Dear Prince Charming

by Donna Kauffman

  His comment took her aback for a moment, but she quickly rebounded. “I do have other clothes, you know. You don’t think I sleep in my tailored little business suits, do you?”

  Jack grinned. “Actually, I wasn’t really sure.” He stepped back and motioned the frowning publicist into his apartment.

  It wasn’t until she stepped past him that he noticed the briefcase.

  “Shut up,” she said, not bothering to look at him.

  He feigned innocence. “Did I say anything?”

  “You don’t have to. Those eyes of yours speak volumes.”

  She’d noticed his eyes? was all he could think. Christ, this couldn’t be healthy. Obviously he needed to get laid. Or something. Anything to get his mind off of where it wanted to go every time he got within three feet of Valerie Wagner. As long as it was with anyone but Valerie Wagner. Because that would be stupid wrong. In so many ways.

  Wouldn’t it?

  He’d been serious earlier when he’d told Eric he was past the divorce issue, past Shelby. But he’d also been serious about not wanting to get involved with anyone right now. And okay, Eric might have hit a little close to home with the failure comment. No one liked to admit they’d failed at anything, and Jack was no exception. He could look back and know, in his head, that getting married had been an impulsive decision made by two people too jacked up on rum and each other to think clearly about the long-term consequences of their actions. But, clearheaded or no, when he thought about jumping back into the mix again, his heart still balked. He didn’t have to know why. All he had to do was listen to the warning.

  And Valerie was the last woman who would tempt him to believe otherwise. They were already involved in one serious situation. He wasn’t about to compound that. Not even with sex. Though, damn, he’d bet it would be all kinds of hot.

  She put the briefcase on the narrow bar that separated his kitchen from the rest of the room, which served as living room, dining room, and office. She popped the locks with an efficient click. “I might not be dressed for business, but this isn’t a social call.”

  Knowing he’d flustered her, he wandered closer, despite just warning himself away from her. But he had to admit it was kind of fun, disrupting her somewhat prissy professional demeanor.

  Her hair was still neatly pinned up and her face perfectly made up. Except for the clothes, it looked as if she’d come straight from her desk to his door. “Why the jeans? Was it Casual Tuesday at Glass Slipper today?”

  She paused in the act of opening the briefcase, then momentarily closed her eyes. “I was coming here straight from work, but I didn’t get a chance to stop by my place earlier, and I needed to let Gunther out.”

  “Let me guess, another flood?”

  “No. Just another day with Gunther.” She turned to face him. “Do you really want to talk about why I had to change my clothes? Or would you rather get down to business? I’ve been given the distinct impression over the past fourteen days that you’re a very busy man.”

  He smiled. So testy. “Who was the one fielding calls every five minutes during our last conversation? At least I know when to turn the damn phone off and take a break.” He moved a bit closer, leaned on the bar, and crossed his arms. “Do you?”

  She shifted away, just slightly, but the movement was telling. He shouldn’t have enjoyed it, shouldn’t have let it provoke him. But what the hell, he was always doing stuff he shouldn’t. Other than marrying Shelby, doing things he shouldn’t had led to some of his best times.

  “I know how to relax and have a good time. These aren’t even my only pair of jeans,” she said, all but challenging him to disbelieve her.

  He glanced down. Her jeans were so blue he was surprised they didn’t have a price tag still stapled to the back pocket. He had to stifle a smile when he noticed the knife-edge creases down the front. Who ironed denim? For that matter, who ironed? And instead of sneakers or casual sandals, she wore low-heeled leather shoes that could easily pass for office wear. “Do you own a single pair of shorts? A pair of sneakers?”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “Why are we talking about this? What I do on my off time and what I wear while I do it isn’t important.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m finding it fascinating.”

  She gave him a quelling look. “Trust me, it’s not.”

