Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After (6 page)

“Thank you.” He took her hand, holding it a second too long and giving her fingers a light squeeze before releasing her. He lifted an eyebrow at Chance. “She's beautiful and she loves my cooking. Where have you been hiding her, Chance?”

“Never mind.” Chance's voice held a definite possessive warning. “Back off.”

Jordan laughed and winked at Jennifer. “Duty and my kitchen calls but we'll have to talk later, Jennifer, and you can tell me how you've managed to make my friend so possessive.”

“I'm just protecting her from the wolves,” Chance drawled.

“Of course,” Jordan said blandly. “Enjoy the evening, my friend.”

Jennifer didn't miss the enigmatic look he gave Chance before he disappeared into the crowd.

“Where did you meet him?” she asked Chance, curious about the chef.

“His sister was a patient of mine,” he told her. “He threw a party when the baby was born and after everyone else went home, we killed a fifth of Scotch toasting his new niece. We've been friends ever since.”

She sipped her champagne, her gaze drifting over the glittering gathering before stopping on a couple. The man wore a tux and the woman's gown was a formfitting sapphire blue, her hair a long, wavy mane that gleamed like silk beneath the chandelier's light. The two had eyes only for each other—until the man glanced up, grinned and waved.

“There's Ted,” Chance commented, lifting his champagne glass in salute.

“Who's the woman with him?” Jennifer asked.

“His wife,” Chance replied. “And I'm damned grateful Sara Beth said yes when he proposed. I work with him and he's been a pain in the…well, let's just say he was in a bad mood until he worked things out with her.”

“They look very much in love,” Jennifer said softly, her gaze on the two as the man brushed the woman's long wavy hair over her shoulder and smiled down at her.

“They are.” Chance emptied his champagne flute and caught her hand. “Let's dance.” He deposited
their glasses. “I'm glad to know I was right,” he said as they circled the room.

“About what?” she asked, a tiny frown drawing her brows into a vee.

“The food,” he replied easily as he guided her out through open French doors and onto the wide balcony where other guests danced beneath the night sky. “Unless you were lying to Jordan. You did enjoy dinner?”

Her brow smoothed and a smile curved her mouth, lighting her eyes. “Oh, yes. The lobster was wonderful and the chocolate mousse was perfect.”

“I told you the food would be worth the cost of the ticket,” he said with satisfaction, executing a series of smooth, sweeping turns to move them down the length of the wide stone balcony. “Jordan doesn't serve tiny slivers of artsy-looking food. His food is elegant without being precious—you know, no tiny portions that leave a guy so hungry that he has to stop for a burger on his way home.”

Jennifer looked up at him, a smile curving her lips. “It sounds suspiciously as if you've been forced to sit through dinners filled with…maybe, cucumber sandwiches and tea?”

He laughed. “Not since my grandmother made me eat them when I was a kid. Since then, though,

I've had to attend dinners where we were served rubbery chicken or tiny plates with three or four artfully arranged celery and radish slices.” He shuddered. “Makes me hungry just to think of it.”

“I'm guessing it takes more than celery and radishes to fuel a guy your size,” she joked.

“You guess right,” he said with a nod. “Lots more. I have a big appetite.” He winked at her.

She studied him, contemplating an answer to what was clearly an invitation.

His lips brushed her ear. “Aren't you wondering what other appetites I have?” he teased, lazy amusement underlaid with darker, more volatile emotions.

She tilted her head and his mouth brushed over her cheek, with scant inches separating his lips from hers. “I was considering asking,” she said quietly. “But decided I should give the subject more thought before asking questions that might provoke dangerous answers.”

“I'd be happy to answer any questions, Jennifer,” he told her. “Dangerous or not.” Heat flared in his dark, heavy-lidded gaze.

“I've never been a woman who courts danger,” she murmured. “I've always preferred safe and sane.”

“You're safe with me, Jennifer,” he muttered,
pressing his lips to her temple. “I'd never hurt a woman, especially you.” His arms tightened as he swept her into a series of fast, graceful turns.

