Cinderella’s Wedding Wish

It couldn’t be easy having one sister as spectacularly pretty as Octavia, let alone two, Rafe reflected. Still, it was a shame she didn’t make more of herself. With a little effort, she could be lovely. You had to look twice to notice the luminous skin, to realise that the cool, quiet features were full of character, to see the intelligence shining in those steady eyes that seemed to waver between brown and green.

And that wasn’t all. Rafe thought about the curl of her mouth as she smiled, about the way the ruthlessly confined hair gleamed with warmth in the sun.

‘Why don’t you let your hair down?’ he demanded abruptly.

‘You mean, why don’t I have some fun?’ said Miranda with an edge of bitterness. ‘My sisters say that, too.’

‘Actually, I meant literally,’ said Rafe, ‘but why not?’

‘Literally, because it’s more practical to have it tied back. Look what a mess it would be in now if it was hanging all over my face,’ she pointed out. ‘An open-topped sports car isn’t the place to start experimenting with a new style, is it?’

‘And not literally?’

She sighed. ‘The only thing my family knew how to do was have fun,’ she said. ‘Look where fun has got me!’

There was a story there, thought Rafe, with a sidelong glance at her unguarded expression, but perhaps now was not the time to probe.

‘Driving out of town on a sunny Monday morning?’ he suggested.

Miranda acknowledged the point with a tiny huff of laughter. ‘My Monday mornings aren’t usually like this!’

‘Mine either,’ he agreed, ‘so we might as well make the most of it. Let’s get out of London, and then find somewhere to have that coffee. If Ginny found out I’d made you do without, I’d never hear the end of it!’

They were going against the traffic, so once they hit the motorway they made rapid progress. Rafe was a good driver, fast but not reckless, and his reactions were very quick. Conversation was difficult with the top down, but the further London fell behind them, the more Miranda’s spirits rose.

It was a beautiful day, and she watched the countryside with pleasure as they sped by, but she was acutely conscious of Rafe beside her, long hands very steady on the steering wheel, dark hair ruffled by the wind, his thigh close enough to touch.

If things were different, she would be able to reach over and lay her hand on it, to feel how lean and warm and strong he was. If she were another girl, she would know how to touch him. If he were another man, he would smile and cover her hand possessively with his own.

If he were a man who loved her.

If he were a man she could love.

But he wasn’t. He was Rafe Knighton, and he was the last man on earth she wanted to touch.

So why was her hand prickling and tingling with the mere thought of resting on his thigh? Uneasily, Miranda folded it against the other on her lap to keep it in place, and stared out at the landscape, but, instead of fields, Rafe’s image danced maddeningly in front of her eyes, with that gleaming, heart-shaking smile and all the easy assurance of wealth and good looks.

Don’t be an idiot, Miranda told herself firmly. Really, what was Rafe Knighton other than a walking, talking cliche? Tall, dark, handsome, impossibly rich…and vain and superficial and irresponsible and everything she despised.

No man like that was going to throw her into a tizzy, no matter how nice his smile.

Still, it was a relief when they stopped for coffee and she could get out of the car and put a bit more space between them.

They found a pub not far from the motorway, and sat at a table outside. A fat Labrador waddled out to keep them company in the sunshine. Miranda’s face softened as he thrust his nose into her lap and wagged his tail.

‘Hello, boy,’ she said, fondling his ears, and Rafe was shocked to find himself thinking, for one ridiculous moment, Lucky dog.

‘I love dogs,’ she told him, looking up with a smile that made him wonder how he could ever have thought her colourless. ‘I used to beg my parents for one, but they always said it would be too much trouble.’

‘You’ll get on well with my grandmother, then. She’s got hordes of them! I prefer cats myself,’ said Rafe, watching the way the dog was shedding hairs all over Miranda’s skirt.

‘Now, why does that not surprise me?’ Miranda’s voice was very dry. Cats spent their days pleasing themselves or grooming themselves. Easy to see why Rafe would identify with them!

‘You’ve got to admit cats have style,’ he said provocatively. It was interesting that she preferred dogs, he thought. She was so neat and self-contained so much of the time that he wouldn’t have expected the noisy chaos that so often accompanied dogs to appeal to her. But she didn’t seem at all bothered by the mess on her skirt.

‘But dogs are so loyal and so reliable and so friendly,’ Miranda was unable to resist arguing. ‘Aren’t you?’ she added to the dog, who was panting happily back at her, wagging not just its tail but its entire back end.

As if to prove her point, it pulled its head out of her lap and went round to say hello to Rafe instead.

‘Yes, yes, good dog,’ he said, resigned, and gave it a pat.

It responded by resting its head adoringly on Rafe’s knee and redoubling the wags.

‘Come away now, Archie,’ said the landlord sharply as he came out with their coffee on a tray. He put it down on the table, and pushed the dog away. ‘Sorry, he loves people. Has he been bothering you?’

‘Of course not. He’s lovely,’ Miranda assured him, but the landlord shooed the dog away anyway and left them to their coffee.

Turning back to Rafe, she saw him looking down at his trousers, where Archie had adoringly left a trail of slobber.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she said before he had a chance to launch into a diatribe against the messiness of dogs. ‘It’s just a bit of slobber! There’s no need to make a fuss. Here.’ She found a tissue in her bag and without thinking leant over to wipe his leg.

The breath hissed out of Rafe.

Miranda froze at the sound, then drew back, scarlet with mortification. What was she doing? This was her boss. Knowing that it would be deeply inappropriate to touch him in any way, she had spent what felt like hours resisting the unprecedented temptation to lay her hand on his thigh in the car, and what did she do? Practically grab him and rub him down as if he were a child!

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

Rafe didn’t even hear her. ‘It was you!’ he said, staring.

‘What?’ Miranda looked at him uneasily.

Something about the way she tutted, something about the briskness with which she had leant over to wipe his trousers had switched on a light bulb of recognition in Rafe’s brain. He remembered the waitress in the absurd cat suit brushing him down, the same way Miranda had brushed the traces of the dog from his trousers.

Exactly the same way.

Now he knew why the waitress had seemed vaguely familiar.

‘You’re that waitress who threw canapes all over me,’ he said.

‘It was an accident-’ Miranda began in instinctive defence, and then stopped, furious with herself. Too late now to bluff it out and pretend that she didn’t know what he was talking about!

‘How did you recognise me?’ she asked dully, looking away.

‘Nobody mops up stains the way you do,’ said Rafe, amusement quivering in his voice. Now that it was clear, he marvelled that he hadn’t made the connection earlier. No one else walked with that straight-backed grace, did they? He should have recognised the proud tilt of her chin at least, the exasperated click of her tongue, the ironic curve of her mouth.

‘I can’t believe I didn’t recognise you sooner,’ he said. ‘But you had your hair down, and you were wearing that mask…’

He trailed off, remembering what else she had been wearing that night, and he was dismayed to realise how vividly he could picture her in that tight-fitting cat suit. Who would have guessed that such a spectacular figure was hidden beneath the ill-fitting suits she wore?

In spite of himself, his eyes dropped to her legs. Encased in the cat suit, they had been long and slender. The dull grey skirt she wore now cut her off at the knee, but there was no mistaking those calves, those ankles. It was