A Cinderella for the Greek
She nodded, and waited till he was well clear of the room before getting up.
It was strange, she thought as she caught her reflection in the mirror of the en-suite bathroom... She was so used to her body, so used to thinking it large and muscular and unattractive. And yet now— Her eyes held her own naked reflection. Saw it for the very first time not through Chloe’s eyes, but through someone else’s completely.
Max’s eyes...
Tall, with sculpted shoulders, taut arms, generous breasts, flat abs, toned glutes, strong quads, long legs. A goddess body?
And her face still held the beauty conjured from it by those skilful magic-making stylists last night. Her fingers lifted uncertainly to her hair. Whatever those chattering women had done to it, it was amazing. Its colour was so much richer, glowing in the lights around the vanity unit, and it felt so light on her head, yet it waved in lush tresses down over her shoulders, softening her face, her jaw, caressing her neck. She touched her mouth with her fingertips—elongated nails still crimson with varnish—and felt a smile part her mouth.
A goddess indeed...
She heard Max’s words in her head, felt his eyes on her, his hand on her spine as they’d waltzed.
The melody played in her head again. Happiness filled her. Whatever her worries, whatever her woes, this...this would always be with her now.
He made me beautiful.
He might be trying to take her beloved home from her, but he had given her something she had never thought to have—something that Chloe’s cruelty had taken from her, that her own self-doubt, self-criticism had let her stepsister take from her.
And Max—wonderful, wonderful Max!—had now restored it to her.
With a smile of wonder and gratitude still playing on her lips she piled her hair up, pinned it loosely, and stepped into the shower unit. Brunch beckoned—and so did the thought of seeing Max again.
Even if only for what was left of the morning.
A pang smote her. She swallowed as the hot water plunged down over her shoulders, rousing her to full wakefulness. Suddenly the thought of leaving him, of returning home to Haughton, seemed like the worst thing in the world.
But the ball is over—and it’s time to go home.
For the first time in her life she did not want to.
* * *
Max was already seated at the table when Ellen emerged. He was clad, like her, in a white towelling robe. Seeing him like that seemed suddenly very...intimate.
Into her head came the memory, vivid and real, of how he had kissed her.
Oh, she might have been intoxicated—with champagne and wine, with music and wonder—but that could not dim the searing memory.
Instantly she reproved herself fiercely.
It was just a kiss! Don’t make anything of it! It was only a kiss. It meant nothing—just a way to say goodnight.
Yet even as she told herself that she could feel the colour flare in her face. Busily, she sat herself down, hoping Max hadn’t seen. Didn’t know the reason for it.
It would have meant nothing to him—think how many women he’s kissed in his life! With looks like his...
And one of those women—the most recent—had been a film star. To a man used to kissing film stars—used to doing a whole lot more than kissing!—bestowing a goodnight kiss on her was...well, nothing.
But not to me.
Her eyes flickered a moment. No, it had not been nothing to her...
To me his kiss was the ultimate breaking of Chloe’s vicious hex. The one I gave in to—was too cowed to fight, to deny. I gave her an easy victory. A victory she revelled in!
Her expression steeled. But no more. Chloe’s cruel mental domination of her was over. She had to keep it that way.
She looked across at Max. His eyes were resting on her with an expression in them that was half glinting, half veiled. She met it square-on, refusing to let any self-conscious memory colour her cheeks. Then she looked at the lavish brunch spread out before her. She was instantly hungry.