The dressers smartly produced a pair of red satin gloves which they deftly threaded onto Jayne’s fingers and up her arms past her elbows. It was a little strange having someone else dress her. But oddly, it also felt right. Maybe she was finally getting into the spirit of the fantasy.

  Next, the dressers held a flat, square, black box with a clasp up to Madame Amour. The dressmaker opened the box. Displayed against the ecru velvet lining were the most exquisite diamond and ruby necklace and earrings Jayne had ever seen.

  Jayne gasped, “They look real.”

  “They should, ma chérie,” Madame Amour said as she fastened the necklace around Jayne’s neck. “They are the finest fakes available.”

  Fake…like her…like this fantasy…like her Prince Charming. Jayne felt her wonder and awe fade. Fantasy. That’s all this was.

  “Stunning,” Madame Amour declared, stepping back from Jayne after having fastened the earrings to her ears.

  “The jewelry is beautiful,” Jayne allowed, touching the necklace that lay against her skin.

  Madame Amour tsked. “Not the jewelry, ma chérie. You.”

  Jayne began to shake her head, but the dressmaker stopped her by taking her by the shoulders and turning her toward the wall. “It is time you see for yourself.”

  The wall before her morphed into mirrored panels and Jayne stared at the woman reflected back at her. That woman wasn’t her. It was the actress from Pretty Woman…at least her figure in that Pretty Woman red dress.

  The woman in the mirror also had full, sensual lips. Her skin glowed as Jayne’s never had. Rich russet tresses piled onto the mirrored woman’s head in a sophisticated upsweep instead of Jayne’s mousy brown hair. Nor did she have Jayne’s plain hazel eyes. She had green eyes. Though they were shaped just like hers.

  Then again, she did have green flecks in her eyes. They just always seemed to get lost among the brown. The contacts must have been tinted enough to bring those green flecks out. But still…

  “It must be a trick mirror,” breathed Jayne. “I’m not that beautiful.”

  Madame Amour laughed. “Look into all the mirrors, ma chérie. They are not tricks.”

  “A trick of lights then,” she said, circling and viewing herself from every angle.

  “I stand in the same light, ma chérie, and the lights do not take my wrinkles away.”

  “The contacts then,” Jayne insisted.

  Madame Amour took her by the arms and made her face her. “Do I look any different than before you put those contacts in?”

  “You look clearer.”

  The woman smiled. “But no more beautiful?”

  “You look as beautiful as you did before the contacts.”

  The dressmaker laughed. “Then you must know, what you see is what you are.”

  Jayne studied the image in the mirror. The nose was still hers…and the chin her mother used to call stubborn while her father called it strong. That was her under the highlights added to her hair, behind the artfully applied makeup, behind the tinted contacts. It was her.

  Her chin came up and her shoulders went back.

  Madame Amour snapped her fingers and Ninety-Nine materialized beside her.

  Ninety-Nine smiled widely. “Another work of art. Are you ready for the ball?”

  “One moment,” intoned Madame Amour. “We have one final touch.”

  A dresser held up a pillow on which sat a pair of glass slippers.

  “Ah yes,” murmured Jayne. “The Cinderella. I’d forgotten.”

  Ninety-Nine gave her a quizzical look.

  “It’s the Pretty Woman dress,” Jayne said. “Red isn’t exactly the color of the sweet virginal Cinderella.”

  “Cinderella didn’t have the fun you’re about to have in that dress,” Ninety-Nine said.

  “Or out of it,” added Madame Amour with a wink.

  Chapter Four

  It was like a scene out of Cinderella.

  Duh. It was Cinderella. Or at least the ballroom scene from it.

  And here she stood at the top of a long, wide, marble staircase, plain-Jane Jayne Applegate gazing down on a rainbow of gowned women swirling around a grand dance floor in the arms of tuxedoed men. Above the swish of skirts and lilting strains of the music, the butler announced her.

  “The Princess.”

  That’s all he said. Loud. Drawn-out. The Princess.

