The Cinderella Bride (12 page)

“Why?” Gideon's voice cracked, as if he was choking on the words. Emma's heart cracked with it. “Why now?”

“In a word? Mother. Her heart attack made me realize that if I kept dragging my feet, I might run out of time altogether. Then I'd never get to tell you at all.”

More silence. Gideon was weighing his father's words. “Are you sure this has nothing to do with Mariah's offer?” he asked after a moment.

“Perhaps a little. You should be where your heart is, Gideon.”

“And you think my heart's in Boston?” His disdain was palpable. Emma felt the stab.

“I think only you can answer that question. But why else would you come back?”

“Because Mariah asked me to.”

“And you've stayed…”

Again, no response.

Jonathan started toward the elevator. Emma ducked around the corner so Gideon wouldn't catch her eavesdropping. She'd just made it when his voice called out.

“Jon—Dad, wait.” He caught up with his father. “I'm going to be here a couple more days. Would you like to have a cup of coffee…or something?”

Gratitude lit Jonathan's expression in a way Emma had never seen before. “I'd like that. Are you free now?”

“Yeah,” Gideon replied in a hoarse whisper. “I'm free now.”

The elevator cane and went, leaving Emma alone. She stayed hidden around the corner, not yet ready to leave her coward's hideout.

Nothing to keep me here. You think my heart's in Boston?

Talk about a wake-up call. More like an air siren blasting in her ear.

It wasn't as if she hadn't expected that. Hadn't she been saying pretty much the same thing to Hinckley this morning? At least now she knew when her ship would sail: in a couple days.

A couple more days, then back to reality.

 

Reality came sooner than she thought. It arrived about eight hours later, when her mother turned up at her apartment in tears over her latest heartbreak.

“Tony and I had a connection, you know?” she said between sniffles. “We had a bond.”

“I know, Mom.” There was always a connection.

Janet had wedged herself into the corner of Emma's couch. Her knees were pulled tight to her chest, and she was taking shaky drags on a cigarette. An ashtray filled with cigarette remains rested by the sofa arm. Mascara streaked her cheeks. It was the only makeup she still had on, the rest having been cried or worn off.

“He was so nice,” she continued, before pausing for another puff. “Did I mention he had a boat? And a house on the Vineyard? We talked about me visiting, for cripe's sake.”

She ground the butt in the ashtray, grabbed her pack and lit another. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, Mom.”
You just read too much into the conversation.
As usual. “He's a jerk, that's all.”

“But I really, really liked him.”

She always did. And as she got older, she fell faster and harder, the endings more bitter and dramatic.

“It's not fair,” Janet said. “Why do they always dump me?”

Emma's stomach churned as she handed her mother a fresh tissue. They'd been through the breakup regime dozens of times. No sense suggesting her mother caused her own misery, since she wouldn't listen. Besides, this time Emma actually had a little sympathy for Janet's woe-is-me sobs.

After all, she was heading for same scenario.

Nothing to keep me here.
She shook off Gideon's words. Now wasn't the time. Her mother would cry her eyes out for at least another couple hours, before falling asleep on the sofa. There would be plenty of time for a pity party then.

As she listened to Janet ramble on about heartache and the inequities of life, Emma wondered how many times the universe would have to crush her mother's romantic dreams before she got the message. Janet's meltdown was just one more reminder that her own affair with Gideon was a one-way cruise to nowhere. She refused to be like the woman in front of her, crying over a love affair that existed only in her mind.

Time to abandon ship.

 

It was two hours later when she arrived at the marina. When she'd called to cancel their date earlier, Gideon had told her he would welcome her no matter what time she arrived, but now she wondered if she should have waited until morning. The boat looked dark.

Drawing closer, however, she saw a light in the front berth.
Gideon was in bed.
She pictured him propped against the cushions, his chest bare and muscular in the dim light.

Maybe one more night…

No, no more nights. That's how she'd gotten into this mess in the first place. One night would stretch to two and then three, and before she knew it, Gideon would set sail along with whatever chance she had of keeping her dignity intact. No waiting until morning, either. Because come morning, she'd only find another reason to stall. Either she ended things now or she ended them never.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped aboard and knocked on the hatchway door. Gideon answered within moments. “Emma!” he said in surprise, before his expression softened in what seemed to be genuine pleasure.

He looked exactly as she'd pictured, shirtless and sexy as could be. Emma's heart immediately lodged in her throat. This would be harder than she'd thought.

“Can I come aboard?” she asked.

