Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (32 page)

“Sam, get the hell outta here and go get ready! You can pay me back by letting me do the wedding cake.”

“Jumping the gun a little.” Sammi put the broom in the corner and glanced around, hesitating.

“Girl,
go
!”

“Okay, fine. I owe you!” Sammi grabbed her bag and jacket and rushed out of the café.

As soon as she got home, she hurried to the bathroom. Rocky ran at her feet and she paused to say hello, dropping a kiss on the soft spot on top of his head, then jumped into the shower.

Since Tuesday night, she’d been fretting about what to wear; La Cucina was a dressy place, but they were also going to the movies afterward.
Which one do I dress for?

In the end, she picked the restaurant. It was a cool spring evening, but she really wanted to wear her new, pale pink skater-style halter dress with the daring diamond-shaped cutout in the back. She had a short white trench coat the same length as the dress, and it set her toned, shapely legs off to perfection.

That brought up another matter.

Sammi frowned at the inside of her ankle. The old cuts had faded into pink scars that were plain on her skin. A giant white slab of cotton on the inside of her ankle would be not only obvious but ugly, so that was out. After careful deliberation, Sammi dabbed makeup on her skin. A mixture of concealer, foundation, and powder did the job; the cuts couldn’t be seen from a distance. Her excitement dimmed a little at needing to go to those lengths at all.

A full-blown case of nerves knotted up her stomach as she applied a little makeup and fixed her hair, managing to coax the mix of fine and coarse strands into large, smooth waves. She added a touch of delicate gold jewelry to complete the look and glanced at the clock for the hundredth time, wringing her hands.

“Knock it off,” she told her reflection sternly. “It’s just dinner.”

At a quarter to six there was a knock on the door, so she hastily stepped into her blush-nude high heels and grabbed her jacket and clutch purse from the closet before scurrying to answer it. She checked the peephole, unlatched her locks, and opened the door, her heart thudding swiftly in her sternum.

Cillian was gorgeous in crisp charcoal gray slacks and a matching jacket, with a simple black and white pinstripe button-up shirt underneath, tucked neatly into the pants. A black leather belt circled his waist, and he wore his large black sports watch and a pair of nice, dull black leather shoes. There was a tiny bit of product in his hair, but his face still bore its usual neat scruff, though these days, it was lighter than the beard he’d sported when she’d first met him. And Sammi knew instinctively that no matter what he did or where he went in life, a tie would forever be out of the question.

His eyes lit up at the sight of her and moved down her body slowly to take her in. The look of obvious appreciation that gleamed in his eyes flattered her and made her even more nervous.

“You clean up very well, Mr. Ronan.”

“Shit. Me? You. Just…wow.” He blinked, his eyes going over her a third, then a fourth time. “I know I’m bein’ a creep, but—you’re stunning.” He brought a hand from behind his back, producing a tissue-paper wrapped bouquet of three pink tulips and greenery. He smiled. “Little cliché, but…these are for you.”

Sammi blinked, her eyes widening as she took the bouquet. “They’re beautiful, Cillian. I love tulips. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly.

She flushed with heat to her hairline under the intensity of his gaze. “Um—I need to feed Rocky before we go. I’ll just be a second.”

She set her jacket and clutch on the back of the couch and slipped into the kitchen to dish up kibble for Rocky. He mewled appreciation and purred loudly as he chewed, while she snipped the ends off the tulips and filled a water glass to put them in.

Sammi kept the water running for a moment, leaning over the edge of the sink as her fingers gripped it. Staring down at her white knuckles, she took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

After the nightmare of the past year and a half, she never thought she’d find herself about to go on a date with someone she liked so much. For a second, things went hazy and disassociated from reality, like it was happening to someone else.

Has to be…I’m the girl that can’t look anyone in the eye, that keeps her head down, that needs fifty feet of space at all times…

Sammi blew another long slow breath between her lips.
I’m not that girl anymore. I have a life now. I have a job, I have dreams, I have ballet…

And I have him.

It was time to start living that life.

“Sam?”

She turned around quickly, seeing Cillian in the kitchen doorway. He lifted his brows at her, glancing at the still-running faucet.

“You doin’ okay?”

Sammi cleared her throat and nodded. “Yep.” She reached out and tapped off the faucet.

One side of his mouth pulled up into his familiar warm smile and his eyes twinkled at her. “Then can I help you into your jacket, miss?”

He held up her white jacket and pulled it open for her, and she felt a pleasant jolt of surprise. Never in her twenty-six years had any man but her father helped her into a jacket, and the last time that had happened, she’d been about eight years old.

Sammi crossed the linoleum floor toward him, turning around slowly and slipping her arms into the sleeves. She felt his knuckles graze her skin through the cutout in the back of her dress.

He arranged the jacket over her shoulders, and she turned to look up at him. His face was only a whisper away, and his eyes flickered to her lips for an instant. Then he smiled at her gently, his eyes glinting with compassion, like he could read her mind. His cinnamon-scented breath lightly fanned her face.

