Chapter 2
Chapter two
I smooth my palms down the front of my formal red gown. Outside the cabin window, fat snowflakes lazily drift from the pewter sky, blanketing our icy lakefront compound in quiet white magic.
Dozens of heart-shaped candles flicker on every surface. The luxurious king-sized bed is swathed in thick, furry blankets and a scattering of rose petals. It’s go time. I turn to the fireplace, hoping the warmth and low crackle will calm my racing heart, but it’s no use.
It’s impossible to be calm and serene when I’m about to step into a glittering, televised fairy tale in an attempt to find true love.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but if that’s what it takes to meet the man of my dreams, so be it.
At thirty-five, I’m no wide-eyed ingenue.
My stomach is fluttering like it did when I was sixteen, waiting for Creed Stone to stop by the house with my brother after football practice.
I force the memory from my brain and catch my reflection in the full-length mirror.
My blonde hair tumbles in loose waves over my shoulders, in a way it never could without the help of a professional stylist. My makeup is perfect, thanks to a talented artist. I’ve got to admit I see a little terror mixed with excitement, but at least my green eyes are popping.
With this gown’s plunging neckline and high slit on one thigh, I look like trouble wrapped in temptation instead of the digital marketing geek I really am.
On most days I’m dressed in yoga pants and a tee shirt, with my hair in a ponytail.
I work at home and rarely spend more than a few minutes in the morning getting ready for work.
Heck, when it’s really cold, sometimes I’ll stay in my flannel pajamas until lunch, or all day, if I’m on a roll.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. It’s my last night of outside contact before the bubble closes. I’ve already had an hour-long pep talk with my older brother Nick and met my parents for lunch. When I grab the phone, my mom’s text lights up the screen.
Mom:
Sweetie, we’re so proud! Don’t forget to channel that Palmer fire! You’re going to shine like the star you are. Dad says pick the one who makes your heart race like Creed used to. Love you!
I laugh, thumbs flying.
Thanks, Mom. Show starts soon. Nervous as hell, but excited. Tell Dad I miss his bear hugs. Wish me luck!
Dad’s reply pings instantly:
Dad:
You’ve got this, Lys. Love’s an adventure. Go find yours. We’ll be glued to the TV with popcorn. Break a leg—or a heart or two!
Their words settle over me like a warm blanket, but nothing tames the wildfire sparking under my skin. I have eight weeks in this outrageous mountain palace with its log beams, crystal chandeliers, and heated snowy paths to find forever with a stranger.
A sharp knock makes me jump, and I hurry to open the door for Elena Ruiz, our show runner extraordinaire. “Hey,” I step aside, ushering her in. “You look stunning in a suit. I think black is your color.”
“Thanks,” she chuckles, straightening her blouse. “It’s a big change from the jeans and baggy tee shirt you saw me wearing earlier.” Her eyes softened when they land on my gown. “Lyssa. Jesus. With your curves, that dress needs a leash and a muzzle.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Is that a good thing?”
“Very good. Ratings this season are going to explode.” She offers her arm. “Come on, superstar. Time to find the man of your dreams.”
The heated path steams under my heels as we walk toward the main lodge. Snowflakes melt on my bare shoulders, making me hyper-aware of how much of my skin is exposed in this outfit.
I quicken my pace to keep up with Elena; there’s electricity in the atmosphere, as if a storm is about to break. When we turn onto the path where fairy lights twinkle between the cabins, my nerves get the best of me again. The main lobby is just ahead.
“Remind me how this works again?” My voice is as rough as sandpaper.
Elena squeezes my arm. “You descend the grand staircase like the queen you are.” She gives me a cheerful grin, obviously trying to pretend this show is no big deal and won’t have millions of viewers glued to every word I say, ready to rip into me on social media.
Thankfully, I won’t have access to the internet until the show wraps.
“Each bachelor will step forward, hand you a rose, and say something swoony. You flirt, you tease, you feel the spark,” she adds with a shrug, “or you don’t.
When it’s over tonight, ten will stay, and two will go home. Easy.”
Easy. Right.
Elena opens the lodge doors for me, and my breath catches when I see soaring floral arches dripping with red roses, thousands of candles floating in glass orbs, and heart balloons in every shade of red.
Massive windows frame the snow swirling outside like confetti.
Champagne chills in silver buckets while cameras glide on tracks with their red lights blinking.
We went over the outline of the show last night, but I’m still nervous as Elena positions me at the top of the sweeping staircase. “You can do this. Take a deep breath, gorgeous, and good luck.”
The lights dim and the announcer’s deep voice rolls through the set like velvet thunder: “Welcome to Blind Date for Life, where passion meets the wild heart of Montana. Tonight, our radiant bachelorette, curvy, captivating Lyssa Palmer, is ready for her forever. She’s about to meet twelve men willing to brave blizzards and heartbreak for one chance at her heart. ”
That’s my cue.
