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- Proby, Kristen
Dream With Me: A With Me In Seattle Novel Page 2
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Page 2
Sure enough, Joy and Starla are at the appetizer buffet, loading up tiny plates with canapes and crab cakes.
“I’m so happy you guys are here,” Joy says with a sigh. “I mean, I’ve been coming to these things with Jace forever, but it’s exhausting to try and make small talk when you don’t know anyone, you know?”
“We’ve got you,” Starla says. The pop star is dressed in a killer strapless green dress that has a slit up the side to her hip. Red-soled heels are the perfect touch. She turns to me, a wide smile on her face. “Wow, girl, you clean up nice.”
“It was all Amelia’s doing. I can bake a cake like a champ, but I’m worthless when it comes to makeup.”
“Good thing she has me,” Amelia says with a wink.
While the other three chat about dresses and hairstyles, I glance around the room, not expecting to see anyone I know. I love my brother-in-law, but I don’t walk in the same social circles as he does.
There’s a glass sculpture in the middle of the room that I immediately recognize, and I wander away from the others to check it out.
Vivid red, orange, and yellow; twisty, swirling shapes that reach for the ceiling. I’d recognize the work anywhere.
This is an O’Callaghan piece.
I stand and sip my bubbly drink, examining the craftsmanship in the glass, then notice a discreet plaque that says it’s part of the silent auction.
I’m positive that I can’t afford it. His pieces go for thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands of dollars.
My family is wealthy, but that’s out of my price range.
But maybe, just maybe I can put in a bid.
I wander over to the silent auction bids and see that the sculpture is already well into the six figures and kiss that dream goodbye.
Someday, maybe, I’ll own one of Kane’s pieces.
I shrug a shoulder and turn to walk away, almost colliding with a broad chest.
“Oh, pardon me,” I say. When my eyes travel up the strong chest and over the recently shaven square jawline, I look into mossy green eyes.
Kane O’Callaghan.
“We meet again,” he says with a small smile.
“It seems we do.” I take a deep breath, and the smell of someone’s perfume fills my nostrils. My lungs immediately tighten. As much as I want to stay and talk with him, ask him a million questions, I have to get to a restroom.
I need my rescue inhaler.
Damn it!
I take two big steps and begin the mental speech to talk me down from a full-on panic attack.
You’re fine. You’re breathing fine. Slow breaths, Anastasia. It’s just a little perfume, that’s all.
I try to smile his way, and then turn away again. I guess if I have a full-on asthma attack here and now, there are roughly forty-seven doctors who can save the day.
I walk into the women’s restroom and open my clutch, pull out my inhaler, and take a long pull off it, relieved when the albuterol fills my lungs. I immediately feel relief.
See? You’re fine. All better. No reason to panic.
Let’s not even consider the fact that this is the second time in two days that I’ve managed to make a fool of myself in front of Kane.
I stuff the inhaler back into my clutch and walk out of the restroom where Kane is leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, looking casual and calm as he watches me walk through the door.
“Was it something I said?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rush off.”
“All better?” His lips turn up in that half-smile.
“Better.” I nod, not wanting to get into my medical issues. “That piece you donated is stunning.”
“Thank you.” He slips a hand out of his pocket and reaches out for mine. “Dance with me.”
“Dance with you?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Please.”
Chapter Two
~Anastasia~
Okay, so the man has moves. It shouldn’t surprise me that someone who creates such amazing works of art can also lead a girl around the dance floor. With one palm firmly planted on my lower back, and the other clutching my hand, Kane keeps his eyes on mine.
“You’re a good dancer,” I murmur.
“You’re nervous,” he replies softly. “There’s no need to be. It’s just a dance.”
I take a deep breath and offer him a smile. He’s right. It’s just a dance.
The fact that he’s maybe the hottest man I’ve ever seen is a huge bonus.
And if he can move like this, with all of our clothes on, I can only imagine what it could be like if we were naked.
Mercy.
“I never got your name,” he says and guides me closer to him so we can talk into each other’s ears. I glance around the room, seeing my sister and the other girls smiling at us, watching us dance.
“Anastasia,” I say and turn my head, not quite planting my nose against his neck. The smell of this man is going to kill me.
And not because it triggers my asthma.
Because it’s too sexy.
I watch the pulse in his neck and enjoy the feeling of his strong arms holding me.
“That’s a lovely name.” The accent is thicker in his voice now. Irish? I’m not good with accents, but I’d bet he’s Irish.
His last name might be an indicator.
“Thank you.”
The song ends and flows into another ballad. Adele sings about finding another lover, as Kane moves against me, with me.
I wonder if it looks as sexy as it feels.
“You said yesterday,” he whispers against my ear, “that you’d be using your sketch for something else. What will that something be?”
“A cake.”
He pulls back far enough to smile down at me in surprise. “A cake, is it?”
I nod, more comfortable talking about what I do for a living than just dancing in silence.
“I design and build wedding cakes for a living. I can do them for other occasions, as well, but wedding cakes are what I’m known for.”
