Secrets of Cinderella's Awakening

by Sharon Kendrick

  Couldn’t she be a different Marnie tonight—one who was seeking nothing but uncomplicated pleasure?

  She had always been the responsible one. The one who looked out for other people—with one eye on the distance, preparing for the shadows that inevitably hovered there. Wasn’t it time to articulate what she wanted for a change?

  She cleared her throat. “Would you mind speaking in English so I can understand what you’re saying?”

  “Are we planning to do a lot of talking then, Marnie? Is that what turns you on?”

  Something warned her she’d be straying into dangerous territory if she told him she didn’t know what turned her on because she’d never given herself the chance to find out.

  “You turn me on,” she said boldly, and something about the breathless rush of her words made his powerful body tense.

  “Oh, do I?” Leon questioned, tilting her chin with his fingers so that their darkened gazes clashed. “So what are we going to do about that, I wonder.”

  Sharon Kendrick once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realize that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Harlequin, and her books feature often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life...

  Books by Sharon Kendrick

  Harlequin Presents

  Cinderella in the Sicilian’s World

  The Sheikh’s Royal Announcement

  Cinderella’s Christmas Secret

  One Night Before the Royal Wedding

  Conveniently Wed!

  His Contract Christmas Bride

  The Legendary Argentinian Billionaires

  Bought Bride for the Argentinian

  The Argentinian’s Baby of Scandal

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Sharon Kendrick

  Secrets of Cinderella’s Awakening

  Big thanks must go to:

  The lovely Emily, owner of Hair Jungle, Plymouth—for her insights on hairdressing.

  And the fabulous criminal lawyer Janie Heard—for advising me on Pansy’s fate.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM THE GREEK’S HIDDEN VOWS BY MAYA BLAKE

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT HURT. It really hurt.

  Marnie opened her mouth and yelled as she hadn’t yelled in years. Crawling out of the water, she slumped onto the hard sand, shivering uncontrollably in her stupid orange bikini despite the heat from the late afternoon sun.

  Just her luck.

  Or maybe not. Unless she stupidly believed that fate wouldn’t be cruel enough to throw anything else at her. Because since when had fate ever been fair? Fairness was what happened to other people. To people with homes and parents and food in their belly, and no reason to fear the creak on the landing.

  Biting her lip, she tried to conquer the pain, which was coming at her from all directions. Because wasn’t her twin sister in prison, grimly fulfilling the predictions made by so many foster parents all those years ago, while she was alone on a faraway Greek island, which suddenly felt more like a battlefield than the paradise she’d been promised?

  Twisting her head, she surveyed her foot and a heel which was scarlet and speckled with black. She let out a whimper, barely noticing the shadow which was falling over her shivering flesh.

  ‘What the hell has happened?’

  The voice was deep. Authoritative. Marnie jerked her chin up to see the silhouette of a man blocking out the sun and she squinted. His torso was covered with droplets of water, which glittered like diamonds on his powerful frame, and he was out of breath—as if he’d been running. Rather distractingly his hand was positioned over his groin and she realised he was just zipping up a pair of faded jeans.

  And despite her throbbing heel, Marnie felt a punch of vivid awareness because it was him. The swimmer. The man she’d noticed before she’d been bitten—if indeed she had been bitten—and not just because he’d been the only other person on the beach. Who wouldn’t have noticed his wild, almost feral beauty when he’d arrived on a noisy old motorbike and laid it down on the wide strip of sand?

  With uncharacteristic fascination she had watched as he’d stripped off his jeans and T-shirt before running into the sea and diving beneath the sapphire froth of the waves. He had moved with a kind of elemental grace as he’d ploughed his way through the water—but his determined progress had looked more mechanical than joyful.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he probed, his rich voice edged with urgency. ‘I heard you scream.’

  Now her eyes had adjusted she could see him more clearly but despite his solicitous question, his face was hard, his mouth unsmiling. The sculpted contours of his features were unmoving, as if they had been hammered from some cold and unforgiving metal. Only his eyes looked alive as they raked over her and she wished she hadn’t worn this bikini, which her workmates had given her before she’d left London, more as a joke than because they actually thought she’d wear it. And if the elastic on her ancient one-piece hadn’t finally snapped the flimsy garment wouldn’t have made it out of the carrier bag. It was too tight, too small, too everything really and it was making her feel almost naked beneath the man’s burning gaze.

  Marnie shook her head, wet strands of hair flopping onto her shoulders. And because she was in pain and because he was making her feel something she wasn’t used to feeling and didn’t particularly like, she took refuge in sarcasm. ‘Does it look like I’m okay?’ she demanded.

