His Christmas Cinderella

by Christy Jeffries

  His warm breath fanned her cheek as his breathing became more labored, more intense every time his hips drew away from her. She gave no thought to her own intake of air, panting desperately as she arched against him. When she brought her knees up on either side of him, Jordan sank deeper inside, and all of the coiled tension from that very first kiss on that very first night suddenly unraveled into a spiral of contractions that reverberated throughout her body until she was shuddering underneath him.

  Jordan called out her name before stiffening with his own release while Camilla kept her legs wrapped around him, anchoring herself to him as they both floated into the receding waves of the most electrifying storm she’d ever experienced.

  * * *

  “You weren’t lying about your sandwich making skills,” Camilla told Jordan as he set a plate in front of her. The dual-sided fireplace was open to both the kitchen and the bedroom, but they chose to spread out a picnic on the bed so they could watch the sunset through the massive windows. “They’re almost as good as your bartending skills.”

  “I’ve barely even begun showing you all my skills.” He deftly pulled the cork out of a bottle of red wine.

  Not waiting for him to hand her a glass, she took a bite of the most unbelievable and gravity-defying creation. Crusty, mini loaves of sourdough were stacked high with slow-roasted Taylor Beef (of course), gourmet cheese, grilled red peppers, romaine lettuce and homemade horseradish mayo. Starving, she took a second bite and swallowed before asking, “Where did you learn how to make this?”

  “One summer, we had this ranch hand who had a major crush on my nanny, Rosalie. He would always ask her to go riding with him in the afternoons, but my dad used to work late and she would tell him that she couldn’t go anywhere without us. He told her to bring us along, but she always found some reason why she couldn’t. One day, he asks and she tells him that the chef went home early and she has to make us dinner. He goes, ‘No problem. I’ll make us all a picnic.’ This guy proceeds to get out every possible ingredient he can find in our fridge. Brandon and I were chomping at the bit because we could care less about a picnic, we just wanted to go ride the horses. But the ranch hand took his sweet time and made these sandwiches that Rosalie couldn’t stop raving about.”

  “They must’ve been pretty delicious to leave such a lasting impression on you.” Camilla took a sip of the wine, which paired perfectly with the roast beef.

  “Oh, I couldn’t even tell you what they tasted like. I was ten and remembered thinking that it would’ve been just as good and a heck of a lot quicker if he’d slapped some peanut butter and grape jelly on a couple of slices of bread. But every night that week, we got to go out for an evening ride because that man knew how to make a damn good sandwich. It suddenly seemed like an important life skill I needed to master. So I did.”

  Camilla laughed. “So what happened to Rosalie and this ranch hand? Did they live happily ever after?”

  “No. It turns out that the ranch hand was also making sandwiches for the woman who cleaned the bunkhouse on Saturdays. And the cocktail waitress over at Wild Wesley’s in town. And possibly Daphne’s ballet teacher, but that was never confirmed.”

  “Oh, my gosh, Jordan.” Camilla giggled then threw a pillow at him. “We’re sharing this wonderful romantic dinner and that has to be about the least romantic story you could possibly tell me.”

  “What?” Jordan shrugged, then grinned. “It’s not like I’m out making sandwiches for anyone else.”

  Camilla’s face went warm and her stomach no longer felt empty. In fact, every part of her body felt blissfully full. Almost complete. “Are you saying that you’re not dating anyone else but me?”

  He drank his wine, while his eyes drank her in. Then he took her plate from her and set it on the nightstand. “Even if I had the time, which I don’t because I’m always busy chasing you, why would I want to when I’ve got everything I need right here?”

  Instead of debating the answer, she let him pull her back down to the sheets and within seconds she had completely forgotten about sandwiches and everything else.

  * * *

  Camilla took one last look at the log structure and already felt a yearning pull at her belly before they’d even left the driveway the following morning. She was going to miss everything about this perfect cabin in the woods, from the gorgeous views of the river beyond the bedroom windows to the equally gorgeous view of a very naked Jordan standing at the tiny kitchen counter as he made her a midnight snack.

  She would miss the single stall shower where Jordan crowded in next to her, lathering her back with soap as he sang a Beyoncé song, just as much as she would miss the spacious rag rug in front of the fireplace where the only singing came from Camilla’s cries of ecstasy as he lathered her front with his tongue.

  She would miss the outside balcony—which was larger than the combined living and dining rooms—where they braved the cold for their morning coffee, just as much as she would miss the cozy cocoon of the bedcovers where they braved the intense warmth of their shared body heat just so they could sleep in each other’s arms.

  This idyllic cabin represented everything they could have if only their own lives back home weren’t so different. Yet as Jordan steered the car toward the main road, the realities of life threatened to pop that perfect bubble they’d created for themselves out here so far away from everyone else.

  In fact, that bubble popped much sooner than Camilla expected when his cellular service returned and his phone lit up and buzzed like a restaurant pager notifying a customer that his table was ready.

  “Sorry,” he said, glancing at the dashboard screen indicating a call coming through. “I really should take this.”

