Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances

by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney

  She’d phone his office and Marco’s secretary had answered. Oddly, she’d known all about the sneaker. And she’d insisted, as Sandy had both hoped and feared, that she come in person to retrieve it.

  Reluctantly Sandy had once again let her Dominican fairy godmother demonstrate her skill at blowing out curly hair and styling a Jersey City girl into a sophisticated woman. She half wondered what would happen if she showed up as her everyday self but wasn’t brave enough to find out.

  “Miss Alma?”

  The middle-aged woman pushed her glasses up her nose and rose from her desk, as Sandy emerged from the elevator. “I’m Dee Landers. We spoke on the phone earlier. Mr. Danieli is waiting for you.”

  Sandy swallowed hard. She’d hoped—even assumed—that he’d want to see her, but she had no idea what she was going to say. How he would react to her after she’d walked out on him? Suddenly this whole plan of coming to collect her sneaker seemed insane.

  Even her using the ticket to an evening with him wasn’t in flagrant violation of the contest rules, she’d abandoned him in the club. If he found out she worked for him he could have her fired, or demoted to part time work without benefits.

  She needed this job and the tuition reimbursement that came with it. Without it she’d never finish college and get her life on track. She needed so badly to leave the past behind. She wanted to build a worthwhile life for herself. A life above reproach, built on her own accomplishments.

  She’d kept her head down for so long and worked so hard, and now she was going to throw it all away over a sneaker?

  No, not over a sneaker.

  Over a man.

  She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear and smoothed the front of her new suit as she followed Mrs. Landers’ sturdy form across a wide expanse of carpet toward a huge set of cherry double doors.

  Mrs. Landers flung open the doors and Sandy caught sight of Marco standing behind his desk.

  Her heart began to beat out a military tattoo. In daylight he seemed taller, darker, more imposing. The pinpoints of artificial light from the ceiling made light and shadow on the harsh beauty of his chiseled features. He was on the phone but as soon as he saw her, he excused himself and hung up. Mrs. Landers swept efficiently out of the room and closed the doors behind her.

  Marco rounded the desk and in two long strides he loomed over her, menacing in his dark suit. A hurricane stirred in the gray depths of his eyes as he narrowed them to study her.

  “I thought I’d lost you for good.” His low voice had an edge to it. Anger and accusation.

  Sandy swallowed, gulping back her pride. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been left sitting in a restaurant all by myself. Wondering what happened to my date. But then I don’t suppose I’ve ever been on a blind date with a total stranger before.”

  “You took a risk.” She lifted her chin.

  He nodded slowly. Appraising her. She was aware of the laser focus of his attention as his eyes grazed over her face, over the defiant tilt of her chin as she looked up at him. Over the smooth fabric of her fitted suit, her legs, their length accentuated by high-heeled shoes. He watched her silently, warily.

  He watched her as if she might explode at any second.

  Something that seemed like a definite possibility.

  “I remembered an important meeting I had to attend.” Her voice sounded so meek and quiet that it threatened to undermine her businesswoman charade.

  “At midnight?” He raised his eyebrows, incredulous. Daring her to make him believe.

  “A phone meeting. With clients in Hong Kong.” The honest truth, dressed up a little for show. She raised her chin a little higher.

  “Huh.” Marco put his hands on his hips and cocked his head. “And you couldn’t spare thirty seconds to say goodbye?”

  “I’m sorry.” She shrugged, holding up her hands.

  Marco let out a quick snort of laughter. “I guess I asked for it, laying my body on the line for a good cause. You never know who’s going to win you when you put yourself up a the prize in a raffle.”

  So true. A stab of recrimination made her recoil inside. For a moment Sandy wished with a soul ache that she could be someone worthy of Marco Danieli. She had a sudden impulse to turn and run for the door. Past Mrs. Landers, past the elevator operators, past the doorman, and out into the anonymous crowds on the midtown streets.

