Fairy Tale Weddings (3 page)

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

“Not at all,” she said.

“My mother sent you, didn't she?” Thorne breathed a sigh of relief; he had it all figured out. His mother had been trying to match him up for years. She must have searched extra-hard to find someone as perfect as Cindy.

“Your mother? No.”

The honesty in her eyes couldn't be doubted. But even if his mother
had
put Cindy up to this, he felt an instant, overwhelming attraction.

Bemused, Thorne followed her through the long line that had formed at the buffet tables, heaping his plate with a wide variety of the offerings.

“What? No pastrami?” Cindy teased after they'd found a table in the crowded room.

Thorne paused, his napkin only half unfolded. “I had a pastrami sandwich for lunch. You couldn't have known that, could you?”

“No. It was an educated guess.” Cindy focused her attention on buttering her dinner roll.

“An educated guess? Such as my not liking tuna?”

“No.” Deliberately she took a bite of her seafood salad.

Thorne waited patiently until she'd finished chewing. “But you know me?”

“A little.” Not nearly as well as she wanted to.

“How?”

“I
do
work at Oakes-Jenning,” she said and pointed to the huge green olives he'd removed from the top of the dainty sandwiches. “Are you going to eat those?”

“The green olives? Good grief, no.”

“Can I have them?”

Without ceremony, Thorne placed three of them on her plate, then fastidiously wiped his hands on the linen napkin.

Cindy eagerly picked up an olive and held it between her lips, luxuriously sucking out the pimento, then popping the entire thing in her mouth. She paused to lick the tips of her fingers. Thorne's scowl stopped her when she reached for another. The lines at the side of his mouth had deepened, and she noted the vein pulsing in his temple. Alarm filled her. Her worst fear had been realized: unwittingly, she'd committed some terrible faux pas.

“What did I do wrong?” she whispered. She clutched the napkin in her lap.

For a long moment, their eyes locked. Thorne had been mesmerized, watching her eat the olive. Such a small, simple pleasure, but she'd made it appear highly sensuous. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her—or off the tempting shape of her mouth. Again he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Her eyes, her mouth, the curve of her cheek. Everything about her intrigued him. For years women had used their bodies and their wits to entice him. But no woman had ever had the effect on him that this one did with the simple act of eating an olive.

“What did you do wrong?” Thorne repeated, shaking his head to clear his befuddled thoughts. “What makes you think you did anything wrong?”

“You were looking at me…oddly.”

He smiled. “Then I apologize.”

Cindy picked up the second olive. Thorne's eyes widened and he groaned inwardly, setting his fork beside his plate.

The music started again long before they'd finished their meal and Cindy tapped her toe to the beat. Christmas was her favorite time of year, and the orchestra seemed to be playing all the carols she loved best.

“Would you like to dance again?” Thorne asked.

Cindy nodded. She couldn't refuse the opportunity to be in her prince's arms. This was her night, a night for enchantment, and she wanted to remember and relive every moment of it for the rest of her life. Tomorrow she'd go back to being plain Cindy Territo, the girl who cleaned his office. But tonight…tonight she was the alluring woman he held in his arms.

By unspoken agreement they stood together and walked to the center of the dance floor. Thorne brought Cindy into his arms, holding her close, savoring the way she felt, inhaling her fresh, delicate scent, reveling in the warmth of her nearness. He felt as if he were a hundred years old in ways she knew nothing about and, conversely, that he'd just turned twenty-one. She did this to him and he didn't have an inkling why.

Thorne's arms tightened around her, anchoring her against him. His hands clasped her waist and he laid his cheek next to hers and closed his eyes. To think that only a few hours earlier he'd contemplated sneaking away from
this party. Now he dreaded the time it would end, praying that each minute would stretch out forever…

Cindy pressed her cheek to his and prayed she'd always remember every minute of this night. She planned to store each detail in her heart. She couldn't possibly hope to explain it to anyone; this magical, mystical night was hers and hers alone. She would have a lifetime to treasure these precious hours and relive them over and over.

Even when the music grew lively, Thorne held her as if it were the slowest dance of the night. He wanted to kiss her so badly he was forced to inhale deep breaths to restrain his desire. Thorndike Prince did not make a spectacle of himself on the dance floor for any reason. However he soon discovered that the temptation was too strong. Her nearness was more than any man could resist and he turned his head ever so slightly and ran his mouth along her ear.

