The Reluctant Cinderella (9 page)

He lifted one big shoulder in a half shrug. “It's open to negotiation. Ten may be a bit…optimistic.”

“Oh, well, yeah. Probably. A bit.”

“I realize there aren't a whole lot of women these days who want to stay at home and have baby after baby.”

“After baby, after baby…”

He laughed then and she thought how the sound created a kind of glow inside her, made her feel that life was good and would only get better.

“Okay. I give in. I don't really know how many
kids I'll have. I'm hoping for at least three or four. But I could live with it however it works out. We might even adopt. There are a lot of kids out there who need moms and dads to love them.”

He was so right. She'd been such a kid, once. “No argument there.”

“It would all be workable. As long as I was living with the right woman.”

“So then…you do intend to get married again?” She asked the question—and thought, once the words were out, that maybe she was going a little too far.

But he answered easily. “Yeah. Now, I do.”
Now?
Meaning he hadn't earlier? “And this time,” he said, “I plan to do it right. This time, there aren't going to be any more secrets. And no more lies.” He paused and she saw the sudden shadows in his eyes.

She wanted to say something sympathetic, to encourage him to tell her more. But if she did that, they'd only be talking about Carly again….

And then the moment passed, the shadows vanished as he said with warmth and firmness, “There
will
be passion and laughter and fun and excitement. I know we'll have our rough patches. A good marriage always does. But we'll get through it. We'll have what matters.”

Megan sipped the coffee the waiter had brought her. “Sounds to me like you've got it all figured out.”

“I know what I want,” Greg said, and the way he looked at her brought a thousand butterflies fluttering to life in her stomach. “I'm just not sure how to get what I want. Yet.”

She shook her head at him. “I am not touching that. Not getting near it. Uh-uh.”

He laughed again and she wondered how she'd lived her whole life without Greg's laughter to make the world seem shimmery-bright, brimming with hope and promise.

She had, quite simply, never felt like this before.

It was…something special, this crazy thing with him. Something tender and trusting. Something open and free. She felt as if he saw her so fully, saw all of her, saw the Megan she'd never quite dared to be.

Saw her. And really
liked
what he saw.

“Deep thoughts?” he asked.

She waved a hand, unwilling to try to explain just then. “Oh, yeah. A little. Sorry….”

He caught her hand. “No. Don't be sorry. Ever. Just be…you.” She gave his fingers a squeeze before pulling away. And he said, “What about your niece and nephews? Tell me about them.”

“Hmm. Let's see. Michael is five and he's always doing things like chewing with his mouth open and imitating anything Olivia says. Really irritates her—justifiably so. But I just want to hug him and tell him he's adorable. Somehow I restrain myself. Not so smart to praise a kid for sticking out his tongue through a mouthful of half-chewed Lucky Charms.”

Greg was grinning. “I can just picture that.”

“Don't. As Olivia is always saying, it's
really gross.
”

“And speaking of Olivia…?”

“She's seven. Very bright. Kind of serious. Not
big on the girly-girl frills, but definitely feminine. Her pride and joy is her rock collection.”

“And the oldest? Anthony, right?”

Megan nodded. “Anthony's a little tough right now.”

“Tough?”

“Silent. Kind of moody. Spends way too much time wearing headphones and playing his Game Boy. He was six when Jerome left. Old enough to have memories of what it was like to have his dad in the house.”

“He misses his father.”

“Yeah. And Jerome, well, he's not as dependable as he could be.” She paused to sip more coffee. She was thinking that she probably should shut up about Jerome. Angela always tried not to say bad things about him. And Megan felt that she should follow her sister's lead, though personally, there were times when Megan thought the guy needed a good swift kick in the pants and a lecture about the responsibilities of fatherhood.

Greg picked up her ambivalence. “Well, all right. Enough about Jerome.”

She beamed him a wide smile. “Thank you.”

“Anything. To make you smile like that…”

The waiter appeared at her elbow with the coffeepot. “No, thanks. I've had more than enough….”

Greg said they were ready for the check. It came and he paid it. And then they just sat there some more.

She told him about the tough times, going from foster home to foster home. “There was never a fit. Though I tried, oh, you cannot believe how I tried.”

“To…fit in?”

“That's right. The Comptons wanted a bright child. I was a straight-A student. The Blakelys wanted a soccer player. I played forward. Not as well as someone more athletic, but I put my whole heart in it, I swear that I did. Somehow, though, it never seemed to work out. They would send me back and there would be another family. For a while. And sometimes I was in the Rosewood Children's Home. And then, at last, I went to the Schumachers.”

