The Cinderella Bride (10 page)

Emma.
He needed Emma. From the moment they'd found Mariah, Emma had been there, steady and reassuring. At the peak of the confusion, when Dr. Crenshaw was nowhere to be found and Andrew was bellowing at the nursing staff, Gideon had just had to look at her,
sitting quietly next to a rack of linens, to regain his bearings.

He needed some of her steadiness now. Instinctively, he turned to the chair next to the linen rack.

The chair was empty.

 

“Emma, open up. It's me.”

Emma frowned at her front door, trying to figure out who “me” was. The voice sounded like Gideon Kent's, but that was impossible. He was at the hospital with his family. What's more, he didn't know where she lived.

But it was Gideon. Peering through the peephole, she saw his steely eyes looking back, and a thrill passed through her. Quickly, she quashed her excitement. If Gideon sought her out, it had to be because something was wrong.

She unlatched the door, apparently yanking it open with more force than necessary, for Gideon started. Either that or he was taken aback by her blue plaid flannel pants and pink sweatshirt. Upon coming home from the hospital, she'd been too tired and unsettled to care about matching pajamas. “I woke you up,” he said apologetically.

“I was watching television,” she assured him. “Is something wrong with Mrs. Kent?”

“Other than being cranky about being laid up, and taking it out on the entire hospital, she's doing all right.”

She breathed out in relief. “Good. I'm glad.”

On the other hand, something was clearly wrong with Gideon. His cheeks were ruddy, red and windblown,
and tension lined his face. He still wore his suit from this morning, though he'd shed the tie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt. The gap revealed a patch of tan, smooth skin.

Amazing,
thought Emma. Tired and burdened as he looked, he was still devastatingly handsome. She tugged the hem of her sweatshirt in a vain attempt to look fresher. “Would you like some coffee? Tea?”

He shook his head. “I'm caffeined out. Though if you have anything stronger…”

“I don't have whiskey. Will beer do?”

“Beer would be perfect.”

“Domestic okay?”

“As long as it contains alcohol, I don't care if you brewed it in your sink.”

She headed to the kitchen. Gideon followed, opting to lean against the counter and watch while she fished around in her utensil drawer for a bottle opener. The scrutiny made her suddenly, incredibly sensitive of her surroundings and how far removed they were from the suite at the Landmark, or even his boat. Emma's landlord had spared every expense decorating her side of the duplex. The white laminate cabinets were chipped, and the beige countertops looked as cheap as they probably were. Gideon seemed like a piece of fine art at a flea market in comparison. So why was he here?

“You left the hospital without saying anything,” he said.

She was surprised he'd noticed. No one else had. “I didn't want to disturb your visit with your grandmother. Why, did you need something?”

He gave her a long look. “Yes, I did.”

“Oh.” The hiss of air rushing from the beer bottle filled the kitchen. “I'm sorry. But you said Mrs. Kent was all right, yes?”

“Yes.” She handed him his drink, and he took a long sip. “Dr. Crenshaw wants her to stay in the hospital for a night or two.”

“I bet she's thrilled about that.”

“About as much as you'd expect, but she's resigned to her fate. I think today frightened her more than she wants to admit.”

He took another long drink. Two sips and the bottle was nearly empty. Something
was
off. Gone was the commanding presence from the hospital, replaced by weariness and shadows. “Her accident frightened you, too, didn't it?” Emma murmured.

His response was to drain the last of his bottle. “Got another?”

Yes, this afternoon had definitely shaken him.

“Funny,” she said, popping the cap from a second bottle and handing it to him, “but I always think of your grandmother as indestructible.”

“She certainly gives that impression. But then, the Kents are very good at false impressions.”

What an odd response. He'd said something similar about his father yesterday.

“Nice place you have here,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “Do you live alone?”

She tried hard to pretend his question didn't make her skin tingle. “Yes, why?”

“No reason. Just wondering if I should expect your mother to pop in and join us.”

