Secret Cinderella

“Thanks again, hero. I’m not what you think I am, but I did need rescuing. Happy New Year.”

“Wait!”

But she didn’t wait. She dropped the heavy coat and stepped away. Automatically, Roderick caught the fur before it hit the ground. She hurried off without a backward glance, heels clattering against the marbled floor.

Roderick had every intention of pursuing her, but stunned, he found his brain still focused on the absurd bit of material she called a dress. There wasn’t much fabric involved. The high mandarin collar and long sleeves were the garment’s deceptive concession to modesty. The key-hole effect in front was so low she looked in immediate danger of disaster.

And she was built perfectly for disaster. For such a petite woman, she was incredibly full and lush. The bodice snugged her body like a layer of glittery green skin before it flared out from her waist to swirl about slender, well-shaped calves. It appeared she wasn’t wearing a thing under that dress because in back, the fabric was missing clear down to her coccyx.

“I’m not what you think I am.”

He wasn’t sure what he thought she was, but the word stripper boldly came to mind. Certainly that clingy, sparkly material begged to be stripped from her enticing form.

Roderick was irritated to find himself aroused. He curbed the impulse to chase after her and demand answers. The lady was a mass of contradictions. That sweetly innocent smile did not go with that dress.

But the body did.

He muttered a low oath. One hand returned to massage his temple as he watched her step outside. He’d managed to forget his headache while he’d been with her, but now it returned with a vengeance. Beyond the plate-glass windows of the lobby, snow billowed in the wind. It wasn’t merely snowing, it was snowing hard. And all he could think was that there was very little of anything covering all that soft bare skin.

With a curse, he strode after her. He reached the double glass doors just in time to see the bellman shut the door of a taxicab.

Roderick paused. The cab would have a heater. She wouldn’t freeze. Obviously she had somewhere to go—someplace private, no doubt—and he did not want to think about watching her strip away that clingy bit of fabric.

Roderick shook his head at the disquieting train of thought. Who cared what the woman did with her nights? Hooker, stripper, paid companion…there were plenty of lost souls in Washington, D.C.

With a growl, he started back across the concourse to the escalator. He wasn’t sure why he was angry, or why her departure left him feeling so dejected. It made no difference who she was running away from. He had problems of his own, not the least of which was getting Shereen to agree to leave the party before midnight so he could go home and relax.

Going up the escalator, he attempted to push the stranger from his thoughts. The unsettling imp would have to fend for herself. She’d already demonstrated an uncanny ability to do just that. There was no reason for concern to jab at him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help comparing the past few minutes to the ridiculous fairy tale his sister had been so fond of as a child.

So this was how the prince had felt when the clock had struck twelve. And while Roderick would hardly consider himself a prince, the only thing missing had been the glass slipper.

Chapter Two

Melanie Andrews waited for the driver to repeat the address in heavily accented English before she settled back against the seat of the smelly cab with a hard shiver. The vehicle would have been plenty warm if she’d been wearing a coat, or even decent clothing, but she wasn’t. She thought longingly of her warm cloth coat, still inside the luxury suite on the top floor of the hotel. The coat was old, but still serviceable. Too bad she’d never see it again.

She met the driver’s expression in the rearview mirror. He smiled broadly and winked. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a hostile glare. If he had any perverted ideas about taking her someplace besides the address she’d just given him, he’d find out exactly how valuable these stiletto heels could be. He needed to pay closer attention to the worsening road conditions.

No doubt he thought she was a hooker. That’s probably what her rescuer had thought, too. This dress was enough to give anyone that impression. It was exactly the impression she’d been trying to create.

Mel sighed. She looked down at the objects in her hand and a jolt of panic tingled down her spine. She’d shoved the dead man’s keys and plastic card in the deep pocket of the fur coat, but she’d only been able to palm the card before she dropped the fur because she’d also had her rescuer’s wallet and keys in her hand. She was going to need those keys.

She stared at the garish club card and tried to fight the panic clawing at her. She’d taken the wrong bit of plastic. This was not the key card she’d removed from the dead man’s wallet. The card to get into his office building must be still inside the fur coat. Her prints were all over that bit of plastic.

