He walked us to the dance floor, my hand in his huge man paw, and it was oddly familiar.

“What’s that smile about?” he asked, tipping his head to the side as we strolled toward the middle of the large dance floor. There was something about the deep timbre of his voice, smooth and low, that made me want to blush like a schoolgirl with a silly crush.

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“We’ve never met before, right?” I stupidly blurted out, and he stopped, pulling me into his body. I willingly followed.

“I can guaran-fucking-tee if we had, we’d know.” Mischief and something else twinkled behind his sultry eyes, and it made me so damn curious. I wanted to know so much more about him. “Do you feel like you know me?” he questioned, and my cheeks burned.

“I, umm…” I swallowed hard, trying not to wince at how awkward I was being.

I was never awkward. That award always went to Ruby or Karina, but never me. I was the smooth operator of the three, yet this man had me all out of sorts. “I mean... I just,” I stuttered, not able to find the right words.

“Because I do,” he admitted just before bringing my hand up to his solid shoulder and my hand slightly gripped the muscle below, “My dad used to tell me all the time, since, geez, before I could remember, how when you meet the woman you are meant to be with, you would just know. Like a piece of your soul was returned to you, because they owned it from your past life.”

“Your dad sounds like a romantic.” I grinned, his hand on my waist as we started to sway to the smoky tone of Frank Sinatra’s voice.

“For my mom, he was that, and hell, anything she needed him to be.”

“Was?” I asked before thinking.

“He passed away a long time ago,” Gabe shared, a soft sadness falling over his eyes. All I wanted to do was comfort him.

“Oh.” My hand moved from his shoulder closer to his neck and squeezed gently, the need to console him overwhelming, but I sucked at situations like this. I never had the right words. Are there right words? “I’m so sorry,” I stupidly uttered, and one of his hands moved to the bottom of my chin, raising my face so our eyes would meet.

“Where have you been all my life?” he asked so damn sweetly in that damn tone of his that made me want to believe it was more than a line from a smooth operator. I could let myself believe, a voice whispered in the back of my head.

“Gabe—”

“I know.” His thumb grazed my bottom lip. “I’m coming on full speed, and I should be playing it smooth,” he shared, and I licked my lips. Our bodies swayed in sync to the sound of the music playing in the background. It was like no one else existed. Like we were the only two people in the room instead of two out of two hundred.

“I don’t want to play games,” I shared, my heart thundering in my chest, and for a split second I wondered if he could hear how loudly he made it beat.

“What do you want?” he finally asked huskily, breaking the momentary silence, and damn, if that wasn’t a loaded question. How did you tell a man like Gabe Blanco, one who was probably more than comfortable playing the field, I wanted more than a memorable tangling in the sheets?

I looked away from him, breaking eye contact for the first time since we’d started dancing, and rested my head on his shoulder. A sigh almost escaped at the feel of his large hand cradling the back of my head. His touch was new yet familiar.

I watched other couples dance around us, two catching my eye. I needed to be honest, no matter how that honesty might rub him the wrong way.

“I want more,” I vaguely shared, not looking at him as I spoke. I lifted my head, dancing cheek to cheek since he was leaning in closer, as if holding on to every single word I uttered. Wouldn’t that be crazy? A man like Gabe at the very edge of his seat as he waited for me to share. Isn’t that what I want? You would never get what you wanted unless you asked for it. That reminder gave me the courage to keep talking.

“I want a man. A real man. One who wants me for me and not just to get between my legs.”

“Presumptuous, aren’t we?” he rumbled teasingly, but I didn’t smile. I didn’t let him lighten the mood as I pulled away, so I could look up at him.

“I want more than one night or a fling or friends with benefits. I want the real deal, always and forever somewhat cutesy cheesy type stuff I know we’ve both seen. Your sister and your best friend. My best friend and her man. They found that.”

“And now you want that?” There was an edge to his voice.

“Not because they have it but because I finally get the difference of what I have been looking for in the past,” I admitted, hoping he understood.

“And that would have been?” he questioned, and I smiled softly, somehow trying to lighten the blow. Whether from the fact if he was looking for an easy lay, it wouldn’t be happening or if maybe, just maybe, he could be looking for something meaningful.

“Easy,” I answered honestly. “No strings, no commitment. Just fun.” His brows narrowed, and I had to laugh. I didn’t know him, but I could see the alpha-ness seeping out of his pores at the mention of fun with other men. “Let’s be honest, Gabe, you and I, we’re not blushing virgins.”

“Are you really going there right now?” he rumbled, and I searched his eyes.

