As she passed a row of tables outlining the dance floor, a
familiar voice called out, “Juliette.”
Mitch MacKinnon.
She recognized the voice right away by the shiver in her
spine. Slowly, she turned. He deserved a Hunk of the Year
award for the way he shaped a tuxedo jacket and his drop-
dead dimpled smile.
Juliette inhaled, hoping oxygen would revive her suddenly
malfunctioning brain. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” He rose, eyeing the bared shoulders above
her rosy gown intently. “Wow. This morning, I didn’t think
you could look much better. What an idiot I was.”
Juliette actually felt heat crawl up her face. “Thank you.”
“Hey, since you look so good, and I’m all dressed up in
this penguin suit, how about a dance?”
“Aren’t you with someone?”
“Yeah, but she’s gone to the bathroom.”
He was asking her to dance when his date had only slipped
out for a moment? Though he wasn’t making a play for her
exactly, asking her to dance when he was here on a date
seemed like a really asshole thing to do. “Don’t you think
she’ll mind?”
“Nah,” he assured, grinning. “My mother has accepted the
fact I have other women in my life since puberty.”
“You’re here with your mother?”
He nodded, his smile faltering. “She moved out here when
Dad died. Part of the deal was that I’d escort her to these
fancy wing-ding parties.”
So he wasn’t a jerk—at least not totally. “That’s…
considerate of you.”
He shrugged. “So how ’bout it?”
Juliette hesitated. Looking at Mitch was unnerving enough,
but touching him and letting him touch her when she was
wearing a backless dress… None of that seemed wise.
“I really should get back—”
“Oh, come on. Three minutes,” he cajoled, stepping closer.
God, he smells fabulous. “I’ll ask you a few questions.
It’ll be the second part of our interview.”
She met his dark stare with a quiver. “You’re difficult to
turn down.”
“Thanks for not trying too hard.”
Juliette felt his fingertips at her elbow a moment later.
His exhalations caressed the tingling skin of her neck.
When they reached the perimeter of the dance floor, Mitch
turned her into his arms.
His expression devoured her.
Juliette swallowed, unable to tear her gaze away. He slid
his hand up the length of her arm and around to her bare
back. Tingles danced all over her skin, through her body.
Oh, wow! Reaching for her other hand with his, he swayed to
the music.
Having Mitch’s strong arms around her felt like an embrace.
She responded to it, heard her own breathing roughen in
answer to his touch. His scent, teasing, musky, tickled her
nose. Every pore opened to bask in his male aura. Every
nerve strained toward him.
Deep within, her matchmaking intuition sparked, a gut
feeling signaling that Mitch could be special to her.
Impossible. He wasn’t even sure love existed and was more
interested in seeing the world than raising a family.
Then why did she feel this…deep curiosity to know Mitch,
experience his every facet? Why did she want nothing more
than to cast their differences aside and know the taste of
his kiss?
“Nice music, huh?” He mocked the band’s selection.
Until he’d mentioned the blaring trumpets, she hadn’t
noticed. She sent Mitch a shaky smile. “Fine.”
“Listen, about this morning… My turf is sports, and I’m a
little cranky about having to cover “Community Happenings”.
I’m sorry.”
Juliette met his gaze. Before she could drown in his dark,
smoky eyes, she forced herself to reply, “Does your change
of heart mean you believe in my methods now?”
He smiled ruefully. “No. It just means I could have been
more polite in my disbelief.”
Not what she wanted to hear, but at least he was honest.
Still, his write-up would affect her fledgling
business. “Aren’t reporters supposed to be objective?”
“Ah, yes. The ‘impartial observer of life’ theory.” He
twirled her around. “I’m an opinionated guy. That’s one
reason my beat is sports. You’re supposed to tell it like
it is.”
“All right. What would it take to change your mind?”
With a shrug, he answered, “It’s just not the kind of stuff
I believe in, you know, astrology and handwriting analysis.
But I’m willing to meet the Grahams and see your business
from their point of view.”
