Cin Wikkid: April Fools For Love (8 page)

“You met a man? Good for you. Although, waiting outside would be a good excuse for him to gain Milly-points by giving you his coat.”

“He did. Which is why he’s shivering instead of me.”

“Ah. Well, good.”

Cin signed off and tucked the phone in her purse. At that moment, the engine roared to life. She thought about calling Milly back, but decided against it. Her friend had a chance at some happiness tonight. She didn’t want to spoil that. Surely, she could brave one small front door by herself?

I have confidence. I have confidence.
She repeated the mantra as the taxi turned up the drive to the mansion.

I have…crap.

One small door, she could brave. But, too late, she remembered Milly had said doors, plural—and even that wouldn’t have prepared her.

Gideon Prince’s mansion—
palace
was more accurate for such an immense abode—didn’t have a single stoop and one small door. It didn’t even have a stoop and two small doors.

No, the Prince entrance was a pair of monolithic slabs as tall as most houses. Worse, they could only be reached by mountaineering an Alps of concrete stairs.

Physical impediments, bad enough. But what dumped acid in her veins and followed it with a lit match was the uniformed staff. Proper, gloved men opened the door of each arriving vehicle for ladies to emerge. A matched set of tall-and-snooty staff guarded the monolithic entrance like a pair of cold war checkpoint guards. She wondered if there was a hidden gun turret.

What if there was a secret rich-bitch handshake? The Steps’ taunting
sandwich-girl
rang in her head, dumping doubt in her already churning blood.

Her fight for Rafe might be over before it even started. Her stomach flipped painfully.

The orange car crept forward.
One judgmental gauntlet at a time,
she coached herself. Cars and cabs were still arriving, most bearing expensive European badges. Maybe she could see how the women before her handled themselves.

When the car ahead of the pumpkinmobile stopped, the uniformed man bent to open the door and extended his hand.

Gloved fingers curved like delicately sipping swans into the man’s hand. A dainty foot appeared through the vehicle’s opening. Cin nibbled at bare fingernails, seeing she’d already missed one important bit of kit.

The beauty emerged, unfolding gracefully, naturally, like a bud opening. Her escort, the driver, relinquished the car to parking staff and came around to offer his arm to the lady. She floated up the terrifying steps like a fairy.

All without any obvious effort at all.

Cin swallowed bile. Aside from seeing the woman didn’t tip, and that she’d waited for the attendant to open the door, that had been no help whatsoever. Cin didn’t have an escort to sweep her up those stairs.

The Pumpkinmobile rolled into position. Her turn.

Cin scooted forward on the seat, preparing to extend her foot as daintily as possible.

The door opened. She scooted the last inch—and her hoop skirt popped up and punched her in the nose.
Pow.

Nose smarting, she wrestled the skirt down to see the attendant standing there, staring at her in disgust. Strike one against her. Heart pounding in time with her throbbing nose, she forced herself to extend her bare hand in what she hoped was an elegant gesture.

Cin waited, but the man just continued to scowl. Stings, the beginning of nervous sweat, prickled her skin. Wrangling the hoops one-handed, she tried to exit the car gracefully herself.

Unfold like a flower, unfold like a flower…

She got one high heel on the pavement and started to unfold…but the heel, which had all the surface area of a needle, slipped out from under her.

Her leg bent in a way not intended by nature, and she stumbled out of the car. Trying to find her balance, she lost hold of the hoops, and her skirt inflated to full-size, becoming a flounced, antebellum cork to the bottle of the door opening. She was stuck. Cheeks burning, Cin grabbed the door frame with both hands and pushed as hard as she could—finally popping out.

The staff guy helped her then, but only by virtue of the fact that he was in the way. She flew into him, tangling knees and elbows. Almost immediately, something shoved her away—him or her skirt hoops, she couldn’t tell—a mite too hard, sending her flying back against the side of the taxi.

A moment passed, her panted breaths loud in her ears, a strange warning feeling in her belly, as when a rubber band is cocked and stretched, but not yet released. She could even almost hear the high-pitched twang of the hypothetical band…

Uh-oh.
Not hypothetical, and not rubber. Her skirt hoops were compressing behind her.

