CINDERELLA BRIDE

by Monica McLean

  "What if they don't have an income?"

  "In order for their children to be accepted at Little Learners, the parents have to be employed or attending school."

  "Well, there's a difference. Why should it matter whether they're employed or not, if their money comes from a job or from public assistance?"

  "Because." She straightened, flattening her back against the seat. "I am not handing out charity."

  Carter looked her way. "Hit a nerve?"

  "Yes. I mean, no. I mean, not you. The subject. Yes, it's a sore spot with me."

  He turned back to the road. "Why is that?"

  "Our mission is to provide care for the children of the working poor. Emphasis on the working. It's that in-between group we serve. They make too much for welfare but not enough to escape poverty."

  "So what you're doing, in effect, is helping those who help themselves."

  "Yes. Exactly."

  "So what happens if someone gets laid off or fired?"

  "Of course I make exceptions, but believe it or not, these parents are rarely out of work. See, they all have some things in common. They want out, they want a better life for themselves and their children and they work hard."

  "Well, I applaud your efforts," he said, pausing as if for emphasis.

  Marly held her breath, intuition telling her Carter was leading up to an answer, whether or not the bank would pledge a donation.

  "You're making a lot of dreams come true for a lot of folks…"

  "But?"

  "But," he continued, turning onto her street, "the bank's already overextended their budgeted contributions."

  For a moment, Marly couldn't even speak she was so stunned by the timing of Carter's admission. "Well, then." Her voice rose a notch. She smoothed the fabric of her dress against her thighs. "I guess there was no reason to go through the whole song and dance, was there?"

  She tried to control her frustration. She didn't care that the only reason he'd asked her to the benefit was for show, that he'd made his motivation obvious by leaving after putting in an appearance. But if the bank didn't have any money to donate, why hadn't he told her that up front, instead of letting her go on so? Instead of getting her hopes up?

  Of course she knew the answer to that question. Hadn't she witnessed Carter King in action tonight, always acting as though he was interested in everything anyone had to say? And she'd thought it was part of his charm, how he was so nice to everyone. Ha. Some charm. He was a phony. A big phony for leading her on.

  She'd risked a public appearance for nothing!

  Carter remained silent as he pulled his car behind hers. Not that she'd expected a response to her rhetorical question. It didn't matter. Their paths would probably never cross again, and if they did, well … she'd deal with that then.

  The second the car came to a stop, she unbuckled her seat belt and reached for the door handle. "Thank you for asking me to the benefit. I enjoyed it, and I—it was nice meeting you."

  "Wait." Carter touched her arm.

  Marly looked down at where his large hand rested on her wrist. She felt hot, flustered. Her cheeks burned with anger. With mortification that after everything, her flesh still tingled at Carter's touch.

  She didn't want to admit she'd liked it when he'd touched her this evening, the few times he'd innocently taken her arm, placed his hand against her shoulder or in the curve of her spine. She didn't want to admit she'd entertained thoughts of what it would be like if those gestures weren't quite so innocent, if the chills she'd felt were from a lover's touch, if she were the woman in Carter's life. Not just a humanitarian he'd asked to a benefit for the sole purpose of enhancing his public image.

  But that was just her active imagination again. Handsome, charming men like Carter King hadn't graced her doorstep in years, and back in the days when they had, back in the days when she'd worn another face, they'd only been after one thing. Now that she no longer had that one thing, she didn't have to worry about them.

  In eight years, she'd never missed the attention. Never.

  Until now.

  "I really should go," she whispered around a thickness in her throat.

  "Please … wait," he said, even as he took his hand from her wrist.

  She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead but didn't move to leave.

  "You're not going to make this any easier for me, are you?" Carter reached for a button that opened the sunroof, then turned the key in the ignition, cutting off the engine. He rubbed his palms against his trousers. "Marly—"

  "The bank's contributions are overbudget. Your hands are tied. I understand that."

  "Then why won't you look at me?"

