The Reluctant Cinderella

by Christine Rimmer

  He grinned. “But you did.” He ran a light finger down the line of her hair, where it fell along the curve of her cheek. Her skin warmed in the wake of that skimming touch. “However you want it. It’s okay with me.” He leaned close enough to brush a kiss across her lips—a kiss he didn’t deepen, though the truth was, she wouldn’t have minded if he had.

  With a hesitant finger, she traced his square, oh-so-manly jaw. “I think we should…go somewhere.”

  He laughed yet again and the sound sent a ripple of pleasure cascading through her. “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because?”

  “Because you make want to do things I’m not quite ready for.”

  They went to a movie in midtown. A heist flick with lots of action and snappy dialogue. They shared a box of popcorn and held hands and stole more than one warm, slow kiss.

  After the movie, they went for a walk and ended up in the library at Fifth Avenue. On the first floor, which was called the popular library, they wandered into the rows of bestsellers. Among the B’s—the Browns, to be specific: Dan, Don, Sandra—Greg stopped to gather her close.

  Megan whispered, “We shouldn’t….” But she didn’t pull away when he lowered his oh-so-tempting mouth to hers.

  My, oh my. There was nothing—absolutely nothing—in the world so lovely as the feel of Greg’s mouth on hers. He smiled against her lips, the way he’d smiled the first time he’d kissed her, in his empty house in Rosewood. He smiled and she couldn’t help but smile in joyous response.

  His tongue brushed hers. She sighed and let him in more fully. And by then, well, she never wanted that kiss to end. On the contrary, she reveled in it, shameless in her pleasure, though it was probably not the sort of thing they ought to be doing in the library.

  She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her yearning body close against him. It was wonderful: the hardness of his chest against her soft breasts; the strength in his big, wide shoulders; that naughty, seductive slow heat pooling low in her belly.

  Oh, yes. A girl could really get used to feeling like this….

  She moaned—well, she couldn’t help herself. She moaned and he made a low, throaty, oh-so-male sound in response. She slid her fingers up into his hair. It was so thick, the short ends blunt against her questing fingertips.

  Oh, yes. It felt good. So very, very good….

  In time, they did come up for air. He lifted his mouth from hers and she opened her eyes. They shared a long look—a look as deep and full of sweet, hot pleasure as the kiss had been.

  Down at the end of the narrow aisle, someone gasped. They glanced toward the sound just in time to see a stocky, gray-haired lady duck toward the next row.

  “Oops,” mouthed Greg, grinning.

  And Megan couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud.

  A furious, “Shh!” came from the next aisle over.

  Megan clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing again.

  “I love your laugh,” Greg whispered, and kissed her nose.

  She composed herself enough to whisper back, “We’d better go.”

  So he took her hand and led her out of there, into the humid warmth of the summer evening. By then, overhead, between the buildings, the cloudless sky, tinged with pink from the setting sun, had begun to darken toward dusk.

  Eventually, there was dinner. She had the squab and he had a thick rare filet mignon. They sat and talked for hours. She told him how she’d gotten her degree, on full scholarship, at the Long Island School of Design.

  He said he loved being in the family business. He was proud of what his father, grandfather, great- and great-great-grandfathers had accomplished, creating Banning’s and building it into a nationally recognized brand. He wanted to put his own stamp on the family company. Before he turned over the reins to his own son, he planned to take Banning’s nationwide, to open stores in Los Angeles, Seattle, Phoenix, Denver, Dallas and the Twin Cities.

  “Ambitious,” she remarked.

  “Yes. I am.”

  “And I notice you said ‘son.’ What if you find it’s your daughter who has the talent when it comes to the family business?”

  “Then my daughter will take over after me.”

  Megan granted him a nod of feminine approval. “Good answer.”

  “Hey. If my daughter is up for it, if she’s got what it takes, more power to her.”

  “From what you’ve told me about your father, I have a feeling he might not approve of a woman running the show—even if she is a Banning.”

