Manhattan Millionaire’s Cinderella: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance (4 page)

“Wife,” she murmured, the barely audible word an accusation.

“Hardly,” he countered.

Her head shot up.

His brows bunched, shielding his gaze.

“As my secretary cum housekeeper cum bedmate.”

His
words were like frost bite on her already raw emotions. Humiliating. She nearly passed out, but a mouthful of air filled her lungs and steadied her.

“And whatever else I please to have you …perform.” His savage tone ripped her flesh, and more so her heart bled.

She wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t.

“Never.” She fired back, her pride kicking in.

His eyes glittered an ice storm, and he shrugged. “Start boxing your merchandise. You don’t want to lose that along with the building.” He towered over her, watching her like a hawk and noting every nuance of emotion cross her face.

This had to do more than with her business. Her decision would impact not only her life, but those she cared for, including this quaint city she now called home.

Home. How sweet that sounded.

But not with Cade Sloan.

She fingered the chain around her neck, and was sure he caught the contempt reflected in her body language, the twist of her mouth and the glint in her eyes, by the narrowing of his own.

Her wedding ring nestled between her breasts, just barely hidden from his view by the neckline of her dress. She didn’t normally wear clothes which were this risqué, but during work hours she had an image to uphold…good for business and so she had fun with fashion trends. As for the ring, she kept it as a reminder of her folly, and something else she didn’t want to identify. Right now, she felt like yanking if off and hurling it in his face, but thought better of it.

The lion was already riled, and she didn’t want to add fuel to his fury quite just yet. Could she beat Cade Sloan at his own game?

He stepped down and was about to turn away.

She took a step after him, and then stopped. She’d be selling herself to him. Something seemed to wither and die inside her. If she didn’t agree to his terms, her mother would suffer…would have no life at all. Her assistant, Julie, who’d helped her selflessly this last year in the midst of a raging custody battle against her Greek husband, would be forced to rely on handouts to take care of herself and her baby. Nina inhaled, filling her lungs with much needed oxygen. Her mission to find her father was impeded by Cade’s arrival and demands.

Moisture dampened her nape, and she glanced toward the one of the city’s many
Basilicas
,
praying she made the right choice. If she chose wrongly, others could be hurt by the
backlash. Either way, destruction lay in her path, but the lesser of the two evils was Cade Sloan.

“Wai-t,” she called, the word sounding like a croak, foreign even to her own ears.

He turned and sized her up from head to toe, sending a blush to coat her body.

She swallowed, fanning her face with her hand. Somewhere in the back of her mind—or was that her heart—a danger signal flared. Hadn’t she cut a disastrous deal with this man before? She survived the first…could she do it a second time? She closed her eyes, and blackness undulated before her, then a shaft of light.

Perhaps through the rubble of her life, she could ensure a safe haven for her mother, who refused to budge from the familiar —her neighborhood, her church, her friends—and was still foolish enough to believe her husband would return to her. Nina twisted her mouth in a wry line, and then softened it to a trace of a smile. And she would be helping Julie and her child.

Oh, but she’d fight him every inch of the way. No man, especially Cade Sloan, would control or dictate to her, she reminded herself. Brave words, but she shriveled inside.
That’s exactly what’ll happen, girlie, if you
agree to his terms.
Cornered, she had to play to his tune, at least for now. But she’d find a way to infiltrate a note or two of her own.

“For how long?” The question forced its way between her lips.

“As long as it takes.” His ruthless words were like shards of metal imbedding beneath her skin. “And that’ll depend on you.”

“What’d you mean?” Her eyes narrowed, her pulse skipped.

He shot her a killer smile, sending both heat and chills up her spine.

“How well you perform your duties.”

“Go to hell!”

“My local hangout?” He snared her shoulders with his hands and hauled her smack against his chest, his eyes smoldering. “You’ll join me, won’t you?”

Nina heard the chopper, the sound was out of sync with the turbulent atmosphere between Cade and herself in the confines of the shack he’d brought her to three weeks ago.

“Your coffee.” She held the tray out to him with the bittersweet Greek brew in the demitasse and a glass of water, tempted to dump it over his head. Sighing, she swiped a stray strand off her brow, sure that a streak of soot smeared her cheek, and stared out the window.

On a clear day, she could catch a glimpse of Mount Olympus, the tallest peak of the Troodos Mountains. Tile-roofed homes dotted the mountainside amidst the pines, paved roads gave access to other parts of the island, while dirt paths led to the alpine village marketplace, and to the
kafeneon,
the café in the square
;
she had stumbled across it one day while shopping, and—she blinked moistness from her eyes, her pulse beating against her ribs. Snapping out of her daydream. She had to go talk with him…tell her mother. She gulped the emotion rising up to choke her.

“No thanks.” Cade logged off his laptop and scribbled on a notepad without so much as a glance her way.

