Cinderella's Tycoon

by Caroline Cross

  Sterling supposed that to some people their friendship might seem odd, given Becky’s modest means and his own current wealth. Yet they had a lot in common. Not only did they both love horses, but they’d each grown up knowing a degree of financial hardship—and what it was to deal with a difficult parent. And since they were both prone to keeping their stronger emotions to themselves, they also tended to respect each other’s privacy. Introduced right after Sterling’s divorce by a mutual friend at a local horse auction, they’d been surprised to find they were extremely comfortable with each other, and their friendship had proceeded from there.

  “So.” Becky turned, propped her shoulder negligently against the wall and crossed her arms. “I read the most interesting thing in this morning’s paper. Right there in the ‘What’s Happening in Royal’ column was this item stating that Mr. Sterling Churchill, CEO of Churchill Enterprises, had recently married Miss Susan Wilkins in a private ceremony at the city courthouse.” She paused, giving him a pointed look. “’Course I didn’t believe it. There’s no way my good friend Sterling would get married and forget to tell me about it. Particularly when the last I heard he wasn’t even dating.”

  Sterling tried to look contrite. “I guess I should’ve called you, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Now there’s an idea.” Sobering, she looked consideringly at him. “Then it’s true? The guy at the paper didn’t just make it up? You’re really married?”

  “Yeah.”

  “To that little auburn-haired gal who works at the library?”

  “One and the same.”

  She shook her head, clearly bemused. “I don’t believe it. I thought you were never getting hitched again. What happened?”

  He shoved a hand through his hair, uncharacteristically tempted to share the whole story. It would be a relief to tell someone how something that sounded comical—a snafu at the Buddy Clinic—had turned his whole life on its ear. Not to mention how Susan had gone from frumpy to fabulous overnight, how his hormones seemed to be in a permanent state of overdrive and how lately he didn’t seem to know if he were coming or going.

  Take that lunacy yesterday, when Susan had admitted that horses made her nervous. If he’d had the sense God gave a jackrabbit, he would have kept his mouth shut when she’d suggested going to Ernesto for help.

  But had he? Shoot, no. He’d been so busy trying not to stare at all the gentle curves revealed by her swimsuit, he’d simply reacted, instantly rejecting the thought of her doing anything with another man. As a consequence, he’d spent two agonizing hours with her here in the stable yesterday afternoon, watching her get more and more relaxed with the horses while he’d grown more and more uptight with her. Worse, he’d promised to put himself through another session of hands-off torture a little later today.

  None of which he had any intention of telling Becky, he abruptly realized. For one thing, it was far too personal. For another, it would be wrong to talk to someone else about things he had no intention of discussing with Susan. She was his wife, and whatever was—or was not—between them was private, not for public consumption. Royal was a small town. The fewer people who knew the. details of his marriage and his child’s conception, the better.

  Besides, confidences weren’t his style, which Becky knew damn well. “Everything just happened real fast,” he said carefully. “I met Susan, we talked, we decided to get married.” Well, hell. It was sort of the truth.

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  There was a lengthy silence. He braced, certain that Becky was going to see right through him when suddenly she sighed, taking him totally by surprise. “How romantic.” She paused, then shocked him a second time as she blurted out, “I wish something like that would happen to me.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. I’d love to be swept off my feet.” Her expression turned rueful and she sighed again. “Not that it’s ever going to happen. Heck, probably the only way I’m ever going to get married is if I hold Woody to the promise he made me when I was eighteen.”

  Sterling frowned, hearing an unexpected touch of vulnerability beneath her breezy manner. “What’s Forrest got to do with this?” Forrest Cunningham, whom only Becky was allowed to call “Woody,” was a fellow member of the Cattleman’s Club, and had made the trip with Sterling to bring Princess Anna out of Obersbourg. The Cunningham family’s highly successful cattle ranch adjoined the Sullivan’s much more modest operation, and while Sterling knew that Becky and Forrest had practically grown up together, he’d never heard of any romance between the two.

  From her expression, it was clear Becky already regretted having said anything. “Nothing. Just forget it—”

  “Not a chance,” he interrupted, glad for a reason to focus on somebody else’s life for a change.

  She sent him a puzzled glance, clearly surprised by his unusual persistence. “All right. If you have to know, I was feeling down, certain I’d never have a date much less a husband, so Woody said that if I wasn’t married by the time I was thirty, he’d marry me himself. Like I said, I was just a kid, and he was just being kind I’d forgotten all about it, but my birthday’s coming up and...” She shrugged. “When I saw that thing in the paper about you, it popped into my head.”

  There was something in her face that told Sterling there was more going on than she claimed. Yet under the circumstances, he felt he’d pressed all he had a right to.

  “See, I told you it was nothing,” Becky said yet again. “Besides, I’m holding out for the real thing. Which—” she narrowed her eyes at him “—brings us back to you.”

  “No,” he said firmly, “it doesn’t. I’ve said all I intend to.”

  She studied him. “Like that, is it?”

