One Night with Prince Charming Read online

  Drat. Why hadn’t she thought of that when she’d dressed this morning?

  But James’s face held no hint of amusement at her expense—just simple curiosity.

  She fingered her pendant. “The necklace was a gift from my friend Tamara, who is a wonderful jewelry designer here in the city. I like to fish.”

  “A woman after my own heart then.”

  Pia checked her surprise. Of course, he would be interested in fishing. He was her fantasy man—how could he not be?

  “Do you fish?” she asked unnecessarily.

  “Since I was three or four,” he said solemnly. “What kind of fishing do you do?”

  She laughed with a tinge of self-consciousness. “Oh, anything. Bass, trout… There are plenty of lakes where I grew up in western Pennsylvania. My father and grandfather taught me how to bait and cast a line—as well as ride a horse and, uh, m-milk a cow.”

  She couldn’t believe she’d admitted to milking cows. How would he ever think of her as an urban sophisticate now? She ought to have quit while she was ahead.

  James looked nothing but fascinated, however. “Horseback riding—even better. I’ve been riding since I could walk.” His eyes glinted. “I can’t say the same about milking cows, on the other hand.”

  She flushed.

  “But I sheered a few sheep during a stay at an Australian sheep station.”

  Pia felt her lips twitch. “Well, then, you’ve bested me. I concede.”

  “Good of you,” he deadpanned. “I knew sheep would win out.”

  “I’ve done some fly-fishing,” she asserted.

  He smiled. “Point to you. There are not many women who are willing to stand around in muck all day, wearing waders and waiting to get a bite.” His smile broadened into a grin. “As petite as you are, I imagine you couldn’t wade in very far.”

  She struck a look of mock offense. “I’ll have you know I stood as still as a chameleon on a branch.”

  “Then I’d have been tempted to drop a frog down the back of your waders,” he teased.

  “Oh, you would! Don’t tell me you have sisters whom you tormented.”

  “No such luck,” he mourned. “I have one sister, but she’s several years younger than I am, and my mother wouldn’t have looked well on any pranks.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected she would,” she said with mock indignation. “And if you’d attempted to foist a frog on me, I’d have—”

  “Yes?”

  He was enjoying this.

  “I’d have thrown you for a loop!”

  “Don’t fairy-tale heroines need to get to know a few frogs?” he asked innocently.

  “I believe the expression is kiss a few frogs,” she replied. “And, no, the requirements have been updated for the twenty-first century. And anyway, I’d know when I kissed a frog.”

  “Mmm…do you want to put it to the test?”

  “I—I—”

  What a time for her stammer to make another appearance.

  Not waiting for a clearer sign of encouragement, he leaned in, and as her eyelids lowered, gently pressed his lips to her. She felt the momentary zing of electricity, and her lips parted on an indrawn breath. And then his mouth moved over hers, tasting and sampling, giving and receiving.

  His lips were soft, and she tasted the faint lingering flavor of his drink as they kissed. The crowd around them receded as she focused on every warm stroke of his mouth against hers.

  Just as their kiss threatened to become more heated, he drew back, his expression thoughtful and bemused. “There, how was that?”

  She searched his eyes. “Y-you are in no way related to Kermit the Frog.”

  He grinned. “How about my fishing? Am I reeling you in?”

  “A-am I on the hook or are you?”

  “James.”

  The moment was interrupted as he was hailed by someone and turned in the direction of a man coming toward them.

  Pia straightened and sat back in her seat, belatedly realizing with some embarrassment that she was still leaning forward.

  “The CEO of MetaSky Investments is here, James,” the man announced, sparing her a cursory look. “I’ll introduce you.”

  Pia judged the man to be a contemporary of James’s. Perhaps he was a friend or a business colleague.

  At the same time, she sensed James hesitate beside her. She could tell that whoever this CEO was, it would be valuable for James to meet him. After all, he was important enough for a friend to have sought James out in the crowded bar.

  James turned toward her. “Will you—”

  “There you are, Pia! I’ve been searching for you.”

  Cornelia materialized out of the crowd.

  Pia pasted a bright smile on her face as she glanced at James. “As you can see, you no longer need to worry about leaving me alone.”

  James nodded. “Will you excuse me?”

  “Of course.”

  Pia tamed her disappointment as James rose to depart. She noticed that he didn’t say he’d be back. And she knew better than to expect that he would return. She understood—sort of—that these flirtations in bars were fleeting and transient.

  On the other hand, the romantic in her believed in kismet. He was the most magnificent man she’d ever met.

  And if that had been the last she’d seen of him, she probably would have remembered him as nothing more than a handsome, charming fantasy—a brief glimpse of a fairy-tale prince to brighten her disappointing night. Certainly, the evening began to show few signs of success once they went their separate ways.

  Two hours afterward, however, it was hard to keep disappointment at bay. She hadn’t glimpsed James since he’d departed, nor had she had any luck in making potential contacts, aside from handing her business card out to a couple of women who’d expressed a casual interest in retaining an event planner.

