Cinderella and the Spy

by Sally Tyler Hayes

  She heard a tap on the bedroom door, which she hadn’t locked, after all, feeling foolish at the thought. Josh walked in, wearing a pair of neat brown slacks and a crisp white shirt, which he was in the process of buttoning, a gold-colored tie that matched his hair hanging loosely around his neck. His hair was damp, his jaw freshly shaven. He brought a cloud of steam and pleasing scents with him that seemed to find its way straight to her, enveloping her in a smell uniquely his.

  “Hi, sleepyhead,” he said. “Up and at ’em. We need to get going.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she said, clutching the sheet to her chest, as if she thought he might come rip it away at any moment, throw her back on the bed, tear off her pajamas and have his way with her. Which was ridiculous. He wouldn’t do that, and she must look ridiculous to him.

  He’d scrupulously kept to his word the night before, not laying so much as a finger on her, not even when he’d courteously opened the car door for her and waited patiently for her to climb inside. A silly display of gallantry that had usually been accompanied by the play of his hands at her elbow, the small of her back or anyplace else he could manage to touch. Somehow he’d always managed to get his hands on her, and it always seemed to take on much more importance to her than it ever could to him. He probably felt next to nothing, touching her in such a simple, casual way, while she felt it right down to her toes.

  It was odd and disconcerting. She put it down to inexperience and nerves and the fact that he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. All ordinary women turned to mush at the sight of a truly extraordinary man. She didn’t have to beat herself up for it. And there was no way she’d let herself regret the promises she’d asked him to make. No touching. No kissing. She’d thought she was absolutely safe once she elicited those two simple promises, but she wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “Something wrong?” he said innocently, when she knew there wasn’t an innocent bone in his body.

  “No.” She shook her head, trying to clear it of her traitorous thoughts, wondering how she’d gotten to the point where she was so fixated on him. His body. His touch. His taste.

  Amanda looked up at him and shivered, the air suddenly different, thick and heavy. She couldn’t quite breathe. There was an odd tingling to her skin, all over, a pleasant heat in the pit of her stomach that spread through her body. He stood there, casually getting dressed. He’d probably dressed in front of hundreds of women. Probably left them disheveled and pleasantly exhausted, while he got up, put on his clothes and left, never giving them a second thought.

  She wasn’t going to be one of those women. She was so much smarter than that. But she couldn’t quite help drawing in his scent, wanting to run her fingertips along his freshly shaven jaw or press her mouth to his.

  He smiled at her, that male-predator-on-the-hunt smile, the one that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, that he was willing, eager even. Amanda felt a tightness in her chest. Her breasts felt full, aching, her nipples puckering up in little knots, hard against the soft cotton pajamas she wore.

  She felt it again, that odd tingling there, that urgent need to be touched. She looked at his hands, imagining them there, looked back to his full, soft lips, his mouth. She imagined his mouth on her breasts. She could picture his golden head in the vicinity of her chin, her hands at the crown of his head, buried in his beautiful hair, his face buried against her breasts.

  Josh swore.

  She looked at him and knew what he saw. She was aroused, just sitting there in the bed looking at him. She watched his gaze drop from her mouth to her breasts, and there was no point in hiding. He knew it all somehow. Every shameful secret. Everything she thought, everything she wanted. Somehow he just knew. She snatched up the comforter, bunching it up in front of her, as if that would be enough to shield her from harm, from sheer lunacy. She saw his hands bunched into fists at his side, saw the tightening of his jaw, the frown on his lips.

  “I made you a promise,” he said. “I won’t touch you while you’re here.”

  “I know,” she said. Which meant everything should be fine, even if he was standing there as though he might have been carved out of stone. Then he took a breath, reminding her that he was a man—a living, breathing, dangerous man.

  “Maybe you didn’t realize,” he said. “I didn’t ask for any promise in return.”

  “What?”

  “I said I wouldn’t touch you, and I meant it. I won’t. Not here. I guess I didn’t realize how difficult that was going to be. But you—you aren’t bound by any promises at all. You’re free to do whatever you want. Start wherever you like.”

  “What?” she said.

  He didn’t come any closer, but he was crowding her with his presence, with the heat of his body, the promise of his touch. She felt like she was being stalked by a master of the game.

  “You could walk over here right now and put those delicate hands of yours on me. Anywhere you like, Amanda. You could press those sweet lips of yours to mine and kiss me, and you could stop anytime you wanted. I won’t do anything except cooperate.”

  “You can’t be serious,” she said, a sinking feeling warring with a shocking sense of excitement, of anticipation. “You said you’d leave me alone—”

  “I said I wouldn’t touch you. Have I touched you, Amanda?”

  She swore at him.

  He just grinned, standing there all shiny and clean and smelling wonderful.

  “You promised, Josh.”

  “And I’m not going to break that promise.”

  “Then stop it. Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Amanda, I’d do just about anything for you, but there’s no way on earth I can look at you and not want you. Seeing you here, in my apartment, in this bed…” He swore. “I couldn’t look away if I had to.”

  “It’s just a bed,” she protested. “I’m just a woman, sitting in a bed.”

