Fairy Tale Husband (The Cinderella Ball Series Book #1): The Cinderella Ball Series Read online

  He was, as far as she could tell, perfection.

  She first noticed him as she approached the “palace,” a huge mansion that rose out of the Nevada desert like a great white beacon of hope. He stood in the center of the flagstone walkway, taking in the whimsical, wedding cake design of the house with an expression of cynical disdain. Clearly he considered the overall effect pretentious.

  She considered it a dream come true.

  Not that she’d hold his attitude against him. Heavens, no. The man she married needed to be in touch with the real world, to have a tough, no-nonsense edge. He needed to be a match for Mrs. Marsh.

  She slipped closer hoping to get a clear look at him. As though accommodating her, he turned slightly so the floodlights lining the walk stabbed across his face, revealing in brutal detail every austere plane and angle. What she saw stopped her cold. This was no Prince Charming boldly blocking the path, but a Prince of Darkness.

  The man might have been hewn from solid rock, as starkly beautiful and as fatally dangerous as the desert surrounding them. Hair as black as coal swept back from a broad furrowed brow and framed high, arching cheekbones and a firm, squared jaw. His features were too bold to be called handsome, but she didn’t mind. The harsh, craggy planes appealed to her.

  He looked down then, as though surprised to find her at his side, and lifted a dark eyebrow. She caught her breath, captured within the austere glare of his bright golden eyes. “Getting a jump on the competition?” he asked, his voice reminding her of the rumble of distant thunder.

  She tilted her head to one side. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re looking for a husband, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then run along inside, elf. I’m no one you’d want to marry.”

  He was accustomed to instant obedience, she realized. She suppressed a smile. He’d soon discover she didn’t skitter away at the first flash of lightning or crack of thunder—for that’s what his expression reminded her of, the threat of a fast approaching storm. “I need a strong man. You look strong,” she said instead.

  “I need a wife to share my bed. And then, after a brief-as-possible marriage, to go away.” He folded his arms across his chest and lifted an eyebrow. “Is that what you want, too?”

  “I want a man who likes to win,” she said, evading the question. “Someone who’s a fighter.”

  “You waging war?”

  She frowned, considering. “I guess you could call it war. All right, yes. I’m waging war. But I also need someone fair and reasonable and patient. A . . . a gentle warrior.”

  He laughed at that, amusement lightening his eyes, but doing nothing to ease the hardness of his features. “You have the wrong man,” he stated and walked away.

  She watched him go, taking in his easy, long-legged gait, not in the least surprised when people quickly made room for him, giving way to the stronger force. That was how he’d be with Mrs. Marsh, she didn’t doubt for a minute. And though he claimed he wasn’t fair or reasonable or patient, she suspected he lied. Oh, not deliberately. He wasn’t the type. He just didn’t see his own goodness.

  But she did.

  “You’ll do,” she whispered with a wide grin. “In fact, you’ll more than do.”

  Jake wended his way through the crowd streaming toward the mansion. One down, he thought grimly, and only a few hundred more to go.

  With nine or ten hours available to him, that meant he had to interview about a dozen or two women an hour. That gave him three and a half minutes per candidate. He shook his head in exasperation. This was crazy. Three and a half minutes to choose a wife. Great. Just great.

  What the hell could Peter have been thinking? Better yet, what the hell was he thinking to have gone along with such an asinine plan?

  He climbed the sweeping steps leading toward the entrance hall and glanced back. His elf still stood where he’d left her, her dress a pale splash of bridal white in the gathering dusk. Too bad she hadn’t worked out. She’d been a tempting little morsel.

  Unfortunately, the instant he’d spotted her hovering at his elbow, he’d known she was all wrong. For one thing, she looked the type who expected a Prince Charming and fairy castles and happily-ever-afters. And for another, he found her too damned attractive. One look at all that white-blond hair tumbling into eyes the color of new spring leaves and he’d known he’d have to put a whole lot of space between them. Otherwise he’d end up slinging her over his shoulder and heading for the nearest exit. That would never do.

