The Cinderella Bride (9 page)

“Wow,” she replied, “definitely not a fishing charter business.”

He felt himself smile like an idiot at her impressed tone. “No, definitely not. Though it did start out as one.”

“Really?”

He nodded and sipped his drink. Thanks to the champagne, and the whiskey he'd had earlier, he was feeling quite mellow. The personal history tripped off his tongue easily. “When I first arrived in the Caribbean, I didn't have a dime, so I had to work the boats to make a living. Eventually, I saved up enough to buy a boat of my own. One boat became two. The rest naturally followed.”

“You're being modest. If it were that easy, every fisherman would be a millionaire.” She leaned forward, chin cupped in her hand, face rapt with interest. “No wonder your grandmother wants you to take over Kent Hotels.”

She bit her lip and quickly looked down at her place setting. “Sorry. I probably shouldn't have said that.”

Embarrassment looked so cute on her. “You figured out Mariah's grand plan, did you?”

“Wasn't hard. Mrs. Kent said a couple things. Then there was the summons home, the visit to Mr. Chamberlain. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to connect the dots.”

“I suppose not. Then again, Mariah never believed in subtlety, either.”

“She doesn't have to. People do what she asks regardless.”

“Gee, and what makes you say that?” Gideon teased.

“Oh, I don't know, this trip to New York maybe?” she teased back.

They grinned at each other, enjoying the shared joke for a couple seconds in silence. There were times, thought Gideon, when he felt he and Miss O'Rourke were reading the same page. Like two peas in a pod. Though her pea was by far the more delectable of the two. He studied the way she raised her glass to her mouth, appreciating how the liquid made her lips glisten. “You're curious,” he said, guessing at her thoughts. “About why I don't want the job.”

“Family politics is none of my business,” she replied.
“Besides, I would think you have your hands full running your own company.”

“Nice to see someone at Kent Hotels recognizes that fact.”

Curiosity continued to lurk in her eyes, but she said nothing. Nor would she, he realized gratefully. She would never push. The knowledge made him feel closer to her than he'd felt toward another person in a long, long time, and for a wild second he considered sharing his true reason for walking away from Kent Hotels. What would she say then? he wondered. To learn he wasn't really a Kent?

A voice in the back of his brain said she wouldn't care nearly as much as he did.

“Mariah will have to find someone else.” While he spoke, he reached for the champagne and refilled their glasses. “Last time I looked, there were more than enough Kents to choose from. Andrew's son, Alexander, for example.”

A slight frown crossed her pretty face.

“You have a problem with Alexander?” Gideon asked.

“I don't know Alexander.”

“Then what?” He didn't like that her smile disappeared. He wanted it back. “Nothing.”

Not nothing. Something. Her dismissal made him all the more curious. Unlike her, he would press. “Miss O'Rourke, I thought when we left Boston, we decided you would share your opinions.”

“About hotel business,” she reminded him. “Not Kent family business.”

“When it comes to the Kents, family business and hotel business are one and the same. Besides, call me quirky, but I like it when you speak your mind. Now, what bothers you about Alexander?”

“Nothing. I told you, I don't even know Alexander Kent.”

“Yet you frowned when I mentioned his name. Why?”

“Well…” She went back to playing with her flatware, obviously searching for a diplomatic response.

“I couldn't help noticing you refer to your family in the third person. It's always ‘Mariah' or ‘Andrew.' You never say ‘Grandmother' or ‘Uncle.'”

“Would you own up to Andrew as your uncle?”

To his relief, she laughed. “If only we could choose our relations,” she said. “Life would be so much easier, wouldn't it.” It was a statement, not a question.

Tightness gripped Gideon's chest.
She understood.
He could see the understanding reflected in those luminous brown eyes. How she knew, he couldn't say, but she did, and the realization was more intoxicating than all her beauty and sweetness combined.

He wanted to grab her and pull her into his arms then and there. Instead, he raised his glass, silently toasting her as he drank. “Wouldn't it, though,” he said. “Wouldn't it.”

 

Emma had fallen down the rabbit's hole. Sitting in this glass tower, surrounded by the night, she'd been dropped
in a different world. A beautiful, magical world of sparkling light.

She smiled at the man across the table. He smiled back, and her insides danced. There was magic in the way Gideon looked at her tonight, as well. It was as if every glance set off a flume of bubbles that started at her toes and floated to her brain, making her feel lighter than air. It certainly wasn't how a secretary should feel when eating with her boss; in the morning she would be kicking herself for getting carried away. But at the moment, with Gideon's eyes beckoning invitingly, she couldn't resist.

