Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After (7 page)

“Let's try it again,” he murmured against her mouth.

And a moment later, despite being certain she couldn't move a muscle, Jennifer was again burning with heat, twisting urgently beneath his mouth, hands and the steady thrust of his powerful body.

Just after midnight, hunger lured them out of bed and downstairs to raid the refrigerator. Dressed only in Chance's white tux shirt, the long tails hitting her at mid-thigh and sleeves rolled to her elbows, Jennifer perched on a tall stool and propped her elbow on the island countertop, leaning her chin on her hand. The kitchen was beautifully appointed and everywhere
she looked, something drew her eye. But after a quick glance around the room, her gaze returned with fascination to Chance. Grey boxer shorts hung low on his hips as he bent to peer into the refrigerator. His powerful shoulders and chest were bare as were his thighs and long legs. Despite the long hours they'd just spent in the bedroom upstairs and although she'd felt sated and content only moments earlier, heat stirred in her belly once again. She shivered as she contemplated running her palms over his back while his weight pinned her to the bed.

“How do you feel about spaghetti and cheesecake?”

Her eyes widened and she straightened. “Yum. What kind of cheesecake?”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Regular, I guess, except it has chocolate on the top.”

“Even better,” she said promptly.

He grinned at her, eyes warming. “You like chocolate?”

“Of course, who doesn't?” she responded.

“I definitely do. The local café has chocolate crepes so good they can make a grown man cry. We'll get you some for brunch tomorrow.” He turned back to the refrigerator and moments later, nudged the door closed with his hip because his hands were full of food containers.

“Here, let me help.” She jumped down from the counter and hurried to take a plate of cheesecake from him. He'd balanced it on top of a deep blue casserole dish, where it tilted and wobbled precariously.

“Thanks.” Chance slid the casserole onto the tiled counter and removed the glass lid. He stirred the red sauce and spaghetti noodles and popped the dish into the microwave, set the timer and closed the door.

“I think we should seriously consider cutting a bite of cheesecake while we wait for the spaghetti,” Jennifer told him, eyeing the swirls of dark chocolate on top of the cake.

“Sure, why not.” He took a knife and a fork out of a drawer and joined her, bracketing her against the counter with his arms and body. “You cut.” He laid the utensils on the countertop on each side of the cheesecake and bent to nuzzle his face against her nape. His hands settled on her hipbones.

Jennifer closed her eyes, her body going boneless as she melted back against him. His hands slipped beneath the hem of the white shirt and stroked upward, over her belly and midriff to cup her breasts.

“Ohhhh, that's not fair,” she moaned as her nipples pebbled against his fingers and her hips settled into the cove of his. She tilted her head back against his shoulder, the thick silk of his hair brushing her throat
as he bent over her to press his mouth against the upper curve of her breast.

She twisted in his hold, slipping her arms around his neck, her body pressed flush against his as she tugged his mouth down to hers. His hands cupped her bottom, lifting her higher, and the kiss turned hotter, more carnal.

Behind them, the microwave alarm buzzed loudly as the timer went off.

Chance eased back from the kiss and lifted his head.

“Want to skip the spaghetti and cheesecake and make love on the countertop?” he asked, his voice rasping with need.

Jennifer was torn but before she could decide, her stomach growled. They both laughed.

“That's it. Food wins,” he declared, pressing one last hard kiss against her mouth and stepping back. “First we'll feed you, then we'll get naked again. Let's go back to bed.”

He reached behind her and picked up the cheesecake plate, handing it to her with the knife and fork. “You carry this, I'll get the spaghetti.”

“What about plates? And don't we need another fork?” she asked, still disoriented and flushed.

“Nope.” He used hot pads to remove the casserole of spaghetti and closed the door with his elbow.
“We'll share. But we might need napkins. Grab a couple out of the drawer by your hip, will you?”

Jennifer found snowy-white linen napkins and preceded him down the hall and up the stairs to his bedroom.

