A Better Man(53)

The driver opened the door, and Jordan slid out onto the cobblestone path. He gave a nod and a handsome tip to the man, knowing he'd provide his own transportation to get Lucy either back home or to his Creekside Cottage should she choose to extend the party after hours.

He reached inside the limo, took Lucy's hand, and helped her from the car. When she stood beside him she tilted her head slightly as if listening for clues to their location. But the only sound was that of the creek bubbling over rocks and the distant call of a western bluebird.

"I hear water," she said. "But I can't imagine dressed like this we're going for a swim."

"There's a place nearby. But that's not on the menu unless it's something you feel strongly about."

Eyes still closed, she shivered a little. "Still a little too early in the season for that."

"I agree." Although if she wanted to skinny-­dip, he'd bend over backward to make it happen. He took her hand, placed it in the crook of his arm, and led her to the big double doors.

Jordan had never been the type to get excited over much except shooting a perfect goal, winning a game, or inching ever closer to winning the Cup. For the first time, his heart gave a funny jump as he guided Lucy inside the building and found everything exactly as he'd imagined it. When the door closed behind them, he turned her to face the room.

"You can open your eyes now."

Lucy's fingers flew to her mouth to cover her surprise. "Oh . . . my . . . what is this?"

An enormous teardrop chandelier shot prisms of colored light onto the walls and wood floor of a large ballroom. Beneath the chandelier sat a single table covered with black and white linens, white pillar candles, and an artfully designed stargazer lily centerpiece. On the table was a sterling ice bucket that held yet another bottle of champagne. A stage at the end of the room displayed blue castle walls with a golden carriage at the center. And twinkling fairy lights danced from behind panels of sheer white curtains. From overhead, a sound system softly played "I'll Be."

Jordan reached for her hand. "Hopefully the prom you never had."

Wonder filtered through her every pore as she turned to him. He looked unbelievably debonair in his black tuxedo with his dark hair all sleek and combed back. And although she preferred his sexy five o'clock scruff, he'd shaved his strong jaw and chiseled cheeks. "Prom?"

"I know it might seem kind of corny. But it could have been worse the way I first imagined it," he explained with a wary look in his eyes. "When I contacted Principal Brown on his day off, he wasn't impressed by my NHL stats and refused to give me carte blanche to use the high school gym. The best I could do was talk the drama teacher into letting me use the cardboard props from the Cinderella play they did last fall. We're in the event center at Sunshine Creek Vineyards." 

"You . . ." She turned to look at the room again. "I . . ."

"Is speechless a good sign, Lucy?"

She inhaled a breath she hoped would calm her nerves and nodded. "It's a very good sign."

"That's what I was hoping for."

"So . . . your note . . . wishes, dreams, and happily-­ever-­afters?"

"I dug my old yearbook out of the closet to find the theme for the prom in our senior year."

"I never knew."

"I figured as much. Too hokey?"

"Not at all. You went to a lot of trouble."

"It was my pleasure. I liked you back in high school, Lucy. Had I not been such a stupid, self-­centered ass, I would have asked you to prom." His broad shoulders shrugged. "I'm just trying to make up for errors and lost time."

"You really need to let that go."

"I will. After tonight."

"I . . . really don't know what to say."

"Say you'll dance with me." He held out his hand. "I probably haven't improved any since high school, but I'm willing to give it a shot if you are."

She placed her hand in his. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"You can tell me anything."

For maybe the first time in her life, she found she'd like to tell someone all her confidences. But she'd long ago buried them and she wouldn't let the thought of them resurfacing now put a damper on this wonderful moment. "I don't know how to dance," she whispered.

"Then we'll figure it out together."

When he swept her into his arms and across the floor, Lucy knew he was a big fat liar. The man danced like he'd taken lessons from Fred Astaire.

Of course he was sure-­footed and full of male grace. The man did his job and had spent most of his life on thin steel blades whooshing across slippery ice. To his credit, he made following his steps easy. Maybe it was because he held her close enough that the rich, woodsy scent of his cologne wrapped her up in a web that made it impossible to do otherwise. Or maybe it was the look he gave her that said, Trust me.