Dear Prince Charming

by Donna Kauffman

  Her smug smile slowly faded. She supposed it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Gunther allowed Jack to rub his massive body down, all but purring like an overgrown mutant kitten during the process. She tried to take comfort in the show Jack was unwittingly providing. It was hard not to admire the bunch and play of the muscles in his back and arms. She wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn the physique, and decided maybe she didn’t want to know. Somehow she doubted there were fully equipped gyms in the places he frequented. His tux pants were a bit loose in the waist without the cummerbund, and when he crouched down to rub Gunther’s belly, Valerie followed the dip in the rear of that waistband unapologetically. Her eyes widened just slightly. No tan line. It was enough to make a girl drool.

  Which, of course, is how he caught her when he shot her a grin over his shoulder.

  Cocky bastard. Had he known she was standing there watching him the whole time?

  Jack stood and held a towel up as a shield as Gunther indulged himself in a full body shake, then happily patted the dog on the head. Best buds and all that.

  She opened the back door and let her very happy dog into the house, biting back the childish urge to stick her tongue out at both him and Jack, as Jack curled the hose up and gathered the towels. He’d made it all look so simple. She’d have looked like a drowned rat if she’d tried that. He’d hardly even gotten wet. Totally unfair. “You didn’t have to do that,” she told Jack. “You might have ruined your tux.”

  He smiled, unfazed by her lack of gratitude, as if he hadn’t expected any. Which both stung and disconcerted her. “It’s a rental.”

  “Still, the godmothers might have frowned on your showing up in tux jacket and jeans.”

  He pulled the towel off, rubbed at a few spots that had flecked the fabric. “I think they fared okay. Might need a bit of smoothing out.” He looked back to her, towels in one hand, all perfect pecs and bulging biceps, sloppily rolled up pants, and a grin that was just too damn endearing. Of course he knew he was impossible to resist.

  “I might need to borrow your bathroom to rinse off my feet.”

  It was churlish of her, especially considering what he’d just done for her, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Gunther might have rolled over for him, but she’d be damned if she would. She pointed to the hose. “You’ve got water and towels already.”

  He propped his fists on his hips, the amused gleam still in his eyes. “You have a real problem accepting help, don’t you?”

  “Not at all. However, I do have a real problem with people who assume they can step in and start calling the shots.”

  “Ah,” he said, still unfazed. “Authority issues.”

  He was impossible. “The only issue I have is dinner and a rapidly dwindling time frame in which to prepare you for the media gauntlet you’re going to face tonight.”

  His smile faltered the teensiest bit. “Gauntlet? What kind of gauntlet?”

  “Rinse your feet off, come inside, and we’ll discuss it over dinner.” It was then she noticed the jet-black Mustang parked behind her little red MINI. “After that, you can explain to me why you drove yourself here instead of coming in the town car that is supposed to take us to the party.”

  She turned away from the door, then paused and looked back. “And thank you for taking care of Gunther.” It wasn’t much of an apology after her rudeness, or much in the way of gratitude, either. She knew that, but he merely nodded and began rinsing his feet.

  Feeling more disconcerted than before, she fixed them both a glass of iced tea—no more wine—and waited at the table. She heard him come in, but wasn’t prepared for the impact a half-naked Jack would have on her. Through the screen door, ten yards away, he’d been . . . inspiring. Standing in her dining room, he seemed overwhelming. He’d already unrolled his pants, which, surprisingly, didn’t look too bad. She should have turned away, scanned her notes with an air of complete unconcern as he slid his shirt on and began buttoning it.

  But she couldn’t seem to stop watching him. His back was half to her, so he didn’t know if she was watching or not. He didn’t seem all that concerned one way or the other. Maybe he’d given up on any idea he’d had of seducing her. And, given that kiss the other day, she knew he’d at least thought about it. Well, she was pretty sure.

  “So, what exactly do you have in store for me tonight?”

  Valerie had just taken a sip of her tea, a vain attempt at cooling the direction of her thoughts, and almost choked. “What?”