Chance tossed the sheet to the bottom of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing with a thick blue towel. He spread it on the center of the bed and set the casserole on it.

“We're having a picnic,” she said with delight. “I love picnics and I've never had one in bed before.”

“The mattress is more comfortable than the floor.” Chance crooked his finger at her. “And when we're done eating, the bed's more comfortable for making love.”

She laughed, balancing the cheesecake in one hand and utensils in the other as she climbed onto the bed, shuffling on her knees to the far side of the folded towel. “Plus,” she told him, setting down the cheesecake, “there are no ants. Always a good thing.”

Chance grabbed her free hand and tugged, tumbling her toward him. He threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her, his mouth hot. “I love the way you find the good in everything. You're easy to please.”

“You offered me cheesecake with chocolate.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn't I be pleased?”

“Lots of women would be offended if they weren't offered champagne and caviar.”

“Hmm.” She eyed him. “I think you've been dating the wrong women.”

His eyes laughed at her. “I think you're right.”

He stabbed the fork into the spaghetti, twirled it, and lifted the pasta to her mouth. “Tell me if it's hot enough.”

Obediently, she parted her lips and took the bite.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Excellent,” she told him. “Try it.”

They took turns, Chance insisting on feeding her.

When the bowl was empty, Jennifer rolled off the bed and carried the casserole dish to the long oak entertainment center across from the foot of the bed. A flat-screen TV was mounted on a wall bracket and on the polished oak surface below was a stack of books.

“You have a copy of the new Tom Clancy book,” she exclaimed. “I didn't even know it was out.”

“It's not. I have a friend at the publishing house and he sent me a copy before the release date.”

Jennifer tilted the stack of books, reading the titles. “You have mystery, suspense and a couple of nonfiction titles.” She picked up one of the books and read the back cover copy. “What other genres do you like? Do you read romantic suspense?”

He frowned. “I don't know. I don't think I've ever read one. Unfortunately, I have to read a lot of medical journals so often my fiction reading has to take second place behind articles.”

“I know what you mean. Textbooks have to come first with me, too.”

“Come here.” Chance patted the bed beside him. “We still have cheesecake to eat.” Jennifer put down the stack of books and walked back to the bed, tucking the shirttails neatly beneath her as she sat.

“I bet you were a cute little girl,” he told her as he cut the cheesecake with the fork.

“What makes you think so?” she teased, opening her mouth to let him feed her.

“Because you sat down as if your mother trained you to tuck in your skirt and sit properly,” he told her with a grin.

“It was my grandmother,” she said without thinking, after she'd swallowed.

“I bet you were your grandmother's favorite granddaughter,” he told her.

She fed him the bite, fascinated by the movement of strong throat muscles as he swallowed. “I was her only granddaughter,” she murmured absently, trailing her fingertips down his throat to his shoulder.

“You're an only child, too?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes.” She forced a small smile, deciding to confirm what he probably already knew—that her background was light-years away from what had clearly been his privileged home life. “The only child of divorced parents. My mother declared she didn't want any more children. She was far too busy meeting new men and having fun. I heard that my father remarried several times and had more children but I've never met any of my half-siblings.” She kept her gaze on the cheesecake, precisely cutting another bite. “I doubt my childhood was anything like yours.”

“Hey,” he murmured. His hand cupped her chin, tilting her face gently up until her gaze met his. His dark eyes searched hers. “Except for wishing you were happy, it doesn't matter to me what your parents were like or where you spent your childhood, Jennifer. All I care about is that you're here with me now.”

Emotion flooded her. She knew there couldn't be a future for them. All her time over the next few years was already committed to work, school and Annie. But for this night, she could forget about tomorrow and responsibilities. And if she felt things with Chance she'd never felt with anyone before, she'd worry about that tomorrow, too.

“All we have is right now,” she whispered,
lowering the fork to the plate so she could slip her arms around him. “Let's not waste a moment.”

