Second Chance Girl--A Modern Fairy Tale Romance

by Susan Mallery

  “Do you want to work more or are you ready for dinner?” Carol asked.

  “I’m starving.”

  She put the ribs in the oven and set the timer for twenty minutes. “It won’t be long now.”

  They worked together to finish setting the table. Carol was still on her first glass of wine and noticed he hadn’t gotten a second beer. Apparently they were going to stay sober for their meal—a good thing considering what they’d done the last time they’d been together in his house.

  For a second she thought about just asking what had happened. Did he honest to God not remember? Only she couldn’t. The humiliation would be too much. Not knowing and wondering were better than finding out she was little more than someone he pitied...or worse, regretted.

  They sat down at the table. Sophie got into her bed, but kept her gaze firmly on them, as if vowing to take care of anything that dropped.

  “How are you doing with your temporary pet?” Carol asked as Mathias slid ribs onto her plate.

  “We’re working it out as we go.” He glanced at the beagle curled up in one of her many beds. “Don’t tell my mom, but she’s growing on me. She’s sweet natured and wouldn’t hurt a fly, but she has a knack for trouble. Yesterday I couldn’t find her anywhere. I was convinced she’d gotten out again, although all the doors were closed and the gate was locked.”

  “Where was she?”

  “In the dishwasher. Somehow she’d gotten it open and had crawled into the bottom shelf.”

  “You’re going to be lonely when she goes back to Fool’s Gold with your mom.”

  “Maybe.”

  “A man and his dog,” she teased. “You could get a Yorkie. All that fluffy hair and those big brown eyes. Just your type.”

  He reached for a rib. “Very funny. Why don’t you have a dog?”

  “I’m gone a lot and taking a pet to work isn’t a good idea with what I do. While the animals at the preserve fall into the ‘will work for food’ category, they’re still not domesticated.”

  “You seem like the pet type,” he told her. “Big house, husband, kids, a dog and two cats.” His brows drew together. “Hey, why aren’t you married?”

  She willed herself not to blush or outwardly react to his question. She was twenty-eight and not in a relationship. As far as everyone in town was concerned, she’d never been in a relationship. No guy had ever appeared and she hadn’t been seen on a date.

  “Why aren’t you?” she countered.

  “I asked first.”

  “Fine. No one has asked.”

  He continued to study her, as if waiting for more. She groaned.

  “It’s not that interesting.”

  “It is to me. Tell me.”

  She put down her rib and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “There have been men,” she said slowly. “I’ve had a couple of long-distance relationships. There was a guy I knew in South Africa. We met over the summer and were going to be attending the same college. By the second week of the semester, he’d realized there were hundreds of other women on campus and seemed to be on his way to dating each one of them.”

  “He’s a jerk and you’re lucky he’s out of your life.”

  “Thanks. I believe you, but it hurt at the time.”

  “Want me to get one of my brothers to beat him up?”

  “You wouldn’t do it yourself?”

  “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  He winked as he spoke and flashed her that smile of his. The combination had her stomach dancing and her girl parts sighing as every bit of her remembered how great a lover he’d been. Yes, that was the story of her life—the best sex ever had been on a night when the guy passed out before, ah, finishing. She was totally and completely pathetic.

  “After the college guy?” he prompted.

  “I met an environmental activist at a rally.”

  “Another long-distance relationship?”

  “Yes. We were on our way to getting engaged. Then he called and told me he’d gotten his research assistant pregnant. They haven’t all cheated,” she added quickly. “I don’t have a thing for guys who stray. But in the end, they’ve all left.” She hesitated, the truth so close, she could touch it. Self-preservation insisted she not actually say what it was, but somehow the words just spilled out.

  “I’m not special enough.”

  Mathias stared at her. “That’s crap. Of course you are. You’re plenty special. You just picked wrong.”

  “And that’s better? You don’t know what you’re talking about and I think we should change the subject.”

  Which should have been the end of it, only it wasn’t because she felt awful inside. Uncomfortable and exposed and like she needed to get away. She pushed back from the table.

  “I need to go.”

  “Carol.” Mathias rose with her. “What’s wrong? Tell me. Are you mad at me? Did I say something?”

  He looked so sincere, she thought grimly. So concerned.

  “I can’t,” she told him. “I don’t know what this game is and I can’t play it anymore. Just leave me alone.”

  She started for the door.

  * * *

  MATHIAS HAD NO idea what had just happened. One minute they’d been talking and now Carol was leaving.

  He jogged after her. “Wait. Dammit, Carol, talk to me. You’re not making any sense.”

  She spun to face him. “I’m not? That’s crazy. You’re the one playing games. Don’t go blaming this on me.”

  She glared at him with obvious fury, but behind the mad was a vulnerability that hit him like a gut punch. She’d been hurt and based on how she was acting, he’d been the perpetrator. Only that didn’t make any sense, either. What could he have done?

