Cindy and the Prince

by Debbie Macomber

  “I’ll have you know, I never brood.” Her blue eyes gleamed like sapphires as a smile raised her mouth in the most sensuous movement he’d ever witnessed. “And this business about being Cinderella—that’s going a bit overboard, don’t you think?”

  “No, but please call me Cindy. Cinderella’s such an outdated name.”

  She laughed then, the sweet, musical laugh that had fascinated him earlier. He stared at her, unable to look away. It took all his restraint not to pull her into his arms. He didn’t completely understand his reaction—he hadn’t drunk that much champagne. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

  She nodded, and Thorne escorted her onto the floor, his hand at the small of her back. Then he turned her into his embrace, holding her at arm’s length, almost afraid of what would happen if he brought her body against his. Maybe she’d disappear, vanish into thin air. He half expected to wake up from this trance and find the entire company staring at him while he whirled around the room all alone.

  Although Thorne maintained the pretense of dancing, all his concentration was focused on merely looking at his intriguing partner. On closer inspection, he found her to be truly lovely; she was more than pretty, she was beautiful. Innocent yet enticing. Her skin looked as soft as silk and felt as warm as a summer’s day. He didn’t dare think about what that marvelous mouth would taste like. He resisted the instinct to bring her closer, although their movements were awkward and strangely out of sync.

  Finally, Cindy stopped dancing and dropped her arms. She shook her head. In the space of a few hours, her prince had managed to shatter every illusion she’d dared to form about him. “Not only are you a terrible disappointment to me, but you can’t dance worth a darn.” She stared at him, defying him to disagree with her.

  Thorne didn’t—she was right. Without saying a word, he brought her back into his arms, but this time he held her the way he’d wanted to from the first note, pressing her body intimately to his.

  Cindy slipped her arms around his neck and laid her head along the line of his jaw. The music was a favorite Christmas melody, and her eyes drifted shut as she wrapped herself in the enchantment of the song.

  They moved as though they’d spent a lifetime practicing together for this one night. No man had ever seemed more in command as Thorne led Cindy from one end of the dance floor to the other without missing a step, guiding, leading, dictating every action.

  “Do you always hum along with the music?” Thorne asked unexpectedly.

  Cindy’s eyes flew open and she nearly stumbled over his feet as her step faltered. “I’m sorry…I didn’t realize.”

  Thorne chuckled; he cradled the back of her head and urged her temple to its former position against his jaw. “You were only slightly off-key,” he murmured.

  Cindy could feel him smile, and she relaxed, not wanting to disturb the wonder of the moment.

  Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe, just maybe, he could be her prince after all. Thorne was holding her just as she’d dreamed, and judging by the way his arms tightened around her at the end of the song, it felt as though he didn’t want to let her go.

  “Would it be selfish to request another dance?”

  “Cinderella’s prince did,” Cindy whispered.

  “Then I should, don’t you think?”

  It was all Cindy could do to nod. They danced again and again and again, neither speaking, each savoring the delight of being held. The only thought in Thorne’s mind was the woman in his arms.

  The only thought in Cindy’s was that fairy tales could come true; she was living one.

  “You say I’m a disappointment?” he ventured as the dance ended and the orchestra took a break. He had to discover everything he could about her.

  Cindy lifted her head. “Not anymore.”

  Thorne felt the full dazzling impact of her blue eyes. “Not anymore?” he repeated, smiling despite his effort not to. “Have we met before tonight?” He was sure they hadn’t; he wouldn’t have forgotten her or those incredible eyes.

  “Never,” she confirmed.

  “But you know me?”

  Cindy lowered her gaze. “Yes and no.”

  “You are an employee of Oakes-Jenning?”

  The corners of her mouth quivered as she tried to hold back a smile. “Did you think I’d crashed your precious party?” It was so close to the truth that she quickly averted her eyes.

  Thorne ignored her obvious enjoyment of this one-sided conversation. “How did you know Rutherford Hayden’s nickname is Ruffie?”