His hand drifted down her bare back in something
dangerously close to a caress. He fit her body closer to
his, and Juliette almost lost her reply in the feel of his
hard body against her own, in the thundering of her heart.
“I’m glad you’re keeping an open mind,” she squeaked out.
Mitch felt steady, substantial, like a thousand-year-old
redwood. She allowed her hand to drift up the sleek, solid
curve of his shoulder, her fingers pressing into his firm
flesh. In his arms, surrounded by his scent, her
imagination was beginning to let loose, complete with
visions of she and Mitch in front of a roaring fire, naked
and—
“Are you from Santa Clarita?” He spoke in a whisper, hushed
as if it belonged among the tangled sheets of lovers. She’d
never realized how arousing a man’s voice could be.
Juliette understood now, when her nipples stood up and all
but begged for attention.
He laid his cheek against hers. His breath fanned into her
ear. Shivers raced across her skin. Juliette knew she ought
to pull away, and planned to…in a minute.
“No. Have you lived here long?” she asked, her own voice
breathy.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Andrew twirling
Kara across the sparsely-populated dance floor. The sight
of her almost-fiancé jolted Juliette back to reality.
She and Mitch were dancing too close for acquaintances.
With faces touching and mouths inches apart…what would
Andrew think? A glance across the ballroom worried her.
Andrew laughed with Kara as he glided across the floor with
her, seeming oblivious.
Okay, maybe the better question would be, why did being in
Mitch’s arms feel so good? Why was she so tempted by him?
He really wasn’t her type.
“I’ve only been in Santa Clarita for ten months,” Mitch
replied. “Before that, I lived in Vermont, Manhattan and
Washington State. I did a brief stint in Birmingham,
England.”
Juliette pulled away. “Did you move that much just to see
the world?”
“You make it sound as terrible as a disease. Moving is
exciting, as long as the job is good. Besides, I wasn’t
sorry to leave Vermont or Washington. Too cold and rainy.
And let’s face facts, it takes a special kind of person to
live in Manhattan. I wasn’t special, I guess.”
“Do you plan on staying here now?” she asked, afraid she
already knew his answer.
“Here?” Mitch laughed. “No. I’ve got an outside shot at a
job at USA Today. If I get it, I’ll be packing up again.”
“And you’re excited by packing boxes, changing phone
numbers, moving to yet someplace else where you know no
one?”
“New places and people put adventure in your life.”
Stability clearly wasn’t the name of his game. Why did she
find him so interesting when they clearly had so little in
common?
“Don’t you ever feel…” she groped for a word, “…ungrounded?
Like you don’t have any roots, any place to really call
home? When you move away, don’t you ever wonder what kind
of happiness you may have left behind?”
The downward slash of his brows and his blank stare gaze
shouted confusion. Perfect. He didn’t even understand her
question. There was no way he’d be able to give her, or
himself, an answer.
“Not really. I mean, there’s a lot of great people I want
to meet and a bunch of exciting places I’m dying to see.
Why hang around, if you don’t have to?”
She gaped at him, open-mouthed, for a full ten
seconds. “Because life is about security and having your
friends and loved ones around you. Having someone to share
joys and sorrows with. Knowing you’ll be comforted by the
warm and familiar as you get older.”
He frowned. “You sound like my mom. Don’t you ever think
about all the places you’ll never see trapped in this
little town? You ever been to Paris? I have. Lived there
for three months right after college. I loved it!”
“That’s what vacations are for,” she bristled.
He rolled his eyes. “You can’t really get to know a city in
a week. Life may be about security for you. Me? I want to
see and do it all. Growing up in a town so small that
watching the grass grow thrilled the locals cured me
of ‘stability’. I don’t want to wake up one day, middle-
aged and miserable, and lament about all the things I never
did, but always wanted to. That’s a waste.”
Juliette stiffened in his arms. This conversation was
headed nowhere—fast. Mitch, along with his anti-root
attitude, only proved that her matchmaking intuition wasn’t
one hundred percent right.
And her gut feeling was wrong in this case. Andrew had to
be the perfect man for her.
Why wasn’t her heart convinced of that fact?