She opened her mouth to warn the attendant who, huffing and shooting her dark glares, had staggered to his feet, tugging his uniform into place.

“Watch—” The hoops sprang back to form, rebounding her from the side of the car. She managed to twist at the last minute, avoiding smashing into the man a second time, but as she did, she caught sight of something swinging in her original direction…her puffy purse. “—out.”

The bag caught him in the solar plexus. For such a small thing, it packed quite a wallop.

The man woofed air and folded as if he’d been hit by an anvil.

Cin staggered, stammering her apologies—until his head came up, his glower like a black thunderstorm, forked lightning in his eyes.

“April Fools,” she cried brightly, and dashed—wobbled fast—past him.

“Hey, you!
Wait.
”

She zipped around the attendant, barely avoiding his reaching hand. Her skirt didn’t quite zip with her. She stumbled, almost caught herself and stumbled again. Floundering, she managed to trip the whole way up the staircase, her path thankfully largely empty.

But at the top, a rotund woman dripping diamonds slowly shepherded her two virgin-white-debutante-decked daughters toward the entrance doors.

Cin lurched into the lady and toppled all three like dominoes.

A matched pair of doormen caught the daughters, but their mother wasn’t so lucky. The woman went sprawling to the ground, Cin falling atop her. Thankfully, Cin’s spring-steel skirt hoops bounced her back like an inflatable punching bag.

She came abruptly upright before the doors.

They stood open to a large, elegant foyer, where she was appalled to see a crowd of posh people staring at her in horror.

She tottered there, breath frozen, as the mutters began. Faces darkened and hardened with disgust and contempt. “Who is she?” “I don’t know.” “I know she
doesn’t belong.
”

Her stomach flared with pain. Didn’t matter if she was just as good as any of them. Being on the receiving end of those belittling looks and whispers hurt.

For Rafe.
Forcing herself to breathe, Cin searched among the dark grimaces for Milly’s sympathetic oval face, or one kind expression, or
anyone
who wasn’t scowling. She’d even take someone laughing at her.

A pair of kohl-rimmed eyes edged into view as, with a flash of gold lame, Yl darted within a few feet of the doors. Ez and Mrs. Wikkid crowded close behind her, their expressions disbelieving.

The Steps!

Hope filled Cin’s lungs on a buoyant breath. She lifted a hand to wave.

Yl’s gold-gloved hand rose, too—to hide her face. Behind her, Ez’s gaze met Cin’s…and slid away. Looking anywhere
but
Cin.

The Widow Wikkid deliberately turned her back.

Cin groaned, arm drooping.

An answering groan came from the rotund woman at her feet as the matron tried unsuccessfully to rise, flopping like a floundering sea creature.

Poor thing. Help her.

Cin barely had her own watery muscles under control, her arms and legs trembling with mortification, but she couldn’t ignore a fellow human being in distress. She grabbed the woman’s wrists, braced herself, and heaved.

The large lady popped up—sending Cin tumbling directly into the two doormen.

“Grab her!” one rasped, voice like sandpaper.

They must’ve seen her kamikaze skirt in action, because they caught her by the wrists, one each, and held her between them.

“Thank you,” Cin began, until their hands tightened, snake-bite hard, on her wrists. She squeaked and tried to twist loose.

“You
baggage,
” the second doorman snarled, his tone all gravel. “Sorry, you’ll have to leave.”

Gravel-voice’s glower said he wasn’t sorry in the least, but she understood. The muttering in the foyer was getting louder, and the nasty squint the matron gave her could have flayed skin.

If not for Rafe, she’d have hung her head and oozed back down the steps.

But if she and Rafe were to have any chance for a future, she’d have to fight. She pumped steel into her spine and glared back. “I was invited.”

“You?” the sandpaper-voiced doorman snorted. “I hardly think the likes of
you
were invited.”

“A mere sandwich girl,” Ez muttered, loud enough for the whole foyer to hear.

Cin felt the words like a knife to the gut.

Yl scissored open her gloved fingers to stab Cin with a triumphant smirk.
See, we told you.

