CINDERELLA & THE PLAYBOY, page 4
"If it's a larger stone you want, I can arrange that." His voice was suddenly so cool it made her shiver.
"No," she insisted, glancing up at him. "It's beautiful and exactly what I would've chosen."
His eyes softened. "I hope it fits." He picked up the ring and held it out to her. "May I?"
Something told her to grab the ring, put it on and scamper out of his study like the frightened little forest creature she was. But she stayed put.
He took her cool hand in his warm one. An ocean breeze rushed into the room, upsetting papers and caressing Abby's neck just as Tanner slipped the ring on her finger.
"It fits pretty close to perfect, I'd say." He brushed his fingers back over her freshly manicured nails, smiling. "This is a nice color."
She swallowed the frog in her throat "It's called Temptation."
"Well, it certainly is that."
She looked up at him, searching the shadows of his face, her pulse pounding at the base of her neck. What now? What was she supposed to say now as his gaze blazed down into hers, gold fire and pure heat?
He lifted a brow. "My turn."
She just stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"The ring."
"You want me to give it to you?"
He chuckled hoarsely. "You sure have a way with words, Abby."
Heat surged into her cheeks. If she wasn't bumbling with her feet, she was doing it with her mouth. "What I meant to say was—"
"Don't worry, I know what you meant." He slipped the platinum band on his finger unceremoniously.
Abby cleared her throat. "So, how does it fit?"
His eyes twinkled. "A little tight. But I think I can handle it for the weekend."
Somewhere a bell chimed. A soft, tinkling sound that only just nudged her from her dreamlike state. Then it chimed again.
Abby dropped her gaze. "Someone's here, I think?
"No." He smiled knowingly. "Dinner's ready, Mrs. Tanner."
Her stomach flipped over at the intimate words and the husky sound of his voice. Soft, low, caressing. She was falling hard and fast for this whole charade. She needed to remember that Cinderella turned back into a poor servant girl at midnight – or in this case at the end of the weekend – and that the looks Prince Charming tossed her way were only part of his practiced act.
* * *
Tanner glanced across the candlelit table and reminded himself once again that he'd chosen Abby McGrady to work for him, not to tempt him or captivate him or make him laugh. But tonight everything seemed off kilter.
Seldom had he had a formal dinner without the bustle of waiters and the constant chatter of other patrons to keep him from focusing on his companion. Nor had he had such interesting conversation. Books, music, art, food, wine. But then again, when he asked a woman for a date he wasn't exactly looking for conversation.
He picked up the bottle of merlot and held it out to her. "Another glass?"
She shook her head. "I'd better not. More than one glass and I can get … well, let's just say I want to keep my head about me." She looked up at him. "Have you ever had too much to drink, Tanner?"
He nodded. "Once. In college. Then never again."
"I'm willing to bet that you couldn't stand that relaxed, out-of-control feeling."
He leaned toward her and whispered conspiratorially, "Well, if you call waking up in a fountain on campus relaxed, I'd have to agree with you."
She laughed. "You didn't."
"Oh, yes, I did. Right beneath a large metal statue of our college's founder." He had no idea why he'd just shared something so foolish with her – gotten personal. But he did know that her company was bringing out an entirely new side of him. One he hadn't known was there. And it bothered the hell out of him.
She wiped her mouth daintily, then placed her napkin over her plate. "Since you chose to show me one of your scars, so to speak, it's only fair that I do the same."
At this moment, Tanner thought, he'd love to see anything she wished to show him. Creamy skin, beautiful shoulders, long legs. Wherever she had a scar, he'd love to find it.
Snap out of it, Tanner. You're acting like a damn teenager. This lady's off-limits.
Forcing back the surge of desire that had his body in a chokehold, he continued their playful repartee. "Did you wake up in a fountain, too?"
She laughed and shook her head. "Far more embarrassing."
"Well, spill it."
She drank the rest of her wine, then took a deep breath. "I went to the art academy here in town for four years. My family cut all kinds of corners to help pay my tuition, but there was never enough money left over for books and art supplies."
Tanner leaned back in his chair. "Don't tell me your scar is selling plasma for extra money."
"That's not it." Her cheeks were flushed, and she didn't meet his gaze. "I was an artist's model."
A forest fire erupted inside Tanner. He tried his damnedest to avoid conjuring up the image of her, nude, standing center stage in an artist's studio. But he failed. "You…" he stammered, which he never, ever did. "You modeled nude?"
She lifted her chin defiantly. "It's art, Tanner. It's beautiful."
"I bet it is."
"And, as hard as it is for you to believe, not sexual."
"Uh-huh."
This line of conversation had to end or he was going to spend the rest of the night – and possibly the morning, too – under the spray of an ice-cold shower.
He cleared his throat. "Didn't you say something about a list of conditions last night?"
She nodded slowly. "I didn't actually make a list. I just thought that we could be as respectful of each other as possible this weekend. I know that this situation dictates a certain amount of touching. So, I've decided that a little hand-holding and an occasional kiss is acceptable."
"Agreed," Tanner found himself muttering, his mind running a mile a minute with questions like, Where was he allowed to kiss her on those occasions?
