Cinderella Search

by Gill, Judy Griffith

  To their credit, neither man laughed. Steve helped her to her feet and smiled directly into her eyes. “See you later.”

  “Not if I see you first,” she muttered, and then realized she had sounded all of twelve years old.

  It was too late to take it back, so she tried to exit with the few shreds of dignity she had left.

  This had not been her finest hour.

  Chapter Six

  STEVE USED HIS ROOM key to open the side door of the inn and stepped silently inside. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning and everyone was sleeping. He’d spent the evening aboard a sailboat moored at the marina, visiting with a congenial couple he’d met at the inn. They were on the last leg of a round-the-world cruise, and had many fine tales to tell. Each time he’d made to leave, they’d urged him to stay and opened another bottle of wine.

  The last couple of hours, he’d declined the wine, but continued to enjoy the stories. Even after leaving them, though, he hadn’t felt ready for bed, so he went for a walk, enjoying the whisper of the breeze in the branches of the firs, cedars, and the big madrona tree and the starry beauty of the night sky. He knew he should be tired considering the hour, to say nothing of a day spent giving kids pointers on archery, helping restring homemade bows and helping to weight homemade arrows, but he wasn’t.

  He felt as if he’d never want to sleep again. What he wanted to do was relive those crazy moments he’d spent with Lissa. Maybe that was why he’d kept himself so busy all day and half the night, to try to keep thoughts of her, memories, at bay.

  But, when he was alone, they came crowding in. He eased the door shut, making sure it was securely locked. Then, as he turned, he saw the glow of a lamp in the lounge. It cast a circle of light over Lissa’s dark hair, sending shafts of copper, topaz and mahogany through it. She held a book on her lap, but gazed up at him. She rose to her feet and met him as he came down the last step into the lounge.

  Tonight, her skirt was shorter, just above her knees, and she wore a sleeveless blouse with it. Her feet were bare, her braid slightly frayed, but her eyes glowed with a luminosity that spoke of things he wanted to hear. Her scent rose to him, tightening his throat. He’d avoided her since that morning’s episode aboard her boat, knowing they both needed space. But the time for that was over.

  “Hi.” She sounded as if she was experiencing the same kind of difficulty he was in getting oxygen to her lungs. Maybe she, too, had done some hard thinking. “Busy?”

  She shook her head.

  “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” If she wanted to escape, he wanted to give her the opportunity. Wanted to? No! But he knew he should. What he wanted was to rush her, to rush with her into a hot love affair and maybe more.

  “I did,” she said. “For a while.”

  He took a step closer. “And then?”

  He watched her swallow. “And then I woke up. You’re out late.”

  He told her where he’d been. “After I left them, I went for a walk and … thought.”

  “Oh.”

  “I think we need to talk,” he said.

  For a long moment, she continued to gaze at him. He gazed back, noting the play of emotions on her lovely, expressive face. Holding out his hand, he said, “Come with me?”

  Her eyes widened for a second. “Where?”

  “Back to where you were sitting, Lissa. Where we can talk in comfort.”

  Her relief was almost palpable. What, he wondered, would she have said if he had invited her up to his room? He almost wished he had. He considered doing it now, but she squared her shoulders, tilted her chin up and became the Lissa he’d first met, sure of herself, secure in her skin, and with a flicker of humor lurking in her eyes.

  “Sure,” she said. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I thought the bar was closed.”

  She glanced over her shoulder as she glided away from him, and toward the bar. “I think I could probably scare up a soft drink or juice. Or get some coffee from the kitchen.”

  He kept close enough behind her to breathe in the scent of her. “No hot milk?”

  She grinned as he leaned on the bar while she went behind it. “Only if you insist.”

  He wanted to kiss her laughing mouth so badly he could taste it. “I’ll have a Coke.”

  She took a step back. “You will not! I thought you said you wanted to talk, Jackson.”

  He blinked in bewilderment. “Can’t we talk and drink Coke at the same time?”