His dark eyes turned hot. Without releasing her, he shoved the towel, cheesecake and utensils onto the floor and bore her backward, his mouth taking hers as his weight settled over her.

Jennifer welcomed the instant rise of desire that swept over her, erasing all thought of tomorrow. There was only this moment and the heavy, powerfully muscled body on hers as Chance's fierce passion carried her over the edge once again.

Jennifer was half-awake the following morning when Chance left the bed. He bent over, kissed her, chuckled and with a pat on her bottom covered by the sheet, left her to disappear into the bathroom. She smiled, half opening her eyes and noting the bright sunshine pouring through the open drapes. Then she yawned and rolled over.

It seemed like only a moment before Chance came back into the bedroom, several pieces of clothing tossed over his arm.

“Hey, sleepy woman, wake up! I promised you crepes for breakfast.” He tossed the clothes on the end of the bed. “My mother left some things in the guest room the last time she was here,” he told her,
dropping onto the bed to stretch out beside her. “The slacks might be a little short but they're bound to fit better than a pair of my jeans.”

The bed dipped under his weight, rolling Jennifer toward him. He grinned and caught her, tugging the sheet lower until she was bare from her tousled hair to her belly button.

Chance's head bent and he trailed his lips over the upper curve of her breasts. “Mmm,” he muttered. “You taste as good as you look.”

Jennifer buried her fingers in the silky thickness of his hair, cradling his head to hold him close as her eyelids drifted closed.

“If we're going out, I have to shower and get dressed,” she protested drowsily, smiling as he growled in protest. She closed her fingers into fists and tugged his hair, the strands sliding like rough black silk against her fingertips and palms.

Reluctantly, he obeyed her silent demand and lifted his head to look down at her. “We could skip going out and order in—eat Chinese food in bed,” he suggested.

“No.” She laughed softly. “I'm starving and those chocolate crepes sound wonderful.” And she wanted to see a bit more of the pieces of his day-to-day life. The need to know him better, to learn more about the man behind the handsome face and powerful male
body, grew stronger with each moment she spent in his company.

“All right,” he grumbled good-naturedly, his hands trailing over her midriff as he rolled onto his side, releasing her so she could slide out of bed. “We'll take Butch for a walk and get brunch at the café. Then we'll come back and pick up where we're leaving off. Deal?”

“Deal.” She flashed him a sassy grin, caught up the pile of clothing from the foot of the bed and slipped into the bathroom. For a moment, she leaned back against the door, eyes closed, a smile on her lips while she reveled in the sheer happiness bubbling through her veins.

A half hour later, Jennifer had showered, pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, smoothed on the lipstick and mascara she'd tucked into her evening bag the night before, and was dressed. She paused to run a quick, assessing glance over her reflection in the long mirrors bracketing the door.

The pale pink silk slacks fit well except for being a trifle short in the leg, the hem hitting her at her anklebone.
Which is actually a good thing,
she thought, since if the designer label slacks had been longer, she would have surely tripped over them while wearing the strappy red heels. The white silk tank top was snug and since she didn't have a bra to wear, she'd
pulled on a clean white shirt from Chance's closet. It was much too big, of course, but after rolling the sleeves to her elbow, she decided it worked well enough to conceal her braless state.

In fact, she thought, turning to look over her shoulder at her back view, the outfit was rather chic. The slim-cut slacks hugged her thighs below the hem of the loose white shirt, and the red heels added a touch of Vogue-model fashion to the outfit.

Thanks to Chance's mother leaving clothes in his guestroom, Jennifer reflected, she was reasonably covered. She'd had a few qualms about the clothing, suspecting it might have really belonged to one of Chance's girlfriends. But the silk slacks and tank top had a small label with “A. Demetrios” beautifully embroidered in blue and gold thread. Chance had mentioned his parents, John and Anastasia, and Jennifer was confident the “A. Demetrios” was surely his mother.

She left the bathroom, a spring to her step, and went searching for Chance. She found him in the kitchen, reading a newspaper spread out over the island countertop.