Susan Mallery - Cinderella For A Night

He stared at her blankly. “Whatever you think is best.”

“I figured as much.” She smiled. “I can’t see you having a great time hanging out at the baby store.”

Nor could he. “Are you going to be up to all this?” he asked. “You’re still recovering.”

“I feel fine. I’m ready to get back to work.”

He wasn’t so sure. “Perhaps I should simply start looking for a permanent nanny now and save you the trouble.”

Cynthia’s gaze was steady. “You can start looking whenever you’d like. In fact one of the services I provide is an interview screening process. I’m also happy to be at the interview with you. But finding someone to stay in your house, looking after your child on a long-term basis isn’t all that easy. It usually takes time. I don’t mind filling in.”

But this wasn’t about her, he thought. Even now Cynthia was gazing at him with a look that spoke far more than she realized. She wasn’t looking at him with hero worship-not exactly. It was more…female interest in an available man. And he would be willing to bet his third-quarter earnings that she didn’t have a clue that he could tell what she was thinking.

She reached for her glass of water, but it was a couple of inches out of reach. When she started to move, he waved her back to the sofa.

“I’ll get it,” he said and crossed the room.

When he handed her the glass, he found himself sitting on the edge of the sofa instead of returning to his seat. Cynthia took a drink then put the glass down.

She wore jeans and a green sweatshirt that had faded from too many washings. There wasn’t a speck of makeup on her face. Her shoulder-length blond hair was loose and soft around her face. She looked young and fragile and she’d nearly died because of him.

“I’m sorry about the poisoning,” he said. “I know that’s a stupid thing to say, but I never wanted you to get hurt.”

She drew her knees to her chest. “Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

His hip pressed against hers. He could feel the heat of her through the layers of her clothing and his own. He was close enough to inhale the floral fragrance of soap or shampoo or maybe just the essence of her.

She smiled. “Right up until the bad stuff started happening, I’d been having a really good time. I’d hoped I would meet you. I never thought we’d get to dance.”

“Or that you would drink poison meant for me.”

“Don’t,” she said with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

He found himself drawn to her, moving closer, when there wasn’t that much room between them to begin with. She was trouble, he thought. She might look like the last living virgin, but she was more dangerous than any other woman he’d ever known.

“Did you like the dancing, too?” she asked, her voice breathless.

He was close enough to see that her eyes had dilated and that color was moving up her neck and down from her hairline. A blush. Who the hell still blushed?

“I liked the kissing better,” he said honestly.

But before he could press his mouth to hers, there was a sound from a nearby room. He remembered where he was and who had the potential to walk in without warning. He drew back and rose to his feet.

“Coward,” Cynthia said lightly.

“Let’s just say I know about the importance of good timing. And this isn’t it.”

It was nearly eleven in the morning when Cynthia arrived at Jonathan’s house on Friday. She pulled up in front of the huge three-story home and wondered if her aging but serviceable car was going to faint from shock at being in such impressive surroundings.

The brick façade was both grand and intimidating. A wide porch fronted by pillars stretched out twenty or thirty feet. “We come from different sides of the tracks,” she told the baby gurgling contentedly from his car seat behind her. “You have lots of money in your family tree.”

Colton was not impressed. His blue-eyed gaze settled on her face and he smiled. Then he blew a bubble out of his perfect rosebud mouth.

“You are too cute,” she informed him as she collected her purse, then prepared to walk around to the passenger side of the car. Behind her a large truck rumbled into view. A truck filled with everything a baby could ever want.

While she hadn’t seen Jonathan since the day she’d been released from the hospital, they’d been in touch by phone. Last night he’d called to tell her that he’d arranged for one of the larger baby stores in town to open an hour early this morning so that she could buy whatever Colton might need. He’d already faxed the store a floor plan and the dimensions of the baby’s room to help visualize the space. Cynthia had been impressed with his efficiency.

The store owner had met her and Colton promptly at nine. Jonathan had left the same instruction with both women-there was no spending limit. Cynthia was to get whatever she thought was best.