“Interesting.”
“I have a client who came into my shop about a month ago to hire me. They didn’t give me any direction at all. No colors, no requests. It just has to feed about two hundred guests.” I shake my head in disgust. “Not that I want them to tell me to copy a photo. I won’t do that, but usually, they have colors they like or flowers in mind. Something. Not these two. When I need inspiration, I like to look at what others have created. Or have conversations with people I enjoy.”
“That makes sense,” he says and leans in to kiss my forehead, which sends a shiver right down my spine to my lady parts—which had already sat up and taken notice of Kane.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“An apology,” he replies. “For being difficult yesterday.”
“Apology accepted.”
His lips quirk into that half-smile, his green eyes shining. The song is almost over, and I know I should thank him for the dance and find Lia and the others.
“Thanks for the dance.”
The last note plays, and I pull back, immediately wishing I was back in his arms.
He’s a stranger, and it’s crazy, but it’s true.
“Do you belong to a man, Anastasia?” Kane brushes his knuckles down the side of my cheek.
I frown. “I’ll never belong to anyone.”
“You know what I mean. Are you taken?”
“I’m single if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good.” He kisses the back of my hand. “I have a room here for the night. Join me.”
I blink at him. If I’m not mistaken, Kane O’Callaghan just invited me up to his hotel room. I’m not naïve. I know what he’s proposing.
And every single brain cell in me screams, this is not a good idea.
But my body says, hell yes, it’s a great idea.
“I’m here with people.”
He nods. “Let’s find them, then.”
I laugh, a full-on guffaw because this is just so ridiculous. And because I’m totally going to do as he suggests.
That self-care thing I was talking about? Maybe it includes enjoying a random night with a hot stranger once in my life. It’s not like this happens often. But once? What the hell.
I walk off the dance floor, not bothering to glance behind me to see if Kane’s following me. He is. I can feel his eyes on me.
“Hey,” Lia says with a huge smile. “And you didn’t think you’d know anyone here.”
“This is Kane O’Callaghan,” I say, introducing Kane to our group. “Amelia is my sister.”
“You’re the spitting image of each other,” Kane says, flashing a grin.
I make the rounds at the table, pointing out Jace and his brothers and their wives. When I get to Starla, Kane’s eyes widen.
“I listen to your music in my barn,” he says.
“And I have pieces of yours in my homes,” she says with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I do believe the pleasure is mine.” Kane’s green eyes turn down to me. “Shall we say goodnight, then?”
“Wait, what?” Levi, one of the cops in our family says with narrowed eyes. “You just got here.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to have Anastasia to myself for a while,” Kane says as he slips his hand into mine.
Lia stands and hugs me. “Call me later and tell me everything.”
I wave at the table, ignoring Levi’s overprotective stare, and let Kane lead me out of the convention room to the elevators.
“This is crazy,” I whisper as we step into the cab. “Aren’t you here with anyone?”
“My agent, Peter,” Kane says. “He won’t miss me. Donating the piece is for a good cause, and making a personal appearance sold a few extra tickets. But I showed up, and now I’d like to spend some time with the mysterious cake artist that I’ve managed to run into twice in two days.”
“I’m really not that mysterious.”
“You are to me,” he says, and once the elevator reaches the penthouse, he takes my hand and leads me into his room.
Which is way too generic of a word for what this is.
Kane’s staying in the biggest suite the hotel has to offer. Not just a room.
He leads me into the living area that has floor-to-ceiling views of the lights of downtown Seattle.
“Would you like some wine? Or anything, for that matter? We can order room service if you’d like.”
“A glass of wine is great.” I sit on the couch and cross my legs, watching as Kane walks about the space, opens a wine fridge, and pulls out a bottle of white. He uncorks and pours and then passes me a glass.
He’s a tall man, with long limbs and broad shoulders. His white shirt hugs his muscles when he takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.
God, I love the way a man looks in a white shirt with rolled sleeves.
And then, when tattoos are revealed on one of his arms? I almost spit out my wine.
“Tell me more,” he says as he sits across from me.
“I feel like I’m in a job interview.”
He sips his drink, watching me. “I haven’t any interest in hiring you for any job. I just want to get to know you.”
“Why?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Because I’m interested. And that means I want to know more. You’re a beautiful woman, Anastasia.”
“Thank you.”
“How did you get into cake design?”
“I thought I wanted to be a chef.” I grin at the memory and kick off my heels, pulling my feet up under me to get comfortable. “All my life, I told anyone who would listen that I’d be a famous chef someday. And then I went to culinary school, and I was awful.”
“How so?”
“It just wasn’t for me. I burned things, spilled things, you name it. Being clumsy when you’re pulling a roast out of the oven isn’t convenient.”
I see laughter in his eyes as he nods. “I can see that.”
“But then we had to do a rotation through the bakery, and I fell in love with it. Suddenly, I wasn’t clumsy anymore. It was like my body just knew I was supposed to be there, and it all clicked. I enjoy working with sugar, the different mediums of it. My favorite is sugar sculpture, but it takes a lot of time and is expensive, so I don’t do it often.”
