The Reluctant Cinderella (8 page)

“Megan. Damn it. I'm sorry.”

“Me, too. But that's not going to make Carly feel any better. She just won't give up hoping that you'll go back to her.”

“But I'm not going back to her.”

“Maybe not…”

“No maybe about it.”

“She didn't know about the house. I'm sorry if you didn't want her to know.”

“Megan. There is nothing for you to be sorry about. Look. Do you want me to have a talk with her?”

“Do you…want to have a talk with her?”

“Not really. But I will, if you think it'll help.”

Megan considered the idea—and rejected it. “No. You're divorced. You can date whoever you want, and Carly doesn't have any right to be upset about it. I think, in her heart, she knows that. On the other hand, she considered me a friend. And I betrayed our friendship.”

“That's not true.”

Megan felt a sad smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Well. Thank you for defending me.”

“We both know you've been trying like hell to shake me. You wouldn't have ‘betrayed'—your word, not mine—Carly if I hadn't pushed you to see me.”

“Whether you pushed me or not, I did go to lunch with you. Twice. I went with you to see your house. I kissed you.”

“No.
I
kissed
you.
”

“And I kissed you back.”

“Megan.”

She made a low noise in her throat. “What?”

“It's done. Carly knows. You were honest with her. Over time, she'll see that it's not fair to blame you.”

“I hope so.” Megan sat a little straighter in the kitchen chair. “And as for you and me…” She hesitated.

He didn't. “Dinner,” he said. “Tomorrow night. I'd say we could start with lunch, but I heard a rumor that we're having it catered in the conference
room. The place will be crawling with executives. No privacy at all.”

“Dinner,” she repeated, and realized she was on the verge of telling him yes. Then she thought of the kids. “I usually pick up my sister's kids from summer camp at four….”

“Can you get out of it, just this once?”

“I'll check with her. But Greg, I don't want to…rush anything, you know?”

“No problem. We'll take it nice and slow.”

Did she believe him? Not really. Still, she agreed. “Yeah. Okay. Slow is good.”

They were quiet. It was nice. Kind of easy and companionable. But exciting, too. At last, he asked, humor warming his deep voice, “You still there?”

“Yeah—and we should hang up, don't you think? Try to get some sleep….”

“I'm afraid to let you go. What if you change your mind?”

“I won't.”

“Say that again.”

Obediently, she vowed, “I promise. I'll have dinner with you tomorrow. If I can find a babysitter.”

“All right, then. Good night, Megan.”

“Good night.” She heard the click on the line and he was gone.

She missed him already. How hopeless was that? She smiled to herself, a woman's dreamy smile, as she finished her lukewarm milk.

So what if Rhonda and Irene told tales about her,
if Molly Jackson disapproved of her, if Carly told everyone what a terrible person she was? Megan was taking this chance with this special, terrific guy, no matter what anyone in the neighborhood said….

Still, when she went back to bed, she found sleep impossible. Maybe because in the end, she really did care if everyone in the neighborhood hated her.

T
hrough the morning meetings and lunch in the conference room, both Megan and Greg took special care to keep things strictly professional. More than once, though, she glanced his way and found him glancing back and…

Well, okay. For the first time in her life, Megan Schumacher was beginning to understand what all the shouting was about when it came to romance. Once she'd thought kind of wistfully that it might be nice to have a boyfriend, someone to go out with now and then, someone to take to holiday parties, someone to maybe get flowers from on Valentine's Day.

But this, with Greg—this whole
heat
thing, this warm-shivers-all-through-your-body thing, this
weak-in-the-knees thing, well, she just hadn't known that romance could be like that.

After lunch, there was one more long meeting, with the lawyers included. And finally, at three in the afternoon, the deal was signed. The lawyers, including the one representing Design Solutions, took their leave.

Megan thanked her Web guy and Anita, the graphic artist she'd brought with her, and sent them both home. They'd worked their fannies off and deserved a head start on the weekend. She spent a few minutes wrapping up loose ends with the marketing people. By then, Greg was nowhere in sight.

She headed for the elevator. There were, after all, hours to kill before dinnertime. She would call him later, find out where to meet him. In the meantime, she was thinking maybe she'd go on home, after all, see how the kids were doing with the babysitter she'd hired. At home, she could freshen up a little, too, put on something more right for evening.

Her phone rang just as the elevator doors slid wide. She looked at the display as she was stepping into the car. Greg. With her heart doing flip-flops and a silly grin on her face, she answered, “What?”

“I left you alone in that conference room for ten minutes—and you disappeared.”

The door slid shut. She pushed the button for the lobby. “It's hours until dinner. I thought I'd just go on home in the meantime.”

“Don't. Stay.”

She giggled. She couldn't help it. There was a guy in a gray suit in the car with her. He sent her a frown.
What? He didn't approve of giggling? She shrugged, turned toward the wall and spoke more softly. “Greg. I've got my briefcase and my laptop. I don't want to carry them around with me.”

