Cinderella's Lucky Ticket

“Professional what?”

“Professional door-squeezer,” he returned promptly—too promptly? Her eyes narrowed, staring at him. Was he hiding something inside the words? “C’mon, Lucy, superglued and handcuffed—or will you trust me not to lock the door in your face after you go first? Me being the gentleman I am and all.”

“I—I don’t know if I should—”

As if he knew all her hidden fears, he leaned close and whispered, “A whole new world awaits, Lucy Miles, scientific librarian. All you have to do is walk through that door.”

A new world. Oh, he was more right than he knew, and the idea scared her more than she’d admit. But she’d stepped outside her cloistered world last night, the door already breached. There was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath she charged to the door and opened it with a defiant toss of her head, like a warrior going into the Crusades. “Well, let’s do it.”

Those expressive dark eyes filled with laughter as he turned sideways, grabbing her other hand again. “Crabs.”

She gasped. “What?”

He pulled her against him. “Crab-walking’s the only way we’ll get out of here under our superglued and handcuffed, chained-to-each-other policy. Let’s go.”

Uh-oh. Just as well he was holding her up, for her stupid genetic code chose that precise moment to act out again. So a woman’s knees could turn weak at the touch of a man’s body. At the feel of skin against skin, male against female, muscled strength against tender femininity…

What am I thinking? Science, wedding, Hugh—SCIENCE!

Yes, she could focus…just as soon as she could stop feeling his strong chest and taut stomach muscles against her as they shuffled sideways together. When the strange sweetness of his muscled arm around her waist wore off. And when that fresh male scent he wore stopped making her head spin so deliciously…

Ben had the door shut before she realized they were outside. “Welcome back to the outside world. Want to test out your keys?”

Oops, she was still walking sideways—and clinging to him. “Oh. Yes, of course.”

The keys worked just fine. Deflated, she turned back to him, but couldn’t look up. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

“For what?”

“For not cheating.” She gave a little, embarrassed shrug.

“I’m not that much of a Neanderthal, Lucy, I promise.”

She looked up, seeing no hint of laughter in his eyes. He looked awkward, even hurt. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

“You have an amazing voice.” He smiled then, a personal, spine-tingling look. “All breathy and voluptuous. Little girlish, yet all woman. You know, like the way Marilyn Monroe sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to JFK.”

Oh, yes, she knew…the dress, the woman, the powerful male…

“I suspect untold depths live and pulse beneath that cardigan of yours,” Ben said softly. “What’s going on in your mind to put such a dazed, sexy look on your face?”

The bubble burst. “I’m not sexy!”

“You know, an hour ago, I’d have agreed with you. I thought you were a drudge at first.” He shook his head, and that rebel lock of hair fell back over his forehead. “But you’ve changed so many times in the past hour, I can’t wait to see what comes next. I suspect you’re a lady of mercurial depths beneath your prosaic exterior, Lucy Miles. I’d love to see you lose the cardigan.”

“No!” she gasped, pulling it tighter around her.

“And let your hair down, spilling all over your shoulders,” continued the sinuous voice of temptation in her ear.

“Never!”

“And barefoot, running free in the wind and sun, that soft, creamy skin of yours all flushed and hot…”

Hmm…

Stop it!

She kept a close hold of her sweater, glaring at him. “Well, you won’t, and that’s all. Ben—Mr. Capriati—I’m engaged, and I won’t take off my cardigan for any man but Hugh!”

To her dismay, he burst out laughing.

“What?” she demanded, exasperated. Why did he keep laughing at her when no one else ever thought she was funny?

He fell against the wall, in gasping chuckles. “Now I see your problem—you were born in the wrong century. You won’t take off your cardigan for me?” He doubled right over.

Tears sprang to her eyes. “That was unkind of you to say,” she whispered. “And—and you’re wrong. Mother and Father and Hugh are all wrong. I am not a genetic throwback. I am not a poor, submissive little woman who’s only good for supporting things more important than me! I’m a human being, and you will treat me with basic respect, d-do you understand?” She scrubbed at her eyes.