“Do you have photos of some of the cakes you’ve made?”
I blink at him, surprised. “Do you have a phone? You can Google me.”
“I never carry a cell, and I’ve never Googled anything in my life,” he replies.
“Are you a time traveler? This is 2020, Kane.”
“All the phone does is interrupt my work, so I refuse to have it with me. It’s probably dead in my kitchen right now.”
I smile, charmed by him, and open my clutch to pull out my own phone. My inhaler falls out onto the floor and lands at Kane’s feet.
He fetches it and passes it to me.
“Thanks.”
He looks like he wants to ask questions, but before he can, I wake up my phone and bring up the album with my cakes. I gesture for him to sit next to me.
“You can just swipe left to look at the photos.”
He settles near me, takes my phone, and looks at each photo intently, almost as if he’s going to be quizzed on them later.
He comes to a cake I did last year. It has four tiers and is covered in magnolias.
“The flowers are pretty. Does the florist deliver them to you?”
“Those magnolias are sugar,” I say softly, and smile when Kane’s gaze whips to mine.
“They look real.”
“Thank you. Each one took me two hours.”
He looks back down at the phone. “How do I look closer?”
I pinch and spread my fingers on the image to magnify it for him.
“Incredible,” he murmurs. “I’d love to see the tools you work with.”
“Ditto.”
He grins at me and then returns to the photos. Once he’s seen all of them, he passes me the phone and waits while I put it to sleep and return it to my clutch.
“You’re a talented woman, Anastasia.”
“You can call me Stasia. Most people do.”
He takes my hand and twines our fingers, then kisses my knuckles. “I prefer Anastasia.”
“How did you get started with glass?”
“My uncle in Ireland blew glass and would let me sit in the barn with him when I was a lad. It was the most thrilling thing I’d ever seen, and I knew I wanted to do nothing else with the whole of my life.”
“How long have you lived in the States?”
“Twenty years,” he says, still touching me with strong, callused hands.
“Do you miss Ireland?”
“More than you’ll ever know.” He kisses my fingertips now. “I spend two months every year there, but the yearning never really goes away.”
“Why don’t you move back?”
He pauses, thinking it over. “My family’s here, all near Seattle, and I love them too much to be gone from them.”
I nod, completely understanding. “I get it. It’s why I moved back here not long ago. My family’s here. You met some of them tonight, which is kind of odd.”
“Odd, is it?”
“A bit, yes. How many siblings do you have?”
“Four.” He grins. “It’s a large clan, the O’Callaghans.”
“The Montgomerys are the same,” I say with a wide smile. It seems I have more in common with Kane than I expected. “Although I’m only one of three, we have more cousins than we can count, and they’re all married with kids. We could be our own village.”
“Montgomery,” he murmurs. “’Tis a Scottish name, aye?”
“I do believe a great-grandfather came from Scotland, yes.”
He stands and guides me to my feet.
“Are we headed to the bedroom?” I ask, “or are you kicking me out for being Scottish?”
br /> “We’ll get to the bedroom. And I think I can find it in my heart to forgive your heritage.”
“You’re a kind man.”
“I’m not, no.” He frowns. “I’d like to dance with you again.”
“You like to dance, don’t you?”
“I never have. Until tonight.”
“You have a way with words,” I inform him as he pulls me against him and wraps his long, strong arms around my waist, holding me close. He tips his head down and gently kisses my bare shoulder, sending shivers down my spine. I inhale sharply at my body’s response to him, my hands tightening on his shoulders.
“Responsive.” He kisses again. “Delicious. From the minute I saw you, sitting among my glass, I knew I’d eventually have you like this.”
“I want that statement to make me mad,” I admit, but tip my head instead, giving him better access to my flesh.
“You shouldn’t. You’re a beautiful woman with passion in those gorgeous blue eyes of yours. Your irises are the same color as the glass in that room. I couldn’t stop watching you, the intensity of how you attacked the sketch. It’s how I feel when I’m working, and I’ve never seen it reflected in someone else before.”
“I get lost in it,” I admit, and feel my eyes drift closed when he drags his nose up to my ear. Good God, he’s turned me into a puddle.
“Aye, as do I.” His accent has intensified with lust and only pulls me deeper into his spell. We aren’t moving to the music anymore. My hands knead his muscular shoulders, and Kane grips the pull of my zipper, then drags it down and lets my dress pool around my waist.
“It fits too tightly,” I inform him with a grin. “I have to work it over my hips.”
“Not yet,” he says and lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing at all. He carries me to the bedroom where a sidelight is on next to the bed, the only illumination in the room. He sets me gently onto the duvet and watches me with those bright green eyes. “You’re a vision, Anastasia.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I bite my lip and reach out for him, silently inviting him to lie with me.
And he does.
But there’s no frenzy, no tearing of clothes, no rush. Instead, he cups my face and finally, finally brushes his full lips over mine, softly at first, and then he sinks into me, kissing me as if he’s starved for me.