  He looked slightly surprised and then irritated, as if he weren’t used to women talking to him that way. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ she wailed. ‘It’s my foot.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  She wanted to tell him to go away. She wanted to tell him she could take care of herself because that was always her default mechanism, but he was crouching down and cradling her foot in the palm of his hand, before running the edge of his thumb over the heel with what felt like consummate expertise. And that one simple act made Marnie’s stomach turn to jelly.

  She wasn’t used to being handled by anyone, but especially not by a man. Parentless kids didn’t get cuddled much in her experience—and when you did, you viewed it with suspicion and tried to avoid it wherever possible for there was usually some sort of agenda involved. That habit had carried over into adulthood and avoiding physical contact had made her life less complicated. Unlike her friends, she didn’t have sex only to regret it afterwards, and she’d never suffered from unrequited love or a broken heart. She feared intimacy with the natural aversion of someone who had never come into contact with it and the only person she had ever loved had been her twin sister.

  But the stranger’s touch was having a potent effect on her—it was driving everything from her mind other than how good he was making her feel and the sensation took her by surprise because it felt irrational. It also felt like emotion—and Marnie didn’t do that either. She’d taught herself no
t to care because you didn’t get hurt if you didn’t care.

  ‘So what’s happened? Have I been bitten by some deadly Greek sea serpent or something?’ she questioned.

  He lifted his head then and she almost wished he hadn’t because his eyes were so blue that they made the sky behind him fade into insignificance.

  ‘A sea urchin, actually,’ he amended coolly. ‘And they do have the potential to be dangerous. Certainly not something you can ignore, or be flippant about. I have something in my bike which can sort it out for you. Wait here.’

  His response sounded halfway between a reprimand and an order and Marnie opened her mouth to tell him not to bother, but thought better of it and shut it again because really—what choice did she have?

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she said.

  Leon scowled as he turned away, retracing his route across the beach towards his motorbike and wondering why the hell he had made the mistake of getting involved with such a fractious female. Afternoons off in his crazy busy life were rare and riding to the top of the island to watch the sunset had been his only plan for the rest of the day, before the whirl of the upcoming weekend descended on him.

  It was strange being back in Greece. It always was. He’d been away for a long time and trips to his homeland had been erratic, for he had made his fortune in America and Europe. But there had been a couple of tentative meetings with his father over recent years, leading to an uneasy reconciliation after a long period of estrangement. Soon he would attend the wedding of the man who had sired him, telling himself it was the right thing to do, even if found the prospect distasteful. But his father was an old man now and who knew how long he had left?

  With an effort, Leon pushed the thought away and regarded instead the weekend which lay ahead of him. His mouth relaxed by a fraction. He owed it to one of his oldest friends to put in an appearance for his birthday celebrations and at least he’d be able to enjoy some down time. At least, that was the theory. In truth he didn’t really do relaxation, no matter how much he tried. He did adrenalin and hunger and drive. He worked better with projects than with people and nothing distracted him from his primary purpose—of remaining one of the most successful self-made men to ever come out of Greece. And that was important to him. It had been the main salvage to his pride and self-respect after the bitter chaos of the past.

  His scowl deepened as he reached his bike and opened up one of the dusty panniers, because rescuing damsels in distress certainly hadn’t been on his agenda, especially one who answered back as much as this one did. But despite the bitter accusations sometimes levelled at him by women who had tried and failed to pin him down, he wasn’t completely devoid of conscience. What else could he do but help the stricken blonde, even if she seemed remarkably ungrateful that he was putting himself out for her?

  He dug around until he found what he was looking for and returned to find her lying prone on the sand, her eyes closed. For a moment he registered her laboured breathing and the way it made her breasts rise and fall so rapidly. He noticed droplets of sea water drying into dots of salt on the faint curve of her belly and something shifted inside him. Something dark and powerful and strong. As he pulled out an old army knife and extracted a pair of tweezers, he realised his mouth had suddenly grown dry. ‘You’ve got some spikes in your heel,’ he said unevenly.

  ‘You don’t say?’

  He gritted his teeth. What was her problem? ‘Which I’m now going to remove.’

  Her eyelids shot open as he spoke and as she stared at him he noticed her eyes for the first time. They were wary eyes, the colour of one of those wintry skies you sometimes saw over Paris. Beautiful eyes, he thought suddenly as another whisper of awareness rippled over his skin.

  ‘Will it hurt?’ she said.

  ‘Probably. But there’s no alternative. Are you brave?’

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

  He almost smiled as he saw the defiant tilt of her chin. He wasn’t used to prickly women. To women who were doing their damnedest not to react to him, even though the outline of her nipples against the stretched fabric of her bright bikini told a different story. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Marnie. Marnie Porter.’

  ‘Okay, Marnie Porter. Why don’t you close your eyes again and try to relax while I remove the spikes?’

  ‘Relax? Is that supposed to be a joke? Do you have any idea what this feels like?’