  Enjoying himself more than was likely wise, Jack crossed his ankles and relaxed back against the bar. “What do you do for fun, Valerie? And I don’t mean dinner dates or clubbing. I mean, like on a lazy Sunday afternoon? Or a hot summer night?”

  There it was, that little spark of awareness. Is that what he’d been poking and prodding her for?

  Now she folded her arms. Only she wasn’t leaning on the table, she wasn’t relaxing. Yet there was still a definite sexual edge to the tension arcing between them. “What are you insinuating?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug, debating how far to push. “Nothing, nothing at all. If you’re a workaholic, it’s no business of mine. The godmothers are lucky to have someone so dedicated.”

  “I’d like to think so. Once the magazine comes out and things settle down a bit, I’ll have the luxury of goofing off.”

  Insinuating, obviously, that he had all the time in the world to goof off. Jack just smiled.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You just say goofing off like it’s some kind of dread disease.”

  “Maybe I haven’t quite developed the knack of traipsing about the globe as you have.”

  Jack wasn’t offended by the dig. Quite the opposite. He liked that she gave as good as she got. Promising, that. “I take my work very seriously. And I’m fortunate it allows me to travel. The difference is, I can put work in perspective, relative to its overall importance in life. I value what I do, it keeps a roof over my head, and I happen to really enjoy it, but it doesn’t define my entire existence. Which means, while I’m serious about always doing my best, I know I can’t take myself or what I do all that seriously.”

  “You’re saying I take myself too seriously?”

  “No. You’ve got a sense of humor about yourself, about life.” He grinned. “Otherwise Gunther would have gone back to the pound a long time ago. But do you take your work too seriously? Maybe.”

  “Pretty judgmental, don’t you think?”

  “I’m just saying, in the scheme of things, I know that writing about the newest cricket star from Holland provides a few minutes of entertainment for my readers, and people enjoy reading about something they probably know nothing about. I also know I’m not exactly adding to the global cultural discussion. And that’s okay. People need all sorts of enrichment. That’s what allows me to have fun while I work. Work and play don’t have to be so rigidly separate.”

  “How nice for you.”

  Jack laughed. “So, is it that you equate play while you work with questionable moral choices? Are you picturing me typing my stories from the beds of my interview subjects?” He thought about the story he had just filed. “Although I’m not exactly sure Tomas would have minded. Of course, he’d likely have wanted Tuffy involved.”

  “Tomas and Tuffy?”

  Jack mock shuddered. “Don’t ask.”

  A dry smile kicked at the corners of her mouth. “For once, I think I’ll take your advice.”

  “It’s a start.”

  She finally relented and relaxed just a little. “I wasn’t questioning your ethics, you know. It’s just that the magazine launch is this week. It’s been a very intense, hectic schedule working to this point. A lot of people have invested a large part of the past six months preparing for this. I know we’re not performing brain surgery here, but a lot of careers ride on the success of this launch. We’ve all had to keep our eye on the goal. I love my job as much as you do. And I’ve waited a long time to feel this way. Which is precisely why I take it so seriously. I want to keep it.”

  She resolutely turned back to the briefcase and opened it. “Whi
ch is why I’m here. You saved a lot of those very same people’s hides by helping us out. Certainly mine. Don’t think I don’t appreciate that, or that I’ve forgotten. This just came in this afternoon and I wanted you to be one of the first to see it.” She pulled out a manila envelope and turned to face him, smiling wryly as she presented it to him. “I thought it would be fun to do it in person.”

  He laughed as he took the envelope. “Touché. What is it?” He was already opening the clasp.

  “Well, we’ve had the whole issue together for a while. We kept the cover shoot until last so we could keep it under wraps until the last second.” She took a deep breath. “But here it is. Congratulations, Prince Charming,” she said, as the very first issue of Glass Slipper magazine slid out into his hands.