  He turned his back to her completely and unzipped.

  Valerie’s throat went dry.

  “This media gauntlet,” he went on, as if completely unaware of the effect he was having on her. Oh, that she could be so cavalier. Once again she thought about how unfair it was that men didn’t get cellulite. They’d never learn to appreciate dark rooms and carefully lit candles. They wouldn’t just unzip in a woman’s dining room and stuff their shirttails down their pants, completely unconcerned about visible panty lines and the like.

  He turned around then and caught her chewing on one nail, staring. It was only when she quickly pulled her hand away and looked up—because of course she hadn’t been staring at the back of his neck—that the knowing smile bloomed. Just once she wanted the upper hand with him. Any hand.

  He slipped on the cummerbund, but struggled to hook the back.

  “If you—” To her dismay, she had to stop and sip her tea to wet her throat again. “If you hook it in front, you can spin it around to the back afterward. It’s an old bra trick.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t know you could teach them to do tricks.”

  “Very funny.” She got up and pushed his hands away. “Here, let me.”

  He held his arms out. “Be my guest.”

  She moved around behind him, determined to get him dressed and decent and prove to herself she could touch him and still manage to string two words together. “So, tell me about the limo.”

  “He showed up right on time, but just as I went to leave the lobby of my building, I noticed a guy across the street with a zoom lens. Normally this wouldn’t be cause for alarm, but being part of the media myself, I know the business end of a professional camera when I see one.”

  Valerie straightened abruptly, leaving the last hook undone. “Are you sure he was there to get shots of you? How did he find you?” She grabbed his arm and turned him to face her. “I told you to be care—”

  He silenced her with a finger across her lips. Which only served to piss her off . . . and prove she hadn’t gotten past the touch thing at all. Which is why she said nothing when he dropped it and explained.

  “I was careful. I think he tailed the driver. Don’t worry, he didn’t see me. I scoped out the rear parking lot, then made a dash for my car. No one followed me, but I circled your block a handful of times, just to make sure they didn’t have your place staked out, too. I figure it was just one guy looking for a scoop.” He folded his arms. “Or maybe he’s part of this gauntlet of yours.”

  “Trust me, I didn’t send anyone to follow the driver or you. That would make no sense.”

  “But you did invite every media outlet and their sister station to this shindig tonight, didn’t you?”

  “Well, that’s what we need to talk about.” She started to turn, but he turned her back.

  She tugged her arm free, having had enough of his domineering ways . . . and far too little of his hands on her. Dammit. Definitely time to put some distance between them.

  He just dangled his tie in front of her. “Would you mind?”

  She held his gaze for a split second, trying to gauge whether this was a sincere request for assistance or some kind of test. Was he aware of the effect he had on her? Was he the kind of guy who got off on knowing he could make women want him, women who might not even like him?

  Problem was, she did like him. Sort of. She didn’t know him that well, but what she did know was hard to ignore. And that made him dangerous.
She needed to keep a clear head and a cool body. She snatched the tie from his fingers and slid it around his neck, refusing to be affected by the forced close proximity. However, she kept her eyes firmly on tying the tie.

  “How long is my appearance tonight?” he asked.

  “Don’t talk. Makes your neck move. Let me get this tied.” It took her three tries and a few swear words, but she finally managed it.

  Letting out a quiet, relieved sigh that was just a little too shaky for her peace of mind, she started to step back, but he caught her chin with his fingers, tipping it up just slightly. This close, there was no way she could avoid looking into his eyes. She’d expected some kind of smug amusement or, worse, perhaps heated desire. So she was surprised to find his gaze had turned quite serious.

  “What is it about you?” he murmured, sounding as confused as he’d made her feel.

  “What is it about me what?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  He shook his head just slightly, then let his hand drop away. It was all she could do to quell the automatic urge to sigh in disappointment.

  “We’d better eat. Nice dress, by the way. Much better than the black.” He moved around her and took a seat at the table, but only after pulling out her chair.