  "I've looked at you all night," she said, picking at the silver beads on her purse. "I know what you look like."

  He grinned at that. It was just the shred of hope he was eager for. "Marly, I asked about your center for a reason, not just as a conversation piece. The bank's not in a position to make a contribution … but I am."

  Her gaze snapped to his, eyes widening. In them, he saw wariness battling excitement. "You?"

  "Yes."

  She blinked. "A personal contribution?"

  He nodded. "A quarter million. Cash."

  Her hand flew to her chest, as if trying to calm a raging heartbeat. For a minute, he almost thought he could hear it, but then realized the sound was his own.

  "To my center?" she asked slowly, her voice hesitant, as if she was afraid she'd misinterpreted words spoken in some foreign language.

  He nodded again.

  Tell her the stipulation. He heard the voice of his conscience, but his vocal chords refused to respond to the message.

  Qualify your offer. Why did it suddenly feel as if his bow tie was cutting off his circulation?

  Lay it on the line, buddy. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He clamped it shut, feeling suddenly parched, unable to tear his gaze from the woman beside him. Her eyes were filling with tears, her expression transforming from disbelief to astonishment to—

  Before he could finish the thought, she was in his arms. His face froze, his eyes widened and his arms started to twitch. He wanted to hold her but was afraid to move.

  "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she said squeezing him in a hug of obvious gratitude.

  Still, a jolt of awareness surged through his body, so strong for a minute that he forgot to breathe. When he did, he nearly sprang from the car in a panic—until he found the scent of rain-drenched flowers surrounded him. Pleasant and strangely comforting. Settling, grounding—not like the musky scents the others had worn, that Eva Ann had worn; powerful fragrances that threw him off balance and threatened his control.

  Comfortable. Marly Alcott had the side of one soft breast pressed against his ribs, one hand on his shoulder, her cheek resting on his arm and her silky hair tickling the underside of his chin. And he felt comfortable with her. Comfortable! This had to be an omen.

  She started to pull away. His body cried out. Suddenly, he wanted her to stay put. He wanted a trial run before he proposed, a final test to see if he could go through with it. The shoulder strap of his seat belt held him back, but his free arm shot out to encircle her shoulders, holding her still. She tilted her head up. Their gazes locked and held.

  "Carter?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

  "Marly." His voice was a sigh. He closed his eyes and lowered his face until his mouth settled on hers.

  Her lips were soft, pliant, and when they moved under his, he decided he could definitely get used to kissing her. He slanted his head, brushing his lips back and forth across hers, wondering if he didn't actually like the feeling. She felt much better than he'd imagined.

  Before he could consider whether or not that was necessarily a good thing, he heard a sound he'd never heard before—not from a kiss. A whimper. Soft. Sweet. Hers. His body's instant response startled him; being in such confines, in such proximity, was almost painful.

  "Yes," she whispered, her fa
int breath like a caress.

  His hand brushed across her shoulder to her nape, tangling in the fine strands of her hair. When his tongue touched the seam of her mouth, her lips parted immediately, allowing him entrance.

  Carter groaned, deep in his throat, savoring the first taste of her mouth. Sweet. She was so sweet. He wanted to draw this moment out for as long as he could, which amounted to about all of two seconds. Unable to hold out any longer, he angled her head and deepened the kiss, drinking greedily with the thirst of a man who had known what he'd wanted for some time but had been forced to wait too long.

  Marly reached up and wound her fingers around his arm, clenching in rhythm with the movement of their swirling tongues, pulling him closer until he thought he would explode. Through sheer willpower, he tore his mouth away from hers.

  "Kisses like that are dangerous in a car," he managed to say, trying to regain his breath.

  "Kisses like that are dangerous anywhere," she murmured against his sleeve.

  But they weren't—not really. It wasn't passion he'd felt just now, but rather … excitement. Yeah, that was it. Excitement over the idea that his acquisition just might work. And the rush he'd felt … well, that accompanied any other successful business transaction, didn't it?