Throwing off her pain and stoking her courage, Cin ignored the Steps to meet the doorman’s glower, and upped it with a glare. “The invitation was in the newspaper. Every single woman in the city was invited. I’m single. I live in this city.
I’m invited.
”

“Indecorous behavior is not tolerated, even from invited guests,” the second doorman sneered.

“Especially guests like
you.
” The first doorman’s dismissive gaze flicked over her as if she were the bastard offspring of a hobo and a burst vacuum cleaner bag.

“See, Cinderella?” Ez poked a bony gloved finger at her. “No matter how good you look in your pretty makeup, you can’t hide the ugly underneath.”

Shocked, Cin could only gape. She’d known her stepsisters didn’t like her, but this virulent hate was unexpected and took her out at the knees.

While she wobbled, one of the doormen jerked his head toward the stairs, and the pair began to strong-arm her toward them.

“Wait! Please.” She dug in her heels, as much as she could. “I have to get inside. I have to find someone.
Please.
Don’t throw me out.”

They ignored her, hoisting her between them. Hopelessness invaded Cin’s cells, her lungs, stealing her air, robbing her protests of strength. She sagged, mirror of her spirit plummeting inside. She’d lost her only chance for a future with Rafe.

Chapter Six

“
Stop.
”

The deep voice cut through the crowd’s muttering by virtue of its sheer power. The doormen halted on the top step as if they’d been flash-frozen.

“
What
is going on here?”

Cin didn’t look up. She didn’t recognize the voice, but what did it matter?

The men holding her turned though, twisting their snake-bites harder. She barely winced in her depressed, defeated state. The first doorman rasped, “I’m sorry you were disturbed, sir. We’re just showing this interloper out.”

Forceful footsteps rang nearer. Curiosity finally tipped her head, and she swiveled her eyes to glance behind her.

A man strode through the crowd, tall and decisive, his dark hair gleaming.

Cobalt-blue eyes glinting.

Rafe.

She perked up, twisting in the doormen’s grip, searching Rafe’s dear face, waiting for his recognition…

There was none. Not any sign of softness or warmth on his perfect, unscarred face. Absolutely no sign he knew her.

Absolutely no sign he’d ever cared.

He stalked closer in his elegant tux, the exact gleaming black of his hair and fit to show up his broad shoulders, and she knew.

This wasn’t Rafe, not her Rafe at any rate.

Oh, she realized intellectually this was the same man. But emotionally? This wasn’t the Rafe who’d tenderly kissed her, given her gifts, rubbed her with lotion. Why had she thought he’d be the same here, just without scars?

Why had she thought Prince was the mask, and Rafe the real expression of the man?

This forceful male was all Gideon Prince, and his expression was pure outrage.

Outraged by me?
Cinderella trembled, sagging between the mansion’s bookend bouncers. She knew why. She’d flung those terrible words at him, had spat, “I’d never marry Gideon Prince.”

He was probably thinking,
“You turned me down, Cin. I gave up on you.”
The fact that she dared show up now? He’d be insulted, hurt, and covering it with anger.

But twisting, looking again…that wasn’t hot anger in those blue eyes. It was cold disdain.

She shivered.

He stood above her on the stairs, staring down his nose at her. Like Ez, though his superiority seemed inborn and higher somehow. Like Ez, too, he stood straighter than straight, but not her stepsister’s ultratense rigidity. Prince held himself with a surety, a knowledge that he was rich and powerful and privileged.

Cin wondered why he’d even bothered with the Rafe act. A rich man’s lark, dressing up in a middle-class disguise, laughing at the poor souls around him? Maybe that was why he’d never had intercourse with her. She was good enough for a fondle but not good enough for a fuck.

Ouch.

That’s not true. I connected with him, I know I did.

Or she thought she had. Could it
all
have been an act? Not just the Rafe persona, but his tenderness toward her?

Seeing him in his element, she wondered how she could have thought he’d give all this up to live with her. Ludicrous. Her, little Cin Wikkid, hardworking poor, sandwich girl. Prince would never give up his billions to embrace Rafe. He’d especially never give them up to embrace
her.

