Cinderella and the Playboy (4 page)

She stood still and his hand tightened at her waist, muscles flexing in the hard body that held her close. The moment was taut with silent tension. She nearly groaned with frustration when the connection was abruptly broken by the ping of the elevator when it came to a smooth stop. The doors opened with an audible whoosh, the sound further shattering the moment.

“Our floor,” Chance murmured in her ear, his voice deeper, rougher.

Jennifer didn’t reply, unsure if her voice would actually function. She and Chance moved with the crowd, conversation unnecessary amid the laughter and chatter. Chance’s hand rested at the small of her back, a warm weight that tied her to him as surely as if it were an invisible chain.

Never had she been so conscious of the differences between male and female, nor so compelled to explore the undeniable pull on her senses that drew her inexorably toward him.

They reached a wide archway and the guests around them slowed, forming a straggling line as they waited to enter the dining room.

“Dinner should be great,” Chance murmured. “I happen to know one of the chefs.” He took a square, gold-embossed, cream-colored card from his inner jacket pocket as the line moved forward.

“Good evening, Dr. Demetrios.” The tuxedo-clad man standing just outside the door smiled with warmth, nodding at Jennifer. “Ma’am.”

“Hello, Frank,” Chance replied. “Tell your boss I’m glad he’s doing the catering tonight. I was seriously considering skipping the dinner until I heard he was the chef.”

“I’ll tell him.” The man’s smile broadened. He took the invitation from Chance and consulted a seating chart. “You and your lady are with the senator and his wife at a front table.” He snapped his fingers and a waiter instantly appeared. “Joseph, show the doctor and his guest to table number four.”

“Yes, sir. This way, please.” The young man
sketched a quick, respectful nod and led the way across the room.

Jennifer tried not to stare as they crossed the beautifully appointed art-deco dining room. White linen tablecloths covered round tables, each set for eight guests with polished silverware, gold-trimmed china, sparkling crystal glasses and fresh floral centerpieces. Crystal chandeliers were spaced at intervals down the ceiling and glittered and gleamed, adding their brilliance to the recessed lighting in the boxed ceiling.

“Chance!” A tall man with a mane of white hair and sun lines fanning from the edges of shrewd blue eyes stood as they reached a table just to the left of the speaker’s podium. “I told Emily Armstrong to make sure we sat at your table. I’m glad it worked out.”

“Hello, Archie.” Chance shook the man’s outstretched hand before draping an arm over Jennifer’s shoulder. “Jennifer, this is Senator Claxton and his wife, Evelyn. Their son, Ben, was my best friend from kindergarten through college. Archie and Evelyn, this is Jennifer Labeaux.”

“Good evening,” Jennifer held out her hand and received a firm, warm handshake.

“Glad to meet you, Jennifer,” the senator said, his eyes kind, his smile welcoming.

Seated on his left, his wife nodded and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, dear.” The silver-haired woman leaned forward. “We must make a pact to keep Archie and Chance from talking politics or funding for medical research all during dinner. When they get started, they argue for hours.”

“Then we definitely need to divert them,” Jennifer told her as she slipped into the chair Chance held. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

“Excellent.” Evelyn nodded with approval.

“Now, Evie,” her husband protested as he and Chance settled into their seats. “I don’t know how you can object to a little friendly discussion, especially since tonight is a fundraiser for the institute and it’s one of your pet projects.”

“Oh, I certainly want to raise money for research,” Evelyn said serenely. “I just don’t want you and Chance to spend all evening discussing nothing but political funding. Especially when there’s bound to be so many other interesting subjects to talk about tonight. Like for instance,” she continued as she tilted her head, her voice lowering, “the not-quite-divorced starlet who just walked in on the arm of a certain land-development billionaire. Don’t stare!” She caught the sleeve of her husband’s tuxedo jacket to keep him from turning to look.

“Shoot, Evie,” the senator grumbled. “How do you expect me not to react when you hit me with one of your bombshells?”

“I’m continually amazed at the depth of your knowledge about society’s movers and shakers and the gossip they stir up,” Chance teased. He lounged in his seat, one arm resting across the gold-trimmed back of Jennifer’s chair. His fingers moved lazily, brushing her arm just below the edge of her capped sleeve. Goose bumps lifted in the wake of his touch.

