Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances
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One thing Mrs. Tremaine could take credit for was expanding T. Holmes to a multi-billion dollar company, now employing hundreds of people worldwide. It went from being a mom-and-pop operation where new grads got their start to the envy of the fashion world.
The company had changed. So had Elle.
Thinking of Thomas’s words, she considered. Maybe these were the people she’d spend the evening with. Birds of a feather and all. Two or three minutes of play with them, then to work…
Her gaze collided with brown eyes staring back at her with blatant intent. She paused midstride, at first with the purpose of assessing whoever studied her so boldly. All thoughts of joining the other designers fell to the side.
He was young, probably just a little bit younger than her thirty-two years. His face still held some of the baby softness people didn’t lose until their teens. Yet this was no minor. Not with that cleft chin, angular jaw, and old-soul eyes. The intensity of those brown eyes made her suddenly, inexplicably conscious of her own body. Elle felt the sweep more so than saw it, but she knew there was a level of attention there given by someone with a more than passing interest. He lingered on the line of her legs, his gaze caressing up, smoothing over her waist and then breasts. It wasn’t a full-on ogle; instead, a very casual, very subtle appreciation. She wasn’t unused to attention from the opposite sex, but this…this heated her through.
Her perusal of him, on the other hand, couldn’t have taken more than ten seconds. Dark hair a little long in the back, curling at the ends. Long dark lashes and brow to match. Aquiline nose. A thin upper lip sat above a full bottom. That wonderful chin.
Last year’s Prada hid a body that might have been athletic or simply lean. Too hard to tell from this distance without running a hand over his length. Something she almost itched to do. The shoes were buffed—a sign of fastidiousness, so much so she wouldn’t be surprised if she inspected his nails and found them professionally manicured. Yet there was a shadow along that elegant jaw. A slight crookedness to the tie. He knew how to dress but didn’t take it to the extreme.
Curious.
He made sure their gazes were locked before flicking his toward the bar and back again. An invitation to join him, his message quite clear despite their distance. Elle didn’t hold back a smile, but she did offer him a shrug to let him know he had bad timing. She wanted to get to the Xane people sooner rather than later, despite a raging curiosity insisting she do a little exploring of the man. Oh well… Maybe if there was time later.
She let out a deep breath. There wouldn’t be time later. There never was.
Elle turned on her heel, leaving the gorgeous man behind, to focus on finding Champ Reece. She went in search of the loudest laugh, the one that straddled the line between obnoxiously intrusive and inviting others to join in. Because the vice president of marketing for Xane could make or break careers, she eventually encountered him surrounded by a few who’d chosen to chuckle at whatever he said. Good, bad, or otherwise.
“And so he says—” Champ blew out hard breaths between guffaws “—are you really going to claim that? I just looked at him and said, ‘and that’s why I get paid the big bucks.’”
She’d obviously missed the point of the latest punchline because the small crowd erupted into low-key laughter. Elle offered a smile though, needing Champ to buy her amusement, real or not. He swirled amber liquid in a glass tumbler, the ice cubes crashing into one other. She’d bet money this wasn’t his first one of the night. “Mr. Reece,” she said, knowing she displayed a row of bleached, even teeth. “I’m so glad that you could attend our gathering.”
Chortles softened into chuckles while Champ shook her proffered hand. “Miss Flint. Pleasure’s all mine.”
Miss crawled over her skin. How long would it be before he started calling her Ms. as she requested?
“Ms., please.” She stepped closer as they shook hands, a polite notice to his cronies to give them some breathing space. “I wanted to take a moment to ensure that you were enjoying yourself. I recognize you didn’t have to attend our company’s soiree but gave us the opportunity to get to know you better by coming anyway. We’re looking forward to a very successful…”
“Of course,” he muttered to a pair of breasts walking past Elle.
She frowned at his inattention to her and worse, his attention on that particular body part. Of course, that could have been her imagination at play when she followed his leer because there wasn’t a corporate VP alive—at least none with a lick of sense—who’d be caught dead ogling a woman’s chest. In public. Hello, sexual harassment lawsuit. Of course, Champ Reece, knew better than to—shit.
Apparently he didn’t know better.
Horrified, Elle cleared her throat in an attempt to get him to drag his attention away from the length of legs in four-inch heels gliding past him. One of the interns in a barely-there dress worn like a dream didn’t notice him. Soon someone would though. If not one of the interns, perhaps someone with a little more clout. It’d been Elle’s idea to work with Xane, and she was not about to let one horndog with a few drinks under his belt disrupt the perfect image of their prospective client. “Champ, why don’t we move to someplace a little quieter?” she asked, honey coating her words. Her brain, on the other hand, went aoogah!, honking noisily about damage control.
To get more of his attention, she placed a gentle hand on his forearm. The moment she did though, her stomach dropped.
Something about the way his just-this-side-of-glazed eyes scanned her made her spine stiffen. The not-subtle perusal suggested he’d not really taken note of her before now and was going to change that on the fly. It was smooth but obvious.
