Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After (15 page)

“You bet,” the driver replied, taking the currency.

Chance stepped back and the cab pulled away from the curb.

His girls?
Jennifer wasn't sure how she felt about
the possessive note in Chance's voice. But affection for the big man and his obvious concern for her, Annie and Margaret curled warmly through her body. It had been a long time since anyone made her feel so cared for and she liked it, maybe too much, she thought soberly.

Was she coming to depend too much on Chance's place in her life? And if she was, how painful would it be when he moved on, as surely he would?

She pushed the thoughts aside, determined not to spoil the happiness she felt with Chance today by worrying about the future.

The following morning, as promised, Chance collected Jennifer and Annie and took them to the hospital with him. They dashed through the rain from the car to the double-doored entrance, their jackets quickly growing damp from the spring storm. He left them on Margaret's floor, promising to collect them in an hour or so.

Fortunately, Margaret was feeling much better and by the time they returned to their apartment building to settle the elderly woman into her own bed, it was well past noon.

“Are you sure Margaret is okay by herself?” Annie asked, her little face worried. “Maybe she should come stay with us till she's all better.”

“She wants to rest in her own bed, honey,” Jennifer told her. “But we're just across the hall so we can run in and out often to make sure she's all right and has everything she needs.”

“Like lunch?” Annie climbed onto a kitchen chair and leaned on her elbows. “I'm hungry. I bet Margaret is, too.”

“She had an early lunch at the hospital, remember?” Jennifer recalled. “But we didn't so I'm not surprised you're hungry. What would you like for lunch?”

“How about Chinese?” Chance put in. “I noticed there's a take-out place on the corner.”

“Yeah! I love Chinese food,” Annie instantly crowed with approval.

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 customtailored 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.