  When the dancers and the people standing around the dance floor looked up at her en masse, she felt like an imposter who’d been caught at her foolishness. She was no princess. Even Cinderella wasn’t a princess until the prince married her. Heck, she didn’t even like being the center of attention and that’s exactly what she was at that moment. Damned if she was going to descend those marble steps by herself…especially in glass slippers. The dang things had no give and their smooth soles were slippery as banana peels. This was a disaster waiting to happen.

  She’d taken a step backwards when he pivoted at the base of that long stairway. Her Prince Charming. Hands shoved in the pockets of his tuxedo slacks and his unbuttoned jacket caught behind those hands, he lifted startling blue eyes at…her.

  The dancers, the chatters and the music all seemed to fade away and it was just the two of them. Her atop the stairs and him with his Norse god blond hair looking up at her as though the world had stopped for him, too.

  Her heart thumped in her chest and her legs seemed to have turned to gelatin. Swell, slippery shoes and boneless legs. How was she going to make it down that long stairway without making a fool of herself?

  Her prince pulled his hands from his pockets, raised a foot to the bottom step, held a hand out to her and smiled. Her heart skipped a beat. Add an irregular heartbeat to everything already threatening to send her tumbling down those stairs.

  Still, she was drawn to his smile—drawn to his extended hand.

  Drawn to the hopeful anticipation in the brilliant eyes raised to her. It was as though those eyes mirrored her own hopes for all the fantasy promised.

  Fantasy of a lifetime. If she turned tail and ran now, she’d be sorry for the rest of her life instead of having an affair to remember until the day she died.

  Jayne licked her dry lips, lifted her chin and descended a step. She didn’t slip. She didn’t trip. One down. There couldn’t be more than twenty to go. She swallowed hard and sank another step.

  Miracle of miracles, her prince began to climb toward her, hand still extended and eyes locked on hers. The next thing she knew, she was midway down that treacherous stairway placing her fingers in his hand. His fingers closed around hers, warm, reassuring…right.

  “At last you have arrived,” he said.

  His voice was as deep and rich as it had been the day she’d first seen him—the day he’d asked her if he could serve her and she’d known he was the man for her. It was the same voice with which he’d only hours ago said he’d been waiting for her—the same voice that had prompted her to lift her lips in an attempt to kiss a holograph.

  But the hum of that voice was nothing compared to the kiss he brushed across her gloved knuckles. No hologram. Solid. As real feeling as any man.

  “You are a vision,” he said, straightening.

  A little mew of bliss escaped her. Her head in the clouds, she descended to his side…and stepped on his foot. So much for the perfect fantasy. She winced. He winked, and tucked her arm in his, giving no sign to the rest of the world that she might have just mashed his toes.

  Side by side, they descended the rest of the stairs. When they stepped onto the dance floor, the dancers parted and gave them center floor. Her Prince Charming stopped them beneath the grandest of the chandeliers that dripped crystals from the ceiling like diamonds and bathed them in a warm glow. The first strains of a waltz floated through the air and encircled them.

  He faced her and his voice resonated through the air between them. “May I have this dance?”

  She gave him a small nod, not trusting her voice.

  She stumbled the first couple steps of the waltz. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

  “Give up your body to the rhythm of the music—to me.”

  He looked at her as though he had utter confidence in her ability to be graceful. Another happy mew escaped her and she melted into his arms. By the time they’d danced halfway around the ballroom, the binding glass slippers were forgotten. By the time they completed the circle, they danced as one.

  Waltz after waltz, he whirled her around the room. For the first time in her life she understood what it was to be swept off one’s feet.

  The other dancers moved out of their way, eyeing them with envy as they passed. The people talking on the fringes of the dancers nodded their approval. Even the conductor of the small orchestra smiled and inclined his head their way as they glided past him during the third waltz. For the first time in her life, Jayne was the center of attention and not because she’d tripped, fallen or dropped something.

  “Do you know why they envy me?” the prince said.