“I stood toiling over the hot—” She plunked the tray on the rough-hewn table, and placed her hands on her hips, the burlap sack dress she wore to annoy the heck outta him, chafed her skin, but she ignored the discomfort. “You said you wanted another cup.”

“I changed my mind.” He rubbed the crick in his neck, his gaze shielded. ”But I do want a hearty breakfast, pronto.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” he barked.

“Yes, sir.”

He set his pen down and slammed the notepad shut.

“Hmm.” She eyed the basketful of eggs on the shelf, she’d chased the hens around the yard at the crack of dawn to collect. “Poached, over easy, sunny side—” She lifted a well-defined eyebrow, and grabbed a couple of eggs, sizing them up in her hands. He caught her intention. “Hold on—” But he didn’t stand a chance.

“Your breakfast, sir.” She whirled first one and then the other at him. “Scrambled eggs, coming right up.”

He ducked, and the yolks splattered the whitewashed dirt wall.

“Temper, temper.” He gave her a lopsided grin, and knocked her pulse off rhythm. “Now see what you’ve done? Extra work for yourself.”

His censuring tone made her hackles rise
,
and she stomped her foot on the dirt floor, her anger about to explode.

“Gotta move.” Smart man that he was he caught his cue
,
pushed his chair back and stood,
but his gaze roamed over her in her rags. For a split second, he held her gaze with his own, and then he turned away, booting the chair back in place.

Was he feeling guilty? Well, then good. He brought her to this archaic place to be at his beck and call, and she played her part of cinder girl to the hilt. She dressed the part, spoke the part, acted the part. She crinkled her brow. That may have turned him off, for except for ordering her around, he hadn’t laid a hand on her. That should’ve pleased her, but instead, she bristled with irritation.

But then, her fighting spirit reared. He wanted a serving wench, and that’s what he got. Except for her lacy undergarments, she refused to wear the modern clothes she brought into this no man’s land. She’d dumped potatoes from a sack, shook it clean, snip-snapped holes and pulled it over her head. The sacks came in a variety of colors—plenty to choose from.

“Be ready by eight tonight.”

“What for?”

He stepped closer and his coffee laced breath warmed her cheek. She swallowed, but he merely flicked the rip flapping on the swell of her breast from the burlap barely reaching her thighs. His fingertips skimmed her flesh, sending tingles shimmying up her spine.

He paused, debated.

Her pulse skittered, and she gritted her teeth.

“Wear something more becoming.”

He trailed his fingers down her soot-smeared arm and took her hand. Looking at them more closely, a profanity shot from his mouth, abrading the
atmosphere between them, and she curled her fingers, hiding her broken nails and raw fingertips.

“What have you done to your hands?” he growled. “I told you to wear gloves when you’re working.”

She yanked her hand away from his. “I’ll do as I please, Sloan.” The rubber gloves ripped too easily and it was faster to do the chores gloveless.

She lathered lotion on her hands and body, but the daily manual labor of fetching and carrying in the sun had taken its toll. On the plus side, she’d gotten a superb tan without the expense of a salon; her skin glowed with health and vitality, but he didn’t notice. Hadn’t cared to.

A storm brewed in his eyes. “Why do you wear that shapeless sack?”

She pointed her chin in defiance. “It’s hardly fitting for a serving wench to dress up. Up at the crack of dawn, peeling potatoes, cooking, washing, feeding the chickens, dumping slop to the hogs—”

“Hogs?”

“Well, maybe not exactly.” She focused over his head to avoid his incredulous gaze. “But the piggy will grow—”

He laughed. The man dared laugh. A deep-throated sound that ricocheted off the walls and sensitized every nerve in her body.

She rattled on to distract from that sensation. “Hauling jugs from the water pump and—”

“I told you not to do that.” He scrubbed a hand across his cheek. “I’d take care of it.”

“I’m not helpless.” That of course, defeated her purpose in prattling off her servile duties. “Tend the garden, do the laundry, dishes—” She paused for breath, and for effect snatched up the broom from against the wall. “Sweep the floor, make the bed—”

“Ahh, the bed.” He strolled over and bounced on the edge of the mattress, his gaze never leaving her face. “Sturdy enough for two.”

A rooster crowed, the chickens clucked, and the noise of the chopper grew louder.

Impatience crossed his features at the untimely interruption. He leaped up, strode to the door and tossed over his shoulder. “Find something suitable for tonight.”

“Excuse me?” She’d put up with this servitude, checking off her duties from the list he left each morning before flying to the worksite. For him to add another demand didn’t go down too well. Not at all.

“Major upscale.” He glanced at her feet, and feeling vulnerable, she curled her toes, the dirt floor rough beneath her soles. “And wear shoes.”

She snapped up the rag from the table and hurled it at him.

He ducked, their eyes at a tug-of-war.

“If I don’t?”

He tilted his mouth in that lazy smile that had her heart tripping.
“I’ll dress you myself.”