“It's not a problem. You can stash them at my place.”

“I'm in the elevator.”

“Don't go….”

The car stopped. “I'm at the lobby.”

“Have a seat on that marble bench by the security station,” Greg instructed as the doors slid wide again and the guy in the gray suit rushed out, in a big hurry to get wherever he was going. “I'll be right down.”

“But—”

“No buts. Be there.” The line went dead.

“Well, okay,” she said to no one in particular as she put her phone away and edged around the three people who'd just gotten on the elevator. She found the bench and dropped down onto it, sending a smile and a nod at the guy behind the security desk.

Three minutes later, Greg came striding toward her. When he got there, he took her briefcase. “Let's go.”

“Where?”

“My place.”

“Honestly. I don't want to drag you away from work.”

He gave her that half smile that made her heart do flip-flops. “You aren't dragging me. I'm going willingly.”

“Have a great afternoon, Mr. Banning,” said the guy at the security desk. Was that a knowing gleam Megan saw in his eye?

What did he think? That they were heading to Greg's for a…nooner?

Well, of course not. It was much too late for that. Noon was more than three hours ago—and it wasn't about the time of day, anyway.

They just
weren't,
that was all. Not…yet, anyway. Megan might be crazy about the handsome man at her side.

But the whole getting naked thing…

Nope. Not today.

She gave the guy behind the desk a quick, nervous smile. He tipped his hat at her as Greg led her away.

 

Greg paused inside the doors of his apartment building. He set down her briefcase and took her by the shoulders. “One thing…”

At that moment, with a whole afternoon and evening of just the two of them stretching gloriously ahead of her, she might have promised him anything. “Name it.”

“Today. And tonight. Let's have it be just the two of us. Yes, I was married. I have an ex-wife. But for now, for today, can we just leave all that behind?”

She thought of Carly, wished things could be different, that Greg might be someone other than Carly's ex. But he wasn't. And Greg was right. They needed to let all the baggage go, share a day without shadows and guilt. “I'd say that's doable.”

“Good. Then today, it's just you and me. No other woman will even be mentioned.”

“Agreed.” She smiled and tried not think that if there was an
other woman
here, she was it.

His apartment was gorgeous, so open and bright. Your classic downtown corner loft. Acres of hardwood floor and high, arched windows overlooking Broadway to the east and Warren Street on the north.

He offered a drink. “Ice water,” she said, recalling the gleam in the security guard's eye. No liquor. Uh-uh. That could lead to…loosening up. And loosening up could take her to places she might very much enjoy going.

But she
wasn't
going—not so soon, anyway.

He got them tall glasses of water and they sat in his living area on the leather-and-chrome sectional. She kicked off her high heels.

Why not? Maybe she wasn't doing anything wild and dangerous this afternoon. But that didn't mean she couldn't get comfortable. She turned to him and tucked her legs to the side.

He offered a toast. “To Design Solutions. And Banning's. And a very profitable business arrangement.”

“I'll drink to that.” Ice cubes clinked as they tapped their glasses. She sipped. “Delicious.”

“Straight out of the tap.”

“There's just something about the water in Manhattan.”

He set his water on the glass coffee table. “I take it you did find that babysitter.”

She nodded and set her glass beside his. “She's sixteen and she lives around the corner. I had to pay her a bundle, but it was worth it. A whole afternoon of freedom. Every girl should have one now and then….”

He'd taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. He leaned a little closer and it only seemed natural to lean closer, too. “I love that dimple, right there—” with his thumb, he brushed the curve of her cheek, setting off a lovely series of tingles “—when you smile.” He looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman on earth.

“Greg?”

“Anything.”

She couldn't help laughing. “Oh, come on. Please…”

He frowned. “What? I'm coming on too strong?”

“Well, maybe a little.”

“Damn. I can't help myself.”

“I admit it's very flattering….”

“But?”

“You know what? On second thought, go ahead. Adore me if you must.”

He laughed then, too, a deep, rich wonderful sound. “All right, I will.”

“But I'm not going to bed with you—not today, anyway.” The words got out and she realized how abrupt they sounded—which had her letting out a tiny groan and clapping her hand over her mouth. “I can't believe I said that.”

He grinned. “But you did.” He ran a light finger
down the line of her hair, where it fell along the curve of her cheek. Her skin warmed in the wake of that skimming touch. “However you want it. It's okay with me.” He leaned close enough to brush a kiss across her lips—a kiss he didn't deepen, though the truth was, she wouldn't have minded if he had.

With a hesitant finger, she traced his square, oh-so-manly jaw. “I think we should…go somewhere.”

He laughed yet again and the sound sent a ripple of pleasure cascading through her. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Because?”

“Because you make want to do things I'm not quite ready for.”

