Manhattan Millionaire’s Cinderella

The fluttering of curtain allowed her glimpses of the million-dollar ocean view, but her attention was glued on her husband.

“After I break her in, you can have her—”

“How dare you—” Nina made to jump up, jostled her insides, and fell back, closing her eyes, and pressing her mouth tight. She would not be sick. Would not be sick. Not now. Not in front of him.

“—if the price is right.”

Sweat poured from her pores, soaking her wrinkled cotton dress…her wedding dress. What had she gotten herself entangled in?

“I’ll sell—”

Sell her?

“—to the highest bidder.”

She began to pant, then a whiz of sound fizzed between her teeth, and she lifted her lashes a fraction, snaring him in her focus.

Tall, dark and gorgeous…deceptive—dangerous.

Worse than she imagined. Yet, he looked so calm and cool, fresh in his white open necked shirt and denims he wore for their ‘I do’s’ compared to her—a ragged mass of guilt ridden nerves. He whisked her off so quickly after the ceremony at New York City Hall, she’d had no time to change, her one travel bag already in the trunk of the Bentley.

“By midnight she’ll be purring beneath my hands.”

His words iced her skin.

Something was wrong; something was very uncool, but she was too zoned out from the intercontinental flight, the emotional see-saw of the wedding—not what a girl dreamed of—the heat, and her queasy stomach, to figure it out.

“Yeah, I can handle her.” A guffaw. “Should be an easy ride.”

Nina seethed, a flush on her skin making her temperature rise and her ire about to explode.

“Naa.”

An ominous silence.

“If you’re willing to pay, she’ll play—”

A chuckle.

It sent shivers crawling up her spine.

“I’ll guarantee she’ll be a real fine piece of a—”

Nina’s hand flew to her throat, the other to her abdomen, her heart hammering. Dear God, what had she done? This was a snow job on her by none other than the king of con. She’d fallen for his duplicity and been fool enough to marry him. She cringed, gulping down bile rising in her throat. The acid taste curdled her stomach, and she tottered to her feet, weaving her way to the bathroom.

“Hey, you alright?”

The sounds from within must have alerted him, for he was there, knocking on the half open door. And her, with her head half in the toilet.

If the floor caved in and carried her out to sea, she’d be ever so grateful.

No such luck.

He loomed over her, a slight shift of his sneakers visible from her peripheral vision. Could it be that Mr. High and Mighty Sloan was uneasy about something? That gave her a lift, but it was short lived as another wave of nausea assaulted. She waved him back with her outstretched hand. He deserved a tongue-lashing, which she couldn’t give in her present position. She heard the sink faucet running then—

“Here.” He handed her a damp washcloth.

She mumbled her thanks and waved him out. “Go.”

Cade squinted at her bent-over figure, zeroing in on her shapely tush outlined beneath the cotton material of her dress stretched taut and riding high on her slender thighs. A beauty mark teased. He paused, and then made his exit. “Be right here if you want—”

She extended a leg and booted the door shut in his face.

The toilet flushed.

Ten minutes later, Nina stepped from the bath and shrieked, trying to cover her naked body with her hands. “What ’re you doing here?”

“Come ‘ere.” Cade held open a towel for her, his voice sounding gruffer than he intended. “Don’t want you catching cold.”

“Concern for me?” She snatched the towel from his hand and wrapped it around herself.

She must be feeling better, he mused, plunking down on the toilet lid.

“You’re an expensive investment.” There, that’d get the ball back in his court pronto. Couldn’t afford to be going soft. Better she thought him the s.o.b.the media pegged him. He curled his mouth in distaste…in the end he’d appear to be exactly that, maybe even worse, in her eyes. He shrugged, reminding himself; collateral damage.

She laughed, a dry sound that annoyed the heck outta him. He couldn’t figure out why, and Cade Sloan always had answers.

She squinted up at him. “Which you haven’t paid for yet.” She swept her glasses from the sink ledge and propped them on her nose.

“After I’ve sampled the goods—” He paused, allowing his words to tell their own story. “We’ll cash out in the morning.” He wiggled his brows. “Divvy up the loot.” He inclined his head toward a manila envelope on the coffee table, barely visible from her vantage point. “Wedding gift.” His words crackled with cynicism. “Delivered when you were in the shower. The other half will arrive tomorrow.”

“Your half or mine?”

“Very funny.”

She fluttered her eyelashes and, about to smack him with a smart retort, she keeled over. He leaped up and caught her in his arms. For a heartbeat, she struggled against him, and then eased in his embrace. She smelled fresh…of soap, shampoo and woman. Different than most women whose heavy perfumes nearly knocked him out. A chuckle threatened, and he locked it in his throat. He scooped her up and took her to bed.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, she conked out. He allowed his gaze to travel from the damp hair framing her face to her smooth shoulders, pausing at her cleavage barely visible above the towel still wrapped around her body. Skimming her thighs, he noted the slight bend to her legs on the bedding, the curve of her calf, her slim ankles, the arch of her foot, her hot pink polishedtoenails. She had one arm sprawled over her head and the other bent, her hand cushioning her cheek. Her golden tipped lashes brushed her cheeks and the sprinkle of freckles on her nose made his lips twitch a smile. It vanished when he focused on her mouth. Palest pink. He could imagine it tasting sweet.

He shook his head. A sex kitten if he ever saw one. And he’d seen plenty. Logistically, with his work schedule it’d been impossible to do more than enjoy the view. A heavy sigh shoved its way from his belly, and he scratched his chin with his knuckles. He had his morals…and his instincts.

He could smell a bad rap a mile off. Made it a rule to stay clear of women who showed their claws, became too possessive and made demands—who would want to change him, complicating his life.

And for that, the newshounds coined him a callous ‘love ’em ’n leave’em, s.o.b.’

A hollow sound burst from deep inside him.

Nina stirred, a moan which was almost a purr feathered from her lips.