  Her first impulse was to protest that it wasn’t him but her they were envying. But she reminded herself this was her fantasy. She’d paid big bucks for the attentions of this man, so she shook her head in answer to his question.

  His smile stretched every so slightly, his eyes twinkled and he pulled her closer, so close the proper space between them all but disappeared. “They envy me because I am dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  She wanted to play into the fantasy. Hell, she wanted to believe him. The way he gazed down at her almost made her feel she could. But this wasn’t reality. He was a cyborg. He’d been programmed to be attentive to her.

  And she’d been coifed and gowned into something she wasn’t.

  Her step faltered and a frown line puckered above the bridge of his nose. “Have I done something wrong, my little princess? Do you grow weary of me?”

  Cyborg or not, she couldn’t bear him thinking he’d done anything wrong. But neither was she going to waste a minute discussing reality versus fantasy with him. She shook her head, opting for an innocuous, “I’m just a little thirsty.”

  The class-A charming smile spread back across his mouth and his brow smoothed. “Of course. How cloddish of me not to realize you must be thirsty.”

  “J-just a little,” she said. “Thirsty, that is, not cloddish,” she rushed to add.

  One corner of his smile tugged upwards. A sense of humor. Fantasies R Us had certainly thought to include everything in their cyborgs.

  Everything.

  The realization of what she ultimately wanted from this…man brought heat to her cheeks as he guided her from the dance floor, his hand at her back suddenly scorching hot. Could she really go through with this?

  His hand lifted from her, leaving a cold void that seemed to reach to her stomach. She almost cried out for the loss. She wanted to experience love…even if it was only with a cyborg. Damn right she could have sex with a cyborg lover.

  She wheeled at him…and nearly knocked the champagne flute he was offering her from his hand. Her cheeks grew hot and she accepted the glass. Imitation man or not, she was too embarrassed to look him in the eye. But was it because she’d almost spilled their champagne or because she’d been thinking about having sex with him? Glancing around the room to avoid his eyes, she drank her champagne down…in one gulp.

  “You really were thirsty,” he said.

  She blinked at him. “What?”

  He nodded at the empty champagne flute in her hands. “Would you like another?”

  She gaped at the empty flute, her cheeks now hot enough to melt the glass. “I better not.”

  He took the flute from her fingers and set it on a sideboard along with his half-full one. Then he brushed her cheek with a bent knuckle. “You are flushed.”

  She leaned into the gentle stroke of that manly knuckle, yearning for more.

  “Perhaps a walk in the gardens would suit you,” he said.

  Be still her heart. How romantic was this? Something like consent gurgled from her throat.

  “And not a minute too soon,” he said in a voice that had lost its dreamy edge.

  “Huh?” she said, jolted from the delicious daze.

  But she’d barely registered that he wasn’t looking at her but over her shoulder, when he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward a nearby set of open French doors. She glanced back as her foot came down on the stone side of the threshold and spotted a stodgy woman in fuchsia bearing down on them trailed by a younger pair of women, one tall and horsy, the second short and round, both with pinched expressions.

  “Who are they?” she asked, stumbling across the patio and down the stone steps into the garden after him.

  “Nobody either of us wants to talk to right now,” he said, ducking them behind a thick bush.

  Up on the patio, a trio of slippered feet clomped across the stones. Jayne peeked through the bush.

  “Where are they?” the tall, horsy one demanded as she scanned the garden paths.

  “They can’t have gotten far, Mama,” the stout one insisted.

  “Shush,” the matron ordered, squinting into the dimly lit garden and seeming to be concentrating less on the paths than on the hedges and bushes.

  Jayne was holding her breath even before her prince pressed a silencing finger to his lips. But when he winked at her, a strangled chuckle escaped her.

  Fortunately, the tall one stomped her foot at the same time and groused, “It’s not fair, Mama. He’s dancing only with her. I was next on his dance card.”

  “No, you weren’t,” the other said, planting her hands on her broad hips. “I was.”

  “It’s right here on my card,” the tall one insisted, waving a bony hand from which dangled a tiny dance card.

