Cinderella and the Playboy (13 page)

Chance leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and cocked an eyebrow at Jennifer. “How about you? Do you love Chinese food?”

“Yes, but you’ll soon learn that Annie claims she loves all kinds of ethnic food, whether she’s actually tasted it or not,” Jennifer said dryly.

“Good, that simplifies matters,” he told her. “Do you have a take-out menu for the restaurant?”

Jennifer pointed past his shoulder. “There’s one on the fridge.”

A half hour later, they sat around the table, a dozen boxes of food opened and plates in front of them.

“I like this stuff,” Annie proclaimed. “What is it?”

Chance leaned over to inspect the bite of food on her fork. “That’s almond chicken,” he informed her.

“It’s yummy.”

He grinned at Jennifer. “She likes it.”

“I guess we can add it to the short list of ethnic food she’s actually tried,” Jennifer decided.

“I want to use chopsticks, too,” Annie said.

“A fork is lots easier to eat with,” her mother insisted.

“Chance uses chopsticks.”

“True.” He glanced at Jennifer for permission, waiting until she nodded before he tore the wrapping off a pair of plastic chopsticks from the restaurant and handed them to Annie. She held them awkwardly, stabbing a piece of chicken but dropping it before it reached her mouth. “Not that way,” Chance instructed. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He stood, rounding the table to lean over her, moving her little fingers to properly grip the two sticks, then helping her pick up a bite.

Jennifer clapped when the small piece of chicken disappeared into Annie’s mouth and her eyes lit with success.

“Look, Mommy,” she said, her mouth full of chicken. “I can use chopsticks.”

“Yes, you certainly can.” Jennifer exchanged a mutually amused look with Chance.

Outside, the rain came down, pattering against the windowpanes and watering the spring flowers and budding trees. Inside, the three of them finished lunch, neatened the kitchen and then settled around the coffee table for a game of Clue. Jennifer switched on the CD player and the raspy voice of Louis Armstrong sang the lyrics of a 1940s blues tune. She lowered the volume until the music was a pleasant background, adding to the apartment’s cozy, comfortable air.

Chance rolled the dice and moved his playing piece on the board.

“Oh, no,” Annie groaned dramatically. “You’re in the library and with Miss Scarlet!”

Chance laughed. “I haven’t played this game since I was a kid but I seem to remember that when a fellow player doesn’t want me landing in a room, it probably means she knows something about who killed who.”

Annie gave him an impish look. “Maybe, maybe not.” She tossed her head, her ponytail of red-gold hair gleaming in the lamplight. “I’ll never tell.”

Jennifer leaned sideways to whisper loudly. “I should warn you—Annie almost always wins this game.”

“Aha. Now you’ve challenged me,” he told them. “This is serious. I have to win to prove guys can play this game well, too.” He gave the two females a fierce frown and they laughed, identical blue eyes sparkling with merriment.

Damn,
he realized with sudden insight.
I’m having fun, playing a board game with a kid and her mom.
Nothing could be further from the polished, sexually willing debutantes and black-tie events that had often been the focus of his past social life. Was it possible his conviction that he wasn’t wired for family life was only because he’d never met the right woman? The thought was startling—and he shoved it to the back of his mind, to be considered later. Maybe much later. At the moment, he was enjoying himself too much to ponder weightier subjects.

Later that evening, when Chance had left the apartment and Annie was asleep, snuggled beneath the pink princess coverlet on her bed, Jennifer curled up in her own.

The lamplight cast a circle of gold light over the book on her lap and the notebook with her pen. She’d planned to study but kept thinking about the afternoon just past.

There was such a disparity between Chance’s playboy image and the man who’d sat cross-legged
on her floor, arguing spiritedly with her daughter over who was the culprit in their game of Junior Clue.

A smile curved her mouth, her eyes going unfocused as she replayed the scene in her mind’s eye. In some ways, the afternoon had been bittersweet because it had created an image for her of what life would have been like had Annie’s father been a man she could have loved and respected. And if he had been an honorable man who had remained in their lives, she thought.

The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. She leaned sideways to pick up the portable from the bedside table.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jennifer.”

She almost groaned as she recognized Patrick’s voice. “Hello, Patrick.”

“I’m calling to check back with you. Have you thought about my request?”

“I told you, Patrick, I’m not going to ask Chance to give you a job.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps we can discuss it further over coffee tomorrow.”