  “If my daughter’s that good, she’ll know how to handle Dad—”

  “Who will be very old by then, and most likely extremely crotchety,” Megan interjected.

  Greg leaned closer across the table, his voice low. “You seem downright determined to make it rough on my brilliant, hardworking little girl.”

  Megan winked at him. “You’ve got a point. And on second thought, maybe I’ve read your father all wrong. Outside of a certain…coolness, he’s treated me just fine. He seems to have no problem doing business with me. And I’m a woman.”

  Greg sat back. “Yeah.” Those dark eyes had gone to velvet. They made promises. Sexy ones. Dangerous ones. “You are a woman. No doubt about that.”

  She toyed with her water glass, turning it by the stem as she slanted him a look from under her lashes. Yes, she was flirting. Shamelessly. Blatantly. And you know what? It felt good. It felt absolutely terrific. “Then again,” she suggested, “maybe your daughter will have her grandpa wrapped around her finger.”

  “I’m having trouble picturing my father wrapped around anybody’s finger. But hey. Stranger things have happened, I guess….”

  “And it is just possible,” Megan warned, “that neither your future daughter nor your future son will want to go into the family business.”

  “Since I plan to have five of each, I think the odds are pretty good that at least one of my kids will be Banning’s material.”

  “Ten kids.” She widened her eyes in mock horror.

  “Didn’t I tell you I always wanted a houseful?”

  “Well, yeah. But…”

  “What?”

  “Just…whew.”

  He seemed amused. “Whew?”

  “Yeah. Whew. As in, easy for you to say. I mean, given that you don’t have to actually give birth to all ten of the little darlings.”

  He lifted one big shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s open to negotiation. Ten may be a bit…optimistic.”

  “Oh, well, yeah. Probably. A bit.”

  “I realize there aren’t a whole lot of women these days who want to stay at home and have baby after baby.”

  “After baby, after baby…”

  He laughed then and she thought how the sound created a kind of glow inside her, made her feel that life was good and would only get better.

  “Okay. I give in. I don’t really know how many kids I’ll have. I’m hoping for at least three or four. But I could live with it however it works out. We might even adopt. There are a lot of kids out there who need moms and dads to love them.”

  He was so right. She’d been such a kid, once. “No argument there.”

  “It would all be workable. As long as I was living with the right woman.”

  “So then…you do intend to get married again?” She asked the question—and thought, once the words were out, that maybe she was going a little too far.

  But he answered easily. “Yeah. Now, I do.” Now? Meaning he hadn’t earlier? “And this time,” he said, “I plan to do it right. This time, there aren’t going to be any more secrets. And no more lies.” He paused and she saw the sudden shadows in his eyes.

  She wanted to say something sympathetic, to encourage him to tell her more. But if she did that, they’d only be talking about Carly again….

  And then the moment passed, the shadows vanished as he said with warmth and firmness, “There will be passion and laughter and fun and excitement. I know we�
��ll have our rough patches. A good marriage always does. But we’ll get through it. We’ll have what matters.”

  Megan sipped the coffee the waiter had brought her. “Sounds to me like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “I know what I want,” Greg said, and the way he looked at her brought a thousand butterflies fluttering to life in her stomach. “I’m just not sure how to get what I want. Yet.”

  She shook her head at him. “I am not touching that. Not getting near it. Uh-uh.”

  He laughed again and she wondered how she’d lived her whole life without Greg’s laughter to make the world seem shimmery-bright, brimming with hope and promise.

  She had, quite simply, never felt like this before.

  It was…something special, this crazy thing with him. Something tender and trusting. Something open and free. She felt as if he saw her so fully, saw all of her, saw the Megan she’d never quite dared to be.

  Saw her. And really liked what he saw.

  “Deep thoughts?” he asked.

  She waved a hand, unwilling to try to explain just then. “Oh, yeah. A little. Sorry….”