Cynthia opened the rear passenger door and began unstrapping the baby. “Your uncle trusts my taste, doesn’t he?” she cooed. “I think Uncle Jonathan was terrified I was going to make him come with me. Yes. Big, powerful Uncle Jonathan is afraid of baby things.”

She lifted out Colton and held him close. The little boy smelled of baby powder and that indescribable scent that makes maternal types go weak at the knees with longing for a child of their own. She tickled him under the chin, making him laugh and wave his hands.

“I’m sure you had a good time,” she told the baby as she carried him toward the front door. “I, however, couldn’t help thinking that it would have been more fun for me if I’d had cart blanche in a ritzy department store.” She was smiling as she reached for the doorbell.

But she never had a chance to press the button. The wide wood and beveled glass door flew open. A woman in her mid-fifties, wearing a black dress and white apron clapped her hands together.

“Oh, finally Mr. Jonathan brings me a baby. I’ve been begging him for years and always he ignores me. ‘Lucinda,’ he says. ‘I’m not the baby type.’ Maybe so, but I remind him that I am.”

The woman, Jonathan’s housekeeper Cynthia presumed, was about her height, with short dark hair and brown eyes the color of milk chocolate. Her wide smile made her eyes crinkle. She looked soft and plump-and Cynthia liked her on sight.

Lucinda reached for the child, then stopped and touched her forehead with her fingertips. “You must think I’m crazy, keeping you out here on the doorstep. You’re Cynthia, right? Come in, come in. I’m Lucinda. I keep Mr. Jonathan’s house. Not that there’s very much to do. The man works all the time. He rarely eats at home. I send his clothes out to be cleaned. So where does that leave me? I watch my soaps in the afternoon. I tell him not to pay me so much money, what with me watching television, but does he listen?”

Cynthia took in the flow of conversation. She realized she wasn’t actually expected to comment on any of it, which made her feel better. She wasn’t sure she would know where to start.

“Yes, I’m Cynthia Morgan,” she managed to inject. “This is Colton, Jonathan’s nephew. Isn’t he a charmer?”

“So handsome,” Lucinda said. “May I hold him?”

“Of course. He’s not the least bit shy around new people. In fact I suspect he likes a crowd. More attention for him.”

Lucinda took the baby and cradled him in her arms. “Oh, little one. You look like your uncle. The same dark hair and blue eyes.”

The baby smiled up at her and Lucinda smiled in return. “You’re going to be a heartbreaker. I can see it already. You’re going to twist me around your finger, aren’t you?” She returned her attention to Cynthia and the truck that had stopped in the driveway.

“Mr. Jonathan said you would be buying the little one what he needs.” Reluctantly she handed the baby back to Cynthia. “After I show you around I’ll go tell the men where to put everything. They’re going to track mud all over my floors. I just know it.” She glanced at the boxes and cartons of furniture being unloaded, then sighed. “It will be worth it, I think. To have a baby after all this time.”

Lucinda motioned for Cynthia to follow her into the house. “Let me take you to the room I picked for the little one. Mr. Jonathan said I could just go ahead and choose what I think is best. I have a room for you, too. We had painters through last spring, so the rooms are nice. The baby’s room is plain. Cream walls. But maybe we’ll pick some wallpaper.” She clucked Colton under his chin. “You like race cars? Or maybe sports?”

Lucinda continued to talk as she headed for a curved staircase at the far end of the foyer but Cynthia couldn’t answer. She was too busy trying to keep her mouth from falling open as she took in her surroundings.

Of course she’d known that Jonathan Steele was a successful, wealthy man. Everyone in Grand Springs knew that. But reading about it in a newspaper article and seeing the proof in person were two very different things. She was sure she’d never seen a house as wonderful as this. Not even in a magazine spread.

The foyer was about the size of her mother’s house, but oval instead of square. Above was an incredibly beautiful crystal chandelier and above that, a domed ceiling. The walls were white, the floor black-and-white marble. Gilded chairs that looked English and very old hugged the sides of the curved room. Molding added elegance to an already impressive entryway. There were a half-dozen doors leading to who knows what other wonderful rooms and a curved staircase that stretched up the far wall.

Cynthia continued to look around as she hurried after Lucinda.