Fortune's Cinderella

by Templeton, Karen

  “But do you like it?”

  “Me? I love it.”

  “Then that’s all that matters.” He kissed her again, light and breezy, then grabbed her hand, dangling a set of keys in front of her with the other.

  House keys.

  “It’s yours?”

  “Every square inch of it.” Scott’s hand found her waist, tugging her close. “How ’bout a tour?”

  Anticipation sizzled in the pit of her stomach. And not only about seeing the house, she thought as the sizzle meandered to points north and south and pretty much everywhere in between. And you know what? Maybe it was time to give in to the sizzle. To simply enjoy the moment. Because for darn sure she didn’t have a whole lot of moments like these.

  Sorry, Mama, she thought, even though she wasn’t.

  “I suppose I could fit it into my schedule.”

  Scott kissed her nose. Then her lips. Then, briefly, her neck. Right under her earlobe. Yeah. There. “I hoped you might. C’mon, boy—”

  “Um…how’s about we leave the dog home this time?”

  Scott’s eyes swung to hers, dark and curious, like those of a man wondering if he’d heard right. “You sure?”

  “Very,” she said.

  Even though she wasn’t at all.

  “Good Lord,” Christina said when they finally wound up back in the spacious, slate-floored family room off the cook’s paradise of a kitchen. “You need a GPS system just to find a bathroom!” Her brow furrowed, she glanced up at the enormous buck’s head mounted over the stone fireplace, shuddered, then clomped to one of the two leather sofas facing each other and collapsed into it.

  “So what do you think?” Scott grabbed a suede pillow off the other end to cushion her foot when she lifted it onto the square, also Texas-sized, inlaid coffee table between the sofas, then sat beside her, plunking his feet up on the table, too.

  On what sounded like a weary laugh, she faced him, her newly lightened hair fanning over the caramel-colored leather behind her head. The woman looked better in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt than most women sporting a thousand bucks’ worth of designer fashion. No lie.

  “It’s real pretty and all, but criminy, Scott—this room alone is twice the size of my whole apartment. I do realize you’re used to living in places a bit bigger than that, but doesn’t this feel a little…over the top? Even for you?”

  His arms crossed over his chest, Scott contemplated his Italian loafers for several seconds. “For one person, you mean?” he said at last.

  “Well, yeah. Unless you’re plannin’ on having the horses live in here with you.”

  Laughing, he unfolded his arms to slip one behind Christina’s shoulders and pull her close. She didn’t resist. “One thing you need to know about me—I never do, or buy, anything without considering its investment potential.” Massaging her shoulder through the soft fabric, he laid his cheek on her head. “How much something will increase in value over the years.”

  “You mean…like if you wanted to sell it at some point down the road?”

  “In some cases, yes. But not in this one.”

  She lifted her eyes. “I don’t understa—”

  He caught her mouth with his, a little “Yes!” sounding in his brain—and other places—when she immediately softened, opening to him, her tongue meeting his in a playful dance that he found exceptionally…encouraging. But when he broke the kiss, her eyes still searched his, rife with questions.

  “This is an investment in my future,” he said softly, stroking her cheek. “And I hope…an investment in ours.”

  “Ours. As in…you and me?”

  “And Gumbo, if he’s up for it.”

  “Don’t make jokes, Scott, don’t…” She pulled out of his arms, floundering about in an attempt to get up.

  “I’m dead serious, Christina. I always have been. And if you don’t believe me—” he fumbled a bit himself, pulling the ring box out of his shirt pocket “—believe this.”

  She gawked at the aqua velvet box in his hand as though it were about to blow up in her face, then turned the gawking on him. “You are insane.”

  And it probably was crazy, to make this kind of commitment, this soon. Even crazier to ask her for one. But his entire life he’d deferred to logic, to common sense and reason and doing things the “right” way and none of them had ever made him feel one-tenth of what he felt when he looked into Christina’s eyes. So he flipped open the box, anyway, to reveal the ring, a modest emerald-cut sapphire flanked with diamond baguettes.

  “You said you liked blue,” he said.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” she said, laughing a little, and he felt the anxiety unfist inside him.

  Her smile faded, though, as she shook her head. “You’d really put your heart on the line like that for me?”

  Scott glanced down at the ring, still in his hand. “I think I already have.” When she hmmphed out another soft laugh, he said, “Look…if you’re not ready to think of this as an engagement ring, then don’t. I completely understand. But I couldn’t think of another way to show you I’m not flirting, I’m not teasing…and for damn sure I don’t see you as some sort of ‘project.’ I want to share this house, my life, with you. I love you,” he said softly into her I-don’t-believe-I’m-hearing-this eyes. “And I promise I’ll wait as long as it takes to close the deal.”

  On a cross between a huff and a groan, Christina finally got to her feet and stiffly walked to the picture window overlooking the sweeping lawn and one of the ponds beyond. “Is that what I am to you? A deal?”

  Yearning bled through her words, gave the lie to her defensive posture. Scott came up behind her to wrap her up in his arms. “The best damn deal I’ve ever run across,” he whispered into her ear, feeling her rapid pulse compete with his. “And the only one I’ve ever truly cared whether I landed or not.”

