Accidental Cinderella

A lethal trinity, and if she didn’t watch herself, she could find herself in a lot of trouble. A cool breeze blew in across the water. She tipped her face up to it and closed her eyes, hoping it would help her regain her senses.

“Mmm, that’s nice. Isn’t it?”

“Paradise,” Carlos murmured. “I think I may have just found paradise, Lindsay Bingham.”

What?

“Really?” She leveled him with a bemused gaze. “And I think I’ve just heard the cheesiest pickup line ever.”

They laughed, and his eyes did that face-searching thing again that made her feel completely and deliciously devoured.

“May I buy you a drink?” he asked. “Seeing that it’s open bar.”

“Only if it’s the best champagne.”

He smiled. “Wait right here. I’ll be back. With a bottle.”

She was definitely in trouble. Especially since in the five seconds that he’d been gone, she’d already begun to tell herself that Florida and North Carolina weren’t that far apart. At least there wasn’t an ocean between them.

Even so, it didn’t mean she had to sleep with him just because the guy was coming on to her….

A little dose of harmless flirtation might be good for her. So why not?

Because.

That soothing breeze blew in again, caressing her. Not in a seductive way, but in a way that reminded her of her “New Me” plan.

In answer, she tipped her face into the breeze and breathed in deep.

Even though Carlos Montigo was tempting, she was tired. And if she was completely honest with herself, she didn’t have the energy to play games. Because her gut was warning that if she laid one hand on the Montigo burner she would surely get burned.

“Lindsay? There you are.”

It was Sophie. In that split second before Lindsay realized it, she’d checked her posture and smiled. Reflexive moves, thanks to the ever-present paparazzi that had been milling about the past month. Not because of how Carlos Montigo’s gaze had just shamelessly undressed her, and in response she’d thanked him with her best what happens on my last night in St. Michel stays in St. Michel smolder….

Her cheeks burned, and she strengthened her resolve to resist temptation.

“I thought you were coming back?” Sophie said. “We’ve been looking for you.” With her head, she gestured to Carson Chandler, who waited in the doorway. “Carson wants to talk to you.”

Talk to me?

Sophie had introduced Lindsay to Chandler earlier that week. Tonight, as she and Sophie walked toward him, he’d acknowledged her with a polite, “Good evening, Ms. Bingham. Lovely to see you.”

Why did he want to talk to her?

The billionaire media mogul had turned a travel guide business into an empire. Everyone knew his name. Sort of like how people knew of the Rockefellers or William Randolph Hearst.

Sophie gave Lindsay a look and mouthed, surprise!

“What?” Lindsay mouthed back.

But Sophie ignored her, turning instead to Chandler. “Carson, would you do me a favor?”

He smiled. “Certainly, your highness, your wish is my command.”

“Will you dance with Lindsay? My handlers are beckoning.” Sophie rolled her eyes and gave her head a quick shake. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to having handlers. Or, for that matter, the fact that I need to be handled.”

She turned on a flourish of tulle and silk, leaving Lindsay and the older man alone. There was an awkward pause during which Lindsay’s mind spun. Carlos would be back any minute with the champagne. She couldn’t just leave without excusing herself. What kind of surprise could Carson Chandler have for her? He was handsome in an aloof, moneyed way, but then again didn’t all men look gorgeous in white tie? Still, he was old enough to be her grandfather. She resisted the urge to fidget, or worse yet, glance around for Carlos.

Finally, Chandler tilted his head to one side in a regal gesture and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

Feeling suddenly shy and exhausted, Lindsay tried to let him off the hook. “Please don’t feel obligated to entertain me.”

She was the kind of wrung-out tired that made even the thought of dancing feel like an effort. Since she was leaving tomorrow, what she really wanted to do was go upstairs and enjoy one last long, hot soak in that huge, marble tub in her suite.

“Dancing with you, Miss Bingham, would be my honor,” said Carson. “Besides, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh. Well, then.” How could she deny a man his honor? One quick dance wouldn’t hurt. In fact, she might even be back before Carlos returned with the champagne. “But please call me Lindsay.”

She took his arm and walked back into the ballroom with him. When he smiled, he vaguely reminded her of Ricardo Montalbán sans accent. Of course he would. Because wasn’t St. Michel Fantasy Island? How could she have missed that? A place where her best friend got to be a princess and Lindsay had been able to play Cinderella. For an entire month.

Here she was at the ball. Even though tomorrow her coach would turn back into a pumpkin and she’d board a plane homeward bound for Trevard, she’d had the time of her life.

Of course, she wished her Cinderella fantasy came with Prince Charming and happily-ever-after. But as Carson Chandler whirled her around the gilded and mirrored ballroom, she glanced up at the crystal chandeliers, admiring the way the light played through the facets, illuminating the cut crystal like brilliant diamonds.

How many women got to attend a royal wedding in their lifetime? She should be grateful for the experience, even if the handsome prince didn’t come chasing her across the Atlantic to see if the slipper fit.

Her gaze wandered back to the doors to the terrace. She wondered if Carlos was back yet. She hoped he didn’t think she’d run out on him. Surely he’d wait. Wouldn’t he? A ridiculous tangled sense of conflict flooded through her.

Oh, well. They’d just met and tomorrow she’d go home. Her “New Me” plan didn’t call for leaving one Jimmy Choo behind on the palace step with the slim hope a man—even Carlos Montigo—would find it and bring it to her on the other side of the ocean.

“The princess tells me you’ve worked in television, Miss Bingham.”

Carson’s voice startled her back to the present.

“Excuse me?”

The orchestra was loud. She must not have heard him correctly. He leaned in closer. A little too close for Lindsay’s comfort.

“You’re such a beautiful woman. Actually, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we were introduced earlier this week. Princess Sophie tells me you have broadcast journalism experience?”

Her cheeks warmed and graceless dread unfurled in her belly, working its way up until it blocked the words to explain her short-lived journalistic career. The question unlocked a door in the recesses of her mind behind which she’d stashed a very bad memory. The memory of an incident that cost Lindsay her dream.

“I was curious about the type of television work you’d done?”

Sophie was one of the few people who knew of this thwarted dream. Why would she tell Chandler?

“I don’t know what Sophie told you.” Or more important, why. “But in college, I majored in broadcast journalism, and I reported for a network affiliate for a short time.”