Cinderellie!

by Carol Grace

  Jack tried to pull his attention away from Ellie and focus on Hansen and listen to what the investor said, but for some reason the words didn't make sense. People were lining up at the buffet and Ellie had suddenly disappeared from his sight. He couldn't let her go off without him. How would she know where their table was or even that they had a table?

  "Nice to meet you," he blurted to Cole, before the man had finished talking. "We'll talk later." Then he pushed his way through the crowd, scanning every blonde as he went. But none of them was the one he was looking for.

  When he finally found her, he put his hand on the curve of her back, just below the deep vee of the back of her dress. It was a possessive gesture. He recognized that, but she was his cook, wasn't she, as well as his date? He was paying her, wasn't he? So he had a right to feel a little possessive.

  "Sorry you got stuck with a bunch of strangers," he said.

  "Everyone was very nice," she said, sounding surprised. "Your father told me what a genius you are with money. That you're not afraid to take risks. Ex-cept for restaurants, of course. And in your personal life, of course."

  "A chip off the old block," Jack said as a note of bitterness crept into his voice. "Did he tell you that?"

  She shook her head.

  "Did you tell him what our deal is?" Jack asked as he found their places at a round table set for eight.

  "No, I didn't. I had the feeling he wouldn't approve."

  "Of course he'd approve. He loves wheeling and dealing. Hedging his bets and trying to get the best deal. He'd appreciate your standing firm, using leverage to get what you want. As for my part in our deal, it doesn't matter whether he likes it or not," Jack said, holding her chair out for her. "It's my money."

  Just then Rick came up behind him, tapped him on the shoulder and muttered in his ear. "Cole is in. Once the word gets out, everyone else will want a piece of the action. What did you say to him?"

  Surprised, Jack shrugged. "I didn't have time to say much of anything."

  "Maybe that's what did it. He thought you were uninterested and so cool you didn't need him."

  Jack laughed. He was cool because he was more interested in watching Ellie across the room than in talking to Cole. What would his father say if he heard that his theory of all work and no play had backfired for once? He knew what his father would say. That he'd lucked out with Cole, but from now on he'd better tear his eyes away from his companion, his date, his chef, whatever she was, and pay attention to the investors he had to continue to court until they'd signed on the dotted line.

  Ellie had overheard enough of Jack's conversation to know that he'd received good news from his colleague. If she didn't know it then, she knew from the change in his demeanor that things were going well. He smiled, drank a second glass of champagne and introduced her to everyone around the table as one of San Francisco's up-and-coming new chefs. He made small talk and seemed more relaxed than she'd ever seen him, except perhaps on the trampoline.

  Ellie was torn between watching Jack charm everyone at the table and paying attention to the fabulous food. She studied the beef tenderloin with mushrooms, letting the red-wine jus roll around on her tongue, then slowly ate her potato Napoleon and braised winter greens, analyzing the flavors and filing them away in her brain.

  When she looked up from her plate, she caught Jack's eye. He was grinning at her.

  "Are you eating your food or examining it?" He asked, placing one hand on her bare arm and with the other hand refilling her wineglass with a 2002 Pinot Noir.

  "Both," she said, her skin sizzling where he touched her.

  "What's the verdict?"

  "Wonderful." But was she talking about the food or about Jack? A new charming Jack, a new warm and attentive Jack who was looking into her eyes as if her opinion mattered, as if she was the most important person here tonight. She knew better, and yet…and yet…she had to admit, she was tempted to succumb to his charm. When his fingers traced a pattern on her arm, she lost her train of thought. The room spun around her, the voices faded, and suddenly there was only the two of them, alone in the crowd. She had something to say. What was it? She shifted in her chair. Oh, yes. She cleared her throat.

  "Considering that she's cooking for, what would you say, a few hundred people?" she said. "It's amazing. I could never do that."

  "Sure you could. With a little help. She's not back there by herself, you know."

  "What do you think of the food?" she asked.

