Deluxe Cinderella Chronicles 3 Story Box Set

by Lisa Renee Jones

  With a shrug, Kelly reached for the bowl of queso. “Fine with me. Just as long as you take those pictures with you.”

  Stuffing the photos into the envelope, Samantha didn’t know what to say. She settled for nothing. The minute her hand rested on the table, Kelly leaned forward, and covered it with her own. “Does Eric love you?”

  “Kelly, stop.”

  “Or do you fit his business plan?” Kelly asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I think he cares for you but it’s important to him you fit into his world. The question is does he fit your world? Do you love him?”

  Reaching for her purse, Samantha eased away from Kelly’s hand, and made a frustrated sound.

  “You’ve never once told me you love him, Samantha. Tell me and I will shut up.”

  Samantha pushed to her feet. “This conversation is over. I certainly hope you can be nice on my wedding day. It really sucks to feel like my maid of honor doesn’t support me.”

  With a flip of her hair, Samantha stormed away, feeling more alone than she had in a very long time.

  Chapter Eight

  The two pictures lay on Samantha’s desk, side by side. She held a pencil in her hand tapping the desk with it. Over and over the wood hit the desk, nervous tension directing her actions.

  Someone cleared their throat. “Hello, Beautiful.”

  It was David. In a scurry of activity, Samantha grabbed the pictures and stuffed them in a drawer. “You were supposed to call.”

  He smiled, and shut the door, closing them into the privacy of her office. “I tried your cell three times.”

  “Oh.” Now she remembered she’d put it on silent at the restaurant. “You should have called the of—”

  “They told me you were in a meeting.”

  She frowned. “Oh.” That was true too. A client had stopped by very upset over a turn in her case. It had been horrible timing because she’s needed time to think about David and really her life in general.

  “So?” he asked. “Can you tear yourself away?”

  Staring at him, her thoughts played like a whirlwind in her mind. Marriage or no marriage? She had to make a decision. Samantha straightened as the reality of the situation pressed her to act. Somehow, if she and David were to marry, Samantha had to find a way to light the fire between them…she didn’t want to think about the alternative. Pushing her chair away from the desk, she stood.

  “That depends,” Samantha said, walking around the desk. She stopped in front of him and leaned against the wooden surface behind her. Her mid-length black skirt didn’t do much to show any skin. Sexy wasn’t her work style. She’d have to get creative.

  “It depends on what?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

  She slid onto the top of the desk and hiked material up her leg. As she’d hoped, his eyes dropped. But only for a moment. If it had been Eric he’d have lingered. She shoved the thought aside, and said, “Are you taking off with me?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You know I can’t do that. Your father is already worried about me being gone next week.”

  She crossed her leg, and leaned back on her palms. She wondered if she’d have to spread her legs to get the man to forget her father. “Are you?” she asked. “It’s our honeymoon.”

  He hesitated a split second too long and she knew the answer. He was worried. Trying to cover it, he stepped closer, and his hand settled on her knee. “I can’t wait for next week.“

  She didn’t believe him. Samantha put her hand on his and then slid it upward. Under her skirt, and inward. Their eyes locked. “Prove it.”

  “What?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

  She spread her legs and pressed his hand to her panties. He didn’t resist but he also didn’t act. “Make love to me right here and now.” One hand made his fingers stroke her clit. The other went to the buttons on her blouse. He was going to make love to her and like it.

  His free hand went to hers, stopping the first button from coming loose. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking my shirt off.” Her voice was packed with demand. Even challenge. She forgot the efforts between her legs. Thus far they weren’t productive anyway. “Showing you my breasts. You do like them, don’t you?”

  He laughed, but not with humor. His voice was low. “This is crazy. We’re in your office.”

  She stared up at him, and what she saw in his face said it all. There wasn’t one inkling of temptation in his face. Only panic. Maybe even a hint of irritation. “Do you want me, David?”

  He shook his head slightly, frustration in the gesture. “What kind of question is that?” His hand still held hers, near her breast but not moving.

  “A good one. We’re about to get married and you don’t want me to the point of distraction.”

  “That’s…that’s simply not true.” He stiffened. “Because I’m adult enough to not grope you in the office doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

  Samantha sighed and let her hands drop to her side, nudging his away. “It means we are destined for trouble.”

  “This is ridiculous.” He turned, walking away and giving her his back. “I can’t believe we are having this conversation.”

  Neither could she, but she was glad. And she was thankful to Eric. Even if he had left her not once, but twice, he proved something to her. Eric had taught her the importance of waiting for the right man. “I’m not willing to settle, David.”

  He turned, eyes wide, face starting to redden. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Do you love me?” she asked.

  Shock registered in his eyes. “You know I do.”

  “The kind of love that makes your heart beat faster every time I’m near? The kind of love that makes the thought of being away from me put you in knots. The kind of love that is happily ever after?”

  “What the hell, Samantha? I came here to take you to dinner. The woman I have asked to be my wife. What have I done to deserve this?”