“No, I don’t think so. Frankly, Patrick, we have nothing to discuss.”

“Oh, but we do.” His voice turned harder. “We can
certainly leave it to our attorneys but I thought you might want to discuss arranging a visitation schedule in private, just between the two of us. Before my attorney asks for a court date to resolve the issue.”

“You have absolutely no interest in seeing Annie,” she argued, anger sharpening her tone.

“But I have the right to visit,” he told her, “if I choose to exercise that right.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “I can meet you before I start work.”

She gave him the address of a nearby Starbucks and rang off, her fingers trembling as she returned the phone to its base.

J
ennifer was still angry when she walked into the Starbucks the following morning.

Her ex-husband sat at a small round table near the back. He stood, waving at her when she entered. She threaded her way through the tables, the crowd of prework customers thinned at midmorning.

Patrick held her chair before taking his own seat, fastidiously straightening the crease in his suit slacks when he sat. “I ordered a low-fat vanilla latte for you,” he told her with a friendly smile. “I remember you used to like them.”

“Thank you.” She’d vowed to remain polite and to use this meeting to elicit information and gauge Patrick’s determination to follow through with his threat. She still had no intention of complying with his request to ask Chance to help his job search. Nevertheless, she didn’t want him to start legal proceedings and threaten the stability of Annie’s life. She sipped the coffee, eyeing him over the rim of her paper cup. “I confess, Patrick, I’m curious as to how you located me. The newspaper photo and brief comments about my being Chance’s guest at the institute’s ball didn’t list anything about me except my name.”

“You’re correct. I didn’t find you through the newspaper photo,” Patrick confirmed. “It was the private investigator who gave me the details, including your current address.”

“Private investigator?” Jennifer hoped she concealed her surprise.

“Yes. He didn’t specifically tell me, but I gathered he was hired by the Demetrios family to check out the background of the woman their son and heir is dating.” Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “You do realize who Dr. Chance Demetrios is, don’t you?”

Jennifer lifted her brow in cool inquiry, refusing to comment.

“You don’t know. Jennifer—” he clucked and
shook his head, amused “—you just might be the only woman in Boston who doesn’t know that Chance Demetrios is the only son of Jonathon Demetrios and heir to the Demetrios shipping empire.”

Stunned, Jennifer’s mind moved at whirlwind speed, trying to remember bits and pieces that might have told her Chance was more than a little rich. But his custom-tailored tuxedo, beautifully appointed town house and the luxurious Jaguar car didn’t seem to point to a man who had access to ultrarich funds. Surely a doctor in his position would have those things?

“Of course, when the investigator asked me several extremely personal questions about you, I realized the family was taking the situation seriously—your dating Dr. Demetrios, that is.” He spread his hands, his expression smug. “Which, of course, was serendipitous.”

“Why is that?” she asked evenly, trying to keep a lid on her anger when she wanted to dump her hot latte over his head.

“Because here am I, having recently graduated from med school and filed an application with the Armstrong Fertility Institute. And here are you.” He gestured at her. “My ex-wife, dating a man who’s very influential at the institute. And between us, a daughter we both want the best for, I’m sure.”

“I’ve told you, I won’t introduce you to Chance or try to influence him in any way to help you obtain a position at the institute. You’ll have to rely on your own qualifications. Annie and I have nothing to do with your being hired there.”

“Perhaps not,” he said smoothly. “But you, Annie and me are connected in a very basic way. Perhaps we should discuss our parental duties and whether it’s in our daughter’s best interests for you to deny me a father’s right to visitation.”

“You have absolutely no interest in seeing Annie,” she said accusingly, her voice scathing. “You never did, so don’t pretend you do now.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But if you choose not to cooperate with me, I’ll have my attorney take you back to court and sue for visitation rights—maybe even for custody.”

Jennifer felt her body go cold. “You wouldn’t dare,” she ground out.

“Of course I would,” he assured her amiably, his eyes cold. “I intend to have a prestigious position on the Armstrong research team—any way I can get it.” He leaned closer, his voice lowering threateningly. “Don’t stand in my way, Jennifer.”

“You’re despicable,” she told him, her voice trembling with fury.

He leaned back with an easy shrug. “Call me what you like—as long as you do what I ask. If you don’t,” he warned her, “make no mistake, I will exercise my parental rights.”