“Good Lord, no. She lives a couple blocks away. We would kill each other if we lived together.

“Besides,” Emma added, thinking of the text message she'd received earlier, “she's off on a ‘romantic adventure.'” She framed the last two words with her fingers.

“Your mother's got a boyfriend.”

“This week, anyway.”

That earned her a crooked smile. “Sounds like she took a page from Andrew's book.”

“Only without the marriages.”

“That could be a good thing. Saves on attorney's fees.”

“About all it saves.”

“True. They always forget about the collateral damage, don't they?”

A lump stuck in Emma's throat. Talking about her mother only reminded her of last night, and with Gideon standing as close as he was, it was the last thing she wanted to think about. Especially when his voice had that tired, melancholy tone that made her want to comfort him.

Then again, if he had that tone of voice, maybe talking about her mother was a good thing. A verbal cold shower stopping Emma from doing something stupid.

Needing to distract herself from the thickness growing in the room, she grabbed the kitchen sponge and began wiping invisible spills off the Formica. “You said you needed something. What was it?”

“You.”

The sponge slipped from her fingers. She gripped the edge of the counter to keep from buckling. “Me?”

“I wanted to thank you. For your help this afternoon.”

“Oh.” She should have realized. “I only made a few phone calls.” He'd been the real unifier.

“You did more than you think.”

“Right, I got coffee, too.” She gave the counter another unnecessary swipe.

“You were there when we needed you, which means a lot.”

How she wished his soft reply didn't make her feel all fuzzy inside. “You could have told me this by phone. I'm sure your family—”

At the word
family,
he gave an irritated snort. “My ‘family' will do just fine without me. They have so far.”

Not from what Emma had seen at the hospital.

“Funny thing, family,” he continued, his voice distant. “What's that old saying, you can pick your friends but—”

“Family's forever.”

“I had a different phrase in mind,” he said, “but that'll do.”

The loneliness behind his words made her heart ache. Was he, she wondered, regretting his estrangement? Or his return?

Meanwhile, Gideon had become intently interested in peeling the label off the bottle neck. The tearing of paper sounded like a foghorn in the silent kitchen.

“Did you know I was raised to run Kent Hotels?” he asked, without looking up.

Emma wasn't surprised, though she was surprised he chose to share the fact with her. “But you don't want to.”

“I did once.” He raised the bottle to his lips. “But things change, right? Life doesn't always turn out how we plan.”

“Seldom does,” Emma replied.

“And yet people like Mariah keep fighting to the bitter end. You'd think she'd realize that some things even an iron maiden can't fix.” With one final swig, he emptied the bottle and slapped it on the counter.

“I'm tired,” he said abruptly.

“I'm not surprised. Days like today are draining. Especially when the person hurt is someone you care about.”

Gideon's eyes met hers. Despite the bright overhead lights, the blue was so dark she couldn't tell where pupil ended and iris began. They were eyes full of despair. “I wish I didn't,” he replied, his voice tight.

“Didn't what? Care?” She couldn't imagine that was what he meant.

But it was, because he nodded, and in that one simple gesture, Emma saw all the vulnerability and loneliness he kept tamped down. Her heart swelled, not with pity, but with an emotion far deeper. One she didn't want to contemplate. She simply wanted to offer comfort. To somehow let him know he needn't feel alone.

With a boldness she didn't realize she had, she raised
her palm to his face. She didn't say a word. She let her touch do the talking.

The air around them ignited. Suddenly the loneliness in Gideon's eyes disappeared, replaced by something far hotter and primal. Seeing it, Emma's own desire sprang to life. She traced her fingers down his cheek, letting the stubble burn the tips. Gideon's gaze dropped to her mouth. Anticipation ripped through her body. Her breathing grew ragged. Her lungs couldn't get enough air.

“Emma,” he whispered hoarsely.

It was all he said before sweeping her into his arms.

