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  Making haste, she snatched the first pair of black leggings her fingers encountered from her dresser drawer. Not caring they were an older pair with questionable white fuzz balls and broken Lycra strings covering the surface, she stretched them over her legs, doing a little shimmy-dip to get them past her hips and up over her ass.

  She opened another drawer and pulled out a bra. No, she wasn't going back out there braless. She kept her heat low to keep the cost of her bill down and even in a big, baggy T-shirt, she wasn't taking a chance of flashing Max her perky nipples.

  She knew she wasn't gone long, only a few minutes, but Max had already made himself comfortable on the couch, helping himself to a slice of pizza. "Can I offer you a drink to help wash down my pizza?"

  He gave her a grin not looking the least contrite. "I'll take a beer if you've got one."

  She returned, open beer bottle in hand, holding it out for him. He pointed to the TV with his pizza slice. "What are we watching?"

  "I'm watching a movie you wouldn't be interested in." She walked around the back of the couch—as opposed to in front of the coffee table where he could watch her every move—and resumed her corner of the sofa.

  Now that she'd had a solid ten minutes to recover from his unexpected visit, the questions she should've asked at his arrival came flying out of her mouth.

  "What are you doing here, Max? Wait. First, tell me how you even know where I live and how you got my phone number?"

  He popped the last bite of his slice in his mouth, rubbing his hands together while chewing, swallowing it down with a long pull of his beer. He flashed his pearly whites, giving her an evil smirk. "Let's just say, I know where you work and have my ways of extracting information."

  She gave him a beady-eyed stare but could tell from his expression he wouldn't be giving away any of his secrets. Fine. Moving on. "Then tell me why you're here."

  He turned to her, his brandy eyes pinning her in place with an unbreakable stare. "I didn't want you spending Christmas alone."

  She eyed him with a firm look of her own. Probably not as effective as his steely one but was sure it packed a bit of a punch, all the same. "So you're here out of pity?"

  He leaned closer, placing one hand on the cushion beside her hip, the other on the armrest behind her. Her legs, bent at the knee and pressed against her chest, her only defense to his intimacy. "I'm here because I haven't been able to get you out of my head since the first minute I saw you. And hoped you'd take pity on me and not turn me away on Christmas."

  He advanced closer and she swallowed, forcing herself to stay motionless and not inch away, not wanting to show weakness or let it known how much his proximity affected her. "So you're here for sex?"

  Her words not only stopped his advance, but he even retreated a few inches. Wordlessly he scanned her features. She watched his jaw flex, and his already heated eyes turned molten. Edging back farther, giving her space, he leaned his side into the back of the couch, draping an arm along its back, resting his other hand on her bent knee.

  "What about my words made you think I was only after a fuck?" Her eyes drifted over his shoulder, and he gave her knee a squeeze, gaining her attention. "Yes, I think you're beautiful, and I would be crazy if I didn't want to fuck you, but that's not all I want from you. I want to spend time with you, get to know you."

  "I don't do relationships." Was that her voice that sounded so defensive?

  He shrugged, leaned forward, grabbed a slice of pizza from the box, and handed it to her. "Call it what you want. But when I want something I go after it and never give up until I get it."

  Was that a warning? A threat? "I think I'd rather just fuck," she mumbled, taking the slice from his hand.

  He chuckled, snagging another piece of pizza for himself before picking up the remote. He leaned back, putting his booted feet on the coffee table then said, "For now, I'm here to eat pizza, drink a beer, and watch a movie with a beautiful woman." He speared her with a look so intense it belied his next words. "Nothing more."

  He clicked the remote, the opening music drowning out anything she wanted to say. Not that she knew what she wanted to say. His eyes moved to the TV and hers followed suit, soon getting lost in the movie.

  Eating pizza, drinking wine, watching a beautiful love story with an even more beautiful man sitting beside her, turned out to be a pretty good Christmas after all.

  The room was dark, the only glow coming from the muted TV. An infomercial, touting some newfangled kitchen device, her only clue it was either very late or very early. She must have fallen asleep. She was stretched out on the couch, a pillow tucked under her head, and a blanket covered her from chin to toes. She closed her eyes and deep breathed at Max's thoughtful act before departing.

  She popped into a sitting position, the blanket pooling in her lap. He did leave, right? She frantically looked around and spied a piece of paper on the coffee table. She squinted to make out the words in the dim light.

  Princesa,

  I didn't want to wake you to say goodbye. I know you don't get nearly enough sleep and look too peaceful to disturb. Rosy cheeks, ruby lips slightly parted, eyelids fluttering in what I hope are sweet dreams of me.

  The movie, a retelling of Cinderella, right? Quite fitting, I think. If you would only open your eyes, I think you would see the similarities too.

  Tu Príncipe,

  Max

  She reread the note three times before setting it back down on the table and Googling the phrase tu príncipe. Your prince. She stared sightlessly at the TV, her mind churning. He implied, he wanted her to open her eyes and see he was her prince. Fancy words but did he have the goods to back them up? In her experience most guys were great in the short term, it was the long haul they had an issue with. She avoided getting involved with anyone for that very reason.

