Cinderella's New York Fling

by Cara Colter

  Now, it felt as if he was seeing his world through her eyes, and it was hard not to find her delight in things that he took for granted contagious.

  When she screamed when the chandelier fell, it was the most natural thing in the world to take her hand in his.

  But what made him lift it to his lips and kiss the inside of her wrist? He told himself it was not a romantic gesture, but a chivalrous one.

  I’m here. Don’t be afraid.

  And yet, when she went still beside him, when he turned to acknowledge the wideness of her eyes with a steady look, he was not so sure that anything had ever felt quite so good as being there for her.

  So, he kissed the underside of her wrist again, before tucking her hand into his side. He resisted the temptation to stroke the inside of her palm with his thumb, because that would take things to a whole different level that would give an entirely different message than I’m here for you, your protector in the big city.

  Still, with her hand in his, it felt like a good thing he had seen Phantom before, because he was so conscious of her beside him, that not a single thing that unfolded onstage pierced that awareness.

  He knew the impossibility of flagging a cab after a show had just gotten out, so he had arranged for a driver to be waiting for them.

  He should have thought of this when he was laying tender kisses on the inside of her wrist: she was coming home with him.

  She looked adorable snuggled under his jacket in the back seat. He moved as far away from her as the car seat would allow. He could see kissing her wrist in the darkness of the theater, suddenly and with excruciating clarity for what it had been: temporary insanity.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked her.

  Now what part of that would move them back toward sanity?

  “I’d usually say no,” she said, “but how often am I going to be able to sit in a limo on Broadway in New York City having a drink?”

  “What would you like?”

  When she hesitated, he could tell she rarely drank. She didn’t even know what to ask for. She must have realized what her hesitation was telling him, because she said, breezily, “Whatever I had yesterday is fine.”

  Just yesterday? She had only been part of his life since yesterday? How was that possible when everything seemed so changed?

  He poured her a little sip of cognac, and poured himself a more bracing one. Why was he acting like a man under threat?

  Thankfully, they made the trip from Broadway to his apartment in about twelve minutes.

  He brooded all the way back to his place. He’d let his guard down. He’d wanted to be a good host, and try to erase her awful first impression of New York. He’d felt, quite naturally, protective of her. But he had crossed boundaries.

  He’d gone shopping with her. That was an activity reserved for people in committed relationships, now that he thought about it. Why hadn’t he thought about that sooner?

  He’d taken her for lunch and supper. He’d strolled through Central Park with her. He’d taken her to The Phantom of the Opera.

  No wonder she was looking at him with that terrifying expression on her face.

  He’d been treating this whole day as if it was some kind of date. She was in a vulnerable position. He might end up being her boss.

  He contemplated that.

  Her boss.

  One day with her had him feeling as if his whole reality was shifting. What if she decided to take this job? His life would be brushing up against hers, day in and day out...

  “I think the car has stopped,” she told him. Her voice was husky. Her eyes were half-lidded.

  He scrambled out of the car, and managed, just barely, not to bolt up to the safety of his apartment, leaving her to find her own way.

  Running away was not an option.

  For Pete’s sake, he lectured himself, he had dated some of the most desirable women on the planet. This little lady from Lumber—no, Timber—Falls was not a threat to him. He held out his hand to her to help her out of the car.

  The dress slid up, revealing a mouthwatering glimpse of legs that went on forever. He let go of her hand as soon as he had extracted her from the car. He stood as far away from her on the elevator as he could. When the door opened he managed, just barely, to let her out before him. And then he got out, and went by her, making a beeline for the sanctuary of his bedroom.

  “Jamie?”

  He turned and looked at her.

  Her makeup was a little smudged. Her hair was falling out of the twist it had been in. While he watched, she shrugged out of his jacket, revealing herself to him: the long legs, the bodice that clung like mist, the gentle curve of her shoulders.

  His mouth felt dry.

  “You’ll be wanting this,” she said.

  He stared at her. Her voice had that same husky note to it that he had noticed in the car.

  Note to self, he told himself, do not give Jessica Winton cognac ever again.

  If he told her to just put the jacket down, she was going to know she was having an effect on him.

  It seemed imperative that she not know that, that he maintain the balance of power.

  He sauntered back to her, held out his hand for the jacket.

  She placed it in his hand, and then moved in close to him.

  “I can’t thank you enough for today,” she said. “It is the closest I’ve ever come to having a perfect day.”

  He reflected on that. They hadn’t done anything very spectacular. He, on the other hand, had done spectacular things. He had experienced days that could be called perfect; skiing in St. Moritz, snorkeling off the Kona Coast, trekking in South America. He had been to the final game of the World Series, not once, but twice, and been on a photo safari in Mozambique.

  And yet, looking at Jessica, it suddenly seemed as if she was correct. Everything else in his history paled in comparison to today.

