Hot-Shot Surgeon, Cinderella Bride. Alison Roberts
slim hand.
What on earth was happening to him? The Grimshaws never behaved with anything less that the utmost decorum in public. He cast a suspicious glance at the cause of his unusual emotional state, but she was looking at the floor and standing very still in that poised manner she had. If Tony hadn’t just spent nearly ten minutes watching her dance and finding his heart rate steadily increasing, his breathing becoming shallow and his tight breeches becoming less comfortable by the second, he might have believed her to be completely innocent.
Robin Hood muttered something unintelligible as he melted into the crowd, and it was only then that the princess raised her gaze. Tony was instantly aware of two things.
That they both knew their behaviour to her last dance partner had been unacceptably rude but also unavoidable. And that something was happening here that was simply meant to be.
Something as unreal as pretending to be part of a medieval gathering.
No. He’d better make that three things.
His awareness of this woman’s beauty had been overwhelming even from the distance of the pillars. This close, Tony could believe he was looking at the nearest thing to perfection in a woman he’d ever seen.
Dark, dark blue eyes. Pale skin made all the more dramatic by the fall of that glorious wig. He’d been watching the black ripples that fell to her waist lift and swirl as she danced, and was thankful she hadn’t braided it, or bundled it up to wear one of those pointy hats with veils attached at the sides that some women were wearing tonight. Dark stones like teardrops lay against her forehead, and the chain of jewels was the only restraint to her loose, flowing locks.
His hand lifted of its own accord to touch a soft curl.
‘Nice,’ he murmured. ‘It feels almost real.’
‘Does it?’ A tiny smile pulled up the corners of her mouth and Tony found himself staring. Trying to extinguish what threatened to be an irresistible urge to kiss her.
Right here. Right now. In the middle of a dance floor where people around them had already started to dance to a new bracket of songs. Slightly faster music at the moment. Like his heartbeat.
‘Shall we?’ He gave a mock bow. Play-acting seemed to be the way forward here, because none of this felt real.
‘Please.’ The smile had an impish quality. ‘But…’
‘But?’
‘I’m just wondering how safe it is to dance with you.’
Oh, not safe at all, he thought, but he pressed his lips closed on the warning and raised his eyebrows instead.
‘Your sword?’
‘Oh…’ With a slow, deliberate, one-handed movement, Tony unbuckled the big silver clasp and pulled the belt from his waist. He looked up to inform the princess of his plan to drop the accessory out of the way—by the pillars, perhaps, along with his hat.
She looked up at the same instant, from where she had clearly been staring at his hands, and when he saw the tip of her tongue emerge to run across her bottom lip it felt as if some giant vice was squeezing every last molecule of oxygen from his chest.
Yes!
She wanted him. The way he wanted her.
Desire threatened to suffocate him. He could simply walk out of this ballroom and take her somewhere more private, couldn’t he? No. It was a long time since he’d been an inexperienced teenager, for whom where lust could obliterate the ability to think clearly. This combination of confidence and anticipation might be heady stuff, but experience had taught him something else as well. It was a thrill that should be savoured for as long as possible.
Somehow he sucked in a breath as he led her to the edge of the floor to get rid of his unwanted accessories. Then he drew her into his arms.
‘Did I hear correctly?’ he enquired politely. ‘Is your name Cindy?’
Those eyes were huge and… Dear Lord, even the way she blinked so slowly was erotic.
‘Yes,’ she said softly.
‘Cindy who?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘It might.’
He could feel her responsiveness as he manoeuvred them to a clear space on the floor. She felt weightless in his arms, like an extension of his own body rather than a separate partner. God, if she felt like this on a dance floor, what would she be like in bed?
He saw the way the soft mounds of her breasts, pushed up by the corset top of her dress, rose even further as she took a deep breath. His mouth went dry.
‘Riley,’ she said at last. ‘My name is Cindy Riley.’
‘And you work at the hospital, Cindy Riley?’
‘Yes.’
‘Whereabouts? Which department?’
‘All over.’ She was smiling again. ‘A bit of everything, really.’
Ah… She must be a pool nurse. Filling in wherever they required assistance. No wonder he hadn’t seen her often enough in one place to recognise her. Tony ignored the scoffing sound in the back of his mind. The voice that said he would have only needed to see her once to recognise her again.
‘Favourite places?’
‘Emergency,’ she said without hesitation. He could see the flicker in her eyes that spoke of a real passion for her work. ‘And Theatre.’
Tony pulled her a little closer. ‘My kind of girl,’ he told her. ‘And my favourite places as well. I’m Tony Grimshaw, by the way. I’m on the cardiothoracic surgical team.’
‘Mmm.’ The sound seemed oddly strangled. ‘Could we stop talking, please, Tony Grimshaw? And dance?’
By way of response, Tony altered the way he was holding her. He might be rusty, but already the short time of moving with this woman felt natural. He sent Cindy Riley into a brief spin and then caught her, stepping sideways so that she could bend and dip—one arm extending gracefully. Then, the instant she was back on balance, he flipped her into a dip on his other side.
She was laughing as she came upright again, those incredible eyes letting him know that she was happy.
Impressed.
That she wanted more.
CHAPTER TWO
HE COULD dance!
The unexpected way her body had responded to that first touch of their hands had been disturbing all on its own.
Finding out who was beneath that disguise had been so shocking part of her brain had shut down, and her only thought had been to finish this dance and escape.
Tony Grimshaw! The son of the city’s mayor, no less. The rising star of St Pat’s cardiothoracic surgical team. Tipped to become the next head of that prestigious department, despite being only in his mid-thirties.
One of life’s golden people. Only ever seen to be accompanied by the cream of available women. The wealthiest and most beautiful. Often celebrities, and never encumbered with small dependent children.
Criteria Kelly could never aspire to attaining. Wouldn’t want to, in fact.
But he could dance. Really dance. And within moments a forgotten joy was reborn for Kelly.
Like flying. Taking off and swooping and knowing it was perfectly safe because there were strong arms to catch her. A lead that not only provided an impressive variety of moves but one that encouraged independence and gave opportunities to play.
Escape was the last thing she wanted now, and the music fading at the end of the set would have been utterly disappointing except that it went virtually unnoticed.