  A damn shame, but still the God’s honest truth.

  He frowned, turning from the sight of her, shaking off the memory of her wide, pixie-like smile. She had too open a face—mischievous, intelligent, and vulnerable. The sort of face that threatened to creep into a man’s heart and soul and poison him with impossible fantasies. Fantasies he’d given up eons ago. Fantasies that would never come true.

  Besides, she was a complication he couldn’t afford. Not if he wanted to gain his inheritance.

  A nudge from behind woke Wynne to her surroundings and she started, realizing she stood in the middle of the walkway lost in thought. She’d been picturing the sweetest of fantasies—one that involved a dark, handsome prince and a real house and children. It was a fantasy that could be hers, once she got past a certain masculine stumbling block.

  She eyed the retreating back of the stumbling block in question, pleased beyond all measure when he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder in her direction. He needed her. The instinctive knowledge grew stronger with each passing moment. She sensed a gaping emptiness in him and knew she could fill it, a raw hurt she had the power to heal. He needed someone who could see the inherent goodness in his character, who wouldn’t be fooled by his stormy expression and searing gold eyes and tough, independent attitude. He was a man plagued by demons, demons she could destroy.

  He needed her.

  Gathering up the long sweep of her skirt, she started toward the mansion. She didn’t want to get too far behind her future husband. Heaven only knew what trouble he’d get into if she did. He might even pick the wrong woman through sheer ignorance. She grinned. Or sheer bullheadedness.

  Stepping through the double doors leading inside, she stopped dead, staring around in amazement. The marble entrance hall seemed to stretch endlessly, the huge support pillars decorated for both Thanksgiving and Christmas with pine garland, fairy lights, and white satin bows. A massive chandelier, glittering with thousands of tiny prisms, caught the setting-sun and scattering a dancing circle of rainbows in joyous welcome. Twin, curving staircases on either side of the hallway led to the upstairs ballroom, joining at the top to form a perfect heart.

  Wynne climbed the steps, feeling more like Cinderella by the minute. Reaching the upper landing, she joined others in a short receiving line, holding her invitation in a white-knuckle grip. All her hopes and dreams lay in this thin, gold metallic wafer. She closed her eyes for an instant and made a wish, a wish that all who came that night would find their heart’s desire.

  “Welcome to the Cinderella Ball.”

  With a start, Wynne opened her eyes, realizing she’d reached the front of the line. Standing before her was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

  The woman’s hair was richly black, pulled away from her face and fashioned into an intricate knot. Her eyes were huge and a clear, rich amber, thick lashes shading the innate reserve that lurked in their depths. She held out her hand and offered a warm smile. “I’m Ella Montague.”

  “Wynne Sommers. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She shook hands, gazing in open admiration. It might be interesting to look like this for a day instead of like the “pocketful of nothingness” Mrs. Marsh had once called her. Somehow she couldn’t see Ella Montague allowing anyone to intimidate her, certainly not the beastly Mrs. Marsh. But then, everything had a price. Even beauty, judging by Ella’s wary expression.

  “I hope you enjoy yourself this evening,” she murmured, taking Wynne’s
gold ticket and dropping it into the velvet-lined basket she held. “You’re free to explore any of the rooms on the first two floors. Buffet-style dinners are available downstairs, and the gardens are open for your enjoyment. Once you find a partner, marriage ceremonies are conducted in the salons off the main ballroom. If you have any questions or problems, there are footmen who can assist you. They all wear white-and-gold uniforms, so you can’t miss them.”

  “Thank you,” Wynne murmured and moved further down the line. An older couple stood together, their expressions as guileless as newborn infants.

  “Welcome, my dear,” the woman said in greeting, taking Wynne’s hand in hers. “I’m Henrietta Montague. And this is my husband, Donald.”

  Wynne glanced back over her shoulder at Ella, a mesmerizing flame of gold in her Grecian-style gown, and then back at the Montagues. “Ella is your daughter?” she asked tentatively.