“I believe you,” she replied softly once she was back in his embrace. “At least, not physically. But you're a very attractive man, Chance, and a woman could lose her heart to you.”

“Could she?” he rasped, his voice deeper.

“Yes.” She nodded, her hair brushing the underside of his chin and his throat. “I don't want a broken heart, Chance.”

“I won't break your heart. Come home with me, Jennifer.” His fingers trailed over her cheek, tucked a tendril of soft hair behind her ear, and returned to brush over her lower lip. “I've wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

“I don't sleep around,” she told him honestly. They'd stopped dancing but still stood within the circle of each other's arms. Beyond the balustrade, the lights of the city glowed while on the street below, the faint sounds of traffic drifted upward. Down the length of the stone veranda they'd traversed, a series of French doors were thrown open to the ballroom. Gold light poured out, illuminating the guests at the other end of the veranda as some strolled or leaned on the wide, chest-high stone bulwark and some
danced, swaying in time to the orchestra's lush notes. Chance and Jennifer were alone at their end of the long veranda, shadowed except for the spill of soft light that fell through the glass panes of the French doors beside them, drawn closed against the crowded ballroom inside. The yellow light highlighted his face and she searched his features. “In fact…I haven't been with a man since my divorce, and that was more than five years ago.”

His eyes darkened, his mouth a sensual curve. “Honey, that's a damned shame. A woman as beautiful as you should be loved often and well.” He bent and brushed his mouth over hers, then lingered to slowly trace her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “Come home with me. Please.”

He urged her closer until she rested against his chest, her thighs aligned with his. Jennifer shuddered at the press of her breasts against hard muscles.

“I don't want to complicate my life,” she managed to get out. She struggled to remember why she needed to resist him, closing her eyes against the heat that bloomed beneath his lips as he traced the arch of her throat. “Or yours,” she added.

“This doesn't have to be complicated,” he murmured, his lips on her throat, just below her ear. “It can be whatever we want it to be.”

An enticing shiver ran down her spine, and Jenny knew she couldn't resist him. “Just tonight,” she whispered. She forced her eyes open and leaned back, cupping his jaw in her palm to tilt his head up. Beard stubble rasped faintly against the sensitive pads of her fingertips, his eyes ablaze with need. “No complications—and after tonight, we go back to waitress and customer. Can we do that?”

She read the objection that flared in his eyes and saw the swift refusal on his face as his jaw flexed and muscles tightened beneath her hand.

“Please,” she said softly, desperate to hold on to some shred of control. “I can't make promises beyond tonight.”

His fingers tightened on her waist and then he nodded. “All right. If tonight's all you can give me—” he brushed a kiss against her cheek “—I'll take what I can get.”

His mouth covered hers with searing heat. Her senses were fogged and she was reeling with want when he lifted his head. He tucked her along his side and led her to an exit. After waiting—for what felt like an eternity—for the valet to bring his car, they were off. Threading her fingers through his to keep her close, he laid her hand palm down on his thigh and covered it with his own as they sped through
Boston traffic, his touch anchoring her to him. Desire seethed, swirling and heating the air between them in the close confines of the car.

Jennifer was only peripherally aware of the neighborhoods they drove through, her senses focused on the man beside her. When he tapped a control on the dash and then turned off the street and beneath a still-rising garage door, she caught a brief glimpse of the exterior of a brick town house before they pulled in.

Chance switched off the engine, the sudden silence enfolding them. His gaze met hers, heat blazing. “If I touch you before we're inside, we won't make it out of the garage.”

She swallowed, throat dry. “Okay.”

He smiled, the sudden amusement easing the tension. “Unless you have a fantasy about making love in the backseat of a Jag.”

She blinked, distracted by the curve of his mouth. “Um, no.”

“Too bad,” he said, his voice suddenly lower, huskier. “The idea has possibilities. But I don't want our first time to happen in this car, either, so let's go.”

C
hance took Jennifer's hand and led her up the stairs, then down the hall to his bedroom.

The clatter of nails on the polished oak floors below was followed by a loud bark.

“That's Butch,” Chance reassured her.