T
HERE WAS NO
tentativeness, no slow build. Gideon held her tight, his mouth slanting across hers with a passion that, if Emma could breathe, would have taken her breath away.

Her body responded without hesitation. Clinging to the lapels of his coat, she pressed her length to his. Common sense fell away. He needed her. And she wanted him. Wanted
this
more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life.

“Emma, sweet, sweet Emma.” Gideon chanted her name between kisses. Hearing him say her first name sounded strange, but incredibly right. His hands slipped under the hem of her sweatshirt and skimmed the hollow above the waistband of her pajama bottoms. Emma let out a sigh. She knew this touch. It was the touch from her dream.

With a soft whimper, she arched closer, while her hands wrestled Gideon's coat from his shoulders. Who cared if tonight had no future, or that in the morning she'd have to deal with reality? Tonight nothing mattered but this.

 

Propping himself on one elbow, Gideon stared down at the woman sleeping beside him. She lay curled on her side, lips parted. A strand of hair curled across the bridge of her nose. He smoothed his hand across her forehead, brushing the strand away, and she sighed a sweet sigh.

When he'd left the hospital, he'd only thought to find Emma to talk. He'd called the hotel and cajoled the night manager into looking up her home address, and then he walked here, hoping the combination of brisk night air and Emma's calming presence would rid his head of thoughts he couldn't put words to. Making love had been the last thing on his mind.

Hadn't it?

Stop kidding yourself.
He knew when Emma answered the door in all her disheveled innocence that this visit couldn't end at simply talking. Being with her was…

He couldn't match words to his thoughts. Only that when she looked at him with those luminous brown eyes, he felt… Why couldn't he think of the right words?

Understood? No longer alone?

All he knew was the sensation filled his body. He'd reached for her because he couldn't
not
reach for her. He'd needed to feel her, to have her sweet warm presence surround him. She touched something deep inside him in a way that was thrilling and disturbing at the same time.

Emma stirred and pressed closer, her legs entwined with his in unconscious possession. A satisfied smile
played on her lips.
He'd caused that smile.
Male pride swelled even as guilt assailed him.

What happens next?
Mind-blowing night together or not, he was venturing into dangerous territory by sleeping with Emma. She wasn't the kind of woman a man tossed aside after one time, and while he was pretty sure she understood his views on commitment, he didn't want to see her hurt.

Next to him, there was more stirring, and he heard a soft voice say, “Penny for your thoughts?”

Emma's doe eyes were shy and uncertain. Instantly, Gideon's chest constricted. “I was thinking how beautiful you look when you sleep,” he answered truthfully. “Like an angel.”

Color flushed her skin, reminding him how, only a short time before, she'd flushed with passion. He brushed an imaginary strand of hair from her face, pleased when she shuddered. He wanted her again with a fierceness that shocked him.

“You were smiling,” he said. “Good dream?”

“Mmmm.” Eyes closing, she burrowed her head in the curve of his neck. “The best.”

He wanted her again, more urgently than the first time, if that was even possible. Emma nestled closer, her breath warm on his skin. It was like someone flicked a switch in his body, into the On position. Even the caress of her breathing aroused him.

This was more than dangerous. If he was smart, he'd get up and get out before he dug himself in any deeper.

Only being smart wasn't what he wanted right now.

He gave his sleeping beauty a little nudge. “Hey, don't slip too far into dreamland.”

To his surprise, she stiffened and inched off his body. “Sorry, I didn't mean to….”

Was that disappointment in her eyes? The emotion disappeared too quickly for him to tell. That and the fact that Emma had rolled over, putting her back to him. “Have you seen my sweatshirt?” she asked.

“In the kitchen,” he replied, snaking his arm around her waist. Surely she wasn't getting dressed? “You don't need to cover up on my account,” he teased.

“I'm not. I'm cold, that's all.”

Well, he knew how to remedy that situation. Only to his dismay, Emma was slipping from beneath the covers and covering her gloriously naked body with a chenille throw.