He looked at her for a long moment, with a quiet soberness in his handsome face. “I didn’t mean it. I was jerking your chain. Teasing is my worst habit, according to my family. I’m sorry.” He spoke with the same awkward sincerity he’d used over the keys. “C’mon, let’s go. I won’t laugh at you any more. Scout’s honor.”

“Were you ever a Scout?” she asked doubtfully.

He grinned then. “Suspicious woman. You wound me, Lucy-babe. Just coffee, croissants and pleasant conversation, I swear.”

She resisted the urge to smile, but it was oh, so hard. “I don’t trust you an inch.” Her stomach rumbled again in aggressive protest, and they both laughed. “Well, all right, but I’m only coming for the food. And don’t call me babe!”

Chapter Three

She’d never been in a convertible before…

So seductive. With the top down, they roared through the beachside city. The warm wind blew through her hair, the spring sun touched her skin, and a dark, dangerous man sat beside her, who even made changing gears a sensual caress of the stick. A capable male as well as physically attractive…

Stop thinking about it!

She couldn’t help it. Surfer’s Paradise was known as the Sin City of Queensland. Hot temptation beckoned everywhere; seduction breathed in every pore. It had a life all its own, pulsing from a twenty-mile strip of creamy-white sand—the soft rhythmic throb of spilling waves, its glittering duty-free stores and luxury hotels. Cosmopolitan eateries and open-air markets, pubs, casinos and nightclubs lined every corner.

I can respect you, Abigail. You’re so high-minded, above wanting all the flashy, superficial things other women crave.

Bad girl. Bad girl, the imp whispered. And oh, aren’t we enjoying it for once…

Then Ben roared into a parking space on the strip in front of all the unbroken sand and surf. “Not bad, eh? Doesn’t my sweet Jessica purr like a kitten? And you’ve got to admit the scenery’s not half-bad.” His voice caressed her, wafting over her heated skin like a lover’s touch. “No lab test can reproduce it, no photo lab can airbrush it. Heat and sand and the coolness of the waves, a brilliantine sky you could almost walk into. The sexiest strip of land on earth. Like a siren song for the senses.”

Lucy turned to look at him in despair. What was this man, fate’s punishment for her secret life? “Jessica?” she croaked.

“Hmm.” Ben’s hand glided in slow appreciation along the dash. “My Jessica. She reminds me of an old flame of mine. Long and sleek and fast, oozing sensuality.”

She shook her head to clear the graphic image. “Listen to yourself. You’re talking about a car, Ben. A car! Honestly, don’t you think of anything but sex?”

He grinned. “Not when you rise to the bait every time. You’re like a wriggling fish on a hook. I can’t resist.”

“Does Jessica exist?” she demanded.

He gave her a rueful grin. “I wasn’t laughing at you this time—just teasing you a bit.” He touched her face, smiling whimsically. “You look so adorable when you gape at me. Or when you blush. Especially when you blush.”

She bit her lip, feeling the tide of color fill her cheek. Every time she thought she had him pegged, he said things that were so completely enchanting….

“Yeah, that’s the one. It’s cute, sweet—and so sexy.”

The violin symphony in her head came to a screeching halt. “I’m engaged. You shouldn’t be saying things like that to me!”

He shrugged, keeping an obvious distance. “It’s just harmless fun, Lucy. Talking doesn’t have to become doing.” He gave her a genuinely puzzled look. “Haven’t you ever flirted before—just for fun? I’m not going to proposition you.”

“I have more important things to do with my life.” Heat scalded her face now. Had she ever flirted with a man? Did she know how? “This is a ridiculous conversation.” She leaped out of the car and stalked ahead of him to the main boulevard.

Within seconds he’d caught up with her, and led her to an outdoor restaurant in the sunshine, across from the beach. “You would frequent a café that becomes a bar at night,” she muttered.

“You really need to lighten up, Lucy.” He seated her at a table, sat down opposite her and waved a hand over the glorious vista. “Look at it. Soak it in. Warm sun, white sand, the sound and scent of surf, the beautiful people strolling by.”