Cindy sighed with pleasure and moved her hands to the back of Thorne's neck, drawing her fingers through his thick dark hair. When his lips sought the hollow of her throat, she groaned.

Unexpectedly Thorne dropped his arms and reached for her hand. “Let's get out of here,” he said in a voice that sounded unlike his own.

He led her off the ballroom floor as though he couldn't leave fast enough. “Did you bring a coat?”

“A shawl.”

Irritably he held out his hand. “Give me your ticket.”

Her fingers shook as she opened the beaded clutch and retrieved the small tab. “Where…where are we going?”

He sounded almost angry, certainly impatient. “Anywhere but here,” he mumbled.

He left her then and Cindy stood alone, pondering the strangeness of his actions. She wanted to ask him more, longed to know why he'd insisted on leaving so abruptly. But when he returned she said nothing, following him silently as he escorted her out of the ballroom and into the hallway, where the elevators were.

A male voice called out to them. “Thorne, you're not going, are you?”

Cindy turned around, but Thorne applied pressure to her back, directing her forward.

“That man was talking to you.”

“I have no desire to talk to anyone,” he said stiffly, guiding her into the crowded elevator. They stepped off at the ground floor and Thorne took her to the entrance of the hotel.

The doorman came forward. “Taxi, sir?”

Thorne glanced at Cindy. “No, thanks.” He grabbed her hand and they hurried across the busy street to the paved pathway that led to the interior of Central Park.

“Thorne,” Cindy whispered. “Why are you so angry?”

“Angry?” He paused in front of the large fish pond.

The moon beamed silvery rays all around them, and Cindy could see that his face was intent, his mouth bracketed with harsh lines. His gray eyes were narrowed and hard, yet when they rested on her she saw them soften.

“I'm not angry,” he said at last, his breathing labored. “I'm…” He rammed his hands into his pockets. “You're right, I am angry, but not at you.”

“Then who?”

He shook his head and his eyes grew warm as he studied
her upturned face. Almost as if he were in a trance, Thorne pulled one hand from his pocket and cupped her chin, staring at her with a thoroughness that brought a rush of color to her cheeks. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered with a reverence that made his voice tremble.

Cindy lowered her eyes.

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly. “It's true,” he continued. “I've never known anyone as lovely.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

Thorne expelled his breath, and his words were an odd mixture of anger and wonder. “For the most selfish of reasons. I wanted to kiss you.”

Cindy's questioning gaze sought his. “Then why haven't you? Cinderella's waiting.”

He smiled then. “You're taking this prince stuff seriously, aren't you?”

“Very.”

He slid his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes pensive. “I've never experienced anything like this.”

“Me neither.” It was important that he know these feelings were as much a shock to her. Despite her fantasy, despite her hopes, she hadn't expected this to happen, hadn't believed it ever would. When she'd first seen him, her disappointment had been acute. But all of that had changed the moment he'd come to her and asked her to dance. From that time forward he'd been magically transformed into the prince who'd dominated her dreams for weeks. He was everything she'd imagined and a thousand things more.

“I haven't any right,” he said, but his mouth inched toward hers as though he wanted her to stop him.

She couldn't—not when she longed for his kiss the way
she did; not when every part of her was crying out for the taste of his mouth on hers.

The ragged beat of his heart echoed her own as Cindy flattened her hands against his chest and slowly, deliberately, tilted her face to receive his kiss. They were so close their breath mingled. Cindy stood on tiptoe as Thorne gently lowered his lips to hers. His mouth was firm and so tender that Cindy felt a tear form at the corner of her eye. Their mouths clung, and Cindy's hands crept up to rest on his shoulders.

“So sweet, so very sweet,” Thorne groaned and buried his face in the slope of her neck. “I knew it would be like this. I knew it would be this sweet.” His breathing was uneven.

Cindy felt shocked into speechlessness. Her whole body went numb, tingling with wonder. As difficult as it was, she resisted the urge to raise her fingers to her lips. Thorne looked equally shaken. They broke apart and Cindy teetered for a moment until she found her balance.

