The Cinderella Bride (8 page)

“I should stick to basic black.” Dull, serviceable basic black.

“Are you sure? The dress is your size. Maybe fate's trying to send you a message.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Why don't you try it on for fun,” Christine prodded.

“You don't have to buy it.”

Emma knew what the saleswoman was trying to do. She'd noticed Emma's hesitancy and was now trying to sway her to what was obviously a more expensive item.

Still, the dress was extraordinary. She fingered a cap sleeve. The material glided beneath her fingers, smooth as ice. She bet it would feel amazing on a person's skin. A longing, fierce and sudden, welled up inside her.

Go on,
a voice whispered in her head.
You know you want to.

What the heck. She already knew she was buying the black crepe. When was the next time she'd get to try on an unspeakably expensive designer dress? Why not have a little fun? The color would probably look awful on her, anyway. Saleswomen always told you what you wanted to hear.

A soft rustle filled the room as she stepped into the dress. She'd been right; the satin did feel amazing. After slipping on one sleeve, then the other, Emma zipped the side and looked in the mirror, expecting to discover the dress was too tight or too misshapen or woefully garish against her skin. Instead, she gasped. Behind her, Christine gasped as well.

The dress fitted perfectly. The modest neckline showed a hint of cleavage, while the back draped nearly to her waist, revealing a sexy expanse of creamy skin.
The skirt skimmed her hips perfectly, almost too perfectly, revealing lines and curves she didn't know she had. Surely this body wasn't hers.

“Don't move,” Christine said. She drew closer. “Do you mind if I do something?”

Before Emma could reply—not that she could speak at the moment, since her reflection had her too stunned—the woman pulled the hairclip from Emma's hair. Her copper-colored locks spilled around her shoulders, but only briefly before Christine swept it back in a kind of semi chignon.

“This dress calls for a more sophisticated updo,” she said. A small change, but a stunning one nonetheless. Emma blinked, transfixed by the transformation.

“And shoes,” she heard Christine saying. She disappeared into the main store and returned with a pair of silver sandals. “Here, put these on.”

Still stuck in her trance, Emma obeyed. The heels were higher and strappier than she'd normally wear, but they suited the dress perfectly. For the first time in her life, Emma didn't mind the endless stretch of leg.

“Still think you should stick to basic black? That dress was made for you,” Christine said. “I told you, fate was giving you a message.”

“You think?” She still couldn't believe her reflection. Who knew one dress could make such a difference? With the hair and the shoes, she felt like a celebrity.

Or a princess.

She looked at the crepe dress waiting on its hanger. This dress probably cost more than she made in a month. The black was the best choice. The practical choice.
The responsible choice. Her gaze flickered back to her reflection.

“I'll take this one.” The words shot from her mouth unbidden. The moment she said them, her nerves began to tingle. What was she doing?

Christine didn't give her a chance to change her mind. “Great,” she gushed. If Emma didn't know better, she'd swear the woman was genuinely excited about her choice. “Now, let's touch up your makeup.”

Fifteen whirlwind minutes later, Emma had become a different person. Christine didn't so much “touch up” her makeup as make her over. Her eyes were turned sultry and exotic. Crystal earrings dangled from her lobes, catching the light. Throughout it all, Emma felt lost, as if she were watching herself in a dream. A wild, unimaginable dream.

“Perfect,” Christine said when Emma finally stepped from the dressing room. She looked over her shoulder for affirmation. “Don't you agree?”

“More than perfect.” Gideon stood leaning against the counter, raw appreciation lighting his eyes. “Breathtaking.”

The bottom fell out of Emma's stomach.

He handed her a heavy knit shawl that wasn't hers, but complimented the dress. Emma was too focused on his seductive gaze to protest. “Shall we?” he asked.

Feeling as if she were floating on air, she took his arm and let him lead her away.

The floating sensation stayed with her through the lobby and onto the street. While they'd been inside, the city had been shifting gears from business to social.
Even though the sun was disappearing, its heat continued radiating from the pavement and buildings, keeping the air warm. Emma took in a deep breath, reveling in the encroaching summer night. After days of cold and gloom in Boston, the reprise felt wonderful.