"Anything else?"
"Yes, actually." She smiled at him. "I reserve the right to make up other conditions as I go along."
They both stared at each other for a moment, until Abby broke out in laughter, followed by Tanner, and the tension eased greatly, much to his relief.
"You know, I can't wait to see Minnesota again," she said.
"You've been there?"
She nodded. "My aunt used to live on Lake Minnetonka. I love it there. Especially now in the early part of fall. With all the different colors of leaves, it's like a work of art every time you step outside. Don't you think?"
She took a sip of water, and Tanner couldn't help but follow her hand with his gaze, watching his grandmother's ring as it winked in the light on Abby's finger.
"Regretfully, I've only been to the airport."
"Oh, that's too bad. They grow the best apples there. Each bite tart, sweet, then tart again." Abby looked out the picture window at the moonlit ocean, her eyes sparkling. "I wish I could have an apple tree. But you saw the deck on my apartment."
Dammit. Her perfume, that clean, soft scent that clung to her skin, was slowly turning his mind to mush. And that creamy white neck of hers seemed to be calling, begging for a kiss—
Snap out of it, Tanner! he told himself. Abby McGrady's marriage material and your employee. A very dangerous, very undesirable combo.
His housekeeper set their desserts in front of them with a smile, then quickly departed. Crème brûlée. Tanner glanced up to see Abby's reaction to the elegant dessert, but her gaze was downcast.
"Is something wrong?"
"No. Not at all. It's lovely."
"Abby."
Abby fought the urge to insist that the pretty cream-colored concoction in front of her looked appetizing. She didn't want to hurt the housekeeper's feelings or appear unsophisticated. But she had no clue what it was and they'd been honest with each other up until now – maybe even a little too honest – but what the heck.
"Okay, to tell you the truth," her voice fell to a whisper, "I'm not much into fancy-dessert-type things."
He smiled and whispered back, "I think there's some ice cream in the fridge."
"Now you're talking." She stood up and offered him her hand. "I've got a great idea…"
Five minutes later, with his jacket off and his tie loosened, Tanner stood in front of a large bowl of ice cream. Abby had given the housekeeper the rest of the night off and turned the whole kitchen upside down, coming up with lots of goodies. Sliced bananas, chocolate sauce, crumbled cookies, marshmallows and raspberry preserves were laid out in several small bowls.
Tanner looked eager and excited, like a little boy who'd just heard the siren song of the ice-cream truck tooling down the street after school.
"Okay." Abby tucked a napkin into the starched collar of his shirt and one into the top of her dress. "Let's dig in."
"There aren't any nuts," Tanner pointed out.
Abby pointed to a small bowl. "But we have chocolate sprinkles." She gave him a knowing look. "And you have to learn to love chocolate."
"I do?"
"Of course you do. It's your new family business."
"Right." He said the word, but his eyes said something entirely different – something she couldn't make out.
She didn't press him. Instead she poured some of the sprinkles on his ice cream, laughing at his shocked expression.
They quickly prepared and consumed their sundaes. Abby devoured hers swiftly and with gusto, while Tanner ate his slowly, savoring every bite.
When he was finished, Tanner licked his lips. "Best damn dinner meeting I ever had." He smiled at Abby, his eyes dark and promising. "Thanks for the suggestion."
Does he look at a woman like that before he kisses her?
Her knees feeling exasperatingly like Jell-O, Abby turned away from him and started tidying up the kitchen, wondering how in the world she was going to get through a whole weekend of those looks, that voice, those eyes and that smile.
* * *
The ocean looked haunting at night, Abby thought, gazing out the open car window as Tanner shifted gears and pulled onto the Pacific Coast Highway
. The salty air permeated her nostrils and the breeze calmed her. She had to admit, in this one thing she envied him. She glanced over at him. He was watching the road, his stubborn jaw brushed with stubble, the sexy shadow making his lips look full and darker in color.
She turned and stared straight ahead. Okay, so she was attracted to C. K. Tanner. What did that make her? Just one of the thousands who were ready to throw themselves at his Gucci-shod feet? No way. Not her.
Tonight had been… Lord, what had it been? Not exactly a barrel of monkeys, but fun – and fascinating. She hadn't bumbled or broken a single thing. Instead, she'd had the makeover of a lifetime, gotten a little tipsy, told one of her deepest, darkest secrets and found out that the in-control C. K. Tanner wasn't always so controlled. She hated to admit it, but after tonight, she was looking forward to this weekend just as much as she was dreading it.
"You should've brought the dress home. I wanted you to have it." Tanner palmed the gearshift and swung into Fifth, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he moved.
Soft shivers passed through Abby, and the jeans and blouse she'd changed back into after they'd gobbled up dessert suddenly felt confining. "I don't attend functions like this very often. Well, not at all really. The dress has no place in my closet, but thank you."
He nodded. "Well, I'll have it packed up for you along with all the other things George picked out. I don't know if there will be much cause to wear an evening gown in Minnesota, but who knows. You should always be prepared."
She looked up at him. "Did you learn that in the Boy Scouts?"
He pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment building and set the parking brake. "I was never in the Boy Scouts."
She laughed. "Is that so?"