  He gazed down at where Marly's forehead had fallen against his shoulder. Her hair spilled across her face, blocking it from view. He reached down and drew the soft strands away, back behind her ear. He could see her smiling, feel the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against his ribs. It made a man feel good to know he could have that effect on a woman, especially if he was about to ask said woman to become his bride.

  Carter suddenly felt lower than slime. If he planned on giving as good as he got, he had some explaining to do. "Marly, I'm thinking I should've told you this up front—"

  She laid three fingers over his mouth. "You have no idea what this means to me, what it means for the children. Your contribution … it's more than generous. Because of you, I'm going to be able to keep their dreams alive. How can I ever thank you?"

  It was the opening he was waiting for, but the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat. Now or never, buddy. He swallowed. "Marry me, Marly."

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Marly smiled, shaking her head. "Very funny."

  Carefully, he lifted her chin, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her kiss-swollen lower lip. He continued to look at her, his eyes dark and searching, his mouth unsmiling.

  She wanted to apologize for thinking mean, nasty thoughts about him. She wanted to tell him she was sorry for ever doubting his intentions. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted even more.

  "I'm not kidding," he said, his voice quiet and sensible.

  She didn't want quiet and sensible. She wanted him to laugh, to tell her it was a joke, to brush his mouth over hers one last time and remind her she was still a woman.

  But even if he did, what would it matter? Because after tonight, she could never see him again. If she'd ever doubted that before, her physical response to him just now convinced her otherwise.

  "You're not serious." She shook her head.

  He nodded. "I'm very serious."

  This wasn't happening. It wasn't possible. The most reasonable explanation was that she'd been zapped off the face of the planet and catapulted into a comic strip.

  "You're drunk," she said, opting for the second most reasonable explanation.

  "Haven't had a drink in weeks."

  She drew back and squinted at him. "I saw you holding a cocktail glass tonight."

  Carter lowered his hand to his thigh. "Is that why you ran away?"

  "I—I didn't run away. I … saw that you already had a drink. That's all. So what was in it?"

  "Ginger ale. I'm not drunk, Marly."

  "Okay." She nodded slowly, smoothing her dress across her lap. "Then I must be drunk."

  He gave her a sidelong look that was as wary as any she'd ever given him. "You dumped your drink in the plant."

  "No, that was your drink. I drank mine."

  "You don't have to answer right away. I'll give you some time to think it over."

  "Think what over?"

  "Marrying me."

  "Are we back to that again?"

  Carter placed his hand on her arm. "I mean it, Marly."

  She almost shuddered at his touch. Her response to the warmth of his fingers was so strong, like coming in from the freezing rain to stand before a blazing fire. She'd been numb for so long she could remember little else. She'd had to forget so much. She didn't want to remember now.

  "You don't even know me," Marly whispered.

  "I know everything I need to know."

  "Oh, this is ridiculous. I can't believe they let you run a bank." She gathered up the folds of her dress and opened the car door. Then, because it wasn't nice to insult the man who'd just pledged a magnanimous donation to your center, she hastened to add, "Thank you again for the contribution. I really, really appreciate it. I … I'll be in touch."

  In a flash, she was out of the car and practically running across the front lawn. She heard Carter's door open and close.

  "Marly, wait."

  He was out of the car—the sound of his footsteps followed her, swishing through the long blades of grass.

  She ducked under a tree branch. "Don't think I'm not grateful for all you're doing for my center," she said over her shoulder, taking brisk steps to increase the distance between them. "But if you're going to start talking marriage again, I'm really not up for it."

  She heard him swat at the leaves of the tree.

  "You're going to make this darn near next to impossible, aren't you? If you'll stop running away and just hear me out, I can explain. Five minutes, Marly. Just give me five minutes."

  "What—" She spun around and nearly bumped into him, but caught herself up short. "What explanation could you possibly have to convince me you aren't completely out of your mind?"

