance floor. Vivian’s behavior secured the decision he’d considered for months—to sever his
relationship with all of the Barrys. He’d spent nearly a year trying to build emotional distance from Vivian, even drawing away from her father in an attempt to make a fresh start.
Carl Barry had recognized Wes as a twenty-five-year-old dreamer, hungry for a challenge. Wes had craved success; bathed in it, and followed Carl’s suggestions regarding his professional and private choices. Hindsight highlighted Carl’s subtle involvement in the romance between him and Jane. Somehow, in the middle of it all, one sister pitted against another. One seduced him, the other destroyed herself. Arrogance married ambition and birthed jealousy. A hateful trail of pain followed. It took months of reaping the unconditional love of his parents to save him from the same fate as Jane, even as story-hunting paparazzi thrust Jane’s unfaithfulness and his promiscuous lifestyle into the tabloids.
He never wanted to return to those shadows. Those haunting choices and empty pleasures. His past sealed his fate. He was no judge of women.
He glanced down at Eisley at his side, the comparison between her and Vivian proving as different as chalk and cheese could ever be. If Eisley was all she seemed, he certainly didn’t deserve a chance with her.
But what was it his father said? If men got what they deserved, they’d be a sorry lot indeed.
Ginger hair rested in ringlets on her head and spilled down her back, settling against the shiny green material of her gown. Her soft palm nestled on his arm, warm and right. One bare shoulder boasted a sunburst of freckles, an alarming distraction since he’d first seen her from across the room. Freckles. His grin inched up a notch and the room became hot for an entirely different reason. It felt good. Too good. Warning stirred deep in his chest. What if he was wrong again? Fatally wrong?
“I’m sorry for Vivian’s behavior. I’m not certain why she’s—” Wes stopped. “Please accept my apologies.”
Eisley tilted her head up to him. “It’s fine, Wes. But it’s pretty obvious Vivian could benefit from some double-barreled country charm and a little of my Gran's advice.”
“Advice?”
She scanned the ballroom ahead of them, lips twisted in humor. “You know the old saying, ‘you catch more flies with honey than vinegar'?”
“Yes.”
“Well, my Gran adds, 'some people are spiders so you have to make the honey thick.'” She lowered her voice and squeezed closer, unaware of the flint igniting at her nearness. “And in Ms. Barry’s case, I’d say extra thick. No offense, of course.”
“I believe you’re right.” His chuckle brought a light to her eyes, something he found particularly satisfying. “So, are you ready for this dance?”
She shook her head, palms splayed in the air. “No, Wes. I only agreed so we could get away from Lady MacBarry. It’s not a good idea for me to dance with you. With anyone. In fact, I can’t.”
He captured her wrist in a light hold, lingering a moment in the tempting trace of mint accompanying her. Perhaps the dance would prove her duplicity? Surely, she wouldn’t flounder if it was all a game. “One little dance? You’ve already agreed to it, you know. One try won’t hurt.”
“There are some things in life that really aren’t worth trying. Not even once. One is sky diving. The other is giving a pack of bubble gum to a two-year-old.” She looked out over the ballroom, worry lines deepening. “I’m pretty sure dancing with me might be a third.”
A hunch, or perhaps his spirit, nudged him to toss aside his fear. See her as the person she portrayed, true and genuine. In fact, he almost needed to believe it. “I’ll guide you.”
She studied him for a full fifteen seconds as if measuring his sincerity as much as he was hers, then a timid light flickered in her eyes. Faith. In him. His chest expanded with purpose.
“I won’t let you fall, Eisley.”
“Are you sure you want to risk these”—she pointed to the black heels on her feet— “chopping off a few of your toes?”
“I have ten of them and they are at your disposal. You may bruise them all you like, but I ought to warn you.” He leaned close and glanced down at his open palm in invitation. “I’m a very good teacher.”
Her eyes grew as wide as a two pence, hand paused in the air as if she wouldn’t commit. He forced every ounce of confidence into his expression. Why did helping her somehow feed the wounded man inside of him?
She stared at his outstretched hand, bottom lip caught between her teeth. His airway tightened. He’d wait for five minutes, palm outstretched like a beggar, if she’d agree. For some reason, his faith depended on it. Faith in the new man he wanted to be.
She put him out of his misery soon enough. Her hand slid into his and a sudden calm fell over him. Like the final cut to a movie. He led her to the middle of the room and placed his hand to her waist.
She dutifully cupped her left palm on his shoulder, clasped her right hand in his, and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Ready or not?”