  He caught her hand. “No. Don’t be sorry. Ever. Just be…you.” She gave his fingers a squeeze before pulling away. And he said, “What about your niece and nephews? Tell me about them.”

  “Hmm. Let’s see. Michael is five and he’s always doing things like chewing with his mouth open and imitating anything Olivia says. Really irritates her—justifiably so. But I just want to hug him and tell him he’s adorable. Somehow I restrain myself. Not so smart to praise a kid for sticking out his tongue through a mouthful of half-chewed Lucky Charms.”

  Greg was grinning. “I can just picture that.”

  “Don’t. As Olivia is always saying, it’s really gross.”

  “And speaking of Olivia…?”

  “She’s seven. Very bright. Kind of serious. Not big on the girly-girl frills, but definitely feminine. Her pride and joy is her rock collection.”

  “And the oldest? Anthony, right?”

  Megan nodded. “Anthony’s a little tough right now.”

  “Tough?”

  “Silent. Kind of moody. Spends way too much time wearing headphones and playing his Game Boy. He was six when Jerome left. Old enough to have memories of what it was like to have his dad in the house.”

  “He misses his father.”

  “Yeah. And Jerome, well, he’s not as dependable as he could be.” She paused to sip more coffee. She was thinking that she probably should shut up about Jerome. Angela always tried not to say bad things about him. And Megan felt that she should follow her sister’s lead, though personally, there were times when Megan thought the guy needed a good swift kick in the pants and a lecture about the responsibilities of fatherhood.

  Greg picked up her ambivalence. “Well, all right. Enough about Jerome.”

  She beamed him a wide smile. “Thank you.”

  “Anything. To make you smile like that…”

  The waiter appeared at her elbow with the coffeepot. “No, thanks. I’ve had more than enough….”

  Greg said they were ready for the check. It came and he paid it. And then they just sat there some more.

  She told him about the tough times, going from foster home to foster home. “There was never a fit. Though I tried, oh, you cannot believe how I tried.”

  “To…fit in?”

  “That’s right. The Comptons wanted a bright child. I was a straight-A student. The Blakelys wanted a soccer player. I played forward. Not as well as someone more athletic, but I put my whole heart in it, I swear that I did. Somehow, though, it never seemed to work out. They would send me back and there would be another family. For a while. And sometimes I was in the Rosewood Children’s Home. And then, at last, I went to the Schumachers.”

  “I’m glad. That you finally found the place you belonged.”

  She gave a wry grin. “Didn’t I mention that the Schumachers divorced three years later?”

  He swore quietly and shook his head, and she told him about how the divorce had at least brought her and Angela all the closer. “It was Ange and me against the world there for a while. But somehow, against all the odds, we managed to grow up into reasonably happy, responsible adults.”

  He said again how he envied her—that she had a sister. And he told her about the friends he’d made in prep school. They spoke of favorite movies and their tastes in music. She could have sat there the whole night, listening to him talk about his weakness for reality shows.

  “I confess,” he said, faking a mournful frown. “I love Fear Factor. Scary stunts and people eating things that make you gag. What more could a guy ask for?”

  She admitted, “I have a secret weakness for The Apprentice. There’s something about The Donald…”

  “Maybe that sexy comb-over,” Greg suggested.

  “Oh, yeah. Probably it.” She leaned a little closer and gestured toward the waiter, who was standing near the entrance to the kitchen wearing an expression of endless patience. “And the chairs are on the tables. We’re the only customers left.”

  Greg frowned. “No way it’s time to go.”

  “’Fraid so.”

  He left an extra tip for all the time they’d taken up the table since they’d finished the meal, and they went out into the Manhattan night.

  “I should start thinking about heading home,” she said regretfully once they were in a cab and on their way downtown.

  He tightened the arm he’d laid across her shoulders. “My place. A nightcap. Then, if you feel you have to, I’ll call the limo and send you home.”

