Prince Charming For 1 Night

The shimmering heat of the Las Vegas nighttime enveloped her as she stepped into it, calming as always. It tamed the shivering in her chest and limbs. Filled her lungs with sagescented comfort, like on long-ago evenings spent in her mama’s lap in an old secondhand rocker in a tiny patch of garden behind their mobile home.

“Please,” she said when they hit the parking lot. “Slow down. These shoes aren’t really meant for walking in.” Or maybe her knees still needed to recover from that Prince Charming nonsense.

He halted, glancing down at her four-inch-heeled glass slippers, which sparkled back at him in the reflected streetlamps.

Ah, jeez. The symbolism was just too damn perfect. She felt herself going beet red in embarrassment.

“Really, th-thanks for your assistance,” she stammered, “but I’d prefer to take a cab home.”

She turned toward the fenced perimeter and the street beyond and realized with a sinking feeling that taxis would be few and far between in this neighborhood, even during daylight hours. And it must be three in the morning by now. She’d have to go back inside and have them call—

Suddenly she found herself swept up in Conner’s arms, her wrist looped around his neck.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Kick them off.”

“Huh?”

“The shoes. Lose them. They’re ludicrous.”

“And expensive! No way!”

He made a face. “Lord, you’re stubborn.”

She mirrored it right back. “God, you’re obnoxious.”

They glared at each other for a moment.

“Fine,” Conner said. “Keep the damn shoes.”

“Thank you, I will. Now if you’ll please put me down.”

He actually snorted at her. “Can’t you just accept my help gracefully?”

Before she had a chance to respond, he was carrying her toward a midnight-blue convertible sports car sitting in the first slot of the parking lot. It was the most dazzling car she’d ever seen in her life. And totally intimidating. Low, sleek, catlike in grace and Transformer-like in technology. It had to have cost more than she earned in a year. Or two. His hand moved and a couple of beeps sounded. The two car doors rose up like the wings of a giant bird.

“Holy moly. What is this, the Batmobile?”

“No, a Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren Roadster.” He lowered her into the passenger seat. She sank down into the buttery leather and it hugged her backside like a lover spooning her body. Softly firm and enveloping. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s, um…” Luxurious. Flashy and unreasonably sexy, like its owner. Totally out of her league. Like its owner. “Nice.”

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