Page 17 of Cinderella's One-Night Baby

Blood whooshed straight to her brain, its strength making her sway on her feet.

As with the first toast, Gabrielle didn’t hear a single word. It was impossible with the roaring in her head. It didn’t help that Andrés’s arm was brushed against hers. Or was it her arm brushed against his...?

There had been no mistaking the suggestive undertone in his words. No mistaking the first verbal acknowledgement of the attraction that had seen them spend the vast majority of the banquet ignoring everyone around them, and her cheeks heated to realise she’d been flirting with him. Teasing him. Completely wrapped up with him. The signals she must have been giving out...

Oh, God, did this mean he thought...?

Her breaths were short and her legs decidedly shaky when she retook her seat, and she edged her chair away from his, taking a moment to breathe and collect herself by checking her phone for any messages. Her mother had sent her a picture of Lucas sleeping in Romeo’s arms.

That helped hugely. A picture of her cherubic son was just the tonic she needed to counter the heady thickness in her veins and the smashing of her heart against her ribs.

She’d just responded with a melting heart emoji when an arm slid around the back of her chair and the sleeve of Andrés’s tuxedo tickled against her neck. Before she could think to react, a warm cheek pressed against hers and the soft bristles of Andrés’s beard were grazing against her skin.

All the air flew out of her lungs while simultaneously her pelvis flamed and contracted, warmth gushing through her like a tsunami.

‘That has to be your brother,’ he said, peering at her screen. ‘He looks just like you. And is that your son?’

Gabrielle had to swallow the moisture that had flooded her mouth. All she could manage was a short nod.

‘He’s beautiful,’ he observed huskily.

Suddenly she found she didn’t dare move a muscle. When she did manage a response, her voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. ‘I like to think so too.’

Mercifully, an official called for everyone’s attention and announced the party would be moving to the ballroom.

At least she thought it was merciful timing until the tip of Andrés’s nose dragged along her cheekbone, the sleeve of his arm slid in reverse and then the heat of his face against hers and the heat of his body was gone.

How was it possible to be both relieved and internally screaming in disappointment at the same time and over the same thing?

There was still a little champagne left from the toast in her flute, and she knocked it back before summoning the courage to meet Andrés’s stare.

He’d already risen, his black stare penetrating down at her.

The dip in her stomach was so powerful it would have knocked her off her feet if she’d been standing.

Without saying a word, he extended a giant hand to her.

With no knowledge of allowing them to do so, her trembling fingers reached out to take it. Long fingers wrapped around them and then Gabrielle was being gently helped to her feet, which was just as well as her legs had turned to wobbly water.

Upright, gazing into Andrés’s face, as aware of the inherent masculinity that breathed in his huge frame as she’d ever been, more aware of her own contrasting femininity than she’d ever been before, aware her cheeks were drenched in hot colour, for one thrilling, terrifying moment, time ceased.

And then air forced its way into her lungs and her head cleared enough for her to regain enough sense to move back a little, just enough to stop the heat of his body penetrating her in the same way his hypnotic eyes were. It made no difference. The cells of her body were still straining towards him. Her effort to remove her hand from his clasp was a failure too, her fingers absolutely refusing to cooperate.

‘What comes next?’ she asked in a voice that still sounded like it belonged to someone else, then felt more hot colour suffuse her cheeks at how her question could be interpreted and almost tripped over her own tongue to add, ‘I mean with the party.’

The black eyes gleamed and the lips she kept fighting to stop herself from imagining kissing quirked at the sides. ‘Dancing and cocktails.’ With another gleam of his eyes, he released her hand and held the crook of his arm out. ‘Shall we?’

Feeling like she’d slipped into a dream, Gabrielle slipped her hand into it, just as she’d done over four hours earlier. Except, those few hours earlier her legs had been shaking with excitement, her physical awareness of Andrés in its infancy.

If she’d known how quickly and deeply that awareness would mushroom, she’d have pretended to have caught Sophia’s bug.

But she couldn’t have known. Couldn’t haveimagined.

Nothing could happen, she told herself desperately as her senses were once again filled entirely with Andrés. So filled were they as they joined the exodus from the banquet room to the ballroom that she barely registered the French actor they passed whose posters she’d plastered all over her teenage bedroom or noticed when she was within arm’s reach of the Queen.

If you stumble again, you are more than welcome to fall into me.

Those words had let the Genie out of the bottle, and Gabrielle quivered inside to remember the suggestiveness of his undertone and the seductive sensuousness that had laced it.

---