  “The same way I know you hate tuna salad.” Cindy turned to look at the tables loaded with a spectacular assortment of salads, meats, and cheeses. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like something to eat.”

  “Would you mind if I joined you?”

  “Not at all,” she said.

  “My mother sent you, didn’t she?” Thorne breathed a sigh of relief; he had it all figured out. His mother had been trying to match him up for years. She must have searched extra-hard to find someone as perfect as Cindy.

  “Your mother? No.”

  The honesty in her eyes couldn’t be doubted. But even if his mother had put Cindy up to this, he felt an instant, overwhelming attraction.

  Bemused, Thorne followed her through the long line that had formed at the buffet tables, heaping his plate with a wide variety of the offerings.

  “What? No pastrami?” Cindy teased after they’d found a table in the crowded room.

  Thorne paused, his napkin only half unfolded. “I had a pastrami sandwich for lunch. You couldn’t have known that, could you?”

  “No. It was an educated guess.” Cindy focused her attention on buttering her dinner roll.

  “An educated guess? Such as my not liking tuna?”

  “No.” Deliberately, she took a bite of her seafood salad.

  Thorne waited patiently until she’d finished chewing. “But you know me?”

  “A little.” Not nearly as well as she wanted to.

  “How?”

  “I do work at Oakes-Jenning,” she said, and pointed to the huge green olives he’d removed from the top of the dainty sandwiches. “Are you going to eat those?”

  “The green olives? Good grief, no.”

  “Can I have them?”

  Without ceremony, Thorne placed three of them on her plate, then fastidiously wiped his hands on the linen napkin.

  Cindy eagerly picked up an olive and held it between her lips, luxuriously sucking out the pimento, then popping the entire thing in her mouth. She paused to lick the tips of her fingers. Thorne’s scowl stopped her when she reached for another. The lines at the side of his mouth had deepened, and she noted the vein pulsing in his temple. Alarm filled her. Her worst fear had been realized: unwittingly, she’d committed some terrible faux pas.

  “What did I do wrong?” she whispered. She clutched the napkin in her lap.

  For a long moment, their eyes locked. Thorne had been mesmerized, watching her eat the olive. Such a small, simple pleasure, but she’d made it appear highly sensuous. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her—or off the tempting shape of her mouth. Again he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Her eyes, her mouth, the curve of her cheek. Everything about her intrigued him. For years women had used their bodies and their wits to entice him. But no woman had ever had the effect on him that this one did with the simple act of eating an olive.

  “What did you do wrong?” Thorne repeated, shaking his head to clear his befuddled thoughts. “What makes you think you did anything wrong?”

  “You were looking at me…oddly.”

  He smiled. “Then I apologize.”

  Cindy picked up the second olive. Thorne’s eyes widened and he groaned inwardly, setting his fork beside his plate.

  The music started again long before they’d finished their meal and Cindy tapped her toe to the beat. Christmas was her favorite time of year, and the orchestra seemed to be playing all the carols she loved most.

 
“Would you like to dance again?” Thorne asked.

  Cindy nodded. She couldn’t refuse the opportunity to be in her prince’s arms. This was her night, a night for enchantment, and she wanted to remember and relive every moment of it for the rest of her life. Tomorrow she’d go back to being plain Cindy Territo, the girl who cleaned his office. But tonight…tonight she was the alluring woman he held in his arms.

  By unspoken agreement they stood together and walked to the center of the dance floor. Thorne brought Cindy into his arms, holding her close, savoring the way she felt, inhaling her fresh, delicate scent, reveling in the warmth of her nearness. He felt as if he were a hundred years old in ways she knew nothing about and, conversely, that he’d just turned twenty-one. She did this to him and he didn’t have an inkling why.

  Thorne’s arms tightened around her, anchoring her against him. His hands clasped her waist and he laid his cheek next to hers and closed his eyes. To think that only a few hours earlier he’d contemplated sneaking away from this party. Now he dreaded the time it would end, hoping that each minute would stretch out forever…

  Cindy pressed her cheek to his and prayed she’d always remember every minute of this night. She planned to store each detail in her heart. She couldn’t possibly hope to explain it to anyone; this magical, mystical night was hers and hers alone. She would have a lifetime to treasure these precious hours and relive them over and over.