Ever the professional though, Elle didn’t let the ick factor show on her face. “I’d really hate to discuss business at such a fun event, but I’d love to go over the lineup I came up with right before the party started. Want to brainstorm while it’s still fresh?”
His gaze crept over the skin of her arms, leaving a riot of goose bumps in its wake. “Sure. But it’s a bit noisy down here. Your office is on the twentieth floor, right? Let’s go there. Where it’s quiet.”
Every warning bell clanged in her mind. This was a bad idea. Such a bad idea. But this was also Champ Reece. He knew better. He knew. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her job or his. Wasn’t he married as well? Still, she wasn’t about to ignore that little inner voice. “Oh, I’m sure we can find someplace down here that would be comfortable.”
“Amid all this chaos?”
“It’s not chaos. It’s the holidays. We’re at a party, and on second thought, I’m sorry I even brought up the idea of taking you away from it. We should be celebrating.”
He stepped a little bit closer. Just a fraction. “Would you rather be here than elsewhere right now? I’d always thought of you as being very task oriented.”
“Oh, absolutely I can be. But we’re a family here. And I should be with my family.” There. That should give him reason to pause. And if it reminded him of his own family, so much the better.
“Fifteen minutes, Elle. That’s all I’m asking.”
God, he was not giving her an out. That slight slur to his words further solidified that she did not want to be off somewhere alone with him.
“Elle, here’s your drink, honey,” a voice next to her said.
She blinked, not certain if she was reacting to the unfamiliar person calling her honey. Or by being rescued from an impossible situation. Or the fact she hadn’t asked for, nor wanted, a drink until just then. When she turned and looked into the face of her across-the-room-admirer, her heart galloped.
A knight in shining armor? Yes, please.
Chapter Four
‡
On the night of the ball party, she danced with a Prince mystery man…
No, women in this day and age were not supposed to be rescued by complete strangers. And hell no, she didn’t need rescuing, but yes, she appreciated the moment to think about how to best
handle Champ without insulting him.
The man offered stemware of sparkling wine, bubbles clinging to the sides of the gleaming crystal. Stunned, Elle took it without thinking, her brain still racing to come up with who he was and why he knew her when she couldn’t recall ever meeting him. The voice was vaguely familiar…
A polite sip later, smooth drink fortifying her resolve, she cloaked herself in professional mode. “Champ, a raincheck on that brainstorm session? I don’t think my date would ever forgive me for ditching him now. You and I can even web cam something after the holidays. Face it, you are simply too popular. Don’t allow me to drag you away from the fun. Besides, I think Thomas mentioned wanting to see you before you left. I’ll send him over when I see him.”
She’d apologize to the CEO later about hoisting the inebriated man on him, but he hadn’t built a successful company like this one without knowing how to deal with all personality types. Especially one as big as Champ’s. Elle had to admit that sometimes that went just a little bit beyond her comfort zone. She’d taken her position with the intention of being surrounded by beauty and opulence. Not corporate egos.
“Elle?” The man offered his arm. “I think Jennifer is waiting for your answer over there by the oysters.”
“Good night, Champ,” she said. She had no idea who Jennifer was, but she was grabbing on to this life preserver with both hands. “We’ll set up something soon. Maybe after the New Year.”
She’d send Champ’s office a fruit basket or something in the morning. But yes, she had to get out of there. Things had gone south way too quickly.
“How did you know?” she whispered to mystery man when they were a few steps away. She couldn’t turn to look at him in case she caught Champ’s expression. She did not need to know how he’d taken the abandonment. “And do I know you?”
“We’ve never been formally introduced, no.” His stride was smooth. Efficient.
“But you knew I wanted to leave?” He flashed a quick grin at her, and that cleft drew her gaze. At that Elle changed her mind. He wasn’t just gorgeous. He was stunning in a type of glamor that didn’t just happen upon anyone. “That’s it,” she added. “You’re one of the models.”
Brown eyes twinkled in one of those quick amused glances. “Nah, I like to eat too much. And I have to force myself to run a mile once a week just to keep off the bags of potato chips I inhale almost daily.”
She scanned his suit and shook her head. That clothing couldn’t be the sole reason he looked athletic. “I find it hard to believe you enjoy food as much as you’re trying to lead me think.”
The air surrounding them took a nosedive as they came to a stop next to a massive ice table holding a spread of oysters on the half shell and pink roasted shrimp. Her stomach mumbled in angry and quite noisy agitation as she bit her lip while looking at the display. How unfair was it that she had a love affair with food, yet worked in an industry where size sixteen just didn’t belong? And unlike Wonderboy there, she had to work like hell to stay at that number.
“I eat like a Hoover,” he admitted shamelessly.
“I hate you,” she muttered before taking another sip of the bubbly libation. It was either that or reach for a morsel she didn’t need.
“Why is that?”
“Because not everyone can just do what they want, when they want.”
“Don’t you?”
Not in a long, long time. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Oh, come on. I suspect that you do things your way, when you want. How you want.”
Elle frowned. “Why do you think that?”
“Please. Like you don’t know.”
“Humor me,” she said, annoyance growing. She appreciated the rescue from Champ, but her so-called hero presumed too much. Who was he?