“Why not? You wanted honest. Why not lay all our cards on the table? We’ve both been around the block, experienced life, and there is nothing wrong with that.”

“You make me sound like a player,” he complained, and my hand moved from his neck up to his jaw, stroking the slightly

“Are you telling me I’m wrong? That every instinct about you having played the field is incorrect?” I pushed.

“No.” His jaw clenched, and he pulled me in closer, letting me feel his desire firmly pressed between us. “Laying our cards on the table, right?”

“Right,” I whispered.

“I have this my way—and warning, Sparky, I usually do—moment my lips touch yours, it’ll be the last first kiss either of us gets in this lifetime,” he announced like it was law, and I didn’t know whether to get the kissing started or back off.

“What?” I gasped. Talk about putting your cards on the table.

“You heard me, beautiful,” he confidently said, not repeating himself.

“You can’t say things like that.” I smiled up at him. “It’s—”

“Looney-bin crazy?” he finished my sentence, and all I could do was nod. “I know,” he sighed, dipping his forehead lower until it met mine. “Doesn’t make it any less true,” he softly muttered against my lips.

I wanted to move up that mere inch that separated us. I was dying to feel his mouth on mine. Get lost in a kiss so passionate they only existed in movies. So deep, I would lose myself, infuse his taste with mine, not knowing where one ended and the other began. But I didn’t. The anticipation was building, and he was saying a lot of pretty words I wanted so badly to believe, but I had to watch out. A silver-tongued player would do and say anything to get his. I just had to figure out whether I could trust and believe in him.

“We will see about that,” I flirted, pulling back, my hand moving from the back of his neck to his chest, landing over his heart. The steady thumping beneath only reminded me of the strong and virile man who lay beneath the fancy tuxedo. “I like the white tux by the way,” I changed the subject. “It’s very…”

“Casablanca?”

“I was going to say Casino Royale, but Casablanca works too.”

“You like Bond movies?” he asked, quirking his head to the side, amusement reflecting in his calm gaze.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Should I just ask you to marry me now or after midnight?” He wagged his brows, and I playfully smacked his chest with a laugh.

“Okay, you need to stop laying it on so thick.”

“How about I make you a promise, right here, right now?”

“Promises and proposals, huh?”

“I promise to always be honest. No matter what.”

“No matter what, huh?”

“Always.”

“Mind if I test this?” I challenged.

“Shoot, just be careful what you wish for.”

“Was I right?” I needed to know. “About you and playing the field?”

“Yes,” he immediately and confidently answered. “But that was before you.”

“Before me, huh?” I shook my head. “I guess we will see, won’t we?” I was as crazy as he was. I was almost positive I’d say yes to jumping into a car and driving to a chapel if he brought it up again.

“Do you really want to become fire chief?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I love this community. I love the people and how we still have that small-town feel despite the huge metropolitan area that surrounds us.”

“That sounds like the perfect answer to give in an interview,” I teased.

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“The truth. It takes a special kind of person to take on that kind of position and all the red tape and headaches that come with it.”

“My dad had wanted to become chief,” he sincerely added, and I stopped swaying. There was a difference in him. Sincerity and honesty seeped out from those few words I knew were something he didn’t share often or at all.

His hand slipped away from my waist. I took it into my hand. Without words we both walked off the dance floor; the conversation was genuine and too serious to share while we were dancing. We moved toward the open doors leading to the garden area. The garden twinkled brightly with warm white fairy lights that were meticulously tangled through the green shrubbery, making the secluded space seem almost magical. He sat down on a bench and pulled me onto his lap. Just as I was about to complain and move, he kept sharing.

“My dad taught me a lot of things. Serving the community and the gift it is despite the low pay or how unappreciative the position could be. It’s important. Keeping those in your space safe even more.” His fingers stroked my back gently. “He used to say ‘No matter what you do, kid, be the best at it possible.’” He grinned like he was stuck in a memory.

“He sounds like a great man.”

“He was the best.”

“What happened?” I found myself asking, leaning in closer, loving the heat his body seemed to radiate. It wasn’t cold per say; it was Southern California after all, but there was a crispness in the air.

“He was on a call. The old library’s furnace had some kind of malfunction, and when they were trying to put the fire out, the place just…”—his voice cracked—“exploded.” I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around him. I wanted to shield him from those memories and pain.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered into his ear. In that moment, I chose to believe him and every single word he said. Call me gullible or a bleeding heart, but there was no way he could be faking it. He was a man’s man, not one to use his past to reel a woman in. If I were a gambler, I would bet big money he hardly even talked about his dad and their relationship.