His grin spread wide and the dance began. After the first twenty seconds, he was pretty certain she crunched all ten of his toes at least once. During the second twenty seconds, they both almost tripped. Wes caught her in his arms and started laughing. No one could pretend this type of fumbling about, and certainly not in a room filled with people. His doubts took another fatal blow. Eisley Barrett was for real.
Her cheeks colored to terracotta. It was the most endearing thing he’d witnessed in years.
“Well, this is a first.”
“I’m so sorry, Wes. I bet you’ve never heard of homicidal dancing before.”
She tried to pull away but he held fast. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this often. “You have the right technique. You only need to relax.”
“Okay…hmm…relax?” She looked at him like he was daft. “I’m dancing in the middle of a ballroom with Christopher Wesley Harrison, along with a hundred other people whose shoes probably cost more than my house. Besides those things, I’m an Appalachian in London and I don’t know how to dance. Relax?”
“I need to think of something to distract you?”
“Good luck. I think I’m—what would you guys say? —sufficiently diverted trying not to fall flat on my face.” Her lips pouted for a moment. “And this is one of my favorite jazz standards too.”
There was an idea. Certainly, God wouldn’t object to some wooing with Sinatra. Wes splayed his hand across her back and leaned forward so his lips grazed her ear. “I know this song too.”
Softly, he began to hum the melody.
She drew in a sharp breath, her body tensed, but then slowly released a sweet mmm as her body relaxed, allowing him to guide her steps. Her tangled legs caught the pattern his set, as if taking her mind off of the motions gave them freedom to follow. Her hand slipped from his shoulder down his arm, and a sigh brought her cheek against his. Mint coated the air around him in a delicious intoxication.
“Will you marry me?” Eisley breathed the question out on a whisper.
He drew back a few inches to view her face.
Her eyes were closed. “I think I could live off this moment for a good five years.”
Perfect. She’d forgotten all about Vivian’s spikey mood or their previous dangerous dancing. He drew her a little deeper into his embrace without missing a beat.
She looked up at him. Islands of gold floated in the emerald sea of her eyes. “You’re really working on that chocolate pie status, aren’t you?”
A surge of tenderness squeezed his voice to a whisper. “How am I doing?”
“I think you’ve moved up to strawberry with whipped cream.” Her gaze searched his. “You’re so…so nice.”
“You sound surprised.”
Her cheeks darkened. “Well, besides the fact you're sort of fictional and all, you do have a history of being the bad boy type.” Her smile turned apologetic. “But this entire time you’ve been…well…”
Their breaths mingled in the silence.
“I’m not who I used to be.”
She studied him, taking her t
ime to digest his statement. “A change of plans?”
“Well, more appropriately, a change of heart.”
She tilted her head and stared, her curious gaze boring deep. “Nice line.” Her nose wrinkled in thought. “You’re such an anomaly.”
“Now you’re trying to flatter me, aren’t you?”
She grinned. “Yeah, I bet you get compliments like that all the time.” Her gaze turned thoughtful. “But seriously, what puzzle piece am I missing? You’re charming and kind, not to mention famous. How can you not have a date or something?”
He caught Vivian’s glare from the crowd, her eyes narrowed. Almost a warning. They hadn’t arrived together, but she’d made a point to attach to him fairly quickly. No wonder he’d avoided social gatherings for so long. How had he not seen it! It was time for a fresh start with an agent who held Wes’s new vision, career choices with meaning beyond dollar signs, and a romance…
He wasn’t quite ready to commit to the thought, even with the beautiful inducement in his arms, but the idea was growing on him. “Fame certainly brings people, but not love. And I’m far from perfect.” He glanced at his parents dancing nearby. “You’ve met my parents. I want what they have.”
A sliver of pain creased her brows for a second. “That kind of love is worth waiting for. Don’t settle for less, Wes. You’ll regret it.”
Her wounds ran deep. Perhaps as stark and scarred as his. Was her joy an act, a defense mechanism, or a hint toward her faith? “You seem to speak from experience?”
“I’ve used up my happily-ever-after.” She shrugged her beautifully freckled shoulder and produced a hard-won smile. “But I love dreaming them up for other people. And yours would be such a fun dream.”
He felt his brow shift with his grin. “So, you’re saying you want to dream about me?”
She stumbled, but he tightened his hold to keep her steady. “No, not in that way.” She snickered. “But after meeting you, my overactive imagination can certainly dream up a perfect match.”
“Really?”
As she observed other dancers nearby, he allowed his gaze the freedom to roam her face, her hair, even the brush of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Yes, his father had been right—attraction burned like wildfire through his veins, but he wasn’t a fool anymore. Attraction lit quickly and died with the same speed. This…this felt new; fresh, and somehow, pure. “And what would you choose?”
Just the Way You Are (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 1) Page 6