Dylan managed not to grimace at the sir, feeling much older than the hotel employee even though they were probably only separated by half a dozen years. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, too-?”

“Artie. My brother plays catcher over at the school. I made the team when I was there, but mostly warmed the bench. We think he could go all the way. Pro, like you.” At Dylan’s polite but cool nod, Artie stopped gushing. “Um…where would you like the food, sir?”

As Dylan turned to indicate the table and two chairs, he realized that C.J. had disappeared-into the restroom, he suspected, to freshen her lipstick and smooth her mussed hair.

“Over here is fine,” Dylan said, signing for their dinner. “Tell your brother I said good luck.”

Artie’s youthful grin flashed again. “Will do. Thanks, Mr. Echols!”

It wasn’t that Dylan was completely bitter about baseball-he still loved the game and always would-but it continued to sting when people referenced his baseball career. His dream had been to be remembered as truly great at the game, and now there was no way of ever knowing how close he could have come.

The creak of the bathroom door was a welcome distraction. C.J. stepped back into the room, and as he’d anticipated, she looked more composed. Except for her eyes. They shimmered with barely banked panic.

“Hungry?” he asked her, gesturing toward the food.

She clutched her purse tightly. “A-actually, I have to go.”

“Now? But the food just…Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” She hurried toward the door, slowing only long enough to thrust a twenty-dollar bill at him. He was so startled by her exit that he took the money automatically.

“Candy, wait.”

She flinched. “I can’t.” Then she hurried out into the hall.

His impulse was to go after her, find out what had prompted her to flee and try to change her mind, but it seemed unchivalrous to pursue a woman so adamant about leaving.

Bemused, he returned to their dinners and slumped into a chair, thinking that it was a whole lot of food for one man with a dwindling appetite. Intriguing woman, C.J. Beautiful, seemingly successful, funny when she wasn’t rigid with anxiety. But she definitely gave some mixed signals. One moment they’d been hot and heavy-

Had he been too aggressive, the way he’d kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her? Echols, you ass. She’d admitted earlier that she was a bit nervous, spending the evening with a former crush, had even blushed sitting right here in this chair. And what had he done? Practically fallen on her like a ravenous beast or, worse, a horny teenage boy.

In a lot of ways, Mistletoe was a quaint, old-fashioned place and C.J. was a local girl. She wasn’t a baseball groupie who’d picked him up in a bar or a jaded sophisticate like Heidi. Instead of lobbing her a nice, simple practice ball, he’d brought the heat, scaring off the most promising thing that had happened to him in weeks.

“I AM A BAD PERSON,” Chloe told her reflection in the mirrored elevator panels. She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, trying to figure out what the devil she’d been thinking. You weren’t. Her brain had short-circuited as soon as she’d seen Dylan down in the lobby. That was the only explanation for everything that had transpired.

She’d wanted so badly to kiss him, to take the chance she knew she’d never be given again, but it had quickly spiraled out of control, leaving her feeling shaken and inexperienced. So that’s what lust feels like. With a shiver, she recalled his gentle tug at the straps of her dress, the rasp of his callused fingers against her skin. It was all too easy to imagine those fingers sliding down the bodice of the dress, exploring her. Chloe Malcolm was not the kind of woman who went to a man’s hotel room after a few minutes of conversation and let him feel her up!

Especially when she’d lied to the man in question. She’d let him think she was a cheerleader, for crying out loud! And a decorator? When he’d called her Candy as she made her escape, she’d wanted to throw up from guilt.

Once she stepped off the elevator, she hurried toward the front of the hotel to catch a cab. She’d text Nat on the way home to let her know so her friend didn’t worry. Something casual like “Tired, think I’ll turn in early,” rather than admit that she was fleeing into the night like the proverbial Cinderella at the stroke of twelve. Thank heavens for room service.

If not for the interruption that had broken the sensual spell, would Chloe even now be in the arms of a man calling out another woman’s name?

THOUGH DYLAN MADE a halfhearted stab at eating, he conceded defeat pretty soon and placed the tray in the hall for pickup. He flipped on the television to check scores, but nothing held his interest. Sitting on the bed only reminded him of what he’d rather be doing. Whichis probably why she took off. Get your hormones under control. Had she left the hotel, or had she gone to their reunion after all?

