“Trying to. Thank God for Jenn. I don’t know what I’d have done if she hadn’t taken my job offer and uprooted her whole life.” Jenn had become her right hand at work. And her best friend all the time. Valerie felt rich beyond words. “I still can’t believe it’s real.”
He grinned. “I still can’t believe you’re real.”
She laughed as he scooped her up in his arms, stepped over a prone Gunther—Jack’s stalwart traveling companion these days—and dropped them both to the bed, rolling her beneath him. “Why is it your reality checks always seem centered around sex?”
“Are you complaining?”
He raked his fingers through her hair, which had grown below her shoulders over the past months, and which she wore down whenever they were together. It made him happy. And to be honest, she loved the feel of his hands in it. She groaned and shifted beneath him. “No complaints.”
He nuzzled at her neck. “Good.”
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” she said, her voice deepening as he continued his exploration, unbuttoning her sundress. He liked those, too. So, as it turned out, did she. “I heard from Eric and Brice. They’re going to try to make it over to London, to join us for the holidays.”
Jack lifted his head from where he’d been tugging at the edges of her lace bra. “You mean, they’re going to take time out from their busy, busy life of leisure to actually stop in and say hi?”
She rolled him so he was now beneath her. “Hey, they’re happy.” And they were, deliriously so. Which was a good thing, because as it turned out, the rest of America hadn’t been as forgiving as the women gathered at the studio that day, so long ago. Glass Slipper magazine had done very well, as the scandal had only served to sell even more magazines. And all was forgiven when Elaine managed to snag George Clooney for their next spokesperson and cover model.
All was not forgiven for Eric, however. While he had his fans, he also had his detractors. Including his publisher, who had withdrawn his option offer. So, after fulfilling his obligation to Glass Slipper, he’d chosen to retire from the advice-giving life. Brice invested Eric’s contract earnings, and the two of them were presently on an extended holiday that showed no signs of ending anytime soon.
“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer couple,” she said.
“Well, except for us.”
She rolled her eyes, then popped open the buttons on his shirt. “If only we could sail around the world without a care to our name. I’m lucky if I get to spend two weeks in a row with you.”
“Yeah, but it just keeps you wanting me bad.”
She gave up and ripped the rest of the buttons off. “That it does.”
about the author
Once upon a time, Donna Kauffman was born in Washington, D.C. Alas, there were no glass slippers in her closet, but fate was kind, and a trustworthy (and totally hot) knight did cross her path. No fool she, Donna didn’t need a fairy godmother to point out a good thing when she saw it. Their happily-ever-after is currently taking place in Virginia.
Also by Donna Kauffman
The Cinderella Rules
The Big Bad Wolf Tells All
The Charm Stone
The Royal Hunter
Your Wish Is My Command
Legend of the Sorcerer
The Legend MacKinnon
Yours 2 Keep
With Kay Hooper, Marilyn Pappano,
Jill Shalvis, and Michelle Martin
Praise for the Novels of
DONNA KAUFFMAN
Dear Prince Charming
“Dear Prince Charming kept me up all night and left me satisfied in the morning. For pure fun served piping hot, get yourself a book by Donna Kauffman!”
—Vicki Lewis Thompson,
New York Times bestselling Reading with Ripa author
The Cinderella Rules
“Ms. Kauffman has written an action-packed, sexy, humorous, intricate story. . . . Smart, with sizzling romance and a captivating plot, it will make every woman want to follow The Cinderella Rules. Another winner for this talented author.”
—The Old Book Barn Gazette
“Kauffman, whose last funny and fractured feminist fairy tale, The Big Bad Wolf Tells All, chronicled a modern-day Little Red Riding Hood, here does the same for this Cinderella in chaps. Sure to be a hit with romance readers, this is recommended for public libraries of all sizes.” —Library Journal
The Big Bad Wolf Tells All
“Women everywhere will be taking Big Bad Wolf to bed with them. Donna Kauffman writes smart and sexy, with sizzle to spare . . . and no batteries required!” —Janet Evanovich
“Kauffman’s trademark humor captures the reader from the first page and keeps them engrossed with each twist and turn of the plot. For a story that will touch your heart, tickle your funny bone and leave you begging for more, I highly recommend The Big Bad Wolf Tells All.” —Romance Reviews Today
“Deftly spun . . . with a zippy style.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Entertaining . . . sure to find an audience with the beach-
reading crowd.” —Booklist
“Humor and suspense . . . Fans of Laura Zigman will enjoy this book.” —Library Journal
“This is one sheepish tale that stands out from the flock of chick-lit patter with a unique zest and fire all its own.”
