Cinderella's Tycoon. Caroline Cross

She had nice enough features. And good teeth. And what he’d been able to see of her body—arms, neck, ankles and feet—had been okay. Yet she was also totally forgettable, the sort of plain, unassuming female who would fade quietly into any background.

      And Sterling was grateful. Hell, he was more than grateful, he was relieved. Having to get married was bad enough. While he meant every word he’d said when he told Susan he’d take good care of her, the last thing he wanted was to have feelings for her. When it came to women, he was done with any sort of tender emotions.

      “Mr. Churchill?”

      It was the clerk again. With an inner sigh, he turned. “What?”

      “I really am afraid that we’re running out of time. We need to either get started or—”

      Down the hall, the bell on the elevator pinged and the door slid open. Sterling glanced over, his attention momentarily arrested as the woman from the street stepped out. Clutching a small silver bag in delicate fingers, she took a hurried look around, her hair swinging around her like a fiery cloak.

      Damned if something about her didn’t seem faintly familiar, he thought uneasily. He shifted his gaze back to the court clerk, determined to focus on what the man was saying—

      “Sterling?”

      That voice. It couldn’t be... He turned, his whole body going tight with disbelief.

      “I’m so sorry I’m late,” the vision in lavender said breathlessly, hurrying toward him. “Usually I’m right on time, but things took longer than they said at the salon, and then I couldn’t get a cab, and I walked as fast as I could, but I’m not used to wearing heels...” Coming to a halt before him, she bit her full lower lip, looking uncertain as their gazes met.

      He stared at her in shock. “Susan?” Thanks to a subtle application of makeup, the same features that yesterday had seemed faded and nondescript, today were anything but Her dark brown eyes seemed huge, while the mouth that she was nervously nibbling the lipstick off appeared achingly erotic.

      Judge Lester’s clerk clapped his hands together, his expression relieved. “You must be Miss Wilkins.” He gave Susan an approving once-over as she stood there looking both sexy and classy, a jacket that matched her dress draped stylishly over one slim, milky arm. “I’m so glad you made it. As I was just telling Mr. Churchill, we need to get started. If you’d both follow me, please?” He marched importantly toward the door.

      Susan glanced uncertainly after him, then turned back to Sterling. “I truly am sorry I’m late. I hope you’re not angry.”

      “Me? Angry? Hell, no.” He reached over, snagged his coat off the chair and yanked it on. “I just figured you weren’t coming.”

      “What?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “But I promised.”

      For some reason, the discovery that her word meant something to her was almost as unsettling as her incredible—and totally unwelcome—transformation. “Forget it. At least you’re here now. Shall we go in?”

      “Oh, but—that is, if you could give me just one second—” Her movements hurried, she handed him her ridiculously little purse, then quickly slipped on her jacket, flipped her hair free of the collar and smoothed it back with her fingers.

      A faint whiff of perfume enveloped him at her movement. The scent was as soft and evocative as she looked. To his horror, it was all he could do not to lean forward, press his lips to some silky patch of her and see if she tasted as good as she looked. Wondering what the hell was wrong with him, he impatiently yanked the knot on his tie into place—and nearly strangled himself.

      “There.” Oblivious to his rapidly deteriorating mood, she carefully retrieved her purse from his rigid hands, took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

      It’s about time. He took a step, then stopped. Reaching over he snatched his hat and the small gardenia bouquet he’d brought off the chair, thrusting the latter at her. “Here. These are for you.”

      She looked at him in surprise, then slowly took the flowers and lifted them to her face. “Oh, Sterling, they’re lovely,” she breathed, her face lighting up in a way that was anything but plain. “Thank you.”

      “It’s no big deal,” he said stiffly, motioning her to precede him down the hall. She gazed up at him, her lips parting as if she were going to say something, and then she seemed to lose her nerve. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and started toward the judge’s chambers.

      Stubbornly resisting an unacceptable urge to check out the sway of her slender hips, Sterling took a fortifying breath and followed, his face grim.

      Just for a second, he couldn’t remember why this had seemed like such a good idea ten minutes ago.

      

      “...and so, by the power vested in me by the great state of Texas, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

      His official duties fulfilled, Judge Lester rocked back on his heels, clapped Sterling on the back with one beefy hand and said jovially, “You know what that means, doncha, boy? That means you can finally pucker up and kiss your pretty little bride.” The jovial judge winked conspiratorially at Susan, then shifted his gaze to her husband. “Go on, now. This is no time to be shy.” Eyes twinkling, he waited expectantly.

      Gathering her courage, Susan snuck an apprehensive glance at Sterling. Just as she feared, his good-looking face held a complete lack of enthusiasm for the judge’s suggestion.

      Her spirits sank. For all his insistence that she marry him, he’d spent the past twenty minutes acting like the reluctant groom at a shotgun wedding. Curt and unsmiling, he’d suffered through introductions to the court reporter who was acting as a witness along with the clerk, and had only reluctantly made small talk with the judge. And though he’d said his vows in a clear voice without hesitation, he’d done it with all the warmth of a man reciting an arrest warrant.

      It hadn’t exactly been the wedding of her dreams, either, Susan acknowledged wistfully. But then, it wasn’t supposed to be, she reminded herself, absently twisting the gleaming gold band on her ring finger. She was doing this for the baby. Hadn’t she been awake all night, considering her options? And hadn’t she decided that she wanted more for her child than a life on the run or a childhood shaped by a series of court battles?

      Yes, absolutely. What’s more, there were genuine benefits to marrying Sterling. As he’d pointed out, two parents were better than one. Not only would her child have two people to love it, but it would also have someone else to depend on should anything happen to her.

      She also realized that Sterling’s wealth was a plus. While she didn’t care about the money for herself, she realized he could provide numerous advantages for their child that she couldn’t—as much as it humbled her to admit it. And she couldn’t deny that she was thrilled at the prospect of actually getting to stay home and be a full-time mother.

      So she supposed it also shouldn’t matter how Sterling felt about her.

      But it did.

      While she knew it was probably rather foolish of her, deep down she’d cherished the hope that he would be pleased she’d made an effort to look nice for him.

      Of course, she hadn’t intended to do anything quite this drastic, she acknowledged, self-consciously pressing her lipsticked lips together. When she’d hesitantly walked into Cachet first thing this morning, she’d simply hoped to find something on sale that didn’t look too bad on her. She’d certainly never intended to confide to the elegant saleslady that she was getting married later that day. Or confess that her intended was everything she was not—attractive, important, self-confident—and that she wished, for his sake, that she was just a little bit pretty. And she’d most definitely never expected the saleslady to take her statement as a personal challenge.

      But the woman had. Before Susan had known it, the saleslady had whisked her into a dressing room, ordered her to strip down