Mel forced her breathing to steady. Panic was the fast road to disaster. Her prints weren’t on file anywhere and the model wouldn’t know what the card was or where it had come from when she did discover the thing. She’d probably toss it out without a second thought. Besides, there was nothing Mel could do about the situation at the moment. She didn’t even have a last name for the woman her rescuer had called Shereen.

Ignoring the driver’s covert glances at the front of her dress, Mel opened the well-tooled leather wallet she’d palmed. Her fingers shook, and not from the cold. She hated that she’d repaid his kindness by lifting his wallet, but she’d needed to pay for the cab ride somehow. It was galling to realize that she hadn’t planned as well as she should have. She should have pinned money inside her dress, or at least grabbed her purse when she fled. Not that there had been time for that. Getting away had been far more important than searching for her purse on the bed filled with coats and a dead man.

Mel knew her thoughts were darting about in a ridiculous manner, but thinking of other things was better than thinking about that horrible dead body and the fact that the D.C. police would soon be scouring the city for her.

She shook her head and stared at the driver’s license in her hands. Roderick Anthony Laughlin III. There was a mouthful, yet somehow the stuffy name suited him, even if it was at odds with that kiss.

She touched a finger lightly to her lips, remembering the hot press of his mouth and the answering heat that had stirred within her. The man had almost swept her off her spiked heels. For a split second Mel had lost track of everything. That had never happened to her before. It unsettled her.

Who was Roderick Laughlin?

The picture on his driver’s license didn’t do him justice. His wasn’t a handsome face. The shape was too angular, the features too boldly intense. Yet even in the picture, the sense of controlled power and self-assurance came through. From the balcony, she’d singled him out as much for his height as for his apparent destination. Yet according to his driver’s license, Roderick Laughlin was only six feet tall. He’d seemed taller. Larger.

Safe.

How crazy was that? Claire was right. She needed to get out more. Meeting interesting men was not easy when one was stuck in a kitchen day after day.

Of course, it would be even harder to do from inside a jail cell.

Mel sighed. Roderick Laughlin’s leanness had been deceptive. There had been undeniable strength in the rippled muscles she’d felt beneath that perfectly fitted tuxedo jacket. Why was it men always looked so appealing in a tuxedo?

Mel shook aside that thought. Her slight frame tended to give some men the mistaken belief she needed to be shielded and protected. She was willing to use that impression when it suited her purposes, like tonight, but mostly coddling annoyed her. Roderick Laughlin hadn’t annoyed her. Instead he’d made her sharply aware of her femininity.

That had been some kiss.

Mel yanked her thoughts from that path, too, and flipped to the compartment holding his money. The unanticipated wad of bills made her bite her lower lip to stifle a gasp of dismay. Didn’t the man believe in banks and credit cards?

Wryly, she wondered what she had expected. A bash like the one at that fancy hotel catered only to the rich and famous. Apparently, Roderick Laughlin was rich. How unfortunate that he chose to carry around enough cash to send her to jail for grand theft if she was caught.

She nearly laughed out loud. Grand theft was the least of her worries. The police would be far more interested in tagging her for murder than a simple lift.

“Blast!”

“You say something lady?” the driver asked.

“No!”

His stare was just this side of a leer as they stopped for a traffic light. Mel met his gaze coldly in the rearview mirror until he lowered his eyes.

Good. She did not need another problem tonight.

The evening had not gone well. At first she’d stayed close to the group she’d come in with. Then she’d spotted Harold DiAngelis across the room. She was sure she’d seen a flash of startled recognition in his eyes before she’d moved away in search of her quarry.

Except he shouldn’t have known who she was.

DiAngelis worked with Gary, but her brother didn’t like the older man. The two had never socialized. Heck, they barely spoke, from what she gathered. There was no way Gary would have mentioned her to DiAngelis.

There hadn’t been time to wonder about that then, but she was fretting over it now. DiAngelis was bound to identify her to the police. His presence at the hotel at that particular party couldn’t be coincidence. Was DiAngelis somehow involved in the theft of her brother’s program? Maybe he was even the person who had killed Carl Boswell and taken the DVD!

The taxi slid on the slick pavement as they rounded a corner. The driver swore fluently. He barely avoided a collision with a stretch of parked cars. He offered her a wink and a wide grin as he straightened out and double-parked in front of a tired-looking redbrick building.

Mel handed him the money she’d pulled from the wallet in anticipation.

“Want company?” the driver asked, his leer firmly in place.