—BookPage
The Charm Stone
“Give me more!”—Linda Howard
The Royal Hunter
“Kauffman . . . anchors her readers with sensuality, humor and compassion.” —Publishers Weekly
“Action-packed adventure, steamy sensuality, and a bewitching plot all come together in a surprising and dramatic ending.”
—Rendezvous
Your Wish Is My Command
“Whimsical and sexy!”—Jennifer Crusie
Legend of the Sorcerer
“Donna Kauffman has written a spellbinding romance that is so hot, it near sizzles when the pages are turned. . . . This is a really superb book to curl up with and get lost in.”
—New Age Bookshelf
“Donna Kauffman always knows how to set our hearts afire with passion and romance.” —Rendezvous
“Ms. Kauffman is an amazing talent.” —Affaire du Coeur
The Legend MacKinnon
“Intricately woven together . . . This one kept me spellbound. A terrific read.” —Rendezvous
“The Legend MacKinnon is a uniquely exciting, captivating and sensational read. . . . A marvelous new novel.”
—Romantic Times (4 1/2 stars, Top Pick)
“Sensuous love stories that will heat up the atmosphere wherever you are and some laughs to tickle your fancy. Excellent writing by an author who has mastered the craft of creating characters to die for.” —Belles and Beaux of Romance
Just couldn’t get enough?
Donna Kauffman’s
next exciting book
Sleeping
with Beauty
Coming soon
from Bantam Books
Sleeping
with Beauty
Coming Soon from Bantam Books
“How is it that Debbie Markham still manages to come across petite and blond on an e-mail loop?” Lucy straightened from her hunched position behind her friend’s shoulder. She didn’t want to read any more reunion posts.
“You’re just projecting,” Jana told her, stuffing the last of her Sun Chips in her mouth. “For all you know, she’s turned into a leather-skinned skank with overprocessed highlights, saggy tits, and a flabby ass.”
Lucy’s smile was decidedly unkind as she clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Do you think?” Then her shoulders drooped. “Nah. My karma would never be that good.” She sighed and balled up her sandwich wrapper. Instead of reading about the exaggerated exploits of a group of people she’d once loathed and no longer cared about, she should be using her time to put her classroom in order. “I’m so not an e-mail loop person.”
“Truer words,�
� Jana agreed, having been the first one to point that out a week earlier, when Lucy had signed up on a whim after receiving the invite. Thankfully she didn’t rub it in. But then, the look on her face precluded that necessity. “But you’re a first-class lurker, I’ll give you that. Most entertaining lunch breaks I’ve had in years. Beats the hell out of listening to that insufferable asshole Winston belch out his latest know-it-all opinions on the Redskins, the Wizards, the Capitals, the effect of the Cold War on American sports, the dawn of the solar system—”
“You’re just pissed because he got picked up for syndication.”
“Damn straight I am. His columns are pompous and arrogant, not to mention uninformed. And I don’t care if his father once played for the Senators. It’s not like he’s a fucking sports guru just because his dad had a three forty-one career batting average and came within one season of tying DiMaggio’s record.” She lobbed her wadded-up trash at the small wastebasket beside Lucy’s desk, sinking the shot as smoothly as if she’d been standing right over it instead of halfway across the classroom.
“Yeah,” Lucy said, “but can he sink a three-pointer with his fanny wedged in a second-grade desk? I think not.”
Jana sighed and tipped back in the chair. “True, so true.”