It wasn’t a bad idea, he decided. He was restless, alone in the small room. Why not go downstairs, attend the party as originally planned?

In the back of his mind was the thought that perhaps he’d see her there, that he could apologize if he’d offended her with his amorous enthusiasm and maybe even convince her that it would be safe to go out to eat with him tomorrow. Trying to pretend he didn’t have ulterior motives, Dylan quickly showered. Then he changed into black slacks and a matching coat over a white button-down shirt, open at the collar. A lot spiffier than his earlier jeans and shirt, although C.J. hadn’t seemed to mind his attire. When he hit the button for the elevator, he possessed far more zeal for this reunion than he had when he’d entered the hotel a couple of hours ago.

He passed through the lobby and went downstairs, following the thumping bass of a band. A folding table sat outside a ballroom door, and two women sat chatting with partygoers and checking in late arrivals. One of the ladies working the door was Lilah Baum-he never forgot a pretty redhead-who’d dated the same varsity football player all through high school. Next to Lilah was a dark-haired woman who’d outdressed everyone else in a one-shouldered sparkling white dress.

As he approached, the brunette glanced up from the clipboard in front of her, her mouth curving into a feline smile when she spotted him. “Why, Dylan Echols. I heard rumors you were coming. I’m sure I speak on behalf of the entire female student body when I say we’re glad to see you.”

Candy Beemis.

She looked almost exactly the same, but even if she hadn’t, he would have recognized the drawl. It was like syrup when she was flirting, but it quickly developed a razor’s edge if you were fool enough to displease her-the entire baseball team had overheard her dump Nick Zeth, alternately laughing at her colorful word choices and wincing on their teammate’s behalf. Until Dylan had seen her just this second, he hadn’t remembered much about her other than her being a dark-haired cheerleader. The vague past hadn’t been nearly as compelling as the present with a beautiful lady in red. Now that he’d laid eyes on Candy, details about her rushed back. One thing remained wildly unclear, though.

If this was Candy, who the hell had he been kissing upstairs?

“Candy. Long time, no see.” Happen to know anyone running around the hotel impersonating you?

She fluttered her lashes. “You remember me. I’m flattered.”

“Surprised you’re not in there being the life of the party,” he said lightly, resisting the urge to storm into the ballroom and get answers from a certain mystery woman.

“The volunteers are working in shifts,” she explained. “Mine will be over in about fifteen minutes. Look for me inside, and I’ll check to see if there’s any room left on my dance card.”

He smiled noncommittally. “Hey, weird question for you. By any chance, are you an interior decorator?”

She laughed. “No, why? Is this leading to some cheesy line about how I beautify my surroundings?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “Must have you confused with someone else. Did we go to school with another Candy? Who was also a cheerleader with dark hair?” In a high school as small as theirs? That was so statistically unlikely that he felt ridiculous just asking.

“No. I’m a one and only,” she said with an indignant toss of her hair.

“Right.” People were now standing in line behind him. He should go, but he took one last futile stab. “You don’t happen to remember a girl we went to school with named C.J., do you?”

Candy narrowed her eyes. “What’s with you? Get beaned one too many times in the head with the baseball?”

Lilah Baum-who was probably no longer Baum, judging from the ring on her left hand-was much kinder but no further help. “We had a linebacker named J. C. Delgorio,” she told him, “but I don’t remember any C.J., male or female.”

“Thanks,” he said weakly, officially feeling stupid. A distantly familiar and much-loathed sensation.

With Candy glaring after him-apparently it was bad form to be obsessed with some lesser brunette when she’d offered her dance card-he slunk through the doors to the ballroom. Except for the bright stage spotlights, the lighting was dim. Dylan paused, letting his eyes adjust, and scanned the crowd for flashes of telltale red. When I get my hands on her…

Wrong line of thought. He hardened at the memory of how she’d felt in his hands.

Okay, no touching this time. But “C.J.” definitely owed him an explanation. After a purposeful circuit of the room, he was forced to conclude she wasn’t there. Natalie was, though. The blonde danced with a tall man Dylan didn’t remember. As the song ended, he started toward them. Natalie could give him answers, but he didn’t get anywhere near her.