She followed Sinclair back into the house and they laid the garments on the wide double bed. “I can’t believe how beautiful this gray silk dress is. How on earth did they weave the silver and blue into the fabric?”
“Probably took someone years. Things were done differently back then. Each item was a handmade work of art.”
“I suppose ordinary people never even touched anything like this.” She fingered the delicate fabric with its intricate ribbon detailing. “Unless they were helping madam fasten her corset, of course.” That’s what she would have been doing back then. Hey, she was still more or less doing it now, in a time when most women her age sat in plastic cubicles talking on the phone all day. She let her fingers roam inside the deep pleats at the waist and sighed. “What a stunning dress. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Why don’t you try it on?” Sinclair’s deep voice surprised her. She’d almost forgotten he was there.
“Me? I couldn’t possibly. They’re museum pieces, and my waist isn’t nearly that small.”
“I disagree. About your waist, that is.” His eyes settled on her waistband for a moment, making her stomach clench. Had her boss ever glanced at her waist before? She didn’t think so.
Her heart pounded with excitement at the prospect of trying a dress on. Of course she could always wait until she was all alone in the house. But then someone would notice it had been worn, and she’d look foolish. What if this was her only chance? “Well…” She plucked gently at the peacock-blue evening gown. “I still don’t think they’ll fit, but…”
“That settles it. I’ll discreetly turn away until you need help with the fastenings.” He strolled to a tall arched window on the far side of the room.
Annie’s heart quickened. She had an odd sense that a line between them was about to be crossed. Sinclair wanted her to try on the dresses. What did that mean?
Nothing, silly. He thinks it would be fun for you and he’s humoring you. Don’t get carried away. Really. This was foolish. She’d end up ripping a seam. “I’m sure they’re supposed to be worn with all sorts of elaborate corsetry and I don’t think—”
“Do you want to go back up and hunt for the cup?” He lifted a dark brow.
She hesitated, her fingertips still pressed against the rich fabric. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe just one dress.”
Sinclair nodded, a smile in his eyes, and turned away.
How sweet of him to let her try on a family heirloom. But which one? Without hesitation, she chose the rich peacock-blue. She held it against herself for a moment—the length was about right—and though the waist was narrow, it wasn’t quite as tiny as she’d first thought. Maybe it would fit, after all.
She resisted the urge to turn and check on Sinclair as she unbuttoned her Oxford shirt. She knew him too well to imagine even for a second that he’d be sneaking a peek. He had women falling all over him wherever he went, and barely seemed to notice them.
She lowered her khakis and stepped into the crisp blue fabric. It was creased from being folded and smelled slightly of camphor, but otherwise looked fresh as if it were sewn yesterday. The tiny pearl beads tickled her arms as she pushed them into the short, puffed sleeves. The low-cut neck revealed a broad expanse of her white Cross Your Heart bra, so she quickly undid the bra and slipped it off through a sleeve. She had done up nearly half the tiny, fabric-covered buttons by the time Sinclair asked if she needed help.
“Just a few hundred more buttons.” She smiled, already feeling like a princess in the luxurious gown. It fell to the floor and gathered there slightly, suggesting she should wear heels.
“Wow.” Sinclair had turned and stood, staring at her. “Annie, you look spectacular.” His eyes widened slightly as he surveyed her, slowly, from head to toe. “Like a different person.” He crossed the room and fastened the last few buttons. “As I suspected, it fits.”
“Odd, isn’t it?” She fought the urge to giggle like a little girl playing dress-up. It didn’t help that Sinclair’s fingers were so near her skin that she felt giddy. “But why would we think people had different bodies two hundred years ago? They weren’t so different from us.”
“No, they weren’t.” Sinclair’s voice was lower than usual. Done with the buttons, he moved in front of her again. His gaze rose over her neck and cheek, and she self-consciously tucked away a loose curl that had escaped her bun.
He frowned slightly. “You look pretty with your hair up.”
“I always wear my hair up.” She reached self-consciously for her bun.