  But what if her reasoning was flawed? If she never gave anyone a chance, she would never find her Prince Charming. Should she let herself become emotionally available again? Actually go out on a date with someone to see what happened next. Could she really take that chance or was she just rationalizing because she really wanted to spend more time with Max?

  No, the way she'd been doing things was better—safer. She didn't care how much she liked Max. How wonderful he was. How charming. She'd built her castle walls for a reason and no way she was allowing him to scale them. Hyped by her new resolve, she felt stronger than she had in a long time, coated in her new shiny armor not even the dashing Max could tarnish.

  * * * * *

  Max leaned over the balcony, arms resting on the railing, two fingers of whiskey in a cut glass tumbler held in his hand, deep in thought. The view from his top-floor condo was spectacular at night with the neon from the strip shining in the distance, but the view of Stephanie curled, asleep on her couch had been a far more enticing sight. A sight he'd been hesitant to leave.

  He took a sip of the rich, smoky liquid, feeling the burn as it slid down his throat. He needed a plan of attack. No, attack was too strong a word where Steph was concerned. He needed to take things slow with her, it had to be a sneak attack, one she didn't see coming. He sniggered into his glass amused by the irony. He wasn't one to do things slow. He saw something he wanted and went after it full force—in business as well as pleasure. If that practice had cost him a deal or a conquest, there had always been plenty more to be had.

  But Steph was different. He knew he didn't want to fail with her. Couldn't fail with her. It was hard to explain, but one look, and he knew she was the one. The one he'd been waiting thirty-five long years for. So if that meant he needed to go against his baser instincts and slow things the fuck down, that's what he would do.

  She didn't want a relationship. We
ll before he'd laid eyes on her, he hadn't wanted one either. Not that he'd had a troubled one in the past as she so obviously had. He'd just never had the desire to take things to the next level. Never met a woman who made his heart hammer, his blood pound, and his cock harden with just a look into a pair of beautiful blue eyes, until her, his princesa.

  She was his.

  And soon, she would know it.

  Chapter Four

  Steph turned off the shower to discover someone forcefully pounding on her front door while alternating buzzing her doorbell. What the heck? Quickly wrapping a large towel around herself, she ran, dripping through the living room, pausing to look out the side curtained window. The sight before her was not what she'd expected even if she'd been expecting someone.

  A middle-aged, mountainous woman with frizzy red curls exploding around a face spackled with makeup stood in a rust colored silk pantsuit, looking at the watch decorating her wrist and tapping a high-heeled toe. A large, wheeled overnight tote draped with a black garment bag sat at her feet.

  In her few seconds of observation, she saw the woman's chest heave in a dramatic sigh right before she extended a tanned, chubby finger, topped with a long, red-lacquered nail at the doorbell button, again creating a buzz to sound through her apartment. The woman then raised her fist to pound, but Steph threw the deadbolt, opening the door before she could make contact.

  Shielding her body with the solid wood, Steph peeked her head around its side. "Can I help you?"

  The woman scanned the clipboard she held before looking back up. She blinked her purple shadowed lids feathered with fake eyelashes a few times while studying Steph as if she were a strange alien creature she'd never seen before. "Stephanie Willis?"

  "Yes."

  "Alice Perrault, AKA The Fairy Godmother," she said, holding out a dimpled hand.

  Steph extended her free arm—the one not clutching the towel firmly to her body—around the door, taking her hand. "The fairy what?"

  Alice had a deep throaty laugh. "People in the industry call me The Fairy Godmother."

  "The industry?" Steph parroted not having the first clue what she was talking about.

  Alice tsked, waving at the items at her feet as if it should be obvious why she was there. "I'm the owner of Creating Cinderella. We do complete makeovers. Although I must say, you're one lucky lady. I'm a legend in my field and don't wave my magic wand for just anyone anymore. I'm doing a favor for a very influential friend of a friend."

  Alice bent at the waist and scooped up the garment bag, draping it across her arm. Then grabbing the handle on the rolling tote, she barreled through the partially open door, nearly knocking Steph—who still stood behind it—off her feet in the process.

  Stopping a few feet in, she did a scan of the apartment, slowly turning her body a full three hundred and sixty degrees before muttering loud enough for Steph to hear, "Now where shall we set up?"

  Maybe it was from lack of sleep or just general ignorance, but Steph still didn't know what the heck was going on. And maybe it was her sluggish brain or just ill-manners that had her slamming the front door, waving her free arm over her head and shouting, "What the hell is happening here?"

  Alice turned her head, Exorcist-style, looking over her shoulder. "I've been hired to help you get ready for the ball." She indicated her stuff. "Hair, makeup, ball gown, even a pair of glass slippers," she added with a wink.

  She was totally going to kick Alexis's ass. This was way crossing a line. Steph raised a finger. "Please excuse me a minute."

  Alice, AKA Fairy Godmother, waved a hand. "You go right ahead, dear. It'll take me a few minutes to set everything up anyway."

  Steph didn't waste any time nabbing her phone off the coffee table and speed dialing Alexis on the way to the kitchen. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," she chanted, counting the rings and hoping it wouldn't go to voicemail.

