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

  His teeth teased around the hem of her panties, pulling at them. She could hear his breathing becoming labored as he struggled with the intensity of his arousal. His fingertips joined in the struggle, tugging at the silky fabric, easing it over the curve of her buttocks and down past her toes.

  She was naked.

  Suddenly Marco pulled her up, raising her to her feet. She stood uncertainly on the floor in her high-heeled shoes. Skeins of jazzy music danced around her, clothing her in its mellow tones as Marco quickly unbuckled his belt and shoved down his jeans until he stood naked before her.

  His body was magnificent.

  He was heavily muscled like an athlete with naturally tan skin that shone in the soft lamplight. A thin curl of black hair rose like a trail of smoke above the hard arrow of his maleness.

  His stance was casually aggressive, one shoulder and one hip a little higher than the other—a challenge.

  They stood in front of each other, man and woman. She imagined the heart beating beneath his broad chest, powering his massive physique, pumping blood to all parts of his body, including one that seemed to dance in anticipation of what was to come.

  Sex.

  Sandy shivered a little as she contemplated the joining of her body with his.

  She wanted him.

  She was afraid.

  Marco reached out a broad hand, settling his fingers around her waist, pulling her gently to him. She stumbled a little in her high heels, bumped against him, her breasts crushed momentarily against the hard planes of his chest.

  A shudder shot through her. He settled his hands around her buttocks and squeezed gently with his fingers as he pulled her up against him.

  Her thighs pressed against his. Muscle against muscle. His hardness poked her soft belly, ready to be inside her.

  Marco dropped to his knees, removed her sandals, then wrapped his arms around her thighs and buried his face in her. Shifting his weight he eased her legs apart slightly and pushed his face up into the burning aroused flesh of her sex, licking and sucking.

  Sandy gasped at the intensity of the physical sensation. She teetered on tiptoe, her legs barely holding her up. Marco’s strong arms supported her as he undermined all her foundations with the dangerously erotic movements of his tongue.

  Her hands grabbed at his hair, clinging as Marco hungrily claimed her sex with his mouth. She moaned as wave upon wave of unfamiliar and fearsome sensation built inside her.

  Suddenly her knees buckled and she fell forward onto Marco as an internal eruption heaved through her. Her body was molten lava in his arms as a powerful orgasm shook her and made her cry out with shock and excitement.

  Marco’s firm arms held her steady. He kept a tight hold of her shuddering body as he rose up gradually, his face buried in the flesh of her belly, between her breasts, moaning in enjoyment of her arousal as he held her while waves of pleasure rocked through her.

  When his face rose to meet hers, their mouths met in a kiss that shook the last of the breath from Sandy’s body.

  “Marco…” She didn’t know what she wanted to say. That she felt more for him than she could ever have imagined? That her feelings went beyond mere physical longing? That she wanted to know him and understand him, as a man, as a person?

  That she wanted to share everything with him.

  Marco’s eyes searched her face, and she saw wordless understanding written in his stern features. The gray depths of his eyes offered a communication that went deeper than the mind, deeper than the contact of flesh on flesh. A union of spirits, of souls.

  Sandy’s whole body felt like liquid evaporating into a guttering wisp of steam as Marco’s gaze washed over her. Her nerves and muscles sang with a longing for a deeper union. An urgent need.

  Marco circled her with his arms, picking her up as if she was no more substantial than a puff of smoke. He settled her back against the leather cushions of the sofa and leaned over her, settling his body warmly against hers.

  His hardness pushed against her stomach, which jumped and shimmied in response. She wanted him inside her.

  He unwrapped a condom and sheathed himself. Lowering his mouth to her throat, Marco sucked hard, claiming the burning flesh. He raised her hips with his hands and gently, slowly, opened her legs and eased into her.

  Sandy pressed her face against him, letting the scent of him fill her nostrils as he slid into her wetness, stretching her and filling her with glorious sensation.

  She opened her eyes for a split second and glimpsed Marco, eyes tightly closed, face taut with emotion.

  Her lover.

  Sandy raised her hips, pushing her body against him, gripping him with her hands and burying her fingertips in the hard muscles of his back. As their bodies moved together, she rubbed her face against his, cheekbone against cheekbone. Their chests bumped and jostled as their hips swung and gyrated together, their bodies straining to become one.

  Tears ran down her cheeks. Shock at the intensity of the experience. Her inner muscles held him tight, hugging him as her arms clung to him for dear life.

  Be with me always.

  She’d never known this kind of closeness to anyone. She’d never felt so open, so free. Able to express the deepest need of her soul—not in words that could be misread or confused, but with her body.

  She shuddered and Marco responded by clutching her still tighter, burying his face against hers and kissing her hard. Drawing her out, soothing her as he rocked her.

  Something was building deep inside her. A rhythm more intense than the drumming of the jazz that still swirled in the air around them.

  A rhythm that took over her body and her mind, depriving her of thought. Two hearts beating in a trance ceremony, a mutual hypnosis, an altered state in which only they existed.