  Jack’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Holy shit was all he could think. Holy crapping shit. He was looking at himself. Only that wasn’t him. That was some other guy staring back at him with his carefully mussed hair and perfectly fitted tux. That wasn’t him offering up a champagne-filled glass slipper, with a look in his eyes that could only be described as . . . predatory. Jesus.

  In the moment that Nigel had snapped that shot, Jack had been intent on one thing. Rattling Valerie’s composure. Hell, okay, seducing Valerie. But he’d been playing around.

  The man staring back at him was not playing around.

  And now that blink in time, a moment he’d thought about over and over . . . had been captured and displayed for all the world to see. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Which led him to wonder what Valerie had thought when she’d seen this shot. She knew exactly who he’d been offering that slipper to.

  Valerie edged in so she could look at it with him. “What do you think?” she asked, glancing up at his face. It was the sound of a barely stifled laugh that brought him out of the moment, at least temporarily.

  He looked up, realizing she was standing very close. “What’s funny?” Did she think he looked as ridiculous as he thought he did?

  “You. Speechless.”

  “How do you know I’m not rendered speechless on a regular basis?”

  “Let’s just call it an educated guess.”

  He continued to stare into her eyes, which were dancing a bit at the moment. He told himself it was simply a preferable alternative to looking back at the magazine cover. But maybe it was more than that. Other than those brief moments in her bathroom, she’d never been this close to him. But he’d imagined her this close . . . and closer.

  He held her gaze, watched as the light there took on a different edge. Awareness sprang back between them, sharper than before. Damn Eric and his possibilities, anyway. “Are you ever?”

  “Ever what?” she asked, and there was the barest hint of breathlessness in her voice.

  His body tightened in response. “Rendered speechless.”

  “Not often.” Her pupils slowly expanded.

  Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, his little voice screamed. Things are already complicated enough. But his hand was already moving. She, however, was not. Not when he cupped the back of her neck, not when he began closing the distance between her mouth and his, not when he gently bit her bottom lip before saying, “Let’s see if we can change that.”

  She tasted like Pep-O-Mint Lifesavers. For the rest of his life, he’d remember that flavor as being the taste of Valerie.

  She didn’t return his kiss, or even encourage him. Nor did she move away. She let him sample her mouth, explore what it felt like to have his lips on hers.

  The kiss was more sweet than hot. And not just because she’d been crunching candy. It wasn’t like him, this gentle exploration. Downright shocking when you considered all the things he’d been fantasizing about doing with her, to her, over the past couple of weeks. And yet, perhaps it was just as well he’d jumped in the low end of the pool. As it was, this one soft kiss was about to blow the top of his head clean off.

  Which was as good a reason as any to end this right now. Only, when he left her delectable mouth, he couldn’t seem to leave her entirely. He was dropping a few kisses along her jaw when she finally put a stop to it, to him, and shifted away.

  They’d made no other contact, except for their mouths, his hand on the nape of her neck. And he had to curl his fingers into his palms to keep from reaching for her when she stepped back.

  “That probably wasn’t a great idea,” she said, trying for casual. But he heard that thready edge of need. Of want.

  It provoked him, when he knew better. But what the hell. It felt good knowing he hadn’t been the only one affected there. Of course, with her schedule, she probably hadn’t gotten any lately, either. Which explained things. They were two people with pent-up sexual frustration, looking for a convenient outlet, that was all. Somehow that wasn’t as reassuring a rationale as he’d hoped it would be.

  “I don’t know,” he said, circling back close to the edge. Why not? He liked it there. Made life much more interesting. “I was thinking it was one of my better ones.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment, but when he finally gave in and took a step toward her, she abruptly turned her back on him and closed her briefcase with a sharp snap. The click of the lock was like an audible punctuation mark, ending the sentence that had been their kiss. He wondered if she’d ended it with a period . . . or an exclamation point.