 

They went to a movie in midtown. A heist flick with lots of action and snappy dialogue. They shared a box of popcorn and held hands and stole more than one warm, slow kiss.

After the movie, they went for a walk and ended up in the library at Fifth Avenue. On the first floor, which was called the popular library, they wandered into the rows of bestsellers. Among the
B
's—the Browns, to be specific: Dan, Don, Sandra—Greg stopped to gather her close.

Megan whispered, “We shouldn't….” But she didn't pull away when he lowered his oh-so-tempting mouth to hers.

My, oh my. There was nothing—absolutely
nothing
—in the world so lovely as the feel of Greg's mouth on hers. He smiled against her lips, the way
he'd smiled the first time he'd kissed her, in his empty house in Rosewood. He smiled and she couldn't help but smile in joyous response.

His tongue brushed hers. She sighed and let him in more fully. And by then, well, she never wanted that kiss to end. On the contrary, she reveled in it, shameless in her pleasure, though it was probably not the sort of thing they ought to be doing in the library.

She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her yearning body close against him. It was wonderful: the hardness of his chest against her soft breasts; the strength in his big, wide shoulders; that naughty, seductive slow heat pooling low in her belly.

Oh, yes. A girl could really get used to feeling like this….

She moaned—well, she couldn't help herself. She moaned and he made a low, throaty, oh-so-male sound in response. She slid her fingers up into his hair. It was so thick, the short ends blunt against her questing fingertips.

Oh, yes. It felt good. So very, very good….

In time, they did come up for air. He lifted his mouth from hers and she opened her eyes. They shared a long look—a look as deep and full of sweet, hot pleasure as the kiss had been.

Down at the end of the narrow aisle, someone gasped. They glanced toward the sound just in time to see a stocky, gray-haired lady duck toward the next row.

“Oops,” mouthed Greg, grinning.

And Megan couldn't help it. She laughed out loud.

A furious, “Shh!” came from the next aisle over.

Megan clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing again.

“I love your laugh,” Greg whispered, and kissed her nose.

She composed herself enough to whisper back, “We'd better go.”

So he took her hand and led her out of there, into the humid warmth of the summer evening. By then, overhead, between the buildings, the cloudless sky, tinged with pink from the setting sun, had begun to darken toward dusk.

Eventually, there was dinner. She had the squab and he had a thick rare filet mignon. They sat and talked for hours. She told him how she'd gotten her degree, on full scholarship, at the Long Island School of Design.

He said he loved being in the family business. He was proud of what his father, grandfather, great- and great-great-grandfathers had accomplished, creating Banning's and building it into a nationally recognized brand. He wanted to put his own stamp on the family company. Before he turned over the reins to his own son, he planned to take Banning's nationwide, to open stores in Los Angeles, Seattle, Phoenix, Denver, Dallas and the Twin Cities.

“Ambitious,” she remarked.

“Yes. I am.”

“And I notice you said ‘son.' What if you find it's
your daughter who has the talent when it comes to the family business?”

“Then my daughter will take over after me.”

Megan granted him a nod of feminine approval. “Good answer.”

“Hey. If my daughter is up for it, if she's got what it takes, more power to her.”

“From what you've told me about
your
father, I have a feeling he might not approve of a woman running the show—even if she is a Banning.”

“If my daughter's that good, she'll know how to handle Dad—”

“Who will be very old by then, and most likely extremely crotchety,” Megan interjected.

Greg leaned closer across the table, his voice low. “You seem downright determined to make it rough on my brilliant, hardworking little girl.”

Megan winked at him. “You've got a point. And on second thought, maybe I've read your father all wrong. Outside of a certain…coolness, he's treated me just fine. He seems to have no problem doing business with me. And
I'm
a woman.”

Greg sat back. “Yeah.” Those dark eyes had gone to velvet. They made promises. Sexy ones. Dangerous ones. “You
are
a woman. No doubt about that.”

She toyed with her water glass, turning it by the stem as she slanted him a look from under her lashes. Yes, she was flirting. Shamelessly. Blatantly. And you know what? It felt good. It felt absolutely terrific. “Then again,” she suggested, “maybe your
daughter will have her grandpa wrapped around her finger.”

“I'm having trouble picturing my father wrapped around
anybody's
finger. But hey. Stranger things have happened, I guess….”

“And it
is
just possible,” Megan warned, “that neither your future daughter
nor
your future son will want to go into the family business.”

“Since I plan to have five of each, I think the odds are pretty good that at least one of my kids will be Banning's material.”

“Ten kids.” She widened her eyes in mock horror.

“Didn't I tell you I always wanted a houseful?”

“Well, yeah. But…”

“What?”

“Just…whew.”

He seemed amused. “Whew?”

“Yeah. Whew. As in, easy for
you
to say. I mean, given that you don't have to actually give birth to all ten of the little darlings.”