“I’ve made you angry.” He studied her with those liquid-brown eyes, the dark lashes softening the intensity behind his gaze. “Don’t be. I admire you a lot, and I don’t think you could have made such an impressive dent here unless you took a lot of chances by doing what needs to be done.”
Her simmering emotions eased back, his sincerity and flattery a salve. “Go on.”
“You are such a strong leader, and people flock to be like you. You dress to kill with a style that is uniquely yours. You’re a trendsetter just by your clothes alone. I mean, that dress is a knockout on its own. What color do you call those shoes?”
She peered down. “Burnt sienna. And violet.”
“Violet with burnt sienna,” he repeated softly. “When’s the last time you saw that color combination on the runway? You always look amazing.”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to feed me a line.” Admittedly, her ego purred in contentment.
“Who’s feeding you? Don’t act like you don’t know that you know what looks good and then flaunt it. I think you send the other designers scurrying to do stuff that’s kind of like yours, but not completely. They try to copy it but for some reason, fall a little flat. Their style just isn’t yours.”
Had he just paid her half a dozen compliments in as many sentences? Her mind whirled with questions and comebacks. The most important of all these, however, was the fact she still didn’t know his name. She opened her mouth to question him, but the strum of a multitude of guitars drowned out her voice. She whirled toward the source of that noise that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.
On second thought, maybe it was time to leave the night on a high note. She still had a million things to do to get ready for the annual runway event. Had Champ and crew not been here tonight, she probably wouldn’t have shown at all.
“I’m going to go now,” she said, speaking loudly.
“And miss the fun? Why?”
“I think I’m safe, although I appreciate you stepping in when you did.”
“Oh, come on Are you going to risk running into that bozo again? Too bad.”
Elle paused. Really, what was she rushing to get to? Maybe she could indulge for a short while. Just a little.
“Do you dance?” he shouted over the din, grabbing her hand and leading her off before she could respond. In one elegant move, he took the glass from her and deposited it on an unsuspecting waiter’s tray.
She mentally threw up her hands in defeat. Why the hell not? She didn’t have a date, hadn’t danced with someone in forever and he smelled really good. Not to mention she wouldn’t mind the opportunity to look at him just a little while longer. Her boss had ordered her to mingle with the staff, and to appease him, she was going to follow his advice.
When they joined the other four couples in the middle of the room, however, he didn’t bother with keeping a foot of distance between them while he did one thing while she did something else. He pulled her in close, their bodies just within grazing distance, but not quite touching. Not yet. But the heat from his was inviting, and Elle studiously avoided the temptation to warm herself in it.
She tilted her face toward his and found herself drawn into that hypnotic gaze. His eyes weren’t just brown, plain and muddy. No, they were ringed with gold, around the iris displaying a starburst of lighter brown. It was an unusual combination she’d never seen before.
He grinned and then started doing some sort of shimmy thing with his hips. It was part swivel, part jerk and had absolutely nothing to do with the beat of the music. Elle fought the urge to smile, instead placing a finger over her lips to hide the twitch. When she glided left, he seemed to shuffle right. If she stepped forward, their hips bumped in uncoordinated fashion. “Like to dance, huh?” she asked over the music and twisting to keep her feet from being trampled.
“Love to!” he yelled back. He clapped his hands, did a twirl, and then pulled her close again. “Too bad I’m not very good at it.”
Elle coughed out a laugh. “No, you aren’t.”
For the next fifteen minutes, she’d been stepped on at least four times. There was bound to be a bruise on her upper arm where his elbow had rammed into her. And she’d started to
develop a fine sheen of perspiration along her forehead. As it was, strands of her curly brown hair stuck to the back of her neck, and she lifted the mane on occasion to give her skin some breathing room.
Also?
This was the most fun she’d allowed herself in years. They didn’t talk, instead allowing the rhythm—or lack thereof—of the music to carry their bodies. She lost herself to the beat of drums and the chords of guitars. Song lyrics hovered in the air, words about love and holidays, family and goodness in serenade that took her mind away from the job.
Elle closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Between slits, she peered at their surroundings, at once in awe of the atmosphere. Above them, little white lights twinkled in the darkened room, and for some reason, it made the room seem that much smaller. The space occupied by two bodies alone. It was just them and the music.
She swore she could hear the evenness of his breath and what once seemed like accidental touches became deliberate caresses of long fingers on her bare arms. Her heart pumped with excitement, the pulse in her neck racing. And when his arms enveloped her waist, it seemed the most natural act in the world.
The jerky twitches of his hips became smooth and hypnotic. She found herself swaying with him and she realized they had found their own rhythm. They danced in sync, as if they’d done this so many, many times before.
“You’re getting better at this,” she murmured, then realized their lips were within grazing distance as her eyes opened again. The band seemed to be in-between sets, but it didn’t stop them from moving to their own music.
“I have my moments.”
“I think you might have been hustling me.”
“I wouldn’t do that. Not to you. I think I was inspired by my partner.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you. Such a smooth talker in my midst.”
“Is it working? I had a feeling you didn’t want to be at the party at all earlier. I hope I’m changing your mind a little bit.”