“With nothing better to do than stroll,” she remarked, trying to ignore those seductive sights and scents. “Don’t they work?”

The waitress arrived, and they gave their orders; then Ben leaned back in his chair, face tilted up to the warm, cloudless sky. “Should people spend all their time working?”

“Why not? Man is a working animal, and—”

“Are you talking about yourself, or your fiancé?” She felt herself crimson with guilt and confusion. The incredulity was plain in his voice as he asked, “You mean your fiancé doesn’t even take days off to spend time with you?”

She bit her lip. He’s a stranger. He can’t make you cry. “He’s a dedicated scientist, helping people in need. And at least he works, not like some people.”

He leaned back in his chair, pushing his sunglasses farther up his nose. “You know, that’s a bad habit of yours. We met less than two hours ago, yet you think you’ve got me all figured out. What if you’re wrong?”

“Maybe I did jump to conclusions—but you did, too, in judging Hugh without even having met him,” she pointed out.

He bit his lip; a quirky, rueful grin emerged. “Touché, my friend. Good call. So I did. Very immature of me.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have said it—but look at you.” A hand swept over him. “You’re here doing nothing at all. You win those wonderful prizes, and use them to foster a sedentary lifestyle instead of getting a decent trade—”

Ben’s mouth quivered with the need to laugh. Man, she was cute when she was off on one of her tangents and so totally different from any other woman who saw him as Ben, the doctor, with all the potential for a comfortable lifestyle it implied, that he couldn’t resist keeping up the beach-bum image. He’d finally met one young, unmarried woman who didn’t see him as a potential source of future funds, and somehow it charmed him. “I’m thirty-one, Lucy. Do you think anyone’s going to take me on as their apprentice now?”

Their orders came, and the glorious scent of warm caffe latte and fresh, hot croissants assailed her roiling stomach. She snatched up a croissant and buttered it, spreading thick jam over it, and gulped down the first mouthful with an ecstatic sigh. “Maybe not—but any college would take you as a student,” she mumbled, her mouth full. “You could have a decent job—maybe with computers—within months. It could change your life!”

“Ick. Can’t imagine sitting on my butt at a computer all my life.” Ben buttered his croissant as she wolfed hers down with an ecstasy so strong she couldn’t contain it. “And I’ve already done the university-college trip. I don’t plan on repeating it anytime soon.” He grinned and winked at her.

Her tirade halted abruptly. Oh, why did he have to smile like that? He made it a species all its own: warm, intimate, as if she was the only woman in the world…. She gulped down coffee, scorching her mouth. “You’ve been to university?”

He lifted the shades, highlighting the thick black lashes fringing his eyes: dark, exotic, with the luscious, inherent sensuality of a Mediterranean background. She’d always had a guilty passion for Italian men. “Ask nicely, Lucy, and you shall receive.” When she frowned, confused, he said softly, “Say my name in the sexy voice of yours, and I’m putty in your hands.”

She struggled, torn between indignation and temptation, but it seemed she’d left her self-control behind in Sydney, and she couldn’t resist. “Have you been to university—Ben?”

“Aaah, that’s the one.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “I’ve been to university. I endured years of it, so I’ll never go back, whether it makes me a dropout or not.”

She wanted to condemn him for his lack of staying power, but she was led on by a raging curiosity to know more about the sort of man who’d not only always been off-limits, but was also her secret fantasy. A dark, dangerous bad boy. “And you’re Italian?”

“My dad is—hence the name Capriati. He was born to a pair of Bronx-born Sicilian-Americans who moved to Sydney in the early fifties, when he was seventeen.”

She blinked at the sudden overload of information. “Your father’s American?”

“With a strange half Bronx, half Australian accent to boot.” He laughed. “My mother’s Irish-Australian, and Papa’s family, proud of their Sicilian heritage, have barely forgiven her for the crime—not to mention that they met only two days before his wedding to a nice Italian girl.” An inscrutable look passed over his face. “Mama and Papa got married four months later.”

Obviously, that was a subject to leave alone. “I’m Irish, too—well, my grandparents were, on both parents’ sides,” she said, smiling. “Do the family punish you for being Australian?”