  Marco hadn’t mentioned her sneaker and she had a growing suspicion that he wanted revenge. Her nerves jangled with apprehension, but she couldn’t let him see that. She was used to concealing her feelings, hiding her fears. To staring people down and defying them to say she was lying. She’d thought that was all behind her, but the past had a way of clanking along behind you like a ball and chain.

  He moved a little closer.

  She found herself testing the air, hunting with her senses for a reassuring trace of the spicy cologne he’d worn on their date.

  Nothing.

  No scent she could put a name to. But her senses became alive with awareness of his body. His tailored suit barely concealed the power of his hard-sprung masculinity.

  Sandy’s blood surged, approaching boiling point as she struggled to hold herself still. To look calm, cool and collected while inside she was anything but. Her pulse pounded in her throat. For a single second she thought he was going to take one step further forward and either knock her down or pull her into his arms. But he did neither.

  Instead he turned and walked toward his desk. He bent down behind it and she heard the rustle of a plastic bag as he retrieved something.

  Her sneaker.

  He straightened and held the inelegant piece of footwear in both hands. Rested it on his palms like a valuable item on display to a crowd of admirers.

  “Look familiar?”

  Sandy gulped and nodded. Words had departed her.

  “The coat check guy gave it to me. I guess he mistakenly assumed that we knew each other.”

  “I know. I called there to ask about it.”

  “Do you always bring sneakers along on a date? Or only when you’re planning to run out on someone?”

  Sandy involuntarily bit her lip. Marco’s eyes smoldered with the simmering traces of his anger, and with what looked like amusement.

  “I went to the gym before our date.” Her nose was probably growing as she stood there. She’d been to the gym—oh, maybe six months before their date.

  “Now that I can believe.” He let his eyes drift down again over her body, claiming every inch of it with his admiring gaze. “Your physique is a work of art.”

  Her physique shifted uncomfortably inside the rather snug gray suit she’d hurriedly bought that morning. It did flatter her slight build. The saleslady had oohed and aahed and wished she could look so good.

  “Thank you.”

  Marco looked down at her sneaker. It looked ridiculously small in his hands. He narrowed his eyes and tipped his head back. “I was about ready to send out teams of horsemen to all the ladies in the land and have them try on the sneaker to see if it fit. All so I could find a mysterious damsel who disappeared into the mist at the stroke of midnight.”

  “It was eleven-thirty.”

  “Was it? Huh. I didn’t check my watch until I noticed the chair opposite me had been empty for an unnaturally long period of time.”

  He tossed the sneaker up into the air and caught it. He studied it with exaggerated interest. “They don’t make glass slippers like they used to.”

  Sandy couldn’t suppress a laugh. A nervous giggle.

  “Here.” Marco tossed the sneaker toward her. She quickly threw her hands up and caught it. “It’s yours. You can put it on and run for the hills if you want.”

  “Thanks.” She hid the sneaker behind her back. Bit her lip. She wanted to beg his forgiveness, but she didn’t deserve it.

  Marco watched her. He stood with one hip slightly lower than the other, his head
cocked slightly to the side, a challenging stance. Challenging her to turn and leave.

  Challenging her to stay.

  “You’re not running. Does that mean I should throw caution to the dogs again and ask you out?”

  A delicious shiver of apprehension and anticipation made Sandy clutch the sneaker more tightly behind her back. She lifted her chin a little. “If you like living on the edge.”

  Marco raised an eyebrow. “Apparently I’m quite the thrill seeker. Are you free tonight?”

  “Yes.” No other answer was possible.

  Again she’d have to leave to be at her job at midnight.

  And she have to keep that from him so he didn’t know she was his employee.

  But she didn’t care. Whatever happened, it would be worth it.

  “I’ll pick you up. Where are you staying?”

  She froze. She couldn’t let him find out where she lived. Then he’d know she wasn’t who she pretended to be. “Uh, it’s far. How about we meet here in the lobby?” It was all she could come up with quickly.