Their eyes met for a timeless second. When Thorne reached for her, Cindy walked willingly into his arms. Then his mouth was on hers, twisting, turning, tasting, testing as if he had to reexperience these sensations. As if he hadn't believed they could be real.

When he released her, Cindy was weak and trembling. She looked up at Thorne and saw that he was unnaturally pale.

Thorne took a step back and removed his heavy coat. Gently, he draped it over her shoulders, his hands lingering there. “You're cold,” he whispered.

“No,” she murmured, shaking her head. “It's not the cold. It's you—you make me tremble.”

“Feel what you do to me.” He took her hand and placed it over his pounding heart. A frown drove his dark brows together. “I'm no inexperienced schoolboy. What's happening to me—to us?”

Cindy smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Magic, I think.”

“Black magic?” He regarded her suspiciously, but his eyes were smiling.

“No, this is the very best kind.”

He agreed. Nothing that felt this good could be wrong. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and led her to one of the many benches that faced the pond.

Silently they sat together, neither speaking, neither needing words. Thorne continued to hold her, simply because letting her go was unthinkable. His mind spun with a hundred questions. He prayed she was a secretary so he could make her
his
secretary. He didn't care what strings he had to pull; he wanted her working with him. Ms. Hillard was planning to retire, and the thought of greeting each day with Cindy was enough to—He
was
going crazy. The cardinal rule in any office was never to become romantically involved with a colleague or an employee.

He must have given her a startled look because Cindy's eyes softened with such compassion that Throne could barely breathe.

“It's all right,” she whispered.

“But…”

“No,” she said and brought her fingers to his lips, silencing him.

He frowned at her. Could she read his thoughts? Was she clairvoyant? She couldn't possibly have known what
he'd been thinking, yet she showed him in a glance that she understood.

“You don't need to tell me,” Cindy said after a long moment. “I already know about Sheila.”

“S
heila.” The name seared his mind. He was practically engaged to Sheila, and here he was sitting beside Cindy, madly plotting to keep her in his life. He thrust his face toward her, his mouth gaping as one thought stumbled over another. He had to explain—only he wasn't sure how to unscramble his own feelings, let alone reassure
her
. It was as though Sheila meant nothing to him. Nothing. Yet a few days before, he'd contemplated giving her an engagement ring for Christmas. He'd actually been entertaining the idea of marriage and starting a family.

His confusion must have been visible in his eyes, because Cindy smiled with such sweetness that the panic gripping him was instantly quelled.

He looked so astonished that Cindy placed her index finger on his lips. “Shh. You don't need to tell me anything. I understand.”

If she did he wished she'd explain it to him. Thorne felt like a scheming hypocrite. He was nearly engaged to one
woman and so attracted to another he could hardly take his eyes off her. Even now that she'd brought Sheila's name between them, he couldn't force himself to leave. He knew he should stand up and walk away. He should escape before whatever was happening on this enchanted evening could affect him. His gut reaction was that Cindy's imprint on him could well be indelible. It was crazy, the things he was thinking. Insane to want her working with him. Absurd to seriously consider getting involved with an employee. His mother would be horrified, his father amused. They'd been after him for years to settle down, but they'd made it abundantly clear that they expected him to marry the “right type” of woman.

“You're angry again,” Cindy said, studying the dark emotion that crossed his face.

“Not angry,” he told her. “Confused.”

“Don't be.”

He took her hand in his, weaving their fingers together. She had beautiful hands. Each finger was narrow and tapered, and intuitively Thorne felt the comfort she would be capable of granting with a mere touch. The nails were a reasonable length, neither too long nor too short. He supposed she had to keep them like that in order to type properly.

“Who are you?” he asked, surprised that even her fingers could entice him.

Cindy felt the magic slowly dissipating. “I…I already told you.”

“Cinderella?”

“Yes.”

“And I'm your prince?”

“Yes.” She nodded vigorously. “I've dreamed of you so
often, and then I met you, and I knew you were everything my fantasies had promised.”

