Fortune's Cinderella (20 page)

And kept on going.

This is getting to be a habit, she thought as she floated back to earth in time to catch Scott’s liftoff, and she twined her arms around him and held on tight.

As if he were actually hers.

Afterwards, he settled between her legs, his head on her chest where she could toy with his dark, rumpled hair as the regrets already began to show their smarmy little faces, taunting her for yielding the one thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t.

And she didn’t mean her body.

At her sigh, Scott lifted himself up enough to meet her gaze again, his brow puckered as he knuckled away the single, lazy tear dribbling down her cheek. “Hmm. Not the reaction I was going for.”

She frowned back at him. “You made love to me.”

“Um…yeah. Kinda thought that was the point.”

“No, I mean…” With a shaky laugh, she touched his cheek. “You made love to me. Put me first. Nobody…” Her eyes filling again, she shook her head.

Scott shifted to hold her close, tucking her head underneath his chin. “You’re welcome,” he said, and she burbled a laugh. Then he said, “Don’t move”—as if she could—and got out of bed, grabbing a throw from a nearby chair to wrap around his waist before he left the room. A minute later he was back.

With the ring.

Seated on the edge of the mattress, he twisted the ring so the stones flashed in the afternoon sunlight. “You want forever?”

You have no idea, Christina thought sadly as she tugged the sheet up over her breasts. But how could she possibly trust what she knew absolutely nothing about? And yet she felt powerless to resist when Scott took her hand into his, slipped the ring on her finger.

“It’s a promise of my commitment. Not yours. But every time you look at this I want you to remember, as close as we just were?”

He smiled. “It’s only the beginning. Because I will always be here for you, honey. I swear.”

Staring at the ring, she felt her face burn. She needed to come clean. Now. While there was still a chance of getting out of this without anyone getting hurt.

“Scott, I—”

“If you don’t like it, you can pick something else out that suits you better.”

“No, I love it, it’s just—”

From somewhere on the floor, his phone rang.

“You should probably get that.”

“That’s what voice mail is for. You were saying?”

“Get it,” she said, forcing a smile as she pushed him aside to get up. “I’m going to go take a quick shower, anyway,” she said, gathering her clothes. “I’ll be back in a jif.”

Shaking, she closed the bathroom door behind her, crossing her arm over her breasts to watch the pretty little ring wink in the lights bordering the giant framed mirror. She could almost hear it chiding her, for being at the very least dishonest. For letting Scott believe he could make her into something she’d never be.

She stretched out her hand, her blurred vision softening the sparkle.

But not the ache in her heart.

By the time Scott dug his phone out of his pants pocket, he’d missed his father’s call. John Michael’s message was typically brusque.

“Call me.”

Talk about an afterglow killer.

Although truthfully, Scott thought as he ducked into another of the four upstairs bathrooms to take his own shower, there was nothing his father, or anyone else, could say or do to derail how good he felt right now. A feeling that went way beyond that relaxed state that came with sexual release. Because while Scott was no stranger to sex, this was the first time he could say he’d made love.

And man, was that an eye-opening experience, or what?

For Christina, too, he thought on a chuckle as the hot water pummeled his back, if all those startled gasps were any indication, the mind-blowing yin yang of her asserting, then yielding control. Never had a power struggle been so much fun.

Except…it was driving him nuts, that he had no idea how to banish the uncertainty still fighting for purchase in her eyes. That had sent her scurrying away, clearly not wanting company in the shower. Judging from what they’d just shared, he highly doubted he was pressuring her into something she didn’t want. Desperately, if his intuition was correct.

So why, he wondered as he headed back to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, did she still look so damn afraid to trust him?

Afraid of him?

His mood now soured, he returned his father’s call, putting the phone on speaker mode as he buttoned his shirt.

“Hey, Dad—what’s up?”

“Brad Stevens called, wondered why you haven’t been in touch with him.”

Scott pulled in a deep, silent breath through his nose. “Because I turned that account over to Mike. Which I explained to Brad when I spoke with him yesterday.”

“But he likes you.”

