Once Upon A Kiss...: The Cinderella Act / Princess in the Making / Temporarily His Princess. Michelle Celmer
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returned with his drink. “Oh, you’re playing now. Maybe I’d better hold on to it for you.” Her lashes were a dark gold color that turned darker at the root near her pale blue eyes. Her hand hovered, waiting to see if he’d take the drink. His groin tightened and heated as a memory flashed over him—of the lush, curvy body hidden beneath her loose-fitting clothes.
“I’ll take it now.” He grabbed the glass rather roughly, afraid he’d somehow betray the fever of arousal that suddenly gripped him. All he needed was her lingering somewhere nearby, drink in hand, while he attempted to tap a wooden ball around the lawn.
“We haven’t seen you out here in ages, Sinclair. If your family hadn’t owned the place since biblical times I’d worry you were going to sell.” A sleek brunette he recognized from the yacht club held her drink up near her ear as a smile hovered around her glossy lips.
“Couldn’t do that. The ancestors would rise up and haunt me.”
“We’re doing teams.” His mother rushed over. “Sinclair, why don’t you team up with Lally.” She gestured toward the brunette, who murmured that she’d love to.
Sinclair’s heart sank. Why couldn’t people leave him alone? Now Lally would be offended if he didn’t flirt with her vigorously enough, and again when he failed to ask her out. Or, if he did ask her out from a sense of duty, she’d be upset when he didn’t want to sleep with her. Maybe he should sleep with her right here and get it over with.
His flesh recoiled from the possibility. “Sure. Why don’t you start?” He handed his partner the mallet, and she handed him her drink to hold. It looked like Annie’s famous Long Island iced tea, a shot of every white liquor plus a splash of Coke for color. It tasted deceptively sweet and was utterly lethal. He contemplated downing it in one gulp.
“Oh, no, we’re short a hand.” His mom rushed around, stabbing in the air with her finger as she counted the assembled guests. “Philip canceled at the last minute with a toothache.”
Lucky Philip. No doubt he’d found something better to do than be clawed over by single girls with ticking biological clocks.
“How’s your hedge fund doing in this market?” The brunette, Lally, attempted to look interested. He launched into his standard dinner-party-conversation reply, leaving the rest of his mind free to wonder what about her made his mom see her as third-wife material. She was pretty, mid-twenties, slim as a kebab prong. All things his mom found essential. Personally he preferred a woman with some curves to hold on to, but apparently that wasn’t fashionable anymore. Her teeth looked like Chiclets, or maybe that was an effect of her ultrawide smile and overglossed lips.
“Wow, that’s so cool. It must be wonderful to be good with numbers.”
His mom flapped toward him. “Darling, have you seen Annie? We need her to make up the last team.”
Sinclair stiffened. “She can’t have gone far.” She was probably hiding in the pantry, trying to avoid getting roped into this charade. Since when did anyone over ten play croquet, anyway? “She’s probably busy.”
“Nonsense. I had everything catered and people can help themselves to drinks. I’ll go find her.”
Sinclair swallowed and returned his attention to Lally, who’d moved so close he was in danger of being suffocated by her expensive scent. He resisted the urge to recoil. “What do you do?” This was usually a good question to keep someone talking for a while.
She threw her head back slightly. “It’s rather a revolutionary idea, actually.” She looked about, as if worried someone might overhear and steal it, but with a big smile like she was hoping they would. “I host Botox parties. You know, where people come and have their cares smoothed away.”
Genuine horror provoked Sinclair’s curiosity. “You mean where people come and have a neurotoxin injected into their face?”
She laughed. “It’s absolutely harmless in small doses, otherwise I’d be dead, wouldn’t I?”
Sinclair blinked. “You’ve used Botox? You can’t be a day over twenty-five.”
She winked conspiratorially. “Twenty-nine, but don’t tell a soul. I’m living proof that the product works.” He couldn’t resist staring at her forehead, which was smooth as the backside of his titanium laptop. “Still think it’s crazy?”
“Absolutely.” He had a violent urge to get as far away from Lally as possible, but politeness demanded that he survive this round of croquet first.
“You should invest. I’m going to be taking the company public some time next year. Of course, my main goal is to get bought out by a …” She rambled on, but his attention shifted to the sudden appearance of Annie. His mom had hooked her arm around Annie’s and pulled her onto the lawn. Annie looked rather startled and, he noted with alarm, teary-eyed. Was she okay? Her nose was red as if she’d been crying.
“You don’t need to know the rules. Just follow along. Your team will go last so you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out, and Dwight will be happy to explain anything you miss, won’t you, Dwight?” The tall, sandy-haired male with whom Sinclair had shared a long-ago sailing holiday agreed effusively. Jealousy kicked Sinclair in the gut.
“Are you okay?” He couldn’t help asking her.
Annie looked up with a start. “Sure, I’m fine.” She spoke quickly, her voice rather high. “It’s allergies. They’re terrible at this time of year.”
He frowned. He didn’t remember her having allergies, but no doubt that was just one of the many things he didn’t know about her.
“Sinclair, we’re up first.” The feel of soft fingers on his back made him flinch. Lally tugged him up to the start. “You should watch so you see where the ball goes.” Her vigorous tap sent the ball flying through the first hoop and raised a smatter of applause from the gathered crowd. Lally turned to him beaming, which, he noticed, had no effect on any other part of her face than her mouth. He handed her drink back to her, partly to ease the temptation of knocking it back to dull the pain of being there.
He snuck a glance over her shoulder at Annie. Her eyes had dried and she was engaged in conversation with Dwight about something very entertaining, at least judging from the way she kept laughing. His muscles tightened. What could Dwight be saying that was so funny? He didn’t remember him being such a wit. He strained to hear their conversation, but couldn’t make out a word of it over a nearby damsel bleating about her new vacation villa in Saint Lucia.
Annie’s nose had a light sprinkling of freckles, and a sweet way of wrinkling as she talked. She didn’t throw her chin and limbs around to punctuate her conversation the way the ambitious Lally was currently doing. He managed to nod in pretend interest to her conversational foray about yachting in the Caribbean. But all the while he was sneaking glances at Annie. He was glad her usual attire hid her hourglass figure, with its high, full breasts and slim waist. He could still feel the curve of her shapely backside against his hand.
“What did I do with my drink?” he asked, cutting Lally short.
“I don’t know. Where’s that girl who was passing them out?” She looked behind her. “Oh, there she is. Sinclair needs a drink!”
Sinclair stiffened as Annie looked his way. Her eyebrow lifted slightly. “Of course. Wine, or something stronger?”
He fought the urge to laugh. She could see right through him. “No, no. I’m fine.”
“But you just said—” Lally’s smooth face almost blocked his view of Annie.
“I said, I’m fine. If I need something I’ll get it myself.” His curt response rather startled both women. He attempted to lighten up. “I can’t believe you’re worrying about drinks during this cutthroat game of croquet. Your attention should be fixed entirely on the fate of our balls.”
Dwight guffawed. “Easy for you