The Cinderella Bride (4 page)

“Mary O'Leary and I were thinking of heading to the casino tomorrow. With luck, I'll hit big on the slots and won't have to worry about work.”

“Wouldn't that be nice.” Another one of Janet's pipe dreams. Her mother had dozens of them, every one leading to disappointment.

And Gideon Kent wondered why Emma didn't want more than a comfortable bed. As far as she could tell, wanting more only cost you in the long run. You were better off not wanting at all.

Life was safer that way.

“Y
OU EXPECT ME TO WHAT
?”

Gideon couldn't decide which entertained him more: Hinckley making himself at home on the chaise lounge or the look on Mariah's face when he told her she would be cat-sitting. “I can't very well leave him locked on the boat while I'm gone. Someone has to feed him.”

“That's what staff are for.”

He didn't have the heart to tell her that in Hinckley's book, she
was
staff. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Emma's discreet smile, and resisted the urge to flash a conspiratorial wink.

Mariah's secretary was looking particularly blue today. Blue skirt, blue blazer, light blue turtleneck. Too bad this outfit wasn't as form-fitting as yesterday's dress. He liked seeing the curves.

“It's only for a couple days,” he told his grandmother.

“You won't even know he's here.”
Not much, anyway,
he added silently as he watched Hinckley flop on his side. His length took up more than half the seat. “You're the one who asked me to go to New York.”

“I didn't realize my request would result in wild animals being left on my doorstep. Bad enough you've
stolen my secretary. By the way, Emma, do you have the latest earnings per share projections?”

“Yes, ma'am. Jonathan Kent dropped them off this morning.”

Hearing his father's name, Gideon felt a dullness akin to an ache form in his chest. Since his return to Boston, he'd noticed the man who'd raised him had been conspicuously absent. Gideon couldn't really blame him. No one liked being reminded of his mistakes. Or his wife's. If he were in Jonathan's shoes, Gideon would stay away, too.

He swallowed back his emotions. “I'd like a copy of that report.”

“Already done, Mr. Kent.”

“I should have known. Now you know why I stole her,” he said to Mariah. “Who could resist such efficiency?”

“Hmm. And making me suffer for sending you on this trip had nothing to do with it,” his grandmother replied.

“Don't be silly. That's Hinckley's job. Miss O'Rourke sealed her own fate.”

She stared at him, her eyes impossibly large and dark. “Excuse me, I what?”

“With your efficiency,” he replied. “How could I possibly take another assistant? Especially on such an important trip.”

Actually, he didn't really know why he had asked her along. He didn't need a secretary for this meeting. Hell, he didn't have to stay overnight. He could wrap up his
business with Chamberlain in a few hours. Maybe he did want to punish Mariah.

It was that conversation they'd had about the Landmark, that's what it was. The whole exchange had started as harmless flirting, a diversion while waiting for Mariah's show to end. But then Emma refused to offer her opinion. For crying out loud, his secretary in Saint Martin shared her opinions on everything, from the state of office supplies to Hinckley's habit of leaving ‘dead mice' on the office doorstep. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Gideon didn't even have to ask.

But he practically had to drag the answer out of Emma. Why? Especially when her opinion made sense. The design
was
cold.

And who on earth wanted nothing but a comfortable bed? That particular comment had gnawed at him all night long. Emma's pragmatism bothered him. A woman like her, fresh and sweet…shouldn't she be full of silly romantic notions like sunken tubs built for two and balconies looking out at the stars?

She definitely should want more than a good night's sleep, he thought, eyeing her blue-clad figure.

“As long as you keep Gerard Ambiteau in his place, you can take every secretary we have in the building,” Mariah was saying. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “That man has no scruples whatsoever. I can feel him out there. He's waited years to find our weak spot, and now he's just waiting till the timing is right to make his move.”

You couldn't miss the stress in her voice. Though he'd grown up listening to rants about Gerard Ambiteau,
this was the most worked up Gideon had ever seen his grandmother. She was worried—genuinely worried. She also had a point. Right now, Ross Chamberlain was a weak spot that Ambiteau could easily take advantage of.

