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

  But when darkness fell again, the dreams crept back into her consciousness.

  As she rode the elevator up to work at five minutes to midnight, she couldn’t help but remember her last ride only inches from Marco.

  She’d first seen him in that same elevator almost a year ago. Leaning languidly against the wall, the way he’d done that morning. She’d been on the day shift at the time, and her coworkers had giggled breathlessly once he’d exited the cramped space. She was far from alone in her admiration of Marco Danieli.

  Since then she’d spent her days hungry for a glimpse of him. Since she moved to nights she almost never saw him. Just the occasional glimpse if she hung around for some overtime. A cat may look at a king, right? But apparently that wasn’t enough for her.

  Maybe she was no different from her mother, an uneducated girl from Santo Domingo who craved excitement and attention, and didn’t want the responsibility of a child. Maybe she was no different from her father who wanted easy money and wasn’t willing to do an honest day’s work for it.

  Maybe she was cursed by her DNA to want more than she should have. And to seek it by dishonest means.

  Maybe she should just accept her base nature and stop pretending she might be able to live like a normal person. Like someone who has a job because she’s qualified for it. Like someone who owns a home because she earned it.

  Now that she was alone, she couldn’t blame her problems on anyone else. She was her own worst enemy.

  And she felt that accusation never more strongly than at 2:20 a.m., when she could no longer suppress the urge to dial Marco’s number. He couldn’t see hers because she was able to block it from her station at work.

  He picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello.” His voice was husky with sleep. She’d disturbed his dreams, and she found herself hoping she was in them.

  “Marco.”

  “It’s you again.”

  “Yes.” She heard rustling as Marco turned in his bed. She pictured him lying on his back, the covers pushed down around his waist. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “The thinking is mutual.”

  Marco had taken to sleeping naked, hoping his sleep would be disturbed again. Since her last call his dreams had been more intense, more vivid. More sexual.

  And another date with the beautiful Alexandra hadn’t helped to keep his libido in check either.

  Marco considered himself to be a man of the mind, cerebral, but now his body clamored for attention. He shifted again in bed. Suddenly warm, he pushed the sheets down past his hips. Already he was hard and excited.

  Too much stimulation and no release.

  “Will you do something for me, Marco?”

  “If I can.”

  “Will you move over a little and make room for me?”

  Marco felt a smile creep across his face.

  “All right.” He shifted on the bed. There was enough room for a crowd in his king-sized bed, but it excited him to move to the side a little, to shift himself onto the cool sheet and leave a spot of warmth for his spectral lover to lay down on.

  “Thank you, Marco, it’s good to settle in next to you. You’re warm.”

  “It’s a hot night.”

  “I hope me being right next to you won’t make you sweat.”

  He already sensed a prick of perspiration as his body responded to the suggestion in her voice. He was tempted to go turn the air-conditioning up, but he didn’t want to move from the embrace of his imaginary lover and break her spell.

  “Do you enjoy it when I run my fingers along the inside of your thighs like this?” The nerve endings in Marco’s skin tingled as his brain supplied the sensation.

  “I do.” He was surprised when his voice emerged as a growl.

  “Do you like it when my tongue traces a long line from your throat, down over your chest and belly, all the way to the very tip…”

  She paused. His erection sprang to attention.

  “Uh-huh,” he managed.

  “Good. I want you to know I’m there with you. I’ve been lonely, Marco.”

  “Me too.” The admission felt odd. Something stirred in his gut, and he rubbed a hand over his face. He’d denied being lonely when she last called. Afterward he’d wondered why. Lying was the one behavior he despised above all others.

  Her silken voice slipped into his ear. “I thought you didn’t get lonely.”

  “I have feelings. I just have trouble admitting them.”

  “I guess we all do. We don’t want to let other people know we’re vulnerable. It’s not easy to look someone in the face and tell them you need them.”

  I need you.

  He remembered her saying the words the last time she’d called. More than once. His own need had echoed through his body even as he denied it.

  The blinds were cracked open and a shaft of moonlight shone into his bedroom, illuminating the rumpled empty sheets beside him. Marco closed his eyes. His whole body ached with need.

  He’d been alone for so long. Sure, he had people around him. He had a business to run and an unending supply of pretty girls to accompany him to all the functions that went along with it. But when the party was over, he went home alone.

  Lately going home alone didn’t seem like the easy way out. Since he met Alexandra, he knew he wanted her in his arms. In his bed.

  Was it because he couldn’t have her?

  “I need you, Marco.”

  “I need you, too.”

  The admission that could take place only in faceless darkness.

  “I want you here.” Marco mouth released the words unbidden, and he shook his head that he could only manage monosyllables. What he was feeling didn’t fit neatly into words.

  “I am here.” Her voice was smooth as velvet, seductive, taunting.

  “No, I want to hold you.” He wasn’t content with dreams, wisps of fantasy that wound around him, ensnaring him. He clenched his fist, his body taut with longing. “Will you come to me?”

  “Yes.” The word shot into his ear like a forced confession.