  Pia sighed as she slid off a bar stool, having settled her tab. Cornelia had departed twenty minutes ago while Pia had still been conversing with a potential client. The woman who’d just vacated the bar stool next to Pia was an office manager at a small real estate firm, and though she’d had someone whom she used to help plan the firm’s annual holiday party, she’d been willing to listen to Pia’s pitch.

  Business development was the part of her job that Pia found most challenging. Coming from Pennsylvania, she didn’t have an extensive social network in the city. And it was so disheartening to get the brush-off from strangers. She supposed that telemarketing could be worse, but then again, at least telemarketers only had to deal with rejection by phone rather than face-to-face.

  There was no doubt about the high point of the evening. James had shown real interest in her—however briefly.

  Pia felt her heart squeeze. Definitely time to leave.

  She’d head home to a rent-stabilized apartment on the unfashionable edge of the Upper East Side. She decided she’d pop in a DVD and lose herself in one of her favorite Jane Austen flicks, spending the rest of the evening forgetting what would never be.

  It was a decent feel-good plan. Except as soon as she stepped out of the bar, she realized that it was pouring rain.

  Oh, great.

  She huddled under the bar’s awning and looked down at herself. Even with the platform heels on her beige sandals, she knew her feet—and likely more—were going to get soaked. She’d tucked a small umbrella into her handbag this morning, just in case, but she’d been betting it wouldn’t rain when she’d chosen what to wear. The weather report had said showers weren’t in the forecast until the wee hours of the morning.

  Her one hope was hailing a cab, but she knew one would be scarce in this kind of weather, and in any case, on her salary, taxis were a luxury she tried to avoid. The only alternative was walking to the subway and then making the long hike from the train station to her apartment.

  As she stood there, hugging herself for warmth and debating her options, the tavern door behind her opened.

  “Need a ride?”

&nbs
p; She turned and glanced up. James.

  Paradoxically, she felt embarrassed—as if she were the one running out on him, when in reality he hadn’t sought her out again.

  “I thought you’d already left,” she blurted.

  A slow smile spread across his face. “I did, but I came back in. I was conversing with the CEO of MetaSky outside, where we could hear each other and speak with more privacy.” He looked around them. “It wasn’t raining then.”

  She blinked. “Oh.”

  “Do you need a ride?” he asked again, glancing down at her.

  She tried for some belated dignity, even as a gust of wind pelted her with raindrops. “I’m f-fine. I’m just debating whether to walk, row or swim home.”

  His smile spread. “What about a car instead?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “How are we ever going to catch an empty cab in this weather?”

  She knew that rain made New York City taxis disappear.

  “Leave it to me.”

  She watched as James scanned the street. Two cabs passed them but their lit signs indicated that they were occupied. As the two of them waited, they made idle chitchat.

  Close to fifteen minutes later, by a stroke of luck, James spotted a cab letting out a passenger beyond the nearest intersection. He moved swiftly from the shelter of the awning and into the street when the empty cab started to make its way down their block. He raised his arm, a commanding presence, and hailed the cab.

  As the rain continued to assault him, he opened the taxi’s door and motioned for her to step in.

  “What’s your address?” he called as she hurried toward him. “I’ll tell the driver.”

  She called it out to him, realizing that he had an excuse to find out where she lived. He made everything appear smooth, charming and effortless.

  “Are you leaving? Do you want to share a cab?” she asked as she reached him. “You’re getting drenched! I should have offered you the umbrella in my bag but you stepped out so suddenly.”

  She couldn’t stop the flow of words, though she knew she was nearly babbling. She had no idea what direction was home for him, but it seemed churlish not to offer to share the cab that he’d hailed for her. Yet again, he’d handily managed to accomplish something she herself often found difficult, being petite and certainly less imposing.

  James looked at her and his lips quirked. Even with his hair getting matted by the rain and his face wet, he looked unbelievably handsome.

  “Thanks for the offer,” he said.

  She wasn’t sure if he meant to accept her offer, but once she entered the confines of the cab, she slid across the seat so he would have room to join her.

  A moment later, he slid in beside her, folding his tall frame onto the bench seat and answering her unvoiced question.

  She felt relief and a happy flutter, even as she also experienced a sense of nervous awareness. She had never left a bar with a man before—she was cautious. But then again, no man had attempted to pick her up in a bar before.

  “I live on First Avenue in the high Eighties,” she cautioned James belatedly as he closed the car door. “I don’t want to put you out. I don’t know in what direction you need to head.”

  “It’s no problem,” he said easily. “I’ll see you home first.”

  She noticed that he didn’t divulge whether she was taking him out of his way or not.

  He leaned forward to the partition separating the front from the backseat and told the cab driver her address. And in no time at all, they were speeding through Manhattan’s wet and half-empty streets.

  They were content to make some more desultory chitchat as the car ate up the distance to her apartment. She discovered that he was thirty-three to her twenty-four—not ancient by any means, but older and more worldly than the boys she’d dated back in high school and college in Pennsylvania.

  Perhaps in order to make the gulf between them seem less so, she shared her dream of opening her own wedding planning business. Surely, he wouldn’t think of her as so young and inexperienced if he knew she had plans to be a business owner.