  “Jenn picked it out,” she responded, still feeling like she’d just been on the brink of something important, only to be left without the chance to discover what that something was.

  She took her seat and the two of them ate quickly, discussing her plans for his entrance, for what he would say, what he was absolutely not going to say, all as if nothing had happened.

  Nothing did happen, she reminded herself.

  The problem, she was rapidly discovering, was going to be convincing herself she wanted to keep it that way.

  Personal best

  If you’re lucky, you’ll meet someone who brings out the best in you. If you’re very lucky, it will be the kind of best you never knew you had.

  Chapter 9

  Exiting the car at Bentari’s, his hand at Valerie’s back, Jack was smiling, confident that the night was going to go much more smoothly than Valerie was anticipating. She’d had a list as long as his arm of all the dos and don’ts he was supposed to adhere to. Like he’d been paying attention.

  He’d tossed off that compliment about her dress as if it hadn’t struck him deaf, dumb, and blind. She’d been attractive enough in the black one, but that red number slipping over her body like a silk waterfall had been a real shock to his system. It showed nothing, yet showcased every damn thing. How he was supposed to concentrate on a stupid list was beyond him.

  They’d danced around each other every time they got close, and he was finding it harder and harder to convince himself not to push things further. After tonight, his little role in this charade was almost at an end. Valerie had promised to keep any further appearances on behalf of the magazine to a minimum. Eric, in his role as Jack’s “manager,” would field any and all other offers. All of which Jack would be turning down.

  Which meant there was no reason not to pursue things with Valerie. Take that, Advice Boy. Any problems she had with mixing business and pleasure would no longer be relevant. Besides which, it was now or never. As soon as this gig wrapped up, he intended to be on the first plane to anywhere that someone would pay him to go. He was enjoying freelancing more than he’d expected, and to that end, he had a couple of feelers out. He was willing to travel, which broadened his opportunities. He’d worry about what came next when what came next got here.

  Which left him with the here and now. And Valerie.

  Two doormen, resplendent in top hat and tie, opened the doors for them with a flourish.

  Valerie paused just briefly enough to look over her shoulder at him before entering. “Ready?” she asked with a smile that appeared both excited and nervous.

  “No worries, mate,” he assured her, having spent enough time Down Under to affect a dead-on Aussie accent.

  She frowned slightly. “No games.”

  His smile widened to a grin. “Who, me?”

  Her frown grew to a look of real concern and he felt bad for teasing her. This night was the culmination of a lot of hard work on her part. Everything she held important—namely her job—rode on a successful launch, which officially began tonight.

  Jack slid his hand from the small of her back around to her hip, pulling her just close enough so that he could lean down and whisper in her ear. “I won’t let you down. Just don’t leave without me.”

  She looked at him, still pressed up against him—and that’s the last thing he remembered before being blinded by a cavalcade of flashbulbs, followed quickly by a horde of shouts and questions and requests for him to “Look this way! Give us a smile! Who’s the babe?”

  It was like he’d stepped into an alternate universe. Or a rock-star fantasy. Neither appealed to him much, as it turned out.

  Then Valerie’s voice penetrated the blinding fog. “Smile, Jack. Nod, and keep walking.” She wove her arm through his and nudged him forward, which was when he realized he’d frozen at the first wave of flashes. Snapping an insta-smile on his face, he nodded to his right and left, despite the fact that he was still temporarily flash-blind.

  “You’re doing great,” Valerie schooled. “Just get past the throng, then we’ll find the godmothers so they can formally introduce you.”

  “Formally,” he repeated, still perma-grinning and nodding.

  “To our guests. They’ll unveil the cover, then introduce you. We’ll mingle. Then you’ve got a five-minute one-on-one with Nancy O’Dell.”

  Nancy O’Dell. Even he knew who she was. Jesus was all he could think; this was some kind of whack dream. Or waking nightmare. Who were these people and why in the hell did they give a shit about some guy who wrote advice books? He was beginning to see why Eric had remained in hiding, sexual preference notwithstanding.