  “You will?” He sat up in bed. He hadn’t expected her to agree. He’d expected more teasing and taunting.

  “I will.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  “Tomorrow night. Do you know where I live?” Perhaps she knew everything about him. His enchantress certainly had magical powers.

  “No.”

  “It’s 135 Fifth Avenue. Near the Flatiron building. I’m on the top floor and the elevator button says penthouse.”

  “What time?” Her voice was so quiet he could hardly hear it. She sounded afraid. And maybe she should be. She’d wakened a sleeping giant.

  “Nine o’clock.” After dark. The time for dreams and fantasies to come alive.

  “I’ll come.”

  “I know you will.” If believing her would make it happen, then he could believe.

  The dial tone tickled his ear, but he was reluctant to hang up. He wanted to keep that electronic connection alive—a thread of hope to hang on to until tomorrow night.

  He lay back down on the sheets, still aroused, hard, his muscles tight. Every inch of his body howled with need, calling for the woman it craved. The cold moonlight danced over his tormented flesh with silvery fingers of light.

  Mocking him.

  Chapter Five

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  Sandy stepped into the elevator and hit the button that said penthouse. Her heart pounded like the jackhammer doing emergency night work out in the street. Marco had buzzed her into the building, and she wondered if he could see her on a camera. She’d thought about coming as her everyday self.

  Then she’d thought better of it.

  She wanted tonight to be perfect. She needed it to be the culmination of all her dreams about Marco, the night they all came true.

  She knew he liked her as Alexandra. She knew that as herself she was invisible to him. Why take a chance and ruin everything? Once again she’d put in the blue conta
cts, arranged her hair in a shiny fall around her shoulders, and dressed in a sleek black dress and high-heeled sandals that she’d found among the clearance racks.

  After tonight she’d vowed she would pull herself together, buckle down to her work and school, and leave Marco alone. She’d never intended for things to come this far. She’d never intended to lead him down a garden path…to where? There was no happy ending to be had here.

  She wasn’t someone Marco could love. Or even like. What would he think if he knew she’d spent six months in juvenile detention for fraud? If he knew she’d been the bookkeeper for her dad’s numbers racket?

  She told herself that at the time she had no choice, but the prosecutor’s office hadn’t agreed. Her life was what it was, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to pretend, just for a little while, that things were different.

  The art deco era elevator moved slowly, mechanically grinding its way upward through a building that didn’t have more than six floors, according to the buttons. If it became stuck, that would be a sign.

  She was always looking for signs. She supposed that was common in people who didn’t feel they were in control. Of their lives. Of their destinies. Of their bodies.

  Her body had gotten out of control, all right. Or it had taken over control from her mind. Harmless girlish fantasies had become a woman’s desires—intense needs that couldn’t be denied.

  The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors eased open. Bright hallway light made her blink. She took a gulp of air and walked to the only door in the hall, a tall bronze one directly opposite the elevator.

  Her finger trembled as she pressed it to the porcelain button. She listened for sounds on the other side of the door. Eventually she heard a click as the lock slid back. The door cracked open and revealed Marco in all his glory.

  He smiled at her. Heat shone in his eyes, which sparkled as he pulled aside the door to admit her.

  “Alexandra.”

  “Hello, Marco.”

  “Come in.”

  He turned and she followed him into the apartment. It was the first time she’d seen him out of a suit. Worn jeans hugged his muscled backside and broad thighs in a way that made her heart beat stronger. A cream-colored linen shirt was loosely tucked in, the sleeves rolled up over his powerful forearms.

  Marco’s bare feet padded silently across the gleaming wood floors as he led her into a loft apartment. Art deco with an eye for comfort: big soft sofas, glowing lamps, oversize paintings on the walls and heavy velvet curtains that hid the big windows.

  Jazzy music wound through the air, its source invisible. She imagined an old-time Victrola rotating somewhere in a corner.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “I’ll make you the house cocktail.” He wandered over to a large kitchen filled with industrial-looking appliances. “Take a seat.”

  She settled into one of the leather sofas and arranged her black skirt gracefully over her knees. Marco dropped ice into two highball glasses and covered it with a succession of clear liquids. The deft movements of his hands made her remember how those long fingers and broad palms felt on her body. Heat of desire flushed her skin and she tore her eyes away, not wanting to be caught staring.

  She could smell oregano, maybe a hint of cilantro. Dinner.

  Sandy wasn’t hungry. Not for food anyway. She glanced up again as Marco stirred their drinks with a tall stirrer, the ice cubes clinking against the glass.

  He must have sensed her watching him, for he looked up and their eyes met and mutual awareness flashed between them. Sandy’s body stirred under the soft fabric of her black dress. Nipples firm, her belly taut with excitement.

  Marco looked down again, peeling a lemon with a sharp paring knife.

  The lyrics of the song playing on the stereo seeped into her consciousness: “I love to see that evening sun go down…” St. Louis Blues, hymn of the wanton woman, waiting for nightfall so she can snare a lover.

  The singer’s voice echoed with the kind of longing Sandy was coming to know only too well.