“A senator’s wife has to have something to occupy her while her husband is off doing governmental things,” the older woman told him. “I just happen to have access to a very well-informed network of gossips.” She winked at Jennifer.

Jennifer laughed, charmed by the couple. Before she could respond, however, two other couples arrived to take their seats at the table and there was an ensuing flurry of introductions and conversation.

She felt as if she’d been dropped back in time to the country club in her hometown. The Claxtons reminded her of a couple who had been longtime friends of her grandparents and their comfortable, loving repartee had her laughing out loud along with Chance. They clearly adored Chance, too, which
Jennifer took as an endorsement of her growing conviction that he was definitely one of the good guys.

One of the other couples at the table had a four-year-old daughter and Jennifer had to make a conscious effort to keep from sharing stories about Annie at that age. The husband was a TV producer and his wife was a local Boston news anchor. Jennifer often watched her on the late-night broadcast and was delighted to learn that she was every bit as nice in person as she seemed on television.

When dinner—which was truly delicious—was finished, the doors were opened into the adjoining ballroom. Lush music filled the high-ceilinged room from the orchestra seated on a dais, edged with potted palms, at the far end of the polished floor.

Shoulder propped against the wall, his hands thrust into his pockets, Chance waited at the edge of the ballroom while Jennifer disappeared into the ladies’ room.

“Hey, Chance.”

The tap on his shoulder had him straightening from the wall. Behind him were Paul Armstrong and his siblings Derek and Lisa.

“Evening, everybody,” Chance smiled at the twin brothers and winked at the petite, dark-haired Lisa. The two men wore traditional black tuxedos with
pristine white shirts and bow ties, while Lisa’s dress was clearly a designer gown, the oyster-and-bronze-colored dress held up by a collar of jewels. It left her back and shoulders bare and Chance reflected idly that both she, and her brothers, looked every bit the society powerhouses they were. “This is quite a party.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Lisa said with a smile of satisfaction, her gaze sweeping over the crowded ballroom. “Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“I’d say so,” Chance agreed. He flagged down a passing waiter and took champagne flutes from the tray, handing one to each of the Armstrongs. “Congratulations, you three. I’m guessing the institute’s coffers will grow after tonight.”

Chance lifted his glass in salute and they all sipped.

“Is the whole family here?” He glanced past the trio to briefly scan the crowd for their sister and her husband. “I don’t think I’ve seen Olivia and Jamison.”

“Oh, yes, they’re here,” Lisa assured him. “We were just talking with them.”

“Yeah,” Paul said with a shake of his head. “They were telling us about their adoption plans.”

“Adoption plans?” Chance echoed, surprised. “I didn’t know they were thinking of adopting a child.”

“Children—plural,” Derek told him. “Two brothers. The younger one is autistic.”

“Really?” Chance wasn’t sure what to say. Adopting an autistic child was a noble action but a very big challenge for the parents—especially when one parent was a busy junior senator with one eye on the White House. “That’s quite an undertaking.”

“I agree,” Lisa said, worry underlying her tone. “I can’t help but wonder if they’re truly prepared for the impact of a special-needs child in their lives.”

“I think Olivia is determined,” Paul said with a shrug. “Only time will tell but my money’s on her and Jamison.”

“Excuse me, sir.” A woman, carrying a clipboard and wearing a unobtrusive “Staff” button on her green evening gown, interrupted them with an apologetic look. “Senator Claxton would like to introduce all of the Armstrong family members to a friend of his.” She lowered her voice to murmur, “The senator asked me to tell you the friend is a potential donor to the research program at the institute.”

Derek slipped his arm through Lisa’s and clapped Paul on the shoulder. “Then we’d better go meet-and-greet.”

“Duty calls. See you later, Chance.” Paul let his brother urge him into motion.

“Have fun,” Lisa called over her shoulder as the three followed the clipboard-carrying woman into the throng.

Chance lifted his half-empty flute in farewell.

“Who are they?” Jennifer asked, having returned in time to see the Armstrongs leave.