  "Okay." He held up his hand, palm out. The yellowish glow of the porchlight illuminated the solemn expression on his face. "Just listen," he said slowly, "and try to keep an open mind. You remember Reva Singh? You met her tonight?"

  Marly nodded and took a step back.

  "She and her husband are good friends of mine. They're Indian. As in, from India."

  "Yes, Carter. I figured that out."

  "They've been married five years, and they're very happy together." He waited as if letting that tidbit sink in before continuing with, "They had an arranged marriage."

  "Really? I didn't know that was still a custom."

  "Well, not the old-fashioned kind where the parents make all the decisions. Anil and Reva both decided they were ready to get married, then picked each other based on similar interests and compatibility."

  Compatibility. Was that what she'd felt in the car when they had kissed? Marly wrapped her arms around her midsection. She didn't want to feel anymore.

  Never mind that her entire body was still tingling, her knees wobbly, her breasts heavy. Aching. Alive. It didn't matter. None of that mattered.

  She wanted to go back to that cold, numbing place where she belonged. She wanted to embrace the loneliness and the solitude, her steadfast companions in a life she didn't deserve. She wanted to believe tonight was just a dream, that the heavens couldn't possibly be so cruel as to tempt her with all the things she could never have.

  Marly shook her head in denial. "You can't possibly be saying what I think you're saying…"

  "I need an heir, Marly. I want you to marry me and be the mother of my child. Actually, I'd like two children, if it's at all possible."

  "This is crazy," she whispered.

  "Oh, come on. It isn't crazy at all. It's logical. It's planned. It's sensible."

  "Look, I honestly don't mean to act rude or ungrateful," she said, summoning all the diplomacy she could. "But I'm having a little trouble understanding how two people who know nothing about e
ach other but decide on their first pseudo date to get married and have children can be construed as logical, planned or sensible. I mean, maybe we can go out to lunch sometime—"

  "This isn't about going out to lunch sometime. I'm talking about a future. I need a mother for my future children."

  "So adopt. Get a nanny. You don't have to get married to have children these days. And even if you do want marriage, Carter, there's a natural progression to these things, an order of events. This is … this is…" She rubbed her temple, struggling for the right words. "Out of whack."

  With a muttered curse, he expelled a breath, half-turning to stare at the old maple tree beside him. "This isn't coming out right at all." He shook his head. "Did you ever have this big presentation to make and once you got to the podium nothing went as planned and you had to ad-lib the whole rest of the speech?"

  Marly frowned at his profile, noticing the muscle in his jaw was going haywire now and wondering, ridiculously, if he ground his teeth at night. "I don't make many speeches. I guess it's not my area of expertise."

  "Proposing marriage isn't exactly my area of expertise, either." He leaned one hand against the tree trunk, bracing his long frame, as the porchlight cast an even longer shadow across the front lawn. "Let me try this again," he said, turning toward her. "For as long as I can remember, I've had this vision of how I wanted my life to be, this ultimate goal. I knew if I was going to get where I wanted to go, I had to follow a critical path, do things a certain way in a certain order. So I did. Everything I've achieved can be attributed to having a plan. A well-calculated, logical plan. And every failure's been the direct result of either not having a plan or else not following the plan—losing control."

  Marly felt herself reluctantly drawn to something in the tone of his voice. Pride. Not the luck-of-the-draw kind you got with ancestral bloodlines, but the kind achieved through sweat and tears. The kind she heard every day at her center in the voices of struggling, hard-working parents. She watched his firm, sensual lips as he spoke, listening to the timbre of his voice as well as the words that came out.

  "When I was a boy, it meant studying when I'd have rather been goofing off, working summers instead of playing in the sun. Then in college, I had to pass on fraternity parties, keep relationships to a minimum and work harder on academics." He stared down at his hands, as if lost in the memories. "I was twenty-one when I started in banking as a financial analyst. Worked full-time, went to grad school nights and weekends full-time. The bank paid for it."