The Cinderella Obsession

by Carew, Amber

  Even if Nick had only wanted to show her a good time because he felt sorry for her, he hadn’t meant to hurt her. And if he wanted to take her to bed … well, she’d been having the same fantasy about him. All evening, she had hoped he’d invite her back to his place so they could explore their growing attraction. She’d been a hypocrite to get angry at him.

  She’d decided she would talk to him Monday morning at work to try and put the incident behind them, but minor interruptions prevented her from following through. By late morning her opportunity had come. Finally, he’d been alone in his office, so she’d gathered her courage to go and apologize, but when she’d peeked in his office, he’d been sitting at his desk twirling the glass slipper earring between his fingers, watching it with unseeing eyes. She’d backed off, knowing he was longing for his fantasy woman.

  Now they were stuck in their frigid roles. She knew she’d have to make the first move.

  The elevator dinged. As the doors swept open, Vanessa kept her focus on the report in front of her. She could feel Nick’s powerful presence as he strode across the office.

  Say something now. Quivers skittered up her spine at the thought. No, she’d better gauge his mood first.

  "Vanessa?"

  "Yes?" she asked, without glancing up. She expected a curt order like he’d been giving all week, but he said nothing. Finally, she allowed her gaze to sweep up to his face.

  A sharp pain thrust through her heart at the sight of his handsome face. She’d missed him. Even though they’d worked in the same office for the past three days it had been as if they were strangers. Neither had said more than a couple of polite words at a time. As his piercing blue eyes cut through her courteous veneer, leaving her nerves in tatters, she realized what she’d missed most about him was the twinkle that used to dance in his eyes when he’d tease her.

  "Come to my office. I want to talk to you."

  "Of course."

  She grabbed her notebook, but he wrapped his fingers around it, touching hers with an infusing warmth that sent lingering shimmers of need quivering through her.

  "You won’t need this." He pulled the book from her nerveless fingers and placed it on her desk, then strolled to his office.

  "Close the door behind you," he told her once she’d followed him inside.

  He stood by the desk, waiting as she skittered across the room to one of the chairs facing his desk. She settled into it, nervously clutching the edges of the armrests, watching him. His eyes, intent and assessing, studied her for a few moments, sending her pulse thumping erratically through her veins.

  "Vanessa, things have been pretty tense between us all week."

  She swallowed, trying to ease the tight grip her clenched muscles had around her throat. Could it be that Nick was going to fire her? No, she didn’t think he’d do that, but he might transfer her. If he found it uncomfortable working with her, then that would be the most sensible thing to do.

  But Vanessa didn’t want to be transferred. The very thought made her ill with longing. She wanted to be close to Nick.

  "I’d really like to clear the air," he continued. He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. "You know, I thought you were having a wonderful time on Friday night until--"

  Now that he’d broached the subject, words that had been dammed up within her burst out in a flash flood. "I know. I was, Nick, and … I’m so sorry I said the things I did. You see, I was confused and … well, the evening was so different from anything I’ve ever--"

  He held up his palm. "Vanessa, slow down." A grin swept his austere features into boyish good looks--a transformation devastating in its effect on her senses. "Now let me get this straight. You’re sorry? You mean I’ve been brooding all week over how to get back in your good graces and you haven’t even been mad at me?"

  "I thought you were angry with me so I … well, I didn’t know--"

  "I was but--oh, who cares?" He stepped toward her and pulled her to her feet. Sweeping an arm around her waist, he pulled her against him. "Oh, God, I’ve been dying to hold you again." He raised an eyebrow and she could feel his hesitation. "Am I going to get in trouble for this?"

  Reaching up and stroking a hand across his cheek, still smooth from his morning shave, she stared into his midnight blue eyes. "No. Nick, I really am sorry for what I said. I mean, accusing you of something I want myself isn’t really fair, is it?"