  At least he waited until Camilla gave him an approving nod before he tapped the phone icon and answered. “What’s going on, Mac?”

  “Sorry to bug you with this, sport, but we’ve got an issue with the Oakmont account.” His assistant immediately started describing what sounded like a suspended delivery due to an unpaid invoice and Camilla tried to catch the details, but the entire time all she could think about was the fact that this was a first.

  In all the times they’d spent together or near each other—even on weekdays—Jordan had never taken a work call. Sure, there was that one date when they flew in the helicopter and he had the meeting with his distributor, but when he was with her, he was always present. Up until now, Camilla had, for the most part, been his sole focus. Of course she had never expected him to devote all of his attention to her all of the time. He had other responsibilities and a business to run. It was just that she hadn’t expected him to shift gears and return to business mode so quickly.

  “I’ll take care of it, Mac,” Jordan said. “Can you connect me to my dad’s office?”

  As he waited on hold for his assistant to transfer him, Camilla felt a shiver travel down her neck. Did Mac know they’d spent the night together? She seemed to know everything else about her boss.

  Would his father find out?

  Did it matter if he did? She tried to scold herself for caring about it one way or the other, but all the twists and turns down the mountain road threatened her rational thoughts.

  Originally, she had wanted to keep their relationship a secret. But her family knew about it, as did Daphne. Cornelius had even seen them riding together, so he must at least suspect something was going on. However, there was a big difference between casually dating and spending the night together.

  The call was dropped several times because of the spotty reception and when Jordan finally got through to his father’s assistant, he cursed because the man told him that Cornelius was out of the office. But of course the very determined Jordan wasn’t going to simply let it go at that. She knew firsthand that he’d go after what he wanted until he got it.

  Jordan disconnected and, without explanation or apology, pulled up the contact n
umber for his father, which weirdly was listed on his phone as Cornelius Taylor III rather than the informal Dad. When Cornelius answered, his booming voice echoed on speaker in the confines of the car.

  “This had better be important, Jordan,” his father said by way of greeting. “I’m about to walk into that press luncheon with the governor.”

  “Dad, please tell me you didn’t stop delivery to Oakmont on the day before Thanksgiving.” Something about the commanding tone of Jordan’s voice made Camilla pause in her own thoughts of what she planned to say to him when he finished his business call. Maybe this was more serious than a past due account.

  “They’re over fourteen months behind on their payments, Jordan. Taylor Beef isn’t a charity operation.”

  “I gave them a grace period.” Jordan picked up Camilla’s hand and softly kissed each finger almost absentmindedly as he began speaking to his father about trade agreements and financial solvency and fluctuating market prices.

  Cornelius Taylor gave no indication that he knew someone else was in the car with his son, and Camilla would’ve felt guilty for listening in on the call if she wasn’t becoming slightly aroused by both his touch and his impressive business knowledge.

  Cornelius countered with arguments about other customers and disproportionate pricing and enforcing legal contracts. Halfway through his father’s explanation, Jordan rolled his eyes and mouthed the word sorry to Camilla.

  “I’m gonna stop you there, Dad,” he finally interrupted. A tingle raced up her arm and it wasn’t just from the skilled way his thumb was now stroking her knuckles as he used his other hand to deftly steer the sports car along the winding road down the mountain. Jordan’s response to his father was informed and well-articulated as he cited last quarter’s profit and loss margins and rattled off the stock market’s most recent closing numbers for shares of the biggest beef companies from the United States to Japan to Brazil.

  This wasn’t some rich kid working for the family business, she realized, as he continued to astonish her with his knowledge and insight. Jordan wasn’t having this conversation, though, to impress her. He was simply being himself and, in doing so, providing her with a glimpse of his daily life.

  “At the end of the day,” Jordan finished, “the amount they owe us is a drop in the bucket and barely affects our bottom line.”

  “But it’s the principle, son. You give somebody something for free and they’ll just keep coming back and taking advantage of you. There’s no place for emotion in business.”

  “Dad, Oakmont is a homeless shelter and this is their busiest time of the year,” Jordan replied, and Camilla suddenly understood why he’d been so focused on responding to this particular problem. “It also falls under my scope as the VP of Operations for the company. You need to let me handle it.”

  “Fine. But between your bleeding heart and Daphne’s, don’t be surprised if our family ends up in the poorhouse.”

  “According to our estate attorneys and an ironclad trust fund, I don’t have to worry about those types of surprises. Besides, Dad, your heart could do with a little bleeding.”

  “Nope. The last charity case who got too close to my heart nearly bled me dry,” Cornelius said, then disconnected without so much as a goodbye.

  “Give me one more minute,” Jordan said to Camilla as he turned onto the county highway that would take them to Bronco. “I need to make two more calls.”

  First he called Mac and gave her instructions for reinstating the Oakmont account. Next, he called the director of Oakmont and personally apologized for the misunderstanding. “We’ll have a delivery truck out to you this afternoon.”

  By the time he got off the phone, they were almost to Camilla’s apartment, and she understood why they called him the Smoother.

