Once Upon A Kiss...: The Cinderella Act / Princess in the Making / Temporarily His Princess. Michelle CelmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
was frowning at his piece of paper. He glanced up at her with an odd look in his eyes. “Let’s write something and not show each other.”
“Okay.” Anxiety fluttered in her stomach. What if he said they wouldn’t look, then at the last minute they had to because of some party game? She picked up her pencil and chewed it thoughtfully. “At least they’re not making us write rhyming couplets.”
“True, though that might be fun.” He paused for a moment, then started writing, looking intently at his paper.
She couldn’t read the words, partly because a single candle on the table was their only light beyond the moon, and partly because his writing was worse than most doctors’. She turned to the blank square that sat mockingly on the table. A quick glance revealed that other guests at the tables around them were writing or even already squeezing their rolled-up papers into the neck of the bottle. “What if it ends up in the Great Pacific Plastic Patch?”
“What if it ends up in the hands of a lonely castaway on a remote Pacific island and gives him the strength to survive another month?”
“You apparently have a more romantic imagination than me.” She snuck a glance at him. He’d rolled his paper into a thin cylinder, held between his thumb and finger. “And now I’m really curious about what you wrote.”
He smiled mysteriously. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, making heat rise under her skin.
Sinclair, I think you’re a very handsome and thoughtful man who deserves to live happily ever after (preferably with me). She wrote the last part so tiny there was no way anyone could read it. P.S. I love you.
She rolled the message up fast and shoved it into the neck of the bottle before anyone could pry it from her fingers and make her read it aloud. Her hands trembled with the power of writing exactly what she wanted to, and not settling for saying the sensible thing. If it came back to haunt her someday, so what? Right now she was living a dream, if only for a night.
Did she really love him? She had no idea. Lack of experience again. She’d certainly never admired and adored a man as much as she did Sinclair. And a simple glance in her direction from him made her palms sweat. If that wasn’t love it was something pretty close.
Sinclair pushed his message into the bottle and jammed in the cork their hosts had provided.
The waiter appeared again, and asked them to follow him. Annie rose from her chair, gathered her skirts, and she and Sinclair joined the other couples now walking across the broad sweep of lawn toward the Sound.
The moon cast an ethereal silver glow over the landscape. The lawn was a lush carpet underfoot and the slim beach at the shoreline glittered like crushed diamonds. Protected from the Atlantic by Long Island, the waveless water shimmered like a pool of mercury. Behind them the house resembled a fairy palace, its many windows lit and lanterns festooning the terraces.
As they grew closer she could see rowboats, almost like Venetian gondolas, lined up along a long, wooden dock. They bobbed slightly on the calm water. Attendants dressed in black brocade helped each couple into their own personal boat and gave the oars to the men, before pointing to a small, tree-cloaked island far out in the water.
“We’re supposed to row out there in the dark?” Each gondola had a lantern, hung from a curlicue of wrought iron, at its stern.
“It’ll be an adventure.” Sinclair’s low voice stirred something inside her. He took her hand, his skin warm and rough against hers. Her pulse quickened as they walked along the dock, amid laughs and shouts of mock distress from the other boaters. Sinclair and the staff helped her into the boat and seated her on a surprisingly comfortable plush seat, while Sinclair took up his place at the oar locks.
“Do stop at Peacock Island for refreshments.” An elegantly attired man gestured toward the clump of trees dotted with lanterns, barely visible in the black night.
Sinclair pulled away from the dock with powerful strokes, soon overtaking even the first boat to leave, and heading out into the quiet darkness of the sound.
Yet another bottle of champagne, beaded with tiny droplets of condensation, sat in a silver bucket at the prow of the boat. Annie resolved to keep her hands off it. Too much champagne might make her do something she would regret.
“The island is that way,” she said, as he rowed swiftly past it, their wake lapping toward its shores.
“I know. I’m taking us somewhere else.”
Sinclair enjoyed the pull of the oars in the heavy water. It felt good to move his muscles. The tension building between Annie and him all evening was beginning to tip from pleasurable to punishing.
Annie looked out over the side of the boat, staring at the long ribbon of the shore. The cool moonlight played across her features. He loved her face. She had a freshness about her that always caught his eye. Bright eyes, her mouth so quick to smile, that adorable nose with its faint sprinkling of freckles. Even in her extravagant gown and evening makeup she looked innocent and unworldly.
Was that what attracted him? Perhaps he was so jaded and tired of the world’s movers and shakers that her quiet beauty and sweetness became irresistible.
Then there was her body. The voluminous skirt did nothing to hide his memory of her gorgeous, shapely legs … wrapped around his waist. The fitted bodice cupped her small, full breasts in a way that made his blood pump faster. Her gold-tinged hair was swept up into a knot, with a few strands escaping to play about her cheeks and momentarily hide her pretty blue eyes.
Was it really a good idea to take her to a private dock, away from the prying eyes of strangers? Probably not.
But he pulled away at the oars, as sure of his destination as he’d ever been.
“It’s so quiet out here. I love it.” Her voice drifted toward him, then she turned, all sparkling eyes and lush, full lips. “It’s nice being away from the lights on the shore. We can see the stars.” She looked up, and the moon glazed her face with its loving light.
Sinclair looked up, too, and almost startled at the bright mantle of stars—hundreds of them, millions—filling the dark sky above them. “I don’t think I’ve looked up at the stars in years.”
She laughed, a heartwarming sound. “And they’ve been up there all the time, shining away, waiting for you to remember them.”
“I guess I’ve forgotten a lot of things. They say you get wiser as you get older, but I’m not so sure.”
“We’re not at the age where you get wiser yet. You have to go through other stages first, like the ones where you dream too big, then have your hopes crushed and get scared.”
“What are you scared of?” She seemed so self-contained, in her neat domestic world, it was hard to imagine her being afraid of anything.
She shrugged, then hugged herself for a second. “Life not working out the way I hope it will. I think we’re both in the phase of life where you start to realize it’s now or never for a lot of things.”
“You sound like my mom. She thinks if I don’t have children this calendar year the Drummonds will vanish from the face of the earth and we’ll both grow old and wizened alone together.”
“I guess that’s what she’s scared of. I don’t suppose you ever grow wise enough to stop worrying about some things. What are you afraid of?”
She fixed her steady blue gaze on him, expecting nothing less than the truth.
“Failure.” He responded with honesty. “For all my success in business, I haven’t succeeded where it matters most.”
She looked at him, her eyes filled