“I'll talk sense into Ross, don't you worry,” he assured her.

She smiled “I know you will, darling. It's one of the reasons I asked you back home.”

One of. He knew the other. The plan wasn't going to work.

Emma cleared her throat. “If you want to avoid rush hour traffic, we should consider leaving soon. I've already called the front desk. The car's ready whenever you are.”

“See?” he said to Mariah. “Irresistibly efficient.”

“I know. That's why I hired her.”

“And why I poached her.” He leaned over to kiss his grandmother's cheek, then stepped over to scratch the top of Hinckley's head. The cat was already sound asleep. “Behave,” he said.

“Are you talking to me or the creature?”

“I'll let you two fight it out. Be careful, though. Hinckley fights dirty.”

“So do I,” Mariah replied.

Emma had retrieved her overnight bag and was already at the elevator when he finished his goodbyes. He caught up with her just as the doors slid open. “Are you ready to take a bite out of the Big Apple, Miss O'Rourke?”

“Ready as I'll ever be,” she replied with a nervous smile.

She looked uneasy. Had done so, he realized, since he'd walked into Mariah's office. What was shyness yesterday was now far more pronounced, almost anxiety. He could see the tension in her ramrod posture as she stood beside him, watching the numbers count down. Guilt pricked his conscience.

“Everything all right?”

He watched her shoulders stiffen. “I'm fine,” she replied shortly.

“Are you sure?” There were smudges under her eyes, dark hollows a shade lighter than her uniform. “You look tired.”

“Really, I'm fine.”

Then why was she chewing the inside of her cheek? It was the Little Match Girl act all over again, he thought with irritation. Why didn't she just say what was wrong instead of playing martyr?

Unless… A thought struck him. “Miss O'Rourke,” he stated, “you're not anxious about being in New York with me, are you?”

She whipped her head around, her eyes a little wider than usual. “Of course not.”

“Because I realize this trip is a little unorthodox.”

“And I realize you wouldn't be anything but professional, no matter what— Never mind.” She shook her head, leaving him to guess what she'd been about to say.

“I'm fine, I promise.” He
hated
that word. There was no way on earth he
was going to listen to her say it every five minutes on this trip.

The elevator doors parted and Emma started toward the lobby. “One minute, Miss O'Rourke.” He stepped in front of her, blocking her progress. “Before we leave, we need to set a few ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” Her features furrowed in confusion.

“Like what?”

“First of all, I don't believe in mindless autonomy. I prefer my associates speak their minds. I expect
you
to speak your mind. Understand?” She nodded.

“Good. Which leads me to ground rule number two. The next time you say the word
fine,
I'm going to hang you by that copper-colored ponytail of yours.”

“What?” Her eyes grew dark and large, giving him a firsthand view of how expressive they could be. Expressive and innocent. Like the rest of her face. His own eyes fell to her lips, parted ever so slightly in surprise, and for a second he forgot what they were talking about.

She reminded him, however. “You don't want me saying the word
fine?
”

“No, I don't. Like I said, I prefer honest answers.”

“‘Fine' isn't honest?”

“My dear Miss O'Rourke.” He caught her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his, so there would be no misunderstanding what he was about to say. “
Fine
is the most dishonest answer there is.”

He released her, surprised at how reluctant his fingers were to break contact. “Now,” he continued, stuffing
his hand in his pocket, “let's start over. You look a little off this afternoon, Miss O'Rourke. Is everything all right?”

“Everything's
fi—
” She caught herself. “I was up late working. This trip came on short notice, so I had to put in extra hours to make sure my desk was cleared.” Her concluding scowl was worthy of the most sulky of teenagers.

“Now, that's more like it.” Gideon felt a chuckle rising in his throat. Her eyes were sparkling now, like two big, annoyed diamonds. He liked the look. Slipping the overnight bad from her grasp, he swung it over his shoulder, cutting off her impending protest. “Come along. We have a plane to catch.”

 

What kind of person banned another person from using a word? Especially a perfectly useful word like
fine?
Emma wondered, annoyed. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she allowed Gideon to guide her through the private terminal at Logan Airport. Bad enough her racing thoughts had kept her up half the night. Now she had to make her tired brain think of synonyms? She was having enough trouble acting as if she knew how to navigate her way through an airport.

