The Cinderella Bride (7 page)

“Would you like me to type up in one document what we discussed this evening?” Emma's voice suddenly dissolved the spell. “That way you can have all the figures in one place when you review them in the morning.”

Breaking free of his orbit, she moved back to the center of the room, back to where their paperwork lay strewn across the coffee table.

Back to business.

Just as well, thought Gideon. He swallowed his sigh and straightened his shoulders. “Thank you, Miss O'Rourke. That would be very helpful.”

 

Talk about making a fool of herself. After Gideon left, Emma slipped the dead bolt in place, then rested her forehead against the door. What had she been thinking? She'd come this close—
this close—
to kissing Gideon Kent! One second she was looking at the Chrysler Building, the next she was gazing into those beautiful blue eyes and drifting slowly toward them. Thank God rational thought had kicked in at the last minute. Before she'd completely embarrassed herself.

It was the suite, she decided. The opulence made her act like an idiot. Well, that and Gideon. He had this way of making her feel unnerved and relaxed at the same
time. Not to mention he was gorgeous, funny, smart, sexy…

Listen to her; she was going on like her mother summing up a potential boyfriend. The man was her boss, for goodness sake! And after tomorrow he wouldn't even be that. He'd be wrapping up his visit and she'd be back to typing Mrs. Kent's correspondence.

Leaving the doorway, Emma padded into the bathroom. The robe lay on the floor where she'd discarded it, along with her stockings. She picked up the garment and returned it to the hook on the door. Then she sat down on the tub's edge. The water had long ago grown cold, the bubbles and lavender aroma dissolved. So much for indulging. Then again, maybe she'd indulged enough for one night.

She unplugged the drain and headed back to the parlor.

 

She wore an evening dress. The kind princesses wore. Her shoulders were bare. A muscled torso pressed against her back; hot breath sounded in her ear. She sighed as strong hands caressed her shoulders. “Show me your fantasies, Miss O'Rourke….”

The sound of ascending chimes cut through Emma's dream and her eyes flew open. What the—?

Her phone. It was ringing. Blinking in the darkness, she groped along her nightstand, telling herself her rapid breathing was from being startled awake, not from the dream she'd been having.

“Hey, sweetie, how's New York?” Her mother's high-pitched voice bellowed from the other end. “Mary and
I are on our way home so we thought we'd see how you were doing. We're not interrupting anything, are we?”

“Huh? No. I'm in bed.”

“And?”

It took her a moment to realize what her mother meant. “No!” Emma repeated vehemently. “I told you, Mom, this is a business trip.”

“What, you don't think men like to combine business with pleasure?”

Flashes of her dream popped into Emma's mind. She shook them off, replacing them with Gideon's gentlemanly departure last night. “Not Gideon.”

“Ooh, Gideon, is it?”

“Mom, he's my boss. Quit trying to imply something else.”
Quit putting stupid thoughts in my head,
was what she really meant.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the clock on the nightstand, and something her mother had said clicked. “Did you say you were on your way home? It's five-thirty in the morning. Were you at the casino all night?”

“What can I say? We met some new friends and time got away from us.”

There was the sound of giggling on the other end and Emma winced. Not again. “What's his name?” she asked, settling in for the usual download of information.

“Tony, and he's absolutely amazing. He's got a house on the Cape. And a boat. We're going to have the best time this summer. Maybe you can join us.”

“Sure, sounds fun,” Emma replied flatly. Inwardly, she sighed.

Her mother was talking rapidly now, clearly on a high from last night's “friendship.” She'd be living on enthusiasm and coffee for the next couple of days. Until she either drove this Tony person away or he got bored and stopped calling. Then it would be days of bitterness and depression.

“And not one of those little fishing boats, either. This one sleeps five people, and you can water-ski behind it.” Prattling on, mostly about Tony and how wonderful he was, Janet didn't even notice her daughter's silence. “We're meeting him and his friend Jimmy at the Prudential for drinks later today. As soon as we've had a chance to go home and change, that is.”