  “Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and moved her hands and arms. “Dammit.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked, more bewildered by the second.

  “Trying to shake some sense into you.” Her eyes filled with tears as she dropped her arms to her side. “Let me go, Mathias. You don’t want me.”

  The combination of her pain and the words ripped through him. He had hurt her. He’d done something awful. But what?

  Memories whispered in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t bring them into focus. Something was wrong, he was wrong, but why and how? He had no idea what she was talking about or what had happened, so he did the only thing that made sense.

  He put his hands on her waist, drew her close and pressed his mouth to hers.

  The second their lips touched, his mind exploded. Memories blew up in his mind, giant screens filled with images of him touching Carol, of her naked and him touching and tasting and pleasuring her until she screamed her release.

  It hadn’t been a dream!

  He stepped back and stared at her. “We had sex?”

  Color stained her cheeks and she turned away. “I have to go.”

  “No. You are not walking away from this.” He swore as he tried to understand what had happened. He’d been upset, he’d been drunk. They had more to drink and then they’d...

  “I passed out,” he said more to himself than her. “After I, ah...and before...” He thought about waking up and trying to remember what had happened. “You cleaned up the glasses. You left. Why didn’t you wake me? Why didn’t you say something the next day?”

  She spun back to glare at him. “Why didn’t you? How do you think it made me feel to know what we’d done and you didn’t even remember? You passed out. Is that better or worse than not remembering? What you said before, about me being special? Thanks for proving the point that I’m not.”

  Before he could figure out what he was supposed to say to that, she grabbed her bag and walked out. Mathias sta
rted to go after her, then stopped. Maybe they both needed a little space and time. In the morning, everything would be better. Or at least more clear. It had to be because he had no damned idea what he was supposed to do now.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IN THE MORNING, nothing was better. While Sophie had had a good night—snoring and dreaming her doggie dreams—Mathias had spent most of his time staring at the ceiling. More things made sense to him now. The clarity of that last sex dream. No wonder there were incredible details of taste and touch and sound. He’d lived it.

  He didn’t mind that he’d missed out on his end of things. He’d been with Carol and was sure everything would have been great. At least he’d pleased her. Or had he? Was he remembering her cries correctly?

  By his third cup of coffee, he’d begun to question himself. Maybe he’d only imagined the feel of her coming as he’d loved her with his tongue, his fingers pushed deep inside of her. Maybe he hadn’t actually felt the ripple of her body convulsing around him, which was a problem because he needed it to have been good for her. Needed it a lot.

  He walked to the window and stared out over the preserve. There was only one solution. A do-over.

  While he was sure Carol would refuse his request, he would have to convince her. Them making love again was the only way to repair the rift between them. Surely she would see that. It made sense, it assured they were both satisfied and, well, he wanted to.

  He’d imagined being with her so many times, he couldn’t believe he’d passed out in the middle of making love with her. Worse, that he’d forgotten. No wonder she’d been acting strangely for the last week or so. And now he knew what had been nagging in the back of his mind. So they would make love again and everything would go back to where it was supposed to be. It was the most sensible plan—he was confident she would see it his way.

  He showered and took Sophie on a long walk while he decided what he was going to say. When they got back to the house, he and the dog got in his car and they drove to the preserve. He found Carol in her office.

  She looked up at him as he entered. There were shadows under her eyes and a sad set to her beautiful mouth. Remorse gripped him—he was responsible for what she was feeling. He was the problem and he had to be the solution.

  “Morning,” he began.

  She rose and shook her head. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

  Sophie crossed to her. Carol dropped down to cuddle with the dog. Sophie eyed him as if pointing out this was the way to solve every problem. Doggie hugs and a quick kiss on the cheek.

  She might have a point.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “About last night, about what happened before. Or didn’t happen.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “We have to.”

  She rose and shook her head. “We don’t. Not at all. It’s in the past, let’s just leave it there.”

  “I hurt you.”

  “Not on purpose. I’m fine.”

  “Let me make it up to you,” he said, holding her gaze. “A do-over. I want to show you what it can be like with me.”

  She stared at him, her expression unreadable, then her mouth twisted and she walked around him toward the door.

  When she reached the hallway, she glanced back at him. “No. Just no. I should have realized your ego was what mattered the most, so let me reassure you, the earth moved. It was fantastic and you have nothing to prove. Happy?”

  Before he could answer, she was gone.

  He picked up Sophie’s leash and led the dog back to the car. In theory Carol had told him exactly what he needed to hear. He should be fine. He should feel better. Only he didn’t. He felt small and scummy and like the biggest jerk on the planet. Funny how until Carol, women had all been so damned easy.

  * * *

  VIOLET STUDIED THE picture she’d downloaded, then looked back at the small dress. The lace was nearly a perfect match. Now she just had to sew a row of satin-covered buttons down the back and she would be done.

  “You look intense.”