“Do you? I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before.” His gaze heated her skin.
“It’s the dress.”
“Maybe it is. You hide under your clothes and conceal the fact that you have a beautiful figure.”
Her breasts swelled inside the fitted bodice. The cut of the dress acted as a bra, lifting things front and center. “Funny, I’m not sure I’ve ever had cleavage before.” She tried to laugh, to hide her shock at her own bold statement, but the sound withered under Sinclair’s stern regard.
“It suits you,” he said gruffly. “You should dress up more often.”
“I don’t really get the chance.” She glanced across the room where she could see a partial reflection in the mirror on the large wardrobe. She looked imposing in the long dress, and the dramatic blue brought out red-gold highlights in her hair. Sinclair’s tall form blocked one half of the view, his broad shoulders concealing the cleavage he admired. From this angle they almost looked like a couple, the distance between them foreshortened as if they were pressed together.
Like that could ever happen.
She attempted another carefree laugh, and again it vanished in the air, which suddenly felt hot and oppressive. Sinclair’s frown deepened, and she shivered under his fierce stare. Words failed her as their gazes locked for a second, two seconds, three…
Sinclair’s lips met hers with sudden force as his arms gathered her close. She melted, her mouth welcoming his and kissing him back with six years of unspent passion.
His kiss was intoxicating as strong liquor. Annie’s legs wobbled and she clung to him as their tongues wound together. Her nipples thickened against the luxurious silk.
His scent was subtle, masculine and inviting. She’d never been this close to him before. His skin looked smooth, but now she could feel the roughness of his cheek as he nuzzled her. His fingers wound into her hair, loosing her bun, and a rough groan escaped his mouth.
A coil of lust unwound inside her. His desire, his need, was palpable. She could sense it vibrating in his thick muscles and heating his tanned skin. His breath grew hot on her cheek, further stirring the passion unfolding in her belly.
What are we doing?
The thought seemed very far away, as if someone else was thinking it. Her fingers climbed into his thick, dark hair. It was silky to the touch. She could feel his hands sinking lower, to cup her buttocks, and she arched against him as he squeezed her. His breath came hard and heavy, giving their kisses an air of fevered desperation.
I’m kissing Sinclair. The thought flashed in her brain like a power surge. But instead of setting off alarms of warning, it sent ripples of excitement dancing to her fingers and toes. How many nights had she lain awake imagining this moment?
His kisses were rougher and harder than she’d imagined, fueled by desire more powerful than she’d dared to dream of. His hands fisted into the delicate fabric of her dress, feeling for her body beneath. He pulled her closer and his thick erection jutted against her. She gasped at the sensation, such a bold sign of his desire—for her.
His name fell from her lips in a rasped whisper. She pulled his shirt loose from his pants and reached for the warm skin of his back. His muscles, thick and roping, moved beneath her hands. She’d seen him without a shirt more than once, but never imagined the feel of all that strength under her fingers.
He plucked at the buttons along the back of her dress that they’d only just fastened. Her skin tin
gled at the prospect of being bared by his hands.
Are you really going to let him undress you? Her entire body answered, yes. Sinclair must have been hiding feelings for her the same way she’d been hiding them for him. Which was odd. She’d had no idea.
She giggled as he slid a hand inside the back of her dress. She’d already removed her bra and his fingers felt risqué and sensual against the bare skin of her back. More so as he lowered the dress and bared her breasts to his appreciative gaze. A lock of dark hair hung uncharacteristically in his eyes as he carefully pushed the dress past her waist. It seemed a shame to take it off after only a few minutes, but apparently it had already worked some kind of magic.
She stepped from the dress while unbuttoning Sinclair’s shirt. She parted it and sighed when she saw his chest. Taut muscle with a slender trail of dark hair disappearing below his belt buckle.
Her nipples had stiffened to tight peaks, which bumped against his chest as she fumbled with the belt. The leather was stiff and Sinclair distracted her by nibbling on her ear. She could feel his fingers dipping below the waistband of her panties—if only she’d worn more sensual ones! She blushed at the thought of him seeing her oh-so-practical cotton granny briefs.
