Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After. Karen Rose Smith

smiled down at her.

      “They are.” Chance emptied his champagne flute and caught her hand. “Let’s dance.” He deposited their glasses. “I’m glad to know I was right,” he said as they circled the room.

      “About what?” she asked, a tiny frown drawing her brows into a vee.

      “The food,” he replied easily as he guided her out through open French doors and onto the wide balcony where other guests danced beneath the night sky. “Unless you were lying to Jordan. You did enjoy dinner?”

      Her brow smoothed and a smile curved her mouth, lighting her eyes. “Oh, yes. The lobster was wonderful and the chocolate mousse was perfect.”

      “I told you the food would be worth the cost of the ticket,” he said with satisfaction, executing a series of smooth, sweeping turns to move them down the length of the wide stone balcony. “Jordan doesn’t serve tiny slivers of artsy-looking food. His food is elegant without being precious—you know, no tiny portions that leave a guy so hungry that he has to stop for a burger on his way home.”

      Jennifer looked up at him, a smile curving her lips. “It sounds suspiciously as if you’ve been forced to sit through dinners filled with…maybe, cucumber sandwiches and tea?”

      He laughed. “Not since my grandmother made me eat them when I was a kid. Since then, though,

      I’ve had to attend dinners where we were served rubbery chicken or tiny plates with three or four artfully arranged celery and radish slices.” He shuddered. “Makes me hungry just to think of it.”

      “I’m guessing it takes more than celery and radishes to fuel a guy your size,” she joked.

      “You guess right,” he said with a nod. “Lots more. I have a big appetite.” He winked at her.

      She studied him, contemplating an answer to what was clearly an invitation.

      His lips brushed her ear. “Aren’t you wondering what other appetites I have?” he teased, lazy amusement underlaid with darker, more volatile emotions.

      She tilted her head and his mouth brushed over her cheek, with scant inches separating his lips from hers. “I was considering asking,” she said quietly. “But decided I should give the subject more thought before asking questions that might provoke dangerous answers.”

      “I’d be happy to answer any questions, Jennifer,” he told her. “Dangerous or not.” Heat flared in his dark, heavy-lidded gaze.

      “I’ve never been a woman who courts danger,” she murmured. “I’ve always preferred safe and sane.”

      “You’re safe with me, Jennifer,” he muttered, pressing his lips to her temple. “I’d never hurt a woman, especially you.” His arms tightened as he swept her into a series of fast, graceful turns.

      “I believe you,” she replied softly once she was back in his embrace. “At least, not physically. But you’re a very attractive man, Chance, and a woman could lose her heart to you.”

      “Could she?” he rasped, his voice deeper.

      “Yes.” She nodded, her hair brushing the underside of his chin and his throat. “I don’t want a broken heart, Chance.”

      “I won’t break your heart. Come home with me, Jennifer.” His fingers trailed over her cheek, tucked a tendril of soft hair behind her ear, and returned to brush over her lower lip. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

      “I don’t sleep around,” she told him honestly. They’d stopped dancing but still stood within the circle of each other’s arms. Beyond the balustrade, the lights of the city glowed while on the street below, the faint sounds of traffic drifted upward. Down the length of the stone veranda they’d traversed, a series of French doors were thrown open to the ballroom. Gold light poured out, illuminating the guests at the other end of the veranda as some strolled or leaned on the wide, chest-high stone bulwark and some danced, swaying in time to the orchestra’s lush notes. Chance and Jennifer were alone at their end of the long veranda, shadowed except for the spill of soft light that fell through the glass panes of the French doors beside them, drawn closed against the crowded ballroom inside. The yellow light highlighted his face and she searched his features. “In fact…I haven’t been with a man since my divorce, and that was more than five years ago.”

      His eyes darkened, his mouth a sensual curve. “Honey, that’s a damned shame. A woman as beautiful as you should be loved often and well.” He bent and brushed his mouth over hers, then lingered to slowly trace her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “Come home with me. Please.”

      He urged her closer until she rested against his chest, her thighs aligned with his. Jennifer shuddered at the press of her breasts against hard muscles.

      “I don’t want to complicate my life,” she managed to get out. She struggled to remember why she needed to resist him, closing her eyes against the heat that bloomed beneath his lips as he traced the arch of her throat. “Or yours,” she added.

      “This doesn’t have to be complicated,” he murmured, his lips on her throat, just below her ear. “It can be whatever we want it to be.”

      An enticing shiver ran down her spine, and Jenny knew she couldn’t resist him. “Just tonight,” she whispered. She forced her eyes open and leaned back, cupping his jaw in her palm to tilt his head up. Beard stubble rasped faintly against the sensitive pads of her fingertips, his eyes ablaze with need. “No complications—and after tonight, we go back to waitress and customer. Can we do that?”

      She read the objection that flared in his eyes and saw the swift refusal on his face as his jaw flexed and muscles tightened beneath her hand.

      “Please,” she said softly, desperate to hold on to some shred of control. “I can’t make promises beyond tonight.”

      His fingers tightened on her waist and then he nodded. “All right. If tonight’s all you can give me—” he brushed a kiss against her cheek “—I’ll take what I can get.”

      His mouth covered hers with searing heat. Her senses were fogged and she was reeling with want when he lifted his head. He tucked her along his side and led her to an exit. After waiting—for what felt like an eternity—for the valet to bring his car, they were off. Threading her fingers through his to keep her close, he laid her hand palm down on his thigh and covered it with his own as they sped through Boston traffic, his touch anchoring her to him. Desire seethed, swirling and heating the air between them in the close confines of the car.

      Jennifer was only peripherally aware of the neighborhoods they drove through, her senses focused on the man beside her. When he tapped a control on the dash and then turned off the street and beneath a still-rising garage door, she caught a brief glimpse of the exterior of a brick town house before they pulled in.

      Chance switched off the engine, the sudden silence enfolding them. His gaze met hers, heat blazing. “If I touch you before we’re inside, we won’t make it out of the garage.”

      She swallowed, throat dry. “Okay.”

      He smiled, the sudden amusement easing the tension. “Unless you have a fantasy about making love in the backseat of a Jag.”

      She blinked, distracted by the curve of his mouth. “Um, no.”

      “Too bad,” he said, his voice suddenly lower, huskier. “The idea has possibilities. But I don’t want our first time to happen in this car, either, so let’s go.”