  Gently, he twisted her around to face him, his fingers winnowing through her hair to cradle the back of her neck, their mouths so close he could feel her breath, coming in short, sweet bursts. “And if you can’t trust your intuition, trust mine. Because it’s never been wrong yet.”

  Never in her life had she wanted to believe so badly. To let herself fall into the promise in those warm brown eyes. If this is a dream, Christina thought, I don’t want to wake up. Ever.

  But nobody knew better than she did that wanting wasn’t enough to change what was. And that trusting had gotten her into trouble before. In other words, eventually she’d wake up. And so would Scott, she wagered.

  Only, when she did, she didn’t want it to be one of those frustrating dreams that comes to a screeching halt right before the good stuff happens. And anyway, if she initiated it, she was in control, right?

  So she stood on tiptoe to kiss him, deep and openmouthed and with what she hoped was clear intent, melding her body with his until she felt his unmistakable response against her belly, dimly remembered sensation though that was.

  His hands found their way to her shoulders, gently setting her apart as hope and caution tumbled in his eyes. “Just so we’re clear…?”

  Christina blew out a breath. “You want to talk deals? Here’s mine. I want to make love to you so badly I can barely think straight.” When his brows shot up, she added, “But it has to be on my terms. Meaning…no promises. And I know that’s not fair to you—”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” he said with a lopsided grin, slipping his hands around her waist and yanking her so close you couldn’t’ve slipped a credit card between them. Then he kissed her again, all slow and sweet, at which point she realized that staying in control was a pipe dream. He swept her into his arms and carted her off upstairs into the master bedroom, all done up in shades of green, or maybe blues—she wasn’t exactly focused on the décor at the
moment—and set her on the bed.

  “Don’t look up,” he said, and of course she did, to find a great horned animal of some sort looming over the bed. “Told you not to look,” Scott said when she shrieked out a laugh, then lowered her eyes to discover he was nekkid.

  She couldn’t move. Or speak, barely. Although she did manage to get out, “I don’t know how frisky I can be, with this foot.”

  And he said, “Not to worry, I can be frisky enough for the two of us.”

  Man wasn’t just whistling Dixie. Whew.

  Grinning, he started to undress her. Like he wasn’t in any hurry, certain evidence to the contrary. She felt like…like a much-looked-forward-to present being carefully unwrapped, a thought that made her giggle and brought tears to her eyes at the same time. And when, after what felt like hours, there was nothing left between them but heated glances and dry-mouthed anticipation, he got down to serious business.

  How is it I’ve lived without this? she idly wondered as Scott patiently—and, apparently, with no small delight—stoked fires she’d thought long gone cold, only to realize what she’d had before? No comparison. Still, she was in control, in charge, nothing was happening without her permission, her consent—

  “Let go, sweetheart,” Scott commanded, thrilling her, even as she thought, on a gasp, Let go? Completely? Not on your life, a moment before she arched and tensed and screamed—wasn’t like anybody could hear her…and then—then!—he made her scream again.

  “I didn’t know I could do that,” she got out when her breathing finally slowed and her brain cells came out from hiding.

  “I did,” Scott said, and then started up all over again with the kissing and the stroking and the feathery touches in—oh, sweet heaven!—exactly the right places until her eyes damn near crossed, and the phrase putty in his hands came to mind before he levered himself over her, capturing her gaze in his as if he could see right through to the other side. “How’s the foot?”

  She sputtered a laugh. “What foot?”

  He reached for a condom—and where had that come from, pray?—but she shook her head, kicking the sadness to the curb. “Not necessary, I’m safe.” Then she smiled. “You?”

  He stroked her bangs off her forehead. “You trust me that much?”

  And oh, dear Lord, did she. About this, anyway. “Yes. I do.” Then before she could shift underneath him, lift her good leg, he did it for her, sliding inside her, his gaze still welded to hers as he took charge. Took over.

  And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Or, frankly, wanted to, at that moment, the surrender too sweet, too heady. Until she linked her hands at the back of his neck and snaked her good leg around him, to hold him still when he tried to move.

  “Not yet,” she whispered, her eyes closed. “I want to remember this forever.”

  Chuckling, Scott nuzzled her neck and every nerve ending she possessed sighed with bliss. Traitors. “Not sure about forever, but I can maybe give you thirty seconds.”

  “Deal,” she said, opening her eyes to nearly choke on the desire and hope and trust she saw in his. Once again, the fire kindled, and she caught her lip between her teeth as the first wave rolled through.

  And kept on going.

  This is getting to be a habit, she thought as she floated back to earth in time to catch Scott’s liftoff, and she twined her arms around him and held on tight.

  As if he were actually hers.

  Afterwards, he settled between her legs, his head on her chest where she could toy with his dark, rumpled hair as the regrets already began to show their smarmy little faces, taunting her for yielding the one thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t.

  And she didn’t mean her body.