  Suddenly, she found herself pulled tight against his ribs, his lips capturing hers in a frenzy of need. Her nipples tightened and pushed against the wall of his chest as he crushed her to him. A moan escaped as she felt liquid heat trickle through her. Nick swept his hands under her jacket and across the smooth fabric covering her back. His fingers slid over her skirt and gathered her closer. The hardness of his body pressed against her, making her gasp.

  She wanted to tear open her blouse and pull his mouth to her breast to ease the throbbing ache that filled her. She arched her hips forward, wanting to feel the assurance of his need.

  "Vanessa." His voice sounded close to cracking. He eased her away from him. "I can’t…." He cleared his hoarse throat. "If we don’t stop I’ll lay you down on that couch right now and ravish you."

  Breathing in short, puffy gasps, she stared at him, wondering why he thought that was a bad idea.

  "I want our first time to be special, not some quickie session in my office," he elaborated. "Now, I suggest you go finish that report."

  She slid from his warmth and turned away reluctantly, smoothing her hands down her side.

  "Vanessa?"

  "Yes, Nick?"

  His hand on her shoulder seemed to melt into her flesh. She turned to face him.

  "I almost forgot. The reason I brought you in here was to ask you out."

  "When?"

  "Tonight?"

  A slow smile turned up the sides of her mouth. "Yes."

  He grinned, with devastating effects on her heart rate. "Don’t you want to know where?"

  She’d go anywhere with him, especially right at this moment. "Where?"

  "I thought I’d give you a choice." He sounded hesitant. "We could go out on the town. You know, a nice restaurant then hit the popular dance spots, or…."

  He watched her face so intently, she started to get nervous, her smile crumbling a little.

  "Or what?" she prompted.

  "Or we could just have a quiet dinner at my place."

  Her smile spread even broader. "I’d love that. I could bring dessert." I could be dessert. The wicked glint in his eyes told her he’d read her thought and she flushed hotly.

  "All I want you to bring is yourself," he murmured, straightening her lapels, then smoothing his hands down the front of her jacket, stoking the slow flame within her.

  "Will there be other people there?" she asked, a tiny catch in her voice.

  "No, just a dinner for two."

  She grabbed his wrists, holding his hands still. She could only take so much before her control fled entirely. Even his lightest touch sent her sensitized body into screaming fits of need.

  "I see. But … I mean … I guess there’ll be a cook and the butler and…."

  He pulled her into his arms again, giving her a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. "I’ll give them all the night off. I promise you, it’ll be just the two of us."

  "It sounds wonderful." She floated away from him.

  * * * *

  She opened her closet and peered in, thinking it no longer sounded like such a wonderful idea. Not that she didn’t want to go out with Nick, but what in heaven’s name would she wear? Her gaze drifted over the dresses Nick had sent her.

  If they’d been going out somewhere tonight, she could wear one of those, but not to his house. He’d made it clear he planned a quiet, casual evening--just the kind of evening she’d dreamed of with him--and she didn’t want to spoil it by overdressing. It would only serve to remind him--and her--of the differences between them.

  The problem was, she had only two ki
nd of clothes. Old, and older. Aside from her business clothes, of course. She pulled out her best pair of jeans--the ones with the least number of patches--and went in search of a reasonable top. The June weather had turned cool so a sweater would be appropriate. She brightened at the thought, remembering the new design she’d just finished. After digging it out of her drawer, she examined it critically. Blue cotton with beads and metallic thread woven through in an elegant design, it looked casually dressy. Perfect, in fact.

  Nick picked her up twenty minutes later and she entered his world feeling mildly reticent. She’d been here twice before, but this time she was his date and they both knew where the evening would lead. Funny how she now thought of this as Nick’s house, not the daunting Erin Gate mansion, ex-home of her stepmother.

  Nick had prepared a simple meal of steaks and Caesar salad, with a chocolate swirl cheesecake for dessert. Their conversation flowed easily, along with the wine, and Vanessa soon found herself relaxing completely.

  "Ah, this is great." Nick sighed contentedly. He settled on the couch and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

  "Are you referring to your full stomach, the glass of wine in your hand, or the roaring fire?" she asked.