  She glanced up and saw Ulrich standing in the doorway between their respective rooms. He still wore sweatpants and a T-shirt, which looked oddly regal on him. He’d showered and shaved, so the sexy, scruffy look was gone. In its place were the young duke works from home clean lines and strong jaw.

  He was dreamy, she thought, doing her best not to sigh out loud. Funny and sweet and smart and those blue eyes of his...

  “Violet?”

  “Huh? Oh. Sorry. I was lost in thought.”

  His mouth turned up at the corners. “Were you? It was difficult to tell.” His gaze dropped to the dress. “For a very small flower girl?”

  She grinned and held up the garment. “Not exactly. It’s for a dog. A beagle, to be exact.”

  “Someone wants a dog in their wedding?”

  “It’s a long story.” She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was nearly one. “We need to order lunch. You must be starved. Do you know what you want?”

  “Sandwiches are on their way,” he told her. “Any minute.”

  “Oh. What did you order me?”

  “What you said you wanted yesterday, then changed your mind about and were disappointed. Chicken salad, no nuts on toasted white bread.”

  Which had been what she’d originally wanted. “You remembered all that?”

  One shoulder rose and lowered.

  She wanted to believe the information was significant. That his remembering was because he cared, only she knew better. Or at least she knew enough not to fool herself. Ulrich was used to taking care of a huge estate and running multiple businesses—having him remember her sandwich order was simply his impressive mind at work.

  As if on cue, someone knocked on Ulrich’s door. He let in the server, who then set up their lunch at the table by the window. Violet took a seat. Ulrich sat across from her, then glanced out at the view.

  “I know the mountains are there,” he told her, “yet they continue to surprise me. The peaks are so sharp. Nothing like the rolling hills back home.”

  “There are mountains in Scotland, aren’t there?” she asked.

  “Yes, but that’s hardly the same as the English countryside.”

  She grinned. “Your Grace, I had no idea you were such a nationalist.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not. A couple of hundred years ago, I would have been.”

  “Or off with your head?”

  “I believe the monarchy ceased using beheading as a way to keep the nobility in line long before that.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. I’m a sucker for all things Elizabethan when head chopping still occurred.”

  “We are a savage people.”

  “Not anymore. Now you’re refined.”

  “On the outside.”

  Meaning what? There were hidden depths to him? Did any of those depths have a soft spot for her?

  As that was a dangerous train of thought and a worse line of conversation, she made a deliberate attempt to change the subject. “Is the Wi-Fi fast enough for you to handle your email?”

  “It is. I’m nearly caught up. All is well at Battenberg Park.” He picked up his sandwich. “And by that I mean there have only been four minor crises since I left.”

  “Plumbing? Electrical or guests?”

  “Not electrical. Plumbing is a constant problem in a house that old and water damage is the devil to stay on top of. We had a group of schoolchildren come through yesterday and a lamp was broken.”

  She winced. “You have insurance, don’t you?”

  “We do, but many of the items in the house can’t be replaced and getting them repaired is challenging. We are constantly balancing giving our guests a true feel for what life was like in a h
ouse like ours and not having antiques stolen or broken or damaged.”

  “So people come through for day tours of the house and grounds?” she asked.

  “Yes. We also have a conference center and a hotel.”

  She tried to hold in a smile. “But no theme rooms.”

  He sighed. “Alas, no. Perhaps I should learn from Austenland and embrace all things Mr. Darcy.”

  For a second she imagined Ulrich in Regency dress. The picture was delightful and sexy. Allow me to express how ardently I admire and love you. Violet was sure she had the line from Pride and Prejudice wrong, but she was close enough to get a little shiver.

  “You would hate playing Mr. Darcy,” she said, forcing herself back to the present. “You much prefer being yourself.”

  “That is true, but I didn’t hate the movie as much I would have expected.”

  “It was charming,” she told him. “You laughed.”

  “I did laugh.”

  His gaze seemed to linger on her face. Violet felt the intensity of his attention down to her toes which curled ever so slightly.

  “I’m sure that a lot of older homes are exploiting all things Pride and Prejudice, not to mention Downton Abbey.”

  “They are,” he said. “Tourists flock to them.”

  “And when word gets out about your TV series, they’ll flock to you, as well.”

  “It’s not my series,” he assured her quickly. “We’re simply the vessel.” His mouth twitched. “A well-paid vessel. The influx of tourists will be welcome.”

  “And endured,” she added, her voice teasing.

  “That, too.” He picked up his sandwich. “Do you have any plans to visit my grandmother?”

  Violet’s mind spun in fifteen directions. Was he really asking about Nana Winifred? Was she ridiculous to hope he was secretly trying to find out if he would see her again? Did he like her?

  “We haven’t talked about it, but I always enjoy her company.”

  “You should plan a trip. I could show you the estate. Perhaps we could spend a few days together in London.” He offered her a smile. “As my way of thanking you for taking such good care of me.”