Lois Dyer – Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After: Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texas Billionaire's Baby (страница 2)

Given his relationship history, Chance doubted it. He loved women—their smiles, their silky hair and skin, the way their eyes lit with pleasure when they made love.

No, he couldn’t imagine ever settling down with one woman.

Which made him wonder why he hadn’t dated anyone over the past six months.

Unconsciously, his gaze sought out Jennifer, locating her at the other end of the room. Her laughter pealed musically as she took an order from two women in business suits.

He muffled a groan and swigged down the rest of his coffee. He knew damn well Jennifer was the reason he hadn’t dated anyone in months.

Or maybe I’m just too busy with work, he thought, unwilling to accept that the beautiful blonde was to blame for his nonexistent love life.

Midweek, he’d spent two long nights in the operating room. His volunteer work at a free clinic in a low-income Boston neighborhood often expanded to include surgery during emergency situations. This week, those emergencies seemed to roll in almost on each other’s heels.

I’m too damn tired, he told himself. That’s why I’m being introspective. A solid eight hours of sleep and life will look normal again.

He frowned at his empty coffee mug. He hated examining his feelings and no matter how he sliced it, he couldn’t deny that he’d been spending too much time lately considering his life. And for a man who was rarely alone, he could swear he sometimes felt lonely.

“More coffee?”

Chance looked up. The red-haired waitress he often noticed talking with Jennifer stood next to his booth.

“Thanks.”

She quickly filled his mug and left, letting Chance return to his brooding.

He’d had plenty of affairs, but none of his relationships with women could qualify as meaningful.

And that’s the way I like it, he thought. So why am I wondering if there ought to have been more?

He dragged his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. He reached into his jacket pocket but the tiny vial of nonprescription eyedrops he kept there was missing. Instead, he found a note he didn’t remember putting there.

He scanned it and felt like groaning. The 3x5 card from his secretary was a reminder that the institute’s annual Founder’s Ball was the coming weekend.

And he didn’t have a date. He frowned and tapped the card on the tabletop.

The prospect of going alone held no appeal. Attending the event was mandatory, and he’d never attend without a date.

What the hell, he thought. Given that the only pretty woman he wanted to date was Jennifer, he might as well bite the bullet and ask her to go with him.

She’ll probably say no. She’s never said yes any of the other times I’ve asked her out.

But just talking to her always made him smile—and he could use a smile this morning.

“Here you are—eggs over medium, French toast and bacon.” Jennifer slid the plate onto the tabletop in front of him.

Perfect timing, he thought.

“Would you like me to bring you some aspirin?” she asked, glancing down sideways at him.

Her comment was so far from his thoughts that he blinked in confusion. “What? Why?”

“You were frowning as if your head hurt. I thought you might have a headache.”

“Oh. No, I don’t have a headache. Not yet, anyway.” He held out the card. “I was reading this.”

She glanced at the note, her eyes scanning the black type. “The Founder’s Ball? It sounds very glamorous.”

“It’s black tie.” His shrug spoke volumes about his lack of interest in whether the event was sophisticated. “The institute holds the ball every year. The band is supposed to be excellent and I hear the food’s worth putting on a tux and tie—but it’s no fun to go alone. Which is why you should take pity on me and be my date.”

Jennifer brushed a strand of blond hair from her temple and fought the temptation to accept. The diner was located only a few blocks from the institute and many of its customers worked at the medical center. The women employees had been buzzing about the Founder’s Ball for weeks, discussing gowns, shoes, jewelry and hairstyles.

Enticing as it was to think about donning a glamorous dress to go dancing with Chance, however, she knew she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She slipped the card onto the table next to his hand, taking care not to let her fingers touch his. She’d made that mistake once and the shock of awareness that hit her when she’d brushed against him had rocked her. “Thank you for asking me, though.”

“Don’t thank me.” His deep voice was almost a growl, although his dark eyes were rueful. “Just say yes.”

She shook her head. “I told you. I never date customers.”