  He looked deep into her eyes. "Not as good as yours."

  "Really?" She smiled. She felt warm all over. Of course that could have been because of the wine. But it was always nice to get a sincere compliment. Coupled with that look in his eyes, no wonder she felt the heat radiating from her heart. "Does that mean you're going to put your money where your mouth is?" she asked lightly.

  "It's looking good. For both of us." He lifted his glass and touched it to hers. "Here's to us," he said. His gaze held hers for a long moment, and suddenly all the breath whooshed out of her lungs. A sexy smile played on his lips. He was so close she felt she could see into his mind, but this time she couldn't see the wheels turning. She could only see herself reflected there. Her hand shook, and the deep-red wine sloshed in her glass.

  What did it all mean? Probably that they'd both had too much to drink. First champagne, now the wine. She was vulnerable and out of practice. And he was a sophisticated man who'd seen and done it all. If she had a fairy godmother, she'd be hovering somewhere over Ellie's shoulder right about now, waving her wand to get Ellie's attention and murmuring, "Watch out, dear." Good advice.

  Sure, Ellie could tell herself there was nothing going on, but her cheeks were burning and every nerve cell was alive and receptive. Here's to us, he'd said. He didn't mean it the way it sounded, because, she reminded herself, there was no "us."

  She knew better than to take his remark seriously. He probably toasted his companion, whoever she was, every night of the week, then dumped her the next day, if the neighborhood gossips were to be believed. And Ellie was not his companion or his date. Despite his effusive description of her tonight, it was the champagne talking. In his office he'd said she was a nobody. He'd tried to take it back, but the words still stung.

  Try as she did to discount it, and no matter how hard her fairy godmother tried to warn her, the toast seemed sincere and it meant a lot to Ellie. It was the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. All of which made it impossible to look away. Partly because he was still looking deep into her eyes, while the moment went on and on. He was still holding her gaze with his as if he really meant it. But then he'd had years of practice, being the man about town, and she'd had zilch years of practice of being the object of so much attention. It was dizzying, exciting and more than a little scary.

  Still, if things really went the way he said they were going, it was the beginning of the realization of her dream. If so, there was a reason for her to feel like Cinderella. Forget the prince part. She'd never looked for a prince. All she'd ever wanted was her own business. Her own restaurant. A chance to cook for people who would appreciate her food. A place for neighbors to hang out. If it was going to happen, why not take a moment to celebrate with a glass of wine and the best-looking man in the room? Where was the harm in that? It was one evening. One gala. One glass of wine on top of one glass of champagne.

  When she finally tore her gaze from Jack's, she glanced at her watch. The magic moment was over.

  "What's wrong?" Jack asked. "The evening is just beginning. Don't worry, the Beemer's not going to turn into a pumpkin."

  "You never know, it might happen if we're not out of here by midnight," she said lightly.

  The lights flickered, signaling it was time to go into the hall. As they were ushered to the fifth row center, the orchestra started tuning up.

  "This is beautiful. I've never been here before," she whispered, looking up at the high ceilings, the sconces on the walls and the beautiful people in the box seats
that lined the sides of the room. "So this is what money can buy." It certainly wouldn't pay to get attached to this kind of life. "Do you come here often?"

  "Not really. Only for special occasions." He reached into his pocket and turned off his cell phone.

  She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "I thought you never..."

  "Only for special occasions. The orchestra doesn't appreciate electronic devices going off during the performance. Especially during Mahler's Fifth Symphony."

  She nodded and leafed through her program, and there on the last page was a list of major contributors. "But here's your name. A major contributor. I'm impressed."

  "That's the idea. To impress people," he said. "And it's a tax write-off."

  "Whatever your reason, it's a good way of using all that money to support the arts," she said.

  "Don't make me out to be some kind of philanthropist," he said. "I'm here tonight to schmooze, and it's paid off already. It looks very much like you'll get your restaurant."

  "So I'll get a chance to make my dreams come true," she said. "But what will you get?"