  “The lobby it is, then. At eight.” He narrowed his eyes again. “You will show up.” It wasn’t a question but a command.

  “We’ll be going to a party. Cocktail attire.”

  He shot a smoky glance at her that seemed to strip away her suit and her haughty demeanor. The heat of his gaze made her uncomfortably aware of the steady bump, bump, bump of her heart. A heart not likely to escape unscathed from this adventure.

  He strode across the room and flung open the double doors for her to exit. No goodbye. She flew out of his office and across the lobby, her heels silent on the carpet. Mrs. Landers looked up from her work and stared curiously.

  Sandy contemplated saying a polite goodbye to her but wasn’t sure she had enough control of her vocal chords to do anything other than croak like a frog.

  At 8:00 p.m. sharp she found herself click-clicking along the lamp-lit midtown sidewalk toward the bronzed doors of the building that housed Danieli’s offices. Head down, she moved resolutely toward the revolving doors, worried her courage might fail her if she didn’t keep moving as fast as she could.

  As she emerged from the doors into the dimly lit lobby, the sight of a tall, male silhouette made her adrenaline spike.

  “Hello, Alexandra.” Marco’s smoky eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “Hello, Marco.”

  “Shall we pretend we’re on a regular date and kiss hello?”

  “If you like.” Her heart stuttered as he leaned toward her.

  He pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. His skin was freshly shaven, his lips soft and warm. For an instant the city disappeared, the growl of engines and the whine of sirens blurred into silence as she was conscious only of his lips on her cheekbone.

  Then he stepped back and the droning cacophony assaulted her ears again.

  He pulled her by the hand out to the edge of the sidewalk and hailed a cab, then helped her in. As he settled into the seat beside her, he turned his head and looked at her deliberately.

  “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.” A thrill of pride warmed her. She felt pretty. In a silver dress, pale smoky chiffon embroidered with silver thread and tiny bugle beads that appeared to have been stitched on by a million fairy fingers.

  Thirty-nine dollars at a closeout in the garment district. As he looked at her in unabashed adoration, the expense was more than worth it.

  She kept her eyes pointed straight ahead while the cab bumped and jiggled its way through the traffic.

  “We’re going to Tavern on the Green, in the park. It’s a friend’s tenth wedding anniversary. Dinner and dancing.”

  The soles of her feet tingled at the thought of dancing again with Marco. Memories of their dance in the jazz club had sneaked into her sleeping and waking dreams. Thoughts of moving with him again stirred her body into a restlessness she had to struggle to contain.

  And maybe Marco was feeling the same way as he shifted slightly in the tight space of the cab.

  “Are you going to be in town long?” he asked after a pause.

  “Not much longer.”

  Marco nodded. He understood their date was not the next step on the road to a romantic commitment. An evening of pleasure, a few hours of joy. So what if they were to be followed by weeks or months of recrimination and longing? They had tonight.

  Sandy plastered a smile on her face as Marco led her into the room full of elegantly dressed, laughing, talking people. Men and women greeted him enthusiastically and he introduced her to all of them. This is Alexandra—no qualifying descriptors: friend, associate, girlfriend.

  Marco didn’t leave her side, though several people tried to draw him into conversation. He kept his arm firmly on her elbow or around her waist, as if he expected her to suddenly vanish if he let go.

  As one of New York’s most eligible bachelors, Marco had women swarming around him and Sandy began to feel like a talisman he was using to ward them off.

  “You’re very popular,” she teased as a pretty redhead her own age tried to attract Marco’s attention with a daring witticism and racy décolletage.

  “For all the wrong reasons. These women don’t see anything but a decent-looking mug and a bulging wallet. They don’t care a hoot about the real Marco.”

  “How do you know I do?”

  “I don’t. But oddly I don’t seem to care.”