He was as perfect a dinner companion as she could imagine. While the waiter brought one gourmet treat after another, Gideon entertained her with stories of life in the Caribbean and the eccentric travelers that crossed his path. With each tale, her enchantment grew stronger. The rest of the dining room faded away until she wasn't aware of anything but Gideon. She studied the graceful way his fingers held the handle of his knife, watched the curve of his mouth as he laughed, with new, acute awareness, enjoying what seemed to be their own candlelit world.

Unfortunately, like all fantasies, dinner ended. While the elevator brought them back to earth, Emma closed her eyes, savoring the last few moments. When she opened them, she saw Gideon watching her with a curious smile.

“What?” she asked, shyness sweeping over her.

“Nothing,” he replied, still smiling.

They walked outside to discover the city's second
life in full swing. Neon lights threw colored patterns on the sidewalk, and high-heeled pedestrians replaced the commuter traffic. In silent agreement, Emma and Gideon began walking back to the hotel. Remnants of dinner's magic followed.

After a few feet, she turned to him. “Thank you. That was…” Words failed her.

No matter. Gideon seemed to understand, for he smiled. “I couldn't take you to New York and fail to show you anything but the inside of a hotel room, now could I?”

The innuendo in his words did nothing to quell the pull she was feeling toward him. “Still,” she replied, “there's dinner and there's…this. All of it. The restaurant, the dress— Oh my God, the dress!” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I forgot to pay!” She'd been so enchanted by her transformation she'd forgotten.

“Relax. When I called the boutique, I told Christine to charge everything to the room. I had a feeling you'd ignore my request.”

Emma blushed. “Am I that predictable?”

“Afraid so.”

“You didn't have to pick up the bill.”

“I know. I wanted to. You deserved it. You deserved this whole night.”

There was such tenderness in his voice, Emma felt herself falling. Perspective was getting harder and harder to keep. “For a job well done,” she said.

“Because I wanted to,” he replied again, reaching for her.

A gasp escaped her lips as the back of his fingers
brushed her cheek. She looked up, saw the earnestness of his expression and tumbled a little further.

“So let me, okay?”

Lost in his indigo gaze, Emma could only nod. They were standing impossibly close. Yet again, he'd merged their space without her realizing it. Barely a breath separated them; she could feel his body almost touching hers.

“You know what else I want?” he asked.

“What?”

The glint behind his smile made her heart race. “Come on. I'll show you.”

 

“I can't believe I let you talk me into a moonlight cruise.”

“You can't go to New York and not look at the Statue of Liberty. She is a symbol of freedom, you know.”

“At least she's made of stone. I don't think I'm going to feel my toes for days.”

“A couple hours soaking in the tub and you'll be fine.”

They were in the corridor, in front of Emma's suite. Emma had replaced her shawl with Gideon's jacket, which she'd wrapped tightly around her. Cold feet aside, she'd actually loved the boat ride. There was something incredibly serene about floating on the water, away from the hustle and bustle. Without street noise, the city looked like a picture postcard. She and Gideon had stood at the railing and watched the buildings float silently by. Later, when they turned and Lady Liberty greeted them from the outer harbor, Gideon had moved behind her, to shield her from the wind. Emma had
viewed Staten Island from the shelter of his arms, barely feeling the cold. She was sorry to see the trip end. She was sorry to see the whole night end. Who knew when she'd ever experience another night like this one?

“Thank you,” she said, for what had to be the millionth time. “I can't tell you how incredible tonight has been.”

“Even with the cold toes?”

She laughed. “Yes, even with the cold toes.”

“Good.” He reached out and flipped a lock of hair from her shoulder. “And you don't need to keep thanking me. Tonight was my pleasure.”

They stood smiling at one another. Emma twisted her key card in her fingers, unsure what to say next. If this had been a date, she could invite him in for a drink.

But this wasn't a date, right? Drinks wouldn't be appropriate.

To play it safe, she returned to her comfort zone. Work. “What time would you like to leave tomorrow?”

Gideon gave her an odd look, one almost of disappointment. “Back to business, are we, Miss O'Rourke?”

No sense dragging out tonight's fantasy longer than necessary, right? “I don't want to delay you any more than I already have. I know you're eager to head back to Saint Martin. Plus your grandmother's no doubt annoyed you've kept her waiting.” As far as Emma knew, he had yet to call with the news about Ross Chamberlain.

“Ah, so you're protecting me from the wrath of Mariah,” he teased. “Don't worry, I'll be fine. If not, I can always unleash Hinckley on her again.”

