Michelle Celmer - Once Upon A Kiss... - The Cinderella Act / Princess in the Making / Temporarily His Princess

“Great.” The word sounded empty and insincere.

“You and I are both sensible adults.” His dark eyes fixed on hers. Was he trying to convince her? “I’m sure we can move beyond what happened.”

“Of course.” She didn’t want him to know how much that afternoon had meant to her. He must never know. It was hard to look at him. Even the world-weary aspect of his face only added to his charm, his gaze hooded and guarded. She wasn’t sure he wanted any woman, least of all her. “I’ll be the soul of discretion.”

The furrow in his brow deepened for a second. “I knew I could count on you, Annie.” The sound of her own name sent a jolt of pain to her heart. Hearing it on his lips made her yearn for when he’d breathed it in passion. It seemed so … intimate. She could never say Sinclair so boldly and often.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? They were from completely different social strata. In the twenty-first century that shouldn’t matter, but it did. She might have been able to climb to a different level herself if she’d managed to go to college and start a successful career, like his. She could have been an executive by now, rubbing shoulders with him in a New York City boardroom.

But that wasn’t how things had worked out. She was destined to rub shoulders with him while wielding a sponge in his kitchen.

She wished he would leave. This was so awkward. He kept … looking at her. But it was his kitchen and she was his employee. He could stand there and look pityingly on her all day if he wanted. And now she couldn’t even start combing the classifieds. She could hardly leave his mother in the lurch while she was still so weak.

“I’m heading out for a walk.” Still he hovered in the kitchen, his large, masculine presence filling the room.

“Okay.” As if her opinion mattered.

He hesitated again, brow furrowed, and pierced her soul one more time with that intense brown gaze before he turned and left.

She sank against the countertop as the sound of his footsteps echoed down the hallway. How was she going to survive this summer? The worst part was that she kept feeling something that he wasn’t saying. Something odd and unsettling in the way he looked at her. Like some of the madness still lingered inside him the way it did inside her.

But that hardly mattered if he intended for them to forget that magical afternoon ever happened. She’d just have to get through it one day at a time. Starting with tonight’s dinner.

Sinclair stayed in his room as long as possible, reading research one of his staff had compiled on a gold-mining company in Uruguay. He’d much rather be at work than “relaxing” here with his mom organizing things for him to do every minute of the day. Today’s festivities included a croquet party she’d arranged, and he was expected to put in an appearance and actually wield a mallet. If she hadn’t come so close to death … He let out a long breath, then closed his laptop and swung his feet off the bed.

“Sinclair, is that you?” His mom’s voice came from the corridor. Had she been listening outside, waiting for him to betray signs of life? He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. She’d probably arranged for eight to ten attractive single women, dressed in designer croquet attire, to battle each other to win his heart.

Couldn’t any of them tell he didn’t have a heart to win?

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Good, dear, because everyone’s here.”

A glance out the window confirmed that “everyone” was at least fifteen of Dog Harbor’s most well-heeled citizens. They milled about clutching drinks, stiletto heels sinking into the smooth lawn. He yawned. His mother’s social occasions made even the most brutal business negotiations seem like a cakewalk.

And Annie would be there. Not playing croquet, or batting her eyelashes, but serving the iced tea and salmon squares. He searched for her among the small crowd but didn’t see her. The resulting wave of disappointment shocked him away from the window and toward the door, tucking in his shirt and smoothing his hair on the way. Maybe all these people would at least take his mind off Annie for a while.

Either that or he was losing it for good. Lust. That’s what it was. The curse of mankind, or at least the male half of the species. Abstinence didn’t really work for men, they just ended up doing something crazier and more stupid than if they’d been in a normal relationship.

Shame he wasn’t capable of a normal relationship. Two failed marriages didn’t leave too much doubt about that.

He descended the stairs and went out to the garden. Voices called out, “Sinclair, how lovely to see you! It’s been such a long time.” Scented kisses covered his cheeks and he was forced to make fluff conversation about how his business was doing. Happily, neither of his ex-wives was there, but several of their close friends were. No doubt his mother considered them potential future wives. She was nothing if not determined.

“Would you like a glass of white wine?” Annie’s soft voice made him whip around.

“Iced tea would be fine, thanks.” The words sounded so inadequate, so laughable, after what had happened between them. A pang of regret stabbed him as she moved silently away to get his drink. He’d made things so awkward with a lovely woman who deserved to be treated with respect, not stripped naked by a man who couldn’t control his basest urges.

“You’re up first, Sinclair.” His mother, beaming and looking happier and healthier than he’d seen her in ages, thrust a mallet into his hand. She loved parties and was never happier than when entertaining. Of course she wasn’t a true Drummond. She’d married into the family, or she might have shared the taste for solitude that so annoyed her in his father and himself. None of the other Drummonds she’d tried to contact about the cup had bothered to respond. He wouldn’t have either if she wasn’t his own mother.

Annie 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.