His Cinderella Housekeeper 3-in-1

by Various

  “Okay, I’ll go, Phillip.”

  Relief seemed to flow through him as he relaxed and kissed her brow. “Can I turn on the fan now?”

  She nodded. He got up and shut the windows and turned on the fan. Then he came back to bed and pulled her close. He was instantly asleep, but she lay in the dark, utterly bewildered, wondering what she should do.

  This past week had been pure magic. His every rough and tender kiss had stolen her breath away, stolen her heart, too.

  She loved him.

  She hadn’t wanted to fall in love again, and she didn’t want to damage their new relationship by telling him that she was involved in any way with a pair of hoodlums like The Pope and Nero. And if they tracked her here, how would she ever convince him that Johnny had lied about her to the loan sharks, that she’d done nothing wrong?

  Nothing except run to Phillip and endanger him and maybe his livestock because she’d been scared out of her wits

  Phillip had said he was proud of her. Oh, how wonderful his saying that had made her feel.

  She wasn’t ready to jeopardize Phillip’s good opinion of her. Not yet. Their relationship was too new and fragile and precious.

  “Do you want to dance?” Phillip whispered in Celeste’s ear.

  “Oh, yes!” She set her purse on the table. Anything to escape the escalating tension at their table. Her own nerves had started skittering at her first sight of the four-story clubhouse and its rolling lawns.

  “Excuse us, gentlemen,” Phillip said as he helped Celeste out of her chair.

  She smiled at his friends brightly, maybe too brightly—her star-wattage smile. When every man in the room turned to admire her, Phillip swore under his breath.

  “Do you have to be so damned sexy?”

  She threw her head back and laughed.

  “Minx,” he said in an awed whisper.

  She’d dressed up in a slinky red dress that hugged every curve. She’d put on lots of makeup and fixed her hair because she was so afraid of all the beautiful women Phillip had dated at the club.

  She gripped his arm as he led her across the elegant room to the dance floor.

  “Relax. You’re the most beautiful woman here and the only one for me.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, damn it.”

  “Is my dress too loud?”

  “You look sensational.”

  She hated being so insecure. She wanted and needed him to say things like that over and over.

  Lavish bouquets of long-stemmed roses of all colors decorated the tables of the Lone Star Country Club dining room. Celeste and Phillip had a candlelit table in a corner with Phillip’s handsome friends from the 14th unit—Flynt Carson, the local millionaire rancher, Spence Harrison, the former D.A., Tyler Murdoch, a bomb expert, and Luke Callaghan, Ricky’s brother-in-law.

  Luke was wearing dark glasses because he’d been blinded by scrap metal in a mission and was only just now recovering his vision. Like Phillip, Luke trusted Ricky completely, despite the rest of the gang’s doubts.

  Unlike her, Phillip seemed so relaxed and at ease in his country club with his successful friends. Celeste knew he wasn’t an extremely wealthy man, but he had his Marine retirement and he’d inherited. Compared to her, he was very comfortable financially.

  Some of the guys were married and settled now, but this weekend their wives were away in San Antonio shopping. Ricky Mercado, the black sheep of the bunch because his family had Mafia connections, had come in late and was now slouching at the far end of the table. He’d had too many beers and his attitude was that of a sulky jungle cat. Phillip believed Ricky had gone straight, but Mercado was ready to pounce at any remark or glance the other guys made that he didn’t like. Not that his attitude slowed his former guys down much.

  Even though Phillip and Celeste were sitting between Mercado and the rest of the men, thereby bodily separating them, and Luke, Ricky’s brother-in-law, had been hard at work to defuse the situation, the other guys knew what to say and do to irritate Mercado. Thus, Ricky’s mood had worsened with each beer.

  Not that Phillip seemed upset by Mercado’s glowering face. Celeste, however, had wanted everybody to be happy. She’d begun feeling nervous when Mercado had started telling a story about Phillip putting his life in danger by charging three snipers. She hadn’t wanted to hear about Phillip’s near-death experiences so she was glad Phillip had put his hand on her waist, glad he’d led her to the dance floor.