But Sinclair didn’t seem to notice. His breath came hot and hard against her neck, in between ravishing kisses that stole her breath. His erection interfered with her efforts to unfasten his pants. When she finally got the zipper down she could see him straining against his boxers.
Her own breathing was labored and unsteady. Heat licked at her insides and she longed to press her naked body against his. With effort, they both pushed his khakis down past his strong thighs and he stepped out of them. They stood facing each other, a few scant inches between them. His body was perfectly toned, his stomach flat and hard behind his fierce arousal.
Annie swallowed. Were they going to make love right now? All signs pointed in that direction. Sinclair’s eyes were closed, and his hands roamed over her body. Her skin stirred and sizzled under his touch. She felt the curve of his strong cheekbones and kissed him gently on the lips. How could such an ordinary day take such a wonderful and extraordinary turn? Maybe it was something to do with the mysterious cup.
Or was it the curse?
A dark shard of doubt cooled her skin like a sudden draft from a window. This man was her boss. On the other hand, the train had left the station. They stood naked in the fourth guest bedroom, the crumpled remains of their clothes at their feet. It was already too late to turn back and pretend that nothing had happened.
And she wanted nothing more than to take this surprising intimacy even further. She wondered if she should tell him she was already protected by the IUD she wore to ease her painful periods? She didn’t want to spoil the delicious moment, so instead she kissed him again on the mouth.
“Annie,” he groaned. “Oh, Annie.” She almost exploded at the sound of her name on his lips. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her body ached to mesh with his and soon they were on the bed, him entering her with exquisite tenderness, while feathering kisses over her lips and groaning with unconcealed pleasure.
Annie wasn’t a virgin. She wasn’t all that far from being one, but she had some idea what sex was all about. Still, she’d never experienced anything like the intense sensations that rocked her body. Sinclair’s fingertips pressed into her flesh as his mouth claimed her, licking and biting her with abandon until she gasped and squealed with pleasure.
She’d never imagined Sinclair having such an uninhibited side. He always seemed so straitlaced and conservative.
Sinclair moved with deft prowess, skilled at taking her to new heights of pleasure, and keeping her there until she was ready to burst into flames, then shifting position for an entirely new approach to ultimate sexual bliss. To see—and feel—him breathless with excitement and driven by obvious hunger for her, almost drove her insane with pleasure.
“Oh, Annie.” Again he murmured her name, licking her lips and burying himself so deep she thought they’d become one.
“Oh, Sin.” She’d imagined calling him that, fantasized about it being her pet name for him like he was some duke from one of her favorite novels. To hear the affectionate abbreviation on her lips, for it to sound so natural in the air, almost made her laugh with pleasure.
Sin. Surely that’s what this was. But it felt so good it couldn’t be entirely wrong. Sinclair claimed her mouth with a powerful kiss and her body burst into a convulsion of pleasure that left her shivering and gripping him.
Goodness. She’d never experienced that before. It must be the famous orgasm magazines loved to rave about. Sinclair released a deep, shuddering groan and fell against her, gasping for breath. Then, without a pause, he rolled them both over until she was on top and held her there, his arms fast around her and his eyelids shut tight.
“Damn,” he said at last. “Damn.”
Two
Sinclair wrapped his arms tightly around his lovely companion. Her strawberry-blond hair fell across his face. Her pretty, pale blue eyes looked at him shyly behind long lashes. He kissed her mouth again, her lips so soft and wet.
The sense of relief was extraordinary. Apparently going through his second divorce could set a man way off balance. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed and at peace. He leaned forward and nuzzled her soft skin, with its pretty freckles. “You’re a miracle,” he whispered in her ear. Her cheek plumped against his as her lips formed a smile. The blissful weight of her body on his pushed him against the soft mattress, trapping him in the aftermath of such sweet pleasure.
