Cinderella and the Playboy by Lois Faye Dyer

traffic, his touch anchoring her to him. Desire seethed, swirling and heating the air between them in the close confines of the car.
    Jennifer was only peripherally aware of the neighborhoods they drove through, her senses focused on the man beside her. When he tapped a control on the dash and then turned off the street and beneath a still-rising garage door, she caught a brief glimpse of the exterior of a brick town house before they pulled in.
    Chance switched off the engine, the sudden silence enfolding them. His gaze met hers, heat blazing. “If I touch you before we’re inside, we won’t make it out of the garage.”
    She swallowed, throat dry. “Okay.”
    He smiled, the sudden amusement easing the tension. “Unless you have a fantasy about making love in the backseat of a Jag.”
    She blinked, distracted by the curve of his mouth. “Um, no.”
    “Too bad,” he said, his voice suddenly lower, huskier. “The idea has possibilities. But I don’t want our first time to happen in this car, either, so let’s go.”

Chapter Three
    C hance took Jennifer’s hand and led her up the stairs, then down the hall to his bedroom.
    The clatter of nails on the polished oak floors below was followed by a loud bark.
    “That’s Butch,” Chance reassured her.
    Jennifer’s eyes widened at the size of the dog racing down the hallway toward them. The black and tan rottweiler skidded to a stop and sat, panting up at Chance with what looked like an ear-to-ear grin.
    “I think he’s glad you’re home,” she said, unconsciously inching behind Chance.
    “I think you’re right.” He tugged her forward and into the bedroom. “I’m going to put him in the kitchen with food and water. I’ll be right back.” He bent, his mouth taking hers with heated possession. Then he disappeared into the hall, the big dog by his side, tail wagging.
    Her legs unsteady, Jennifer sat on the edge of the bed, drawing a deep breath into oxygen-starved lungs. She’d barely gotten her bearings when Chance returned. He strode across the room and caught her hands, drawing her to her feet and into his arms. Her wrap slid to the floor in a pool of red silk at her feet, her small evening bag joining it.
    Chance cupped her face in his hands, his gaze intent.
    “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about you being here—in my room. And in my bed.”
    He brushed kisses over her jawline, cheeks, temples. Jennifer’s eyes drifted closed and his lips moved softly over her lashes and against her sensitive skin. Just that quickly, she fell back into the haze of need and desire so abruptly interrupted moments before.
    She threaded her fingers into the thick, silky dark hair at the nape of his neck and urged him closer until his lips met hers.
    Heat built, quickly becoming a firestorm as the kiss turned urgent. Without taking his mouth fromhers, Chance lowered the zipper at the skirt of her dress. The backless gown had a sewn-in bra and his fingers stroked over the bare skin of her back.
    Jennifer reluctantly lowered her arms from around his neck, a quick shrug sending the loosened gown free to pool at her feet. She knew a moment of self-consciousness when Chance stepped back, his dark eyes searing as he swept her from head to toe with one swift glance. She wore only a tiny pair of red lace bikini panties, thigh-high sheer hose and the red stiletto heels.
    “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, bending to brush a quick, hard kiss against her mouth before taking a step back again.
    His gaze focused on hers, he stripped his tie loose and dropped it on the floor, shrugged out of his tux jacket and tossed it behind him.
    He caught her waist in his hands and drew her nearer.
    “Unbutton my shirt,” he instructed, his voice husky with arousal. His thumbs moved in slow circles, as if he was unable to stop caressing her.
    Reassured, Jennifer took only seconds to slip the black studs free. When she finished, Chance took them from her cupped hand and