“And I’m flattered. Really. But he’s not my client anymore. He’s Mike’s. By the way, you and Mom are going to love my new house. Seven bedrooms, everyone can stay here when they come out after Wendy’s baby arrives. Christina says the hunting trophies have to go, though, they creep her out—”

“You already bought her a house?”

Slightly taken aback, Scott paused in the midst of buckling his belt. “I bought myself a house. Which, yes, I want Christina to share with me—”

“Dammit, Scott—I cannot believe you’re chucking it all for some snack bar waitress!”

Never, not once, had his father ever struck any of them. But his words now stung with all the force of an actual blow. Then he frowned.

“Who told you she was a waitress?”

“It doesn’t matter. Why? Isn’t she?”

“No. I mean, she was, yes—as a means to put herself through school, for heaven’s sake. Which for one thing is hardly a crime against humanity and for another doesn’t even begin to define who she is. You’re many things, Dad, but I’ve never known you to be a snob. Mom was your attorney’s receptionist, for crying out loud—”

“The summer we met, yes. Between her junior and senior year at Smith. The woman’s after your money, Scott—can’t you see that?”

Furious, Scott snatched up his phone from the dresser and put it back on private…the precise moment he glanced into the mirror to see Christina behind him in the open doorway. The eyes met for barely a second before she wheeled on her casted foot and clomped away.

“I’ve got to go, Dad,” Scott muttered as he went after her, pocketing his phone before his father could reply.

“Christina, stop!”

Since it wasn’t like she could exactly run down the curved staircase, she halted at the top, one hand clutching the wooden bannister. “Please don’t say that sounded worse than it was. And don’t touch me!”

She sensed Scott take a step back. Sensed, too, that he was not a happy camper right now. “Yeah, that was pretty bad. I’m also sure it’s a knee-jerk reaction, because I’m resigning, moving away. He’s upset, but he’ll get over it. Besides, it’s what I think about you that matters, not what my father thinks—”

“He called me a gold digger!” she said, wheeling on him, the déjà vu making her dizzy. “Or as good as. How on earth could we possibly have a relationship when your father clearly hates me?”

“He doesn’t even know you—”

“Didn’t stop him from judging me, did it? And I told you not to touch me!” she said when he grabbed her shoulders and yanked her to his chest.

“Tough,” Scott said into her hair. “Look, I’m none too pleased with him, either, at the moment. But please believe me—” He relaxed his hold to set her back, his gaze caressing hers. “Whatever you heard, it’s highly uncharacteristic. When he does get to know you, he’ll love you as much as I do—”

His phone buzzed. “See, that’s probably Dad right now, calling back to apologize…oh.” Frowning, he brought up the text message, then looked at Christina, all the color drained from his face.

“That was Wendy. She’s in labor. And she can’t get hold of Marcos.”

Twenty minutes later they pulled into Wendy’s driveway, the worry tensing Scott’s face twisting Christina inside out. There’d been no time to get her home first, which seemed to bother Scott a lot more than it did Christina, who’d switched into crisis mode the moment she’d heard.

“Wen?” he called out the instant they were through the door. “Where are you, sweetheart?”

“In our b-bedroom!”

Scott roared down the short hallway, Christina right behind him. Wendy was lying on her left side on top of the covers, her arm protectively curled around her bulging middle.

“There was some sort of supply crisis at the restaurant,” she whispered. “M-Marcos had to make a quick trip up to New Braunfels, I wasn’t doing this when he l-left! And I didn’t call him right away because I thought it was gas or something at first—”

“Shh, shh, shh…” Scott sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair away from her tear-streaked face and making a lump rise in Christina’s throat. “Did you call your doctor?”

“What d-do you think? S-she said to d-drink a couple g-glasses of water and lie on m-my left side to see if the c-contractions stopped. It’s been more almost an hour and they h-haven’t.”

Scott stood. “What’s her number? We can meet her at the hospital.”

“It’s on the refrigerator. But she said—”

“I don’t give a damn what she said. I’m not about to take any chances with you. Or my niece. And I’ll call Marcos while I’m at it.

He can meet us there, too.”

After Scott left in search of the number, Christina awkwardly lowered herself to her knees to fold her hand around the young woman’s, willing herself to stay in the moment. To not give in to the fear. The memories. Wendy gave her a shaky sigh.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Christina returned her smile. “Me, too. Did your water break?”

