Glass Slippers & Jeweled Masques (an Erotic Cinderella Fairytale) (Twisted Fairy Tales) (3 page)

Michel shook his head and laughed. "Why don't we take a walk in the gardens? The fresh air would be very welcome."

Cindi nodded and he placed a hand on the small of her back as he guided her toward an exit. His touch was casual but her skin burned beneath her layers of silk and lace, and the corseted top of her gown was suddenly not allowing her to breathe.

They walked into the night. A light, flower scented breeze cooled the heat that was raging on her skin. He led her to the edge of a patio, railed like a balcony, overlooking a vast, perfect garden.

Cindi was lost in the splendor of the night, and the equally intense awareness of his proximity. His large, graceful hand at her waist burned as intently as the flickering torches that cast dancing sparks of light into the blackness. Unconsciously, she allowed the music to flow into her body, and her hips swayed slightly in time with the waltz's gentle rhythm. He moved to stand directly behind her, and she closed her eyes, as her head fell naturally to his shoulder. She stroked the back of his right hand where it rested above the curve her hip. She traced the heavy ring that adorned his smallest finger, and smiled at the tickle of lace that touched her hand when she grasped his wrist very lightly.

Michel felt an unwanted shiver of longing wake within him as she caressed his hand. His gaze dropped to the neckline of her dress, the soft fullness of her breasts tempting him. She pressed more intimately against his growing arousal; unaware of the effect she was having on him. The rolling motion of the subtle dance was an aphrodisiac to his roused lust, and he encircled her waist with both hands as he pushed his hips against the cushion of her body. Her soft gasping moan of pleasure created a shudder that ran the length of him and his hands moved of their own volition. The firm swells of her breasts filled his palms, and he kneaded the soft flesh gently as he pulled her into more solid contact with him. Her fingers curled around his wrists, but she made no attempt to pull his hands from their sensual task.

When his lips touched the curve of her shoulder, she cried out, a soft rumble of desire. She was creating madness inside him. The taste of her against his tongue when he touched her neck was heavenly and she trembled in his arms, imprisoned by his passion. His name was a gasp on her lips, and finally he turned her to face him. Her eyes blazed into his, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, lifted her mouth to his kiss.

Michel groaned softly as he stared into the smoldering green of her eyes, and his mouth descended to cover hers. Her lips parted to the thrust of his tongue and he plundered the moist warmth of her mouth. She was pliant and eager in his arms, her hands moved in exploring circles over the expanse of his back as she clung to him. His hands tangled in the heavy masses of her auburn hair, the tresses silken against his skin.

The night had grown still around them and still their fevered kisses and caresses held them entwined in a tempest of emotion neither of them fully understood. Michel drew away first, held her shaking hands in his as he tried to breathe through the near pain of his lust. She was dazed, her eyes dark with need. She looked up at him, expectant, her breaths hoarse and erratic.

Before he could stop her, she was working her way through the crowd, and he was chasing her. Grasping arms and voices vied for his attention.

"What's wrong, Michel?"

He tore his masque off and looked at his father. "The woman you were with, the one in green, where is she, Father?"

Cindi was almost tripping as she ran toward the door, and her second stumble encouraged her to stop and lean against a wall. She bent down and quickly slipped off the glass heels, then she gathered the heavy skirt of her dress and continued. She bumped into someone and opened her mouth to apologize, but the words froze in her throat. She was staring at Alana Lancourte, and the woman's masque did nothing to hide her irritation.

Cindi glanced back, saw Michel looking frantically for her, and she continued to race for the door. The second time she bumped into a guest, she dropped one of her shoes and didn't bother to retrieve it when she spotted the coach waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She darted out the door and all but flew down the stairs. She could still hear Alana's shrill voice muttering to the women she was with about Cindi's rudeness.

"
You
insisted on this accursed Masquerade Ball, Father! Masques..." he growled the word with disdain so profound it became a curse.

"We will go through the guest list, and begin searching. If this girl can inspire such passion in you, what choice do we have?"

Had she really kissed Prince Michel of Coranthis?

"A visitor, Miss. I think you need to come to the sitting room." He paused, then looked intently at her. "Bring the masque, Miss Cynthia, and the shoe."

"What?"

"Please," he requested. "It is important, I assure you."

She retrieved the items, then followed him to the sitting room. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw Prince Michel standing at the fireplace, his expression expectant. He was quite alone.

"Your servant said you had attended the Masquerade. That you would have proof you are the woman I've been searching for since that night."

"Why would you search for me when there were so many?"

He smiled.

"Louisa was the only one who didn't attend with the intention of marrying me," he replied with cold, bitter, irony lacing his perfectly enunciated words.

She placed the masque and the glass slipper on the gleaming coffee table and watched his eyes widen in recognition. He picked up the masque and examined it closely, then put it down again.