“I'm glad. That you finally found the place you belonged.”

She gave a wry grin. “Didn't I mention that the Schumachers divorced three years later?”

He swore quietly and shook his head, and she told him about how the divorce had at least brought her and Angela all the closer. “It was Ange and me against the world there for a while. But somehow, against all the odds, we managed to grow up into reasonably happy, responsible adults.”

He said again how he envied her—that she had a sister. And he told her about the friends he'd made in prep school. They spoke of favorite movies and their tastes in music. She could have sat there the whole night, listening to him talk about his weakness for reality shows.

“I confess,” he said, faking a mournful frown. “I love
Fear Factor.
Scary stunts and people eating things that make you gag. What more could a guy ask for?”

She admitted, “I have a secret weakness for
The Apprentice.
There's something about The Donald…”

“Maybe that sexy comb-over,” Greg suggested.

“Oh, yeah. Probably it.” She leaned a little closer and gestured toward the waiter, who was standing near the entrance to the kitchen wearing an expression of endless patience. “And the chairs are on the tables. We're the only customers left.”

Greg frowned. “No way it's time to go.”

“'Fraid so.”

He left an extra tip for all the time they'd taken up the table since they'd finished the meal, and they went out into the Manhattan night.

“I should start thinking about heading home,” she said regretfully once they were in a cab and on their way downtown.

He tightened the arm he'd laid across her shoulders. “My place. A nightcap.
Then,
if you feel you have to, I'll call the limo and send you home.”

“Greg. Honestly. I can take the—”

He silenced her with a finger against her lips. “Shh. I'm keeping you in the city until all hours. The least I can do is send you home in comfort.”

 

At his place, with the lights of the city gleaming beyond the tall windows, he called for the limo and then poured them each a brandy. They sat on the black leather couch, sipping, talking softly of casual things, laughing together at nothing in particular.

The limo driver checked in at twelve-thirty, and Greg said, “Stay. A little longer. The driver will wait.”

But it was an hour and a half back to Rosewood. She stood. “No. Really. I do have to go.”

Greg got up to go down with her, catching her hand and pulling her back before they left the apartment. He drew her close. “One more kiss….”

His lips met hers. She could have stood there forever, being kissed by Greg and kissing him back. But the driver was waiting and it was a long ride home. She pressed her hands to Greg's chest and he lifted his head.

“Gotta go.”

Reluctantly, he released her.

But of course, outside, as the driver waited with the door wide, Greg pulled her into his arms one more time. She kissed him back, with enthusiasm.

And, finally, he let her go. “I'll call you,” he said, folding bills into the driver's palm as she ducked into the car. She nodded and waved as the driver shut the door.

 

Her phone rang as the limo rolled up FDR Drive. She knew who it would be. And it was.

“I did promise I'd call.”

“That's right. You did.”

“Is Andy taking care of you?”

“Um, Andy?”

“The driver.”

She glanced up front at the back of Andy's head. “So far, so good.”

“Tomorrow,” Greg said, and then corrected himself. “Wait. Make that today, since it's already Saturday. I want to see you
today.
”

“You just saw me.”

“It wasn't enough. Can you be ready by eleven? I'll send a car.”

“You are much too extravagant. Really. I can—”

“It's nothing. Eleven. Be ready.”

“For?”

“Anything. Bring shoes you can walk in.”

Now, there was some great advice. Her poor feet couldn't take another day like today—not in three-inch heels, anyway. “Will do.” She leaned back into the plush leather seat.

His voice was husky in her ear. “I had a great time….”

“Me, too,” she answered softly, thinking that the night had a glow to it and FDR Drive had never looked so beautiful.

 

Megan slept like the proverbial log that night. Her dreams were sweet ones, full of sunshine and a certain man's sexy smile. She was up, showered and dressed and joining her sister in the main house at eight-fifteen.

Angela sat at the island, enjoying her coffee. The kids were nowhere in sight—probably upstairs getting ready for Jerome to pick them up.

“You're looking positively perky,” her sister remarked as Megan got her cup and filled it.

She turned, leaned on the counter, shrugged and sipped.

“Oh, keeping secrets, are we?” Angela teased.

“Well…” Megan paused to savor another sip. “I had a date last night. A dream date. With a terrific guy.”

“Things are going well, then?”

Megan went over and took the seat beside Angela's. “Give that woman a gold star.”

