The Cinderella Rules

by Donna Kauffman

  Of course, with the Swede out of the picture, Darby would probably hightail it back to Montana. Unless, of course, he could give her a reason to stick around.

  “Why, there you are, darling. I might have known I’d catch you trying to sneak off. Don’t tell me you’ve made an assignation with some pretty young thing already.”

  I wish, Shane thought. He allowed himself a moment of disappointment, both for being thwarted yet again and for the fact that it was a pile of reports waiting for him upstairs, and not Darby. But the smile on his face when he turned, was sincere. “Aurora, glad you could make it.” Having a few more allies in the midst was reassuring. Although, even with Darby and the Glass Slipper triumvirate, it was still five against a hundred or so. And yet, he’d learned long ago to never underestimate the power of the godmothers.

  Who knows, if they provided enough distraction, he might find time for some distraction of a far more diverting and entertaining sort. Vivian alone hadn’t been enough for Stefan, but if Shane double-teamed her with Aurora, the man didn’t stand a chance.

  He hugged her, enjoyed the momentary comfort of being enveloped in all her softness and fluff, then allowed her to set him back and give him a thorough once-over. Best to get it out of the way up front.

  “So,” she said, eyeing him critically, “a week in, and you’re already paling beneath the high-powered intensity of the corporate microscope.” She picked at his polo shirt. “Losing weight, too.” She tsked.

  “I’m fine, Aurora, really. Sleep has been in short supply, that’s all. But it won’t drag on forever, so don’t worry about me.”

  “So, you’ve decided, then, have you?” This came from behind him.

  He turned to find a very stern-looking Mercedes. “Hello,” he said, beaming his most impish smile at her. It didn’t even make a dent.

  He hugged her anyway, taking a little victory in the small sigh of resignation she let out before hugging him back. She didn’t bother giving him the once-over, her battle strategy already fixed. Her gaze was unwavering, her displeasure absolute. “You’ve spoken with Hal?”

  “Yesterday. And the answer to your question is no, I haven’t decided yet. It’s as complicated as you can imagine, maybe even more. I have a lot to look over, a lot to consider, and a lot of decisions to make. If it makes you feel any better, none of them are going to be easy.”

  Vivian bustled up just then, and after a quick squeeze and a firm butt-pinch, she immediately admonished Mercedes. “For heaven’s sake, leave the poor boy alone. Isn’t it bad enough he’s been thrown to the wolves?” She glanced about. “Or perhaps nest of vipers is a better term. Did you see who Bootsy Farthington showed up with? A snake in Prada silk is still a snake in my book.” She looked back at him, all saucy smiles and wafting sandalwood clouds of Black Cashmere perfume. “Either way, sweetie pie, you’ll be lucky to escape with only that pinch on your fanny.”

  He grinned despite the scowl Mercedes shot at Vivian. “I’m glad you all could make it,” he said, never more sincere. “Please help yourself to whatever you want. Food, wine, end table, sports car.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, that’s an idea. A lawn party-slash-garage sale. Kill two birds with one stone. I won’t have to worry about what to do with all this stuff, and the Morgan Foundation makes out like a bandit.”

  “They do well enough. The donation just to swing an invite this year was staggering.” Aurora sniffed.

  “Your grandmother would roll over in her grave,” Mercedes stated sternly.

  “Lord knows there’s enough room in that elaborate casket she was buried in,” Vivian murmured, fussing with her hair.

  Mercedes shot them both a stern glare, then lifted her eyes skyward with a sigh when Aurora gasped and fluttered her hands.

  “My dear Vivian, you should never speak ill of the dead.”

  “You just made a comment about the foundation!” she shot back.

  “Yes, dear, but that’s entirely different. It’s a corporate entity, not a person.”

  “It was her corporate entity and—”

  Aurora shushed her. “For heaven’s sake,” she whispered, “you’re standing on the very spot where she walked this earth.”

  “Please, it’s not like it’s sacred ground. And I was only speaking the truth. You could have buried half of King Tut’s treasure in that casket, which is likely what she had in mind. If anyone could take it with her, it would have been Alexandra.”