  He shook his head slowly back and forth. “I could tell you what I see when I look at you, but I doubt you’d believe me. I doubt you’d listen. Not if you’re this mad at me already for doing nothing but stand here looking at you.”

  “It’s more than that. You know it.”

  “I know what I think when I look at you. I know what I’d like to be doing with you right now, and even if I won’t let myself, I can’t help where my imagination takes me. I have a very vivid imagination.” He sighed. “But that’s not your problem, Amanda. It’s mine. You know what your problem is?”

  She groaned, thinking she really didn’t want to know. But Josh never left anything alone, never stopped pushing or trying to get what he wanted.

  “Your problem,” he said in that silky-smooth voice of his, “is that you like looking at me, too. You liked having my hands on you, having my mouth on you, and now every time you look at me, you’re going to think of that. That you liked it. That it felt so good. That I’m right here. All you have to do is reach out to me. Take that one little step, and I’m yours.”

  She blushed bright red. It was one of the few times in her life she considered telling a blatant lie, feeling it was justified. He had no business invading her thoughts this way, bringing them all out in the open, tempting her and tormenting her.

  “Go away, Josh,” she said instead. “Please just go away.”

  He stood in the doorway long enough to worry her, long enough for her to wonder what she truly wanted. Finally he turned and left.

  She was relieved, she told herself. It was better this way. And she was so very stupid. She thought this would be simple, that she’d be safe here if he kept his hands off her. But she knew now that all he had to do was look at her and she wanted him.

  Amanda took a shower in his bathroom. In the place where he’d stood, not moments before her, she stood naked and self-conscious and embarrassingly aroused, the scent of him seeping into her pores, being absorbed into her hair.

  He had a special, scented soap—obscenely expensive, no doubt—that carried the same smell as his shampoo, his
aftershave, his shaving creme. The man coordinated his scent. She saw it as a concerted effort on his part to drive women mad, and now that scent was all over her.

  He had plush, thick towels on a heated rack, waiting for her when she climbed out of a shower that was so big he could have hosted a small dinner party there. He probably had parties there, probably invited women over for dinner and ended up devouring them instead, in the shower. It had three shower heads, she found, wondering what sexual connotations she might read into that. It totally perplexed her. They were gold-tone shower heads. Surely they were just gold-tone and not the real thing. He was obviously spoiled, but she didn’t think he did really ostentatious things with his money. Extravagant, but not stupid and ostentatious.

  Even though he did have a sauna, a party-size shower and the biggest cedar-lined, walk-in closet she’d ever seen where his second bathroom should have been. Which meant they were sharing. His shower, his soap, his shampoo. She would smell his own scent on her hair and her skin, and it was going to drive her mad.

  Dressing hastily she went off to find him in the kitchen, smiling, reminding her of the big, bad wolf of fairy tales and legends, reminding her of someone intent on devouring her whole. Because he seemed to think it was his duty to feed her, she ate what he prepared—an impossibly light, fluffy quiche and fresh fruit, fresh-squeezed juice. Nothing but the best for Josh. Apparently, the meal he’d served her last night hadn’t been a fluke. He obviously knew his way around a kitchen. And he was happy in the morning, humming a bit, whistling at times, positively dancing with energy. It radiated from him, the way his scent did. And something else—an invitation. She felt as if he was deliberately trying to entice her into all sorts of wickedness, without saying a word, with nothing but the sinful promises in his eyes.

  Amanda wondered how often he’d done this—sat across the breakfast table from a woman, companionably sharing the paper and whatever he whipped up in his fancy kitchen. She wondered if this was his standard treatment. A roll in the sack, a sauna to work out the kinks, soft music, wine? Candlelight, sinfully soft sheets, him naked under the covers, that wicked twinkle in his amazing blue eyes?

  She dropped her fork. It clattered onto the plate, shattering the silence.

  “Something wrong?” he said innocently.

  “No,” she lied.

  With faint amusement, he suggested, “You’re not a morning person?”

  “I’m not used to waking up in a strange bed,” she said.

  “It won’t be for long, Amanda,” he added, almost kindly. “I’ll try not to make it too torturous for you to be here with me.”

  She should thank him, she supposed. She was starting to feel like a shrew, and honestly, she wasn’t like that. Not with anyone. Except him. He scared her because of the way he tempted her, but there was more, too.

  “I don’t understand you,” she complained, her voice shaky and pathetically weak sounding.

  “What don’t you understand?” he asked easily.

  “Why you’re doing this?”

  “Because I’m responsible for getting you into this mess.”

  She’d accused him of that very thing. But honestly, he’d only been trying to help. He’d been right. She had needed someone that night after the hearing. She’d been as shaken as he feared, and he’d been kind to her in his own way. Unsettlingly kind. Lately he seemed different, too. More serious than usual. More sincere.

  She believed he was basically a kind man. Arrogant when it came to women and his own effect on them, and he played at life, played harder than anyone she knew. There had to be something wrong with enjoying life as much as he did. But despite that, everyone loved him. He positively lit up a room. He was quick with a compliment, and he made people laugh. He seemed to genuinely like people. All people. She liked him, despite the outrageous way he flirted with her and every woman he saw, despite the way he tempted her. So she couldn’t reconcile liking him so much, thinking he was basically a good person, with his determined pursuit of her, despite her asking him to leave her alone.

