Page 10 of One Night with Cinderella

Three

Two weeks later

Monica wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand before she rose from her knees and dropped the large sponge into the bucket of sudsy water.

“Thank you,” Raquel said from her seat on one of the two custom-made, light gray velvet sectionals in the sizable den centering the fifth floor of the town house, where there were three bedrooms, each with their own attached bathroom.

“No problem, Mrs. Cress,” she said, picking up the bucket from atop the silk Persian carpet in the same shades of gray and steel blue as the stylish decor throughout the entire town house.

“Apologize to Miss Monica for your mess, Collette.”

Moments after she heard Raquel’s request to her and Phillip Jr.’s daughter, Collette, Monica felt a gentle tug on her pants leg. She turned and looked down at the precocious three-year-old with dimpled cheeks and bright yellow spectacles that made her all the more adorable.

“I’m sorry I spilled my milk, Miss Monica,” she said.

“No worries, Colli,” she said with a soft smile, using the child’s pet name. “No worries at all.”

With her absolution, the little girl went running back across the room to sit at her mother’s feet where she’d been playing with her iPad.

Monica made a mental note to have the rug removed for professional cleaning. Once done dumping the bucket, she used the wrought-iron staircase running along the north side of the house to go back down to the fourth floor where she had been cleaning the bedroom suites before being summoned upstairs to attend to the spill.

She crossed the den that was the exact same design as the one upstairs, with the glass letting in so much spring light to shine against the hardwood floors and elaborate woodwork of the custom shelving and doors. She retrieved her cleaning caddie and pulled it behind her to Gabe’s bedroom suite on the far end. Her steps faltered a bit. This was his sanctuary, and after their lovemaking, entering it felt all the more nerve-racking.

At the door she took a long breath and wet her lips before finally opening it and entering his spacious suite decorated in stylish shades of gray, from charcoal to smoke. Her eyes fell on his unmade king-size bed and she envisioned him lying there nude as he slept.

“Just once. Then I better make it damn good.”

Closing her eyes, she shook her head to erase the hot thought and the memory of his words that night. Two weeks later and it was still scorched into her memory. She looked down at the goose bumps on her arms, brought on at the very thought of him.

Get it together, Mo.

She forged ahead, swiftly crossing the room to open gray suede curtains, exposing the glass wall that gave him a view of the city landscape in the distance. She used the leather ties to secure them back before moving over to the bed to take up the coverlet, the blanket folded across the foot and the crisp white cotton sheets. With them gathered in her arms and pressed against her chest, it was hard to ignore the scent of him rising from the bed linens.

Like a silly schoolgirl with a crush, she allowed herself to press her nose against the sheets for a deep inhale that took her back in time to that night.

“Oh. My apologies, Monica.”

Frightened, she released a squeal and dropped the covers to the silk rug as she looked at Gabe, standing in the now open doorway of his en suite bathroom. Her eyes dipped to avoid his bare chest but then fell to the towel barely clinging to his hips. She gasped and turned from him, wishing the sound of her harsh breathing didn’t echo so loudly in the air.

“Um. Sorry, Mr. Cress. I thought you were already gone for the day,” she said, moving quickly toward the door.

“Monica. Wait. I didn’t know you were here either,” he called behind her in explanation.

“I’ll wait outside,” she said, her words rushing together with the same quick pace of her heart.

As soon as she closed the door, she stepped over to press her back against the wall and looked up at the tray ceiling with the brocade design, a nod to the Victorian era in which the home was first constructed. So delicate and ornate, she thought, trying to focus on anything but the sight of the plush towel wrapped around Gabe.

Monica remembered that night on the roof so very well.

She shook her head, now focusing her gaze outside the glass to the swaying emerald leaves of the towering tree in the backyard. She and Gabe had fallen back into their cordiality, but her awareness of him had not been lessened by the coupling. If anything, it made it all the worse. Simple touches—as she handed him something or passed him in a hall—sent her pulse racing. Her dreams at night were consumed by him and their passion.

In a perfect world—where she was not an employee and had lineage and wealth of her own—she would more than gladly have him as her lover. But that was not her truth, and although it hurt her pride and stoked insecurities, she knew that one night had been all Gabe Cress would ever desire from his family’s housekeeper.

So move on, Mo the Maid. Move on. There is nothing but heartache for you at the end of this road. Just like before.

She winced. Thinking of her ex, James, at a time like this was insult on top of injury.

The door to Gabe’s bedroom opened. She pushed off the wall to stand tall, clasping her hands and pasting a blank expression on her face.

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