The Cinderella Act

by Jennifer Lewis

  “Not really.” He rubbed at his chest with a tense hand, and she could remember the thick, taut muscle hidden beneath his gray shirt. She’d rested her cheek on his chest and sighed with sheer pleasure. Now his dark eyes looked pained.

  He was probably thinking of his ex-wives. The last one had said all kinds of nasty things about him in the press after she realized she hadn’t been married long enough to get alimony. “I know you didn’t want to…do that.” She couldn’t even say it. What had they done? It wasn’t “making love” or “sleeping together.” Having sex. Pretty simple, really, but she still couldn’t voice the words. “I know you didn’t plan it and that you regret it.” She swallowed. What had possibly been the most perfectly blissful hour of her life was an embarrassing footnote in his.

  “Exactly.”

  His words sank through her like a stone. Why could she not shake the pathetic hope that all those kisses and so much passion had meant something to him? It seemed so strange that his breathless moans could be nothing more than a gut physical reaction.

  “I don’t know what came over me, either.” Except for the fact that I’ve adored you from afar for far too long. “But I’ll make sure not to try one of those dresses on again.” She managed a shaky smile.

  One side of Sinclair’s mouth lifted, revealing a devastating dimple. “You looked breathtaking in that dress, Annie.”

  The sound of her name coming from his mouth, right after the compliment, made her heart jump.

  “Oh, I think it was the dress that looked breathtaking. They’re all so beautifully made. I haven’t looked at them since I hung them in the closet but they don’t seem to have ever been worn.”

  “Except that one, now.”

  “And that wasn’t worn for long.” She let out a breath. Being in such close quarters with Sinclair played havoc with her sanity. She could smell the familiar scent of that old-fashioned soap he used. She had a close-up view of the lines at the corners of his eyes, which showed how often he smiled, despite all rumors to the contrary. “Maybe there’s a reason those clothes ended up in a trunk in the attic and were never worn.”

  “A curse?” He lifted a dark brow. Humor danced in his eyes. She could tell he didn’t believe a word of the superstitions that so excited his mom.

  “A spell, perhaps.” She played along. “To turn even a sensible woman into a wanton.”

  “That was a very effective spell.” His eyes darkened and held her gaze for a moment until her breath was coming in tiny gasps. “Not that you were a wanton, of course, but…”

  “I think we both know what you meant.” She shoved a lock off her forehead. She was sweating. If only he knew that the slightest touch from him might accidentally turn her into a wanton at a moment’s notice.

  Had she imagined it, or did he just sneak a glance at her body? Her breasts tingled slightly under her yellow shirt, and her thighs trembled beneath her khakis. She could almost swear his dark gaze had swept over them and right back up to her face.

  But she had no proof and right now that seemed like idle fantasy. Or maybe he was wondering what the heck came over him to find himself in a compromising position with such a frump. He was hardly the type to risk legal trouble with an employee for a quick roll in the hay. The whole incident was truly bizarre.

  And totally unforgettable.

  Great. Now she just had to spend the rest of her life comparing other men to Sinclair Drummond.

  He walked across the kitchen and took a glass from one of the cabinets. She should have asked him if he wanted something, but it was too late now. His biceps flexed, tightening the cuff of his polo shirt as he reached to close the cabinet. She watched the muscles of his back extend and contract beneath the soft fabric, which pulled slightly from the top of his khakis. Just enough for her to remember sliding her fingers into his waistband and…

  She turned and headed for the dishwasher. This line of thought was not at all productive. “Can I get you some iced tea?”

  “No, thanks, Annie. I’ll help myself to some water.” He pushed the glass into the dispenser on the front of the fridge.

  She’d have to find another job. This was way too awkward. How was she supposed to wait hand and foot on a man while remembering how his body felt pressed against hers?

  There was no way she’d find a job that paid as well as this one, where she’d get to live—free of charge—in a beautiful house near the beach and be her own boss 95 percent of the time. She didn’t have a college degree. She hadn’t even finished high school properly. This job had allowed her to pile up savings in the bank, and she was about to fulfill her dream of going to college right nearby. If she left she’d probably eat into her savings subsidizing her “Would you like fries with that?” job.