Jennifer stood, unable to bear another moment in his company. “I’ll have to think about this. I don’t know how I could possibly influence Chance since I have no connection to his work. In fact, I’m not even sure what he does at the institute since he doesn’t talk about it.”

“You don’t have to know what he does,” Patrick told her, rising. “Just make sure you convince him to arrange to give me the position. I’m willing to give you a couple weeks, maybe a bit more, but then I’ll have to pay a visit to my attorney.”

Jennifer didn’t answer. In truth, she wasn’t sure she could have spoken without outright refusing him. So she bit her tongue and walked away, seething.

She couldn’t bring herself to ask Chance to hire Patrick. The man was a snake and, besides, she couldn’t use Chance, not even to save Annie.

But how could she keep Patrick from gaining access to her daughter?

After the rainy afternoon playing Clue, Chance found himself spending as much time as possible in Jennifer and Annie’s company.

Although lust was a constant, slow-burning flame in his gut whenever he was with Jennifer, he found himself unwilling to pressure her to spend the night with him. Instinct told him that he needed to court her, to give her time to come to terms with his presence in her—and Annie’s—life.

He knew she’d looked on their date for the Founder’s Ball and the night they’d spent together as a one-time thing.

But he was determined to have her in his bed again.

He suspected Jennifer was still struggling to shift her goals for her life and decide how letting him into her world would also allow her to meet her commitment to protect Annie.

With each day that passed, Chance was more convinced that he wasn’t going to be a temporary man in Jennifer’s life. He was slowly coming to believe that maybe, just maybe, his life would only be complete if Jennifer and Annie were a permanent part of his world.

Just before lunch on Saturday morning, Chance arrived at Jennifer’s apartment with Butch.

She pulled open the door, a smile lighting her face when she saw him. Butch bounded over the threshold, wriggling with pleasure.

“Come in,” she told Chance, as she bent to give the big dog a hug. He woofed, one deep sound of greeting, and tried to lick her face.

“Mommy? What was that noise?” Annie entered the living room and stopped abruptly, her eyes widening with surprise. “It’s a dog!”

“This is Butch,” Chance told her. “Butch, say hello to Annie.”

Butch planted his rear on the floor and uttered one more deep woof of hello, ears up, big brown eyes trained on Annie with interest.

“Hello, Butch.” Annie looked at Chance. “Can I pet him?”

“Sure.” He beckoned her closer. “Hold out your hand and let him sniff it.”

If the adults had any concerns about the big dog accepting Annie, they were quickly laid to rest. Within moments, dog and child were seated on the floor, Annie’s arm around Butch’s neck while she murmured in his ear. He watched her with unflagging interest, his eyes bright.

“I’m just making lunch,” Jennifer told him. “Would you like to join us?” She led the way into the small kitchen and he followed, making himself at home as he opened a cupboard door to take down a mug, then poured himself coffee.

“Let’s pack those sandwiches and take Annie on a picnic at the park near my house,” Chance suggested.

Jennifer looked up. He leaned against the island’s countertop, coffee mug in hand, his brown eyes warm.

“We can take Butch, too,” he continued. “And the Frisbee, of course. I’ll teach Annie how to toss it for Butch to catch. He’s pretty good,” he added with a grin.

“Annie would love it,” Jennifer said. “Are you sure you’re up for dealing with one very active little girl in a park, with lots of room to run?”

“Are you suggesting I can’t keep up with her?” he asked. His appalled, disbelieving expression was undermined by the amusement in his dark eyes.

“I’m saying I doubt I can keep up with her,” she corrected him. “But if you’re game, I’m willing to give it a try.”

“Great.” He set down his coffee cup and strode across the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her and swung her off her feet, planting a hard kiss on her mouth. “I’ll go tell Annie and collect Butch.” He set her down and glanced at the counter behind her. “Want some help packing the sandwiches?”

“No, I’m good.” She shooed him out of the kitchen, shaking her head with affection as she took plastic containers from the pantry.

A half hour later, Chance parked the car outside his house and they unloaded, then set off for the park.

“How far is it to the park, Chance?” Annie asked, dancing backward in front of him.

“Six blocks,” he told her.

“Okay.” She spun around to skip forward once more, next to Butch.

The big rottweiler paced happily at the end of the leash, sniffing the warm spring air. He responded to Annie’s frequent pats with a quick lick of his tongue and a woof of shared excitement.