  Aurora looked scandalized, ringed hand clasped to her bosom. “Well,” she huffed, when no one else jumped to her defense. “I simply think it’s quite unbecoming to make snide comments at a time like—”

  “Like what, Aurora? You know as well as I do that Alexandra would enjoy every last melodramatic moment of this circus,” Mercedes broke in finally. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she planned it this way.” She stopped, gathered herself. “I apologize, Shane. We’re all behaving abominably.”

  “Grief does that to a body,” Aurora said, slipping a lace-edged hanky from her voluminous sleeve and sniffing delicately. She pointedly ignored Vivian’s eye roll.

  “Don’t be a hypocrite, Aurora,” Mercedes chided. “You were no more sorry than anyone else. Not that any of us wished her gone, mind you.”

  “Can’t you see he’s overwhelmed enough as it is,” Vivian cut in, all the while making shooing motions behind her back, where only Shane could see them. “He called us here for moral support, and injecting a little humor can do wonders for what has to be a horrendous ordeal for him. Besides, there’s not a soul here who’d bat an eye at what we said. It’s only the truth.” She glanced out over the grounds, drawing Mercedes and Aurora’s attention with her. “Not that too many of the fine citizens here would recognize the truth if it up and bit them on their fanny-lifted asses.”

  Aurora gasped.

  Mercedes huffed.

  And Shane used the moment to disappear behind the hedges. He sent a silent thank-you to Viv for rescuing him once again, and made a beeline for the sunroom doors. He slipped inside and took the back stairs three at a time. Judging by how things had gone so far, he’d be lucky to make it to his room without running into God knows who. He all but skidded to a halt in front of his rooms, hopped inside, and closed the door quickly behind him, shooting the lock into place for good measure.

  “Bingo,” he breathed as he booted up the laptop and spied a list of mail waiting in the private account he’d set up off-site. He hadn’t dared have the reports faxed or messengered. Anyone could have gotten their hands on them that way. He smiled when he saw the E-mails he’d received from wedigit.com. He’d had them run checks on the engineer who’d put together the mining reports for Alexandra, on the Celentrex scientist whose name had been on some of the partial schematics of their prototype that he’d found in her files, and on the mining location itself in Brazil. His smile tightened when he skimmed down and found the last E-mail, which bore the subject line: Bjornsen, S.

  Of course, he hadn’t had the first idea of who to contact to run such a search. No doubt, Alexandra kept more than one discreet firm under her employ for just such a purpose. She’d been a great one for running background checks. In his experience alone, she’d had reports run on everyone from his second-grade summer math tutor to the man who delivered the Post seven days a week. She saw it as being careful and keeping herself informed. Shane knew the truth. She was the worst kind of nosy. And she liked the power that came with knowing everyone’s business. He’d always thought she’d have made a hell of a blackmailer. Of course, considering how most deals were all about who held the power, in a sense, like any successful industry mogul, she was.

  Shane, on the other hand, hadn’t the faintest clue about what his neighbors or anyone else were doing, nor did he care. But he’d been put in charge of making some major decisions, and listening to Morgan employees was only giving him one side of the story. Ultimately, he didn’t care which shark ruled the tank, but if there was one that wouldn’t devour all o
f the little fishies along the way, then better to go with the shark you know.

  For that, he needed complete objectivity. So he’d done the most logical thing. He’d Googled a search on the Internet and come up with We Dig It. Of all the myriad dirt-sifters, they’d had a pretty clever setup that appealed to his specific needs, and, more important, their irreverent wit had appealed to his sense of humor.

  His finger hovered over the report on the engineer, but first things first. He clicked open the one on Bjornsen. He was barely through the first paragraph when a knock came at the door. Dammit! How in the hell had anyone found him so fast? He ignored it and returned his attention to the screen—after all, the party could certainly survive his absence for a few more minutes—when the tapping came again.

  “Shane? Are you in there?”