  He didn’t care if she was using him. And she was. Not because she wanted to hurt him. But because she couldn’t bear to let him hurt her. And that was what would happen if she dared to hope for more than a few brief hours of pleasure. A twinge of remorse twisted her gut. If he knew who “Alexandra” truly was—where she came from and what she’d seen—he’d run a mile. His company prided itself on avoiding scandal.

  But he didn’t have to know, not tonight, and after tonight she’d call a halt to this charade before it got any further out of hand.

  “Your mug isn’t too hard on the eyes.” She used the excuse of her comment to rest her eyes on his face for a moment. To take in the chiseled edges of his cheekbones, the prominent ridge and flaring nostrils of his nose, the smoky depths of his eyes, which danced with amusement as she surveyed him.

  And last of all his mouth. Wide, sensual, curving slightly into a smile as he returned her appraisal with one of his own.

  “Shall we dance?” Without waiting for an answer, he took her hand and led her through the throng toward the dance floor.

  A string quartet played old-fashioned music that, not surprisingly, was keeping the dance floor fairly empty. Marco held her in the classic dance position and led her in the beginnings of a waltz.

  The graceful movements of the dance suited their elegant evening attire. As they glided across the polished wood she felt like they might be a prince and princess dancing at a grand ball.

  Not a successful tycoon dancing with his lowliest employee.

  Perhaps not quite the lowliest. The people who cleaned the buildings, like Conchita, probably got paid less than she did. But they were unionized and couldn’t be fired as easily.

  Fired. She was playing with fire.

  If she pushed this game too far, she’d end up out of a job and back out on the streets. Would it be worth it then?

  Marco whirled her around, pulled her close for an instant, then dipped her slightly. The sudden movement made her catch her breath, then smile as they settled back into the steady rhythm of the waltz.

  “Where did you learn to dance?” she asked, as he pulled her close, whirling her into another turn.

  “I took a class. My ex-wife made me. Back when she thought I might amount to something.” His eyes narrowed.

  Sandy’s heart squeezed. She knew about his ex-wife from the phone conversation, but he’d never mentioned her face-to-face. “I’m in her debt,” she murmured.

  “It would have been our tenth anniversary this year.” His eyes were fixed on her, two steel gray beams that defied her to pretend she wasn’t
his late-night caller. Somehow, even in her disguise, she couldn’t admit to being the wanton temptress of his early-morning hours.

  “Does that make you sad?”

  “Hell no. I’m glad she showed her true colors. Let me know I’m better off without her.”

  A lock of unnaturally straight hair whirled in front of Sandy’s face as he spun her around and caught her. Marco’s “waltz” moves were getting more risqué and energetic.

  Sandy’s fingertips tingled as they itched to touch Marco in ways more intimate than the dance allowed.

  “Do you think you’ll ever marry again?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You seem to have plenty of willing candidates.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t put some of those candidates to the test.” His eyes shone with humor.

  “But they always fail?”

  “Sooner or later.”

  Again he twirled her and her hair blinded her for a moment. Sooner or later she’d fail him, too. But not just yet.

  She leaned in close, absorbing the heat that radiated from his body as they danced. “Shall we go outside for a minute?”

  Marco raised an eyebrow and put his arm protectively around her shoulder as he led her to one of the French windows leading outdoors.

  It was a glorious warm night, the darkness illuminated by white paper lanterns. Small groups of people stood outside, talking in hushed tones, and the sweet strains of the music followed them as they crossed the patio to a secluded spot beside a tree.

  Behind the tree.

  She and Marco crowded into the tight space behind a broad-trunked chestnut. She knew what they both wanted.

  To touch, to hold.

  To kiss.

  His lips were on hers in a flash, enveloping her mouth in an urgent kiss. Her fingers rose to his face, feeling the hard lines of his jaw, winding into his hair.

  His tongue penetrated her mouth, probing and licking in a dance with her own eager tongue. Her pulse hammered a rhythm more insistent than the soft music of the waltz that danced across the garden toward them. Her hips lifted toward him. Her body yearned for him, longing to take the kiss further. To shed their clothes and dance skin to skin.