Her voice stroked over his senses, lush, sensual, and when he turned, the sight of her did the same.

“My bosses—and coworkers,” he answered, dismissing them with a wave of the champagne class before deftly depositing the flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “They were called away to meet potential donors. For them tonight is both business and pleasure. I’d like you to meet them—hopefully we’ll see them later and I’ll introduce you.” He held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

She smiled shyly. “I’d love to.”

Chance swept Jennifer onto the floor. They circled the room amid the crowd of dancers, moving gracefully to the strains of a waltz.

“I feel like Cinderella,” Jennifer murmured.

Chance tucked her closer, his leg brushing between hers as he executed a turn. “Does that make me the prince?” he asked.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think the jury’s still out.”

“Damn.” His smile was wry. “And I’ve been on my best behavior tonight.”

His eyes twinkled, inviting her to laugh.

“After listening to you and the senator tell stories about the pranks you and his son pulled on your friends in school, I’m not sure you grasp the concept of ‘good behavior,’” she teased.

“Isn’t there a statute of limitations on being a dumb kid? Dave and I did most of that stuff in high school and college,” he protested.

“Nothing recently?” she pressed with a smile, unconvinced.

“No,” he assured her. “We had a lot of fun in school but my days of setting up practical jokes are over. I wish I had time to see more of the senator’s family,” he added. “But for the past few years, Ted and I have been too busy with our research.”

Her gaze softened. “You work too hard. Lately when you come into the diner, you seem exhausted.”

“There have been a few weeks when sleep was a rare commodity,” he admitted.

“What exactly do you do at the institute?” she asked, insatiably curious about every aspect of his life.

“I treat women with fertility issues,” he told her. “Part of my day is spent with patients in one-on-one appointments and procedures. The rest of the day is spent
in the lab with my partner. We’re searching for a way to increase the success rate of implanted embryos, among our other projects.”

“That’s marvelous.” Jennifer couldn’t help but think about how difficult it must be for couples who wanted children but couldn’t conceive. Annie was the most important thing in her life—what if she couldn’t have gotten pregnant? “I can’t imagine doing anything more important.”

“That’s how I feel. How I’ve always felt.” His voice deepened, eyelashes half-lowering over dark eyes. “You understand and you’ve only known me a few months. I started bandaging the neighborhood dogs when I was eight years old but my parents still can’t understand why I want to be a doctor.”

“Why not?” Baffled, she searched his features. “Most parents would love to have a doctor in the family.”

“They wanted me to go into the family business. My father especially. He’s the CEO and he wanted me to take his place.” He shrugged. “If they’d had more children, it might have been easier for them to accept my decision but unfortunately I’m an only child.”

“It must have been difficult for you to disappoint them,” she murmured in response to the hint of regret underlying his words.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It was—still is, sometimes.”

“But you love your work so it’s worth it to you,” she guessed.

“Yes.” He smiled at her, his dark eyes warm. “How about you? Do you like working at the diner?”

“I do,” Jennifer replied. “I like the customers, the other waitresses, even my boss. I plan to keep working there until I get my degree.”

“What are you studying?”

“Education—I want to be a teacher.”

“Good for you.” His smile held approval and respect. “What kind of classes are you taking?”

“An English lit class, which I love,” she told him. “And a psychology class, which I don’t like very much. Still,” she added, “at least it’s not an art class.”

“You don’t like art?”

“Oh, I love art,” she assured him. “I love going to museums and looking at sculpture, oil paintings, watercolors…I especially love Impressionist paintings. But I have very little artistic talent, unfortunately, and I need a passing grade in several art classes to finish my degree.”

“How many hours are you at the diner every week?” he asked with a frown. “Aren’t you working full-time? How do you have time to study?”

She smiled impishly. “I don’t date. It’s amazing
how much free time a woman has when she cuts men out of her life.”

His arms tightened, pulling her closer. “That’s got to change,” he growled.

She laughed, her breasts pressed to the muscled strength of his chest, his powerful thighs hard against hers. Excitement and heat shivered through her and she tilted her head back to look up at him. “But I have to earn my degree if I want to become a teacher—and I really, really want to be a teacher.”