Cinderella's Big Sky Groom by Christine Rimmer

happening to her.
    But in real life? No way. Nothing had even come close. Certainly not that single quick peck on the lips she’d received at the door from one of those sweet, shy boys at Montana State.
    She had definitely been missing out.
    He kissed her harder, and his tongue delved deeper. Her legs went weak. She clutched at his broad shoulders, another moan escaping her, pressing her hips harder against him, wishing she could just melt right up into him, have her body be part of his body, softness and hardness blending together into one.
    But then he lifted his mouth from hers. She stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I…you can keep going. It’s all right, really….”
    He frowned. “Are you sure that you’re sure?”
    â€œI said I was, didn’t I?”
    He chuckled, the sound low and seductively rough.“You’re right. You did say you were sure. But it still seemed like a good idea to check one more time.”
    She wrinkled her nose at him. “Okay, then. You checked. You don’t have to check again.”
    â€œWhatever you say, Ms. Taylor.”
    She touched his mouth. It looked so soft and warm—and also a little bit swollen from the pressure of that kiss they’d just shared. His lips moved in a wordless caress against the tips of her fingers. She felt his breath flow down her palm.
    He was tracing a slow, lazy circle at the small of her back. But then his hand strayed up. He touched her hair, capturing a curl, coiling it around his index finger.
    She gave him a smile that quivered only a little. “So. What do we do now?”
    He pulled his finger free of the curl he’d created. “We go upstairs.”
    â€œTo…your bedroom?”
    He nodded. And then, with a swiftness that stunned her, he put one arm at her back and one beneath her knees and lifted her high into his arms.
    â€œRoss!” A wild laugh escaped her. “What are you doing?”
    â€œWhat does it look like? I’m carrying you to my bed.”
    He turned without another word and started for the great room—and the wide, rough-hewn stairs. He strode up them purposefully, holding her close against his chest.
    Halfway up, she lost one of her red shoes. The right one. It slipped off her heel. She tried to catch it on the end of her toe, but it got away from her. She heard it bouncing down behind them.
    â€œOh, wait!” she cried. “My shoe…”
    â€œLeave it for now.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œYou can get it later. It’s not going anywhere.”
    Â 
    In his bedroom he set her gently on the bed, then knelt at her feet. She gazed dreamily down at his dark head as he removed her remaining shoe. “Ah,” she said. “My prince.”
    Still kneeling there, cradling her left foot in his hands, he looked up at her. “I told you. I’m no prince.”
    She laughed. The sound was very naughty. She could do that tonight—give a naughty laugh, live dangerously. After all, for tonight, she was the lady in red.
    Boldly she told him again, “You are my prince.”
    â€œNo. I’m not.”
    â€œYes, you are. But don’t get nervous. No commitment required. Remember that old TV show, Queen for a Day? ”
    He lifted an eyebrow—and stroked the arch of her foot. “You’re not old enough to remember Queen for a Day. ”
    She wiggled her toes at him. “There are such things as reruns, Ross.”
    He grunted. “Come on. They never reran Queen for a Day —not by the time you were growing up.”
    â€œSure they did. I saw it when I was a little girl. It was a great show. Nice, middle-class housewives got to wear a crown and a fur cape with a long train. For a whole day, they were royalty. And there were prizes. Things like shopping sprees and brand-new washer/dryer combinations.”
    â€œAnd you’re trying to tell me that this is the same thing?”
    â€œIt is. Very much