  He grabbed her hand and tugged her down beside him. "All of the above." He waved his hand flamboyantly. "But mostly, relaxing in blue jeans rather than getting all dressed up and having to do the social bit. I’d much rather have you here beside me like this," he said, as he wrapped his arm around her and tucked her into his side, "and talk, than sit at some fancy restaurant or big social event and have to share you with a dozen other people."

  Forehead furrowed, she sent him a sideways glance. "But I thought you enjoyed partying."

  "You thought wrong."

  She shifted to look at him straight on. "Then why did you take me to that big party? And why did you offer to go out somewhere fancy tonight?"

  He shrugged, looking uncertain. "I thought you’d like all the glitz. The chance to wear pretty clothes and dance the night away."

  She smiled. "I did. It was wonderful. But I wouldn’t want to do it all the time. What I liked best was being with you."

  His full lips spread into a broad smile and he took her hand. "And I like being with you, Vanessa."

  "Really?" She tried not to withdraw but a tiny crimp in her gut reminded her of the reason he’d started taking her out. Her gaze drifted down to her glass.

  "Vanessa? What is it?"

  "Nothing."

  He lifted her chin. "Don’t start building a wall again. Please, tell me what’s wrong."

  "Well, it’s just that…." She made her decision and met his gaze boldly. "Why did you ask me out?"

  His eyes narrowed and he said warily, "Why exactly are you asking?"

  She settled in beside him again. "Suzanne said … she told me how you like to help people. She explained that you’d wanted to cheer up a woman at work who’d been unemployed for a while, that you wanted her to have an evening out."

  "She must have been talking about Jenny Smith. She’d been out of work for six months before we hired her and she’s still living on a pretty tight budget. Rachel told me she never goes to lunch with the others because she can’t afford it. Since we often give away certificates for dinner at company social events, Rachel asked if we could throw in an extra one at the next event and arrange for her to win it."

  Vanessa felt her throat tighten as she realized how badly she’d misjudged Nick’s motives. His thoughtfulness touched her deeply. "Oh. That’s so nice." The familiar name tugged at her memory. "Jenny Smith. She works in accounting, doesn’t she?"

  "That’s right." He took her hand and stroked her knuckles. "Vanessa, why are you asking me about Jenny?"

  "I…." She sighed, frowning.

  "Did you think Suzanne had been talking about you?"

  She rubbed her free hand down her thigh. "I didn’t think she thought it was me."

  "But you did, didn’t you?" he persisted.

  "I thought you asked me out because you felt sorry for me."

  He released her hand. "And because if I took you out I might get lucky."

  Anger tinged his words, springing from the hurt she’d inflicted. She grabbed his hand. "Nick, I’m sorry."

  "Vanessa, I asked you out because you’re beautiful, intelligent and I enjoy spending time with you. Do you understand that?"

  "I’m starting to." She stared into his eyes. "I really don’t know much about you at all, do I?"

  "There’s a way to fix that. Why not try asking me what you want to know? Get to know me."

  "All right." She tucked her hand in his and watched him, considering. What she’d really like to know was if he could find some way to fit her into his life--but she already knew the answer to that. She knew the type of woman he wanted, but what role would that perfect mate have in Nick’s life? Probably akin to business partner. She couldn’t ask that, so she followed another track.

  "I’ve always wondered what someone like you looks forward to."

  "Someone like me?"

  "Sure. You’re a successful business man, president of your own company. What does a man like you dream about? What do you see yourself doing five years from now?"

  He stared at her so intently she started to fidget, uncomfortable under that close scrutiny.

  "Funny. I’ve been thinking a lot about that recently. I hope I’ll be teaching my son or daughter to play baseball, becoming a scout leader, joining the PTA."

  "Really?"

  The wistful look in his eyes astonished her. And the way he gazed at her, with subtle speculation dancing across his features, unnerved her.

