Chloe was never letting Rowan choose a dress for her again.

Ever.

She pulled at the slinky gold fabric uncomfortably. The top of the dress was fine — a modest cowl-neck — but it was the bottom that concerned her. Or rather, the lack of bottom; the sequins stopped at about mid-thigh.

She seized a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Thank god there weren't any children here; she didn't want to corrupt the youth.

Chloe hovered by the Christmas tree, searching desperately for a flash of blond hair. Ah; there Jack was. He was trapped in conversation with his Great Aunt Belinda next to a decorative swan ice sculpture that Chloe suspected cost more than a month's rent.

She made a beeline for him.

Belinda was in the middle of a rant, waving her hands wildly. Then again, everything about Belinda was wild: her cat-eye glasses, her purple lipstick, her patterned trainers. If Chloe didn't know that Belinda worked in finance, she would have thought she was a sixth-form drama teacher. Easily.

"I just want you to meet her, Jacky," Belinda was saying. "I think you'd really like her. She really is quite clever, and she does wonderful manicures."

Jack took a swig of port. "I'm sure she does."

"She's very pretty, too. Way out of your league."

"I'm sure she is."

"And she's single," Belinda added, looking at him expectantly.

"I'm sure there's a reason," Jack muttered, and Belinda cupped an ear.

"What was that, darling?"

"Nothing."

"Why don't you take her out for a drink?" Belinda prodded, fishing in her purse. "I'm sure I have her number here somewhere. I worry about you, Jacky." She wrinkled her nose. "There's only so many women that want to date a biologist."

She said "biologist" the way some people said "escaped convict" or "alcoholic clown." Jack's face was white.

"That's lovely, Aunt Belinda," he began, "but I really—"

"Jack didn't tell you?" Chloe cut in. "Darling, you should have said." She bopped Jack playfully on the shoulder. "We're dating now."

Belinda sputtered. "You're what?"

"Dating." Chloe interlaced their fingers. "He's an excellent listener."

"Well, I—"

"And excellent in bed, too," Chloe added, smirking, and Belinda turned green.

"Well, I think I'd better..." The elderly woman trailed off, her eyes darting to the refreshment table. "Ah! Cocktail sausages. How divine."

And with that, Belinda was off.

Chloe dropped her hand immediately, flexing her fingers. "Your hand is so sweaty," she griped. "It's like holding a fish."

Jack was looking at her in surprise. "Why did you do that?"

"What?"

"Save me."

Chloe gave him an odd look. "I always save you, idiot." Honestly. Had Jack hit his head, or something? "You'd do the same for me."

"Of course," he said quickly. "I mean, I know."

She sized Jack up. There was something distinctly — well — different. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Had he cut his hair? Tried out a new cologne?

She clicked her fingers.

"You've fixed your posture," she announced.

He looked alarmed. "I—what?"

"Your posture," Chloe repeated smugly. "You always slouch, but you aren't, tonight." She ran a hand down his back, feeling for a metal rod. "Is it a posture corrector? Is that why you're wearing that stupid jumper?"

"It's not stupid," Jack said, looking horrified. "It's designer."

Chloe stared at him.

Christ. Maybe he was drunk, too.

"Since when do you wear designer?" she demanded.

"Logan gave it to me," Jack said defensively. "For my birthday last year."

"I know," Chloe said slowly. "I was there, remember?"

Jack had laughed, declared the green Moschino jumper hideous, and then threw it in the back of his closet along with his childhood plush toy, a broken lamp and the golf clubs that he never used. It had never seen the light of day again.

Until now, apparently.

"I thought you hated it," Chloe said, frowning. "It's awful."

"It is not!"

Chloe almost choked on her drink. For a bizarre moment, she thought the twins might be playing some sort of prank on her, but no — Logan was entering the party now. And it was definitely him. Chloe knew this for three reasons.

Firstly, Logan was late.

Secondly, his eyebrow had a scar running through it.

And thirdly, Logan had a nasty, purplish bruise blooming on his temple. Probably from extreme sports. Hadn't he mentioned he was going paragliding this week?

Anyways, it certainly wasn't Jack.

The most dangerous activity Jack participated in was eating a large Domino's pizza in one sitting. Similarly, he referred to his multi-hour lab sessions as "extreme marathons." Unironically.

Jack had never suffered a paper cut, let alone a bruise.

"What happened to Logan?" Chloe demanded.