He leaned back against the padded vinyl leather and tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowing consideringly over her. “What if I wasn’t a customer?”

The question startled Jennifer and she laughed. “Too late. You’re already a customer.”

“So you don’t date ex-customers, either?”

She shook her head.

“Damn.”

“I have to get back to work,” she told him, smiling as he tipped his mug at her in salute before she turned and walked away.

“What’s up with Dr. Hunk?” Yolanda asked the moment Jennifer joined her behind the long counter.

“I think he worked late last night,” Jennifer responded, walking past her to the big coffee urn. She checked the levels and found one nearly empty so she measured ground coffee into a fresh paper filter.

“Is that all?” Yolanda joined Jennifer and leaned forward to peer into her face, her dark eyes assessing. “It looked like he was asking you out again.”

“He did,” Jennifer admitted.

“I hope you said yes this time.”

“Of course not. You know I won’t go out with a customer,” Jennifer reminded her. She’d made up the rule on the spur-of-the-moment the first week she’d worked at the diner. To her surprise, the man who’d asked her out seemed to accept it with regret but little argument. She’d used the excuse several times since with the same results and no one had ever tempted her to change her mind—until Chance.

Yolanda rolled her eyes. “That’s such a crock, Jennifer. You could make an exception.” She glanced over her shoulder at the booth where Chance sat and sighed loudly. “Goodness knows, I certainly would for Dr. D.”

Jennifer laughed. “Don’t you think your husband might object?”

“Hmm. Good point.” Yolanda’s dimples formed as she grinned, her eyes flashing mischievously.

“Exactly,” Jennifer said with emphasis. She tossed the used filter with its damp coffee grounds into the trash bin and slipped the new one into the big coffeemaker. “You’d have to say no, too, but for different reasons. The charming Dr. Demetrios will just have to find another Cinderella to take to the ball.”

“To the ball?” Yolanda repeated, intrigued. “Do you mean, literally to a ball?”

“Actually, yes. He asked me to go to the Armstrong Fertility Institute Founder’s Ball with him.”

“What?” Yolanda’s shriek drew the attention of the diners at the long counter behind them. She glanced at them, waved a hand to tell them to return to their bacon and eggs and focused on Jennifer. “Spill, girlfriend,” she hissed. “I want details.”

“That’s all I’ve got,” Jennifer protested. “He asked me to be his date for the Founder’s Ball and I turned him down.”

“I can’t believe you refused a chance to go to that shindig. It’s one of Boston’s biggest parties!”

A third waitress joined them to collect a full coffeepot. Yolanda caught her sleeve. “Shirley, you’re not going to believe this.”

The red-haired woman paused, tucking her order pad into her pocket and eyeing Yolanda with interest. “What?”

“Dr. Demetrios asked Jennifer to go to the Founder’s Ball with him—and she turned him down!”

Shirley’s eyes widened. “Jennifer, you can’t say no! There’s no way Yolanda and I will ever get an invitation so you have to go, then come back and tell us all about it.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “I can’t go out with Dr. Demetrios, Shirley. If I did, no one would ever again accept my I-don’t-date-customers rule,” Jennifer protested.

“Not if they don’t know—so swear Dr. D to secrecy and make him promise not to tell anyone,” Yolanda said promptly. “He’s been trying to get you to go out with him for months—he’ll swear not to tell anyone you broke your rule.”

“Even if I wanted to go, I couldn’t,” Jennifer continued, trying a different argument. “The affair is black tie. I have nothing to wear—no dress, no shoes, no jewelry. It’s not as if I can go in my best jeans.”

Shirley dismissed the problem with a wave of her hand. “My best friend from high school is half owner of a high-end consignment shop. She can get you whatever you might need and it won’t cost you a thing. She owes me a favor. I’ll ask her to let us take everything home for the weekend and I’ll return them on Monday morning before the shop opens. I’m sure she’ll let us.”

A fourth waitress joined them in time to hear Shirley’s comments and her lively face lit with curiosity. “Who’s getting a designer dress and jewelry?”