  Valerie’s grip on his arm tightened. “Were you listening to anything I said during dinner?” She said all this through teeth clamped into her own perma-grin. The only difference was she didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights, which he was very much afraid he did.

  “I’m fine. I’m good. I can handle it,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as her. For the first time he had serious doubts.

  “You’ve got the three print interviews after that. Finally, I’ll need you to mingle a bit, talk to a few of our reps, some of our bigger accounts. Then we can cut out.”

  “How long?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Two hours, two and a half, max.”

  “Christ,” he sighed. Then they were through and the world went dark, startling him.

  Valerie turned to the horde and waved her arms, keeping them at bay. “Thank you all for coming. As soon as the introductions and formal presentations are done, we’ll be conducting the previously scheduled interviews in a private room in the back. In the meantime, feel free to mingle. Help yourselves to the food and champagne. We’ve also set up stations around the fringes of the party, where you can get a sampling of what Glass Slipper, Incorporated offers its clients, and the kinds of topics we’ll be covering in the magazine. Please treat yourself to a minifacial, a manicure, or a consultation with our fashion, makeup, and hair experts.”

  Jack’s vision returned to normal during Valerie’s little spiel and he was stunned to see there were only about two dozen of them. It had seemed like triple that, at least.

  “What about advice?” a short woman in front of the throng asked. “Will Prince Charming be dishing up any, as some of your party favors?”

  The rest of the group chuckled at the barely repressed sigh of desire in her voice. Valerie laughed easily and Jack marveled at how smoothly she’d slipped into her role. To look at her, you’d never guess she was as nervous as he was.

  “You’ll have to wait and read his column in Glass Slipper, just like the rest of us,” she teased gently. “Of course, I’ll be glad to supply you with the e-mail
and snail mail addresses for future question submissions.”

  Jack gave them a short wave and nod, then let Valerie sweep him behind a dark curtain and off to a small staging room. A table had been set up with drinks and snacks. Jenn was there, as was Eric, and another man he didn’t know.

  Jenn rushed over to them, hands out, grin wide. “You went for the red! What did I tell you, huh? Is it perfect for your coloring or what?”

  She took Valerie’s hand and tugged her from Jack’s side, sending her into a twirl. “Why you hide that body I have no idea,” she said.

  Jack watched Valerie blush a little before brushing Jenn off. “I’m only in this contraption because I spilled wine on my Chanel.”

  Jenn laughed and looked at Jack. “Get her to spill stuff more often, will ya?”

  A slight look of alarm crossed Valerie’s face, but it was only when she shot a glance his way that he realized what worried her. She didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about the time they were spending together. Especially Jenn, who’d been around them both several times now and, like Eric, seemed quite okay with the idea of them sharing more than business. Which, of course, only served to provoke Jack.

  His smile was wide and knowing as he turned to Jenn. “I’ll do my best to get her out of any outfit you deem unacceptable.”

  Jenn hooted. Valerie gaped.

  Eric tugged on Jack’s arm. “So, you handling things okay, man?”

  “I’ll be seeing white spots for a few days, but yeah.” He leaned in, punched Eric on the arm. “Who knew you were such hot shit,” he said, careful to keep his voice low. “Did you see the clusterfuck of photographers out there, clamoring for a piece of you? What the hell are you telling these women, anyway?”

  Eric shot him a sharp warning look, then smiled and stepped back to include the man he’d been standing with when Jack entered the room, motioning him forward. “Brice, I’d like to introduce you to Jack Lambert.”

  Brice was the same height as Eric, but that was where the similarity ended. He was leanly built, his black hair hanging in neat ropes down to his shoulders, with perfectly defined features and the smoothest skin Jack had ever seen on a guy. Add in eyes the color of whiskey and a set of blinding white teeth, and the dude was the perfect poster boy for the Caribbean Bureau of Tourism. He stuck his hand out. “A pleasure,” he said, a hint of British-island patois in his voice.