“Oooh, that'll teach her,” Emma exclaimed. Joking with him was so easy. There were moments, like this one, when she felt like they were on the exact same page.

Perhaps it was a good thing he planned on returning to Saint Martin soon. A woman could easily mistake familiarity for something more. Especially when he smiled the way he was smiling at her.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I should let you go. I know you said to stop, but thank you again for tonight.”

“Told you I'd give you a New York experience.”

“Yes, you did. For the record, though, I would have settled for the hot dog in the park.”

“I know.”

While he spoke, she'd started to shrug his jacket off, but he stopped her, reaching out to take the garment by the lapels. She could feel his thumb caress the material. His expression had turned strangely serious. “You're an original, Miss O'Rourke, that's for sure. No fantasies, no need for extravagances, no expectations. Why don't you want more?”

She couldn't. “More” led to disappointment. “I have enough.” The thickness in her voice made the words sound hollow.

Fingers brushed her skin as he slipped the jacket from her shoulders. Her breath hitched. When had his hands gotten so warm? They were like fire against her skin.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“Because I think you deserve more.”

More? “Like what?”

She felt her body leaning toward him, closing the distance between them. She saw his head dip, his eyes grow heavy-lidded.

“Like everything,” he whispered.

Everything.
He made the word sound so possible. Except she didn't need everything. Right now, right here, she didn't need anything.

Then she felt his lips touch her cheek. A gentle lingering kiss that made her knees buckle and her heart stop. Instinctively, she turned toward him, seeking the taste of his mouth. To her disappointment and surprise, he pulled away.

Leaving her wanting more.

“Good night, Miss O'Rourke,” he said with a parting caress.

She watched in stunned silence as Gideon disappeared around the corner, while she pressed a shaky hand to where his lips had touched her skin.

T
HE NEXT MORNING WAS
business as usual. Neither mentioned the night before. They made small talk during the ride to the airport, and the moment they boarded the plane, Gideon barricaded himself with work. “Jamilla, my assistant in Saint Martin, is almost as efficient as you,” he teased. “She's managed to fill my in-box in less than twenty-four hours.”

Emma smiled, but said nothing. She sat across the aisle, updating her day planner. While part of her appreciated the silence, another part hated that her thoughts had free rein to wander. She knew exactly where they would head, too.

Don't get carried away.
How often had she thought those words when her mother met a new potential beau? And yet she'd done the exact same thing last night. Too much champagne and candlelight had made her forget reality. Emma pressed her fingertips to her cheek, recalling the feel of Gideon's mouth, hating the stirring the memory caused in her chest. At least now she understood her mother a little better. She could see how easily a woman could get sucked in by romantic fantasy. Last night she'd felt so indescribably special it had been
like flying. If that was how her mother felt, then Emma understood why she continued to chase the dream. The high was incredibly addictive.

Except, as with any addiction, when the high ended, you came crashing down. Like she had this morning when she woke up and became plain old Miss O'Rourke again.

She stole a glance across the aisle. Saddest thing was, even knowing about this morning's crash and burn, she would trade her soul for another night like last night.

 

“Wouldn't you rather go home?” Gideon asked. “I'm sure Mariah doesn't expect you to come in today.”

“I want to check my in-box,” Emma replied.

They stood watching the parking garage elevator count down the floors. Gideon had hoped Emma would drop him off at the Fairlane and head home, instead of insisting on coming upstairs. He should have known better.

Hopefully, Mariah wouldn't insist on meeting too long. He needed some space to clear his head. Maybe a sail. The brisk air might help. Last night played like a video loop in his head, with every taste, every scent, every touch captured in Technicolor detail. What was he thinking, spouting all that nonsense about her deserving everything? She did, but that wasn't the point. The point was that somewhere between wanting to indulge her, and Ellis Island, he forgot his own rules. He actually started buying all that manufactured romance.

That's what happens when you spend time with sweet young things,
he told himself. He was beginning
to get why all the Kent men continued to make fools of themselves.

Fortunately, his non-Kent genes had kicked just in time, saving him from doing something he'd really regret. Like kissing her senseless and making love to her all night long.

Now if only his body would forget how amazing her skin tasted. He'd had to take a cold shower last night to cool his blood. If a simple peck on the cheek stirred him that much, then her mouth would probably be the death of him. Being stuck in close proximity to her body was bad enough. Every turn, she assaulted him with her doe eyes and vanilla-scented skin. He'd been fighting his body's reaction since LaGuardia.

Maybe he should have gone with the hot dog in the park, after all.

“Should we stop at the front desk and pick up Hinckley's carrier?” Emma asked, all business as usual. She acted as if last night had never happened.

