The Cinderella Bride

by Barbara Wallace

  “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.

  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.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THERE 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 m
orning 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.”