“Of course. Why didn't you call? I would have picked you up. You shouldn't be wandering around alone this time of night.”

“I didn't want to be a bother.”

He rolled his eyes. “What will I do with you? Come
on,” he said, extending a hand, “get inside before you let the cold air out. Is everything all right? You sounded off when you called.”

“My mother had a temporary crisis. Nothing I haven't dealt with before.”

“You sure? You look tired.”

Gentle concern marked his expression. Emma tried desperately not to fall under its spell. Too much tenderness would make her task impossible. “Dealing with my mother can be draining.”

“Obviously. Let me get you something to drink.”

“You don't have to.”

“Will you stop being a martyr?” He gave her shoulders a gentle kneading. “I know I don't
have
to anything,” he whispered. The huskiness in his voice went straight to her insides.

Please stop being so wonderful,
she begged silently.

He disappeared into the galley, leaving her alone. The respite helped her regain her bearings, and she took a long last look at her surroundings. Of all the wonderfully luxurious locations she'd seen since meeting Gideon, the boat would always be her favorite. The jet was incredible, the Landmark was luxurious, the restaurant beyond words, but this space felt…real. Her eyes began to burn.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Why did his voice always manage to send tingles down her spine? “I was thinking about the first time I came on board,” she said, blinking her eyes quickly.

“A rain-soaked Little Match Girl.” His chest was a
breath away from her spine. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I'm glad you didn't freeze to death that day.”

“Me, too.” She looked down at the mug Gideon had placed in her hands. “Tea?” she noted with surprise.

“I grabbed a box while stocking supplies. Figured you might appreciate having some on board. That is your blend, no?”

“Yes.” Her eyes began blurring again. Why was he making this so hard? “Thank you.”

If Gideon noticed her strangled tone of voice, he didn't comment. He was too busy nuzzling her neck. “I told you,
mon bateau est votre bateau.
Besides, it's all part of my master plan.”

“Master plan?” She was trying not to arch her neck in response to his kisses, and failing miserably.

“I figure if I stock the boat with your favorite foods, your practical nature will force you to visit me in Saint Martin. Because I know you don't like to waste food.”

He trailed kisses up her neck, his tongue flicking the skin under her jaw. Emma squeezed her eyes tight, willing herself not to melt. “I'm not visiting you in Saint Martin.” She managed to grind out the words.

“So you say now. I haven't finished implementing the plan yet. Food is only part of the strategy. Care to guess the other part?” he asked as he nipped her earlobe.

“Not really.”

Somehow she summoned the strength she needed to break their embrace and move to the other side of the cabin. As distance went, it wasn't much, but it was enough to clear her head. A little.

She could feel Gideon frowning at her back. “What's wrong? I thought you said everything went okay with your mother.”

“It did.”

“Then why are you so tense? Did something else happen?”

A whole lot had happened, beginning with her waking up. “I'm not going to Saint Martin,” she repeated.

“Why not? We both know you'd have a terrific time. You, me, the tropical breezes…”

He closed the distance between them in three short steps, causing Emma to curse the narrowness of sea vessels. If she'd been smart, she'd have insisted on staying outside to talk.

“There's so many things I want to show you,” he continued in that lover's voice she'd come to adore. “Places you wouldn't believe exist.”

As he spoke, he traced a path with his index finger down the side of her neck and along the curve of her shoulder. Her sweater did nothing to stop the heat of his touch from reaching her skin. “Beautiful, tropical hideaways where no one can find us. What do you say, Emma. Will you let me show you?”

It sounded heavenly. Beyond her wildest dreams. She sighed. Then, just as she felt her defenses begin to crumble, an image of her mother sobbing popped into her head, renewing her resolve.

“Like you showed me New York?” she asked, breaking away. “Another treat for the poor travel-deprived secretary?”

Gideon's evasive expression told her she'd hit upon
some truth. Sensing her opportunity, she continued. “That's what this has been all about, hasn't it? Expanding the poor Little Match Girl's world? Giving her some fantastical memories?”

“Since when is it a crime to treat a woman like a princess?” he asked.

Except she wasn't a princes, she was a secretary. “It's not a crime,” she replied. “Just very seductive.”

“And that's a bad thing?”

He reached for her, but she sidestepped in time. “Yes, it is. Because eventually the experiences have to end, and the pretend princess has to go back to her life. Don't worry, though, I knew exactly what I was getting into when we started this little fling.”

A shadow crossed his features, making his expression impossible to read. “Is that what you think we're doing? Having a fling?”

“What else would you call it? You don't do relationships, remember?”