  When he parked his car in the alley below her front porch in the spot she was starting to think of as his, Camilla turned to him and asked, “Was your dad referring to the Denim and Diamonds gala?”

  “When?” Jordan asked.

  “When he said that the last charity case nearly bled him dry. I assumed he was talking about the fundraiser he hosted.”

  “Oh, no. My dad thinks it’s a clever play of words to refer to his ex-wives as charity cases. And to him, any time his net worth dips below nine figures, he thinks he’s practically going bankrupt.”

  Her eyes widened at the revelation of the Taylors’ financial standing before she blinked back her own insecurities. Would everyone else in his family think of her as one of Jordan’s charity cases? She gulped and murmured, “How charming.”

  “Actually, if he’d known you were listening, he would’ve laid the charm on real thick, like he does for everyone else. But the real Cornelius Taylor isn’t the best businessman. He’s been burned by a few business associates that he thought were friends, and he’s been targeted by scores of gold diggers in his lifetime. He always thinks everyone is out to take advantage of him.”

  And of his son, Camilla thought. But she didn’t want to say that aloud and cast any shadows on their perfect night together.

  Chapter Ten

  “Jordan, where is your family today?” Dante asked as they gathered around the Sanchezes’s dining table on Thursday afternoon.

  “My dad and stepmom are hosting my uncles and a few of their friends at their house for Thanksgiving,” he answered as he passed the bowl of stuffing to Dylan. “They invited us, but when Camilla told me how important the holiday is to your family, I didn’t want her to miss all these traditional dishes.”

  Camilla wrinkled her nose at the lime-green gelatin-and-fruit salad molded in the shape of a ring before she shot him a questioning look. “They invited me?”

  Well, not specifically. Cornelius had asked if he planned on bringing a “plus one” and then blew a gasket when Jordan said he wouldn’t be home at all for the Thanksgiving meal. But the plus one would’ve been Camilla, so that counted as an invite, right?

  Jordan shrugged. “I didn’t bring it up before because I figured we’d be a lot more comfortable here.”

  Dylan pointed an accusatory turkey leg at him. “Doesn’t your family like Camilla?”

  “They’ve only met her once.” Jordan twisted the cloth napkin in his lap as all the eyes at the table turned toward him. “My family can be a bit overwhelming. At least, some of them can.”

  “I bet your family’s food is way better than Mrs. Waters’s grandmother’s runny creamed onions, though,” Sophia said, refusing to take a spoonful of the untouched dish before shoving it at Felix, who also refused to accept it.

  Jordan knew better than to answer that. He also knew better than to laugh too much at the Sanchez siblings’ ongoing teasing and complaining about the so-called traditional Thanksgiving dishes, especially since this was their family’s way of commemorating their first holiday in America. Yet even he couldn’t argue with the fact that this was actually one of the least appetizing meals he’d ever experienced at their house.

  On the other hand, it was also one of the most fun meals because they were now including him in their family’s inside jokes. In fact, the more often he visited the Sanchezes, the more at home he felt here, as though they were truly starting to accept him.

  Plus, the food wasn’t really all that bad, especially not after Mr. Sanchez brought out a couple of bottles of chilled sauvignon blanc to help wash everything down. Jordan helped himself to one of the tastier items on the table and stared at it for a few seconds before asking, “So the rolls just come from the can like this?”

  “Wait. You mean your fancy chef doesn’t make crescent rolls up at the ranch?” Sophia giggled before realizing nobody else was joining in. In fact, the normally rambunctious table had grown extremely quiet.

  “What?” Sophia held up a butter knife. “Are we all going to keep on pretending we don’t know who he is?”

  “Who is he?” Dante whisp
ered across the table to Dylan, who shook his head in confusion.

  Camilla squeezed Jordan’s knee under the table, and he wasn’t sure if it was meant as a reassuring gesture or a warning to remain quiet. She darted a glance at her sister. “You knew?”

  “Obviously. I loaned you the dress to go to his party, remember? Besides, I work in a boutique in Bronco Heights. Half of my customers are socialites actively talking about him and his reputation.”

  Jordan gulped down his wine so quickly, he nearly choked.

  Camilla pressed her lips together before shooting a nervous look toward their mother.

  “You both might as well own up to it.” Mrs. Sanchez dumped more salt onto some boiled butternut squash. “Mrs. Waters called him out in the salon in front of everyone.”

  Camilla cocked her head at him. “Why didn’t you tell me my mom knew?”

  Jordan pointed at his mouth, which was full of the mashed potatoes he’d purposely stuffed in there to prevent him from having to answer anything.

  “Is there even anyone else to tell?” Camilla asked, scanning the people around the table.

  “How could I not know?” Mr. Sanchez sat back in his seat at the head of the table and used a napkin to wipe his mouth. “I’ve been a mail carrier for the past thirty years and there’s only three Jordans in this town.”

  “Here he goes with the mail-carrier-knows-everything bit.” Sofia rolled her eyes. “Settle in, everyone.”