I descend the staircase slowly, careful not to trip, feeling the flowy silk caress my thighs with every step.
I finally reach the heart-shaped rug at the bottom, lift my chin, and remember to smile as the spotlights warm my skin.
Applause ripples softly among whispers and praises from the men waiting in the wings; one of them might be my future husband.
“And now … let’s meet our first bachelor!”
One by one, they come, offering roses. Jake from Seattle is a tech entrepreneur with a blinding smile. Ethan from Denver, a fitness trainer, promises me deep conversations and deeper heat. Lawyer Blake from Chicago recites a poem about my smile.
And the men keep coming: the crazy chef, a pilot, and an actor who kisses my hand like it’s a scene from a movie. Each one charming, each cologne layering over the last, until the room reminds me of the men’s section in a department-store.
My cheeks ache from smiling. My pulse is a steady thrum as roses pile up in my arms. Then the announcer’s voice deepens for the final contestant. “And our twelfth bachelor … a man who knows these mountains, and perhaps our bachelorette better than anyone.”
I freeze as my brain takes off in a million directions. Who lives on the mountain, who knows me better than anyone? I can think of only one person, but it can’t be him. He’d rather be dead than caught on a reality show.
“From the peaks of Passion Pines itself … Creed Stone.”
My world tilts on its axis. There’s just no way this can be happening. But of course, the producers flipped the script on me. I knew they were going to do whatever was possible to crank up the drama. But this?
Creed steps out in a tailored black tuxedo that looks almost criminal on him.
His crisp white shirt stretches over the hard planes of his chest; the jacket cuts sharp across his shoulders, so broad they block the candlelight.
His Stetson tilts just enough to shadow those stormy-blue eyes I’ve drowned in a thousand times.
Six-four of raw, barely leashed power closes in on me.
His scent hits me first. Pine, leather, mystery spice, unmistakably him.
My lungs just forgot how to work.
“Creed?” My voice cracks as his slow, deliberate, predatory steps make the air thicken around me. The cameras zoom, and the room goes silent except for the crackle of candles and the thud of my heart.
His unhurried, possessive gaze drags over me, lingering on the plunge of my neckline, the curve of my waist, the high slit that bares one thigh almost to sin.
Everywhere his eyes touch, fire follows.
If I know him, and boy do I, he’s already stripping me in his mind, remembering exactly how every inch of me feels under his hands.
He offers the final rose in the flickering candlelight.
When I take it, his fingers brush mine, and a spark jumps through me.
“Lyssa,” he says in a low, rough voice, meant only for me, even though the mics catch every syllable. “You look like every dirty dream I’ve had for twenty damn years.”
Holy moly. Did he actually say that out loud? My brain stutters to a stop. Elena steps into my sight line and mouths, Roll with it!
I force the words past the knot in my throat. “You crashed my show, mountain man. That’s bold for someone who walked away last time.”
I’ve hit a nerve. With his eyes darkening with every step, he moves closer, invading my space as far as he can without touching me. “I obviously didn’t walk too far because here I am, ready to fight for what’s always been mine.”
Elena makes a rolling motion with her index finger, trying to move us along, but neither of us can look away. “Do you think you can just show up, hand me a rose, and I’ll forget you left?”
“No.” Creed leans in, closing the space between us, bringing his masculine, musky scent that makes my knees weak, along with him.
He bends and whispers so close; his lips tickle my ear.
“But I’m positive you haven’t forgotten a single night we spent together.
Not the way I made you moan my name. Not the way you begged me to lick you harder until you came on my face. ”
Heat floods down my neck, through my torso, and between my thighs. Did anyone hear what he just said?
Apparently not, because Elena and the crew aren’t flagging us and we’re still rolling.
X-rated memories of our last time together rip through my brain, and I try to push them away, but all I hear is Creed saying, “Shh, baby. Let me,” with his mouth between my thighs right before his talented, insistent tongue worked my clit over until I came.
Afterward, he held me like I was precious and promised he’d never let me go.
I blink up at him, defiantly baring the column of my throat. I know he’s dying to kiss me. “Careful, Creed. This might not work out the way you expect. You might get burned.” It’s a feeble response, but it’s all I have.
His jaw flexes as his eyes blaze with that familiar hunger. “But you know very well how much I like playing with fire when it comes to you, darlin’.”
Behind us, the other men shift. Off to the side, Elena’s grinning, knowing the ratings just detonated.
I force a smile, but inside I’m unraveling. Twelve bachelors. Two hearts to break tonight. With Creed here, everything just got a hell of a lot more complicated.