His Sleeping Beauty
That one kiss didn’t mean anything
Not to him, not to her, either, Max rationalized. Sarah wasn’t the type for a flirtation or a brief affair. She didn’t date, and if she did, she would take it seriously. Max knew that.
But just a glance in her direction, seeing her hair tossed by the breeze, dark wisps on her cheek, watching her bite into a ripe strawberry, her lips stained red, he was not ready to say goodbye to her for good.
Max drank from the wine bottle and tasted her lips there. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more than a taste. He needed more. Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was the warm air. Maybe it was her. He leaned across the blanket and framed her face in his hands. Sarah’s eyes widened. Such huge blue eyes.
What was so wrong with a kiss—or two—between friends?
Dear Reader,
As the days get shorter and the approaching holidays bring a buzz to the crisp air, nothing quite equals the joy of reuniting with family and catching up on the year’s events. This month’s selections all deal with family matters, be it making one’s own family, dealing with family members or doing one’s family duty.
Desperate to save his family ranch, the hero in Elizabeth Harbison’s Taming of the Two (#1790) enters into a bargain that could turn a pretend relationship into the real deal. This is the second title in the SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE trilogy. A die-hard bachelor gets a taste of what being a family man is like when he rescues a beautiful stranger and her adorable infant from a deadly blizzard, in Susan Meier’s Snowbound Baby (#1791)—part of the author’s BRYANT BABY BONANZA continuity. Carol Grace continues her FAIRY TALE BRIDES miniseries with His Sleeping Beauty (#1792) in which a woman sheltered by her overprotective parents gains the confidence to strike out on her own after her handsome—but cynical—neighbor catches her sleepwalking in his garden! Finally, in The Marine and Me (#1793), the next installment in Cathie Linz’s MEN OF HONOR series, a soldier determined to outwit his matchmaking grandmother and avoid the marriage landmine gets bushwhacked by his supposedly dowdy neighbor.
Be sure to come back next month when Karen Rose Smith and Shirley Jump put their own spins on Shakespeare and the Dating Game, respectively!
Happy reading.
Ann Leslie Tuttle
Associate Senior Editor
His Sleeping Beauty
Carol Grace
www.millsandboon.co.uk
MILLS & BOON
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Books by Carol Grace
Silhouette Romance
Make Room for Nanny #690
A Taste of Heaven #751
Home Is Where the Heart Is #882
Mail-Order Male #955
The Lady Wore Spurs #1010
*Lonely Millionaire #1057
*Almost a Husband #1105
*Almost Married #1142
The Rancher and the Lost Bride #1153
†Granted: Big Sky Groom #1277
†Granted: Wild West Bride #1303
†Granted: A Family for Baby #1345
Married to the Sheik #1391
The Librarian’s Secret Wish #1473
Fit for a Sheik #1500
Taming the Sheik #1554
A Princess in Waiting #1588
Falling for the Sheik #1607
Pregnant by the Boss! #1666
**Beauty and the Big Bad Wolf #1767
**Cinderellie! #1775
**His Sleeping Beauty #1792
Silhouette Desire
Wife for a Night #1118
The Heiress Inherits a Cowboy #1145
Expecting… #1205
The Magnificent M.D. #1284
CAROL GRACE
has always been interested in travel and living abroad. She spent her junior year of college in France and toured the world working on the hospital ship HOPE. She and her husband spent the first year and a half of their marriage in Iran, where they both taught English. She has studied Arabic and Persian languages. Then, with their toddler daughter, they lived in Algeria for two years.
Carol says that writing is another way of making her life exciting. Her office is her mountaintop home, which overlooks the Pacific Ocean and which she shares with her inventor husband, their daughter, who just graduated college, and their teenage son.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Prologue
Standing on his flagstone patio some time after midnight, Max Monroe almost missed seeing the mysterious figure dressed in white at his back fence. He stubbed out his cigar and took a few steps forward. There she was under the trees. Then she was gone. He shook his head. Real, or an illusion? He’d had wine with dinner, but not enough to bring on hallucinations. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he felt a cool breeze on his arms. Who was it? What was it?
It certainly wasn’t his neighbor Mary, a petite, silver-haired, lively older lady who lived next door was away on a Caribbean cruise. He’d been told that her niece was going to be house-sitting and by the way, if he wouldn’t mind looking in on her once or twice, Mary would be very grateful.
He owed it to Mary. She’d been more than helpful when he was moving in, letting the phone men into his house to set up his Internet connection, recommending gardeners and a cleaning crew.
According to Mary, her niece, Sarah, was too quiet, too shy and too studious. She was liable to stay indoors too much and keep to herself. Sarah needed a nudge to get out and smell the roses, which by the way, grew in abundance behind Mary’s house. Not the type of woman he’d be interested in getting to know, but still, what could he say?