“I was always bigger than them, so they didn’t get too nasty.” He winked again. “Now it’s my turn. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

She shook her head. “My parents had me when they were in their early forties. I was—unplanned.”

“But not unwelcome?”

She gulped more coffee. She’d been having fun; the last thing she wanted to do right now was to think about her life. Her father and mother were always so dedicated to science, her birth and upbringing having been somewhat of an afterthought for them both. Her grandparents had died before she’d been born, and with no other relatives in the country, she’d been brought up in special preschools and advanced learning centres aimed at developing her potential. In all her life, she’d rarely spent time with her parents except in the car, and at dinner. Shush, Abigail, no talking at the table. Your father’s trying to think, and I have papers to mark. “No,” she answered, her voice scratchy. “Not unwelcome.”

“What made you become a science librarian? You said your parents were scientists. Was it genetic, or exposure?”

She shrugged. “I always loved books. I spent a lot of time in the university library after school.” Go read a book, Abigail. We’re busy. “To become a librarian seemed a natural progression. Do you have brothers or sisters?” she asked, to turn the subject.

“Three younger brothers, Joe, Marco and Jack, and just one sister, Sofie—and believe me, she’s enough. She more than outyells all four of us guys.” He mock-grimaced. “She never shuts up. I put a padlock on my door just for some peace when I lived at home.”

“You don’t know how lucky you are.” As a little girl, she’d been scared sometimes that the silence would drive her mad. Oh, how she’d wished for a big, noisy family to love. “Don’t take your family for granted.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t dare. Now let’s cheer up. We’re out in the sunshine, by the beach—”

She sighed and put her mug down with a rattle. “Ben…”

“Hey, come on, Lucy, give it a rest. A week off won’t destroy the world.” He shook his head. “Do you know what a sexy voice you have, by the way? It’s like a fantasy come to life—”

“You have fantasies, too?” With a wide-open grin of joy she pounced on him. “I’ve always had—”

“Aha!” He grinned at her as she stuffed her runaway mouth with croissant. “I knew there were untold depths to plumb beneath that prim, sterile facade of yours, Abigail Lucinda Miles.”

The croissant nearly choked her. “Sterile. Sterile!” she gasped, in an outrage totally disproportionate to the word.

“Yeah. Like a lab bench. Germfree. Without spot from the world.” Flipping his shades up to rest on his hair, he watched her in amusement, leaning right back until the chair seemed ready to crash on the pavement. “But I suspect the volcano of repressed human emotion is about to erupt all over me.”

“W-well, it’s your fault,” she hiccupped, feeling too indignant to care how she spoke to him. “You called me sterile—”

“I beg your pardon, Ms. Miles. Obviously I was wrong.” He sipped his coffee, still watching her in lazy interest. “So, was the S word the catalyst for this volatile chemical reaction in your emotive recesses to allow you to admit to a fantasy life, or was I somehow involved?”

“The s word,” she returned far too quickly.

“Uh-uh, Lucy. You’re fibbing. The original sexy dreamer’s look was on your face long before I said the dreaded s word. Well, what do you know.” His grin grew wide. “A guy like me—the kind you despise—is a catalyst for your feminine fantasies.”

Hating that he’d plumbed the truth inside her silly, unscientific soul, she mumbled, “It’s not you. It’s the crazy things you say! All that talk of beaches and sun and singing to the president—”

“You like that one?” His voice was soft, enticing. “We could act it out if you want. I’d love to play president to that gorgeous Marilyn voice of yours.”

Don’t go there! But the vision flashed into her mind: plain, uninteresting Abigail Lucinda Miles in a shimmering white gown, singing to this gorgeous caveman—her every breathy word filled with sensual promise….

A caress on her palm, warm and tender as the touch of a wafting breeze. “Tell me your dreams and fantasies, Lucy, and I could help make them come true.”

Lost, helpless, she gazed at him. The man she’d written off as an ignorant caveman understood her better than her own family; he knew more about her in four hours than the man she’d been in love with for six years. For the first time in twenty-eight years she had a kindred spirit—a man who slotted right into those fantasies as if he’d always lived there. If she wanted to play…

Abigail, dear, do try not to be so selfish. Hugh’s work helps humanity.