“I have to say, whatever you did with him, you should keep doing it. You are
glowing.
”

Megan nudged her sister with her shoulder. “It's not what you think. Not yet, anyway.”

She chuckled. “How do you know what I think?”

Megan set down her cup. “Just a wild guess—and I'm going out with him again today.”

Angela clucked her tongue. “Staying out till all hours again?”

“Maybe. And just maybe I won't come home at all until morning….”
Gaaaa.
Had she really said that? And was she really ready to spend a night with Greg?

Angela faked a gasp. “Thoroughly shocking.” And they both laughed.

 

As usual, Jerome arrived late. He and the kids didn't head out the door until almost ten-thirty. As soon as they were gone, Angela took off to get groceries.

Megan went up to her place and got her things together and then went down and waited in the main house for the car to arrive. The doorbell rang at 10:45. She shouldered her roomy tote and hustled to the foyer, where she threw open the door, ready with a nice, wide smile for Andy or Jerry or whoever Greg had sent to drive her to his place.

The smile froze on her face.

It was Rhonda Johnson, frizzy red hair smoothed carefully back, wearing a trim-looking summer shift, and cute yellow sandals on her tiny, freckled feet.

“Megan.” Rhonda's smile was the smile of a cobra—just before it opens its thin mouth wide and reveals its long, poisonous fangs. “I was hoping I'd catch you.”

M
egan wasn't fooled. Rhonda was much more than
hoping
to catch her. Rhonda and Irene made it their business to know the schedules of everyone in the neighborhood. If either of them wanted to catch you, they always did.

Too bad Rhonda hadn't arrived just a few minutes later. By then, Megan would have escaped—to Manhattan and the wonderful man who waited for her there….

“I've got a little job for you.” Rhonda held up a plain sheet of white paper with notes scribbled all over it in a big, bold hand. “May I come in?” It sounded like a question. It wasn't.

Megan knew she should simply tell Rhonda no.
Nothing good was going to come of inviting the woman in. Rhonda had seen her and Greg together, and Megan could tell by the anticipatory gleam in those cool gray eyes that the subject of Greg
would
come up. Rhonda would make sure that it did.

“Well?” she demanded.

Years of getting along and going along took over. Megan stepped to the side.

Rhonda trotted on past her, headed for the family room, where she perched on the sofa, her delicate feet barely touching the floor. “What I've got is a flyer I need some help with. I know you need the business.” She patted the space beside her. “Sit right here. I'll tell you what I'm after.”

Megan grimly did as she had instructed.

“Now,” said Rhonda, holding up her scribbled sheet of paper. “I need a three-fold mailer—you know, the kind where you use the flyer itself as the envelope? Red paper, I think. People tend to notice red. Or purple. Purple would be fine, too. The Rosewood Ladies Auxiliary is putting on their annual rummage sale and—” She sniffed. Delicately. “Why, Megan. Is that perfume?”

“Yes,” Megan said with a soft sigh.

“Very nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Very…sensual.” Rhonda let her voice trail off significantly. Then she started in again. “And I like what you're wearing. This vivid teal is wonderful on you, though teal works well with almost any coloring. The cut is good, too. So…slimming.” She
frowned, as if something had just occurred to her. “Are you going somewhere?”

Megan sat a little a straighter. “Well, as a matter of fact, yes, I am. I'm going into the city for the day.”

“Shopping?”

She told the truth—“I have a date”—and instantly wished that she hadn't.

“Oh. How sweet.” And the cobra struck. “With Carly's husband?”

Megan took a slow breath. Her heart was knocking hard against her breastbone. She felt kind of sick to her stomach, too. She simply didn't do conflict well. Not at home. Never at home….

All at once, she was a child again. A child of eight. Or nine. Or ten. A child who'd lost her parents and her annoying little brother. A child who only wanted someone to love her, to accept her, to let her stay with them….

Megan shut her eyes and shook her head. Reminded herself that she was a grown woman now, that those lonely years were well behind her.

Somehow she managed to speak slowly and clearly. “Maybe you hadn't heard. Carly is divorced.”

Rhonda waved a slim, freckled hand. “Oh, yes. I heard. But everyone in the neighborhood knows she's been hoping and praying that Greg will see the light and come back to her. I'm sure
you
know it. I mean, given that Carly considers you her
friend.
”

Megan wondered what awful things Carly might have said to Rhonda—and then realized immedi
ately that Carly would have said nothing. No matter how hurt and furious she might be, she would never discuss her private life with Rhonda Johnson.