  “You didn’t say anything about Coke. You said you’d have a kiss.”

  “I did not!” He played back his words: He was sure of what he’d said. Or was he? Could his unruly imagination have overpowered his mouth? “It must have been your imagination. Maybe you heard what you wanted to hear.”

  She slapped an icy can into his hand as she emerged from behind the bar with a bottle of orange juice for herself.

  “I heard what you said. If anyone made a Freudian slip, it was you, not me. But let’s get one thing straight before we so much as sit down. It’s a drink and talk, or bed.”

  He laughed outright at her wide, horrified eyes, the hand she clapped over her mouth as she realized what she’d said. “Talk about Freudian slips!” he said. “But if those are my options, I’ll take bed. Anytime. With you.”

  “That’s enough,” she said, but ruined her attempt at severity with a splutter of laughter. “Remember what happened before.”

  “I’ll never forget,” he said, sobering. “Will you?”

  “Of course I will.” She switched on a reading lamp as she crossed behind the wingback chair where she’d once found him sleeping. “It was just a kiss, Steve, and it’s not going to be repeated.”

  “Was it?” he asked, catching her in his arms. “Then if it was just a kiss, what harm would there be in repeating it? Didn’t you enjoy it?”

  She gently moved out of his arms and sat down on the sofa. “There wouldn’t be much point in lying about that, would there? I enjoyed it. But that doesn’t mean I intend for it to happen again.” She cranked the top off her orange juice and shoved a straw into the bottle.

  Steve sat down abruptly beside her as her lips pursed around the straw. “So you get to make all the rules, all the decisions?” Even to him, his voice sounded strangled. Jeez! Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

  “Better me than you,” she said, setting her juice on the coffee table.

  He rolled the cold can of pop across his forehead. “Why?”

  “Because I think I’m the more sensible of the two of us.” She smiled. “And I didn’t just spend six months in the Antarctic.”

  He set his can down. “Your dad told me you haven’t had a date since you came back here over two years ago.

  “You discussed me with my dad?” she said as she shot to her feet.

  “He discussed. I listened.”

  Anger flared in her eyes. “He had no right. You had no right. My life is—”

  “Your business,” he interrupted, standing up and clasping her elbows in both hands. “And don’t worry. After making that comment, he apparently realized it, and clammed up. Of course, that might have had something to do with the arrival of about three hundred kids between the ages of eight and seventeen, each one equipped with a bow and quiver of arrows.”

  She laughed, her tension easing. “There aren’t three hundred kids in Madrona Cove. There aren’t three hundred inhabitants.”

  “Well, there might have been thirty,” he said. “I tend to exaggerate a bit.” He slid his hands from her elbows to her shoulders. “But I didn’t exaggerate what your kiss did to me today, Lissa. And that’s what I want to talk about.”

  She was silent for a long moment. “I’m not sure discussing something like that is of any benefit. We kissed: It got a little out of hand. That was just chemistry.”

  “Some people say that chemistry makes the world go ’round.”

  “That’s not the way I’ve heard the quote.”

&nb
sp; He nodded. “I know. So what are we going to do about it?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s possible,” he said. “It’s not something we can really ignore.”

  “But we don’t know each other well enough.”

  “We could take care of that. You get time off, don’t you? Let’s go out together, get to know each other.”

  “You mean … date?” She might have been saying “… eat worms?”

  Her response amused him. “I’m sure, even if you haven’t done it much these past couple of years, it’s not an entirely new concept for a woman who’s been engaged six times.”

  “No, but …”

  “But what?”

  “I—I don’t know, really. I guess it’s something to do with Madrona Cove, the whole of Quadra Island in fact, being such a small community. No one has any privacy here. Everyone I know, which means everyone here, would be stopping by to make sure you were treating me right, and probably explain that they had changed my diapers or something equally embarrassing.”