  “Answer me,” she said, feeling the pain of reality in her stomach. “Do you love me in the ways I described?”

  “You’re talking romance novels and fairy tales.” He flattened his palm on the desk as if his energy was being zapped. “We have the kind of relationship that you build on. The things that create stability and solid futures.”

  “So the answer is no.”

  He ground his teeth together. “What have I done to deserve this?”

  She walked to stand in front of him. Her hand went to his. “Nothing. See, one day you will love someone in the ways I described. I can’t take that from you.”

  Silence. “What are you saying?” he asked.

  “It means I can’t marry you.”

  Silence again. Then, he laughed. A hollow, pitiful sound of unaccepted defeat. “You’re joking, right? We have it all planned. Your father is thrilled. This is what he wants. This is what is best.”

  “For whom?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. David cared for her, but he didn’t love her.

  And her heart belonged to another, but she couldn’t say that to David. Not that she thought it would matter. This had never been about emotions nor had it been about sex. It had been about power.

  But for Samantha it needed to be about burning hot passion and love.

  * * * * *

  Hours after David had left, and the craziness had stilled, Samantha sat behind her desk. Darkness had begun to envelop the room. It was really quite amazing she’d managed to work the entire day. She’d broken up with David, and then made a few phone calls. Her father and Kelly. No one else. She’d looked skyward and known her mother would have approved. And though her father had lost it when he’d received the news, deep down she knew he respected her decision. He had loved her mother. Theirs had been a true love match. How could he want less for her?

  Vilma had accepted the news with surprising calm. She’d smiled a soft little knowing smile and then started making phone calls. The wedding was on its way to being cancelled. And that was a good thing. So w
hy did she feel so damn bad? Well, one thing was for sure. Going home alone was only going to make her feel worse. Working late had been her choice, but Kelly was so damn excited about the wedding being off, she’d insisted on drinks and details.

  But Samantha had refused. All she wanted was a hot bath and a book. And a fairy-tale romance novel that would promise happily ever after because she desperately wanted to believe it really existed. For now, she would work. She needed alone time. Just not too much.

  Chapter Nine

  A glance at the clock told her it was well past eight. Samantha gave in to the fact that she couldn’t hide at work all night. Instead, she plotted her expanded version of her escape home. Her list of pleasure items had grown. She’d stop by the store for ice cream, a book, wine, and bubble bath. Perfect replacements for a walk down the aisle.

  Okay, not perfect, but they’d do.

  With a sigh, she reached for her purse. Movement in the lobby made her still. She looked toward the sound but saw nothing but darkness. “Hello?” She took a deep breath in an effort to ward off the flutters rushing from her stomach to her chest. Everyone had gone home hours before.

  And then he appeared. A tall figure standing in her doorway. She swallowed. It couldn’t be. “Eric?”

  Arm above his head, he simply stood there. Casual. Perfect. “You’re working late.”

  She wasn’t sure what to do. A rush of emotion was so mixed it was hard to decipher her feelings. Part of her was damn near ready to run across the room and jump his bones. If ever a woman needed a man, tonight, she needed him. But then warning bells rang in her head. Heartache. Pain.

  She abandoned her purse and pushed to her feet, fingertips pressed to the top of her desk. “I thought you’d gone back home.”

  He pushed off the door and started walking toward her. “I thought about it.”

  The closer he came to her, the wilder her heart beat. This was what she wanted to feel with David. This hot-all-over, burn-to-the-core, urgency. It was lust and love and all kinds of wild feelings all wrapped into one, potent rush.

  Somehow she managed a steady, albeit short, response. “But?”

  “Why’d you leave?” he asked. “That’s the real question.”

  They both knew what he was talking about. “I never meant to stay all night.”

  He moved around the desk, closing the distance between them, and stopping beside her. She turned to face him, but she kept one hand on the desk, needing the support it offered.

  “Wrong answer,” he said in a low voice. “Wrong answer.”

  She swallowed. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Another step forward. Now he was so close she could lean a bit and touch him. He smelled that way he always smelled. Deliciously male. Addictive. Arousing. God. She was losing it. Her body was ripe with wanting. She could feel her nipples pebbled against her bra.

  “Yes,” he insisted. “You do.”

  She looked down, hiding her emotions from his. Afraid he would see the truth in her eyes. That she had been running from him. Not the physical him, but the emotional context of all he represented. And from the end of her engagement. Maybe even from life.

  A whisper was all she managed. “No.”

  “You ran.” His fingers touched her cheek, light but intense in their impact. She felt the contact in every inch of her body. “Why Sam?”

  Slowly, she let her gaze lift. The truth was there, between them, whether she hid from it or faced it. She preferred the head-on method. Too much had happened to shove this all aside. Her marriage had been cancelled. It was time to face the whole big picture. “I broke my engagement.”

  Their eyes locked and held. He moved to touch her and she held up a hand. “Stop.” Her finger pressed into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Muscles flexed beneath. She forced his eyes back to his. “This changes nothing.”