Guess looking for work was out this week. Her mother would be far too busy hitching her wagon to Tony from the Cape. Life would be so much easier if her mom would just see it a little more realistically.

Like you were doing last night?
a voice in Emma's head asked.

“Yes,” she answered back. Because unlike her mother, she caught herself before the foolish ideas took hold.

And besides, even if she did do something stupid, which was highly unlikely, she was smart enough not to pretend there was a fairy tale ending on her horizon.

“W
OW
, R
OSS
C
HAMBERLAIN
sure knows how to talk. Too bad he doesn't say anything interesting. No wonder his wife wanted out. She probably feared being bored to death.”

Speaking as he went, Gideon strode into Emma's suite ahead of her, not waiting for an invitation. They were back from their meeting, and rehashing what had transpired. It turned out Mrs. Kent's worries were well founded. Gerard Ambiteau had put out a few feelers, hinting that with her getting on in years, Kent Hotels might not be such a solid investment for a man with financial constraints.

Fortunately, Gideon had managed to persuade Chamberlain, through numbers and more than a little personal charm, to honor their families' long history. Emma was still a little breathless from the display. He'd been a sight to behold, a heat-seeking missile exuding charisma and business acumen. Ross Chamberlain never stood a chance.

“Should we call your grandmother and tell her the good news?” she asked.

“Later. First I say we toast our success.” He made a beeline for the bar by the windows.

Emma watched in puzzlement as he uncorked a cut glass carafe and poured himself a drink. With his business concluded, she was surprised Gideon wasn't in more of a hurry to get his things and leave. By her calculations they could be back in Boston within a few hours. She certainly didn't understand why he was making himself at home in her suite.

“Join me?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I'm not much of a whiskey drinker.”

“The bar's fully stocked.”

“Then maybe a bottled water.”

He rolled his eyes and tossed her one of the plastic bottles lined up by the ice chest. “Really, Miss O'Rourke, we have to work on your relaxation skills.”

“Sue me, I like to stay hydrated.”

“Is that what you call it,” he teased, with a smile that curled her toes. Then he raised his glass. “To us.”

“To keeping the wolf at bay,” Emma retorted.

“For now, at least.”

“What do you mean? I thought Mr. Chamberlain was fully on board.” That sure seemed to be the case when they'd left him.

“Oh, he is, but I'm afraid we've only plugged a small leak. There's still the bigger question of when Mariah steps down. Andrew's reputation as a manager is shaky. He's made more than a few questionable decisions. Especially lately.” Although Gideon didn't say so, the
words
since he married Suzanne
came through loud and clear.

“What about your father?” From the way the brothers met with Mrs. Kent in tandem, she assumed they ran Kent Hotels the same way. “Surely his reputation is solid.”

“Oh, definitely. Jonathan has an impeccable reputation. He's very good at presenting what people want to see.” Gideon didn't even try to hide the edge in his voice. It was so sharp, Emma could feel it on the other side of the room. “Unfortunately, he's not very good ‘when the rubber hits the road,' as the saying goes.”

Watching Gideon toss back his drink, she thought, not for the first time, that his comments must refer to more than the family business. “What do you think they'll do?”

“Short of Mariah living forever, which—” he jabbed the air with his index finger “—isn't out of the realm of possibility, I don't know. Her grand plan certainly didn't work.”

“Grand plan?”

“Nothing. Just something between her and me. It doesn't matter.”

He was folding into himself again, and the air chilled as a result. Without waiting for him to ask, Emma approached the love seat, slipped the glass from his fingers and refilled it. Blue eyes met hers as he accepted the drink. With a whoosh, the chill disappeared and the air began to crackle with a kind of tense heat. She wondered if Gideon noticed the change, as well, for he cleared his throat before taking a sip.

Needing to break up the atmosphere, she reached for the hotel phone and a safe topic. “What time would you like me to have the driver bring the car around?”

“Why? In a hurry to leave?” Gideon asked.

“No. I mean, I'm fine.” He arched a brow and she stopped. Apparently the word ban was still in place. “It's just that we've done our business in the city, and I didn't think you wanted to spend more time here than necessary.”

