Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After: Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texas Billionaire's Baby

Jennifer took a deep breath. She could hear her coworkers whispering as she walked away from them and couldn’t suppress a smile. The three women were great friends and staunch supporters. She didn’t doubt they were sincere when they’d told her they expected a full report on the institute’s glamorous event—and every detail about her night out with the sexy doctor.

Chance looked up just as she reached his booth.

“If the invitation is still open, I’d love to go to the Founder’s Ball with you,” Jennifer said without preamble.

His mouth curved in a grin and Jennifer didn’t miss the male satisfaction and what she thought was a gleam of triumph in his dark eyes.

“It’s definitely still open.”

“Good.” She took her order pad and a pen from her pocket. “It’s this weekend, isn’t it? What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at eight on Saturday. I need your address,” he added.

“Right.” She nodded, scribbled her street and apartment number on the back of an order slip, tore if off the pad and handed it to him. The slow, intimate smile he gave her sent a shiver of heated apprehension spiraling up her spine and she felt her cheeks warm. “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you Saturday.” She turned to walk away.

“Jennifer.” The seductive deep drawl stopped her and she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Thanks for saying yes.”

“You’re welcome.” She walked back to the counter, feeling his gaze between her shoulder blades like a caress. Fortunately, a customer stopped her and during their ensuing conversation, Chance paid his check and left the diner.

She wasn’t comfortable knowing she was always aware of him on some level, she thought with stark honesty. Her senses appeared to be sharply tuned to him whenever he was around her. She felt his presence and departure like a tangible force each time he entered or left the diner. Pretending to ignore him hadn’t solved the problem, nor had self lectures about the sheer stupidity of giving in to the attraction.

After her divorce, she’d vowed she wouldn’t subject her daughter to a series of men friends rotating through their lives. Jennifer had spent her childhood watching substitute fathers move in and out of her mother’s home after her parents’ divorce. When the third very nice man moved on and her mother quickly fell in love with a fourth, Jennifer had stopped viewing any of her mother’s boyfriends as permanent fixtures. Her mother was currently headed for divorce court for the sixth time.

Because Jennifer’s grandparents were affluent, socially prominent members of the community, she’d never wanted for the necessities of food, clothing, good schools and a lovely home. But her life felt lonely and emotionally insecure. Lunch at the country club with her grandmother and piles of exquisitely wrapped presents under the Christmas tree didn’t compensate for the lack of security under her mother’s roof.

She’d married young while still in college and dreamed of a life filled with home and family. With stars in her eyes, she’d quit college to take a full-time job to support her husband, Patrick, a pre-med student. Six months after the wedding, she’d been devastated when Patrick was furious the night she told him she was pregnant. He’d accused her of lying about taking birth control pills and he moved out of their apartment within a week, immediately filing for divorce. He’d told her he needed a working wife whose first commitment was to him and he had no room in his life for a child. He’d even agreed to give her full custody and let her raise their baby alone since he had no interest in visitation rights. In return, she agreed not to request child support payments from him.

When he told their mutual friends that the divorce was Jennifer’s choice, they reacted by ostracizing her and Jennifer was devastated. Much as she hated the snubs and vicious whisperings behind her back, however, she refused to be drawn into a mud-slinging match.

The divorce was final when Jennifer was six months pregnant. Three months later, she gave birth to Annie, a beautiful six-and-a-half-pound, red-haired baby girl with big blue eyes.

In the five years since Annie’s birth, Jennifer had kept her vow to create a better life for her daughter than the one she’d known. She went to work, attended night classes to finish her college degree, and spent her free time with her little girl. Men occasionally asked her out but she turned them down without a single regret. If celibacy and a solo adult life was the cost of giving Annie a secure, quiet life then it was a small price to pay.

Jennifer knew her friends were convinced she needed an adult social life, including a man to share her bed. But she was committed to keeping her vow to not repeat her mother’s mistakes. She swore her friends to silence, and they all promised not to tell any interested men about Annie or other details of her life. Fortunately, she hadn’t met anyone that stirred more than mild interest and she’d certainly never considered sleeping with anyone—until Chance walked into the diner and smiled at her.

Since then, her sleep had been haunted by vivid dreams of making love with him.

Perhaps going out with him will get him out of my system, she thought.

Finishing her shift at two o’clock that afternoon, Jennifer hurried home to collect her daughter from the babysitter. She chatted for a few moments with the spry seventy-eight-year-old Margaret Sullivan, before she and Annie said goodbye and headed across the hall to their own apartment. On the day they’d moved in, Margaret had knocked on their door with a plate of warm cookies and a welcoming smile. When Jennifer’s babysitter moved away, Margaret volunteered to have Annie stay with her while Jennifer worked or attended classes and the three had formed a close, familylike relationship.