Saying the words out loud hurt more than she expected. Needing a moment to collect herself, she gulped down her tea. The hot liquid burned her throat, but she didn't care. It made her temporarily forget the pain in her chest.

Gideon, of course, said nothing, which spoke volumes.

“Like I said, don't worry,” she repeated, as much to reassure herself as to reassure him. “I'm a big girl. I never harbored expectations that what we were doing would lead to anything more.”

“You didn't.” He sounded as if he didn't believe her. She supposed because he was used to the opposite.

“I learned a long time ago that life isn't a fairy tale, Gideon. Happy endings are few and far between. And I've seen more times than I can count what happens when you base your future on false hope.” She forced a tremulous smile. “Better to live in reality then nurse a fantasy. Wouldn't you agree?”

He didn't answer. Trying to think of an appropriate response, no doubt. What, she wondered, did someone say in a situation such as this, other than goodbye? Surely nothing that would make the ending any easier.

And so when Gideon finally did open his mouth to speak, she pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don't. Let's not belabor what we both know is the truth. Why don't we both walk away while we're still friends, happy with the fun we had together?”

He didn't answer. She didn't let him. That didn't stop disappointment from hitting her hard. In spite of everything, part of her wanted him to argue the point, even though they both knew there was no point in doing so. Proof she was right to end things between them.

It was time to go. Her teacup was empty. Setting the mug down, she gave Gideon one last smile, backing away when he reached for her. She wanted nothing more than to taste one last kiss, but she knew doing so would hurt far too much. “I want you to know that this…us—” she waved her hand between them “—was amazing. I don't think I've ever felt… Never mind.” She had been about to say special, but the word sounded trite. “Goodbye, Gideon.”

He stared, shocked. “You're leaving?”

“We'd both be better off if I did, don't you think?” She grabbed the railing. “Have a safe journey home, Gideon.”

Before he could utter another word, she bolted up the stairs.

T
OO STUNNED TO SAY A WORD
,
Gideon watched as Emma raced away. It wasn't until he heard the footsteps above him that he realized what had happened, and sprang into action. “Emma, wait!”

He bounded up on deck. “Emma!” he bellowed. Nearby a cormorant grunted in protest, the only noise besides Emma's rapid footfalls.

Ignoring the cold on his bare feet and torso, he started after her, calling her name yet again. She didn't stop. In fact, when he hollered, she picked up her pace, going from a brisk walk to a jog to finally an all-out run. He followed her as far as the sidewalk, in time to see her jump into her car and peel off.

What the hell? Confusion swirled in his muzzy brain. It didn't make sense. They had a good time together. Check that, they had an
amazing
time together. Making love was a near religious experience, at least for him. No, for both of them. She was enjoying their time together as much as he was. So why cut and run when they still had several days left to enjoy each others' company?

“Hey, be grateful,” he said to himself. “She's right,
you don't do relationships.” He'd been dreading saying goodbye, anyway. That was half the reason he'd invited her to Saint Martin, right? To postpone the unpleasantness. Now he didn't have to feel bad. Emma had done him a favor. He should be relieved. He could move on with a clean conscience.

Slowly, he walked back to the boat, waiting for the relief to wash over him.

It didn't come.

 

A week later, Gideon stomped into his cabin, feeling cold and miserable. Hinckley opened an irritated eye as he barged past on his way to the galley and the coffeepot. Which, he soon discovered, had about an inch of coffee left in it.

“Damn!” He slammed the pot on the burner, sending a metallic rattle reverberating through the boat. He was going to have to make a fresh pot, and the blasted canister was empty. What idiot had decided living on the water was a good idea, anyway? His hands were so numb he could barely feel them. How hadn't he noticed how cold Boston Harbor was before?

Blowing on his fingers, trying to jump-start some kind of circulation, he scanned the supplies, looking for a spare can of coffee. If he had to make instant, he would not be responsible for the damage. As he reviewed the various cans, his eyes fell on a bright red box. A sinking sensation hit him in the gut. Tea. Emma's tea.

He leaned a shoulder against the wall. It had been seven days since she'd pronounced them over and had taken off. Seven long days. He'd tried to reach her. She
conveniently managed to be absent whenever he arrived at the Fairlane, and she wouldn't take his calls. He'd left messages at work, on her cell phone. In fact, he'd left so many messages he was starting to feel like a stalker.

This desperation wasn't like him. He didn't chase women. But Emma… He couldn't get her out of his head. No woman had ever gotten under his skin the way she had. He thought about her when he ate, when he showered, when he worked on the boat. The worst was at night, when he lay alone in his bed with nothing but thoughts of Emma to lie with him.