"Hmm?" Jack followed her gaze. "Oh. The usual." He waved her off airily. "Shagged some bloke's girlfriend, and then got into a fight with him."

Chloe swallowed.

Jack might as well have stabbed her in the heart. Not that she was expecting anything different from Logan, but damn — it still hurt. She downed the rest of her champagne, and Jack frowned.

"You okay?"

"Fine," she muttered.

She wasn't fine. In fact, Chloe was beginning to regret ever promising Rowan that she would tell Logan how she felt.

This was stupid. She was—

"Wow."

Chloe whirled around. Logan was staring at her with a gob-smacked look on his face. His eyes darkened as they flitted over the sequined gold dress. Chloe felt her whole body warm. Okay, scratch that. Rowan was buying all of her clothes from now on. Even her damn socks.

"Hi," she said breathlessly.

"You look..." Logan shook his head. "You look gorgeous, Chloe."

She was melting. Faster than the swan ice sculpture.

"Can I talk to you?" Logan continued. "Alone?"

Chloe's lungs collapsed. Wait, what?

"Me?" she squeaked.

Logan gave her an odd look. "Yes, you." He jerked his head towards the balcony doors. "Can we go outside?"

Yup. Chloe was definitely not breathing. She whipped around to look at Jack.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked.

Jack shrugged. "Be my guest."

Chloe squeezed his hand, and Jack stiffened, as if surprised. But Chloe was too hopped up on adrenaline to care. He had basically given his blessing. That was good enough for her. She looked up at Logan.

"Lead the way," she said.

Chloe shivered as she stepped on to the balcony.

London was dusted in a fine layer of white powder. Black water snaked through glittering buildings, and the Shard rose above all of it, like a single, glistening icicle. It was beautiful, Chloe thought dizzily. Their own personal snow globe.

Logan cleared his throat. "Do you remember meeting here?"

"Of course," Chloe said.

How could she forget? Jack had been bleeding all over the balcony after Logan walloped him with a decorative snowman. She had used her jacket to hold the wound closed while Logan ran off to find plasters. Not exactly a romantic beginning.

But she had been hooked, anyways.

"You looked so cute that day," Logan told her. "You were wearing that red velvet dress. Remember the one you used to wear to Christmas concerts?" He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "And your hair was in plaits."

Chloe's cheeks warmed. "I can't believe you remember."

"I remember everything, when it comes to you."

Chloe's stomach flipped over. Oh, god. She had waited for this moment for so long — over a decade, in fact — and now that it was here, she had no idea what to do. Logan was rocking back and forth on his heels. He looked nervous, she realized with surprise.

Logan Winters was never nervous.

"I knew from that day," he continued, "that I wouldn't be able to get you out of my head, Chloe. Not ever."

Nope. She wasn't breathing.

Logan was clearly waiting for her to say something, but Chloe's mind was stupidly blank. She seized on the first thing she could find.

"Oh, look," she said, pointing upwards. "Mistletoe."

Logan's eyes darted to where the innocuous green plant hung over their heads. His eyes darkened slightly, a silent question in them, and Chloe's cheeks flamed. Ah, shit. Wait. That wasn't what she meant.

"You don't have to—" she began.

"Oh, sod it," Logan growled.

He seized her face, and Chloe abruptly forget how to think.

Logan kissed her hungrily. Roughly. Like he had a point to prove, and he was going to make damn sure that she realized it. Chloe's back collided with the wall. Bricks dug into the bare skin of her back, but she no longer cared.

Logan Winters was kissing her.

Good holy lord.

His warm hands found her back, brushing the bare skin where her dress dipped, and she shivered. She buried one hand in his hair, and he groaned.

"Chloe," he murmured. "Stop for a second."

She kissed him deeper, hard enough to bruise. Her head felt pleasantly light. Had she breathed in the last five minutes? Maybe not. She no longer cared.

"Chloe."

He sounded almost pained. God, this was addicting. She knotted her hands in his jacket, yanking him closer, but Logan staggered back. He was panting slightly.

"Wait," Logan said hoarsely. "Stop." He shook his head, as if to clear it. "I want to talk about this first. Before we take it any further. Chloe, I—"

"No, wait," Chloe blurted. "Me, first."

Logan nodded, still looking dazed. She took a deep breath. Oh, screw it — he had kissed her, hadn't he? He was hardly going to reject her.

"I fancy you, Logan," Chloe said quickly. "I always have."