  A slow smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Oh but it does.” And then he moved. Before she even knew what had happened he was holding her, his mouth closing down on hers in an onslaught of pure passion.

  She tried to hold back but it wasn’t possible. All the emotion inside, the desire, and longing, and years of wanting, exploded in a mad yearning for satisfaction. For him. For all they once had been. How long they clung, and kissed, she didn’t know. But it wasn’t enough. It never would be. She tugged at his shirt, needing skin. Before she completed her task Eric hoisted her onto the desk, and shoved her skirt up her legs. Aggressive and perfect. Just the way she liked him. Her hands ran down his tight, muscular thighs, and around his nice round ass.

  She wanted to touch every tiny perfect muscle, but his mouth was everywhere. Teasing and distracting it nipped and tickled. Her ear. Her chest. Her lips. It turned her into putty, and made her dazed with pure heat. Suddenly, her shirt was undone and she hardly remembered how. And then she was topless, her nipples feeling the cool air-conditioning just before the rough perfection of his fingers stroked. A moment of apprehension made her stiffen. She didn’t want to be hurt again. Samantha’s hands went to Eric’s wrist.

  This man was making her crazy. She’d forgotten all reason. “No,” she said but it came out a gasp as his mouth claimed hers. Eric kissed her with a sensual stroke of his tongue. Somehow, against his lips, she managed, “No.”

  Pulling back, he looked at her. His eyes were dark and hot and she could see desire there, potent and alive. Samantha knew that look well. It said he wanted to slide inside her and bury himself deep. But his hands slid to her cheeks in an amazingly tender response. “What is it?”

  His reaction made her heart squeeze. She knew he wanted her beyond the physical. That they were meant to be, but she was afraid to blindly believe. She needed reassurance. “I can’t… I… You left me.” Emotion knifed at her heart, suddenly more alive and real than it had been for many years. She’d loved him and he’d left. All this passion flaring between them, for her at least, was simply a creation of the very thing that caused her pain…her love for him. “You left me.”

  His lips went to her forehead and then he bent at his knees, bringing himself to eye level with her. “I was a fool. Give me a chance to make it up to you.”

  If only it were so easy. “You can’t just say sorry and it’s all better.”

  “I know, baby. I know.” He eased to one knee and stared up at her. “I know. I was young and stupid. Then I was afraid to come back for you. Afraid I’d find exactly what I did, you with another man. It tore me up to find out you belonged to another. I love you.”

  She shook her head. “Then, you couldn’t have left me.”

  “I understand how you feel,” he said in a low, intense voice, “but you are my woman, Samantha. No one is taking you from me again. Not ever. I’m not leaving without you.”

  Her eyes went wide at the potency of his words. For the first time since his return, she started to feel that maybe, just maybe, he was in fact, her man. And yes…she was his woman. “You want me to come to your home with you?”

  He nodded. “To start.”

  She couldn’t hold back a tiny smile. “That’s a big request.” But one she so wanted to make reality. “I think I might need convincing.”

  His brow inched upward. “What do I have to do to make it an appealing offer?”

  She leaned back on her hands, and let her thighs inch outward. “You can start by getting naked.”

  He smiled and pushed to his feet. “Your wish is my command.”

  The End

  Pleasure with Purpose

  By

  LISA RENEE JONES

  Copyright 2012

  Story 1 of the HOTLY-EVER-AFTER series

  Cover by Steena Holmes www.Authorsredroom.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it wa
s not purchased for your use only, then please return to the supplier and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at lisarenjones@gmail.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  Copyright 2012

  Chapter One

  “You’ve never had an orgasm!”

  The exclamation from her best friend had Heather Brown ready to climb under a rock, or rather the brown leather couch she sat on. “Will you please keep your voice down,” she pleaded, nervously peeking over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door directly behind her. Good grief, she was going to regret allowing that confession to spurt from her lips.

  “He’s asleep,” Brenda Carrington declared about her brother Brad, and none too softly either. “It’s Sunday morning. The only time he allows himself to rest.”

  “He won’t be if you keep talking so loudly.”

  “After bumming his spare bedroom for six months, I can assure you he’s deadwood this morning. The man might foot the price tag to live in downtown Dallas just to be near his law practice, but Sunday is where he draws the line on work.”

  Heather inhaled, thinking of Brad, in bed, only a few feet away. Naked. He liked to sleep naked. She knew this because she’d accidental walked in on him when she was sixteen, on one of the many weekends she’d spent at the Carrington’s home while her mom worked a second job. He’d been a man, seven years older than her, and she’d been embarrassed and infatuated. And now, ten years later, she still remembered that moment, still fantasized about the dark hair sprinkled over taut muscle, the pure perfection of his long, masculine body. Dang it, she hated that she still remembered. Heather shook herself for the silly schoolgirl crush on Brad that had long outlived its welcome. The man had never paid her boney knees and flat chest any mind back then, preferring bosomy blondes, who he’d gone through as if they were candy corn meant for seasonal pleasure. Time, and a few more inches on her chest, hadn’t changed that either.