Smiling, Lucy went back to unpacking. One thing she loved about her best friend. Jana might be quick to boil—a much-hated redhead cliché that she nevertheless owned up to—but she simmered down just as fast. “I agree with you, if it makes any difference,” Lucy offered. “I like your columns. You’re not condescending, and you have the kind of style and energy in your writing that can make even a totally uncoordinated loser like me read the sports page. Well, a column of it anyway.” She glanced over her shoulder at Jana, who’d turned back to the computer terminal in the rear of the classroom. “Of course, you’re no Sally Jenkins, but—”
“I have deadly aim,” Jana reminded Lucy, never looking away from the screen as she casually clicked through posts. “And a whole box of Crayolas within easy reach.”
Lucy grinned and went back to stocking the tempera paint and brushes in the locking overhead cabinet, well away from the ever-questing fingers of her next batch of heathens. She’d given up on the honor system last year after coming back from a quick hallway consultation with the principal to find Billy Cantrell drinking Sunshine Yellow, straight up, no twist. Fellow classmate Doug “The Pusher” Blackwell had convinced him it would make him fly. Of course, Doug was her prime candidate for being the first student ever busted in Meadow Lane Elementary for selling a controlled substance. Billy would probably be his first customer.
“So, should we unsubscribe?” Jana’s finger hovered over the delete button.
“No!” Lucy almost dumped a whole carton of Sky Blue and Clifford Red in her efforts to get to Jana before she could act.
“Whoa, whoa,” Jana said, laughing. “What’s up with this? Did we not just agree that reestablishing any kind of umbilical relationship with these people is detrimental to our psychological health? Not to mention our hard-won self-esteem?”
Lucy skidded to a stop and vainly attempted to reclaim what was left of her dignity. “That’s no reason not to enjoy ourselves at their expense, right? I mean, they did that to us for years. What’s a few more weeks?”
Jana’s gaze narrowed. “You are not still considering actually going to the dance, are you?”
Lucy swallowed.
Jana swore beneath her breath. “Didn’t we take enough abuse from the hands of these people once before? Are we such gluttons for punishment that ten years later we want to give them another shot? Why would you even consider putting yourself in that position?”
“What, are you writing an article or something?” Lucy asked. As a defense, it was weak at best; but then, it was the only one she had at the moment, since she had no idea why she was considering this either. Well, she did, but she hadn’t admitted that to herself yet, much less Jana. “Class reunions are making the sports pages now, are they?”
Jana tapped a finger to her chin. “Hmm, maybe they should: Gearing Up for Your High School Reunion: A Full-Contact Psychological Sport, Not for the Timid.”
Lucy took the seat next to Jana. Which, considering her frame, was easier said than done. “So you’re saying I should have my head examined for even considering this? Maybe the whole point of going back is to prove we’ve progressed beyond allowing others to define ourselves.” There, that sounded much better. She almost believed it herself.
“I’m saying there is nothing wrong with enjoying mocking our pretentious, overzealous, label-conscious classmates in the sanctity of your empty classroom. With complete anonymity. Considering it’s like a million degrees outside, this is the best lunchtime sport going. But why ruin the fun by giving them a chance to reciprocate?” Jana clicked through the messages posted since their last lunch get-together several days before, skimming for something juicy they could pounce on. “You know, I thought we were on the same team here. Unified in our conviction to let the overbearing assholes inflict themselves on one another while we go out and do something less painful, like getting matching root canals. Why the sudden change of heart?” Then her fingers paused on the keys before quickly clicking back to the previous message. “What in the . . .” Jana pushed her glasses up and leaned closer to the screen.
Then she turned an accusing glare at Lucy, who suddenly pretended a great interest in the last dregs of her diet soda. Dammit, why hadn’t she just let Jana unsubscribe when she had the chance?
Redheads, as it happened, made the best glarers. They’d known each other over twenty years, and Lucy was still not immune.
She fidgeted, which was hard to do, wedged as she now was in the tiny desk/chair combo. “What?” she finally asked, feigning complete innocence even though she knew she was already busted. She set her empty can on the desk. Where was a good stiff belt of Sunshine Yellow when you needed it?
“Riley Prescott is what. And you damn well know it. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? My God, I’m surprised every other freaking post isn’t already about the golden boy coming home. Fatted calves are probably being slaughtered as we speak.”