This was just business as usual. Rhonda had seen Carly with Greg and instantly jumped to her own conclusions.

“People are talking,” Rhonda said primly. She actually reached over and patted Megan's hand. Her touch was cool and smooth as the white belly of a poisonous snake. “I can't say I agree with your actions. But if you need someone to confide in…I'm here, Megan. You can tell me. Everything. I'll do my best to lend a friendly ear and keep an open mind about—”

It was too much. Way over the line. Even for Megan, who was willing to put up with a lot to keep the peace on Danbury Way. She jumped to her feet. “Um. No.” She heard herself add, “Thank you,” and despised herself for her own inability to confront trouble on her home turf.

Rhonda peered up at her, disapproval evident in every inch of her itsy-bitsy body. “Well. If that's how you feel.”

“It is.” The doorbell rang. “And that's my ride. I have to go.”

Twin lines had formed between Rhonda's red brows. “But I haven't finished telling you what I want for the flyer.”

Megan gulped. “You know what? I've got a packed work schedule. I'm afraid I just won't have time to do this one.”

Rhonda blinked. “But it's for the Ladies Auxiliary. An excellent cause. We need you to—”

“Sorry. Can't.” Megan backed toward the foyer and the front door. “And I really do have to go now….”

At last, Rhonda slid her little bitty feet to the floor and stood. “Well. All right then,” she huffed. “I guess I'll have to scramble around trying to find someone else to do the flyer at the last minute. But what do you care? You're just too busy.”

Megan said nothing. She'd only be stuttering out disgusting apologies, anyway. And why add fuel to Rhonda's self-righteous fire?

Rhonda flounced past her, headed for the foyer, leaving Megan to trail along behind her, feeling sick at heart and hating herself for caring so much that Rhonda would be spreading ugly rumors about her. The little redhead reached the door and flung it wide—to find Greg on the doorstep, looking heartbreaker-handsome in khakis and a polo shirt.

Oh, Lord. He'd never mentioned he was coming to pick her up in person.

“Well,” said Rhonda, snide as they come. “Look who's here.”

Greg got the picture. There was no way he could miss it. He said, carefully, “Hello, Rhonda.”

The woman didn't bother to reply. She just pinched up her mouth and strutted off down the steps. Megan and Greg watched her go. Neither of them moved or spoke until she disappeared from view.

Finally, Greg asked, “What the hell was that?”

“You don't even want to know.” The limo waited at the curb for them, Jerry behind the wheel. “I'll get my stuff and we can—”

But Greg already had her by the shoulders. He walked her backward through the open door. Once they were in, he guided the door shut with his heel. Those deep brown eyes probed hers. “You're white as a sheet. And you're shaking….”

“No…”

“Yeah.”

She admitted, “Rhonda dropped by to ask me to design a rummage sale flyer—or so she said. She
really
came to beat me up for stealing you from Carly.”

He swore under his breath. “You didn't
steal
me from anybody. Not that it's any business of Rhonda Johnson's, either way.”

“Tell that to Rhonda. I doubt she'll listen.”

“Hey. Come here….” He pulled Megan against him. She stiffened at first, resisting his offer of comfort. But his warm arms felt so good—so cherishing—around her. After a moment, with a small, sad sigh, she cuddled in close.

Greg kissed the crown of her head and whispered, “Don't worry about Rhonda. She's a bitch with way too much time on her hands.”

Megan tipped her head up to him. “You're right. And I know it. But she gets to me, anyway.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “What can I do? Anything. You name it.”

“There's nothing anyone can do about Rhonda.”

“You'd be surprised. I might…kidnap that yippy little dog of hers. Hold it for ransom. Not give it back until Rhonda swears never to gossip again.”

Megan arched a brow. “You want a dog?”

“Rhonda's dog? Hell, no.”

“Well, if you try that, you'll
have
Rhonda's dog. Because Rhonda will never stop gossiping. Not even to get her Yorkie back.”

“I could have her banned from Banning's.”

Megan faked an awestruck expression. “Including the post-holiday sale?”

“Yeah. Even that.”

She still had to shake her head. “I'm afraid even being blackballed from Banning's wouldn't make Rhonda Johnson keep her mouth shut.”

“The woman is sick.”

“No argument there.”

Greg kissed Megan, a quick one. “And you're smiling. At last.”

“What do you know? I guess I am….” She lifted her mouth to him and slid her arms up around his neck. He took the hint and kissed her again—a long, sweet one that time, the very best kind.