  "Me?" He folded and unfolded his program without looking at it. Ellie studied his hands, strong, well shaped and blunt-edged out of the corner of her eye. And remembered how light his touch was on her arm. She had a crazy desire to reach over and take his hand in hers. Just to share the moment. Or to encourage him to tell her what he really wanted.

  Of course she didn't touch him. She knotted her hands in her lap so she wouldn't even be tempted. But what was taking him so long to answer? Finally he said, a little too offhandedly, "Just more of the same, since I've already got everything I want."

  "Then what makes you keep going? What motivates you?" she asked.

  "Shh," he said, putting his finger to her lips. "They're going to start."

  The lights dimmed and the conductor came onstage. Though Jack took his finger away and turned his attention to the stage, her lips trembled as if he was still touching them. If a brief touch on the lips affected her so much, what would it be like if he kissed her? Thank God for the dim lights. Thank God for the distraction of the music.

  So Jack didn't want to answer her question. What did it matter? The first movement was so dramatic and exciting she almost forgot about him entirely. But the third movement was lush and romantic, and she wanted to share the emotion she felt as tears filled her eyes. Intensely aware of Jack's arm resting against hers, she sneaked a glance at his profile, noting the angle of his jaw and the curve of his mouth. She had no idea if the music affected him or not. She quickly turned her head. She didn't need him or anyone to fall under the spell of the music. And she was not there to gape at her companion, the best-looking man in the hall, perhaps the best-looking man in the city.

  When they emerged from the symphony hall, Jack seemed to have forgotten the purpose of the occasion—to schmooze and hustle investors. Instead he took her hand to descend the steps toward their waiting car.

  "Did you like it?" he asked.

  "It was wonderful. My mother used to listen to classical music on the radio. She wanted me to take piano lessons, but..."

  "No time? No money?" he asked kindly.

  She nodded.

  "Your pumpkin awaits, Cinderella," he said, and squeezed her hand. She turned to smile at him, grateful for his insisting she come tonight, grateful for his understanding, and most of all for his behaving as if she were the only woman in the hall.

  She was floating on the arm of someone who could easily pass for Prince Charming, at least on the surface, after an incredible evening. She noticed the gaggle of paparazzi on the sidewalk snapping pictures and turned around to see who was being photographed, then realized it was her and Jack.

  "I don't understand," she said, still seeing spots in front of her eyes as they pulled away. "Are you that famous?"

  "Not me, it must be you," he said with a grin.

  "Oh, sure. I can just see the headlines—Cook's Night Out."

  He laughed and put one hand on her thigh. She sucked in a sharp breath. The warmth of his hand sent a spiral of desire shooting through her. She told herself to get a grip. It was nothing. She was relieved when he took his hand away. Yeah, sure she was.

  The truth was, she was disappointed. But in the comfort of the heated leather seats and the soft music that surrounded them, Ellie tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She didn't know what to say. Didn't know who was supposed to thank whom for the evening. Didn't know if she was supposed to ask him in or if he'd kiss her. She didn't even know what she'd do if he did.

  "Well," he said, pulling up in front of her house. "It's past midnight. Your dress hasn't turned to rags, and the car is still intact."

  "It's late," she said abruptly and unnecessarily, and reached for the door handle. Before she could open it he'd come around and was there helping her out of the car. "Thanks for inviting me." Now go home before I say or do something I shouldn't.

  He walked her up to her door. She fumbled for her key. He braced his arm against her door.

  "Thanks for coming with me," he said. "I owe you."

  She turned around, and he was inches away from her. His face was half in shadows, and he looked mysterious and a little dangerous. A little? He was very dangerous to her well-being. He had way too much power. The power to make her dream come true. The dream of her restaurant, of course, nothing more.

  She could feel the heat from his body, smell the rich red wine on his breath and the masculine scent of his skin and his hair. She swallowed hard. What was wrong with her? She'd had a taste of the way the other half of the world lived, and it had gone to her head. A new dress, an evening among the rich and beautiful, a few glasses of champagne and she was wanting things she couldn't have, making wishes that couldn't come true.