  “Quit twisting that ring ‘round and round’ your finger. Didn’t I tell you, you’re stunning?”

  Phillip whispered when they reached the dance floor. “Didn’t all the guys say you were beautiful? Too damn many times? Even Mercado?”

  “It was the only nice thing he’s said. But why would you take on three snipers?”

  “Mercado was exaggerating. Hey, you look good in red. You look like a star. Like Stella—”

  “You clean up nice, too,” she murmured as he folded her into his arms. Maybe it was best not to think about those stories when she didn’t have to. “There are so many beautiful, elegant women here. Have you…dated any of them?”

  He frowned. “A few.”

  “Quite a few?” she asked, feeling even more insecure.

  He was silent for a long moment. Then he touched her hair and tilted her chin up so he could meet her troubled gaze.

  “Yes.” He hesitated. “None of them were you.”

  She rested her cheek against his chest.

  “You’re different, Celeste.”

  “You’d say that to them, too.”

  “Maybe. But this isn’t a line. I’m telling you the truth. I don’t care who you are or who you’ve been or who you’ve been with before. I don’t care where you came from. I need you.

  Just you. I don’t know why. I just do. Honey, you’re so damn beautiful and so sweet…not to mention the things you think up to do in bed.”

  “I’ve got a good idea for tonight.” She whispered a fantasy into his ear.

  He chuckled. “Hold that thought.”

  “Promise you won’t think I’m kinky.”

  “It’ll only seem kinky the first time.”

  The music started and his powerful body moved slowly against her petite frame. As always they were a perfect fit. For a few magic moments she forgot everything but Phillip, but then she grew aware of Mercado’s darkening stare. The voices from their table were growing louder.

  “Ricky looks so unhappy and the guys, I mean, except for Luke—”

  “Hold your head up,” Phillip whispered. “Look at me. Forget Ricky and the guys. They’ll work out their issues about Mercado. He told me he doesn’t work for his family and I believe him. And besides, Luke’s holding down the fort while we dance.”

  She stared so deeply into his silver eyes and forced herself to forget the tension they’d left behind at their table. He was so gorgeous, he mesmerized her. Just looking at him, even in front of all these people, she was sure she lost a piece of her soul to him forever.

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Celeste. You are as classy as any woman here.”

  Would he believe that when he found out Vegas loan sharks were hot on her trail? And what if it turned out they’d killed his cow?

  Soon she forgot Nero and The Pope and the guys, and surrendered to the music. Not that Phillip and she really danced. They held each other tightly, their bodies swaying as other beautiful couples swirled around them.

  Every woman seemed to cut her eyes at Phillip. Oh, dear. He was so dreamily handsome in his dark suit, dress shirt and dark tie. He didn’t have an elegant body as did some of the men at the club. He was too powerfully built and hard-edged. But in his suit he could almost pass for a gentleman.

  What woman wouldn’t want him? Oh, why had she picked such a flashy dress? The other women were dressed far more conservatively. Next time she’d wear black…long sleeves…

  If there was a next time.

  “I think this is a wal
tz,” Celeste said a little nervously because the other men weren’t crushing their elegant dates and wives to their bodies as sensually as Phillip held her. She didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself. “One, two, three. One, two, three…”

  “I don’t give a damn what kind of dance it is as long as I get to hold you,” he murmured, pressing her even closer so that they were thigh to thigh.

  “We could have stayed home and done this,” she murmured in a shaky tone.

  “Things would’ve gotten a whole lot wilder at home.”

  His arms tightened around her. She laughed, remembering how he’d caught her on the back porch last night, carried her inside and stripped her in the living room.

  They swayed to the music. There was something so sexy about being fully dressed and having to restrain their passion in such a refined setting. Anybody who saw them had to know what they really wanted to do was to strip each other naked.

  “The guys love you. They understand why I love you, too.”

  “I hope I made a good impression. I want you to be proud of me.”

  “Proud? They’re jealous as hell. Especially Mercado.”

  “Why do the other guys dislike him?”

  “Long story. Mercado’s okay, though.”