“N-no.”

“Then this is probably just a very scary false alarm—”

“Ohmigosh!” Turning over Christina’s left hand, Wendy’s eyes flashed to hers. “What’s this? Did Scott propose?”

Damn. With everything else going on, she’d forgotten about the ring. “It’s…no. Not quite.” Christina shoved her hair behind her ear and tried to remove her hand from Wendy’s viselike grip. “It’s more like…a promise ring.”

Wendy angled Christina’s hand to get a better look. If nothing else, at least it distracted Wendy from her own plight. “That must’ve been some promise.”

You have no idea, Christina thought as Scott returned. “Okay, it would be quicker for me to get you there than to wait for the EMTs, so let’s get cracking. Do you have a bag or something?”

“It’s so early I hadn’t p-packed one yet…oh!”

At her scrunched face—although more in fear than pain, Christina surmised—Scott scooped his sister into his arms, only to let out a curse. “Crap—I can’t take you in the Mustang!”

“There’s a minivan in your neighbor’s driveway,” Christina said, hustling out of the room as fast as the stupid cast would let her.

“Maybe they’ll let us borrow it!”

The pleasant, middle-aged woman who answered the door was more than happy to oblige, handing over the keys before her husband could even lever himself off the recliner behind her.

“Oh, my goodness, that sweet girl! You tell her Morton and me’ll keep her in our prayers, you hear?”

“Got ’em!” she called to Scott seconds later, who swiftly carted Wendy across the yard, gently settling her into the van’s middle seat. A minute later, they were off.

“Hurry,” Wendy whispered behind them.

“You got it, honey,” Scott said, gunning the poor minivan probably faster than it had ever gone before.

Scott dropped into the waiting room chair, exhausted but still tingling from the previous hour’s excitement. Marcos had gotten there not five minutes after they did, the same time as Wendy’s doctor. After her exam Wendy had been admitted and was being given medication to stop the labor. If it took, she could probably go back home tomorrow, although she’d be on strict bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy—no muffin baking!—which ought to make his always-on-the-go sister even more nuts.

If it didn’t, he thought with an anxious spasm, Dr. Curtiss assured him they had an excellent neonatal unit, that MaryAnne would get the best care possible.

Returning from the ladies’ room, Christina sat beside him, her makeup-free face pale in the ghastly artificial light. Scott reached for her hand, holding on tight in an attempt to pick up where they’d left off when Wendy’s frantic text had come through.

Her eyes briefly cut to his before, blushing, she looked down to brush nonexistent lint off her lap. “They’re going to be fine, Scott.”

He frowned slightly, wondering if she’d deliberately misinterpreted the gesture. Then he exhaled. “Wendy was a preemie, too. Six weeks early. Scared us all half to death.”

“I can imagine,” Christina said after a moment. “Then again, she certainly didn’t seem to suffer any ill effects from it, right?”

One side of his mouth tilted. “Physically, no. Although there’s a reason she was spoiled to death.”

“I don’t think she’s spoiled at all.”

“You didn’t know her back then. Whatever she wanted, she got. Or made everyone miserable until she did.” He looked over; Christina’s eyes were still lowered. “You did good back there. Keeping Wendy from losing it. Not to mention me.”

Slipping her hand out of his, she sort of laughed. “Oh, yeah, I’m just a regular rock,” she said, twisting the ring around and around on her finger, like Gumbo trying to make himself comfortable on his bed. “Long as it’s somebody else’s drama.”

“Hey. You okay?” When she lifted bewildered eyes to his, he said, “We kind of left things…unfinished. Back at the house.”

“Oh. Right.” Her nostrils flared when she blew out a breath. “It’s not that. Well, not entirely. It’s…being here. It brings back memories.”

“From after the tornado?”

“No. From—”

“She’s asleep,” Marcos said, coming up behind them and sinking into the chair catty-corner to Christina, the lingering concern in his eyes duking it out with the relief evident in his relaxed posture. “So far the meds seem to be working, she hasn’t had a contraction for an hour. But she’s already three centimeters dilated and 50 percent effaced, which the doctor said is unusual for a first-timer this early in pregnancy.”