Damn, he liked hearing her laugh. She wasn't like anyone he'd ever known, and he had that same inexplicable urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her, once, just to see what she tasted like, but he fought against it with everything he had.
He turned off the engine. What the hell was the matter with him? She was cute and funny, but she delivered his mail. They were from completely different worlds. No possible way was he thinking what he thought he was thinking. No way. He was keeping this thing strictly business – even if it killed him.
And if their time spent together was anything like tonight, it just might.
He walked around the car and opened the door for her.
She didn't move. She just blinked up at him.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm stuck." Her voice was only a notch above a whisper.
He leaned against the doorjamb. "Excuse me?"
"I'm stuck. I'm stuck," she repeated somewhat frantically. "My hair's caught in the headrest. Lord, I hate these foreign cars."
He shot her am amused grin. "You get yourself into these situations pretty often."
She glared at him. "Is that a question?"
He crouched down beside her. "A statement." He studied the seat. "How exactly did you manage to do this?"
"Can we maybe discuss my foibles and the history of them at another time? I need freedom. I have a sort of borderline claustrophobia-type thing."
"That's a shocker," he muttered on a chuckle. "Can you arch your back a little?"
Her eyes widened in alarm. "Why?"
"So I can reach up behind you. I don't want to hurt you."
She arched her back as much as she could – which was about three inches away from the seat. Tanner eased his hand behind her, grazing the warm, soft skin of her neck in the process. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gain control over his raging libido. But he could still smell that damn perfume of hers. Hell, he was turning into a jackass teenager.
He inched nearer to her – his head resting dangerously close to her breasts as his fingers wound around in her long, soft, curls, searching for what held her.
"Do you feel it?" she asked hoarsely.
He practically groaned, his body on fire. "I think so." Slowly he pressed the headrest up and helped her out of the car.
Abby felt her heart thud against her ribs as they stood on the curb for a moment, the wind kicking up leaves around them just as it had that morning. It was as though nature electrified whenever they where together. Ocean, leaves, wind, all conspiring to create this unrealistic mood.
She touched the band on her finger. "Would you like your ring back or—"
He smiled at her. "No, you hold on to it."
She nodded. "All right."
They walked to the door, an awkward silence filling the air.
"I have to say that I'll be glad when this is over," Abby said, opening the door to her apartment building. "I hate lying."
"It's not my usual style, but it was a necessary evil this time, I'm afraid."
She turned to face him, her back to the small lobby. "Isn't it possible that you could get this company on your own, Tanner? Show Frank Swanson who you really are?"
He stared into her eyes, green pools of appeal, and thought how easily a man could get lost there. "No. I have no desire to show anyone who I am."
"But when he finds out that we're not really married—"
"He won't." He raised a brow and smiled at her. "By the time the ink is dry on the contracts that make Swanson Sweets mine, you and I will be divorced."
Abby stiffened. "You say that so easily, like the institution of marriage is meaningless."
"To me, it is," he said curtly. He wasn't going into his opinions about marriage right now or ever. That was his business, and because Abby McGrady had two parents who were still married and obviously loved each other and their children, she would never understand, anyway. "I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow morning. We have an early flight. Good night, Abby."
He headed toward his car without looking back. Marriage was a charade, just like tonight, tomorrow and the next several days. If he had his way – which he usually did – he'd be single forever. He climbed into his car and gunned the engine. He wasn't going back to the beach tonight, he'd sleep at the penthouse.
That is, if he could sleep at all with the scent of Abby's perfume still lingering about him, on his clothes, in his mind.
* * *
Chapter 4
«^»
"We should be landing in an hour, Mr. Tanner," the flight attendant whispered.
He nodded at the woman. He was afraid to move any more than that lest he disturb Abby, who lay fast asleep in the crook of his arm. She'd been so exhausted when he'd picked her up that morning, he wanted her to rest as much as possible. They had a full weekend ahead, and if they were going to pull off this charade they needed their wits about them.
She hadn't said a word about the way they'd parted last night, and he was grateful. He wasn't interested in rehashing the matter of marriage or continuing the debate on acquiring the company. Damn, when she was around he wasn't exactly sure what he was interested in or what he wanted.
She wasn't what he was used to. She wasn't what he'd expected. Truth was, something had happened during that dinner last night. He'd had a good time for the first time in a long time … with no pretense. And it sure didn't have anything to do with candles or flowers or ice-cream sundaes.
He glanced down at her.
After takeoff, they'd exchanged a few words and she'd asked if she could take a short nap. She'd been asleep ever since.
When was the last time he'd held a woman like this? Tanner wondered, brushing a wisp of shiny red hair off her cheek. Or better yet, when was the last time he'd wanted to hold a woman … or felt comfortable enough to stay this close to her?
She looked like an angel in her angora sweater and cream pants. A pain-in-the-neck angel, he mused, remembering the emerald glares she'd shot him at the community center the other night. She had fire in her.
Tanner inhaled sharply. Damn, what he wouldn't give to feel that fire beneath him.
The scent of her shampoo wafted up to greet him. Apples. The girl sure loved apples. Maybe he'd give her a small tree as a present when this whole thing was over.