“Where are you going?” he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“To get my robe. It's on the hook in the bathroom.” She had the throw pulled so tight he wondered how she could breathe.

“Why?”

“I told you, I'm cold.”

“I meant why are you getting up at all?” He was beginning to sound like her, asking why, but he didn't couldn't help himself. Since rolling over, she'd yet to look directly at him, which made him a little bit nervous.

“It would be rude to lie in bed while you let yourself out, wouldn't it?”

“Let myself…?”

“Of course. I didn't expect you to stay.”

Why not?
“I wasn't planning on—”

“It's okay. You don't owe me any explanations.”

He didn't?

“It's been a stressful day. You needed a port in a storm and I—I wanted to give you one.”

Finally, she looked at him, though in the dimly lit room he couldn't tell if her expression matched her casual tone. If only he'd thought to turn on more lights when they'd stumbled in here.

“You were more than a port in a storm, Emma” he said.

“Figure of speech.” She flashed him what looked like a tremulous smile. “I only mean I know how these things work.”

His stomach tensed. What should have given him reassurance for some reason made him more uneasy. “You do?”

“I'm a big girl, Gideon. I knew exactly what I was doing, and the repercussions. So don't worry, I don't expect anything. Now, will you give me a minute? I don't want to walk you to the door naked.”

She closed the bathroom door. A few seconds later, Gideon heard the sound of water running.

He sank back, his skull whacking the headboard.
What just happened?

 

Congratulations, Emma, you handled that pretty darn well.

Eyes burning, she blinked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the face blinking back. Tousled hair, swollen lips. She was looking at the
face of a sexually satisfied woman. When it came to lovemaking, Gideon was, as always, a man in command of his environment.

It had been glorious.

Don't get carried away,
she quickly reminded herself. Gideon had been looking for comfort after a stressful day, nothing more. She'd known that when she'd returned his overtures. She wasn't going to compound the situation by expecting more. Nor would she embarrass herself by clinging. She would handle this with sophistication and maturity. She wouldn't think about Gideon's touch or how it made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. She wouldn't let her lover's prowess cloud reality.

Why, then, did her heart feel as if it was ripping in two?

Drying her face, she slipped on her robe, cringing when she saw the coffee stain on the front, then kicked herself for cringing. A little late to worry about impressions now, wasn't it? She twisted her mussed hair into an even more mussed topknot and opened the door.

Gideon was buttoning his shirt when she walked out. Avoiding his eyes, she crossed the room to her bureau, saying in as casual voice as she could muster, “If you give me a moment, I'll drive you to the marina.”

“No need.”

“I don't mind. It's late. You'll never catch a cab at this hour.” And there was no way he would spend the night. Making small talk over breakfast would be unbearable.

What did one wear when driving home a one-night
stand, anyway? She rummaged through the drawer, angry that it mattered to her. She'd finally settled on a beige sweater when a hand came down on her forearm, halting her search.

Apology lined Gideon's face. “Don't.”

Her knees faltered, along with her veil of sophistication. She floundered for footing, desperately thinking of something neutral to say in response. “Feels like it's getting colder. I wouldn't be surprised if we have snow flurries. But then that's New England for you, right? Snow in October.”

He opened his mouth to reply. She cut him off.

“It's all right, Gideon. I already told you I understood.” And she wasn't up to rehashing. “You don't owe me any explanations.” Or apologies.
Please, no apologies.
“Now let me get dressed so I can take you to your boat.”

“Don't get dressed,” he said. “I'll walk. It's not that far.”

“Oh. Sure.” He wasn't apologizing, after all; he was just eager to escape her company. How embarrassing. She furiously blinked back the tears springing to her eyes.

Wordlessly, they headed to where the night had begun—her kitchen. His coat lay in a heap on the floor, the sleeve draped over her discarded sweatshirt, an intimate reminder of what had transpired. Emma looked away. The awkwardness in the room was growing exponentially. No wonder Gideon wanted out quickly.