  He jerked his attention back to the door. “Darby?” He was there in two strides. He yanked the door open so fast that she actually jumped back a little. He grinned, happier to see her than he’d expected. And he’d expected a great deal. “Wow,” he said, finally taking in the rest of her.

  She smiled a bit nervously and glanced down at the crisp blue crop pants and starchy white boat shirt she wore. “I’m not sure this feels like any less of a costume than the getup I have to wear tomorrow, but I’m glad you like it.”

  “My vote still goes to the old boots and the wild hair, but if I have to put up with you all dolled up and slick-looking, I suppose I’ll manage.”

  She relaxed and shot him a dry smile. “You say the sweetest things.”

  “Your legs still go on forever, and may I say I’m in definite favor of that polish on your tootsies.”

  “Well, get a good gander, because if anyone thinks I’m going to waste time polishing something nobody sees, they’ve got another think coming.”

  He reached for her then, unable to keep his hands to himself for another second. “Just because the horses don’t care, doesn’t mean someone else might not appreciate the effort.”

  “Then that someone else better be prepared to apply said polish.”

  Shane waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve been called a man of many talents, but that would be a new one. And yet, I find myself willing to stretch a little, dig deeper, reach higher. All in the name of self-improvement, of course.”

  She laughed. “You are so full of it.”

  “And yet, you’re here anyway.”

  “Yeah, because you’re the only one in this loony world that understands just how abnormal it all is.” She smiled, brushed her fingertips over his hair. “Thank God I found you.”

  He didn’t know if she meant here and now, or in general, but decided not to ask. It was enough that she was in his arms. “I’m pretty sure this is the only time I will ever be considered the normal one. But if it gets me more time with you, I’ll try and act like it.” He glanced down the empty hallway before tugging her inside his room. “Where’s Lurch?”

  She tried to give him a scolding look, but the little half-snort she hadn’t been able to squelch sort of diluted the threat. “Downstairs playing ring-around-the-fairy-godmother. Vivian told me where you were.”

  “My debt to Vivian is growing by leaps and bounds. Now come here and let me muss you up a little.”

  “Awfully sure of yourself,” she said, not remotely trying to free herself from his hold on her hips. In fact, it was her sandaled heel that kicked the door shut behind them.

  “Just trying to do the thing any normal red-blooded male would do when confronted with the woman he’s been fantasizing about every hour of the day and night.”

  She laughed, obviously assuming he was teasing her. If she only knew. “I don’t think I’ve ever been the stuff of fantasies. I suppose I owe the godmothers a debt of thanks for the Cinderella moment, after all.”

  He could have told her that all the makeup, hair dye, and designer clothing were wasted on him. What made her his Cinderella was that fast smile, the dry laugh, the quick wit. The way her eyes lit up with that hint of rebel; the way she looked at him and wanted him just because. And it had nothing to do with his background, or his reputation. He’d been himself with her, and while she wasn’t immune to the charm he’d used to get by in the world, she wasn’t in thrall to it, either. She pushed him a little, poked at him, prodded him. Made him think, made him laugh, made him want her to want him. Made it important.

  “What are you doing up here?” she asked.

  “Waiting for you.”

  “Hiding out, more likely.”

  He debated telling her the real reason he was up here. Would it piss her off, or would she be flattered that he’d cared enough to check into Bjornsen? Probably some hybrid of the two. Better to kiss her now, while she’d still let him. “Hiding out definitely has its strong points. More important,” he asked as he pulled her closer and slid his hands around her waist, “do you have more of that lipstick you’re wearing?”

  She smiled, bumped hips with him. It still shocked him a little that her body lined up so directly with his. Nice little zing, every time. He could get used to that zing.

  “I don’t think it’s your color,” she said, backing him up a few steps.

  He let himself get backed up, only wishing, when his thighs hit the side of the desk, that they were in his bedroom and not the sitting room.

  “But I’ll be glad to share,” she went on. “Just don’t ask me to put it on. It’s a miracle I stayed in the lines on my own lips.”