  “That’s right.”

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then abruptly smiled. “All right. So when do I get to meet the new Mrs. Churchill?”

  “I don’t know. Soon.”

  “Aren’t you at least going to have a reception or something?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Well, you should.”

  “We’ll see,” he said in a tone that made it clear that he was done with the subject.

  Becky was silent a moment. Then, with the easygoing manner that helped make their friendship possible, she touched her hand lightly to his shoulder. “Well, congratulations anyway. You deserve some happiness. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s go get that paperwork so I can get out of here. I need to get home and feed my stock.”

  Sterling nodded. Yet as he followed her out to her truck and waved her off, he found himself thinking that she wouldn’t be so quick with her congratulations if she knew the truth.

  Nor did his mood improve when he glanced at his watch and saw Susan was due to arrive any minute for Torture Session Number Two.

  Sterling strode into the kitchen, his boot heels clicking loudly on the immaculate tile floor.

  “Hey, boss.” Maxine looked up from the pot she was stirring. “How you doin’?”

  “Just great,” he said sourly. He yanked off his hat and impatiently wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

  “I hope you’re hungry, ’cuz I’m making my threealarm chili for dinner and mmm-mmm, it’s good.”

  “I’m sure it is. Have you seen, Susan? Is she upstairs?” Not waiting for an answer, he started in that direction.

  “As a matter of fact, she’s not.”

  He skidded to a stop. Wheeling around, he stared at his housekeeper, struggling to hold onto his temper.

  “Then where is she? She was supposed to meet me down at the stable twenty minutes ago.” He wasn’t quite sure why he was so bent out of shape, but he was. For one thing, he didn’t like being stood up. And the fact that he’d been stood up for something he didn’t particularly want to do in the first place only seemed to make it worse.

  Maxine reached for the pepper, calmly adding some to the mixture o
n the stove before she answered. “She must’ve forgotten. She came downstairs about four with a book, said she was in the mood for a walk, so she thought she’d hike down to the lake and read for a while.”

  Sterling frowned. “That was an hour and a half ago.”

  Maxine shrugged. “Maybe it’s a real good book.”

  “Yeah. Or maybe something’s wrong. Did you ever think of that?” He slapped his hat back on and headed for the door.

  “Now, boss. Relax. You’re overreacting. I’m sure she just lost track of the—”

  The rest of her reassurance was lost in the smack of the door swinging shut behind him. Mouth set in a grim line, he walked directly across the yard and went over the fence, choosing to cut across the back pasture rather than walk around to the road.

  With every step, he told himself he wasn’t worried. Short of falling in the lake, or having a run-in with a snake, there really wasn’t a whole lot that could happen to a person out here. Since Susan could swim, and snakes usually preferred laying out in the heat to hanging around the water, the odds were she was fine.

  Of course, accidents did happen. People slipped and fell all the time for no discernible reason—people who weren’t also pregnant. In addition, every once in a while a drifter turned up on the property, usually somebody down on their luck who’d walked in off the highway looking for a meal.

  But he wasn’t worried. Not really.

  He vaulted the fence at the bottom of the pasture and headed for the grove of trees that curved around the far end of the lake. In a fit of industry last. summer, he’d had the area nearest the water cleared, put in a picnic table and some chairs, as well as a rope swing and a hammock, thinking it would be a nice place to go on hot summer evenings. It was the obvious place for Susan to be.

  He was glad for the wide path as he went from the bright sunshine into the mottled shade of the tree canopy. He slowed slightly as the path curved around an enormous oleander, then slowed even more as it skirted a tightly packed screen of cypress trees before taking a sharp bend and opening into the clearing. Which was a damn good thing, since as it was he nearly mowed Susan down as he came around the corner.

  “Oh!” She stumbled back, her book slipping to the ground in the process.

  He shot out his arms to steady her. “Easy.”

  “Sterling!” She looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and dawning pleasure. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  “Oh, dear.” She made a face. “I’m late, I know. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t worry you.”

  He let go of her and took half a step back, the relief he’d been feeling abruptly displaced by annoyance at what seemed like a pretty glib apology to him. “No. Of course not.”

  “Oh, good—”

  “Although I’d sure like to know why you didn’t show up.”

  “Of course.” She bit her lower lip, suddenly looking faintly embarrassed. “I’m afraid I fell asleep.”

  “What?”

  “I laid down on the hammock to read, and I fell asleep.”

  He took a really good look at her, belatedly noticing that her blouse was wrinkled and her hair was tumbled around her face. Of more concern, as he studied her upturned face, he saw the faint shadows under her eyes. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” Even to his own ears, it sounded like an accusation.

  “Doing what?”

  “Sleeping during the day. You were doing it out by the pool yesterday morning.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “That does it, then.” Swiveling around, he began to retrace his steps along the path.

  She hurried after him. Reaching his side, she turned to stare at him, her dark eyes intent. “That does what?”

  “That does it with your job.”