“I appreciate the consideration,” he replied. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You didn't get to see many sights during your first trip to New York.”

“I'll live. Besides, what I did see was great. The view from the window…” A flash from her dream popped into her head. She took a quick drink from her water to cover her flush.

Fortunately, Gideon didn't notice, as he was too intent on arguing his point. “A hotel view and a couple of car rides hardly count as ‘seeing the city.'”

“Oh, well. Maybe next time.”

“Hmmm, next time.” He frowned and disappeared into his thoughts for several seconds before abruptly draining his drink and slapping the empty glass on the coffee table. “I've got it,” he said. “Go change.”

“Change?” She wasn't sure what he meant.

“Into your evening clothes. I'm taking you out for the quintessential New York experience.”

“Excuse me?” Emma took another drink to drown the
butterflies Gideon's suggestion released in her stomach. Surely she misunderstood. “Did you say go out?”

“Yes, for dinner. To celebrate today's success, and to show you more of the New York than a window view. What do you say?”

What did she say? Emma didn't know what to say. Dinner with Gideon? The idea was…well, it was…

“It's not necessary,” she replied.

“Why not? You've earned it. I wouldn't have been able to pull off today without your input. Your background knowledge was invaluable. And that report was fantastic.”

She blushed. “All I did was merge a few files.”

“You did a lot more than that.” When she blushed again, he chuckled under his breath. “What's the matter, Miss O'Rourke, afraid you might enjoy seeing the city with me?”

“No!” The protest came out far quicker than she intended. “I mean, yes, I would love to see New York.” Especially with him. Which was why she hesitated. His proposal sounded too good to be true. “I don't want you to delay your return to Boston to take me sightseeing, though.”

“Even if I want to?”

He wanted to? The butterflies took flight again. “But your grandmother…”

“Mariah can wait twenty-four hours. Now go change.”

Emma looked down at her gray wool skirt with its coordinating black turtleneck, the only nonuniform outfit she had, and winced. “I can't.”

“What do you mean you— Oh that's right, you didn't pack other clothes.” He let out a long breath. “I swear, you must be the only woman on the planet who packs light.”

“I didn't plan on taking a sightseeing tour,” she said with a sheepish shrug. “But no worries. I don't have to change.”

“I wouldn't want you to,” he said, in a voice so low its timbre hummed through her. “Not one bit.”

He meant her outfit, right? The way he looked at her, with his eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable, it would be easy to assume something else.

Ah, but didn't he warn you about assuming…?

“Besides—” she covered her thoughts with a laugh “—isn't the quintessential New York experience a hot dog in Central Park? Hardly necessary to dress up for that, right?”

“I had a slightly different experience planned.”

Like what? she wondered, fighting the urge to speculate. “Sorry I ruined your plans.”

“Who says they're ruined? Just go downstairs to the boutique and find something to wear.”

His matter-of-fact answer made Emma laugh. She'd seen this “boutique.” A tiny designer enclave off the lobby with accessories that cost more than her weekly paycheck. “How about I stick to my suit and we get the hot dog,” she replied.

“Miss O'Rourke…” Gideon's eyes narrowed; she was about to get reprimanded.

“Really, Mr. Kent. A hot dog in the park sounds terrific.” And cheaper. She wasn't about to max out her
credit card on some designer dress no matter how tempting the idea of dinner sounded. Her mother splurged enough for both of them. Emma couldn't afford to fall down the same slippery slope.

“In fact,” she continued, “I'm so hungry I might eat two hot dogs. With cheese and chili. Just let me get my bag.”

“Miss O'Rourke.” As she started past, he gently grabbed her arm. “You know that I meant for you to charge the dress to the room, right?”

No, she did not. Emma looked to the ground, embarrassed that she hadn't understood what he was saying. Now that she did, her head was spinning. He'd offered to buy her a dress? “I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Because it was too surreal. He'd already booked her into a luxury suite, flown her in a private jet. Things like this just didn't happen to her.

“Consider it a bonus for a job well done,” he said, cutting her off. “I meant what I said before. I wouldn't have pulled off today's meeting without you. And don't say you were just doing your job.”