  “But the other guys…”

  “They’ll figure out I’m right. You’ll see.”

  The dance ended. When they went back to the table, Ricky, who looked even angrier than before, stood and jerked her chair out. “You call that a waltz, old buddy?” he muttered, attempting a light tone. “You’re losing your touch.” The other guys frowned at him, but he only scowled back at them.

  “Relax, bro,” Luke whispered.

  Before she could sit, Ricky grabbed Celeste’s hand. “My turn,” he growled, tugging her away from Phillip. “If it’s okay with you, old buddy?”

  Of course, after that, all of Phillip’s friends had to dance with her. Watching them from the table, Mercado grew more sullen by the minute. Then dinner was served and for a while the tensions at their table eased.

  Most of the men had lobster tails with a thick buttery sauce, the kind of sauce Celeste didn’t approve of. Mercado refused to eat, saying he’d drink his dinner. Phillip had ordered a slab of steak at least four-inches thick, along with a baked potato he stuffed with sour cream and chives.

  When everybody was eating, Ricky said, “I’m glad you’re back, Celeste. Glad you’re taming the old warmonger.”

  “Warmonger?” she whispered. “He’s retired from all that.”

  “In your dreams,” Mercado said.

  Ty and the other Marines shot Mercado a warning look, but he ignored them and said, “Now that you’re home, sir, maybe I won’t receive any sudden calls to go down to Central America.”

  “Central America?” Terrified, Celeste set her fork down. “What do you mean? Ricky—what on earth are you talking about?”

  “Ever heard of a hellhole called Mezcaya?”

  “Hell, Mercado,” Luke whispered. “See what you’ve done, she’s as pale as a sheet.”

  “Mezcaya?” she whispered in alarm. “Isn’t that the country in Central America that’s a breeding ground for terrorists?”

  “Ever heard of a particularly nasty little group called El Jefe?” Mercado asked. “They run guns…even from here in Mission Creek.”

  Phillip interrupted. “Can’t we talk about something else? How about the weather?”

  “Has he been down to Mezcaya recently?” Celeste whispered, afraid to hear the answer.

  “That cut on his cheek. Picked up some shrapnel in Mezcaya right before you showed up on his doorstep, Celeste, didn’t you old buddy?”

  “It was a rock,” Phillip said. “A lousy rock.”

  “Hell, you nearly bought it,” Ricky said.

  Spence hissed at Mercado to shut up, but when Phillip shot Spence a warning look, Spence stabbed his potato rather violently.

  “All he told me was that he wasn’t wearing a seat belt,” Celeste murmured tightly.

  Ricky laughed. “Why would he be wearing a belt—in The Cave?”

  “The Cave?”

  “Short for dungeon, sweetheart. He killed a guy, so they locked him up. Ty got him out.

  When the chopper came—”

  “Chopper?” Suddenly her throat squeezed shut and she could barely breathe. “Phillip, you said you’d retired—”

  “I am! Damn it, Mercado,” Phillip began. “Celeste lost her mother and her father when she was young. She has a thing about close calls and death.”

  “Don’t we all?” Mercado muttered. “So, I guess you didn’t tell her about Mendoza or the fact you think his crazy son killed that cow on your ranch to warn you—”

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t upset her—”

  “Who’s Mendoza?” Celeste asked.

  “Nobody. Just this murdering terrorist Westin killed.”

  “That’s enough,” Phillip thundered.

  Mercado shoved back his chair. “Hey, I know where I’m not welcome.”

  “Finally,” Tyler snapped.

  “Easy,” Luke said. “Why don’t we talk about something else?”

  “Because maybe I want to talk about what I want to talk about!” Mercado thundered. “El Jefe is right here in Mission Creek, and all of you know it. Phillip and Wainwright have the FBI looking…. Somebody gave this guy Yardley my name.”

  “Because of your lousy family,” Tyler said.

  “Cool it, both of you,” Phillip’s whisper was even more deadly than his hard Marine-issue voice. “Don’t make a scene. Not here.”

  “I had nothing to do with any cow or running guns.” Ricky threw his napkin down and stood.