  Sinclair’s Adam’s apple moved as he drained his glass of water. How awkward that they were in the same room, not talking at all. Then again, that wouldn’t have been at all strange until two weeks ago. Sinclair wasn’t the chatty type, and neither was she. They were both the kind of people who enjoyed listening to the sounds of a spring evening, or just letting thoughts glide through their heads.

  Or at least she presumed that’s what he was doing. Maybe it was all in her imagination. She was so different than the rest of her family, who seemed hell-bent on filling every moment with talk, music or the sound of the television. Maybe other people were quiet for different reasons.

  “My mom wants to stay here for the rest of the summer.” A tiny line appeared between his brows as he said it. “And I do think it’s the best thing for her. The fresh air will do her good, and she can rest with you to take care of things.”

  “That’s great.” Her heart was sinking. Much as she liked Katherine Drummond, all she wanted right now was to be alone to lick her wounds. The prospect of having to be “on” all the time seemed unbearable. And maybe this was Sinclair’s way of saying, Don’t quit until the summer’s over. My ailing mom needs you.

  “Vicki will be here to keep her company, so you won’t have to feel obliged to entertain her.”

  Annie flinched, accidentally knocking against a canister of sugar. Could this get any worse? Sinclair obviously knew this was all unwelcome news. He shoved his hand through his hair again, ruffling it. “And Mom’s convinced me to work from here for the next couple of weeks at least. She thinks I’m working too hard.” His dark gaze held hers for a second.

  “Great.” The word sounded empty and insincere.

  “You and I are both sensible adults.” His dark eyes fixed on hers. Was he trying to convince her? “I’m sure we can move beyond what happened.”

  “Of course.” She didn’t want him to know how much that afternoon had meant to her. He must never know. It was hard to look at him. Even the world-weary aspect of his face only added to his charm, his gaze hooded and guarded. She wasn’t sure he wanted any woman, least of all her. “I’ll be the soul of discretion.”

  The furrow in his brow deepened for a second. “I knew I could count on you, Annie.” The sound of her own name sent a jolt of pain to her heart. Hearing it on his lips made her yearn for when he’d breathed it in passion. It seemed so…intimate. She could never say Sinclair so boldly and often.

  But that was the problem, wasn’t it? They were from completely different social strata. In the twenty-first century that shouldn’t matter, but it did. She might have been able to climb to a different level herself if she’d managed to go to college and start a successful career, like his. She could have been an executive by now, rubbing shoulders with him in a New York City boardroom.

  But that wasn’t how things had worked out. She was destined to rub shoulders with him while wielding a sponge in his kitchen.

  She wished he would leave. This was so awkward. He kept…looking at her. But it was his kitchen and she was his employee. He could stand there and look pityingly on her all day if he wanted. And now she couldn’t even start combing the classifieds. She could hardly leave his mother in the lurch while she was still so w
eak.

  “I’m heading out for a walk.” Still he hovered in the kitchen, his large, masculine presence filling the room.

  “Okay.” As if her opinion mattered.

  He hesitated again, brow furrowed, and pierced her soul one more time with that intense brown gaze before he turned and left.

  She sank against the countertop as the sound of his footsteps echoed down the hallway. How was she going to survive this summer? The worst part was that she kept feeling something that he wasn’t saying. Something odd and unsettling in the way he looked at her. Like some of the madness still lingered inside him the way it did inside her.

  But that hardly mattered if he intended for them to forget that magical afternoon ever happened. She’d just have to get through it one day at a time. Starting with tonight’s dinner.

  Four

  Sinclair stayed in his room as long as possible, reading research one of his staff had compiled on a gold-mining company in Uruguay. He’d much rather be at work than “relaxing” here with his mom organizing things for him to do every minute of the day. Today’s festivities included a croquet party she’d arranged, and he was expected to put in an appearance and actually wield a mallet. If she hadn’t come so close to death… He let out a long breath, then closed his laptop and swung his feet off the bed.