The simple truth was he missed her. Missed making her smile. Missed hearing her gentle breathing as she slept. Missed the fullness that swelled in his chest when she looked in his direction.

Conversely, the past week had brought him closer to his family than he'd been in years. Since their awkward conversation the other day, he and his father had forged some new bonds. Tentative ones, but he had hope they would grow strong. For the first time in his life, both of them were talking—really talking—and more importantly, listening. They discovered they shared a lot of traits, such as pride and stubbornness, and Gideon was starting to wonder if maybe DNA didn't matter, after all. He was even reconsidering Mariah's offer to take over Kent Hotels.

A decision he'd love to discuss with Emma.

His back pocket buzzed, telling him he had a call. The Fairlane, according to the call screen. When he saw the number, his pulse quickened. Maybe his stalking had finally paid off.

It hadn't. Mariah's voice greeted him from the other end. “Good morning to you, too,” she said.

“Sorry, Grandmother.” He tried to push the disappointment from his voice. “I was hop— I thought you were someone else.”

“I'll forgive you, since you called me Grandmother.”

He smiled to himself. “What can I do for you,
Grandmother?
”

“You can come to tea,” she replied. “I want you to look at some concepts the advertising agency sent over.”

“Isn't that Andrew's concern?”

“I want you to see them.”

Gideon shook his head. He wondered if, in his grandmother's mind, he'd ever turned down her offer. “All right,” he replied, “I'll be there. What time?”

“One o'clock.”

“Sounds good. I'll see you then.” Emma, too, he realized with a thrill. That is, if she didn't hide again.

Suddenly, an idea hit him. “Grandmother,” he said, “will you do me a favor?”

 

“Make sure those letters go out in today's mail,” Mrs. Kent said. “Tell Marketing and Legal I don't want them bickering about the words, either.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Emma answered, not entirely certain what she was answering “yes” to. Since breaking things off with Gideon, she'd been on autopilot. Her perpetual fog showed, too. She made stupid mistakes. Yesterday,
she'd even sent a phone call through to Mrs. Kent during
All My Loves.

Speaking of Mrs. Kent, her boss's pale blue eyes were impossibly intent as they studied Emma. “Is your headache any better today?” she asked in concern.

“A little,” Emma replied. A migraine was the excuse she'd given for yesterday's mistake. It wasn't too much of a lie. She did have a headache.

“Hmmm, maybe you should see someone.” Mrs. Kent was frowning now.

“I'll be fine.” There was only one person she wanted to see, and he was off-limits. “I should be feeling better soon.”

After all, it had been seven days, for crying out loud. Her mother bounced back in two. Emma should be over Gideon by now. Instead, he dominated her every thought. Every time she heard him on her voice mail, it was like a knife in her midsection. She was beginning to wonder if she'd ever stop thinking of him.

Mrs. Kent had a few more housekeeping items for review, so Emma forced herself back to the present as best she could. Still, she only half listened. Hopefully, her automatic notes would fill in the blanks. When her meeting was over she walked robotically back to her desk. If she was lucky, work would distract her for a few hours at least.

“Hello, Emma.”

She stumbled, she stopped so quickly. Gideon stood in the doorway. Every emotion she'd been struggling to forget rushed at her simultaneously, forcing her to grab hold of the printer table for balance.

“I didn't know you were stopping by.” He looked more handsome than a week ago. Obviously, he hadn't spent the past week tossing and turning the night away.

She didn't want to think how he did spend the night, either.

“I asked Mariah not to say anything. So you wouldn't have a chance to hide,” he added when she frowned.

“I haven't been hiding,” Emma snapped. She hated that he'd read her thoughts. “I've been very busy. Your grandmother is making up for the work she missed while in the hospital.”

“Then why haven't you returned my calls?”

“I just told you. I've been very busy.”

“Liar.” Challenge sparkled in his eyes. Emma looked away. She didn't have the energy to fake an argument, so she surrendered. “I didn't see the need,” she said, fiddling with the table edge. “We said everything that needed to be said the other night.”

“Really? As I recall, you did all the talking.”

“You didn't argue.”

“You didn't give me a chance. You blindsided me, then took off before I could recover.”

“I didn't think we had anything more to say.”

His voice dropped a notch. “I've missed you, Emma. You're a hard woman to let go.”

He spoke plainly, without a shred of seduction. The simplicity was far more devastating, anyway. “If I'd reacted faster the other night, I never would have let you walk off the boat. I would have taken you out to sea and refused to let you go.”

