11. Chapter 11
C het swallowed as Nelie barreled toward him.
Even with the dress’s high slit on the right side, he knew it wasn’t built for Nelie’s speed.
She looked determined, miserable, and hot.
So very, very hot. He knew he should care about the miserable part, and he would, once his eyes finished feasting on her.
The dark-blue dress ended a few inches above her knees, with some sort of glittery stuff highlighting the slit and bottom hem.
It was also around the edge of the deep neckline, which plunged into the hollow between her breasts, covering it with a fine netting, giving it a sophisticated, demure look.
Chet’s fingers itched to trace its path.
He couldn’t believe she was there. Looking like that. When she hadn’t answered his question—or desperate begging—at the ice castle, his hope for them had dimmed. When he hadn’t seen her in the audience, it had died. But she was here. For him.
Her feet must be killing her , he thought, appreciating her sacrifice as he raked his gaze back down her body.
She was pretty in her usual uniform of blue jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes, but this dressed-up Nelie made his heart race.
She veered toward the coat check and Chet jumped into her path.
“Oof,” she said, bouncing off him. His hands grasped her arms to balance her.
Her skin was warm and smooth under his hands.
Nelie looked at him and then at the floor.
“Are you leaving?” he asked, puzzled why she’d get all dressed up, dump several C-notes on him, and then hustle away as the band warmed up.
“I’m sorry. I was late. It’s all my fault. And, well, have a nice rest of the evening,” Nelie blurted, turning out of his grip, but he pulled her closer. She sounded near tears. Chet tilted her chin up, and her eyes shimmered in the light. “I need to—”
“Nelie, where are you going?” Gus asked, hurrying up to them. He was red in the face and breathing hard.
“I need to leave.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m not feeling well.” Nelie wrung her hands and looked everywhere but at the men.
“I’ll take you home then,” Chet said.
“You can’t do that. Your date’s waiting for you.” She stepped away from him, teetering on her heels.
“You’re my date.”
Nelie looked at him wide-eyed and her jaw dropped. He’d shocked her into silence. It would be comical if it was happening to anyone else. Chet handed her the slip of paper. “This is what they gave me when I went back to get the information on the winning bidder.”
“But I wasn’t here.” She looked at the note and then at Gus. “ You bought him?” The relief in her voice was palpable and Chet’s heart warmed. God bless, Gus . They had a chance to be a them , thanks to Nelie’s father.
“Darn woman behind the desk. I asked her to write out your information, but she refused. Said I needed to do it,” Gus said.
“But why?”
“Rosemarie showed me the picture, and I had to.” Gus’s breathing had calmed, and his face wasn’t as red. The last thing Chet wanted was a trip to the ER tonight, but given the number of hospital staff that were in attendance, they could treat a medical emergency in the ballroom.
“What picture?” she asked.
“The one Eric posted on the Insta-thingy. Jackson saw it and sent it to Emily, who showed it to Rosemarie since they were sitting behind the check-in booth,” Gus said.
“This picture.” Chet pulled up the Galley’s most recent Instagram post. In it, Nelie stood in front of the fryer, in her heels and her chef coat.
Her skirt peeked out of the bottom. The caption read Fancy Fries.
One night only . Chet wanted a copy of the picture to frame and hang in his kitchen.
He wanted to hang another at the Galley near the fryer to remind the staff how beautiful their boss was inside and out.
“Why?”
“It was obvious you were coming here. And hopefully this is the guy you were planning to bid on”—Gus pointed at Chet—“because the sign over the table said all sales final.”
“So, you weren’t matchmaking? You were reading my mind?” Nelie sounded relieved. Gus tapped his head and winked at Nelie. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and whispered, “Thanks, Dad.”
Chet pocketed his phone and relaxed for the first time that evening. He was ecstatic, and it sounded like Nelie was happy, too.
Gus pointed at Chet, looking severe. “Make sure my sunshine has fun tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” Gus nodded and Chet wrapped an arm around Nelie, pulling her against his side as they watched Gus walk toward the exit.
“Are you hungry? There’s a buffet in the other room,” Chet asked, but Nelie shook her head.
“Something to drink?” Again, she refused, looking at him with her large blue eyes and a slight smile on her lips.
“We could sit? Your feet must be killing you.”
Nelie bit her lower lip. “You could ask me to dance?” she asked, sounding nervous.
“I could, if my brains would unscramble. You always look lovely, but tonight you take my breath away.” He traced a finger down her cheek.