“They’re quite a pair, aren’t they?” Jennifer murmured to Chance. “I’m not sure who’s the most excited about this outing—Butch or Annie.”

“I think it’s a draw,” Chance told her.

Jennifer glanced sideways at him. He held Butch’s leash in one hand, easily controlling the eager big dog. A bright red blanket was tossed over one shoulder and he carried the wicker picnic basket in the other hand. His long legs were encased in faded jeans that clung faithfully to powerful thigh muscles, his feet covered with polished black boots. At his wrist, a Rolex watch glinted in the sunshine, his arms bare below the short sleeves of a navy polo shirt.

Just looking at him made her happy, she realized.

He glanced sideways at her, met her gaze, and lifted a brow in inquiry. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She smiled. “I’m just happy.”

His dark eyes warmed, heating with slow promise. “Good to know.” His voice was deeper, gravelly.

Jennifer shivered in reaction, anticipation curling slow tendrils of heat low in her belly.

“Look, Mommy, it’s the park!” Annie’s voice rose with delight.

Jennifer wrestled her thought under control and looked ahead. A half block away, the entry to a large expanse of green grass and trees.

“It must be two full blocks, at least,” she commented, looking at Chance for confirmation.

He nodded and glanced at Butch. “The park is one of the reasons I bought a home in the neighborhood. If you want a dog, it’s good to have a park nearby. Not to mention—” he grinned at her “—a large supply of plastic bags.”

“Plastic bags?” she queried, confused.

“For picking up dog poop. It’s a city ordinance, punishable by a fine, if owners don’t clean up after their dogs.”

“Eeww.” Annie grimaced, her gaze meeting Chance’s. “That’s disgusting.”

“Nah,” he told her. “You just use a plastic bag and
then tie the ends and toss it in the park trash container. No big deal.”

Annie looked unconvinced.

“That’s part of being a dog owner,” Jennifer told her gently. “If you have a pet, you have to take care of it properly.”

“Well.” The little girl eyes Butch consideringly. “I guess it’s worth it.” Her small chin tilted with purpose.

“She’s so much like you,” Chance murmured to Jennifer, low enough to keep Annie from overhearing.

“And that’s a good thing, right?”

“Of course,” he said promptly. “Conviction, determination, commitment—what’s not good about that?”

They turned off the sidewalk, entering the park and following a winding concrete pathway beneath trees rustling with pale green leaves. On both sides of the walk, freshly mowed green lawns were dotted with beds of bright red, yellow, purple and blue flowers.

The park wasn’t crowded but quite a few couples and family groups were taking advantage of the warm spring sunshine. They’d gathered on blankets spread on the grass, brightening the green sward with spots of color. Children ran and laughed, many with blue, red or green balloons tied to their wrists.

“Where are we going to have our picnic, Chance?” Annie asked.

“There’s a great spot just a little farther,” he told her. “It’s just off the sidewalk and near the creek.”

“Oooh, there’s a creek, too? Fun!” She skipped ahead of the adults, keeping pace with Butch who paced happily at the end of his leash.

Her long red curls bounced as she moved, bright tendrils against the white sweater she wore over a pale blue sundress.

“Where does she get all that energy?” Chance said with wry disbelief, watching Annie’s nonstop movement.

“I don’t know, but I’d give anything to have just a tiny bit of it,” Jennifer told him with a grin.

“Kids are pretty amazing, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know about all of them,” she answered. “But I think Annie is. Of course, she’s my daughter and I’m probably prejudiced.”

“Yeah, you probably are,” he told her. “But speaking as an objective bystander, I think you’re right.”

Impulsively, Jennifer went up on tiptoe and brushed a kiss against his cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked, his eyes heating.

“Just because.”

The moment was broken when Butch and Annie came racing back to drop onto the blanket.

“We’re hungry, Mommy,” Annie declared. “Can Butch have a sandwich, too?”

Jennifer looked at Chance. “Is Butch allowed to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

“It will probably stick to the roof of his mouth but he’ll love it,” Chance replied with a grin.

Jennifer put a sandwich, chips and a fat dill pickle on each plate and passed them out. She hesitated before sitting a paper plate in front of Butch. “What about pickles?” she said dubiously. “Does he like dill pickles?”

“Butch has a cast-iron stomach,” Chance said drily. “And anything that’s edible, he loves.”

“Do you feed him like this all the time?” she asked as they began to eat and Butch wolfed down his food.