  The beat of her blood thundered in her head and pumped through her body as Marco pushed inside her, driving deeper and deeper into her. The rhythm grew more intense, driving, more insistent. Marco grunted softly in her ear as his thickness grew and shuddered inside her. Her muscles grabbed him, squeezing and rocking as shockwaves of pleasure knocked her senseless and they came together in a rapture of mutual abandon.

  They fell into the smooth leather of the sofa, sweaty and exhausted with passion. Marco’s breath rasped hot in her ear, labored with exertion.

  She cracked open her eyelids and met his cloud-gray gaze. What she saw in his eyes frightened her beyond all measure. It was like looking in a mirror. A world of loneliness bridged for a few brief moments.

  Tears still fell from her eyes. Remembering her eyes were blue, not even her own, she closed them and the tears fell faster.

  Marco’s thumb stroked her cheek, brushing her tears away. He didn’t ask why she cried. He knew better than that. For all his power and his commanding position in the world, he was a lone soul. Someone who’d seen the dark side of human nature and carried its shadows with him.

  And she’d cheated and used him.

  She’d lied to him, with her blue eyes and her aggressively straightened hair, lied to him with her fancy clothes and her spike heels.

  Lied to him that she was a woman of substance. Not a cast-off waif fit only to hover around the edges of society, keeping her distance from people as they kept their distance from her.

  To be alone was her curse. She carried it with her in her blood, the legacy of the parents she’d failed and who had failed her. The legacy of pain that made her fear contact with others the way a whipped dog fears the hand of his master.

  And she’d brought all that fear and pain and dangerous longing into Marco’s world, to hurt him, too.

  His big, warm arms closed around her, comforting her. Accepting her. For who she was.

  No, for who he thought she was.

  She blinked away her last tears. No more crying. She didn’t deserve that kind of self-indulgence.

  She opened her eyes, taking in the sight of her nakedness sprawled next to Marco’s in the dim light from the amber lamps.
<
br />   Their two bodies tangled together, legs and arms winding through each other carelessly. Two lovers resting easily, spent with passion. A dream she had dreamed.

  “My dream lover,” said Marco softly, shocking her with the echo of her thoughts. “It’s good to have you in my arms.”

  “It’s good to be in your arms,” she said honestly.

  “Dreams can come true.”

  “At least for a little while.” Her voice cracked slightly. She didn’t have the heart to deceive him.

  “Hey,” he squeezed his arms tightly around her. “What’s this about a little while? I’m not letting you get away this time.”

  “You don’t know me.” She lifted her eyes to his face. Her blue eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “That’s a temporary state of affairs. I’m going to get to know all about you whether you want me to or not. Your mysteries are under siege.”

  His eyes sparkled with amusement. With determination. For him the raw emotion of their intense sexual encounter had quickly warmed to a natural human interest in his lover. He may have known pain and disappointment, but it hadn’t broken his spirit the way it had crippled hers.

  He was a strong man, dynamic, capable of taking on the world and driving it to its knees if he wanted. She’d read in the newspapers about legendary negotiations, patents claimed, lawsuits fought and won as Danieli Electronics climbed to its position as the foremost maker of audio equipment in the world.

  Marco was a man to be reckoned with. A man who knew he deserved the best and expected to find it. To seek it out and claim it.

  The way he now thought he would claim her.

  How quickly Marco Danieli’s interest in his mystery woman would wither and dissipate if he knew what a feeble and damaged person his lover really was.

  “We didn’t eat dinner yet.” He was smiling. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little.” Something so prosaic as eating food seemed funny after the intense experience they’d shared.

  “Don’t move.” Marco disentangled himself from her and eased up off the sofa. He strode across the room to the kitchen. Naked.

  His body gleamed with sweat, his muscles thrown into relief by a single ceiling spotlight over the kitchen island.

  He grabbed a pot holder and removed a steaming tray from the oven. He transferred food onto a large platter and poured two big glasses of water.

  Sandy wondered if she should get dressed again, but oddly she was comfortable and warm lying on the sofa, watching him.

  Marco strolled back to her, carrying the food, and set the platter down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

  He winked at her. “I’m not much of a cook, but I’m great at reheating stuff from Zabar’s.”

  He settled back onto the sofa with her, as comfortable and at ease as if he were fully dressed. He offered her the plate of appetizers, and when she hesitated he picked up a pastry-wrapped morsel and held it to her lips.

  “Blow.”

  She obeyed.

  “Bite.”

  She nibbled at it. Crumbs scattered onto her breasts and she giggled.

  “Too hot?”

  She nodded, licking crumbs from her lips.

  Marco blew on it again, then tasted it himself. “It’s safe. Open wide.”

  She opened her mouth and accepted the tasty morsel. Marco watched with apparent pleasure as she chewed and swallowed. He picked up another one and ate it himself, watching her the whole time.

  He didn’t ask any questions. Despite his threat, he didn’t prod and goad her into revealing any secrets, or telling any lies.

  When they had eaten, he took her into his bed. They spent the night together as close as two people can be. Making love, kissing, holding each other. Not talking, not thinking about the past or the future or anything other than sharing what they had, right now, in each other’s arms.