“Hinckley hates the carrier,” he replied. “One look and he'll hide. Best I wait till he lets his guard down.”

The elevator doors opened and he moved back to let her board. As she passed, vanilla drifted with her. The urge to lean close and inhale gripped him, and he had to struggle not to give in.

By the time he joined her, Emma had already inserted the keycard and stood studying the control panel as if it contained the secrets of the universe. Briefcase in one hand, the other gripping her purse strap, she was an expressionless, efficient, trench-coated statue. Another urge gripped him, this time the desire to grab
her shoulders and shake her until she showed some kind of reaction.

Instead he took a position on the other side of the elevator—best he put as much space between them as possible—and checked his watch. “Almost two o'clock. If the elevator doesn't move quickly, I'll have to sit through her soap.”

Emma's lips curved slightly, not enough to qualify as a full smile, but enough to make his blood heat. “Maybe she'll make an exception for you.”

“Only if hell froze over while we were in the air.”

The smile grew a little wider. Gideon wanted more. He wanted a full-blown grin like the ones he'd seen last night.

Let it go, Gideon. Be grateful she's not calling you out on your behavior.
Last time he checked, kissing your secretary, even if only on the cheek, wasn't exactly proper business behavior.

There was a soft ding, and the elevator doors parted. The small waiting area that served as entrance to Mariah's quarters was empty.

“Odd,” Emma said, twisting the door handle. “Your grandmother usually keeps her door unlocked during business hours.”

The hair on the back of Gideon's neck prickled. He looked at his watch again. One fifty-nine. “Have you spoken to her today?”

“Earlier, before we took off. We didn't discuss any last-minute appointments.” Emma frowned. “Mrs. Kent wouldn't schedule anything for two o'clock, anyway.”

“No, she wouldn't,” he replied.

He waited impatiently for Emma to unlock the door. Before they could even enter her office, Hinckley was upon them, meowing hoarsely and twisting around their legs. He was the only sign of life.

Emma looked up at Gideon, her face reflecting his worry. “Any reason your grandmother would lock him out?”

“No.” His insides turned cold.

The door to Mariah's suite was sealed tight. Their eyes met. Neither of them had to say a word.

The television set wasn't on.

“Mariah!” Gideon hollered, banging on his grandmother's door. “Mariah, are you in there?”

Without waiting for a response, he kicked the door open, knocking the wood panel from its hinges. Emma followed, less than a step behind.

Mariah's sitting room was empty. The television was off. “Mariah!” he called again.

“Gideon?” The faint cry came from the bedroom. In tandem, they ran to the doorway, only to stop short. Gideon's heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

Mariah lay on the floor by the bed, legs tucked awkwardly beneath her. When she saw them, she attempted to sit up, only to wince and fall back again.

He recovered from his shock and rushed to her side. “What happened?”

“I felt dizzy. I went to lie down and I fell. I must have hit—ooh!” She winced again. “My chest. It hurts.”

“Shhh, lie still. I'll take care of everything.” He stroked her silver hair, hoping he sounded calm, because he sure as hell didn't feel that way.

Emma knelt beside him. “An ambulance is on the way,” she said. “And I asked the front desk to track down your father and uncle.”

“Thank you.”

“This couldn't have happened too long ago. The bed's made.” Meaning the maid had already come and gone. If they hadn't arrived when they did, Mariah might have lain on the floor for God knows how long.

Gideon felt Emma's hand touch his shoulder. It was exactly the reassurance he needed. He gave her a brief, grateful nod and turned his attention back to Mariah. Her pale blue eyes glistened with moisture. Gideon's own vision blurred for a second. All of sudden he was nineteen years old again, his bags packed, listening to Mariah tell him that blood or no blood, he'd always be her grandson. That she would never give up on him.

He stroked the hair from her pale cheek. “Don't worry about anything, Grandmother.” Emotion tightened his voice. “I'm here now. I'll take care of everything.”

 

“What's taking so long?” Andrew Kent jammed his fingers through his silver hair before pushing himself from his seat. “We should have heard something by now. Where on earth is Dr. Crenshaw?”

“She said she'd find us as soon as she had some news to share,” Gideon replied, in the same firm yet gentle voice he'd been using all afternoon. Jennifer Crenshaw was Mrs. Kent's personal physician. She'd arrived earlier and taken charge of her patient's tests.

Andrew shook his head. “I don't like how long it's taking.”

“You can't rush these things. When they do talk to us, I want them to have facts, not speculation, don't you?”