A winter storm invaded her chest, scouring her raw. It crushed her hope for them.

His eyes met hers. The ice in his gaze matched the hail-filled gales inside her.

Her heart began to shrivel and die.

And then a miracle happened. He
saw.
Saw her pain, her fear. His gaze changed, touched with fondness, exasperation, empathy—Rafe’s wealth of emotions, the feelings he never put in to words, but that she nonetheless knew lived and breathed inside him.

The ice in her chest cracked as she finally recognized her Rafe.
He’s not just a rich man’s act.
His face blurred as tears rose in her eyes.

“Gentlemen,” he said to the doormen. “You will release Ms. Wikkid.
Now.
”

The men instantly obeyed the dark command in his voice, freeing her wrists. Chafing feeling into them, she turned front, blinking to clear her watery vision. As she did, her Rafe seemed to disappear again, leaving only Gideon Prince.

Beyond Prince’s broad shoulders, Cin’s stepmother had turned to stare. Yl’s hand had dropped, and all three Steps wore shocked expressions.

Cin wanted to explain, but Prince was waving her inside. Prince, not Rafe, because her muscles automatically tensed to obey him. Damn, the man was commanding.

A sudden twinge in her thighs and pangs from various bruises reminded her of how clumsy she was in this outfit. Before attempting a step she grabbed the topmost hoop of her skirt, lifted it a few inches, and minced a couple tiny experimental steps toward him.

He came down the stairs to her, offering his arm.

She gaped, but again, almost as if she
had
to obey, she placed her fingertips on his jacket sleeve, feeling the fine wool underneath. Instantly, she felt steadier.

He led her up the stairs and inside. Elegant men and women parted for her as if she’d suddenly become royalty. And perhaps, on Gideon Prince’s arm, greeted personally by him—by name, nonetheless—she had.

Bending toward her, he murmured, “We need to talk, but I only have a few minutes before the final selection starts.”

Relief cascaded through her. Whoever he was really, she
had
connected with this man, at least on some level, or he wouldn’t want to talk.

She scurried alongside him as best she was able in the heels and birthday-cake dress. He led her into a large room, an office or den of some sort, releasing her to lock the door behind them. When he turned to her, his hard-planed face was touched with regret, the echo of her Rafe.

“Cin, I was going to tell you who I am—”

“It’s okay.” She gave him a small smile. “I don’t know why you hid your identity, but it doesn’t matter now.”

“It
does
matter. Because…” He dug a hand through his dark hair. The gesture was Rafe, but not Rafe. “Because
you
matter.”

The words filled her with emotion. She choked back a sob.

“I only have until ten o’clock. But for what it’s worth…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I had good reasons, or at least I thought they were good. But I’m still sorry. I ached to tell you, especially when we… When we—”

“Fooled around?” Cin couldn’t help the pained edge to her voice, remembering how close she’d felt to Rafe during their love-play. They’d connected, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still an act on his part.

He looked away. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“What do you call it?” she challenged.

His gaze swung back to hers, and the cobalt fire there made her breath catch.

“I call it wanting you so much I
burn
with it. Each day, every day, needing you desperately.”

Shock dropped her jaw. “Then why, all those times I touched you and you touched me, didn’t you…didn’t we…?” Her hot cheeks finished the sentence.

“Because you didn’t know who I really was. I wanted to be
me
when I fully made love to you.”

His admission stunned her. Emotion flooded her: shock and longing that he’d cherished her so much; regret for time lost; and fury that he’d lied to her all this time.

Who are you really?
Words rose to her tongue, fearful words, hopeful words, angry words. Too many words. She could only swallow them.

“Tonight was coming fast,” he went on. “I tried to contact you, even though you told me not to…but then, when you waved me off at the sandwich shop…” His broad shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I gave up hope. You’d said you wouldn’t marry Prince if he was the last man on earth.”

Her vocal cords finally worked. “I never said that.” Not exactly.

He laughed, no humor. “Your meaning was clear. But now that you’re here…” He stopped himself and drew straight. “Honor demands that I go through with the test. Will you get in line?”

“In line? You mean to take the marriage test?”