  Even when the music grew lively, Thorne held her as if it were the slowest dance of the night. He wanted to kiss her so badly he was forced to inhale deep breaths to restrain his desire. Thorndike Prince did not make a spectacle of himself on the dance floor for any reason. However, he soon discovered that the temptation was too strong. Her nearness was more than any man could resist, and he turned his head ever so slightly and ran his mouth along her ear.

  Cindy sighed with pleasure and moved her hands to the back of Thorne’s neck, drawing her fingers through his thick, dark hair. When his lips sought the hollow of her throat, she groaned.

  Unexpectedly, Thorne dropped his arms and reached for her hand. “Let’s get out of here,” he said in a voice that sounded unlike his own.

  He led her off the ballroom floor as though he couldn’t leave fast enough. “Did you bring a coat?”

  “A shawl.”

  Irritably, he held out his hand. “Give me your ticket.”

  Her fingers shook as she opened the beaded clutch and retrieved the small tab. “Where…Where are we going?”

  He sounded almost angry, certainly impatient. “Anywhere but here,” he mumbled.

  He left her then, and Cindy stood alone, pondering the strangeness of his actions. She wanted to ask him more, longed to know why he’d insisted on leaving so abruptly. But when he returned she said nothing, following him silently as he escorted her out of the ballroom and into the hallway, where the elevators were.

  A male voice called out to them. “Thorne, you’re not going, are you?”

  Cindy turned around, but Thorne applied pressure to her back, directing her forward.

  “That man was talking to you.”

  “I have no desire to talk to anyone,” he said stiffly, guiding her into the crowded elevator. They stepped off at the ground floor and Thorne took her to the entrance of the hotel.

  The doorman came forward. “Taxi, sir?”

  Thorne glanced at Cindy. “No, thanks.” He grabbed her hand and they hurried across the busy street to the paved pathway that led to the interior of Central Park.

  “Thorne,” Cindy whispered. “Why are you so angry?”

  “Angry?” He paused in front of the large fish pond.

  The moon beamed silvery rays all around them, and Cindy could see that his face was intent, his mouth bracketed with harsh lines. His gray eyes were narrowed and hard, yet when they rested on her she saw them soften.

  “I’m not angry,” he said at last, his breathing labored. “I’m…” He rammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re right, I am angry, but not at you.”

  “Then who?”

  He shook his head and his eyes grew warm as he studied her upturned face. Almost as if he were in a trance, Thorne pulled one hand from his pocket and cupped her chin, staring at her with a thoroughness that brought a rush of color to her cheeks. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered with a reverence that made his voice tremble.

  Cindy lowered her eyes.

  His grip tightened almost imperceptibly. “It’s true,” he continued. “I’ve never known anyone as lovely.”

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  Thorne expelled his breath, and his words were an odd mixture of anger and wonder. “For the most selfish of reasons. I wanted to kiss you.”

  Cindy’s questioning gaze sought his. “Then why haven’t you? Cinderella’s waiting.”

  He smiled then. “You’re taking this prince stuff seriously, aren’t you?”

  “Very.”

  He slid his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes pensive. “I’ve never experienced anything like this.”

  “Me neither.” It was important that he know these feelings were as much a shock to her. Despite her fantasy, despite her hopes, she hadn’t expected this to happen, hadn’t believed it ever would. When she’d first seen him, her disappointment had been acute. But all of that had changed the moment he’d come to her and asked her to dance. From that time forward, he’d been magically transformed into the prince who’d dominated her dreams for weeks. He was everything she’d imagined and a thousand things more.

  “I haven’t any right,” he said, but his mouth inched toward hers as though he wanted her to stop him.

  She couldn’t—not when she longed for his kiss the way she did; not when every part of her was crying out for the taste of his mouth on hers.

