Finding Her Prince. Robyn Donald

asked.

      “There wasn’t a lot of money, but my brother and I didn’t know anything different.” She thought back to the time before her mother died. “We hung out with friends. Had sleepovers. Pizza and movies. Carefree.”

      He nodded. “Sounds nice.”

      “It was.” She was going to be sorry for asking, but she couldn’t stop herself. “What was yours like? You might not have thought you were a child but everyone starts out that way.”

      “I was more what you’d call an unaccompanied minor.” He took a sip from his glass and drained the contents. “On my own a lot.”

      “Only child?”

      He nodded. “You had a brother?”

      “Still do. He’s in college. In California.” And she was struggling to keep him there because it was her fault the money her father had saved for his education was gone. “I miss him.”

      “And that detour into childhood was really off the subject.” His puzzled expression was back.

      “What subject would that be?” The question was just a stall. She should just tell him that he knew her from the hospital. She worked in housekeeping. But some perverse part of her wanted a little payback for his earlier temper tantrum.

      “Who are you?”

      “Cindy Elliott,” she answered.

      “So you said.” He studied her face until shivers of awareness made her want to squirm. Finally he shook his head. “But I still can’t figure out why I know you. Where do you work?”

      “Mercy Medical Center.” That would jog his memory. Again she waited for the “aha” moment.

      “Really?” Instead of recognition, his puzzled frown deepened. “What department?”

      “Guess.” She took a large swallow of wine.

      “Nursing.”

      She shook her head.

      “Human Resources?”

      “No.” She twirled the long stem of the glass on the table in front of her.

      “Dietary?”

      “You mean Nutritional Services?” she asked.

      “That was politically incorrect of me. Yes, that’s what I meant.”

      She shook her head. “Nope, don’t work there either.”

      “Okay. I give up.”

      “All evidence to the contrary.” If he gave up that easily, there were a lot of babies who wouldn’t be alive today. Welcome to a classic conundrum. She was invisible to him. In all fairness, at the hospital he was totally focused on his tiny patients and got points for that. But he’d actually talked to her, chastised her really, for something she hadn’t done. How could she admire him so much at the same time she found him to be a pain in the neck?

      “What does that mean?” he asked.

      That she was an idiot. “I’ve seen you in action in the NICU.”

      “But you’re not a nurse.”

      “I’m an administrative intern at Mercy Medical Center. In addition to—other things,” she said vaguely.

      Before he could answer, an announcement was made for everyone to find their tables and the program would begin. Cindy was grateful for the distraction as the seats around them were filled and introductions made. She talked to the people on her right and tried to ignore the man on her left. Not so easy when their shoulders brushed and thighs bumped. Every stroke sent a surge of heat through her.

      She smiled politely, laughed when appropriate and planned to slip out at the first opportunity.

      Nathan had expected this dinner to be acutely boring speeches and barely edible rubber chicken. A yawn. He’d been wrong. Not about the speeches and chicken. But he’d never felt less like yawning.

      That was because of the mysterious Cindy Elliott.

      The words from a song came to mind, about seeing a stranger across a crowded room. The shimmer of her blond hair had first caught his attention. Her slender curves in the strapless, shiny beige dress were sexy and so damn hot he needed about an hour in a subzero shower.

      He’d have followed her anywhere, but when she sat at his table, he wondered if somehow the god of luck had finally come down on his side. The certainty that he’d seen her somewhere now seemed less important than getting her attention away from the woman she’d been talking to on her right side. All through the endless meal she’d industriously ignored him and that was about to end. A quartet had set up to play music and people were moving to the wooden dance floor in the center of the room.

      Finally there was a break in the gabfest. He leaned close and said near her ear, “Would you like to dance?”

      She met his gaze for several moments and finally said, “I don’t think so.”

      It wasn’t ego that caused his surprise at the smackdown. It was that women simply didn’t do that. He was forever being introduced by matchmaking mothers who were trying to hook up the successful doctor with their daughter or niece. Or a friend’s daughter or niece. Or second cousin once removed. Women liked him. And he liked women.

      There was never a challenge involved. He rubbed his neck as that sank in. Maybe there was a little ego mixed in with the surprise.

      “Why?” he finally asked.

      “Why what?”

      “Don’t you want to dance?”

      Her eyes narrowed. They were the color of cinnamon and snapping with intelligence. He found himself eagerly anticipating her response.

      “I need a reason?”

      “It would be polite.”

      “Not if I had to explain about a prosthetic leg. Or a pronounced limp from a serious childhood soccer injury.”

      Like almost every other man in the room, he’d watched the sexy sway of her hips as she’d glided gracefully to the table. The only imminent injury was the rising level of testosterone threatening to blow the top of his head off.

      “Do you have any physical limitations?” he asked.

      “No.”

      “Okay.” Before she made him navigate more speed bumps, he said, “And you know how to dance?”

      “See, that’s the thing. Mumsy and Daddy begged me to go to cotillion to smooth out my rough edges—”

      “Mumsy?”

      She smiled. “Yes. My über-wealthy parents desperately wanted to be here tonight but they simply couldn’t tear themselves away from the south of France.”

      “Über-wealthy?” That’s not what she’d told him before. “Just exactly how much did you pay for that lucky raffle ticket?”

      Amusement curved the corners of her full, tempting lips. “So you actually were paying attention.”

      “It’s part of my charm.”

      “Oh, please. Do women really fall for that line?”

      “Yes. Although usually a line isn’t involved.”

      “It’s a darn shame.” She eased away, a pitying expression on her face.

      “What?”

      “You should really do something about your self-confidence. Surgery. Rehab. There must be some treatment. The miracles of modern medicine—”

      “Aren’t miracles,” he finished.

      “No?”

      “It’s science.”

      “Really?”