Jennifer's eyes widened at the size of the dog racing down the hallway toward them. The black and tan rottweiler skidded to a stop and sat, panting up at Chance with what looked like an ear-to-ear grin.

“I think he's glad you're home,” she said, unconsciously inching behind Chance.

“I think you're right.” He tugged her forward and into the bedroom. “I'm going to put him in the kitchen with food and water. I'll be right back.” He bent, his mouth taking hers with heated possession. Then he disappeared into the hall, the big dog by his side, tail wagging.

Her legs unsteady, Jennifer sat on the edge of the bed, drawing a deep breath into oxygen-starved lungs. She'd barely gotten her bearings when Chance returned. He strode across the room and caught her hands, drawing her to her feet and into his arms. Her wrap slid to the floor in a pool of red silk at her feet, her small evening bag joining it.

Chance cupped her face in his hands, his gaze intent.

“I can't tell you how many times I've thought about you being here—in my room. And in my bed.”

He brushed kisses over her jawline, cheeks, temples. Jennifer's eyes drifted closed and his lips moved softly over her lashes and against her sensitive skin. Just that quickly, she fell back into the haze of need and desire so abruptly interrupted moments before.

She threaded her fingers into the thick, silky dark hair at the nape of his neck and urged him closer until his lips met hers.

Heat built, quickly becoming a firestorm as the kiss turned urgent. Without taking his mouth from
hers, Chance lowered the zipper at the skirt of her dress. The backless gown had a sewn-in bra and his fingers stroked over the bare skin of her back.

Jennifer reluctantly lowered her arms from around his neck, a quick shrug sending the loosened gown free to pool at her feet. She knew a moment of self-consciousness when Chance stepped back, his dark eyes searing as he swept her from head to toe with one swift glance. She wore only a tiny pair of red lace bikini panties, thigh-high sheer hose and the red stiletto heels.

“Damn, you're beautiful,” he murmured, bending to brush a quick, hard kiss against her mouth before taking a step back again.

His gaze focused on hers, he stripped his tie loose and dropped it on the floor, shrugged out of his tux jacket and tossed it behind him.

He caught her waist in his hands and drew her nearer.

“Unbutton my shirt,” he instructed, his voice husky with arousal. His thumbs moved in slow circles, as if he was unable to stop caressing her.

Reassured, Jennifer took only seconds to slip the black studs free. When she finished, Chance took them from her cupped hand and dropped them on the nightstand before holding up his hand. Jennifer unfastened the cuff links, one by one, and dropped them
on the pile of studs. Chance immediately shrugged out of the shirt, pulling her flush against him, his hands threading into her hair to tilt her face up to his. When his mouth settled over hers, Jennifer sank into the sensation of his soft lips, gentle and demanding all at once.

The hard muscles of his bare chest teased her sensitive breasts, the fabric of his tux slacks faintly rough against her thighs. And his lips on hers sent desire throbbing through her veins.

She murmured incoherently and Chance laid her back on the bed before he stood, toeing off his shoes, pulling off his socks, unzipping and shoving his pants and boxer shorts down his legs. He bent and pulled open the drawer in the bedside table, ripped open a packet and a second later, rolled on protection. Then he leaned over her, slipping his thumbs under the narrow bands of red lace on her hips to tug her panties down her legs. He dropped the bit of lace and silk on the floor behind him before bending to press a kiss against the faint outward curve of her belly.

Jennifer gasped at the heated brush of his mouth against her sensitive skin. He stroked his tongue over the indentation of her belly button and she moaned. Frantic to have him closer, she tugged at his arms,
fingers clutching the hard muscles of his biceps to urge him nearer.

He surged on top of her, his mouth taking hers with urgency, one knee nudging hers apart to make space for him. Then he was inside her. Jennifer cried out, drowning in pleasure and need.

It had been too long for her and, all too soon, Chance drove her over the edge.

Sated and drowsy, she opened her eyes and found him gazing at her, a slow smile curved the sensual line of his mouth.

“I'm guessing it was good.” His words weren't a question but she nodded, too satisfied and boneless to speak, nonetheless.