“Is the restaurant very far?” she asked.

Gideon shook his head. “No. Why?”

“I was wondering if we could walk a little. The warm air feels good.”

Smiling, he guided her past the doorman. “We can do whatever you want.” His palm skimmed the small of her back, and the spark running up her spine made her feel so alive she could have run a marathon in her high heels. “Tonight's your night.”

Her night.
Her insides did a foolish little dance. Slipping her arm free from his, she pointed at the buildings lining the horizon. “Nice to finally see the top of the skyscrapers, isn't it?”

“Yeah, goodness knows you don't get to see that every day in downtown Boston.”

She responded to his sarcasm with a smirk and a slight push to his shoulder. “Seriously, it's nice to see the sky change colors behind the buildings. All the different shades of pink and gray. Looks like a painting.”

“Why, Miss O'Rourke, that sounds almost whimsical. Careful, whimsy's one step away from fantasy, you know.”

“A momentary slip, I assure you,” she replied with a laugh.

“Oh, I hope not. I'd like to think we've awaken a sleeping giant. Emma O'Rourke, dreamer.”

“Afraid not.” She fiddled with her wrap. There'd been a honeyed note in his voice that made her nerves hum with an uncomfortable awareness. “I suppose these sunsets pale compared to what you're used to seeing,” she said, changing the subject.

“A little. In Cabo San Lucas, there's this place called Land's End where the sun literally drops off the edge of the world. You'd swear you were watching a big red ball sink into the water.”

“Why, Mr. Kent, that sounds almost whimsical.” She earned herself a smile and a salute.

They paused at an intersection to let a taxi pass. “There are days when I wouldn't mind sailing off into the sunset,” she told him.

“Why don't you?”

“What, and leave all Kent Hotels has to offer?”

Her attempt at offhandedness failed. The look Gideon gave her was unsettling at best. “Seriously, why not?”

“Not everyone can take off. Someone has to stay and work.”

“Who decided that someone had to be you?”

Life did,
thought Emma. “Because that's the way it's always been,” she said softly.

Somberness followed her answer. “Not tonight,” Gideon replied in an equally low voice. “Not tonight.

They walked on in silence. Emma welcomed the respite. Following his words, she felt more aware of Gideon than ever. Every look, every movement registered in high definition on her brain. Like the way his sleeve brushed against her arm as they walked. Or how his fingers hovered oh so near hers, touching but
not touching. A miniscule shift to the left would break contact, but she couldn't bring herself to move.

Instead, she stole a glance at his profile. If Gideon noticed, his expression didn't indicate. He stared ahead, his eyes focused on a point somewhere in the distance, as if scanning the horizon. Recalling those tropical sunsets, perhaps?

“You must be looking forward to going back.”

He glanced at her, his muzzy expression that of a man yanked from his thoughts. “To Saint Martin,” she added. Or Cabo, or whatever locale had dragged his thoughts away. “With your ‘errand' complete, you'll be able to go home soon.”

“Mmmm,” he replied. “I suppose so.”

She was surprised how much his answer disappointed her. What did she expect him to say?

Quickly, she changed the subject before the emotion could take hold. “I have to admit I'm getting hungry. I don't suppose I can get a hint as to where we're going for dinner? Since you're not buying me a hot dog, that is.”

“Nope. You'll have to wait and be surprised. We're only a few blocks away now. And I promise, you'll like it just as much as a hot dog.”

“Promise? Because I happen to really like chili-cheese dogs.”

Immediately, she regretted her teasing tone, because the smile Gideon flashed back was beyond sexy. As was is his voice. “I promise, Miss O'Rourke. This will be a dinner you'll never forget.”

 

Gideon didn't know why he'd picked this particular restaurant. He'd never eaten here himself, having always considered the place a five-star tourist trap. But as soon as the elevator doors opened and he heard Emma's gasp, he knew he'd made the right decision. Thirty-five stories above Manhattan, the entire penthouse dining room was a glassed-in paradise. Outside, the skyline beckoned from all four sides. Inside, crystal chandeliers bathed the room in light softer than candles, while real flames adorned glass-topped tables. “Like dining in midair,” the restaurant ads touted.