  “Sorry to eat and run.”

  “Eat and run?” Celeste said, swallowing the lump of fear in her throat.

  “Drink and run, you mean,” Spence countered.

  “Please stay, Ricky,” Celeste pleaded.

  Luke and Phillip stood as well, and Ricky muttered something under his breath for Phillip and Luke that she could overhear.

  “They keep looking at me, making digs about my family and the Mafia…setting the FBI on me…. My former friends….”

  “Okay,” Phillip said.

  “I don’t like it. I can’t take it.”

  “Stick it out,” Luke advised.

  “Maybe I don’t feel as comfortable around the old gang anymore as you do—sir. And you do—Luke.”

  “Look. Nobody said anything to Wainwright or the FBI. You severed your ties with the Mafia,” Phillip said.

  “Nobody but you and Luke buys that line.”

  “They will if you hang in there,” Phillip said. “Quit drinking. Order dinner.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Ricky leaned down and lightly kissed Celeste’s cheek. “Keep up the good work, pretty lady. This old rascal is going to take a lot of taming.”

  Mercado turned on his heel and strode abruptly through the dancing couples, breaking several apart before he made it out the door.

  “Good riddance,” Spence said.

  When Harrison made an obscene gesture, Luke and Phillip gave him warning looks.

  “Forget Mercado. All we have to do is get rid of you, old man, and we’ll have her all to ourselves,” Tyler kidded, attempting to ease the tension.

  “Sir,” Phillip said.

  Ty laughed. “Sir.”

  “No chance would I leave her with you all,” Phillip said, relaxing.

  “Any chance of wedding bells?” Spence wanted to know.

  Celeste blushed, but she felt relieved now that Mercado had gone and the mood had lightened up.

  “How’d the two of you meet?” Luke and Flynt asked in unison.

  “She was singing a love song.”

  They all hooted.

  “Well, if she can sing to you, she can damn sure sing to us,” Luke said.

  One by one, they demanded that she sing to them.

  She turned questioningly to Phillip. “I don’t
think…”

  But Ty was on stage with the mike. “We have a star in our midst.” Phillip’s buddies started clapping and cheering.

  “We’re outnumbered, honey,” Phillip said. “Go on. Let’s don’t make a scene.”

  Slowly, she got up and Phillip led her to Ty, who held the mike. Phillip gave the bandleader a big tip, and she told them what to play. Celeste, a natural star, brought the house down when she sang her one big hit. Then she surprised Phillip and sang a song she’d just written called

  “Lone Star Love Song.”

  When the last plaintive syllable died, the crowded ballroom was silent. Then everybody started clapping and whistling and screaming for more.

  “More… More…” The guys began to stomp.

  “Thank you, everybody,” she murmured. With a shy blush and a graceful little bow, she demurred, and Phillip led her back to their table.

  “You’re good. You remind me of somebody I’ve heard or seen before,” Spence said, a frown on his handsome face.

  “She’s a natural star,” Phillip agreed. “Honey, you were the hit of the gathering.”

  She blushed nervously again with even more glowing pleasure because Phillip was praising her singing, and he was proud of her.

  “I know that song,” Luke said. “‘Nobody but you….’ I used to play it all the time. Reminded me of this girl who dumped me. Who sang it? Who wrote it? Stacy? No…”

  “I don’t know,” she lied, squeezing Phillip’s hand so he wouldn’t give her away.

  Spence and Luke said they had to go. Just as their party was beginning to break up, two men entered the ballroom. One was a wide-shouldered hunk whose grim, hard-edged face brought butterflies to Celeste’s stomach.

  Oh, dear. The man was tall and trim with thick brown hair.

  Vegas. Harry’s. “Not Cole Yardley,” she whispered. “Don’t let it be…”

  It was.

  “What?” Phillip demanded, eyeing her first and then the two newcomers at the door. “Do you know the sheriff?”

  “The sheriff?” She began to fidget with her napkin. “I—I’ve listened to a few of his messages. I—I think I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

  “You just went. Do you know Justin Wainwright or not?”