“How was school today, Annie?” Jennifer asked when they were home in their own small kitchen. She filled the kettle at the sink and set it on the stove, switching on the burner.

“Fine,” Annie replied as she carefully took three small plates from the lower cabinet next to the sink. “Me and Melinda are working on a project.”

“Really? What kind of project?” Jennifer took two mugs from the cupboard. At the small corner table, Annie was carefully arranging four peanut butter cookies on one of the plates.

“We’re building a miniature house with a kennel for our dogs.” Annie shifted one of the cookies a bit to the left, eyed the plate critically, then nodded with approval. She looked up at Jennifer, her blue eyes glowing with fervor. “We’re practicing for when we get our real dogs.”

“I see.” Jennifer caught her daughter in a quick hug, pressing a kiss against the silky red-gold curls. The teakettle whistled a warning and she released Annie to turn off the burner. Pouring hot water into the mugs, she dropped an English Breakfast tea bag into hers and stirred hot chocolate mix into Annie’s, then carried them over to the table. The little girl perched on a chair, legs swinging with enthusiasm. “You know, honey,” Jennifer began, “it’s going to be a while before we can have a dog.” She set the gently steaming mug of chocolate in front of Annie and took the chair opposite.

“I know.” Annie gave her mother a serene smile and stirred her drink with single-minded concentration.

“Not that I wouldn’t like to have a dog, too,” Jennifer continued. “But the landlord won’t let us have pets in the apartment.”

“It’s all right, Mommy,” Annie said. She sipped the chocolate from her spoon, made a small sound of satisfaction and drank from her mug. “I’m going to ask Santa for a dog this Christmas.” She narrowed her eyes consideringly. “I think we need a house with a yard, too, don’t you?”

“Uh…sure.” Jennifer had no idea why Annie had decided that Santa would deliver a dog and a house by Christmas. But it’s only spring, she thought, and with luck, I can distract her and she’ll forget about it by this winter. Given that Annie had previously demonstrated a focused determination normally found in much older children, Jennifer wasn’t convinced the delay would distract her daughter. Nevertheless, it was the only plan she had. “What did you and Melinda use to build your miniature house?”

Jennifer’s attempt to distract Annie worked as the little girl launched into an enthusiastic description of the two shoe boxes they’d taped together and how they’d used scissors to cut out dog photos from a magazine.

The mugs were half-empty before Annie’s recital of the day’s events was exhausted. Jennifer eyed her over the rim of her tea mug and smiled as her daughter broke off a chunk of peanut butter cookie and tucked it neatly into her mouth.

“I have a surprise for you, Annie,” she said. “How would you like to have a sleepover at Jake and Suzie’s house this weekend?”

“Oooh, yes!” Annie bounced in her chair, her eyes lit with excitement. “May I take my backpack and my Lilia-Mae doll and my Enchanted Pony so Suzie and I can play with them?”

“Yes, of course.” Jennifer laughed when Annie jumped off her chair and threw herself into her mother’s arms, climbing into her lap as she listed all the many things she wanted to take with her.

Jennifer felt a stab of misgiving as she cuddled the warm, vibrant little body in her arms. This quiet apartment with Annie was her real life and she loved it—a world filled with her beautiful little girl and her busy days with work and college classes. A date with Chance Demetrios—at the ritzy Founder’s Ball, no less—was a huge step outside the constraints of the life she’d built.

But her friends were right, too, she realized. Sometimes, she was lonely and longed for an emotional—and physical—connection with a partner. There was no room for a permanent man in her life just now and wouldn’t be for the foreseeable future. But just for one night, perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm if she seized the opportunity to play Cinderella before returning to the quiet rhythm of her busy days with Annie.

Jennifer rested her cheek against her daughter’s silky red-gold curls, breathed in her little-girl smell of shampoo, soap and crayons, and contentedly listened to Annie’s excited plans for spending the weekend with her friends.

Chance hadn’t recognized the street address that Jennifer had scribbled on the note after she had accepted his invitation so he’d made a mental note to check it out later. He tucked the paper safely away in his pocket until later that evening, when he turned on his laptop to browse the Internet. It took his computer only a few moments to search, find a street map of Boston and pinpoint Jennifer’s neighborhood.