“I don't need a bonus.” Really, it was bad enough that his compliments were making her head spin.

“No one needs a bonus, Miss O'Rourke. But you do deserve one.”

She shook her head. “Really, I—”

“Hey, Emma.” He caught her chin, stopping the protest. “Let someone do something nice for you.”

When had he closed the space between them? With him standing near her this way, his body teasing the
boundaries of her personal space, she couldn't think sensibly. She got too lost in the combination of his body warmth and unique scent.

“Go to the boutique,” he said in a low voice. “Indulge yourself. I insist.” His set expression told her he wasn't about to stop insisting, either.

Looking into his eyes, now the color of a stormy sky, Emma felt her resolve fade away. Well, now she knew how Ross Chamberlain felt. A person didn't stand a chance when Gideon locked you into his sights.

 

The boutique, called Christine's, was empty and about to close when Emma got to the lobby. Even so, a stunning blonde with perfect posture greeted her at the door as if she was the first customer of the day. “Miss O'Rourke,” she said with a smile, “I'm Christine. Mr. Kent said you were on the way down. You're looking for a cocktail dress?”

“Nothing too fancy,” Emma replied. Once out of Gideon's mind-altering presence, she'd regained her senses, making up her mind that while she was going to buy a new dress, she'd pay for it herself. Her credit card didn't need the charge, but she would feel more in control. Something that seemed to be rapidly disappearing during this trip. “I'd like to wear it more than once.”

“One little black dress coming right up,” Christine replied. She led Emma toward the rear of the store. As they passed a rack of brightly colored party dresses, Emma felt a stir of longing. They all looked so vibrant and alive.

Be practical,
she told herself. If she was going to spend a lot of money, she should buy an investment piece, not a trendy swath of silk.

Meanwhile, Christine was pulling back the curtain in a large dressing area. “I took the liberty of selecting a few outfits you might like,” she said, “If none of these suit your taste, we can keep looking.”

A dozen dresses of various styles, lengths and colors lined the wall. Emma fingered a beaded jacket sleeve. “How did you know my size?”

The look she received in response was simultaneously knowing and discreet.
Gideon.
A thrill buzzed through her at the idea that he'd studied her figure. And studied quite accurately, she realized, looking at the size.

“As I said,” Christine continued, “these are only a few suggestions. We have others, as well.”

“I'm sure one of these will be fine.” Emma couldn't help noticing that none of the dresses had price tags. Not a good sign.

Investment,
she repeated. Investment. She held up a black crepe sheath. The little black dress of little black dresses.

“That's the perfect investment dress,” Christine said, reading her mind. “You could wear it for years and never be out of style.”

Couldn't get more practical than that, could you? Or duller, she thought, turning the garment from front to back. Plain, simple, shapeless but not too shapeless. Switch the black to navy blue and you'd have her uniform.

“You can always dress it up with accessories,” Christine offered.

Sure, she could. Scarves, jewelry. Emma knew all the tricks, thanks to the other women at work. They never really worked, though. In the end, you still wore a plain, simple dress. On the other hand, she was already wearing matching shoes, which would cut down on expenses, and she knew she could wear the style. If the dress fit, it was the right choice.

Maybe once she tried it on, she'd feel more positive.

She was halfway out of her turtleneck when a flash of color caught her eye, stopping her in her tracks. There, hanging on the discard rack, was the most brilliantly blue dress she'd ever seen. Sleek and sexy, the satin material shone under the track lighting, reminding her of Gideon's eyes. Maybe that's why she lifted it from the rack.

“Oh, that dress is one of my favorites,” Christine said.

“Isn't the color magnificent?”

Still thinking of Gideon's eyes, Emma replied, “Gorgeous.” Hypnotic even, the way the garment called to her.

“I know you wanted a little black dress, but your hair and coloring would be perfect with this shade. You really should try it on.”

“I don't think so.” She couldn't. The gown was way too impractical. She would never wear the thing after tonight. In fact, it was probably too fancy for tonight.