  "Yes, really. What’s with the amazed expression? I’m human you know. I want kids just like anyone else."

  "I guess you would want an heir."

  "Heir? You make me sound like a stallion who needs to carry on the blood line. I want children because I’ve always dreamed of having a happy family just like the one I grew up in. I want children to teach and to learn from and … believe it or not … I want to find a special woman to share my life with. Someone to share life’s experiences. Someone to talk over my problems with, to listen to when she has problems--to grow old with."

  "I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized. I sort of assumed you’d marry an ambitious career-oriented woman and the two of you would spend your time building the business. I wasn’t sure how you’d find the time to fit children into your life."

  Nick stared at Vanessa intently without really seeing her and she thought she saw doubt in his eyes, then they seemed to shift focus onto her, as though seeing her in a new light. He reached out and touched her cheek, lightly, like a gentle breeze on a summer’s day. "I’ve always been so busy building the company, hoping that the rest of my life will sort of fall into place if I set things in motion, that I’ve never really taken the time to think it through. But you’re right. A career woman wouldn’t have the time for children that my mother had for me. In fact, with both of us climbing toward professional success, we might never find what’s really important."

  Hope flared within Vanessa. "And what’s that?"

  "Happiness. And love."

  Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt a little giddy. She never expected a revelation like that from Nick. Did she have a chance with him after all? He continued to stare at her, as though gauging her reaction, awaiting a response. What could she say? She didn’t really know how he felt about her. He was attracted to her, and heaven knew she felt the same about him, but … they were talking generalities here.

  She rubbed her palms along her thighs, glancing around the room, trying to ignore the effect of his attentive gaze. Firelight shimmered on the blue glass of the wine bottle, setting it aglow with rich highlights. She leaned forward and picked it up. "I … uh … would you like some more wine?"

  The force of his gaze eased and he smiled. "Yes, all right." He held his glass out to her and she filled it.

  They sat in comforta
ble silence for a while, the fire blazing brightly, the crackling flames warming her skin. Vanessa sipped her wine, feeling the warm sensation swirling within her. A quiet elation flowed through her as she realized she and Nick might just be able to build a relationship together.

  She reached forward to place her glass on the coffee table and spied a chess set on a side table. Slumping back into the cushions of the couch, she sighed.

  "Do you want to play chess?" she asked.

  "No way. I’m feeling far too mellow for that. And anyway, I have a feeling I’d lose." His fingers stroked the back of her hand.

  "You don’t like to lose, do you?"

  Nick sat watching her, a twinkle in his eyes. "No, and I rarely do."

  He traced the line of metallic thread swirling across her chest with his index finger. "I like your sweater. The design is quite unique."

  She flushed at his compliment. "It’s my own."

  He grinned at her, his eyes crinkling around the edges. "I didn’t think you’d stolen it."

  She laughed. "No, I mean I designed and knit it myself."

  "Really? You know I’ve always wanted a hand-knit sweater," he hinted.

  "You have?" she asked doubtfully. "I’d figure you for an Yves Saint Laurent original, not some ratty home-made sweater."

  "That shows how little you know me. A hand-made gift would mean a lot to me. It’s easy to go out and buy an expensive present. When you make it yourself, it means you’ve given a bit of your soul."

  She blinked at him, wondering if she had ever been more wrong about a man. He wasn’t the designer snob she’d assumed. She’d really done him an injustice in some of her assumptions. And if that assumption had been wrong….

  "And as for hand-made sweaters being ratty, maybe I’d better take a closer look."

  His mischievous grin made her smile as he sat forward, studying her chest with a thoroughness that made her flush anew. He ran his hand from her shoulder to her hip, sending a thrill of awareness through her. A second later, he flicked the tiny silver beads that outlined a patch of angora over her left breast. She’d found two small skeins of the expensive yarn at a garage sale and worked it into the intarsia pattern sparingly. When he cupped her breast and murmured, "Mmm. Soft," she wasn’t sure if he referred to the wool or her. And she didn’t care.