  "Hey," came Alexis's breathy reply. "You caught me just getting out of the shower. Everything okay? You're still coming tonight, right?"

  "Of course, I'm still coming. Is that why you sicced Alice on me, to make sure I'd come?"

  There were a few seconds of silence where she thought the called had dropped but then heard a questioning, "Alice?"

  Steph didn't bother holding back an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Alice," then sarcastically continued, "The Fairy Godmother."

  She heard a giggle over the line. "Have you been drinking too much wine and watching Ever After again?"

  "I'm serious, Alexis, this isn't funny. You've gone too far this time."

  In a sober tone, Alexis replied, "Steph, honey, I don't know what you're talking about."

  That made Steph pause. Alexis never lied and had never denied when she'd tried to do something nice for her. "You didn't send Alice from Creating Cinderella to do a makeover on me for the party?"

  "Of course not, Steph. I know better than to do something like that to you."

  "Well if you didn't, then who did?" But then she had a thought. A thought that had her stomach dropping while at the same time had butterflies erupting in a mass explosion. "Oh, my God," came out a breathy whisper.

  "What?" Alexis asked just as breathy. Then when Steph didn't respond fast enough, she asked louder and slightly high-pitched, "Oh, my God, what?"

  She didn't answer. Instead, she asked, "Is Max coming to the party tonight?"

  "Max Vicente?"

  "Yeah."

  "He was invited. Not sure if he's coming, though. Why, what does he have to do with this?"

  Again not answering her question, she said, "Oh, he'll show up. In fact, I'll bet my new glass slippers on it."

  Steph barely recognized herself. Well, Alice achieved what she'd set out to do. She looked like Cinder-fuckin-ella. Her ballgown—and seriously, that was the only way to describe the dress she wore—was an ice blue, smooth, figure-hugging satin. The heart-shaped neckline dipped low, held in place with off-the-shoulder straps. A layer of tulle over floral patterned lace cascaded to the floor in a small train. Her shoes, while not really made of glass, looked as if they were, covered in white crystals that sparkled and shimmered in the light.

  Her naturally thick and wavy hair could hold a curl, which Alice had taken full advantage of. Creating ringlets, she'd piled Steph's hair atop her head, holding the mass in place with jeweled pins. Surprisingly—with the amount of makeup decorating Alice's face—she'd kept Steph's light, concentrating her efforts on accentuating her eyes, which according to Alice, were her best feature.

  Steph saw the time on her nightstand clock and realized she was running late. She grabbed up her keys and phone, tucking them into the small beaded bag she had looped on her wrist. She wasn't sure how she would cram herself plus the overabundance of dress into the cramped driver's seat of her Fiesta—Enquiring minds want to know—but thankfully there would be no need to report to that particular magazine because idling downstairs at the curb, waiting to sweep her off to the party was her very own pumpkin-turned-carriage. A black stretch limo.

  Thanking Alice with a kiss to the cheek—her fairy godmother had actually grown on her over the past two hours—she waved goodbye as she slid along the smooth leather seat deep into the cool dark interior of the limo, the view outside barely visible through the tinted windows.

  With nobody to share the ride but Mr. Bubbly chilling in an ice bucket, Steph found her thoughts drifting, wondering about this strange turn of events and Max's part in the scenario. She hadn't heard from him since Christmas and frankly, she'd been glad—at least that's what she'd kept telling herself. He was dangerous in more ways than one, and she could see herself falling hard for his charm. His good looks didn't hurt either. She didn't know whether s
he had a type, but if she did, he was it. Thick, rich-brown almost black hair, strong, manly features too severe to be called beautiful but so damn sexy, and his eyes, she could get lost in their warm brandy depths. And when he looked at her in that special way he had, she turned to putty.

  She'd debated a full ten minutes with herself, wondering if she should wear the dress Max had sent over for her. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea, thinking she was giving in and accepting his pursuit of her. But in the end, the lure of the pretty gown and beautiful shoes were her undoing. Like a little girl playing dress-up, she wanted to be the beautiful princess, at least for one night.

  And for one night was all it would be. For the next three hours, she would pretend she was someone else. In her glorious dress and her sparkling shoes, she'd be a princess from a far-off land, maybe attracting the eye of a prince who will ask for a dance and feed her champagne. Then when the clock struck the end of her evening, like Cinderella, she'd go back to her real life.

  Although she'd been a guest at Jack's parents house many times, the view still awed and amazed her. As she ascended the double-wide staircase taking her to the second-floor ballroom, she perused the beautiful paintings that lined the walls. Artwork that she knew was one of a kind and cost a mint. Everything in the home was expensive and screamed elegance, and for the first time she actually felt as if she belonged, decked out in her opulent attire. On the outside at least. Inside she was a mass of nerves, as always, until she could find Alexis and latch on like a clinging monkey.

  She spied her right away, in a corner, in a clinch with Jack, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Those crazy kids, she chuckled to herself as she skirted the crowd. Her shoes clacked on the black and white marbled floor as she carefully gathered her skirt while making her way to them.