He frowned at the screen, trying to visualize the area. He thought her apartment might be located within a mile or two of the free clinic where he volunteered. He typed in a request for directions from his own town house, in an upscale Boston neighborhood, to Jennifer’s address. The resultant map details confirmed his guess that her street wasn’t more than a short cab drive and probably within walking distance from the free clinic. The two addresses were in a shabby though respectable area of Boston, not far from his own home in actual miles but light-years away in real-estate prices.

Chance didn’t give a damn that Jennifer’s address highlighted the disparity in their incomes but it drove home the fact that he knew little about her life away from the diner.

He’d noticed her sitting in a back booth to study on her coffee breaks at the diner and when he’d commented, she’d told him that she was taking college classes. But beyond being a student and working as a waitress, she was an enigma to him. He wondered if she lived alone or shared an apartment with a fellow student.

During their brief conversations, she’d never mentioned her family and he realized that he didn’t know if she had any sisters or brothers, or if her parents lived here in Boston. He couldn’t help but wonder what her childhood had been like, what kind of a family she came from, and where she’d grown up. Jennifer treated Mrs. Blake, the elderly widow who counted out coins to pay for her daily coffee and donut, with the same friendly respect that she gave to the head of the Armstrong Fertility Institute. He’d never seen her react as if any of the high-powered doctors or scientists who frequented the diner intimidated her in the slightest.

Which made him think she must have grown accustomed to dealing with powerful, influential people before she arrived at the Coach House Diner.

She didn’t seem to recognize the Demetrios name, however, which indicated to him that while her family may have been affluent, they didn’t move in his parents’ stratified circle. The Demetrios shipping empire had made his family very, very rich and by definition, made him heir to an obscenely large fortune. Chance knew his father felt he’d turned his back on the family business when he chose to become a doctor. The choice had driven a wedge between him and his parents, especially his father. Much as he loved them, however, he couldn’t ignore the deep, passionate commitment he felt to medicine.

He wondered if Jennifer’s parents were happy with her career choice of waitress and part-time college student.

Which brought him full circle, he realized, to the fact that he was apparently bewitched by every facet of the mysterious Miss Labeaux.

That there was much he didn’t know about the beautiful blonde only made her more intriguing. Anticipation curled through his midsection.

I’ll find out Saturday night, he reflected.

Chapter Two

At seven-fifteen on Saturday night, Jennifer was well on her way to being transformed into Cinderella. Linda, Yolanda and Shirley had knocked on her door at 5:00 p.m., laden with bags. They’d dropped boxes, bags and bottles atop her bed before they raided her kitchen for wineglasses. After pouring wine and setting out a tray of crackers and cheese on her dresser, they had shooed her into the shower.

She had shampooed and scrubbed with Linda’s gift of plumeria-scented gel before toweling off and smoothing the matching floral lotion over her skin. She had heard Annie’s giggles over the throb of music from the radio on her bedside table and when she had pulled on her robe and left the bathroom, she had found Annie dancing with Yolanda. The two had twirled and spun in the small carpeted space at the foot of the bed while they sang along with a 1980s disco song.

Their enthusiasm had far outweighed their vocal talents and Jennifer had laughed as the song ended with a flourish.

Jennifer replayed the fresh memories just made over the past hour. “Hi, Mommy.” Annie left Yolanda and wrapped her arms around Jennifer’s waist, dimples flashing in her flushed face as she grinned up at her. “We’re disco dancing.”

“I see that,” Jennifer told her. “Very impressive.”

“But now I have to dry your mom’s hair,” Yolanda said, handing Jennifer a glass of wine and motioning her to have a seat on a chair she’d placed at the end of the bed. “We’ll 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.” Chance grinned at her and winked. “I like it.” His fingers moved over a series of buttons on the dash and heated air brushed Jennifer’s toes. The seat warmed beneath her. “How’s that?” he asked.

“Lovely.” She smiled at him, feeling distinctly cosseted.

“Good—let me know if you want it warmer.” He glanced in the mirrors, shifted into gear and the Jag pulled smoothly away from the curb.

“Where is the ball being held?” Jennifer inquired as they left her block and headed downtown.

“Same place as last year, apparently,” Chance replied with a sideways glance and named a posh hotel that was fairly new but built in a traditional turn-of-the-century style. It had become an instant Boston landmark, its dining room and ballrooms favored by society mavens.

“I’ve never been there,” Jennifer said, intrigued. “But I read an article in the Boston Herald about the grand opening. The design alone sounded fabulous.”

“Rumor has it the financier was a mad count from Austria who was a distant relative of Dracula.”