Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,178

why. He began to tap a card against one hand—a card torn in half and edged in red.

Her heart thumped with excitement.

She stepped forward, eager to meet her mystery man. She could only imagine what kissing him might be like. The thought made her lose her footing for just a moment. She laughed at her clumsiness but her mirth instantly turned to dismay.

Another woman had swooped in to flirt with him!

Chapter Two

"Good evening," a woman's voice said. "Are you awaiting someone?"

Desmond had just been about to leave, but he turned, hopeful once more. He gave the young woman his full attention—a lovely figure, a smile that seemed genuine, yet her gaze behind the mask seemed a bit avaricious. He dropped his gaze to her gloved hands.

There was no card.

He clasped his hands behind his back, keeping his own card hidden.

They exchanged pleasantries, and while Desmond managed to maintain a polite demeanor, it was not long before he was wishing he had left earlier. The young woman chattered endlessly on numerous topics, even without his participation, and it seemed she meant to continue until the sun rose.

Now there was little hope of easily extricating himself, unless he found another acquaintance strolling by, or by feigning an ailment of some sort…

"There you are! When you said 'meet me at the mistletoe', I had no idea there would be so many possible venues to search."

Desmond's head lifted sharply, the playful tone of voice catching his attention. In the next instant he was swamped with relief at seeing the red-edged card in the new arrival's hand. The evening had not been a waste after all.

"My apologies." Desmond held his card aloft, adding a grin. "I hoped this proved helpful in narrowing down the possibilities."

"It did, indeed." She sidled closer to him, captivating him with her genuine smile. She placed her half of the card against his so the torn edges fit together. "Perfectly matched."

The other woman quickly comprehended that she had become an unnecessary party. She sighed dramatically and then flounced off, muttering about her misfortune.

"I am indebted to you," Desmond said. "I was in the midst of preparing a dramatic exit and then you appeared just in time to rescue me."

She laughed. It was such a distinctive sound, a genuine expression of mirth, not a practiced trill meant to highlight her feminine wiles. He would have to send a magnificent gift to Martin, extolling his matchmaking skills, the ones he had so recently doubted.

Her green eyes twinkled with mischief. "Perhaps you should keep that dramatic exit in reserve. Our cards were perfectly matched, but we might not be."

"I cannot imagine such a possibility." He lifted her gloved hand to his lips. "It is a genuine pleasure to meet you. What name shall I call you?"

She tilted her head, as if deciding what name she would give him. It gave Desmond time to appreciate the auburn tendrils that had escaped her topknot, as well as the sprinkling of freckles across her pert nose. Her lips lifted in another intriguing smile. "You could call me Lorelei."

This time it was his lips that curved upwards. "How perfect. Lorelei. The temptress."

"A man who knows his mythology. And what name will you use this evening?"

He hesitated. Did he give her a playful answer, as she had so obviously done? He had no doubt he could ask Martin who she was, since he was the one who had ensured they met. He also had no doubt that he wanted to see her again, so he told her his real name.

"You must call me Desmond."

"Desmond. I am overjoyed to make your acquaintance."

She gazed directly at him as she spoke the words. Her boldness was intoxicating. A heady blend of passion and expectation sped through every particle of his being.

He was tempted to ask if she would remove her mask, so he could see her face completely. But he decided to wait. He was enjoying her enjoyment of the moment. There was no need to rush anything.

"Perhaps we should commemorate our meeting with a kiss." Desmond pointed to the mistletoe above them. "It is a tradition, after all."

"It is bad luck to refuse a kiss." She moved closer until her lips were hovering near his. "Once all the berries are gone, there can be no more kisses."

He almost looked up to ensure there was an abundance of the white fruit, but he was unable to tear his gaze away from her. He also wanted to prolong this first kiss, reveling in