  There was one way to find out. He tossed the magazine on the counter and stepped closer, reaching for that trim waist of hers when she snagged her briefcase and moved around the table. “Valerie—”

  She turned then, keeping the briefcase between them like a shield. “Jack, the kiss was very nice. But I—I can’t play while I work. And I definitely don’t play with my work. You’re business. Trying to mix it with pleasure would be a mistake.”

  “Nice? It was just nice?”

  She let out a surprised little laugh. “That’s all you have to say? What it is with men and performance issues, anyway?”

  “I mean, I know it wasn’t a bend-you-over-the-table kind of kiss, but come on.” A period. She thought it had been a period-ending sentence. For him, gentle or not, that kiss deserved at least one exclamation point. And, dammit, he knew she’d felt that, too.

  She smiled and shook her head, then headed to the door. “We hit the stands Friday morning. Thursday night we’re having a launch party at Bentari’s. You’re not—or, Eric isn’t contractually obligated to be there, but he had already verbally agreed to the godmothers’ request that he at least make a brief appearance. I’m hoping you’ll honor his commitment.”

  “How big a bash is this?”

  “Black-tie big.” She smiled then. “Don’t worry, we’ll get Jenn to get that tux back.”

  “I’m not worried about the tux. Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

  She paused at the door. “I believe I’ve tried. Have you read Eric’s books?”

  “Sure,” he said. Skimming was the same as reading, right? “Why?”

  “The party starts at eight. Why don’t we meet for dinner at my place, say, six-thirty.”

  He was still trying to process the idea of pretending to be that guy on the cover . . . in public. Up close and personal, like. With other people. Lots of other people. “Dinner?” he repeated blankly.

  “Yes. We need time to go over everything, work out a plan. I’ve already made a list of notes.”

  “I’ll bet you have,” he muttered, earning him a frown. But he was too busy having a silent panic attack. “Will Eric be there? I mean, can we get him in as a guest or something?”

  “Already taken care of.”

  “And he knows about all this? Why didn’t he say something to me? Never mind,” he said, waving his hand. Eric had been busy embracing his newfound freedom—and God knows who or what else—with a vengeance.

  Jack tamped down the nerves. After all, hadn’t he been all wound up about Valerie not trusting that he could handle this? Well, pal, now’s your chance to sh
ow her. “Sure,” he said, pasting what he hoped was a carefree smile on his face. “Six-thirty, Thursday. No problem.”

  Her smile was far too knowing. “You need me to arrange the tux?”

  “No. I can take care of the tux.”

  “Just make sure you do it tonight or tomorrow. Come Thursday, you aren’t allowed to step foot outside this apartment until dinner. I’m sending a car, so don’t worry about that. Don’t answer the phone unless it’s me or Eric, and definitely don’t answer the door.”

  “Why are you saying this?” He didn’t even bother to try to quell the panic in his voice now.

  “Do you have any idea what’s about to happen?”

  “Given that look on your face, I’m not sure I want to. You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? What have I ever done to you? Not ten minutes ago you were thankful that I’d stepped up to the plate.”

  “I still am. And I apologize. Again. I don’t know why provoking you seems such a natural thing for me to do. But I get the feeling that you’re used to being the guy in charge. I can’t help it, I’m human. And a woman. We love seeing the take-charge types squirm.” She opened the door, then rattled the knob. “Lock this. Call me if you need anything.”

  And she was gone.

  Jack sank onto one of the barstools, averting his gaze from the magazine, from his own face staring back up at him. There was something totally unnatural about that. Nobody should have to look at himself like that.

  So. What was he going to do about that kiss? Much better to think about that than about what he was going to face forty-eight hours from now. Valerie wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. He should want the same thing. He should be focusing on the party, the magazine coming out, and not getting Valerie naked.

  There it was again. Should. He’d never been good with that word.

  Risqué business

  Business is never just business to a guy, especially if the person with whom he’s doing business is a woman. Most men will be hardpressed to pass up an opportunity to combine business with pleasure. And it’s important to remember that a guy can find an opportunity for pleasure in almost any business situation.