  “Sinclair, is that you?” His mom’s voice came from the corridor. Had she been listening outside, waiting for him to betray signs of life? He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. She’d probably arranged for eight to ten attractive single women, dressed in designer croquet attire, to battle each other to win his heart.

  Couldn’t any of them tell he didn’t have a heart to win?

  “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Good, dear, because everyone’s here.”

  A glance out the window confirmed that “everyone” was at least fifteen of Dog Harbor’s most well-heeled citizens. They milled about clutching drinks, stiletto heels sinking into the smooth lawn. He yawned. His mother’s social occasions made even the most brutal business negotiations seem like a cakewalk.

  And Annie would be there. Not playing croquet, or batting her eyelashes, but serving the iced tea and salmon squares. He searched for her among the small crowd but didn’t see her. The resulting wave of disappointment shocked him away from the window and toward the door, tucking in his shirt and smoothing his hair on the way. Maybe all these people would at least take his mind off Annie for a while.

  Either that or he was losing it for good. Lust. That’s what it was. The curse of mankind, or at least the male half of the species. Abstinence didn’t really work for men, they just ended up doing something crazier and more stupid than if they’d been in a normal relationship.

  Shame he wasn’t capable of a normal relationship. Two failed marriages didn’t leave too much doubt about that.

  He descended the stairs and went out to the garden. Voices called out, “Sinclair, how lovely to see you! It’s been such a long time.” Scented kisses covered his cheeks and he was forced to make fluff conversation about how his business was doing. Happily, neither of his ex-wives was there, but several of their close friends were. No doubt his mother considered them potential future wives. She was nothing if not determined.

  “Would you like a glass of white wine?” Annie’s soft voice made him whip around.

  “Iced tea would be fine, thanks.” The words sounded so inadequate, so laughable, after what had happened between them. A pang of regret stabbed him as she moved silently away to get his drink. He’d made things so awkward with a lovely woman who deserved to be treated with respect, not stripped naked by a man who couldn’t control his basest urges.

  “You’re up first, Sinclair.” His mother, beaming and looking happier and healthier than he’d seen her in ages, thrust a mallet into his hand. She loved parties and was never happier than when entertaining. Of course she wasn’t a true Drummond. She’d married into the family, or she might have shared the taste for solitude that so annoyed her in his father and himself. None of the other Drummonds she’d tried to contact about the cup had bothered to respond. He wouldn’t have either if she wasn’t his own mother.

  Annie returned with his drink. “Oh, you’re playing now. Maybe I’d better hold on to it for you.” Her lashes were a dark gold color that turned darker at the root near her pale blue eyes. Her hand hovered, waiting to see if he’d take the drink. His groin tightened and heated as a memory flashed over him—of the lush, curvy body hidden beneath her loose-fitting clothes.

  “I’ll take it now.” He grabbed the glass rather roughly, afraid he’d somehow betray the fever of arousal that suddenly gripped him. All he needed was her lingering somewhere nearby, drink in hand, while he attempted to tap a wooden ball around the lawn.

  “We haven’t seen you out here in ages, Sinclair. If your family hadn’t owned the place since biblical times I’d worry you were going to sell.” A sleek brunette he recognized from the yacht club held her drink up near her ear as a smile hovered around her glossy lips.

  “Couldn’t do that. The ancestors would rise up and haunt me.”

  “We’re doing teams.” His mother rushed over. “Sinclair, why don’t you team up with Lally.” She gestured toward the brunette, who murmured that she’d love to.

  Sinclair’s heart sank. Why couldn’t people leave him alone? Now Lally would be offended if he didn’t flirt with her vigorously enough, and again when he failed to ask her out. Or, if he did ask her out from a sense of duty, she’d be upset when he didn’t want to sleep with her. Maybe he should sleep with her right here and get it over with.