  She swallowed hard as Marco strode toward her, carrying the two glasses. His easy stride contrasted intriguingly with the raw athletic power of his body. As he stood over her and handed her a glass, she was aware of the sheer size of him. He was well over six foot and broadly built. Not a man to mess around with.

  Not unless you were looking for trouble.

  He eased himself down onto the leather sofa, next to her. Only a few inches separated them, and the space began to hum with possibility.

  The icy glass in her hand dripped cool condensation down her wrist. She took a tiny sip. Sweet.

  “Careful, it can be lethal.” The low rumble of Marco’s voice in her ear jolted her senses.

  “What’s in it?”

  “A dash of everything, plus my secret ingredient.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you.” Marco took a sip of his drink and winked at her slowly as he put it down on a side table. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” she teased, a thrill of desire shimmering under her skin. “I can see you’re not going to try and get me drunk and take advantage of me.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” A wicked smile spread across Marco’s sensuous mouth. A wisp of apprehension curled in the pit of her stomach.

  What had she come here for? She craved his touch with a longing that made her reckless, but she was also afraid. Afraid he would learn too much about her. That he’d know she wasn’t a glamorous seductress. That she was an impostor, a fake, a cheat and a liar, and not the woman he thought he wanted at all.

  She looked down at the glass sweating in her hand. She could feel his gaze burning through her black dress, scorching the skin beneath. Her nipples strained against the thin fabric and she knew he saw it. She set her glass on the table and awkwardly wiped her wet hand against the fingers of her other hand, wondering what to say or do.

  A storm had gathered in his eyes. The expression on his face was strange, unreadable. A little whirlwind of emotion gathered in the space between them, as their bodies stirred with awareness of each other.

  Marco’s hand touched her thigh, slid over it, heating her skin through the fabric of her dress. He lowered his head to her shoulder and settled his face in the crook of her neck, his lips claiming the sensitive flesh of her pulse point.

  Her eyes closed and she gave herself over to the sensation. Her body strained toward his and her arms closed around him, pulling him to her. Marco lifted her up onto the sofa and she leaned into him, kneeling on the leather as his hands roved over her agonizingly aroused body.

  Her mouth sought his and their lips came together with a punishing jolt of electrical energy. Her tongue flew into his mouth and met his as their kiss deepened.

  She dragged her fingers down over his body, clutching at handfuls of his soft linen shirt and the hard muscle beneath. His fingertips pressed into the skin of her back and roved down past her hips to caress the curve of her buttocks.

  The masculine scent of Marco, a tang of male sweat and a hint of musky cologne, overwhelmed her senses as she buried her face against him. The roughness of his skin aroused her as she gently scratched his face with her fingertips, feeling him, cherishing their mutual touch.

  She pushed her body up against his as his broad hands roamed over her thighs, shucking her dress up around her waist and exploring the delicate satin of her panties.

  “You’re wet.” His guttural gasp made her tremble. With desire, with fear. Fear of the power of her uncontrollable longings. Every nerve in her body strained for him, her fingers pressed into his back, grabbing at him, testing him, chastising him for wanting her as much as she wanted him.

  The raw juices of her sexuality soaked the silky fabric as Marco pushed against her swollen flesh with his fingertips, teasing and taunting her with his touch.

  Her breas
ts strained against the satin of her bra, craving his touch, and she rubbed herself against him, shameless with want.

  Her trembling fingertips tugged at the buttons on the front of his shirt, half ripping at them, wanting to bare his skin and rub herself against it. The buttons undone, she shoved it down over his shoulders, baring the broad expanse of his muscled chest.

  Marco tugged his wrists free of his shirtsleeves and settled his hands on her shoulders. Their eyes met and passion burned darkly beneath his hooded lids.

  Marco’s lips were slightly parted—in anticipation of another kiss?—as he slowly lowered the strap of her dress and the bra strap pinned to it. Sandy shuddered slightly as he bared the flesh of her breast, revealing a tight nipple, his eyes fixed on his task.

  Slowly he pushed down the other bra cup, letting bra and dress settle around her waist as his fingers roamed over the hypersensitive flesh of her nipples.

  A low moan escaped Sandy’s mouth as he lowered his face to her breast and sucked gently, eyes closed. The primal sensuality of the gesture—a man worshipping a woman’s body—shocked and intrigued her. Her mind whirled with confusion at the deepening intensity of her feelings, both physical and emotional, as this beautiful man touched and enjoyed her.

  As his tongue flicked across her chest and licked her other nipple as if she were a delicious ice cream, she buried her fingers in his hair, moaning her pleasure. Gently he pushed her back onto the sofa, the warm leather embracing her as she settled into it.

  Marco lowered himself along with her, his hot mouth leaving a burning trail as he crouched over her. He pulled the rest of her dress and bra down over her legs, leaving her dressed in nothing but her flimsy panties and strappy black high-heeled sandals.

  Marco groaned as his eyes roamed over her. His big hands settled on the warm skin of her waist, circling it as he laid hot deep kisses on her belly. Under the skin, her insides quivered as her deepest, most female places responded to his call.