Heart Note by Cassandra O'Leary

Author:Cassandra O'Leary [O'Leary, Cassandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: perfume, christmas romance, spritzer chicks, romcom, department store, shopping, Christmas, romantic comedy, Chick Lit, romance novella, holiday romance, shopaholic, Christmas 2017 romance
Publisher: Cassandra O'Leary
Published: 2017-11-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

This time in the car with Christos, I didn’t just have ants in my pants. I thought I’d actually expire. My clothes had effectively become a boa constrictor, cutting off all the air to my lungs, squeezing me tight, stopping the blood circulating. My pulse thudded wildly in several important places.

Clothes. Who needed them? Bah, humbug! They needed to come off, and soon. I tugged at the low neckline of my dress.

As we drove towards his place, my own heartbeat was amplified in my ears, loud as the thrum of rain on a tin roof. Like the annex of my gran’s old house where I used to sleep over some nights as a kid when Dad was playing with his band. But then the sound changed, a swoosh-swoosh woke me from the memory of Christmas Eve at Gran’s, waiting up to spot Santa Claus arriving on the front lawn.

It was actually raining. Melbourne’s weather was changeable from one minute to the next. No wonder it felt so humid inside the car. Huge droplets of rain went splat on the windscreen, round mini-puddles for a second before the wipers chased them away.

Christos was quiet. I was acutely aware of him though, his scent surrounding us in this capsule of a car, his essence teasing my nostrils and urging me closer as we sped through the night towards our destination.

His place. His bed.

Was I making a huge mistake? Too soon to say.

But I wanted to take a chance, for the first time in a long time.

I let my gaze drift from the splatting rain drops to the man beside me. His hand taut on the gearstick, tendons in his exposed forearm shifting with the change of gears. Up to his shoulders, broad and muscular under his shirt, to his neck and jaw. So strong. Masculinity in its essential form. His profile was highlighted by the street lights, the straight line of his nose slightly crooked, under close inspection.

I blurted out a question before I could think. “Did you break your nose once?”

Christos turned to me quickly, then looked right back at the road ahead. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“I noticed your nose is a little crooked. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

“It was a fight back in high school. Stupid kid stuff.”

The way he responded, too dismissive, too fast, told me it was anything but. I tangled my fingers together in my lap. I didn’t push it. I didn’t know why I’d even said anything to break the silence. Besides being completely nervous, verging on completely uncommunicative. Dumbstruck by him and his male beauty.

“We’re nearly at my house. I’m at the end of the court, the white house.”

“Oh, it’s lovely.”

It was. And unexpected. A cottage with a small porch out front, lavender along the low picket fence. One tall tree, maybe an oak, stood proud in the garden. It was a proper home, no bachelor pad or flat, not a temporary stop-gap place to lay his head. A few pieces of the puzzle named Christos clicked into place in my mind.

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