“Can I get you some coffee? For the road,” she added,
in case he thought her offer a ploy for him to stay. “I've got travel mugs.”

“I think I've had enough to drink, coffee and otherwise.”

Yes, she thought, casting a glance at the empty beer bottles, maybe he had.

Too bad she didn't have the same excuse.

She waited while he shrugged into his jacket, then led him to the front door. To her relief Gideon didn't try to draw her into conversation. That is, until she touched the door handle. Then he reached out and covered her hand. “I don't want—”

“Gideon, I'm fine,” she said, determinedly bright. Other than wanting to melt back against him as soon as he touched her, that is. “Tell your grandmother I'll be by first thing tomorrow morning. If you'd like, I can call first. To make sure I don't interrupt any tests.” Along with giving them a chance to avoid each other.

An unreadable emotion flickered across Gideon's face as he brushed a strand of hair from her temple. The tenderness nearly killed her, and she had to brace herself against the door to withstand the impact.

His fingers trailed downward, along her cheekbone, until they curled around her jaw, drawing her forward. Her traitorous body began to hum. It took every ounce of her resolve to turn her head at the last second.

Didn't matter. He found her lips, anyway. “Good night, Emma,” he whispered.

She mustered a smile. “Goodbye, Gideon.”

 

“Another arrangement? Good grief, don't these people have something better to do with their money?”

Emma wondered the same thing. Mrs. Kent's hospital room resembled a florist's shop. Three deliveries arrived during her visit alone. Large, expansive arrangements from Boston's top florists. They dwarfed the small get-well bouquet she'd purchased at the hospital gift shop, and filled the air with thick fragrance.

She'd so had enough of flowers today.

Before visiting the hospital, she'd stopped by the hotel, where the concierge told her a dozen red roses were waiting. At first she'd thought they were for Mrs. Kent, until she noticed the card addressed to her. Gideon had sent them. Roses, apparently, were the obligatory custom following a one-night stand. She'd left them in the box, hoping out of sight would equal out of mind. But all these flowers were quickly proving that theory wrong. Maybe she should bring Gideon's bouquet here. Let them blend in with the others.

“They're from the governor.” She read the card stuck amid the blooms. “He wishes you a speedy recovery.” Gideon's card had only his name. Could've been worse, she realized. He could have added some lame closing, such as “Fondly.”

She looked around the room. “Where would you like me to put it? Space is at a premium.”

“Send the foolish thing to the nurse's station. As a matter of fact, send all the plants there,” Mrs. Kent replied. “I can't take the smell.”

Emma couldn't blame her. All the flowery scents were giving her a headache. “Unfortunately, I doubt this
is the last. If you'd like, I can arrange for the flowers to go to other patients. Maybe the geriatric ward?”

“What a wonderful idea. Let them brighten up someone else's room. Take an arrangement for your desk, too,” Mariah added. “You look like you could use some brightening.”

So much for the concealing powers of makeup. After Gideon left last night, Emma had spent an hour or two curled on the sofa, mentally kicking herself. Then, because she couldn't bear the idea of sleeping on sheets that bore his scent, she'd spent the rest of the night doing laundry. As a result, she looked like the walking dead, pinched and drawn in her jeans and dark sweater.

“I'm fine,” she lied. “Just tired after yesterday. You gave everyone quite a scare.”

“So my sons keep reminding me. They're making a far bigger fuss than necessary, if you ask me.”

Her protest might have carried more weight if she hadn't attempted to sit straighter while speaking, and gasped in pain.

“They're concerned about you,” Emma replied. “Do you want the bed raised?”

“What I want is to go home to my own bed,” Mrs. Kent grumbled. At that moment she resembled a petulant child rather than the matriarch of a billion-dollar empire.

To hide her smile, Emma grabbed the plastic water jug next to the bed and topped off her employer's ice water. “Dr. Crenshaw's also concerned.”