Cinderella For A Night

even for the privilege of being husband number four.”

Full lips pouted. “I don’t want to get married, either. I’ve learned my lesson.” She paused to smile coyly. “At least until my money runs out. But that’s far in the future. Frederick is going to be very generous. He had some very interesting…needs and he doesn’t want me talking about them.”

“You’re blackmailing him.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m advising him that I can be persuaded to keep quiet, but only under the right circumstances.” She waved a manicured hand. “But that’s not why I’m here.” She gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows. “It’s almost winter. I thought we might discuss the possibility of keeping each other warm.”

“A temporary liaison?”

“Exactly.” She slid close. “You know how good we are together.”

He couldn’t dispute her comment. He and Martha Jean had been lovers on and off for several years. She knew more ways to keep a man happy in bed than any other woman he’d met. When she was between husbands, he found her a convenient diversion. She was beautiful, undemanding and knew how to behave in business and social situations. Best of all, she didn’t pressure him for a commitment.

Talk about a perfect situation. He’d been celibate for far too long and there weren’t any other likely candidates around. Jonathan preferred women who understood he wasn’t interested in permanent anything. His recent attraction to the very innocent and inappropriate Cynthia Morgan warned him that he needed to do something to take care of his needs. Martha Jean was his answer.

Except…he couldn’t seem to get excited about the thought of being with her. Even conjuring up memories of all the things they’d done in bed didn’t help. When he looked into her perfect face, he saw a different pair of green eyes, ones that were more hazel. Instead of gleaming raven curls, he saw a blond braid.

Hell, she was haunting him. No woman haunted him. He didn’t believe in it. “Why don’t we meet to discuss terms,” he said. “I can’t do anything next weekend. I’ll have to deal with my brother’s funeral. Does the following Saturday work for you?”

Catlike eyes regarded him thoughtfully. “I’d hoped it could be sooner, but I suppose I can wait.” She pressed her full, red lips together. “I heard about your brother, Jonathan. It’s very sad, although you weren’t close, so you can’t be all that broken up about it.”

She leaned forward, kissed him and rose to her feet. “I’ll be in touch to work out the details.”

He watched her leave. Nothing about her presence had aroused him. Which was unfortunate. He needed a distraction and Martha Jean was the safest one he knew. Her casual attitude about David’s death matched his feelings on the subject but he couldn’t help contrasting her pragmatic dismissal to Cynthia’s heartfelt sympathy and pain.

She was a child, he told himself. All of twenty-six, with no experience in the world. He couldn’t possibly be interested in her. There were too many years and miles between them. What would there be to talk about?

Yet it was her face, not Martha Jean’s, that filled his mind when he tried to work, and her voice that kept drifting through his head. He vowed he would get his secretary right to work on finding a permanent nanny. Someone who would not be the least bit intriguing to him. Someone completely unlike Cynthia. In the meantime, he would simply avoid temptation by keeping as far away from her as possible.

Several days later Jonathan arrived home late. His first meeting of the day had been a working breakfast and the last had been a working dinner, with people in and out of his office all day long. Now, as he walked through the quiet house, he wondered how long he was going to have to stay away from his own home.

His plan wasn’t turning out the way he’d thought. Even though he didn’t see Cynthia, he still thought about her. If he didn’t know it was physically impossible, he would swear that he could smell her light perfume drifting through the house.

Grumbling to himself, he made his way down the hall, stopping when he saw a light in the study. He crossed to the room and glanced inside.

Cynthia sat curled up in one of the leather chairs. A book lay open on her lap and she seemed genuinely caught up in the story. Jonathan took advantage of the moment to study her. She wore a sweatshirt over jeans, and white socks but no shoes. Her hair had started the day in a fancy braid, but now most of it had come loose and fluttered around her face. A faint frown pulled her eyebrows together and she nibbled on her bottom lip as she read.

Compared to Martha Jean, Cynthia was about as elegant as a milkmaid. Yet just looking at her was enough to get his blood pumping both hotter and faster. He wanted to step into the room and pull her into his arms. He wanted to bury himself inside of her until they were both slick with sweat and lost in passion. Worse, he wanted to talk with her. He wanted to hear about her day and tell her about his. He wanted to see what she thought of his latest deal. He didn’t know her well enough to guess her opinions on most matters and the thought of finding that out tempted him.

It wasn’t her, he told himself. It was because there was a woman waiting for him. He wasn’t used to that. Lucinda had her own house and he didn’t as a rule invite women to stay. So he usually came home to emptiness and silence.

“You’re up late,” he said.

Cynthia started, then looked up at him and smiled. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She closed the book. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Busy.” He crossed to the leather sofa opposite her chair and sat.

The study had always been one of his favorite rooms in the house. It was also one of the few he hadn’t renovated after his father’s death. Bookshelves still lined three walls, their contents carefully catalogued on his computer. The desk opposite the fireplace was nearly two hundred years old and had been brought to Grand Springs by train nearly a century before. As a child he’d spent countless happy hours curled up in one of the leather chairs in this room, reading. Books had always allowed him to escape to a happier place than his home.

“I had a business dinner,” he told her, not sure why he felt he had to explain where he’d been.

“Lucinda mentioned that.” Cynthia pressed her fingertips against the top of the book. She drew in a deep breath and met his gaze. “I appreciate that you’re very busy. Between your work and dealing with your brother’s death, you haven’t had a lot of spare time. But you’ve been gone since Friday. You get home late and leave early. You can’t keep doing this. Colton needs you.”

Until she’d mentioned the baby, he’d practically forgotten he existed. “Colton is a baby. What he needs is a nanny.”

“He needs a father. Or at least an uncle who will become a father in time.”

That was not information he needed to hear. “I’m not his father. Nor do I know how to fulfill the role.” His own father had done a poor job raising him. Jonathan didn’t want the past repeating itself. Even more, he didn’t want to become involved with a child. Not this one or any one.

“You’ll learn together,” Cynthia said confidently. “It’s just a matter of practice and love. But how are you going to get to know him enough to even like him, let alone love him, if you don’t spend time with him?”

Love? “I don’t want to love him,” he said curtly. “What’s the point?”

He thought she would get angry at his blunt statement, or contradict him. Women seemed to live to believe in love. In his mind, it was all a waste of time. But Cynthia surprised him. Instead of being upset, she simply set her book on the end table next to her and slid forward in her chair.

“Jonathan, I know thinking about David being gone is painful, but you have to push your grief aside enough to deal with your nephew. Right now it seems that there is no point in loving anyone. After all, once you love them they go away, right? You lost your mother when you were very young. Your father died a few years ago and now David is gone. But you still have Colton and if you let yourself get close to him, you’ll find that you can help each other to heal.”