“Are you ready?”

Well, Samantha? Are you?

This book is a product of many people’s efforts, not just my own. Writing was the easy part!

First and foremost, all glory and all thanksgiving to God for blessing me with my love of writing, the talent to do it, and the realization that it is my duty and calling in life to tell stories to heal, to excite, to inspire, to provide happiness.

Big gushy thanks to my hottie cop/soldier husband, JP, for supporting my dream. I love you to the darkest corner of the universe and back. HOOAH!

Rocky, who was a joy to write, was inspired by my beautiful, smoke-gray, green-eyed cat whose real name is Lucky. You’re my spirit animal, Pookie. And I can't forget my other kid--my Pomeranian, Teddy, who's the best writing snuggle buddy a girl could ask for.

To my lifelong BFF, Sade', you were truly the first person in my adult life to encourage my writing dreams. Thanks for being the inspiration for Jazz, and thanks for over twenty years of best-friendship, support, sisterhood, laughter, food, baking, and Charlestoning at inappropriate moments.

To my parents and my brother, my grandma and my grandpa, and my extended family: When I said I wanted to be a writer, you all said…get to work. Thank you for believing in me, and thank you for your support! Mom, one day, you’ll have the guest house of your dreams. Love you all!

A huge, heartfelt, ugly-crying-face thank-you to the incomparable Jules Dixon, my critique partner, creative idea-bouncer, and writing Yoda. If not for your guidance, tutelage, encouragement, and astonishing generosity, this book would not be what it is right now. Jules, I’m honored to call you a friend, and I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am to know you. Next round of STMs is on me.

Thank you to my beautiful sister-in-law, Mary Ma, for taking precious hours out of her very limited spare time to design this beautiful cover for me. Sis, I’m so blessed to know someone as creative and talented as you and that you were the one to design my first book cover means more to me than you could ever know.

Big thanks to Miss Angela Shockley, better known as That Formatting Lady, for making the book so pretty! 

HUGE thanks to Miss Angela Marie, my PA. You know how infantile I am when it comes to this great big business, so thank you for helping getting the word out about this little ol' book I wrote. And thank you for designing the beautiful teasers! I truly appreciate everything you've done to help me.

Heartfelt, feelsy, gut-wrenching thanks to Nicole Giguere and Carol Guthrie, the OG betas of this work in its caterpillar form. You two are my writing spirit animals, and I’m honored to know you and so very humbled to be able to present you with this butterfly. Now…it’s your turn. GO!

To Sandra Falk: after Jules, your critiques took my book from down there to up here. You made those first few chapters so much better than they were, and I am so completely grateful!

To Kristin Cox, Megan McCave, Kristina Agostino, Karleen Stutzman, Emily Suing, Cathy Renner, and Angela Marie: thank you all so much for beta-reading for me. The variety of input that I received from you helped me to not only shape this thing into something I can be completely proud of, but also, to keep on going when the going got rough. Thank you!

And to the fantastic booklovers I’ve had the pleasure of meeting—Nichole at Sizzling Pages Romance Reviews (thank you for going SO hard for me!), all the amazing folks at Goodreads I've had a chance to communicate with like Renee, Erika, and Cristina, and all the passionate Freakin' Fabulous Readers who are big supporters of this work. Your passion for good stories and good writing is truly encouraging, and I’m excited, grateful, and deeply humbled to share this here thing with you--and much, much more.

xoxo,

Wynter

Sneak Peek PART 2 of PAS DE DEUX

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28689125-pas-de-deux

Please don’t let her hate me.

He opened another text message, raking a hand through his hair as he tried to figure out a new way to beg her to call him.

“Killy.” Murphy’s hand dropped onto his shoulder. “You’ve got to relax, son. You still have to be on tomorrow.”

“Fuck that tournament!” Cillian exclaimed. “Do you think I give a shit about a tournament when my girl’s gone missing?”

“Give her some time, son. You have no idea what she’s going through right now.”

“Fuck.” Cillian threw his phone on the sofa, then sat down hard on it, clasping his head between his hands.

There was a knock on the hotel room door, and Murphy went to it. He peered through the peephole. “It’s Basanta.”

Cillian looked up as Baz entered the room. “What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Carl.”

“What’d he want?” Cillian felt his hackles rise at the mention of Carl’s name.

“He said to tell you that he saw Sammi at the hotel earlier. She had her bags.”

“He saw Sammi? Why the fuck would he come here and see Sammi?” Cillian got to his feet.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” Basanta held up his hands. “Dude, I’m just telling you what he said. He didn’t explain shit to me. He just said that he saw her, she was leaving, and he said that she said she—” Baz faltered.

“She what? She what, man?”

He sighed sadly. “He said she said she doesn’t want to see you anymore. That she doesn’t want you at the trial on Monday. That you need to stop calling her.”

Cillian felt the blood drain from his face.