His gaze narrowed, condemning her. “Such innocent eyes. Who would have guessed that such deception lay just below the surface?”
Cindy clamped her teeth together with such force that her jaw ached. Every word was a slap in the face and it hurt. His eyes were so cold and full of contempt. “If I could have the comb…I’ll be on my way.”
“Not quite yet.” He stood and joined her, pulling her to her feet. “You owe me something for all the lies you told…for deceiving me into thinking you were kind and good.” For filling his head with dreams and breaking her unspoken promises…
Cindy drew back sharply.
His eyes narrowed on her flushed face and his hands tightened around her upper arms. He pulled her against him and slanted his mouth over hers.
Cindy went still but didn’t resist.
Thorne felt her submission and he loosened his grip, drawing slowly back. She’d gone deathly pale, and he instantly felt overwhelming regret. He dropped his hands and watched as she took a stumbling step away from him.
“I apologize for that,” he said hoarsely. He was wrong about her. She wasn’t cold and calculating, but warm and generous. It was all there for him to read in her clear, blue eyes. Her chin shook slightly and those magical eyes stared up at him, glimmering with hurt. He longed to soothe away the pain he’d inflicted. Utterly defeated, he turned and walked away. “I’ll get the comb.”
Thorne stumbled halfway down the hall that led to his bedroom. The floor seemed to pitch and heave under him, and he sagged against the wall to keep from falling. He knew it was the medication—the doctor had warned him about the dizzying effect.
“Thorne…” Cindy was at his side, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Her hold tightened. “You’re sick.”
His breathless chuckle revealed his amusement. “Are you always so perceptive?”
“No.” She tried to support him. “Let me get you into bed.”
“Those are misleading words, Cinderella. I’m sure your fairy godmother would be shocked.”
“Quit joking, I’m serious.”
He turned his head and his gaze pinned hers. “So am I.”
“Thorne!” Her face heated. As best she could, Cindy directed him into the bedroom. The huge king-size bed dominated the middle of the room and was a mess of tangled sheets and blankets. She left him long enough to pull back the covers and fluff up the pillows.
Because he felt so weak, Thorne sat on the edge of the bed and ran a weary hand over his face. Under normal circumstances he would’ve been humiliated to have a woman fuss over him like this, but nothing about his relationship with Cindy was conventional.
“Here, let me help you,” she insisted, urging him to lie down. She held the back of one hand to his forehead.
“No.” He brushed her hand away.
“You need to rest.”
“No,” he repeated.
“Thorne, please, you’re running a fever.”
“If I fall asleep,” he said, holding her gaze, “you’ll be gone when I wake up.” His mouth curved into a sad smile. “Will you promise to stay?”
Cindy hesitated.
“I’ll stay until you wake,” she finally said.
“Do you promise?”
She nodded.
“Say it, Cindy.”
“I’ll be here,” she cried, angry that he couldn’t trust her. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you like this.”
He fell against the pillow and released a long sigh. “Good,” he said and closed his eyes. For the first time in days he felt right. From the moment Cindy had left him standing in the park, it was as though a part of him had been missing. Now she was here, so close that all he had to do was reach out and touch her.
Standing at his side, Cindy pulled the covers over his shoulders and lingered beside the bed. She wouldn’t leave the room until she was sure he was asleep. He appeared almost childlike, lying on his side, his brow relaxed and smooth. The harsh lines around his mouth were gone, as were the ones that fanned out beside his eyes.
A minute later, his lashes fluttered open and he looked around, startled.
“I’m here,” she whispered and stroked his forehead to reassure him.
“Lie down with me,” he pleaded, shifting to the far side of the bed, leaving more than ample room for her.
“Thorne, I can’t.”
“Please.” His voice was barely discernible, hardly more than a whisper.
No one word could be more seductive. “I shouldn’t.”
He answered her by gently patting the bed, his eyes still closed. “I need you,” he said softly.
“Oh, Thorne.” She pressed her lips together and slipped off her shoes. He was manipulating her and she didn’t like it one bit. As soon as he was well she’d tell him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his underhanded methods.
Keeping as close to edge of the bed as possible without falling off, Cindy lay stiff and tense at his side. Thorne was under the covers while she remained on top, but that did little to diminish her misgivings.
Gradually, so gradually she was hardly aware of what he was doing, Thorne eased himself closer to her so he could feel the warmth of her body against his. Sleep was so wonderfully inviting. He draped his arm over her ribs and brought her next to him. He felt the tension leave her limbs, and for the first time since the Monday after the Christmas Ball, Thorne Prince smiled.
Cindy woke two hours later, astonished that she’d slept. The room was dark and she lay watching the shadows on the bedroom walls, thinking. Her mind was crowded with conflicting thoughts. She should leave him while she could, with her heart intact—but she’d promised she wouldn’t. No matter what the consequences, she wouldn’t lie to him again.
As gently as possible, Cindy slipped from his arms and tiptoed across the plush carpet. Clothes littered the floor and she automatically picked them up as she made her way out of the room. She collected towels from the bathroom and threw everything in the washing machine, which she found in its own alcove.