He let out a long, deep sigh. Sometimes life could be so complicated, and you just needed to get back to basics. He let his fingers play in the silky red-gold hair waving softly about her cheeks.
“That was unexpected.” Her voice sounded like music.
“Yes.” His brain was too fogged for conversation. “And wonderful.”
“It was. Though I hope my pot roast is okay. I totally lost track of the time.”
Pot roast? Sinclair managed to find his wrist somewhere underneath her soft back and pulled it reluctantly out. “It’s nearly five.”
Sinclair’s muscles were tensing up all over. Five in the afternoon. Pot roast overcooking somewhere. Present-day reality crept, unwelcome, into his mind. This delicious sylph in his arms was not a pre-Raphaelite fantasy maiden come out of the mists to entertain him.
She was his longtime housekeeper, Annie Sullivan.
“What’s the matter?” Her soft voice filled with concern.
His stomach tightened as he lifted his arms from her. Had he really kissed her on the lips and pulled her into bed with him? His mind swam. He must have been in a psychosis of lust. His friends had warned him that going without sex for too long could do crazy things to a man’s brain.
And now he was naked, sweaty and breathless, weighed down by the unexpectedly curvaceous body of the woman who polished his silver.
His head crashed against the pillow. In a way this was very stereotypical. Just the kind of thing his unsavory ancestors probably did with their staff. Another damning proof that he was no better than all the lying, cheating, philandering Drummonds who came before him.
Annie had noticed his change of mood. She, too, had stiffened and now pulled away, moving off him and to the side, with the snowy matelassé coverlet wrapped around her. Sinclair tugged the sheet up over his exposed flesh.
It was his fault, of course. “I’m so sorry.”
Annie’s cheeks were stained with red. She tucked her tresses behind tiny pink ears. He burned with shame that he’d taken such a good woman to bed without, seemingly, a moment’s hesitation.
“Honestly, I’m not sure what came over me.” Still reeling, he sat up and held his head for a moment. Was he in the grip of madness? Perhaps the same tropical malady that kept his mother in a delirium for nearly a week?
Contraception. The grim thought stabbed at his already pounding br
ain. “I don’t suppose you’re…on the pill.” The unromantic utterance hung in the air like a poisonous cloud.
“Not the pill, but something similar. I won’t get pregnant.” Her silvery voice had shriveled to a tinkle. She climbed from the bed, back to him, still holding the coverlet about her naked body.
And what a body. He had no idea Annie was hiding such lush and inviting curves below her staid Oxford shirts and loose khakis. Desire snuck through him again, hot and unwelcome, and he pulled the sheet higher over his chest.
Annie had already tugged her rumpled shirt and khakis back on, and buttoned them with urgent fingers. He averted his eyes, cursing the demon of lust that had led him so badly astray. He’d better start exercising more regularly, and taking cold showers, to make sure nothing like this happened again. It was bad enough to be unprofessional in his own house, but what next, would he sleep with his administrative assistant, or the office receptionist?
A hushed curse escaped his lips, and Annie flinched. He startled, now aware that he’d added insult to injury. “I was cursing myself. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Me, neither,” she muttered, tucking her shirt in. She picked up the blue dress from the floor, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll hang this in the closet.” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Her lush body once again hidden under her practical attire.
Sinclair drew in a slow breath. He had to get out of here and back to Manhattan—stat. Annie left the room and closed the door behind her. He climbed out of bed and pulled his clothes back on, still in a daze of confusion. As he reached for his shoes, he saw her ponytail holder where it lay on the floor. It must have fallen out of her hair, releasing her locks as they…
He shook his head. How could this happen? He prided himself on maintaining control in all aspects of his life. He glanced at the pile of dresses where they lay on a wooden armchair, the lush fabrics lifeless, so different from how that dress had looked draped over her sweet hourglass figure.
He hurled himself from the bed with another curse. Clearly he was in the grip of temporary insanity. He’d better bury himself in work and make sure neither his brain nor his body had time and energy enough for such foolishness.
The Cinderella Act Page 2