  The ragged beat of his heart echoed her own as Cindy flattened her hands against his chest and slowly, deliberately, tilted her face to receive his kiss. They were so close their breath mingled. Cindy stood on tiptoe as Thorne gently lowered his lips to hers. His mouth was firm and so tender that Cindy felt a tear form at the corner of her eye. Their mouths clung, and Cindy’s hands crept up to rest on his shoulders.

  “So sweet, so very sweet.” Thorne groaned and buried his face in the slope of her neck. “I knew it would be like this. I knew it would be this sweet.” His breathing was uneven.

  Cindy felt shocked into speechlessness. Her whole body went numb, tingling with wonder. As difficult as it was, she resisted the urge to raise her fingers to her lips. Thorne looked equally shaken. They broke apart, and Cindy teetered for a moment until she found her balance.

  Their eyes met for a timeless second. When Thorne reached for her, Cindy walked willingly into his arms. Then his mouth was on hers, twisting, turning, tasting, testing, as if he had to reexperience these sensations. As if he hadn’t believed they could be real.

  When he released her, Cindy was weak and trembling. She looked up at Thorne and saw that he was unnaturally pale.

  Thorne took a step back and removed his heavy coat. Gently, he draped it over her shoulders, his hands lingering there. “You’re cold,” he whispered.

  “No,” she murmured, shaking her head. “It’s not the cold. It’s you—you make me tremble.”

  “Feel what you do to me.” He took her hand and placed it over his pounding heart. A frown drove his dark brows together. “I’m no inexperienced schoolboy. What’s happening to me—to us?”

  Cindy smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Magic, I think.”

  “Black magic?” He regarded her suspiciously, but his eyes were smiling.

  “No, this is the very best kind.”

  He agreed. Nothing that felt this good could be wrong. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and led her to one of the many benches that faced the pond.

  Silently they sat together, neither speaking, neither needing words. Thorne continued to hold her, simply because letting her go was unthinkable. His mind sp
un with a hundred questions. He prayed she was a secretary so he could make her his secretary. He didn’t care what strings he had to pull; he wanted her working with him. Ms. Hillard was planning to retire, and the thought of greeting each day with Cindy was enough to—he was going crazy. The cardinal rule in any office was never to become romantically involved with a colleague or an employee.

  He must have given her a startled look, because Cindy’s eyes softened with such compassion that Thorne could barely breathe.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered.

  “But…”

  “No,” she said, and brought her fingers to his lips, silencing him.

  He frowned at her. Could she read his thoughts? Was she clairvoyant? She couldn’t possibly have known what he’d been thinking, yet she showed him in a glance that she understood.

  “You don’t need to tell me,” Cindy said after a long moment. “I already know about Sheila.”

  Chapter 3

  “Sheila.” The name seared his mind. He was practically engaged to Sheila, and here he was sitting beside Cindy, madly plotting to keep her in his life. He thrust his face toward her, his mouth gaping as one thought stumbled over another. He had to explain—only he wasn’t sure how to unscramble his own feelings, let alone reassure her. It was as though Sheila meant nothing to him. Nothing. Yet a few days before, he’d contemplated giving her an engagement ring for Christmas. He’d actually been entertaining the idea of marriage and starting a family.

  His confusion must have been visible in his eyes, because Cindy smiled with such sweetness that the panic gripping him was instantly quelled.

  He looked so astonished that Cindy placed her index finger on his lips. “Shh. You don’t need to tell me anything. I understand.”

  If she did, he wished she’d explain it to him. Thorne felt like a scheming hypocrite. He was nearly engaged to one woman and so attracted to another he could hardly take his eyes off her. Even now that she’d brought Sheila’s name between them, he couldn’t force himself to leave. He knew he should stand up and walk away. He should escape before whatever was happening on this enchanted evening could affect him. His gut reaction was that Cindy’s imprint on him could well be indelible. It was crazy, the things he was thinking. Insane to want her working with him. Absurd to seriously consider getting involved with an employee. His mother would be horrified, his father amused. They’d been after him for years to settle down, but they’d made it abundantly clear that they expected him to marry the “right type” of woman.