Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After. Karen Rose Smith
dance more later, okay, Annie?”
“Okay,” the little girl agreed promptly. She curled up on the bed and settled in to watch as Yolanda worked on Jennifer’s damp hair.
Yolanda wielded blow dryer and curling iron with expertise and a half hour later, stood back to eye Jennifer.
“Perfect,” she declared with satisfaction.
“Will you do my hair next, Yolanda?” Annie asked, gathering fistfuls of red-gold curls and bunching a handful of the silky mass on each side of her head.
“Absolutely, kiddo.” Yolanda grinned at her. “Shirley’s going to help your mom with her makeup in the bathroom. You can take her place over here.”
Jennifer left Annie chattering away as Yolanda French-braided her long curls. In the bathroom, Shirley upended a brocade bag of makeup onto the small countertop and lined up pots of eyeshadow, brushes for the loose powder, several tubes of lipstick and a handful of lip color pencils.
Jennifer heard Annie chattering and laughing with Yolanda as she applied makeup and Shirley offered advice. At last, she slicked lush color on her lips and smoothed clear gloss over the deep red lipstick, then stood back to critically view the effect.
The mauve eyeshadow turned her eyes a deeper blue, smoky and mysterious, set within a thicket of dark lashes. Subtle rose color tinted her cheeks. She tilted her head, loving the soft brush of silky blond curls against her nape and temples.
“Perfect,” Shirley pronounced, standing behind her. Their gazes met in the mirror. “Just perfect. You look fabulous, girlfriend. Time to get dressed.”
“Ahem.” Jennifer loudly cleared her throat and struck a pose in the doorway.
“Ooh, Mommy.” Annie’s awestruck voice reflected the delight shining in her widened blue eyes. “You look just like a princess.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jennifer caught her daughter close, receiving a tight hug in return. “Now you have to scoot,” she said, giving her one last hug before looking down at her. “Be good for Linda, okay? And have fun.”
“I will.” Annie twirled away to grab her backpack. “I’ll tell you all about it when I come home on Sunday.”
“I can’t wait,” Jennifer assured her solemnly, exchanging a glance with Linda that shared a wry understanding, one mother to another.
Fifteen minutes later, Jennifer waved goodbye from the window as her friends climbed into their cars on the street below. Annie and Linda paused to wave up at her and moments later, the brake lights of Linda’s blue sedan disappeared around the corner at the end of the block.
After the laughter, chatter and teasing advice of her friends, the apartment seemed too quiet with only the radio for company. The air in the room felt hushed and expectant, as if the place itself was waiting. Jennifer swept the neat living room with a quick glance before walking into her bedroom to collect the satin wrap that matched her dress.
Turning to leave, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the long mirror mounted on the back of her bedroom door. Jennifer paused—the woman staring back at her seemed like a stranger. The scarlet gown fit as if custom-sewn for her alone. It had a square neckline, cut low across the swell of her breasts, with tiny cap sleeves and a bodice that hugged her narrow waist. The skirt was made up of yards of floating chiffon and lace and the toes of red, strappy high heels peeked from beneath the hem.
She wore her few pieces of good jewelry—three narrow gold bangle bracelets inset with tiny diamonds and small diamond studs in the lobes of her ears. Around her neck she wore her silver locket with Annie’s picture. She knew it didn’t quite match, but she’d never taken it off. Yolanda had pinned her caramel-blond curls atop her head in a soft upsweep that left the line of her throat bare, but wisps curled down her neck at the back.
The designer dress truly made her feel like Cinderella, waiting for the Prince to take her to the ball. The fanciful thought made her smile as she thought ruefully of her date’s playboy reputation.
A knock sounded on the outer door and Jennifer froze. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she pressed the flat of her hand to her abdomen, drawing a deep breath and reaching for calmness. Then she quickly left the bedroom and crossed the living room where a cautious glance through the hall door’s peephole sent her heartbeat racing once again. She drew another deep breath, slowly exhaled and opened the door.
Chance stood just outside in the hallway. He wore a classic black tuxedo, a white formal shirt fastened with onyx studs, a black bow tie and polished black dress shoes. She’d thought him handsome in casual jeans and leather jacket, but she realized helplessly that he was undeniably heart-stopping in formal wear. His gaze swept over her from head to toe and back again without the slightest attempt to conceal his interest.
“Hello.” His deep voice drew out the word, the raspy growl loaded with undercurrents.
“Hello.” Jennifer felt the brush of his gaze and desire curled, heating her skin, making it tingle with awareness.
“Ready to go?” Chance asked. He hadn’t missed her reaction to his slow appraisal and the throb of arousal beat through his veins as he watched a faint flush move up her throat to tint her cheeks. She lowered her lashes, concealing her eyes.
“I just need to collect my purse.” She left him to cross the room.
He watched her walk away, his gaze intent on the gown’s long skirt. It swayed with each step, outlining the feminine curve of her hips and thighs with tantalizing briefness. The nape of her neck and the pale skin of her back to just above her narrow waist was bare, framed by crimson lace and a few loose curls. She disappeared through a doorway, momentarily releasing him from the spell that held him.
His gaze skimmed the room. The apartment was as neat as the rest of the old, well-maintained building and Jennifer’s living space held a warmth that was missing in his professionally decorated town house. A blue and cream-colored afghan draped over one arm of a white-painted wood rocking chair that sat at right angles to an overstuffed blue sofa. A framed poster of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art hung on the wall above the sofa. At the far end of the room, a bookcase was stuffed with hardcovers and paperbacks, the overflow stacked in a bright pile at one end. Chance resisted the urge to walk closer and inspect the titles on the spines, curious to learn what she read. A television and DVD player took up the two shelves on a low cabinet against one wall and beyond, a kitchen area boasted a white-painted table with four chairs pushed up to it. A bright blue cloth runner ran down the center while a small stack of notebooks and what looked like a thick textbook were spread out over one end.
Just as he was about to step over the threshold, drawn inexorably by the rooms that he instinctively knew would give him a deeper insight into Jennifer, she reappeared.
“Got everything?” he asked as he watched her walk toward him. Heat stirred in his gut, just as it did each time he saw her at the diner.
“Yes.” She stepped into the hall, turning briefly to lock the door before they moved toward the elevator.
Outside, the spring night was slightly chilly and Jennifer draped the long satin wrap around her shoulders and throat. She tossed one crimson end over her shoulder and let it drape down her back, covering her bare shoulder blades above the gown’s skirt.
“Cold?” Chance asked as he keyed the lock and opened the door of a sleek black Jaguar sedan parked at the curb.
“Just a little,” Jennifer murmured, sliding into the low seat.
“I’ll turn the heater on in a second.” Chance bent to tuck her skirt out of the way and closed the door.
A moment later, he slid into the driver’s seat beside her.
Jennifer fastened her seat belt and stroked her fingertips over the butter-soft leather of the seat. Her gaze swept the compact, luxurious interior. “Nice car,” she said, breathing in the faint scent of leather and men’s cologne.
“Thanks.”