Manufactured romance, Gideon had always thought, but seeing the wonder on Emma's face, worth the effort. Her eyes danced, they sparkled so brightly. Pleasure shot from his head to his toes. Not sexual pleasure, but the thrill of having pleased her. Her lack of pretense fed his desire to treat her like a princess. The more she refused to indulge herself, the more he wanted to shower indulgence on her. He thought back to her earlier comment, about being the one to stay back and work. He wished he knew who or what had convinced her she couldn't have more.

“What do you think?” he asked, slipping the wrap from her shoulders. “Better than a hot dog?” Her speechless nod only made his satisfaction swell more, and compelled him to lean in closer. “Wait till you see the view up close.”

Just then the maître d' approached them, a crisp, slim man in a silk suit. “May I help you?” he asked in a clipped voice.

Gideon introduced himself, and the man instantly
snapped to attention. “Yes, of course, Mr. Kent. Right this way. Your table's waiting.”

He led them through the crowded dining room to a table in the back with an unobstructed view of the Chrysler Building, just as Gideon had requested. A bottle of champagne was chilling in a nearby stand, also as he'd requested. Gideon waited until Emma had been seated, then slipped a generous tip in the man's palm. Normally he detested men who threw money and entitlement around, but tonight he made an exception. He wanted Emma to have an experience she wouldn't forget.

“Okay, I admit, this is better than a hot dog,” she said once the maître d' had left them. “This view is beautiful.”

Emma's eyes sparkled in the candlelight. He hadn't noticed before, but the brown had flecks of green. It made them glitter even more than usual. A man could get lost studying those eyes.

And that dress… Christine had outdone herself. He'd sent her a Little Match Girl and got a copper-haired siren. When Emma stepped from the dressing room, every ounce of air had rushed from Gideon's lungs and he was still having trouble getting it back. The woman sitting across from him wasn't his adorable Miss O'Rourke; she was a woman who swept coherent thought straight from a man's head.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

He probably shouldn't have said the words aloud, but when her blush seeped past her collarbone, regret faded in favor of his growing arousal.

Arousal that kicked up a notch when she looked away and began fiddling with her silverware. He watched her set and reset the angle of her salad fork a half-dozen times. The woman honestly didn't know her own appeal, he realized. The stirring in his blood grew stronger.

Their waiter arrived and poured the champagne. When he departed, Gideon raised his glass. “To a memorable trip,” he said.

“To keeping the wolf at bay,” she replied, repeating her toast from earlier. He noticed her hand shook as she raised the glass to her lips.

“You're not nervous, are you, Miss O'Rourke?”

Another blush colored her cheeks. “A little, maybe. This is all so different for me. I feel like everyone in the room's staring at me.”

With that dress, they probably were, thought Gideon.

She swiveled the stem of her flute between her fingers. “It's like I have a gigantic O on my forehead for Out Of Place.”

“Everyone feels out of place a little when they visit somewhere for the first time.”

“Right. Even you?”

“Even me.”

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. A mistake, because Emma's eyes immediately darkened with awareness, sending his arousal into overload. It was all he could do not to raise her wrist to his lips and trail kisses up the inside of her arm until those eyes darkened to black.

Abruptly, perhaps because she could read his
intention, she pulled her hand away. The motion was so quick Gideon nearly knocked over his champagne. By the time he recovered, she'd tucked both hands onto her lap. Out of his reach.

Dammit.

“Have you traveled to a lot of places?” From the way she chewed her lip, he guessed she was trying to change the atmosphere.

“Depends upon what you consider a lot,” he replied, obliging her. “Not nearly as much as you think. The larger my company gets, the more I seem to stay in one place. The irony of the hospitality industry.”

“How large is your company?”

“We opened an Australian office last year, and next spring I'm setting up shop in the Pacific Northwest. That'll make…” he tallied the number in his head “…thirteen locations worldwide.”