Once Upon a Date - Susan Hatler Page 0,3
my mouth, politely declining the man’s sweet offer.
But as I stared into those mesmerizing blue eyes, I found myself smiling for the first time today and saying, “Why, yes, Prince Charming. I’d love to dance.”
Chapter Two
The mystery man took my hand and the feel of his skin against mine sent tiny tingles skittering up my arm. Whoa. I’d never had that reaction to a man’s touch before. Well, not unless you counted my high school boyfriend who had smashed my heart and dumped me right before graduation (not a pleasant memory).
I slipped my feet into my heels, which pinched my toes immediately—as if the designer shoes were made of glass just like the real Cinderella’s slippers. Ouch. How had she managed to wear those things all night? Oh, right. She was animated. As a non-animated human, I willed my feet to make it through at least one song with this mystery man.
He led me past elegantly dressed guests on the dance floor until we found a space of our own. As he turned to face me, the throbbing beat from the DJ’s fast song faded out and the notes of “Beauty and the Beast” started up. Celine Dion started singing the first words and soon Peabo Bryson’s amazing voice belted out, sending chills up my arms. Or maybe the chills were due to this handsome stranger staring down at me with those gorgeous blue eyes behind his black mask.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “If only you were wearing a yellow ball gown.”
“You know this song?” I asked, raising my eyebrows and looking at him quizzically. Er, well, as quizzically as was possible with a mask covering half my face. “How are you familiar with Disney’s Belle?” I asked.
“My niece is enthralled by the Disney princesses,” he said, gently pulling me into his arms and then swaying to the music in a way that made my legs turn gooey. “I’ve bought a gown or two at birthday time over the years.”
“Really?” I asked, recalling that the last guy I dated hadn’t even remembered my birthday. Not that this was a date. Just a dance. But, still, my heart was pounding and it felt a little hard to breathe with him this close to me. “That’s so sweet that you know what she likes.”
“I have my moments,” he joked.
“Well, I can’t claim to be channeling Belle tonight anyway . . .” I gestured to my banana blonde strands that hung past my shoulders. “Wrong hair color.”
He captured a few wisps between his fingers, leaning forward to study them before letting the strands fall again. “Like spun gold.”
“Spun gold, huh?” I asked, trying not to let it show that my heart rate had kicked into high gear. Sticking with the fairy-tale theme, I said, “Would that make you . . . Rumpelstiltskin?”
The corner of his mouth hitched up and he touched my hair again, lifting a lock in his hand. “All this must be spun tonight; and if it is, you shall be my queen,” he said, quoting the book.
“Impressive,” I said, a delicious shiver running up my spine at his reciting the king from the story. The thought of being this masked stranger’s queen made me a little too giddy. But, I mean, this man knew his books and that was the sexiest thing of all.
He moved a little closer as we danced to the romantic melody. I fell silent. The talk of fairy tales reminded me, once again, that my book had been rejected by the one publisher I had set my heart on. I fought to push that depressing thought out of my mind, but I wasn’t having much luck. Turns out crushed dreams don’t just go away during a romantic fairy-tale dance. The music changed to a song I didn’t recognize, but this mystery man made no move to let go of my hand. Instead, he took a step back and studied me as I looked up at him.
“Why the sad face?” he asked.
“Am I that obvious?” I asked, wondering how he could read me so well with half my face covered. Not wanting to spoil the mood, I shrugged. “Just one of those days, you know? Disappointment at work, that’s all.”
“How so?”
I sucked in a breath. “A project I turned in wasn’t good enough, apparently, so it’s back to the drawing board for me.”
His forehead crinkled. “I can’t believe anybody would reject you. Your boss must be an idiot.”
I was about to tell him it wasn’t my