  “I’m not talking about Rudy. I’m talking about this.” She waved her hands between them, to signify that unseen thing connecting them. “This thing between you and me. I don’t understand why you won’t back off. Especially when I’ve asked you to. Why do you insist on playing this game with me?”

  “I told you, it’s no game, Amanda.” He frowned. “I want very much to hold you in my arms. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. All over. I want you in my bed. I’ve wanted that for years.”

  “Because you can’t have me,” she insisted. Surely that was all it was. Still, years? The thought sent a little shiver down her spine. He’d wanted her for years? “I’m nothing like the women you normally chase. I’m…”

  “What?” he said gently.

  Damn him, he was going to make her say it. “Plain,” she choked out. “Ordinary. Boring.”

  “I’ve never been bored with you, Amanda, and I don’t think there’s anything ordinary about you.”

  Amanda sighed, not wanting to have this conversation with him. They might as well live on separate planets. He was rich and dangerous and absolutely gorgeous. She’d seen him, in the society pages and in magazine layouts, photographed with some of the world’s most beautiful women hanging on his arm. Beautiful, voluptuous, pampered, sophisticated women. She’d spent more time than she should have looking over those photos, wondering about his life.

  Fantasizing, about him. There, she’d admitted it. At least to herself. She had fantasies starring Joshua Carter, but she had no illusions about herself. She was not the kind of woman he dated, not the kind he should even notice.

  “Josh—” she began.

  “Careful,” he said. “I’ll think you’re fishing for compliments.”

  “I’m not. I know what kind of woman I am.”

  “You don’t have a clue, Amanda. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do, either?”

  “Well—”

  “Just consider it,” he suggested. “Open yourself up to the possibility. Maybe there’s more to me than you realize. Maybe what you see is just an image, the surface. Maybe there’s some substance under my skin after all.”

  “Oh, Josh.” She felt guilty now. “I like you. Really, I do.”

  He winced. “I guess that’s a start.”

  “No. I mean it. I do. I think you’re basically a nice person, and that’s why I don’t understand. Why won’t you do as I asked? Leave me alone, Josh.”

  He leaned back in his chair for a moment, then carefully, slowly, he put out a hand to her, laying it palm up on the tabletop, a clear invitation. “Your choice.”

  It seemed churlish to refuse. Childish. Silly. She was tired of feeling like a silly woman, and she refused to consider how much she wanted this simple connection with him, why she’d come to crave his touch. Amanda put her hand in his. Just as she feared, a pleasant heat flooded her body, radiating from him to her, seeming to invade her bloodstream, infusing itself into every molecule of her being.

  There was an oddly appealing tingling sensation from the point of contact. She wondered if it would happen everywhere, all over her body, if she ever let his hands roam over her at will. She wondered how so simple a touch from one man could possibly be so potent, so arousing. He was like a sweet poison, she decided, capable of making otherwise careful, cautious women forget everything they’d ever been taught about gorgeous, charming men.

  “Leave me alone, Josh,” she said again, desperate now. “Please.”

  “Amanda? Look at me.” He seemed absolutely serious, no hint of the teasing quality that seemed a basic part of his nature. “Believe it or not, I care about you. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve promised myself I’m not going to do that ever again.”

  “Then stop.”

  “If I honestly thought you were happy, if I thought you’d be better off without me, I would. I’d walk away.” He smiled gently. “So you tel
l me, Amanda. Are you happy?”

  “What?” she asked, thinking maybe she shouldn’t have started this, that she should have left it alone after all.

  “You know what it means to be happy. That thing when you feel good. You wake up, and you have reason to be glad. Something to look forward to. Something in your day that’s going to excite you, make you smile, make you laugh. Is there anything like that in your life right now?”

  She frowned at him, felt an odd pressure at the center of her chest, an ache that radiated outward, just as the warmth from his body had only moments before. But all the pleasure was gone now. She pulled her hand from his, and he didn’t try to stop her. She got to her feet and walked to the corner of the room, putting her back to him. Because she couldn’t look at him anymore. Because he’d both hurt her and touched her with his words, with the idea that her happiness mattered to him.

  Until that moment she hadn’t realized how black a cloud she’d been living under for the past year. Tense, dark, frightening blackness. Sadness. Anger. Hurt. Grief. Guilt. She felt all of those things. It had gotten to the point where that seemed the norm for her. So it was an odd concept that he’d brought up—happiness, laughter, joy.

  Amanda drew in a long, deep breath. Her chest still hurt, and when she touched her fingertips to her face, she realized tears were running down her cheeks, falling onto her blouse. She swiped them away, weakness invading her limbs. She leaned against the cabinet in front of her, suddenly too tired to even stand up straight and too weak to fight him any longer.

  It was unnerving and utterly appealing—the idea that he’d been watching over her, that he cared, that in his own way he wanted to make things better for her. The idea that her happiness meant something to him amazed her.