  “Our one and only,” Henrietta confirmed cheerfully. “A bird of paradise raised by wrens.”

  Wynne smiled. “I quite like wrens. They’re quick, cheerful, and always have something to say for themselves.”

  Henrietta beamed. “What a lovely description. Did you hear, Donald?”

  “I heard, my sweet.” He took hold of Wynne’s hand and squeezed it. “Now you look around carefully tonight. Only the best for you.”

  “Oh, I’ve already found him,” Wynne hastened to say. “And he is the best. The very best.”

  Tears glittered in Henrietta’s eyes. “I’m so pleased. Much happiness, my dear. And with luck we’ll see you again next year.”

  “Next year?” Wynne asked in confusion.

  “That’s when we hold our Anniversary Ball. All those who meet and wed at the Cinderella Ball are invited to celebrate their first anniversary with us.”

  Wynne gave a definite nod. “Then I’ll see you again next year.” With that, she moved into the ballroom and scanned the crowd for coal-black hair and a distinctive set of broad shoulders.

  Time to find her husband-to-be.

  Jake lounged against a wall and watched the crowd with weary impatience. Damn it all! Four miserable hours had passed since he’d arrived. Four hours spent stampeding from woman to woman like some sort of lust-crazed bull in a field full of bashful cows, and he didn’t have a single prospect to show for it. Oh, there were plenty of women, available in every shape and size, but they’d all come with a list of wants he couldn’t care less about, let alone had a hope in hell of fulfilling.

  And not one of them was interested in a temporary relationship.

  A hard-eyed brunette approached just then. It didn’t take long to discover the size of his bank account interested her far more than marital bliss. After two minutes of conversation, he knew she’d never sign his prenuptial agreement. After another two he managed to convince her he wasn’t interested in purchasing the goods she had for sale. The instant she left, an auburn-haired woman replaced the brunette. She practically shook in her ivory heels and he suspected it took every ounce of gumption for her to even approach.

  “Nikki Ashton,” she introduced herself and offered her hand.

  “Jake Hondo.”

  An awkward silence descended and she visibly scrambled for something to say. “I—I’m looking for a husband,” she finally announced.

  “Really?” he murmured dryly. “What a coincidence. I’m looking for a wife.”

  She stared at him in dismay, bright color sweeping into her face. “Oh, I knew this would never work. Coming here was a mistake.” A hint of violet glinted within the pansy-blue of her eyes. “I’m sorry to waste your time. It’s just that I’ve never done this before. And I thought . . . Or rather, I’d hoped . . .”

  He released his breath in a gusty sigh, afraid that if he didn’t say something nice—and quick—she might burst into tears. “You want to start over?”

  She gave a forlorn little shrug. “Is there any point?”

  “Could be. I’m looking for a temporary wife. You interested?”

  That caught her attention. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I am.” A small smile crept across her full mouth and she relaxed minutely. “I wouldn’t mind a temporary arrangement in the least.”

  He lifted a sooty eyebrow. “You serious?”

  “Very. I just need a husband long enough to convince my sister I’m happily married.”

  “Happy, huh?”

  “Ecstatically happy.” Her eyes narrowed. “You can fake ecstatic, can’t you?”

  “I suppose.” He waited a beat before adding, “If you’re willing to sleep with me.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

  “I have to be legally wedded and bedded to inherit my grandfather’s property. And my wife will need to stand up in court and admit as much to the judge.” He rocked back on his heels. “Can you handle that?”

  He watched as she mulled it over. If she hadn’t claimed she’d be interested in a temporary marriage, he’d have brushed her off. One glance had told him she’d never do. For one thing, she was too beautiful, as lovely as his little elf, though perhaps more colorful and vibrant. If he’d learned nothing else in his thirty-five years of existence, it was to give beautiful women a wide berth.

  For another, Nikki’s soft, white hands hadn’t seen a lick of work since the day she’d tumbled into this world. She’d be about as useful on a ranch as a silk-covered saddle.