  “You get days off, don’t you? How about we get away from this island, go someplace where no one knows you, act like a normal couple getting to know each other, and—”

  She shook her head, deflating his smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I won’t be here. When I come off duty tomorrow—I mean, this morning—I’m going to visit my mother in Tofino. That’s out on the west coast of Vancouver Island. She runs a boutique there.”

  “I’d like to see the west coast of the Island.”

  “Steve …” While he saw temptation, maybe even consideration of the idea in her eyes, he heard regret in her voice.

  Unwilling to give up, he slid his hand under her hair and gently stroked the nape of her neck. Her skin was warm and soft and faintly moist.

  “Don’t say no,” he said.

  “I thought I just had.”

  “Not very convincingly. Would it be such a shock to your mother if you arrived with a man in tow?”

  She broke into laughter and relaxed, leaning back against his hand. “My mother’s on her fourth husband. She considers me a total failure in the man-catching department.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to prove her wrong?”

  She looked horrified. “Not if it meant actually catching one.”

  A strange sensation came over him, as if something inside had grown heavy and started sinking, and it triggered unexpected anger. “Why? What’s so wrong with men that you wouldn’t want to catch one?”

  “Hey!” She pulled away. “That wasn’t meant as a personal slur. It’s just the way I am. I don’t see men as prey and have utterly no desire to ‘bag’ one, as if he were a trophy. I’d have thought you—any man—would find that reassuring.”

  “Hey, yourself. I’m just asking you out on a date,” he said.

  “I realize you only asked me for a date,” she said. “But I have a strange quirk. When I get close to a man, there’s a part of me that always wants to get closer.”

  He laughed, almost relieved, and deliberately misunderstood as he sank down beside her. “When I’m close to you, honey, there’s a part of me that wants to get closer, too.”

  Her eyes flared with temper. “That’s not what I’m talking about! But ‘dates’ are how relationships usually start. One date at a time. And I don’t want a relationship. I mean, maybe I do, but I don’t like the inevitable outcome.”

  “Which is?”

  “I get hurt,” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly small and defenseless. Her words came slowly now, almost as if she were talking to herself. “I find myself looking for … intimacy, I suppose I’d have to call it, and suffering disappointment when I don’t find it. Then the relationship ends. I guess I’ve always been attracted to the wrong kind of man. I don’t want it to happen again.”

  Again, he felt himself bristling. Nothing could contain it. He wanted to take on the men who had done this to her. He wanted to prove that he wasn’t necessarily the wrong kind of man. He wanted to hold her close again, kiss her until she quivered the way she had this morning. Before he could stop himself, he’d pulled her into his arms.

  He dipped his head and brushed a brief kiss over her mouth. She stared at him, completely still but for a faint fluttering of her bottom lip. A soft sigh trembled out of her. “Steve …”

  “You see what I’m talking about?”

  “I always did,” she said. “That’s why I said it was an experiment we shouldn’t repeat.”

  He stroked a thumb over the curve of her cheek. “But it seems we are.”

  “Are we?”

  “Aren’t we?”

  She smiled. “I’m not sure.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t smile at me like that,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “I can’t describe it,” he said. “It’s just the way you smile and it does something to me.”

  “I’ll try not to,” she said solemnly, then smiled. Steve groaned. The need to touch her skin overcame him and he stroked his palm down her bare arm, then back up to her shoulder where he slid a finger under her sleeveless blouse. When he felt a tremor course through her, he took her mouth again.

  This kiss was not brief, nor was it casual. It was tender and sweet and enormously appealing, and that disturbed her deeply. If he’d been aggressive, demanding, even masterful, she might have been able to withstand the assault on her senses, but he was giving, not taking, and she accepted his gift.

  All the words she’d once believed in—destiny, fate, kismet, ran through her mind. But none of those words could possibly be real. Only, his kiss felt real. His hand, sliding through the plaits of her braid, loosening it, felt real. His mouth, soft on hers, moving over her cheek, down her throat, up to her ear, felt real.

