Page 29 of Cinderella's Secret Baby

“I usually put my phone and wallet into it,” Amelia grumbled, looking at both in her hands.

Unity had supplied her with a number of accessories, so she fetched a small purse with a long strap and only noticed the monogramed design after the fact. Goodness, the purse was worth ten times the amount of cash she was ever likely to carry in it.

She hurried to join Hunter on the elevator. “This doesn’t feel right. The two times I went south for vacation, I was weighed down with bags and the stress of whether I had my passport and tickets. Do you use one of those first-class concierge services I’ve only heard about?”

The doors opened onto the roof, where a helicopter waited.

“Something like that,” Hunter said drily.

The helicopter whisked them over the midday traffic to a private jet that was, indeed, waiting for them at the island airport.

Amelia had only seen planes like this in movies about drug lords and corrupt politicians. The interior was styled like a comfortable one-bedroom apartment with a king-size bed in a stateroom. The galley held a real stove, and the main salon had armchairs, a sofa, a big-screen television and a dining area toward the back. The decor was all polished wood and gleaming chrome.

The flight attendant brought champagne and gave Amelia the Wi-Fi code, instructing her to ring for anything she needed. After they got under way, she hung a swing seat for Peyton, but Peyton didn’t care for it. Hunter wound up holding her. He urged Amelia to lie down in the stateroom, which she did, and she had the best nap of her life.

When they landed in Calgary, they hopped onto another smaller plane that took them to Banff. Only then did they travel by road—in a tricked-out four-wheel-drive SUV. A young man handed Hunter a key fob, and Hunter drove them through a winding route onto roads that weren’t well-marked, but he seemed to know where he was going. Peyton must have been as enthralled with the scenery as Amelia, because she stayed quiet the whole way.

They arrived at massive iron gates that Hunter opened with a touch of a button on his phone. He parked in front of a stone structure that was no modest cabin. It wasn’t even a chalet. It was a castle with split levels and a round tower, angled roofs and massive windows that reflected the surrounding granite peaks.

“Why do you call this a cabin?” She had expected something far more rustic.

“It was a log home when my father bought it. He called this the cabin, and the lake house was the cottage, so we knew where we were going on vacation. Irina tore down the cabin and built this monstrosity about eight years ago. Way over budget, obviously. Vi and I still call it the cabin because we’re very mature. But I told you it was a real house.”

He hadn’t told her it was a palace withstaff. The caretakers were a young couple who volunteered on the ski patrol in the winter, “For the free ski pass,” Kyra confided over her shoulder with a cheeky grin.

She showed Amelia into a room converted to a nursery, where Amelia put down the sleeping Peyton.

“I can listen for her if you and Mr. Waverly want to relax. There’s a short walk down to a viewpoint. It has a picnic table. I could throw together a happy hour basket in five minutes if you like.”

It hit her that she was Mrs. Waverly. That’s why this young woman was treating her with deference even though Amelia was younger than she was and was technically still a jobless student.

“I’ll, um, ask Hunter what he wants to do.” She peeked into the hall.

Mr. Waverly had gone to change his shirt because Peyton spit up on him during the flight.

The double doors to the master suite were closed, and she almost knocked before entering, then slipped inside like a thief because she definitely did not belong here.

The room was huge with hardwood floors and a vaulted ceiling. There was a sitting area with a box window that thrust out, creating an impression of being suspended over the tree-filled valley where the turquoise line of a river snaked in the bottom of the crevice.

Hunter emerged from the walk-through closet that seemed to lead to what looked like a massive bathroom. He was shrugging on his shirt, fixing the collar. He froze when he saw her.

“Kyra said she would listen for Peyton if we want to go for a walk.”

“We can do that.” He finished straightening his collar, then lifted his head, eyelids growing heavy over his steady gaze. “If you want.”

His voice dropped several octaves, hitting her like a stimulating vibration between her thighs.

She swallowed and looked to the window. Hugged herself. She was nervous about the sex, mostly because she was so eager. Embarrassingly eager. What if it was awful? What if they were married and stuck with each other and that night last year had been a combination of moonlight and ovulation?

“How long will she sleep?” he asked.

“An hour?” If they were lucky.

“Do you want to lock the door?” His voice was making her scalp tighten. All of her skin had grown sensitized. Nerve endings prickled beneath the surface. The air in her lungs thinned.

“I do, but—” She didn’t move except to squinch up her eyes in a cringe of self-consciousness. “I don’t know how it will be. My body is different. I’m worried it won’t be good.”

“I’m not.” He spoke right in front of her.

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