  The short one frowned at the card, her jowls shaking as she read the swinging card, and then she smiled a mockingly smug smile. “You’re right. This is your dance…the one they’re playing right now. Mine is the next one.”

  “Mama,” wailed the horsy one.

  “Stop whining,” said the stocky one, “and help us find the prince so at least one of us has a chance at him.”

  “I’m the best shot this family has at snagging a prince,” whinnied the tall one. “I’ve got the hips for bearing heirs. You’ll just eat him out of house and home.”

  The plump sister shoved the bigger one, sending her toppling onto her backside. Instantly, the tall one reared back onto her feet and had her sister in a headlock.

  “Stop it, you two,” the mother hollered, tearing at them.

  The three-way dance of the tall sister with a big wet spot on the seat of her gown, the short one with her heavy breasts jiggling dangerously close to escaping her bodice and the mother jostling between the two had Jayne struggling to hold back her laughter. When one of the daughters caught their mother with an elbow to the ribs and the old dame doubled over, Jayne bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing aloud. One glance at the prince biting his own lip, though, and she could hold back no longer.

  Her sputtered laugh did what the mother hadn’t been able to do. The daughters stopped fighting and lifted their faces toward the bush behind which Jayne and the prince hid. The mother froze in mid-clutch, her beady gaze slicing through the foliage.

  “There they are,” she croaked, “behind that bush.”

  The prince grabbed Jayne’s hand and took off down the path away from the castle, his trailing laughter making her giggle all the more. By the time they stopped, they were deep in a maze of hedges, the ballroom music was a distant melody and Jayne’s ribs ached.

  “You gave us away,” he panted.

  “I was doing fine until I looked at you.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “You were struggling not to laugh, too.”

  “So I was,” he admitted, straightening.

  Their laughter trailed off as they looked into each other’s eyes.

  “Moonlight becomes you,” he said, stroking a loose curl back from her cheek.

  She tilted her head into the lingering caress of his fingers. He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. She’d expected romance. She’d expected sex. It’s what she’d paid for. What she hadn’t anticipated was how his kiss would make her feel real desire.

  Heat infused her body, touching her in places her fingers had never reached—places she’d not dared venture with her vibrator. But she wanted those places touched now.

  She pressed her lips against his, parted and inviting. The tip of his tongue slipped between them and she sagged against him.

  He lifted his mouth from hers, his arms seeming to be all that supported her. Maybe it was the champagne she’d gulped down that made her dizzy.

  Or maybe it was the dark smokiness in the eyes gazing down at her making her feel woozy and mellow. Or the stroke of his fingertip along her jawline and the way he crooked a knuckle under her chin.

  Or the words he spoke. “I know a place where we won’t be interrupted.”

  She nodded and he backed her through a break all but hidden in the shadows of the maze. She sensed space opening up behind her. She drew a steadying breath, preparing for what was to come next. But her prince’s eyes lifted from her. She turned in his arms to see what he looked at over her shoulder.

  Moonlight softly lit the small clearing cloistered away from the gardens by towering hedges. To the far side of the space sat a long, stone bench. On the bench were a man and woman making love.

  Her prince gathered her back against his chest and whispered in her ear. “It appears someone else has found my little hideaway.”

  “W-we should go,” she murmured.

  “If you wish. But we don’t have to. We could watch.”

  He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. Just one lingering kiss and she tingled to her toes.

  “Still,” she demurred, “it doesn’t seem proper for us to watch.”

  “Propriety has no place in fantasy, my princess. Besides, some people like to be watched. Look at them. They know we’re here.”

  Jayne looked at the pair on the bench pumping against each other, the woman with her skirt shoved up to her waist, the man standing at the end of the bench between her legs with his pants drooping around his hips. The man smiled at Jayne. The woman gave her a wink, dropped her head back and raised her hips to meet the forward thrust of her partner. The look on the woman’s face was rhapsodic and the moans she emitted seemed to invade Jayne’s body.

 

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