He made her gaze meet his by slipping his index finger beneath her chin. Studying her intense blue eyes was like looking into the crystal-clear water of a mountain lake. She was incapable of deception. Completely innocent. She was everything he'd ever hoped to find in a woman—yet had never believed he would. She was unexpected sunshine and warmth on a winter day. Laughter and excitement. Love when he least expected it and was least prepared to deal with it. “You said I disappointed you.”

“That was before. Now I know who you really are.”

“Oh, Cindy.” He couldn't stop himself. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight. She tasted exquisite, and her lips promised him paradise. “Cindy,” he whispered against her mouth. Never had a name been lovelier. He kissed her again.

Cindy leaned into him, afraid she'd wake up any minute and discover this had all been a dream.

Thorne heaved a sigh that came from deep inside him and held her so close his arms ached.

“Thorne…”

“I'm hurting you?” He relaxed the pressure instantly and ran his hands down her back and up again to rest on the curve of her shoulders. His thumb stroked the pulse that was rapidly pounding near the hollow of her throat. Reluctantly he eased her away from him. “Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything.”

Cindy dropped her gaze and laughed lightly to hide her uneasiness. She couldn't tell him anything. “There isn't much….”

She rested her hands on the sides of his face and slowly
stroked his jaw. “I see so much pride in you. Stubborn pride,” she said. “And determination. Were you always like this?”

Thorne smiled in response. “Always, I think. My mother claims that when I was fourteen months old, I threw my bottle against the wall and refused to drink out of anything but a cup from then on. When other children were riding tricycles, I wanted a two-wheeler. I was reading by age five and not because I was gifted. My older sisters read, and I was hell-bent to do anything they could.”

“Whereas I refused to give up my blankie until I was six,” Cindy admitted sheepishly. It had been her only comfort after her mother had died, and she'd clung to it feverishly, initially refusing to accept the love her aunt and uncle had offered.

“You must have been a beautiful little girl.”

“I had buckteeth and freckles.”

“I wore braces and corrective shoes.”

Cindy laughed. “You were always athletic, though, weren't you?”

Thorne's eyes clouded momentarily. “Yes.”

“Something happened.” Cindy could see it—a flash of memory that came so briefly another person might have missed it.

His heart hammered relentlessly. He hadn't thought about the accident in years. He'd only been a child. Ten years old.

Cindy saw the pain in his eyes and although she didn't understand it, she knew she had to comfort him. She lifted her hand and touched his face. “Tell me,” she whispered in a low, coaxing tone. “Tell me what happened.”

Sensation raced through Thorne. He caught her hand,
raised it to his mouth and kissed her palm. “I fell off my horse. I thought I was dead, then I realized that death couldn't hurt that much. I was barely conscious. Every breath I took was like inhaling fire.”

Cindy bit her lip. The thought of Thorne in pain, even pain he'd suffered years before, was intolerable. “Broken ribs?”

“Six, and a bruised kidney.”

Her fingers tightened over his. He was remembering more than the physical pain—something far deeper, far more intense. “What else happened?”

He gave her a long, hard look. “I already told you. I fell off the horse.”

“No. Afterward.”

“Afterward,” he repeated. He remembered lying in bed in his darkened room hours later. The pain hadn't lessened. If anything, it had grown so much worse he wished he had died just so he wouldn't have to bear the agony any longer. One eye had been so severely bruised it had swollen shut. The side of his face was badly scraped, and the ache in his jaw wouldn't go away. Two days later, the doctor discovered that it, too, had been broken in the fall.

When Thorne was a child, his father was away much of the time, traveling for business, but he'd come to see his son the afternoon of the accident. Thorne had looked up at him, grateful he was there. Tears had welled in Thorne's eyes, but instead of offering comfort, his father had spoken of what it meant to be a man and how a true man never revealed his emotions and certainly never cried.

“Thorne?” Cindy prompted.

“My father forced me out of bed and back into the saddle.” He'd never told anyone about that incident. It made his father sound heartless and cruel. Thorndike Sr.
was neither—only proud and stubborn like his son. And a man whose beliefs had been formed by an uncompromising father of his own. Thorne paused, his eyes narrowed. “Why am I telling you this?”

“You needed to,” she answered simply.

Thorne felt startled. She was right. He
had
needed to tell someone about it, but he hadn't recognized that himself. Until tonight with Cindy.