  “Greg. Honestly. I can take the—”

  He silenced her with a finger against her lips. “Shh. I’m keeping you in the city until all hours. The least I can do is send you home in comfort.”

  At his place, with the lights of the city gleaming beyond the tall windows, he called for the limo and then poured them each a brandy. They sat on the black leather couch, sipping, talking softly of casual things, laughing together at nothing in particular.

  The limo driver checked in at twelve-thirty, and Greg said, “Stay. A little longer. The driver will wait.”

  But it was an hour and a half back to Rosewood. She stood. “No. Really. I do have to go.”

  Greg got up to go down with her, catching her hand and pulling her back before they left the apartment. He drew her close. “One more kiss….”

  His lips met hers. She could have stood there forever, being kissed by Greg and kissing him back. But the driver was waiting and it was a long ride home. She pressed her hands to Greg’s chest and he lifted his head.

  “Gotta go.”

  Reluctantly, he released her.

  But of course, outside, as the driver waited with the door wide, Greg pulled her into his arms one more time. She kissed him back, with enthusiasm.

  And, finally, he let her go. “I’ll call you,” he said, folding bills into the driver’s palm as she ducked into the car. She nodded and waved as the driver shut the door.

  Her phone rang as the limo rolled up FDR Drive. She knew who it would be. And it was.

  “I did promise I’d call.”

  “That’s right. You did.”

  “Is Andy taking care of you?”

  “Um, Andy?”

  “The driver.”

  She glanced up front at the back of Andy’s head. “So far, so good.”

  “Tomorrow,” Greg said, and then corrected himself. “Wait. Make that today, since it’s already Saturday. I want to see you today.”

  “You just saw me.”

  “It wasn’t enough. Can you be ready by eleven? I’ll send a car.”

  “You are much too extravagant. Really. I can—”

  “It’s nothing. Eleven. Be ready.”

  “For?”

  “Anything. Bring shoes you can walk in.”

  Now, there was some great advice. Her poor feet couldn’t take another day like today—not in three-inch heels, anyway. �
��Will do.” She leaned back into the plush leather seat.

  His voice was husky in her ear. “I had a great time….”

  “Me, too,” she answered softly, thinking that the night had a glow to it and FDR Drive had never looked so beautiful.

  Megan slept like the proverbial log that night. Her dreams were sweet ones, full of sunshine and a certain man’s sexy smile. She was up, showered and dressed and joining her sister in the main house at eight-fifteen.

  Angela sat at the island, enjoying her coffee. The kids were nowhere in sight—probably upstairs getting ready for Jerome to pick them up.

  “You’re looking positively perky,” her sister remarked as Megan got her cup and filled it.

  She turned, leaned on the counter, shrugged and sipped.

  “Oh, keeping secrets, are we?” Angela teased.

  “Well…” Megan paused to savor another sip. “I had a date last night. A dream date. With a terrific guy.”

  “Things are going well, then?”

  Megan went over and took the seat beside Angela’s. “Give that woman a gold star.”

  “I have to say, whatever you did with him, you should keep doing it. You are glowing.”

  Megan nudged her sister with her shoulder. “It’s not what you think. Not yet, anyway.”

  She chuckled. “How do you know what I think?”

  Megan set down her cup. “Just a wild guess—and I’m going out with him again today.”

  Angela clucked her tongue. “Staying out till all hours again?”

  “Maybe. And just maybe I won’t come home at all until morning….” Gaaaa. Had she really said that? And was she really ready to spend a night with Greg?

  Angela faked a gasp. “Thoroughly shocking.” And they both laughed.

  As usual, Jerome arrived late. He and the kids didn’t head out the door until almost ten-thirty. As soon as they were gone, Angela took off to get groceries.

  Megan went up to her place and got her things together and then went down and waited in the main house for the car to arrive. The doorbell rang at 10:45. She shouldered her roomy tote and hustled to the foyer, where she threw open the door, ready with a nice, wide smile for Andy or Jerry or whoever Greg had sent to drive her to his place.