  ‘Actually, I do. It happened to me some years ago. I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

  ‘I...ouch!’ She glared at him, dark lashes fluttering like demented butterflies. ‘If that’s what you call being gentle, I’d hate to see you being rough!’

  ‘Impossible to make it a completely pain-free experience, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ She viewed him with a renewed look of suspicion. ‘Are you a doctor, or something?’

  Her random question was way off mark but for some reason it pleased him. Mostly because it was rare to meet someone who didn’t know who he was, who had no idea of all the baggage which came with having been born a Kanonidou. Even though he’d been away for a long time, the burden of his heritage never really left him and it came rushing back whenever he returned. And why should she know? She was obviously British—one of the thousands of tourists who visited this part of the world every year and spent the rest of their lives wistfully remembering its beauty. She wouldn’t know about the intrigues of Greek society, or the fact that the lives of some of its better-known billionaires were not as unruffled as they appeared on the surface. ‘No, I’m not a doctor. Do I look like one?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said, directing a pointed look at his faded jeans before closing her eyes again. ‘More like a beach bum.’

  As Leon’s lips curved, he realised it was a long time since a woman had made him smile. He really had been working too hard. ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘A bit—but it’s bearable.’

  The biting of her lip indicated otherwise and Leon worked quickly to remove the last spike from her flesh, aware that she was clenching her fingers into white-knuckled fists.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, at last. ‘You can open your eyes now.’

  Confronted again by that pewter gaze, he felt a wave of desire sweep over him as potent as anything he could ever remember. It made his heart pound. It made his groin ache with a rush of urgent need. It made him want to take her in his arms and kiss her. To lay her down in the sand and get physical with her.

  As she sat up to examine her foot he was able to study her objectively, telling himself she was nothing special. Long, thick hair the colour of wet sand and killer curves contained in a very cheap bikini. But the shiny fabric looked good on her. Much better than it should have done. He was used to women who wore dazzling couture, not something which looked as if it had been picked up from a market stall. And wasn’t it refreshing to see someone dressed in clothes which didn’t cost the equivalent of a small national debt? A woman who didn’t seem to care that her belly was a little rounded as she leaned over to survey his handiwork. A woman without diamonds, or gold, or bling.

  ‘They’ve all gone!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed gravely. ‘They have.’

  ‘Wow. Thank you.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘But you should keep an eye on it. Make sure you keep it clean. Where are your shoes?’

  ‘Over there.’ She pointed to a small heap of clothing, sheltered by an overhanging rock.

  ‘I’ll get them for you.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘I said, I’ll get them for you.’

  Marnie heard the ring of command in his voice, thinking, This is someone who’s used to being obeyed. And although she didn’t normally let herself get bossed around, there was no reason to object to what seemed like courtesy. Especially when he’d already gone out of his way to be so kind
to her—and kindness could be compelling, she realised suddenly. Especially when you weren’t used to it.

  She watched as he headed towards her clothes, thinking that she could have watched him all day, because he was...magnificent. Tall and strong and rippling with muscle. Above the hard thrust of his thighs, his hips were narrow—the denim jeans clinging to the high curve of his buttocks, making her wonder what he might look like naked.

  Her cheeks grew hot as she wondered where on earth that had come from because she’d never even seen a naked man before! Not unless you counted those marble statues with tiny genitals in the museums which some of her more ambitious foster parents had dragged her round when she was younger, until they’d realised that she and her twin sister weren’t ideal candidates for lessons in culture and had sent them packing back to the children’s home.

  The memory was more painful than it should have been and so Marnie forced her attention back to the man who had rescued her. His hair was damp and unruly black tendrils were dangling around his neck, making her itch to tame them into some kind of order. But she wanted other things, too. Things which had nothing to do with giving him an impromptu haircut. Things she’d never wanted before. Suddenly her breasts were aching and there was a strange, sweet clenching in her core.

  She knew exactly what it was but the knowledge was freaking her out because she didn’t do desire. Men left her cold—they always had—even gorgeous men like this one. She was employed by an upmarket unisex hair salon in London and met plenty of lookers in the course of her working week, but to Marnie they were just pretty wallpaper. She didn’t trust beauty. Actually, she didn’t place her trust in much at all because too many times she’d had it thrown back in her face.

  He bent to retrieve her clothing and she wished she hadn’t been so caught up in her daydreams. Because when he turned he caught her staring and as their eyes met something passed between them—a wordless sensation which slid over her skin like honey. And it was weird. On some fundamental level it was almost as if she recognised him. As if he were capable of knowing her like no other man ever could, even though they’d never met before. She shook her head. She was going mad. She must be. Now might be the moment to stop reading those time-slip novels she loved so much. Either that or the strain of the past few months had finally caught up with her.