“Let's walk,” he said, getting to his feet.

Cindy joined him and he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “This really is an enchanted evening, isn't it?”

“Magical,” she returned, her eyes smiling softly into his.

They strolled along the walkway around the pond. Thorne felt like singing, which of course was ridiculous. He didn't sing. Ever. Not even in the shower. “Do you have any deep, dark secrets?”

“Plenty,” she answered, swallowing a laugh.

“Tell me just one so I won't feel like such a fool.”

“Okay.” She felt an overwhelming urge to throw back her head and laugh. “No one knows this.”

“Good.”

She hesitated. “You'll probably find this silly….”

“I won't laugh,” he promised.

She regarded him steadily, unsure she could trust him. “I still have my blankie.”

“Do you sleep with it?”

“Of course not!” She was a little offended when she realized he was amused by her admission. She bit back an annoyed response. He'd shared something profound with her, while her threadbare blankie was a minor thing. “It's hidden in a bottom drawer.”

His eyes sparkled.

“Thorndike Prince, you're laughing at me!”

“I swear I'm not.” He gave her a look of innocence. “Tell me something else.”

“No way,” she vowed, a chuckle punctuating her words.

Thorne slung his arm over her shoulder. He lifted his eyes to the clear night sky. Stars filled the heavens, glimmering, glinting, glistening above the skyscrapers. “It's a beautiful night.”

Cindy's gaze followed his. “Shall we make a wish?”

He turned to face her. “A wish?”

“Upon a star.” She moved to stand directly in front of him. “You haven't done this in a long time, have you?”

“No.” He'd seldom played childish games. In some ways, Thorne had never been allowed to be a boy. Responsibilities had come to him early; he was the only son, and great things were expected of him.

“Then do it now,” she urged, throwing back her head to stare up at the heavens. She picked the brightest star, closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that this night would never end. “Okay,” she whispered. “It's your turn.”

He looked at her blankly. “You're sure you want me to do this?”

“Yes,” she said.

Like Cindy, he raised his head and studied the heavens. “You don't honestly believe in this, do you?”

“You're asking Cinderella something like that? Of course, I believe. It's required of every princess in a fairy tale.”

“What should I ask for?”

It took Cindy a moment to realize that whatever Thorne wanted in life he purchased without a second
thought. He probably had every material possession he could possibly desire.

“Ask for something you never expected to receive,” she told him softly.

Thorne looked at Cindy. He'd never expected to meet anyone like her. Someone so pure and good, so honest and forthright. A woman who stirred his mind as well as his heart. A woman of insight and laughter. He felt like a teenager, yearning to find a way to please her—to thank her for giving him this priceless gift of joy.

She felt as though his eyes were melting her soul. He was looking at her as she'd always imagined the great heroes of literature viewed the loves of their lives. The way Heathcliff regarded Catherine or Mr. Rochester saw Jane Eyre. The bored, cynical look that tightened his features when she'd first arrived at the party had been replaced with one of tenderness.

“Close your eyes,” she told him when she found her voice. “You have to close your eyes to make your wish come true.”

Reluctantly he did. But he didn't need any stars or wishes to be granted his one request. Without his even asking, it had already come true: everything he'd ever wanted was standing a few inches away from him. And if he doubted, all he had to do was reach out and touch her. Cindy was his, and he'd found her just in time. To think that only a few hours before, he'd dreaded attending this party. Now he'd thank God every day of his life that he'd been there to meet Cindy.

“Have you finished?” she whispered.

Slowly Thorne opened his eyes. “Are you going to tell me your wish?” he asked, bringing her against his side. He had to keep touching her to believe she was real.

“I might as well,” she said softly. “There's no possibility it'll ever come true.”

“Don't be so sure. I thought we agreed this night is filled with magic.”

“It
couldn't
come true.” Her footsteps matched his as they continued strolling. “I asked that this night never end.”

“Ah.” Thorne nodded. “But in some ways it never will.”

“How's that?” Cindy turned her head to study his expression. When she'd first conceived of this plan, she'd counted on the magic of the night to work for her. Now that she saw how much Thorne had been affected by her schemes, she marveled at the power of a wish.

“This night
will
last forever,” Thorne said thoughtfully.