In spite of herself, Emma had to smile at the image.
“Pretty big gesture for a guy who doesn't believe in relationships,” she said.

“Guess I'm not ready for this relationship to end yet.”

“
Yet.
That's the magic word, isn't it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said yet.” She leaned against the table. “You miss me now and you don't want our affair to end yet.” Meaning eventually it would still end.

“What should I have said?”

How about,
Don't go. I love you.

Suddenly, in one fell swoop, it hit her. She'd become her mother. Despite all her safeguards, all her vows of maintaining perspective, she'd fallen, anyway. Emma was in love with Gideon. She didn't want
yet.
She wanted
more.
She wanted him to love her back.

An impossible desire, to say the least. “That's what happens when you look beyond a comfortable bed,” she muttered.

“What?” Gideon seemed completely baffled.

“Nothing. You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

She didn't want to. Now that her feelings had made their way to the surface, she needed to leave. To put some distance between them before she made a fool of herself.

Check that, a bigger fool. She pushed herself toward her desk. “I have to go meet with Marketing. Your grandmother wants this letter to go out today and Legal has a problem with some of the language. I need to—”

“Don't dodge my questions. You said something
about a comfortable bed. What was it?” He paused, and she saw understanding crest in his eyes. “Does this have something to do with what you said the other night? About nursing fantasies?”

Trust him to listen too well. “Let it go, Gideon. What I said or didn't say doesn't matter.”

“It does to me.” His fingers wrapped around her forearm. “I'm not letting you go until you tell me what you meant.”

“Your grandmother—”

“When will you learn that my grandmother can wait?”

Emma looked down at the hand on her arm, gentle but immovable. “Fine,” she snapped. Maybe if she explained, he'd understand and finally leave her alone. “I said this is what happens when you look for more than a comfortable bed. You end up wanting too much.”

“Too much?”

“As in things you can't have.”

His eyes were two probing blue beams. “What is it you want, Emma?”

“What do you think I want?” she retorted, furiously yanking free of his grasp. A week's worth of fatigue and misery finally got the best of her, and all her frustration and pain just bubbled over. “The happy ending, the fairy tale. I want you not to say ‘yet.' I want you!”

She slapped her hand to her mouth. Oh Lord, she hadn't meant to say that.

Gideon stepped back, stunned. Her cheeks felt on fire. Maybe they were. Could she be a bigger idiot? Why not scream “I love you” too, and make her humiliation
complete? Hot angry tears sprang to her eyes as she groped desperately on her desk for something, anything, she could use as an excuse to escape this hideous embarrassment. She settled for a random stack of papers. “I have to go to talk to Marketing….”

“Wait.”

“No. I've already said too much. Let me go.” She tore herself away from his restraining hand and practically ran out of the office.

She wanted him, thought Gideon, dazed. His chest was so full he swore it would burst. It was as if a missing piece of him slid into place. Emma wanted him….

“Are you going to stand there daydreaming, or are you going to chase her down?”

He turned around to see Mariah in the doorway. How long had she been listening? She admonished him with a sharp stare. “Well?” she asked imperiously.

Her question kickstarted him into action. “Excuse me, Grandmother.” He left the room at a run. This time Emma wasn't going to make a proclamation and then walk away. Not without hearing him out.

She wanted him.
And she was standing by the elevator, trying to escape.

“Don't you dare leave this floor, Emma O'Rourke!” He bellowed so loudly a nearby housekeeper dropped her towels. Emma, though, true to form, didn't pause a beat. In fact, she pushed the elevator button.

“Son of a—” He jogged down the hallway toward her. “You are not running away from me before I can say my piece, do you hear me?”

She jabbed at the button again. “What else is there
to say, Gideon? I wanted something you can't give. You said so yourself.”

“So you simply walk away?”

“It's called cutting my losses,” she said shortly.

Cutting her… For crying out loud. Frustration ripped through him. “Dammit Emma, how am I supposed to get through to you.”

The elevator doors opened. Emma stepped on, but he threw his arm between the doors, preventing them from closing.

“I thought you were kidding about that bed. I can't believe you actually think that way.”

“Well, where I come from, there's no sense wanting more than you can have,” she retorted hotly.

“Instead you decide to want nothing at all?”

Emma glared at him indignantly. “What's that suppose to mean?”

“It means you're afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” she almost snarled, stepping off the elevator.

“Aren't you? You said it yourself. You're afraid you'll like life so much you'll want more. So you abstain altogether. No harm, no foul, right?”