  When Sandy awoke a little after 4:00 a.m., Marco was deeply asleep. He lay on his back, black hair rumpled against the pillow and an expression of quiet contentment softening his proud features.

  Banishing all thoughts from her mind, she slipped silently out of bed and found her clothes. She put them on and tiptoed to the door, holding her shoes. The locks on the door were old and tricky to turn without making a noise, but she managed them and closed the door carefully behind her. Then she crept out to the elevator and rode down to the ground floor.

  It wasn’t until she ran down the dank stairs into the tunnel leading to the PATH train that it hit her.

  The loss.

  The hollow emptiness of being alone.

  She’d betrayed him again.

  She felt as if her heart had been ripped right out of her body, and there was nothing left powering her but sheer force of will. The survivor’s instinct.

  She passed through the turnstile and onto the waiting train. People looked at her in her flimsy dress, with her uncombed hair falling over her shoulders. She looked right back at them.

  They knew what kind of woman she was. And she dared them to despise her as much as she hated herself.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  Marco was still smarting. When he woke up and found her gone, he’d been saddened.

  Not surprised, but disappointed.

  Now he was pissed as hell.

  Who was this dame who thought she could wind him up and get him all hot and horny and loopy over her and then vanish into the ether?

  He was Marco Danieli, dammit! No one jerked him around like this. Not without paying a high price for it.

  Sure, she had a pretty face, a well-put-together body. There were plenty of those out there. What the heck was so great about her?

  She probably had a long roster of suckers in her contacts list she scrolled through every night, saying, “Who shall I torment now?”

  Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? Why did his arms feel empty without her? Why did he ache to see her smile? Why did he want to…? Never mind what he wanted, she sure didn’t care.

  He’d like her to call him now. He’d give her a piece of his mind, all right.

  He strode through the city, jaywalking in the traffic, pushing past the crowds. He was headed from the midtown office to the Chelsea building to meet with a supplier and he’d decided to walk so he could get some air and clear his head.

  He wished he had a hangover. Then at least he’d know it would wear off sooner or later.

  He shoved open the door into the Chelsea building. Not even 9:00 a.m. yet and already it was nearly 85 degrees and humid as a Florida swamp. He was sweating inside his suit and that didn’t improve his disposition any.

  He pushed the elevator button and waited for the agonizingly slow descent. If he spent more time in this building, he’d get this antique ripped out and replaced with a real elevator. He banged his hand on the gate as he saw the elevator moving upward.

  To hell with it.

  He strode toward the stairwell, sweat trickling irritatingly down his spine, and charged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, wishing he could shake the fog of anger and regret that dogged him.

  He was so wrapped up in his morose thoughts and making so much noise clunking up the stairs that he didn’t even notice another person in the stairwell until he saw a pair of feet at his eye level.

  Pale blue sneakers.

  They’d flashed past him and turned the corner by the time his momentum slowed enough to turn around.

  What the…?

  He could swear they were the same as the sneaker Alexandra had dropped. He’d held it in his hand. He’d spent some serious one-on-one time with that sneaker. He even remembered the way it smelled.

  He was losing his mind for sure. Why would Alexandra be here in this stairwell? He hadn’t gotten a good look at the person but he knew it was a woman. Slim build, not too tall.

  He thought he could remember jeans and a white T-shirt, but he couldn’t even be sure about that. He didn’t see the face.

  But so
mething lingered. Not a scent, not anything he could put his finger on. But something that set his nerve endings buzzing and sent adrenaline pumping to every cell in his body.

  He knew whoever it was must have come from the call center on the third floor, since he knew the few employees on the two warehouse floors below it.

  No harm in stopping up there and seeing who’d just left. He was the boss, right?

  The light was already fading when Sandy got home. She had a pounding headache from trying to sell herself to temp agencies all afternoon. She was glad she’d boned up on computer software when she had the chance because that was the first thing they all asked about.

  She couldn’t go back to Danieli Electronics ever again.

  If she had to quit school, then so be it, but maybe if she worked her butt off temping and found something else she could squeeze in—waitressing?—she’d scrape together enough for the tuition. She certainly didn’t deserve any handouts from Danieli Electronics, not after the way she’d treated the boss.

  The boss.

  She pictured him again the way she’d seen him that morning, right before she left. Sleeping peacefully. Looking happy and contented.

  Not any more. He’d hate her guts by now, and she well deserved it.

  When he’d dashed past her on the stairwell, after she’d retrieved her stuff from her desk and handed in her notice, she’d seen the angry look on his face.

  He was so blind with rage that he didn’t even see her.

  Which was good because she’d moronically worn the sneakers she’d left behind after their first date.

  No matter. She wouldn’t be going there again. There was no chance of their running into each other any more. A bitter swell of regret rose inside her and she gulped it back. Marco wasn’t meant to be hers. Surely she’d convince herself of that sooner or later.

  She was wearing the sneakers now, with her interview suit, as she strode along the cracked sidewalks from the PATH train to her house in Jersey City. A low-slung sports car parked on the opposite side of the street caught her attention.