  This was a man who'd never loved anyone, and most likely never would. Furthermore, it was her best guess that he'd never been loved, not the way a child should be, nor a man, for that matter. She knew what it was like before her mother died. The feeling of being cherished. He'd never had that feeling nor did he want it. He didn't even know what he'd missed.

  "Good night, Jack," she said. But before she could turn back to the door, he'd leaned forward and kissed her. Just a good-night kiss. But she wobbled on her sandals nonetheless, and instinctively put her hands lightly on his chest to keep from falling over. He took that as a sign of encouragement and pressed them tightly against his chest. She felt his heart pounding in time with hers. Then he kissed her again. She didn't expect such tenderness. Such a light touch, a hint of what might come later. It was merely a brush of his lips against hers. Heaven help her, she wanted him to kiss her again. And he did.

  He nibbled at her lips, slowly, tantalizingly, coaxing them apart so he could touch his tongue with hers. She stifled a moan in the back of her throat and put her arms around his neck, wanting more but not wanting him to know. Of course he knew. He delved deep into her mouth with his tongue and it took her breath away. Her whole body was on fire. She couldn't, wouldn't stop him. She wasn't in danger. After all, on the lighted porch, how far could this go?

  When he pulled away, she got her answer. She took a deep breath. So this was his method. Always leave them wanting more. And she did want more. She longed for more. She ached for more. But she'd die before she'd ever admit it.

  "Thank you, Jack," she said, proud of how even her voice was. "I had a lovely time." Very deliberately she turned, grabbed her keys and opened her door. When she closed it behind her, he was still standing on the porch, looking surprised. What did he expect? That she'd invite him to tumble into bed with her the way every other woman did? Immediately she knew that wasn't fair. She had no idea who he'd tumbled into bed with. She could only guess.

  She was shaking. It took a half hour in a hot bath before she could stop. In her terry cloth robe she peeked out the front window. She half expected to see a pumpkin at the curb. There was nothing. His car was gone.

  What next? Act normal tomorro
w and for the rest of the week. Pretend nothing happened. Nothing had happened. Not to him. He'd taken his cook out for an evening on the town because he needed a date. He'd kissed her good-night a few times and most certainly had forgotten about it on the way home.

  She'd do well to do the same. But it was different for her. She was an impressionable woman. She didn't date single millionaires. She didn't date anyone. She didn't kiss anyone. She didn't wear sexy black dresses and drink champagne. She didn't go to the symphony and sit in the fifth row.

  No wonder she felt like her world had been turned upside down. No wonder she tossed and turned trying to put the images out of her mind, the glitter and the glamour, the flashbulbs, all the attention and the kisses. And the music. The incredible music. She lay in bed and read the program notes. The romantic part that had caused her to be so moved -was called the Adagietto and was written as a love letter to the composer's wife. What would it be like to be loved that way?

  Ellie couldn't believe Jack was at her door at seven the next morning. His eyes were bright, indicating that he'd slept well, whereas she felt as if she'd fought her demons all night long. And lost.

  "I didn't expect you so early," she mumbled, aware that her hair was still uncombed, that there were dark smudges under her eyes and her breath was far from fresh.

  "I was afraid you'd oversleep," he said, giving her a long look. Probably horrified to see what she looked like the morning after. "And I knew blueberry pancakes were on the menu this morning."

  "Oh, of course. Give me a minute." She left him standing in her living room while she splashed water on her face, brushed her hair and teeth and grabbed a pair of khakis and a T-shirt. So much for Cinderella. Back to the kitchen. Back to work. Back to real life.

  They didn't talk on the way to his house. Jack was busy on his cell phone, taking one call after another. It was as if last night had never happened. She took her cue from him and said nothing, not that she had an opportunity to say anything. All the while her brain was churning, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to pretend it hadn't happened. None of it. Not the symphony or the kisses on the front porch.