“Don’t be sad for me, Sparky.” His fingers caressed my face. I didn’t move away; if anything, I moved toward it.

“I’m not.” I sniffled, looking into his eyes.

From this distance and lighting, I noticed things I hadn’t before. Maybe it was nerves before, but now I saw the light brown, almost golden hued flecks in his eyes that made me think of the vampire books Ruby loved to indulge in. The lightness added warmth to the dark pools. I was all too happy to let myself be taken in by its rip current.

“You’re too damn sweet,” his deep voice murmured. He sounded like he was talking to himself.

“We got deep fast.”

“Hmm.” His chest rumbled against my palm, my thighs pressing closed at the delicious shivers it sent down my spine. Combined with the wicked gleam in his gaze, the man was lethal. He knew exactly how to make a girl’s head spin. This girl at least. “That sounds tempting.”

“You’re bad.” I chuckled. I liked being me with him, but it was a holiday, and his family and my friends were probably inside wondering, or worse, speculating what we were up to. Knowing my girls, their imaginations were working overtime. “We should probably head back in.”

“Or we can get out of here,” he suggested, and my body stilled.

“Get out of here?” I repeated, wondering if I’d misread him. I thought we had taken a turn to something more.

“I want time with you,” he shared as if reading my mind.

“You have it right now. I’m not going—"

“Alone,” his voice rumbled, his face once again close, and goodness gracious, I wanted him to kiss me. “Without my nosy-ass sister keeping track of our every move,” he added before pulling back and adjusting himself slightly, unashamed, without taking me off his lap.

“Hmm.” I cleared my throat. Damn the man. He was sporting an impressive bulge. He had made it crystal clear it was all for me in a non-douchebag sorta way. “I get it,” I croaked, trying my best to not let my eyes slip down and gaze at it longingly. I was trying to be good. I wanted more than something starting off hot and heavy only to burn out as fast as it ignited. “My best friends are probably doing the same, but—"

“But?”

“But you have the auction,” I reminded him, trying to ignore the streak of jealousy that struck through me at the idea of him spending time with anyone else.

“I know,” he groaned.

“And I’m in this dress.” I wiggled my shoulders and didn’t miss the smolder in his eyes as I stood up. Not missing a beat, he followed suit, his body rising the second I was off his lap. His hand taking hold of mine, his large body pressed up close. Like I belonged to him.

“It is a stunning dress,” he remarked. “But it’s the woman underneath who has me spellbound,” he complimented, and as cheesy and corny as it might be, I couldn’t help the way my cheeks warmed over.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Blanco.”

“Out of being in the auction?” he asked, and I shook my head with a smile so bright it almost hurt my face.

“I don’t think so.” I laughed, looking away and back at him. I bit my lip, his eyes falling right to my mouth. “Come on, I have an idea.” I grinned, taking a step back into the crowded ballroom.

“Best. Idea. Ever,” I groaned, taking a bite of the cheese-smothered meat.

“Right?” she mumbled as she chewed.

“Sparky, you throw a hell of a party,” I complimented as I took another bite of the ribeye skewer. She had led me around the room, and I more than willingly followed her like a lost puppy.

“So, what’s with the Sparky?” she curiously asked.

“It’s just you.” I shrugged, tossing the skewer in the waste basket by the food table she had taken us to.

“Me!” Her eyes widened before she cleaned her mouth with a napkin. “Sparky? I don’t see it.”

“You light up when you talk,” I shared, enjoying the slight pink tinge that fell over her face.

“I do?” she asked softly, and I nodded.

“Fondue station was a great idea.”

“Thanks.”

“What else did you do?”

“There will be a fruit and dessert bar that will take over this in about an hour. A candy station over on the other end, next to the champagne tower,” she pointed out, and I brought her into my arms, her back to my front.

“Hmm.” I breathed in the scent of her shampoo, letting it fill my lungs. “What’s over there?” I asked, even though I had an idea of what was behind the gold curtain.

“Oh. Photo booth.” She turned her head, and it took every ounce of self-control not to kiss her. To hold back and wait.

But as a thirty-six-year-old man who has fallen head over heels for the first time in his life, I knew anything worth having was worth the wait.

Including our first kiss.

“Show me.”

“Show you what? The photo booth?” She scrunched her face adorably.

“Yeah.”

“It’s a photo booth.”

“So?”

“I mean, if you want to.” She shrugged as we both started moving toward it. She had no clue whatsoever what I had up my sleeve.