The terrible truth was that she wasn't fine. She was uptight, exhausted and nervous as could be. Though not, as Gideon suggested, about going to New York with him. No, she was nervous about getting there. Although she'd arranged dozens flights on the Kent corporate jet, she'd never actually seen the plane up close—she'd never
seen a plane up close, period—and she was desperately trying to fake a practiced air.

Then there was Gideon, who overnight had morphed into a completely different person. Yesterday's sailor, while rugged and compelling, still had an element of accessibility to him. Blame the ratty sweater and faded jeans, or the day-old growth of beard, but she'd felt as if she could talk to him. That man was gone, replaced by a businessman in a charcoal-gray suit and a crisp shirt the color of his eyes. He dripped with wealth and power. Skycaps, attendants, security guards—they all straightened respectfully upon his approach. He moved through the terminal with entitled nonchalance, raincoat draped over his arm, wordlessly communicating to everyone that he was a man not just at one with his environment, but in command of it. A sexy prince, to the manor born.

When she boarded the jet, Emma could barely suppress her gasp of surprise. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it definitely wasn't this. The spacious cabin more resembled a living room than a plane. A nicer living room than her own, she noted, realizing it was the second time this week Kent family transportation outclassed her living space. In this case, she stood in an airborne version of a Kent hotel, complete with Oriental carpet and crystal light fixtures. Instead of seats, leather divans lined both sides, with a small table set in the back for conferencing. A heavy gray curtain blocked her view of the front, but through a gap in the material she glimpsed the stainless steel gleam of kitchen appliances.

“First time?”

“Excuse me?” Gideon's question broke the spell.

“Flying the Kent friendly skies. Is this your first time on the corporate jet?”

“It's very impressive.”

“Beats domestic travel, that's for sure.” He tossed his coat over the back of a divan and gestured for her to take a seat. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss O'Rourke. Or do you plan to stand the entire flight?”

Emma settled in across the aisle. The leather was so supple the seat molded to her instantly, like a glove. She tried to lean back and enjoy the sensation. A seat belt latch nudged her hip. She looked around for its companion. Was it too early to buckle up? Did she even have to?

Meanwhile, across the aisle, Gideon remained unrestrained and looking more at home amid the opulence than a man had a right to. He must have noticed her squirming, for he glanced at her curiously.

“Are you sure everything is all right?” he asked. “Everything's
fi—
” She caught herself and sighed. This was going to be a long trip. Maybe she should ban his asking if she was all right. “Why wouldn't it be?”

He shrugged. “No reason. Except your spine is stiffer than a steel rod. You are allowed to relax, you know. This is a business trip, not a kidnapping.”

“Thanks for clarifying.”

“Just making sure you knew.”

Before Emma could answer, a disembodied voice filled the cabin. “We'll be taxiing into position shortly,
Mr. Kent. The weather's a bit choppy over Connecticut, so we might encounter a little turbulence.”

Emma buckled her seat belt. From across the aisle, she could feel Gideon watching. She tried to avoid the sensation by rummaging through her briefcase for reading material. Her insides were jittery enough without the added voltage that seemed to flare whenever she looked in his direction. It was as if her body had some kind of electrical switch when he was around. He only need move into her vicinity and her nerve endings got all twittery, disrupting her equilibrium.

The plane lurched forward, having begun its taxiing in earnest, and pitching Emma off balance in the process. She righted herself, using the shift in position to camouflage another tug on her seat belt.

“Did you bring the Silbermann file?” Gideon asked.

She looked up. Leaning back on the divan, legs stretched across the aisle, Gideon was the picture of comfort and ease. An incredibly handsome picture. She caught her breath as the inevitable charge passed through her. “Yes,” she replied. He'd asked her to pack the design sketches when he'd arrived with Hinckley. “I've got them right here.”

“Good. Let's take a look.”

To her surprise, he crossed the aisle and buckled himself into the seat next to hers. “You need to look at them, too.”