Dirty dishes were piled in the kitchen sink, and Cindy placed them in the dishwasher and turned it on. The pots and pans she scrubbed by hand. She’d finished those when she turned around and discovered Thorne standing in the middle of the kitchen, watching her.
“I thought you’d left,” he murmured. He’d woken to find her gone and momentary terror had gripped his heart. It wasn’t until he’d realized she was in the other room that he’d been able to breathe again.
“No, I’m here,” she said unnecessarily.
“I don’t need you cleaning for me. I’ve got a woman who comes in for that.”
“What’s her name?”
He stared at her blankly, surprised by the inane conversation they were having. “She’s sent by an agency. I wouldn’t know her if I met her on the street. Does it matter?”
Cindy turned to face the sink and bit her bottom lip at the pain. With deliberate movements, she rinsed out the dishrag and wrung it dry, then folded it over the faucet. She dried her hands on the kitchen towel.
“Cindy.” He touched her shoulder, but she ignored him.
“I promised you I wouldn’t leave while you were sleeping,” she said, her eyes avoiding his. “But I have to go now. Could I please have the comb?”
“No.”
“No? But…it’s part of a matching set.”
“You told me they belonged to your mother, didn’t you?”
Cindy nodded.
“They obviously mean a great deal to you.”
“Yes…of course.” She didn’t understand where he was going with this.
“Then I’ll keep it until I find out why you need to disappear from my life.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“I know.” He looked pleased with himself. “I’ll feel a whole lot better once I shower and shave. When I’m finished, we’ll talk.”
Cindy’s fingers gripped the counter behind he
r. “Okay,” she murmured. She hated lying to him—again—but she had no intention of staying. She couldn’t. She’d kept her promise—she hadn’t left while he slept. Now he was awake and so was she. Wide awake.
The minute she heard the shower running, Cindy sneaked into the bedroom and retrieved her shoes. She’d reached the front door before she hesitated. A note. He deserved that much.
She found paper and a pen in the kitchen and wrote as fast as her fingers could move. She told him he was right in assuming the combs meant a lot to her. So much so that she wanted him to keep the comb he’d found—keep it in memory of the night they’d met. She told him she’d always remember him, her own dashing prince, and that their time together was the most special of her life. Tears fell from her eyes and her lips trembled as she signed her name.
She left the paper on top of the television. Soundlessly she hurried to the front door, where she paused again, blinded by tears. Her fingers curled around the knob. Everything within her told her to walk out that door and not look back. Everything except her heart. Cindy felt as if it was dissolving with every breath she took. She pressed her forehead against the polished mahogany door, fighting to strengthen her resolve.
Then she heard his voice behind her.
“I didn’t think I could trust you,” he said bitterly.
Six
Thorne’s harsh words cut her savagely. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she turned toward him, all the pent-up emotion in her eyes there for him to read. He had to see that it was killing her to walk away.
One look at the pain etched so plainly on her tormented face, and Thorne’s anger evaporated. He moved across the room. “Oh, Cindy,” he groaned and reached for her, folding her in his arms. At first she resisted his comfort, standing stiff and unyielding against him, but he held her because he couldn’t bear to let her go. His hands cupped her face and he directed her mouth to his, kissing her again and again until she relaxed and wound her arms around his neck. Thorne could feel her breath quicken and he knew he’d reached her.
Cindy’s heart seemed to stop and then surged again with hurried beats. Being held and kissed by Thorne only made leaving him more difficult. She could hardly breathe past the wild pounding of her heart. She shouldn’t have come to him, shouldn’t have asked for the return of her missing comb. But she had—seeking some common ground, hoping to bridge the gap between their lives. But it couldn’t be done. His words about his cleaning woman had proven how unfeasible any relationship between them would be.
“No.” She eased herself away from him. “Please, don’t try to stop me…. I have to go.”
“Why?”
She pinched her lips together and refused to answer.
Thorne caressed her thick blond hair. He drew in a calming breath and released it, repeating the action several times until he could think clearly.
“You’re married, aren’t you?” he asked in a stark voice.
“No!”
“Then why do you insist on playing hide-and-seek?”
She dropped her head and closed her eyes, unable to look at him any longer. “Trust me, it’s for the best that we never see each other again.”
“That’s ridiculous. We’re perfect together.” He was nearly shouting at her. He lowered his voice, wanting to reason with her calmly. “I need to be with you. That night was the most wonderful of my life. It was like…like I’d suddenly woken up from a coma. The whole world came alive for me the minute you arrived. At least give us a chance. That isn’t so much to ask, is it?”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
“Cindy, don’t you realize I’m crazy about you?”
“You don’t know me,” she cried.
“I know enough.”
“It was one night, don’t you see? One magical night. Another night would never be the same. It’s better to leave things as they are rather than disillusion ourselves by trying to live a fantasy.”
“Cindy.” He stopped her, bringing his lips hungrily to hers, kissing her until she was weak and clinging. “The magic is stronger than ever. I feel it and so do you.”
She leaned her forehead against his chest, battling the resistance in her heart. But she couldn’t deny the truth any more than she could stop her heart from racing at his slightest touch.
“One more night,” Thorne said softly, enticingly, “to test our feelings. Then we’ll know.”