  She moved toward him. Her intent was obvious. She was going to kiss him. He presumed on the cheek, one of those nice thank you busses that his mother gave him after they had experienced a lovely outing.

  He wasn’t quite sure what changed: the position of his cheek or her intent.

  Because the sweetness of Jessica Winton’s lips missed his cheek entirely. And connected with his mouth.

  For the first fragment of the first second, he might have had the power to move.

  But then he was lost.

  Her mouth was as sweet as a strawberry that had ripened under the sun. Her kiss transported him to the mountains from where she came. She had a taste to her, what he imagined the fine spray of water cascading over a rock would taste like.

  He had deluded himself that he had some knowledge of what a perfect moment was.

  Because it was not until the softness of her lips sought his that Jamie knew, fully, completely, unequivocally, exactly what perfect was.

  He was in the thrall of something now. For a man who had always prided himself on self-control, he would chide himself—later—for how quickly his had dissolved.

  Because suddenly it was just him and her.

  The whole world was only him and only her.

  There was no tony address in Central Park South telling him he’d arrived, there was no thrum of the city outside his window, there was no great job, holidays to plan for, new and heady successes to achieve.

  It felt as if he had lived all of that for this single arrival.

  Her.

  Jessica’s mouth opened against his, soft, moist, beckoning him yet deeper into the enchantment that was her.

  Far in the back of his brain, some rational part, called to him. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong woman.

  Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

  But the primal part of his brain was having none of it, crying, just as loudly.

  Right. Right. Right.
r />   He lifted his hands to the sides of her face, bracketed it, looked into her wide eyes for permission, which he found. He dropped his mouth over hers, explored the willing, beguiling sweetness with increasing urgency.

  He let his hands move, he let them tangle in the silk of her hair, and he pulled her more closely to him.

  It was her whimper of pure pleasure, discovery, someone who had never quite experienced this depth of passion before, that brought Jamie harshly to his senses. When she had told him about her fiancé, for one crazy moment in time he had wanted this. He had wanted to be the one to awaken this in her. That was why he hadn’t backed away from her invitation when he should have.

  It was greedy and selfish and unconscionable. He had known this woman just a little over twenty-four hours. Of course sometimes, in his world, things progressed quickly.

  But not in hers.

  He yanked back from her and stepped away, watching her, utterly appalled with himself. She was not a woman from his world. She was not anything like any woman he had ever taken out before.

  As he watched, he could see her breath was rising, moving too quickly in and out. Her eyes were wide. Her lips looked thoroughly kissed.

  Both her eyes and those altogether too tempting lips begged for more.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out.

  “Sorry?” she whispered, as though he had insulted her.

  “Yes, sorry,” he reiterated firmly. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking. That was completely inappropriate.”

  She nodded, once, biting the lushness of that lower lip.

  He was pretty sure, watching her work that lip, that his strength had never been tested quite like this before.

  “Good night,” he said, his voice a rasp of pure need. He turned away from her before he broke and ran back to her, swept her up in his arms, finished what he had so foolishly started.

  He managed to get in his bedroom and close the door. He leaned against it and shut his eyes.

  But it didn’t matter that his eyes were shut. All he could see was her lips.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JESSICA FOUND HER way to her room in a daze. She realized she was humming “The Point of No Return” from the musical. But when she lay down in her bed, Daisy’s song replaced it inside her head. “Nothing is Impossible.”

  She realized, mutinously, she did not care if Jamie thought that kiss was inappropriate. For her, it had been the perfect ending to an absolutely perfect day. She hoped she would dream of his lips on hers, and she did wake in the morning with a lovely sense of bliss.

  She chose her outfit carefully from her purchases from Hennessey’s. Today would be all business and she dressed for that in the pencil line skirt, the white blouse, the flat shoes. But at the last moment, she undid a button one daring level lower than she normally would have, and she left her hair loose.

  Jamie was up, the breakfast selection already put out on the island. He took in her loose hair and the button position on her blouse and his eyes darkened. Then he looked at her lips—lightly outlined with gloss, as Meredith had showed her—and his gaze lingered for a full two seconds before he looked at his phone.

  “Big day today,” he said, apparently studying their agenda.

  Jessica realized Jamie was as awkward with her as if something quite a bit more substantial than a kiss had occurred between them. She probably should have felt some shame—after all, she had instigated that “inappropriate” kiss with a man who could be her boss—but she felt no remorse at all.

  In fact, she was a bit delighted that she, an unsophisticated woman from a small town, had managed to rattle the super suave Jamie Gilbert-Cooper. She made a point of “accidentally” touching his hand as she reached for a bagel. He yanked his own away as if he had been burned.

  Before they were done eating breakfast, a courier arrived, with funds for her from the insurance company, and a temporary replacement for her credit card.