“Gideon's right,” Jonathan Kent said softly. “Mother's in good hands. Let Dr. Crenshaw do her job.”

Andrew let out a frustrated breath, but didn't argue any further. Like she had in New York, Emma marveled at Gideon's command. He seemed to recognize Andrew's bluster ran in direct proportion to his nerves, and managed his uncle accordingly.

The past couple of hours had been a blur of activity and confusion. Gideon had accompanied his grandmother in the ambulance, while Emma followed behind in the SUV. His father and uncle had arrived at the hospital a short time later. Jonathan Kent looked shell-shocked, while Andrew almost immediately began demanding information, growing frustrated and belligerent when none was forthcoming. That's when Gideon took charge. Watching him calm Andrew down and communicate with the staff, Emma understood immediately why Mrs. Kent wanted him to run Kent Hotels. Calm and collected, even though she knew inside he was as distraught as the others, he was a natural born leader. Her heart swelled with admiration.

Stuck in the middle of the melee, Emma did what she could, getting coffee and retrieving doctor's numbers. But mostly she sat in the corner observing, superfluous to the action around her.

Gideon's father surprised her. Usually charming and loquacious, he sat wordlessly apart from his son, watchful yet distant. Emma might have attributed his aloofness to worry—maybe he was someone who withdrew
into himself when faced with adversity—had he not managed to charm the hospital staff, even going so far as to apologize for Andrew's outbursts.

Gideon, she noticed, barely spoke to him, either. There appeared to be a line drawn between the two that neither wanted to cross.

And yet, as separated from one another as the three men were, they were still an entity unto themselves. A united Kent front, separate and superior.

After what seemed forever, Dr. Crenshaw appeared. She went directly to Gideon. “Your grandmother had a mild heart attack,” she told him. “Nothing too severe. More of a wake-up call than anything. She'll need to make some lifestyle changes. The chest pain she complained about was actually from a cracked rib. Apparently she struck the corner of the nightstand when she fell forward.”

“So she'll be all right?” Jonathan asked.

Dr. Crenshaw nodded, and all three men's shoulders relaxed with relief. “She'll be up and bossing people around in no time. She's already lecturing the nurses about patient hospitality.”

“Heaven help the hospital,” Gideon murmured.

“Can we see her now?” Andrew asked.

“Keep it short. I want her to get some rest.” Dr. Crenshaw addressed Gideon. “She's asking to see you. When you go in, do me a favor and tell her no hotel business for at least twenty-four hours.”

“Like she'll listen to me.”

The doctor smiled. “You have as good a chance as anybody.”

Gideon disappeared behind Mrs. Kent's hospital door. Emma immediately shivered. With him gone, the corridor felt cold and empty. Andrew and Jonathan turned their backs to her and talked to each other in low tones. They seemed unaware that Emma was even there. Why
was
she still here? she wondered. For Gideon? He didn't need her. He had his family. She was merely the secretary.

Tossing her empty cup in the trash, she left.

 

“You gave us quite a scare, missy,” Gideon admonished, upon entering his grandmother's room.

“I scared myself,” Mariah replied. She looked tiny buried under the covers of her hospital bed. “I hate being helpless.”

“Really? I never would have guessed!”

There was a small stool in the corner. He pulled it to the side of the bed and sat down. The sudden change of height reminded him of younger days and made him smile. “You're going to have to start taking better care of yourself, Mariah.”

“I like it better when you use ‘Grandmother.'”

So did he. Gideon looked down at the hand resting on his arm. The long tapered fingers were crooked from age, but the touch was a firm as ever. Tightness gripped his chest as he covered those fingers with his own.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Shouldn't you be thanking your soap? If you weren't such a creature of habit, we might not have realized something was wrong.”

“I'll write the producer a note. I meant thank you for coming home. I've missed you, Gideon.”

“I missed you, too.” The tightness got a little stronger. This uncharacteristically emotional side of Mariah threatened to dislodge all the feelings he usually kept under control.

He rose to leave. “I better go. Dr. Crenshaw told us not to tire you out, and your sons are pretty eager to check on you.”

She squeezed his arm. “Come back tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

His father and Andrew passed by him on his way out the door. Jonathan looked in his direction for a second, but said nothing. No different than it had been all day, really.

Though there had been one moment. A fleeting instance when, while pacing back and forth, his father had looked in his direction and nodded. As if he was glad Gideon was there with them. And damn if the feeling didn't shake him to the core.

Because he liked it.

A sudden gulf of loneliness opened inside him. Now that the crisis was past, his control slipped and he felt unsteady and adrift. He needed a mooring, an anchorage to steady him.