“Yes.”

She searched his face, his eyes.
Who’s asking me, Gideon or Rafe?

Suddenly, she decided she didn’t want to know. She still didn’t understand why he’d disguised himself, but did it matter? She’d come here to stop him from going through with this ridiculous test, not take it herself.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t ludicrous to think she could convince him to give all this up for her.

No, not for her. For
them.

Fifteen minutes before he had to leave. He’d refrained from intercourse until she knew his identity…
but she knew now.

Fifteen minutes to convince him to take a chance on them. She couldn’t waste a single, precious second.

“Enough talk.” She threw herself into his arms.

Her skirt betrayed her, tripping her and sending her stumbling full force into him.

He caught her, but her hoops compressed between them, threatening to spring back and tear her out of his grip. For a moment, he almost let her go.

Until his gaze met hers. Shock constricted his pupils. “You still want me…?” Suddenly his eyes dilated to dark platters, and instead of releasing her, he cinched her tighter, hoops under perfect compression, his strength the equal of, and then
mastering,
the steel.

His mouth crashed down on hers even as a zip and a yank on his part freed her from the awful hooped dress. He kissed her, all the hotter for his being so desperate, his tongue owning her fast and hard as his hands stripped her of her clothes. Within moments her dress was muddled around her feet and her naked breasts peaked in the cool air, her bra discarded and her panties falling around her ankles.

She was nude, and he was fully clothed. But she was desperate, too.

Grabbing his tux jacket, she managed to wrestle it off his shoulders in the time it took him to kiss her nearly senseless.

“You,” she panted around his delving tongue.

“Me?” His fingers thrust into her hair, dislodging every pin on one side, hand holding her head still as he kissed her deeply enough to brand her soul. “What, me?” His other hand dropped to her bare buttock, squeezing, pulling her into him. The dark, thick quality of his voice gave her to understand he wasn’t quite thinking straight, or at all.

“You. Naked.”

“Yeah?” He muttered it between kisses. “Make me that way.”

“Can’t. Don’t understand these things.” She jiggled a shirt stud.

“Right.” Releasing her, he stepped back to strip off his jacket and cummerbund, throwing them carelessly across a couch back.

Pop-pop-pop and the shirt gaped open. Her mouth gaped with it. Rafe, peeling off a T-shirt, was sexy. Prince, ripping open his crisp white cotton was akin to Superman tearing apart his button-down, only there was no costume underneath, just bronzed skin.

She’d seen Rafe’s chest before, but here his muscles were cut crystal-sharp by the deep shadows of the low light. Pecs, biceps, flexors, and extensors jerked and bunched as he stripped off the shirt then unhooked and unzipped his pants. He wasn’t wearing
any
underwear.

His cock sprung out, as proud and full as if it had shouted.

She had to. She grabbed his erection—and nearly dropped it with a yelp. When he said he burned for her, she hadn’t realized how literally he’d meant it. He was scorching hot, throbbing, and bigger than he’d ever been.

He wrapped her in his arms and bent, his mouth fastening onto her nipple, suckling. Bright need exploded inside her. Good thing he held her—she bucked with excitement at the onslaught. The rhythm of his suckling coursed through her. Her hips began unconsciously to beat against him in synch, trapping his erection between them. As she undulated in luxurious waves, the thing actually grew fatter.

“
Cin.
” He thrust one hair-roughened thigh through her legs, grabbed her hips, and
pulled,
scrubbing his hot roped muscles against her sensitive sex. She shrieked, not simple bucking now but wrenching with full-fledged earthquakes of pleasure.

Convincing him, thought itself, fell away. Only one thing lit her brain.

She wanted him inside her, and she wanted him
now.

She wrapped a leg around his waist. Reaching between them, she grabbed his cock and raised it like a torpedo, aimed straight where that thick erection would to the most good. The next time he pulled her hips in, his glans rode partway inside her.

He released her nipple with a shout.

The feel of Rafe inside her thrilled her to her core. Twining arms around his neck, she wriggled until a full inch was seated.

He hissed in her ear. “Cin…wait…”

“No more waiting.”