  He showed enthusiasm for her plans and encouraged her to proceed with them.

  All the while, as thoughts raced through her mind, she wondered if he felt the sexual tension, too. Would she ever see him again?

  In no time at all, however, they arrived outside her building.

  James turned toward her, searching her eyes in the silence drawing out between them. “Here we are.”

  “W-would you like to come up?” she asked, surprising herself.

  It was a daring move. But she felt as if their evening had been cut short when he’d had to meet with the CEO of MetaSky.

  He paused and looked at her meaningfully for a moment. “Sure…I’d love to.”

  He settled the cab fare, and then they raced up the front stoop of her building, sharing her small umbrella.

  She managed to fish out her keys in record time and let them inside. They stumbled into the vestibule and out of the cold and wet.

  She lived in a studio on the top floor of a four-story brownstone. At least, however, the rental was hers alone. On a night like tonight, she didn’t have to worry about the awkwardly timed arrival of a roommate or two. She’d made the best of her situation by putting up a partition wall to create a separate bedroom, though she couldn’t do anything to alter the fact that her windows were the small ones beneath the roof.

  As she heard and felt the tread of James’s feet behind her on the stairs, she couldn’t help feeling nervous about having him step into her little world.

  Fortunately, she didn’t have much time to dwell on the matter. Within a few minutes, they reached the uppermost floor, and she inserted her key in her door and let them inside.

  She dropped her handbag on a chair and turned around in time to see him scanning her apartment.

  He dominated the small space even more than she’d anticipated. Here there were no fellow bar patrons to defuse the full force of the magnetism that he exuded. There was no crowd to mitigate the sexual attraction between them.

  James’s eyes came back to hers. “It’s cute.”

  She’d tried to make the apartment cheerful, as much to lift her own mood as anything else. A tiny table flanked by two chairs and sporting a vase of pink peonies and tulips sat near the door. The kitchen lined one wall, and a love seat guarded the space on the opposite side. Facing the entry, a small entertainment center stood in front of the partition that separated her bedroom from the rest of the space.

  Pia knew what lay beyond the partition that shielded what remained of her apartment from James’s gaze. A white croquet coverlet covered the full-size bed that occupied most of her sleeping area.

  Nervously, she wet her lips. She couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the rain-soaked spots of his shirt. Some of those wet areas clung to the muscles of his arms and shoulders.

  She’d never done this before.

  “Pia.”

  Pia found herself jerked from her memories as Tamara closed the space on the lawn between them. Over Tamara’s shoulder, she noticed the member of the household staff with whom Tamara had been speaking was heading back toward the stone terrace and French doors at the back of the house.

  Hawk was nowhere to be seen. He, too, must have gone indoors.

  “I’m sorry to have left you stranded here.”

  Pia pasted a bright smile on her face. “Not at all. It’s all part of the prerogatives of the bride.”

  And one of her prerogatives, Pia thought, was to stay away from Hawk for the rest of this wedding…

  Four

  Pia walked along East 79th Street on Manhattan’s Upper East Side looking for the correct house number. She’d received a call from Lucy Montgomery yesterday about being hired as a bridal consultant. She hadn’t paid much attention to the particulars, but had jumped at the chance for new business because it had been a slow summer.

  She hadn’t liked to dwell on how much her silent phone
was due to the Wentworth-Dillingham wedding being, well, both more and less than expected. She hadn’t been directly to blame for the first part of the debacle. But the hard truth was that if the wedding had been a resounding success, her phone might have been ringing with more interested brides.

  True, she’d been called on to help with Tamara’s wedding last month. But that had been a small wedding—mainly family—and had transpired in England, so her involvement hadn’t counted for much in the eyes of New York society. And while she’d also worked on a wedding in Atlanta over the summer, she’d been retained for that function before Belinda’s nuptial debacle.

  Now, though, on a breezy day in late September, with clouds overhead and the threat of rain in the air, she walked along one of Manhattan’s tonier side streets, glad she’d worn her belted trench to ward off the threatening elements and even happier for the possibility of a new client.

  Finding the house number she was looking for, she stopped and surveyed the impressive double-width, four-story limestone town house. A tall, black, wrought-iron fence guarded the façade, and flower boxes and black shutters framed tall, plate-glass windows. In the center of the building, stone steps ascended to the double-door front entrance at the parlor level. But instead of windows, the parlor floor boasted French doors embraced by tiny balconies.

  There was no doubt that Lucy Montgomery came from money. This house was a well-preserved example of Manhattan’s Gilded Age.

  Pia ascended the steps and knocked before ringing the doorbell.

  Within moments, an older gentleman, dressed in somber black and white rather than a clear uniform, responded. After Pia introduced herself, the butler took her coat and directed her to the parlor.

  Pia soon discovered that the parlor was a spectacular room with a high, molded ceiling and a marble mantel. It was decorated in gold and rose and outfitted with antique furniture upholstered in stripes and prints.

  She knew she should recognize the furniture style, but for the life of her, she could never remember how to separate Louis XIV style from its successors, Louis XV and Louis XVI. In any case, expensive was expensive.