  His flesh recoiled from the possibility. “Sure. Why don’t you start?” He handed his partner the mallet, and she handed him her drink to hold. It looked like Annie’s famous Long Island iced tea, a shot of every white liquor plus a splash of Coke for color. It tasted deceptively sweet and was utterly lethal. He contemplated downing it in one gulp.

  “Oh, no, we’re short a hand.” His mom rushed around, stabbing in the air with her finger as she counted the assembled guests. “Philip canceled at the last minute with a toothache.”

  Lucky Philip. No doubt he’d found something better to do than be clawed over by single girls with ticking biological clocks.

  “How’s your hedge fund doing in this market?” The brunette, Lally, attempted to look interested. He launched into his standard dinner-party-conversation reply, leaving the rest of his mind free to wonder what about her made his mom see her as third-wife material. She was pretty, mid-twenties, slim as a kebab prong. All things his mom found essential. Personally he preferred a woman with some curves to hold on to, but apparently that wasn’t fashionable anymore. Her teeth looked like Chiclets, or maybe that was an effect of her ultrawide smile and overglossed lips.

  “Wow, that’s so cool. It must be wonderful to be good with numbers.”

  His mom flapped toward him. “Darling, have you seen Annie? We need her to make up the last team.”

  Sinclair stiffened. “She can’t have gone far.” She was probably hiding in the pantry, trying to avoid getting roped into this charade. Since when did anyone over ten play croquet, anyway? “She’s probably busy.”

  “Nonsense. I had everything catered and people can help themselves to drinks. I’ll go find her.”

  Sinclair swallowed and returned his attention to Lally, who’d moved so close he was in danger of being suffocated by her expensive scent. He resisted the urge to recoil. “What do you do?” This was usually a good question to keep someone talking for a while.

  She threw her head back slightly. “It’s rather a revolutionary idea, actually.” She looked about, as if worried someone might overhear and steal it, but with a big smile like she was hoping they would. “I host Botox parties. You know, where people come and have their cares smoothed away.”

  Genuine horror provoked Sinclair’s curiosity. “You mean where people come and have a neurotoxin injected into their face?”
/>   She laughed. “It’s absolutely harmless in small doses, otherwise I’d be dead, wouldn’t I?”

  Sinclair blinked. “You’ve used Botox? You can’t be a day over twenty-five.”

  She winked conspiratorially. “Twenty-nine, but don’t tell a soul. I’m living proof that the product works.” He couldn’t resist staring at her forehead, which was smooth as the backside of his titanium laptop. “Still think it’s crazy?”

  “Absolutely.” He had a violent urge to get as far away from Lally as possible, but politeness demanded that he survive this round of croquet first.

  “You should invest. I’m going to be taking the company public some time next year. Of course, my main goal is to get bought out by a…” She rambled on, but his attention shifted to the sudden appearance of Annie. His mom had hooked her arm around Annie’s and pulled her onto the lawn. Annie looked rather startled and, he noted with alarm, teary-eyed. Was she okay? Her nose was red as if she’d been crying.

  “You don’t need to know the rules. Just follow along. Your team will go last so you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out, and Dwight will be happy to explain anything you miss, won’t you, Dwight?” The tall, sandy-haired male with whom Sinclair had shared a long-ago sailing holiday agreed effusively. Jealousy kicked Sinclair in the gut.

  “Are you okay?” He couldn’t help asking her.

  Annie looked up with a start. “Sure, I’m fine.” She spoke quickly, her voice rather high. “It’s allergies. They’re terrible at this time of year.”

  He frowned. He didn’t remember her having allergies, but no doubt that was just one of the many things he didn’t know about her.

  “Sinclair, we’re up first.” The feel of soft fingers on his back made him flinch. Lally tugged him up to the start. “You should watch so you see where the ball goes.” Her vigorous tap sent the ball flying through the first hoop and raised a smatter of applause from the gathered crowd. Lally turned to him beaming, which, he noticed, had no effect on any other part of her face than her mouth. He handed her drink back to her, partly to ease the temptation of knocking it back to dull the pain of being there.