  Still, he was fast running out of options. He could tolerate the woman, if push came to shove. Let her sit in the parlor and look as gorgeous and helpless as she wanted, so long as she warmed his bed. Check that. So long as she warmed his bed and confirmed she’d done her wifely duty before the judge, along with various and sundry witnesses.

  “Well?” he prodded.

  “There’s no other option?”

  “No other option and no other conditions. How about you?”

  “Just one other detail. In addition to my sister, I have a boss to convince. You’d have to act the part of the loving-husband whenever we attend business functions together or whenever my family’s around.”

  Damn. “Whoa. Time out. Where were you planning on conducting this ecstatically happy marriage of ours?”

  “New York,” she answered. “Why?”

  “Because I have a ranch to run. I need my wife living with me in Texas.”

  She shook her head. “I need my husband living with me in New York.” Her mouth tilted into a rueful smile. “This isn’t going to work, is it?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “Thanks anyway.” She offered her hand again. “And thanks for helping me through this. It should be easier from here on out.” With that cryptic remark, she disappeared into the crowd.

  “Wasn’t she right for you?” a friendly voice questioned from behind.

  He turned and glanced down, both intrigued and irritated to discover that his elf had reappeared. “I thought I got rid of you earlier.”

  She shrugged, the graceful movement drawing his attention to the fine, sculpted lines of her neck and shoulders. Her short, layered hairstyle further emphasized the most exquisite bone structure he’d seen in a long time. She reminded him of a thoroughbred, lean and delicate and fluid.

  “I’m hard to get rid of,” she replied, not in the least offended by his gruff comment. “I’m persistent.”

  A small smile eased the corners of his mouth. “Annoying.”

  “Tenacious.”

  “Pesky.”

  “Determined.”

  “Clingy.”

  She laughed up at him. “In that case, I’ll grow on you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered wryly.

  Tilting her head to one side, she gave him a sympathetic look. “Not having any luck?”

  “Not much. How about you?”

  “Oh, I haven’t given up, yet. These things take time.”

  He grimaced. “Something we’re fast running out of.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  She b
rushed a lock of hair from her eyes and peeked up at him. To his amusement, the look held a contradictory element of both caution and daring, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Spit it out, munchkin. What do you want?”

  She took a deep breath and offered an engaging smile. “I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Wynne Sommers.”

  The name suited its owner. They each had a fey, almost arcane feel about them. “Jake Hondo,” he replied with notable reluctance.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I’m starved. Why don’t we visit the buffet table and you can tell me what it is you expect in a wife.”

  “We’ve already covered that ground,” he said, a hard edge invading his tone. “I want a temporary arrangement. You want permanent.”

  “I prefer permanent,” she said, correcting him. “But I’m willing to compromise.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I want someone who’s not afraid of hard work. You’d blow away in the first gust of wind.”

  “Oh, I’m not that easy to blow away. And as for hard work . . .” She held out her hands, palms up. They were marred by calluses, the skin red and chapped. “I know my way around a bucket of soapy water.”

  He gritted his teeth to prevent an exclamation of fury. She shouldn’t have hands like that. They should be like the redhead’s hands, silky and white and pampered. He eyed her with a frown. His elf worked hard for a living. Is that why she’d come? To escape a life of drudgery?

  “You want a gentle warrior,” he reminded. “And I’m not even close to gentle.”

  She tossed him a gamine-like grin. “Aren’t you?”

  “No,” he said with pointed finality and turned away.

  She didn’t leave. Instead she stood quietly at his side and waited. Reluctantly he glanced down at her. A band of pearls decorated with a small sprig of flowers peeked through her pale hair, the spring green of the leaves a near perfect match for her eyes. Her dress was made of some sort of lacy material, the strapless bodice hugging her slender curves. He suppressed the savage urge to steal her away to a dark, private corner and become intimately familiar with those curves. Curves, he suspected, that would prove to be a hell of a lot softer than her hands.