  Her shoulder bumped his as she struggled to keep up with his longer stride. “What does my job have to do with this?”

  “Even working part-time is obviously too much for you. You’ll just have to tell them you quit.”

  “What?” She stopped in surprise.

  “You heard me.” He kept walking.

  “Sterling! That’s ridiculous. My job has nothing to do with this.” She launched herself after him.

  “Right.”

  “It doesn’t! And—and I don’t have any intention of quitting. And would you please hold still for a moment?” Instinctively she reached out and gripped his forearm.

  He stopped and swung around to face her. He knew he was behaving badly, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Somewhere along the line, he’d reached his limit. Still, he supposed he owed her the courtesy of hearing her out. “Fine. If it’s not your job, then what is it?”

  “I’m just not sleeping well.”

  “Because you’re overtired.”

  “Well, yes—”

  “From working too hard.”

  “Trust me, it’s not that.”

  “Then what is it, Susan?”

  She stared up at him, her eyes locked on his. “Oh, Sterling. Don’t you know?”

  “Obviously not.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for an instant. When she opened them, she seemed to have come to some sort of decision. “It’s this.” To his shock, she slid her hands up his bare forearms, came up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

  Seven

  She’d lost her mind, Susan thought wildly.

  Any second now, Sterling was going to reach out and push her away. And when he did, she just knew she was going to die, done in by humiliation at his rejection.

  Not that she could blame him. He couldn’t be any more shocked than she was by her behavior. One moment she’d been standing there, a little overcome as she always was in his presence, wishing desperately that there was some rational way to tell him about her feelings. In the next, the little voice in her head had said, “Stop being such a coward. Isn’t this supposed to be a whole new life? Aren’t you done being the kind of woman who always fades into the woodwork? If you can’t tell him how you feel, show him instead.”

  So she had.

  And oh, it was wonderful. Everything about him felt right, from the hard, warm muscle of his arms against her palms, to the chiseled contours of his mouth against her lips. He smelled divine, too, the faint citrusy scent of his aftershave mixed with a musky hint of sweat.

  If only he weren’t so...rigid. It was as if her touch had turned him into a statue.

  He was clearly still stunned. And though it probably wouldn’t last much longer, she abruptly decided she might as well wrest every speck of pleasure from her reckless act that she could. As the old Texas saying went, if you were going to be hanged as a horse thief, you might as well take the whole herd as a single nag.

  She threw caution to the winds. Sliding her hands up his rock-hard arms, she stepped closer, hardly able to believe her own boldness as she brushed up against his solid warmth. She twined her hands around his neck, tipped her head sideways and rubbed her lips against his, not caring when she dislodged his hat.

  For a handful of seconds he continued to stand as stationary as a boulder. Then a low sound issued from deep in his throat. In the next instant his arms wrapped powerfully around her. He yanked her closer, pressing her into his hard contours. His lips parted beneath hers, and suddenly he was kissing her with an unrestrained hunger that would have frightened her had it been anyone else But this was Sterling, and she trusted him...

  He slid his hands under her T-shirt and rubbed the bare skin of her back. Pleasure ripped through her. It increased as he slanted his head and his tongue skated heatedly over her bottom lip.

  She opened her mouth, unable to stop a faint moan as the kiss turned hot and carnal. Instinctively she recognized the suggestive rhythm he initiated and her knees went weak. She tightened her grip on his neck, but it was unnecessary as he pulled her even closer, crushing her aching breasts against his solid chest and pressing the cradle of her thighs against the hard ridge of his arousal.

 
For a second, she was so overwhelmed with sensation she was afraid she might faint. It suddenly seemed incredible that she could have reached the ripe old age of twenty-eight and never experienced this overwhelming desire. Or known that her whole body could ache with need for a man’s touch. Sterling’s touch.

  She arched her back and tangled her fingers in the thick, silky hair at his nape, then slid her fingers under his collar. From the day they’d met, she’d wondered what it would be like to touch him. Now, she knew. His skin felt hot and smooth, like sun-warmed marble. She couldn’t stop a groan of pleasure.

  She felt Sterling shudder and lift his head. She opened her eyes. Only inches apart, they stared at each other. His eyes glittered, so dark they looked black, and she could feel the harsh wash of his breath against her damp, tender lips. With a sigh of mingled need and pleasure, she let her eyes drift shut and leaned forward, seeking his mouth once again.

  Abruptly he stepped back, catching her by the shoulders as she swayed toward him. “Don’t,” he rasped.

  Her eyes flew open. As she regained her balance, she tried to understand what the problem was. “Don’t what?”

  He let loose of her and took another step back, his chest heaving. Reaching up, he shoved his hands through his hair, then dropped his arms to his sides. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  She fought to clear the sexual haze from her mind, to focus on what he was saying. “We shouldn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Her stomach suddenly sank. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” She was pretty sure she knew the answer since she’d felt his arousal, but she still had to ask.

  “Hell, no,” he said harshly, his answer reassuringly immediate.

  “Then what’s the matter?”