She bit her lip, frowned, closed her eyes and blurted it out. “No, I don’t want. I don’t want anything from you but my prizes.” She stuffed the croissant in her mouth, jumped to her feet and took off running for the car.

Ben watched her bolt, and sighed. “You and your big mouth, Capriati,” he grumbled. “You should have known it was too early to put the plan in action.” He stalked inside, dumped some money on the counter and took off after her.

Lucy ran as fast as she could, but he caught up to her a minute later. “Lucy, wait.”

“Go away!” She kept stalking down the hot pavement, past sunshine-soaked beach apartment buildings and waving palms and tropical gardens toward the car.

He strode around her, blocking her flight right in a patch of melting, ocean-scented sunlight. He took her jaw in his hand, gently making her look at him. “I was just teasing. And even if I wasn’t, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone has their little dreams, even the scientific giants. Think of them—Einstein, Bell, Franklin, the Curies, Galileo. Without their dreams, the world would be a poorer place.”

Lucy peeped up at him, blinking, as dazed as if she stood on shifting ground. “N-no. That’s not right. Hugh doesn’t dream.”

“Sure he does.” The hand touching her chin moved a fraction, not enough to be called a caress. “What does he do in his line? Treat people, or is he into the research side of things?”

“R-research,” she replied, barely realizing she was purring.

“So he’s looking to find some new cure, something no one else has found. That’s his dream.”

“That’s not his dream, it’s his goal. It’s vital to have goals. My dreams are nothing life changing. They’re just…silly.”

“That’s what they thought about Ben Franklin. People said Einstein was crazy.” Gentle hands fell on her wrists, pushing her sleeves up her arms. The cool sea breeze caressed her heated flesh, and she sighed in unconscious relief. She was so hot…. “Your dreams may not save the world, but if they make you happy, and they don’t hurt anyone, why not indulge a little?”

“I—I can’t….” She licked her upper lip, scared, fascinated and so tempted….

Are you ready for this? If you go forward, you can never go back and when this time’s over with Ben, you’ll be all alone.

She jerked out from under his mesmerizing touch. “N-no. No! You’re wrong. Self-discipline and hard work is the key to true happiness, fulfillment and career achievement!”

“Fulfillment and career achievement. You sound like a parrot,” he muttered in disgust. “Who taught you that rubbish?”

She frowned and looked away. “I can think for myself,” she said quietly. “And even if it were from my parents or fiancé, it’s not your place to call it rubbish. I don’t belittle your family or beliefs.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He threw up his hands. “And I know the basic premise of what you said is right. There are millions of wonderful people who spend their lives caring for others or to make medical or scientific breakthroughs, and that’s great. But they want to do that. If they choose it—if it gives them pleasure, and helps others—well, good for them. But if you fulfill your harmless dreams for a few days, and make yourself happy—why deny yourself of that? What good does that do for you, your family or the world?”

She almost grabbed the tree for balance as the world rocked beneath her. Was—was Ben right? Hugh and her parents were happy, doing what they wanted with their lives—but was she? “But they’re noble, and I’m so banal.” Her head drooped in shame. “Hugh and my father want to save future generations from deadly diseases…my mother wants to educate people, and my dreams are to water-ski and swim with dolphins!”

“Hey, nice call. I’d love to try it—and it’s doable. We’ll hire the gear and a driver, and take a day trip out to South Stradbroke Island.” He smiled at her. “Think of it, Lucy. Serene warm ocean, the sensation of flying through the air and water at once. Swimming with the loveliest of God’s creatures.”

Stamping her foot in frustration, she whacked the pavement. “Ow! No, you don’t understand! Hugh wants to change the DNA strand that causes Down’s syndrome or spina bifida, and all I want to do is kiss a dark stranger on a crowded dance floor!”

Ben shrugged. “Why not? I’m sure the stranger won’t object, especially if you got that curvy body into a little black dress and let your hair down, showing off your gorgeous face.”

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