“How do you even know that?” Jace asked.
“She goes to our church.”
“That’s tragic.” Sympathy twisted Tara’s features. “At least I had a choice. Even if I’m not performing anymore, I can still dance.”
“So it’s not the performance you miss?” Jace asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, there’s a thrill to the performance, and I love the challenge, but that was never why I did it. Dancing is when I’m most…me, I guess. It’s freedom.” She gave a self-deprecatory laugh. “That sounds ridiculous.”
“Not at all.” And it gave him an idea.
He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Leo. I need a favor.
Chapter 8
Tara fussed with her appearance. On any given day, she was far more concerned with getting the kids to school on time and bundling her hair up out of the way for work than she was with impressing anyone. There’d been no one she wanted to impress in longer than she cared to remember. But she wanted to impress Jace. Livia had already taken the kids, so she indulged in all the female date night rituals she’d forsaken for unofficial parenthood, hemming and hawing over the limited wardrobe she’d brought and spending as much time on her hair and makeup as she would’ve for a professional performance. And maybe this date was a performance, in a way.
Date Night starring Tara Honeycutt as Normal Girl.
A challenging role. Can she pull it off?
His knock came on the apartment door, and she sucked in a bracing breath. She was about to find out.
“It’s open!” she called out.
The door opened. “Tara?”
“Be out in a minute. Just putting on my boots.” The knee high boots added a couple of inches to her not insignificant height and made her feel strong and sexy.
Jace stood in the living room, hands tucked comfortably in his pockets as he waited, the picture of ease. He turned as she came in and let out a low whistle. “Damn.”
And suddenly every minute of fussing was worth it.
Seeming to catch himself, he straightened. “I hope that doesn’t offend you.”
To be seen as desirable and, more importantly, as herself? “On the contrary, I find it very...gratifying.”
His gaze traveled up from her face to something above her head, his lips twitching. “Someone’s been decorating.”
“What?”
Tara tipped her own head back to see what he was talking about. Someone had tacked mistletoe to one of the rafters running across the room.
“Austin,” she muttered.
“Livia. Or more probably both,” Jace said, suddenly three strides closer and beneath the greenery with her.
The boots put her almost eye-level with him, so she could see the twinkle in his eye. “Why do I get the sense you may’ve had something to do with this?”
“Don’t mistake my amusement for involvement. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the gesture. Are you superstitious, Tara?”
“Most performers are,” she allowed.
“It’s considered bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe.”
“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want any more bad luck.” She lifted a hand to his chest, delighted to feel his heart galloping beneath her palm.
Jace slid his hands along her waist, reeling her in until the length of her pressed against the length of him. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he murmured.