  At her sigh, Scott lifted himself up enough to meet her gaze again, his brow puckered as he knuckled away the single, lazy tear dribbling down her cheek. “Hmm. Not the reaction I was going for.”

  She frowned back at him. “You made love to me.”

  “Um…yeah. Kinda thought that was the point.”

  “No, I mean…” With a shaky laugh, she touched his cheek. “You made love to me. Put me first. Nobody…” Her eyes filling again, she shook her head.

  Scott shifted to hold her close, tucking her head underneath his chin. “You’re welcome,” he said, and she burbled a laugh. Then he said, “Don’t move”—as if she could—and got out of bed, grabbing a throw from a nearby chair to wrap around his waist before he left the room. A minute later he was back.

  With the ring.

  Seated on the edge of the mattress, he twisted the ring so the stones flashed in the afternoon sunlight. “You want forever?”

  You have no idea, Christina thought sadly as she tugged the sheet up over her breasts. But how could she possibly trust what she knew absolutely nothing about? And yet she felt powerless to resist when Scott took her hand into his, slipped the ring on her finger. “It’s a promise of my commitment. Not yours. But every time you look at this I want you to remember, as close as we just were?” He smiled. “It’s only the beginning. Because I will always be here for you, honey. I swear.”

  Staring at the ring, she felt her face burn. She needed to come clean. Now. While there was still a chance of getting out of this without anyone getting hurt.

  “Scott, I—”

  “If you don’t like it, you can pick something else out that suits you better.”

  “No, I love it, it’s just—”

  From somewhere on the floor, his phone rang.

  “You should probably get that.”

  “That’s what voice mail is for. You were saying?”

  “Get it,” she said, forcing a smile as she pushed him aside to get up. “I’m going to go take a quick shower, anyway,” she said, gathering her clothes. “I’ll be back in a jif.”

  Shaking, she closed the bathroom door behind her, crossing her arm over her breasts to watch the pretty little ring wink in the lights bordering the giant framed mirror. She could almost hear it chiding her, for being at the very least dishonest. For letting Scott believe he could make her into something she’d never be.

  She stretched out her hand, her blurred vision softening the sparkle.

  But not the ache in her heart.

  By the time Scott dug his phone out of his pants pocket, he’d missed his father’s call. John Michael’s message was typically brusque. “Call me.”

  Talk about an afterglow killer.

  Although truthfully, Scott thought as he ducked into another of the four upstairs bathrooms to take his own shower, there was nothing his father, or anyone else, could say or do to derail how good he felt right now. A feeling that went way beyond that relaxed state that came with sexual release. Because while Scott was no stranger to sex, this was the first time he could say he’d made love.

  And man, was that an eye-opening experience, or what?

  For Christina, too, he thought on a chuckle as the hot water pummeled his back, if all those startled gasps were any indication, the mind-blowing yin yang of her asserting, then yielding control. Never had a power struggle been so much fun.

  Except…it was driving him nuts, that he had no idea how to banish the uncertainty still fighting for purchase in her eyes. That had sent her scurrying away, clearly not wanting company in the shower. Judging from what they’d just shared, he highly doubted he was pressuring her into something she didn’t want. Desperately, if his intuition was correct.

  So why, he wondered as he headed back to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, did she still look so damn afraid to trust him?

  Afraid of him?

  His mood now soured, he returned his father’s call, putting the phone on speaker mode as he buttoned his shirt.

  “Hey, Dad—what’s up?”
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br />   “Brad Stevens called, wondered why you haven’t been in touch with him.”

  Scott pulled in a deep, silent breath through his nose. “Because I turned that account over to Mike. Which I explained to Brad when I spoke with him yesterday.”

  “But he likes you.”

  “And I’m flattered. Really. But he’s not my client anymore. He’s Mike’s. By the way, you and Mom are going to love my new house. Seven bedrooms, everyone can stay here when they come out after Wendy’s baby arrives. Christina says the hunting trophies have to go, though, they creep her out—”

  “You already bought her a house?”

  Slightly taken aback, Scott paused in the midst of buckling his belt. “I bought myself a house. Which, yes, I want Christina to share with me—”

  “Dammit, Scott—I cannot believe you’re chucking it all for some snack bar waitress!”

  Never, not once, had his father ever struck any of them. But his words now stung with all the force of an actual blow. Then he frowned.

  “Who told you she was a waitress?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Why? Isn’t she?”

  “No. I mean, she was, yes—as a means to put herself through school, for heaven’s sake. Which for one thing is hardly a crime against humanity and for another doesn’t even begin to define who she is. You’re many things, Dad, but I’ve never known you to be a snob. Mom was your attorney’s receptionist, for crying out loud—”

  “The summer we met, yes. Between her junior and senior year at Smith. The woman’s after your money, Scott—can’t you see that?”

  Furious, Scott snatched up his phone from the dresser and put it back on private…the precise moment he glanced into the mirror to see Christina behind him in the open doorway. The eyes met for barely a second before she wheeled on her casted foot and clomped away.

  “I’ve got to go, Dad,” Scott muttered as he went after her, pocketing his phone before his father could reply.