"Who are you?"

"Cynthia Louisa Butler Lancourte," she answered. "I was born to a servant here. My father chose not to acknowledge me until his first wife died. A year after he gave me his name, he married again. To the present Mrs. Lancourte. You met her at your Ball, as well."

He nodded. "For now, I would like to take you back to Coranthaos, so we can spend time together, know each other. But, yes, I want you, my princess. Only you."

Before Cindi could reply, the sounds of angry voices reached them and the door to the sitting room flung open. Alana stood in the wide entrance in high dudgeon, her face lit with outrage, spots of color high on her cheeks.

"What is going on?"

Cindi winced at the fury in her tone, and a quick glance at Michel showed her that his anger was cooler, but would easily destroy Alana's superficial snobbery if pushed.

The color drained from Alana's face and she swayed. Her daughters came forward and eased her down on the leather sofa. Lyndi glanced over at Cindi and then to the Prince, her smile was slow and wicked. She winked at Cindi, and mouthed the word, "congratulations!"

"How...?" Alana's question dissolved into a sputter of disbelief when she saw the shoe and the masque sitting on the coffee-table. She reached out to touch the ornate emerald masque, then drew back and looked up at Cindi.

"You? Where did you get this?"

"It belonged to her father," Deschamps answered from his position at the door. "I was directed to keep it safe for her."

Alana's face darkened.

"Madam," Michel's steely voice spoke before an eruption could occur. "The question has been asked, and answered," he smiled briefly at Cindi before continuing, "if you wish to be part of our family, I suggest you think carefully about many things."

Alana opened her mouth to reply, apparently thought better of it, and nodded.

Lyndi rushed to Cindi's side and hugged her tight, whispering in her ear, "I'm so happy for you! You deserve this."

After a few moments, Delia and Ruella joined them with their good wishes. Only Alana refused to speak. Michel watched it all as the girls began to make wedding plans.

She rose from her seat on the bed, and his passion woke. Michel watched in enraptured silence as she slowly removed every item of clothing she wore. When she stood before him, naked in the glow of the firelight, he thought he’d go quietly mad if he didn’t possess her.

Weariness forgotten, Michel beckoned her forward and she moved into his arms, cradling his head against the cushion of her breasts. He lifted her off her feet, settled her across his thighs, and drew her mouth to his. Their kiss was tentative at first, but quickly became urgent and demanding. He’d wanted to touch her again like this since that first night, when he’d fallen under the spell of her innocent passion. Her tongue entwined with his, and he cupped her buttocks, pulling her into more intimate contact with him.

Cindi tossed her bright mane of auburn hair to one side, arched her back as his mouth covered one achingly hard nipple. He sucked gently, and each stroke of his tongue evoked soft sighs and shivers from her. She moaned, twisted restlessly as his lips brushed over her flushed skin in leisurely, tormenting kisses. His tongue trailed over the swell of her breast and began caressing the sensitive underside of her responsive globe of flesh. She tugged his head away and captured his lips again as she began to pull his shirt free of his pants.

“Eager, aren’t you, my princess?” He carefully set her aside, and stood. She watched every movement he made as he quickly rid himself of his own restricting garments.

Cindi’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze wandered over his nakedness. The bronzed tan ended at his waist, and the remainder of his skin was pale and smooth. His legs seemed endless, lean thighs firm and solid, his chest flowed naturally into narrow hips. Her gaze rested unflinchingly on the smooth length of his arousal, obvious evidence of the depth of his inflamed passion. Momentary panic seized her and she trembled uncontrollably.

Michel saw the fright in her expressive features and he stepped toward her, eased her to the floor and leaned her back onto the fire-warmed rug. Then he stretched out next to her and pulled her close. She fitted to him as though born for his arms. He resisted the powerful urge to simply take her, his body ached with that intense hunger as it hadn’t for any of the many women he’d known over the years. He willed himself to control and gentleness.

His kiss was exquisitely tender when his lips closed over hers again, the stroke of his tongue lingering, coaxing her to meet his hunger, and match it. When he drew back she cried out in objection, and he soothed her with a rain of kisses that touched every part of her face. He continued the trek uninterrupted, down the side of her neck, across each heaving breast, then over her belly. When he shifted his position, moved to kneel beside her, she stared at him in utter confusion.

Michel parted her thighs, felt her stiffen in protest, and smiled at her in reassurance. His hand encircled her ankle, raised her leg, and his mouth found the tiny flutter of pulse behind her knee. He kissed her smooth, flawless skin. His tongue snaked out, left a wet trail along the insides of her thighs as he moved from one to the other. Her fingers dug into his shoulders when he rested his cheek on the silken tangle of copper hair that dipped between her legs.