Cindy nodded silently, unable to refuse him anything when he was holding her as if she were an enchanted princess and he her sworn love. When she did speak, her voice was hardly above a whisper. “One more night,” she repeated. “But only one.”
Thorne felt the tightness in his chest subside and the tension seep out of him. He wanted to argue with her; he wanted a lot more than one night—but she looked so confused and uncertain that he didn’t dare press her. For now he’d be satisfied with the time she could freely give him.
He grinned. “Where would you like to go? A play? A jazz club? Dinner?”
“Thorne.” She placed her hand on his arm. “You’re ill.”
“I feel a thousand times better.” And he did.
“We’ll stay right here,” she countered, and breaking out of his arms, she returned to the kitchen. Catching him by the hand, she took him with her. She sat him down at the table and proceeded to inspect his freezer and cupboards.
Thorne watched as she organized their meal. Before he knew what was happening, Cindy had him at the counter, ripping apart lettuce leaves for a salad. It was as though she’d worked in his kitchen all her life. She located frozen chicken breasts, thawed them in the microwave and set them in the oven with potatoes wrapped in aluminium foil. Then she searched his cupboards, gathering the ingredients for a mushroom sauce.
Thorne paused long enough in his task to choose a CD. Soon music surrounded them as they worked; once everything was prepared they moved to the living room. As they sat on the couch, Thorne’s arm went around her shoulders and she bent her arm to connect her fingers with his. Her head rested on his shoulder. The moment was serene, peaceful. Thorne had never known a time like this with a woman. All the women he’d met wanted parties and excitement, attention and approval. He hadn’t married, hadn’t even thought of it until recently. He’d given up looking for that special woman, the one who’d fill his days with happiness and love. With Sheila, he’d been willing to accept “close enough,” never expecting to feel what Cindy made so simple. Yet here she was in his arms, and he was willing to do everything humanly possible to keep her there.
Cindy gave a contented sigh. These few minutes together were as close to paradise as she ever hoped to come in this lifetime. She found it astonishing that they didn’t need to speak. The communication between them didn’t require words, and when they did talk, they discovered their tastes were surprisingly similar. Cindy loved old movies; so did Thorne. They’d both read everything John LeCarré had ever written and devotedly watched reruns of Seinfeld. Both Cindy and Thorne were so familiar with the television comedy that they exchanged lines of dialogue. Excited and happy, they laughed and hugged each other.
Cindy couldn’t believe this was happening and held him to her, breathless with an inexplicable joy. Somehow she’d known they’d discover that the night of the Christmas Ball hadn’t been a fluke.
Thorne couldn’t believe how right they were together. They enjoyed the same things, shared the same interests. He’d never thought he’d find a woman who could make him laugh the way Cindy did.
When dinner was ready, Thorne lit candles, set them in the center of the dining-room table and dimmed the overhead lighting. The mood was wildly romantic.
“The fairy dust is so thick in here I can barely see,” Cindy teased as she carried their plates to the table.
“That’s not fairy dust.”
“No?”
“No,” he said, and his eyes smiled into hers. “This is undiluted romance.” He pulled out her chair and playfully nuzzled her neck when she
was seated.
“I should’ve recognized what this is. You’ll have to pardon me, but I’ve been so busy with school that I haven’t dated much in the past and—” She stopped abruptly, realizing what she’d said.
Thorne sat down across from her and unfolded the linen napkin. “You go to school?” He’d been so careful not to question her, afraid she’d freeze up if he bombarded her with his need to find answers. From the moment she’d arrived, he’d longed to discover how she’d known he was ill. Cindy was like a complex puzzle. Every bit of information he’d learned about her was a tiny interlocking piece that would help him reveal the complete picture of who and what she was—and why she felt she had to hide from him.
“I attend classes,” she admitted, feeling awkward. Without being obvious, she tried to study his reaction, but his face was an unreadable mask. He’d been in business too long to show his feelings.
“What are you studying?”
“Various things.” Her stomach fluttered and she sent him a reproving glance before returning her attention to her meal.
Thorne’s grip on his fork tightened as he saw her visibly withdraw from him. Her eyes avoiding his, she sat uneasily in the chair; her mouth was pinched as though she was attempting to disguise her pain. Intuitively he knew that if he pressed her for answers, he’d lose her completely. “I won’t ask you anything else,” he promised.
She smiled then and his heart squeezed with an ufamiliar emotion. The ache caught him by surprise. He didn’t care who Cindy was. She could be an escaped convict and it wouldn’t matter. He wanted to tell her that regardless of what troubled her, he could fix it. He’d stand between her and the world if that was what it took. Forging rivers, climbing mountains, anything—he’d do it gladly.
After they’d finished eating, Cindy cleared the table. Thorne moved across the living room to change the music.
Blinded by tears, Cindy reached for her coat and purse.
“Do you like classical?” Thorne asked without turning. “How about jazz?”
“Anything is fine.” Cindy prayed he didn’t hear the quaver in her voice. She shot him one last look, thanking him with her eyes for the second most magnificent night of her life. Then, silently, she slipped out the front door and out of her dreams.
Fairy Tale Weddings Page 7