“It’s been ten years. I’m pretty sure the golden-boy statute runs out somewhere by sophomore year of college.”
“Maybe for mere mortals.”
“My wanting to go has nothing to do with Riley Prescott. Not specifically anyway.”
“Ah-hah!”
“Don’t ah-hah me.” She fished the rolled-up magazine from her shoulder bag and smoothed it open. “If blame must be placed, focus your derision and scorn here.”
Jana adjusted her glasses and picked up the magazine, folding it back. She read silently. Well, mostly silently. There was the occasional snort, punctuated by the occasional eye roll and sigh of disgust. Finally she dropped it back on the computer station like a piece of contaminated sewage, then lowered her glasses and looked at Lucy over the wire rims. Another thing redheads were good at. “So, you’re honestly considering going to Beauty Queen Boot Camp? Have you completely lost your mind?”
Lucy snatched the magazine back and stuffed it in her purse. “I knew you’d be judgmental.”
Jana just laughed. “Oh yeah. And with good reason. Ten years of maintaining absolute distance from your past, a decade of proving to yourself that you’re everything they claimed you’d never be.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Successful. Happy.”
“Alone.” She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it had just popped out.
Jana goggled. “And?” She waved Lucy silent. “First off, you’re single. Hardly alone. And hardly a curse, I might add.”
“Says the happily married woman who found someone who adores her.” Lucy’s tone turned dust dry. “Frizzy hair, obnoxious attitude, and all.”
“Yeah. A guy who gets hit in the head with flying pucks for a living. Obviously he’s an anomaly of the species.” But she had that smile. That smile she always got when the s
ubject of Dave came up. Jana might be all harsh talk and frizzy edges, but mention her husband, and something in her softened in a way Lucy had never seen before.
Was it so wrong that she envied her best friend at that telltale softening moment?
“But being single has nothing to do with this,” Lucy said, determined to get control of this conversation. She just wished she’d thought out her defense a little better before revealing her decision. “I’m not going to the reunion to meet men.”
“Maybe not men, plural. But are you telling me that finding out Prescott is single and RSVP’d for one didn’t set this whole thing in motion?” She waved her nail-bitten hand in Lucy’s face. “Hello? I was at that homecoming dance, remember? And I was also by your side for the remainder of that year, listening to you moon and moan over that asshole.”
“He’s not—”
Jana flipped her hand up. “Unh- unh. Not a word.”
“Fine,” Lucy said with a huff. “But he’s not the reason. I was already considering going to Glass Slipper before I found out Riley was coming back.” She studied her own short, chipped nails. “But you’re right. Reading that post did cement the decision.” She looked up at Jana, serious now. “Is it really so awful that I want to get back some of what they took from me?”
Jana sighed now, and reached for Lucy’s hands, folding them in her strong-fingered grip. “Oh, sweetie. How can you let them matter to you again? It’s been ten years.” She squeezed Lucy’s hands. “You’re a fabulous person. And the very last group of people you need to validate that fact is those idiots. You do this and it’s all but shouting at them that they’ve won.”
“I don’t remember anyone declaring war. The battle ended the day we picked up our diplomas.”
“And yet you’re sending our troops right back in there.” She shook her head. “Enough with the combat metaphors, no matter how appropriate. It’s just that to me, it feels like you’re selling out.”
Lucy tugged her hands free. “I don’t want to argue about this, okay? If any two people have hashed and rehashed why appearances aren’t everything, it’s you and me. And it’s not like I’m the walking wounded, ten years later.” Her gaze flickered to the computer screen, then back to Jana’s raised eyebrows. “Okay, yes, reading these posts did dredge up a few unpleasant emotions that I thought were long since gone. I’m not proud that I let them get to me.” She fingered the corners of the magazine. “But I can’t deny that when I saw the cover story about their two-week intensive makeover program I wasn’t at least a little tempted. It’s like beating them at their own game. You know, Julia Roberts rubbing it in the face of those snotty bitches in Pretty Woman. Everyone cheered her, everyone got that moment of triumph.”
Dear Prince Charming Page 33