  “Now why would you want to go and do something like stay inside the lines,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. He gripped her hips and spun them both toward the small, hard settee that fronted the fireplace. “When playing outside the lines is so much more rewarding.”

  He wasn’t sure who tugged who down to the couch, but he certainly didn’t thwart the motion. All he knew was that his back hit the back of the settee and she was straddling his lap. And he was fine with that.

  “You’re going to crinkle my linen.”

  He tugged at her blouse. “Then by all means, we should take it off.”

  He had the big clear buttons that marched down the front open, and her pale blue silk bra bared to him in less than a blink. “Okay, I take back what I said about plain jeans and T-shirts. Those are great, and you can ditch the rest of this wardrobe”—he glanced up into her eyes—“but can we keep the naughty little underthings?”

  She looked down at the plain blue silk. “Naughty? There’s no lace, nothing peek-a-boo.” She looked back at him. “It’s just shiny, is all.”

  “Well, you know how men are with bright, shiny objects.”

  She smiled. “I thought those usually came with four wheels and a ragtop.”

  He ran his hands up the sides of her thighs. “Your wheels are just fine.” Then he dug his fingers into the silky waterfall of perfectly lowlighted blonde hair. “And this sunroof won’t stay this way forever. Eventually it will be a ragtop again, all wild and sun-bleached. Begging me to dig my fingers into it.”

  She arched into him as his fingertips massaged her scalp, and moaned a little. “You’re doing a pretty good job right now.”

  “It’ll do. For now.”

  He slid his hands down her back, so she arched against them, freeing his mouth up to see how damp he could get that blue silk. “Definitely liking the interior.”

  She gasped as his mouth closed over a silk-covered nipple. “Any minute now, you’re going to call me something like Your Little Deuce Coupe and I’m going to have to belt you one.”

  He chuckled against the smooth skin between her breasts, and dropped little kisses where the sun had scattered tiny freckles. “I promise to drop all car references.” Then he dragged his mouth from the soft skin at the swell of her breasts, slid his fingers back into her hair, and tilted her head down to his. “About that lipstick, though . . . I’m going to mess it up a little.”

  Cinderella Rule #12

  Confidence can come in many different forms. A raise, a promotion. A flattering
hairstyle or a to-die-for pair of heels. From the important to the seemingly innocuous. However, the latter can be as powerful as the former. And what does it matter the cause, as long as the end result is the same?

  —AURORA

  Chapter 12

  Darby had never considered herself a sexually adventurous person. And yet, apparently all Shane had to do was grin, and she was pulling her clothes off. Or letting him pull them off. With his teeth, no less. If she let herself think about it, she’d be scandalized at the fact that she was upstairs in Shane’s rooms, a kiss and a grope away from a screaming orgasm, with a hundred people milling about not two stories below them.

  So she didn’t think about it.

  His mouth . . . Why even try to convince herself that his clever smile couldn’t possibly seduce her again, that his kisses couldn’t possibly be so intoxicating, that he was really just a charming rogue she had no business tangling with? Because here she was. Again. Right where she always seemed to end up within five minutes of seeing him. Half-naked and sprawled all over him.

  She knew why. His kisses were more than intoxicating, they were addictive. His smile wasn’t merely clever, it was full of promise, of fun. Of hot sex, of a rollicking good time. And right there was the reason she hadn’t ripped off her bathrobe earlier for Stefan. He definitely stirred her all up, but when she thought about sex with him, adjectives like cool, controlled, and deliberate came to mind. Fun and rollicking didn’t even make the top ten.

  Was she really so starved for fun? For a good time? She wasn’t Pepper, out for the next thrill. She was the stable, steady one. Grounded. Reliable. She didn’t have wild, chandelier-swinging sex.

  Then again, she’d never had the opportunity, now, had she?

  Admittedly, Shane was no Prince Charming, either. No White Knight. And so what? Every woman should experience at least one rogue in their lives, right? And not with a guy who unnerved her half the time. Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to start globe-hopping after international soccer players or the royal prince of some small Mediterranean principality. Or smooth, calculated diamond-hunters with boyish dimples.