Her breath hitched, and she smiled. “Chet, would you like to dance?” she asked.
“I’d like nothing better,” he said, trailing her to the dance floor at a respectable distance. He wouldn’t claim to be a gentleman. The distance was purely tactical. He had an excellent view of the almost backless dress and the way it hugged her hips.
Chet pulled her into his arms and kept them at the edge of the crowd.
A few times, he danced them into a dark corner, and trailed kisses from the corner of her lips down her neck while her quiet moans and gasps encouraged him.
Once, he tried to slip a few fingers under the fabric at her back.
The tight dress was about as bad as a chastity belt, and Nelie had chuckled at his low curse.
Every time he’d asked her if she’d wanted a break or something to eat, she’d declined, and he hadn’t fought her.
Holding her close was a dream he didn’t want to wake from.
“When did you tell the babysitter you’d be home?” she asked as she brushed her fingers through the back of his hair.
He groaned and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, an easier task in the mile-high heels she wore. He felt like he was sixteen years old, facing a curfew. “Soon.” He pressed his cheek against hers.
“I don’t think soon is an actual time.” He felt more than heard her laughter.
Chet pulled his phone from his suit coat’s inner pocket.
He had three minutes before his alarm chimed.
Three minutes left to be Chet, The Man dancing in the shadows with the woman he desired before turning back into Chet, The Middle-Aged, Single Dad with a Stack of Laundry and Cleaning to Attack tomorrow.
Nelie looked at him like she also wanted time to stop.
“But now is,” he said. They both frowned and sighed, and her distress cemented his hope. She didn’t want tonight to end, either. Would tonight’s rekindled feelings burn bright tomorrow, or would daylight snuff them out?
She wrapped her hand in his, saying, “Then let’s walk out together.”
Chet handed their vouchers to the coat-check attendant and held Nelie’s wool dress coat open for her.
Again, gentlemanly, but it gave him an excuse to be near her under the bright lights.
He didn’t dare offer to button up her coat.
Now that they were out of the shadows, Nelie would hate being in the gossips’ crosshairs.
When they were ready, he held out his elbow, and she slipped her hand through it.
“Nice mittens.” He tried not to laugh. They were black, like her coat, but each had a large gnome on it, complete with a red pointy hat, bright blue waistcoat, and a fuzzy white beard.
“Thanks. I thought I had everything planned, but I forgot about dress gloves.” Nelie shrugged and gave him a tight smile. Chet winced. He’d meant to tease, not torment.
“Screw the gloves. The mittens are you.” Chet squeezed her hand, and she smiled at him, a real one that lit her face and reached her beautiful, blue eyes. “Where are you parked?” he asked as they entered the lobby.
“Valet,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “I was running late.” They pushed through the heavy glass entrance doors and the cold air punched them. Chet took her valet ticket and handed it to the young man behind the desk before moving them under the outdoor heater.
“Glad to know I’m worthy of valet,” he teased, dropping a kiss on her forehead before tucking her into him. “You smell so good. It’s been driving me crazy all night.”
“I can’t believe you can still smell my body wash.”
“Nope, fries,” he said, and Nelie looked at him in horror.
“I was at the fryer before I came.” Nelie tried to cover her face with her ridiculous mittens, but Chet caught them and pinned them to her back.
“And I’ve been hungry for you the whole night,” Chet covered her mouth with his, desperate for a taste of her.
Nelie tried to free her hands, but it was a half-hearted attempt and Chet held her still with his kiss.
Her slight whimper and parted lips encouraged him as he took the kiss deeper.
A rude, throat-clearing noise entered Chet’s consciousness, followed by a few taps on his back.
“Excuse me, sir. Ma’am, your car is here.” Chet looked over his shoulder and glared at the valet. He nodded his head, hoping the kid would step back and give them a moment. “Fries are my weakness,” Chet said near her ear, as his hands traveled up her arms before stepping away from her.
Nelie blinked a few times as if trying to find her bearings.
Chet understood the feeling. She walked toward her car, giving him one last look at her incredible legs.
He leaned against the wall, hoping it would cool him.
She’d dressed to the nines, intending to win him against other women and stake her claim.
Frugal Nelie Peterson spent money to buy me.
Technically, Gus bought him—Chet wanted to know how the old guy had pulled it off—but he knew Nelie wouldn’t rest until she’d paid her dad back.
She’d bought him. Barbaric and neanderthal?
Possibly, but to Chet it was hot as hell.
Nelie wanted him. Them . And she wasn’t afraid to go public with it.