Annoyance eclipsed the sizzle of excitement zipping through her at the image his words evoked. Why didn’t she just walk, or stomp out and be done with it? The reason was obvious of course; he held all the cards… for now. “I have plans of my own.”

His smile disappeared, and his eyes darkened.

“Cancel them.” Cade caught the glitter of resentment in her eyes, heck practically every time she looked at him. A sliver of feeling nudged his heart, but he remained resolute. She’d not make a fool out of him again. To avoid the temptress, he knocked himself out readying a string of luxury floating hotels docked at Limassol Harbor, and about to sail the Greek Isles.

By the time he came home, Nina was already asleep; he got some shuteye on a stack of hay in the barn, which suited him for now. To touch her would melt the ice around his heart, and he couldn’t allow that…not yet. Not until he found out her involvement in the scam.

Bunching his eyebrows, he studied her and got jabbed in the gut again. He tightened his abs, resisting the hit. Dressing in those dowdy threads didn’t camouflage her lithe body and shapely curves…her derriere, her hips, her breasts… Savagely, he clamped down on the erotic images pummeling his brain, stalked to the table and seized his laptop and notes.

“You don’t own me,” she spat.

A smirk. “Until you pay up, I do.”

“You can’t keep me under lock and key.”

“I can, but this is hardly a prison.” He inclined his head toward the door and open windows of the one room shack, his gaze straying to the firepit and back to the rumpled bed where she slept. He crossed the floor, his peripheral vision gliding over her thighs, her knees, calves, slim ankles and dirt covered feet.

Another slam against his ribs.

Even with all that filth, she turned him on, and that irritated his male ego. To combat his lust, and he was sure that’s all it was, cold showers in the outdoor stall iced his aroused flesh on a daily basis.

He tightened his jaw, and smacked down the rumble in his chest. He’d have her all right, but on his call and his time. His pulse thumped, and a warning bashed his brain, but he crunched it with his next words.

“Any more complaints?” he growled.

“Plenty.”

“Save them.”

He heard the chopper about to land, and yanked the door open, wanting nothing better than to scoop her up in his arms and stand with her beneath the spray. The scent of orange blossom in the air, and a hint of her exotic perfume spiked his ardor even with all that soot on her skin. Images of lathering her body, her hair, burying his face in her neck, her mass of tangled curls, tasting her, fondling—had him growing rock hard.

Breath sizzled between his teeth. Making out with his woman, his wife…could she ever really be his?

A silent snarl exploded inside him.
Don’t be a fool, man.
Everything pointed to her in cahoots with the culprit who schemed to bring him down.

“Wear something classy.” He paused on the threshold, his tone intimating he doubted she could do it.

“I’ll wear what I please.”

“Style.” A look of warning, and he stepped outside, slamming the door behind him.

She wrenched the door open and marched after him, her lips a straight line, her eyes narrowed. “Why?” The word shot from her mouth like a knife between his shoulder blades.

“It’s time to show off my three million dollar trophy.”

“Ooh!” She hurled the broom at him, but it landed several yards short of his boots, and that frustrated her all the more.

A pulsing moment, and he swept up the broom and propped it against the water pump. “You’ll need this for clean-up duty.” He surfed her body with his narrowed gaze, and marched on. “You’re quite inventive; your Boutique attests to that.”

“If you’ve done anything to jeopardize—”

“What?” He paused in stride, his back a brick wall.

“Julie’s been manning the shop since you and I—”

He spun around. “You and I—what?”

She ignored the verbal trap. “She needs the money for her baby—”

“Spare me the sob story…I’ve heard worse,” he muttered, his words crackling with cynicism. “The one who cries often has more cash stashed than—” Isn’t that what prompted him not to trust those who once, long ago, had been close to him? His mother, his father, and his uncle. At the age of six, Cade had been tossed to his uncle, while his parents jetted the globe. His uncle, the one who’d instigated this wager between Nina and him.

Cade had been betrayed by them all.

He grimaced. Intelligence pointed to the hacker being one of his circle. He glowered at Nina, standing in the path of a sunbeam, looking sexy as hell in her rags. Hadn’t she struck out at him when he was down… almost down for the count?

He was in no mood to play good guy.

“You have no heart,” she blurted.

That cut him deep.

“Eight. Class. Pull it off.”

He sprinted to the chopper, his head slightly bent against the force of wind from the rotor and vaulted into the passenger seat. It was right on schedule to fly him to Paphos to oversee the multimillion-dollar redevelopment project he scooped from beneath his uncle’s nose. Every time he aced his uncle from a prime real estate deal, he should’ve felt proud, but instead he felt detached.

The pilot engaged the controls; they were airborne and Cade glanced down. Nina snatched up a lemon from beneath the citrus tree and hurled it at the departing bird, at him.

“I have a heart Mrs. Sloan, but it’s out of bounds to you,” he muttered, the words for his ears alone.

The pilot cast him a perplexed look.

Cade rubbed his knuckles across his chin to cover the awkward moment. “Can this bird fly any faster?”