When they finally came up for air, he asked after Angela and the kids. Megan explained that the kids had gone with their father, and Angela was off at Rosewood Market doing the weekly shopping.

“I'll say hi next time, then.”
Next time.
Now, that did sound lovely. He added, “You ready?”

“I'll get my things….”

 

They went shopping. At Banning's.

When Jerry dropped them off in front of the store, Megan teased, “A man who likes to shop. Is there such an animal?”

Greg grunted. “It's doubtful. I may run a department store chain, but I hate to shop as much as the next guy. There does come a time, though, when shopping is unavoidable. And this is it.”

“Sounds grim.”

“Let's get it over with.” He led her through the glass doors, past the perfume and makeup counters, through women's sportswear and into the big home furnishings section at the rear.

A guy in a well-cut blue suit came running. His name tag said he was the department manager. “Mr. Banning. So good to see you again….”

Greg nodded. “Ted. This is Megan.” The manager beamed her a thousand-watt smile. “Furniture,” Greg said. “We need a houseful. Three bedroom sets, dining room table and breakfast nook. And the works for the main living room.”

Megan caught on. “Your house. In Rosewood…”

He looked so pleased with himself. “Well, you did point out that it was empty. I've decided it's time to do something about that.”

Ted suggested gleefully, “Let's start with the living room, shall we? Right this way….”

 

It took them a couple of hours to settle on all the pieces. Greg kept insisting he needed Megan's
opinion, and she constantly reminded him, “It's your house. You're the one who has to live with what you choose.”

“Help,” he said, and tried to look really pitiful.

So she would make suggestions based on the house as she remembered it, choosing pieces she thought would go well in the large, comfortable rooms. A lot of neutrals, with occasional bright accent pieces, everything with clean, simple lines.

He would say, “That's good. I really like that,” to just about every suggestion she made.

Ted, beaming the whole time, agreed with her choices, as well.

When they had what Greg needed to furnish each room, he paid the huge invoice without batting an eye, and told Ted where to have it all delivered. “Call me at the office,” he said. “I'll be sure someone's there to let the delivery crew in.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Banning. You can count on me.”

They went to major appliances. Megan helped Greg decide on a washer and dryer combination.

From there, they went to housewares, where, once again, Greg had her doing the choosing for him. She picked out good china and everyday dishes, flatware and silver, glassware and crystal. Not to mention a huge array of chef-quality cookware and kitchen gadgets, utensils and small appliances.

When the housewares saleslady added everything up and Megan saw the total, she stifled a gasp—and then teased Greg that he would end up broke if he didn't watch himself.

“Hey. I'm getting the employee discount.” And he whipped out his platinum card and passed it to the saleslady, who was beaming every bit as widely as the guy in the furniture department had done.

Megan watched Greg as he signed on the dotted line. He told the salesclerk that he'd already bought furniture and he would be buying towels and bedding and whatever else he could think of that he might need in his new house. He wanted everything sent to the Rosewood address.

“Coordinate with Ted in home furnishings and Marlene in major appliances. I want it all brought up to Rosewood at the same time.”

The housewares lady bobbed her head eagerly. Anything for Mr. Banning….

Megan wondered what it would be like, being Greg Banning. Your every wish someone else's command. To her, it seemed magical and glamorous: a limo always waiting to take him wherever he wanted to go, salespeople eager to see that he got exactly what he wanted.

And women…

Well, there must be women, mustn't there? Other women than Megan, that is—and Carly.

Megan thought of her former friend with the usual twinge of guilt. Was Carly doing all right? Megan did hope so….

And then Greg glanced over and smiled at her, and she pushed the guilty thoughts away. He was, truly, a prince of a guy. And Megan couldn't help but notice the way other women—gorgeous, sophisticat
ed-looking women—noticed
him.
So far today, right there in Banning's, Megan had spotted more than one striking woman who had glanced at him—and looked again.

Like when they'd first entered the store. A stunning brunette had paused in midstride at the sight of him, her fawnlike gaze lingering on his broad shoulders, his movie-star-handsome face. And what about that petite blonde with the sexy, spiky hair behind the cosmetics counter? She'd tried so hard to catch his eye—and when he didn't even glance her way, she'd ended up frowning at Megan with a truly unflattering mixture of puzzlement and disbelief.

And what about the gorgeous Asian woman in home furnishings? She'd lingered nearby as Megan helped Greg choose those three bedroom sets, pretending to study the various floor displays, but actually waiting for him to look over and see her standing there.