  Her whole world felt rosy!

  She tried to repay him, on the spot, for the shopping trip, but he told her to hang on to her cash, in case she saw something else she wanted, and to send him an e-transfer when she got home.

  They took the car to his office, which was in the Financial District, and he pointed out the sights to her, his tone conversational, but in a deliberately tour guide kind of way. They whisked by the statues of the Charging Bull on Wall Street, and the Fearless Girl. He pointed out the 9/11 Memorial Plaza, and Museum, and Saint Paul’s Chapel.

  And then they were at his office. From the moment she entered the doors, she realized this sumptuous space, with its incredible view toward the Empire State Building could be her office one day, too.

  The day went by in a whirl. It was as unlike yesterday as a day could be. Jamie introduced her to his business world, and to what her future job might entail. It was unbelievably exciting: bringing her skill set with her bookstore to a wider application, which would include liaising with publishers and bookstores, and with bookstores and authors. It would include setting up events and seminars to help independent bookstore owners to achieve the same results she had.

  She and Jamie had lunch with a publisher and an author. At first, she thought she would feel awkwardly out of her depth, but as soon as the talk turned to books and bookstores she was right at home. She had a growing sense, not just of being able to hold her own in this environment, but of being so at home with it. After lunch, they visited two bookstores who were current clients of JHA, and despite being in the middle of New York City, Jessica was, again, right at home.

  This was her forte: bringing vibrancy and a sense of life and verve to a bookstore. She and the owners clicked immediately over their shared love of books, and the feeling that a bookstore should really be at the heart of any community.

  She was aware, as the day went on, that the awkwardness that kiss had caused between her and Jamie dissipated somewhat. She was quite pleased to see a growing respect for her in his eyes.

  But why was he surprised? Why had I been asked to consider the job if they didn’t already know what my skill level was?

  She brushed the question aside when Jamie handed her his phone. “Canadian Consulate,” he told her.

  She took it and learned she would be issued temporary travel documents early tomorrow afternoon. It meant she could catch her return flight as scheduled tomorrow evening.

  Why did she feel almost disappointed? She realized she felt as though she had just begun to explore this world, and that she didn’t just want more, she felt as if she couldn’t get enough.

  It felt as if it was ending before it had really begun.

  This could be my life, she thought.

  “I’ll be going home on schedule,” she told him, keeping her tone deliberately neutral, as she handed him back his phone.

  Something flashed across his handsome features that could have been regret. Or maybe it was relief.

  “Is there anything you wanted to see before you go?”

  “I have to see the New York Public Library,” she told him, “nerd that I am.”

  He looked at her solemnly. “I don’t think you’re a nerd, at all.” His eyes rested on her lips for a moment. “I have some things I have to do this afternoon. So, why don’t I put the driver at your disposal, and you can take in whatever sights you want? I’ll meet you back at the apartment and we’ll figure out something truly spectacular for dinner for your last night here.”

  It was when she went out to the car that she realized, instead of reveling in the awkwardness she had made Jamie feel by kissing him, she should be thinking of a way to thank him for all he had done.

  He had not just come to her rescue, he had completely turned a horrible situation around. When she thought back on this time in New York, the theft of her luggage would be just a hilarious footnote to what had been a wonderful time.


  And maybe it was because the choice she had to make—about whether to accept the position or not—suddenly felt so overwhelming that she realized exactly how she could thank Jamie and get her own feet back on the ground at the same time.

  She could give him, the man who had everything, the one thing he didn’t have.

  A sense of what a home could feel like. She had money, she had a credit card and she knew exactly how she wanted to spend some of it.

  Instead of asking the driver to take her to the New York Public Library, she asked, “Where do you buy food here? If you want to cook?”

  An hour later she arrived back at Jamie’s apartment with everything she needed to make the best home-cooked meal ever.

  She had a moment’s doubt, then. She suddenly felt foolish. Why would she think anything she could offer him could compete with the culinary delights that were just outside his door?

  Well, unless she was planning on trying to put a prime rib roast down the in-sink garbage disposal, she was committed.

  * * *

  Jamie stepped off the elevator into his apartment and stopped short. Jessica was behind the island, tongue caught between her teeth, peeling potatoes. He was fairly certain a potato had never been peeled in this space before.

  He sniffed the air. It smelled heavenly. Like roasting meat and pies. It smelled like coming home.

  She glanced up at him and smiled tentatively. She had a bib apron that said Life is Short, Lick the Spoon on over that super sexy outfit she had worn today. How was it possible she looked even sexier?

  “What are you doing?” he asked her, and heard the caution in his voice. “I thought you were going to the library.”

  “I decided that could wait. I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for me. I tried to figure out what to give the man who had everything, and a home-cooked meal topped the list.”

  He contemplated that. She had given up one of the things she wanted to do most to give something to him.