  It had to be a dream, but it wasn’t—it was real. Still she wished it wasn’t really happening to her. She didn’t believe in happy endings anymore, yet what was happening between them seemed to lead in that direction.

  They’d met, they’d been attracted, and now here she was, locked in his arms for the second time in twenty-four hours and she wanted more of the gifts he offered.

  “Steve,” she murmured, her palm cradling his cheek. “We shouldn’t … I think …”

  “I can’t think,” he said. “I don’t want to think. I want to feel. Feel this with me, Lissa.”

  She moaned and opened her mouth to him then turned to make it easier for him to unfasten the buttons down the front of her blouse. His kiss was deep, thrilling, destroying whatever vestiges of good sense she had left. It was a kiss she wanted never to end, but it did.

  Even as she cried out in protest, his breath, hot and moist, spread over the tops of her breasts. She gasped, and he answered her unspoken plea, suckling a nipple through the satin of her bra. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, for either of them. He slid his hand around her back, fumbling for the clasp.

  “Here,” she said, pressing the button that released the garment in the front. She put one hand under a breast, lifting it, offering it to him. For a moment, he didn’t touch it, but gazed at her, his eyes darkly luminous, glowing with passion, then he shut them as he bent and closed his mouth over her.

  She raked her nails down his back, around to his chest, slid her hands up under his sweatshirt and over his ribs. He quivered at her touch, and moved to her other breast, bending her back over his arm. Her fingers found one of his hard little nubs in the hair of his chest, teased it, tugged on it, drawing forth a long, low growl of pleasure.

  Her heart felt as if it would burst. Her mind swirled with sensation. Her entire body pulsed with a need that only he could fill. He ran a hand from her knee to her hip, under her skirt, his palm scraping deliciously against her skin.

  She made a sound. It might have been a word. Whatever it was, she knew he’d understood it because he met the need flaring through her. He cupped her sex with his ha
nd, sliding his fingers over the fabric of her underwear, then up, across her belly. His hand slipped under the elastic, slid through her hair, two fingers parting her folds. And she flew apart.

  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, buried her face against Steve’s chest and wept, so stirred was she by the force of her release.

  “No, no,” she heard him saying. “Don’t … please don’t.”

  “I didn’t mean … I didn’t want … That wasn’t supposed …”

  “Lissa.” He lifted her face, his pale and strained, but oddly triumphant, as if he had fought to reach a high mountain peak and achieved his goal. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, either. But I did want it to. You just gave me the most valued gift a woman can ever give a man.”

  She closed her eyes, felt his lips sipping at the tears that continued to pour forth. She, who hadn’t cried for years, brought to this by the touch of a man’s hand. It was terrible. She was so ashamed, so embarrassed, she wished she could disappear.

  “I gave you nothing,” she choked.

  His voice was a low rumble against her ear as he murmured, “You gave me your trust.”

  She could have denied it. Should have denied it. She didn’t trust him. She trusted no man. What was more, she trusted herself even less. Especially after this.

  “Lissa …” She resisted the pressure of his hand under her chin. “Come on. Look at me.”

  She shook her head. “I want you to go away.”

  “That’s not going to happen. I’m in this for the—” For the what, she wasn’t to learn, because at that moment, the dining room doors squeaked open. Rosa came through them, let out a squawk that could have been heard clear across the island, and then simply stared as Steve and Lissa untangled their bodies from each other and stood.

  With the back of one hand over her mouth, Lissa stared back at Rosa, whose tray of pastries slowly tilted until cinnamon rolls bounced around her feet, raspberry Danishes splatted face-first onto the carpet, and bran muffins rolled down the stairs into the lounge.

  Finally the tray itself clanged to the floor. “Melissa Ann Wilkins, I am shocked! Your father said ‘make nice,’ not ‘make love’!” Then she whirled around, bashed the doors open with one thrust of her arm and marched back through them, leaving the scent of cinnamon heavy in the air.