Eager to make friends in the neighborhood and to repay his neighbor for her generosity, Max promised to look in on Sarah, though he doubted he could lure her out of her shell, if she was really as shy as her aunt said. When he’d seen a strange VW Bug in the driveway this afternoon, he’d phoned the house and knocked on her door, but no one answered. She had to be there so why didn’t she come to the door? Nobody’s that shy. But, what the hell, he’d tried, and he’d done his job.
Max took a sip of coffee from his mug while he watched and waited for the vision to appear again. If it really was a person. If he’d really seen anything at all. In the meantime, he surveyed his landscaped yard illuminated by the silvery moonlight, and his rock-rimmed lighted pool with pride of ownership. His new home was more than a house. It was a symbol that he’d arrived. The poverty of his childhood, the apartments he’d lived in, one after another, were finally all in the past. This place was his, all his. The next day he was having his first party there.
Aha, there it was again, the flutter of white shimmering in the moonlight. This time he was going to get to the bottom of this mystery and find out who it was. He set his coffee cup down and strode across the damp lawn until he stopped suddenly and stared.
There under the fragrant eucalyptus trees was a woman in a white gown only ten feet away from him. Her dark hair was tousled by the breeze, her sheer gown billowed, giving her an ethereal look. Under the gown he could make out the outline of her breasts and hips. His body reacted as if he’d been given a shot of adrenaline and he felt a sharp quickening of his senses. Not that he was gawking, but he was human, wasn’t he?
She was slender, this vision, but had curves in all the right places. He tilted his head and watched as she moved a little closer. Who was this ghostly creature? As he stood there, she bent over and picked up a handful of eucalyptus nuts.
“Hello?” he said.
She murmured something and looked past him as if he wasn’t there. It couldn’t be Mary’s niece, the woman who had to be coaxed outside, could it? Maybe she was sleepwalking and didn’t know she was outside. Thank God he’d put a fence around the pool.
He’d seen a picture of her and this woman looked nothing like Mary’s neice. In the photograph a serious bespectacled woman in cap and gown posed with fellow graduates on a college campus. This lovely creature was the complete opposite—so mysterious and romantic that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
He took her arm. She frowned and shook it off. He wasn’t discouraged. He put his arm firmly around her shoulder and gently turned her toward her house. She continued to clutch the nuts in her hand, but she didn’t resist. He murmured what he hoped were soothing words, but she didn’t appear to be listening.
So he guided her into the house and up the stairs, clumsily bumping against the polished railing on one side and her hip on the other. The first bedroom door was open and a bed was so rumpled, it looked as if it had been slept in by someone who’d been tossing and turning.
“Is this it?” he said more to himself than to her. She didn’t answer. He didn’t expect her to, but she headed straight for the bed, as if on autopilot, put the eucalyptus nuts on the bedside table, then lay down, put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.
He stood there for a long moment wondering what to do. Did sleepwalkers walk more than once a night? If so, should he lock her in or post himself at the door downstairs? He stared down at her pale, heart-shaped face, at the dark hair that was spread out on the pillow and felt totally bewildered. It didn’t make sense. How could the shy, introverted woman he’d heard about have turned into an enchantress? He should really leave. Go out and lock the door behind him and check on her tomorrow.
Instead he just stood there, wondering if, like Sleeping Beauty, it would take a kiss to wake her. If it did, and she was startled, she might jump up and whack him over the head with that vase of flowers on the dresser. What did he have to lose? A lump on the head. An embarrassing explanation. He’d always been a risk-taker. So he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. Soft, full lips. Tempting lips.
Instead of claiming another kiss, which was what he wanted to do, he decided not to press his luck and reluctantly drew back. She didn’t wake up. She didn’t leap up and smack him. She smiled. That was it. Just a smile. But what a sleepy, sexy smile it was.
Was she dreaming? Or was he? Did she know what had happened? Would she remember this tomorrow? Should he inform her? Was he crazy? He pulled a blanket up to her shoulders and ran his fingers over her bare shoulder where her nightgown had slipped down.
Tomorrow he’d have to alert Sleeping Beauty that, in case she didn’t know it, she had a problem. Or rather, if she kept coming to his place in the middle of the night, they had a problem.
He had no intention of getting involved with a woman, any woman, no matter how beautiful or romantic. Especially if she really was Mary’s niece. He could foresee acres of complications around the corner. But there could be nothing wrong with making a neighborly call on her. In fact, that’s what he’d intended to do all along. It’s what Mary had asked him to do.
But as he walked quietly down the carpeted stairs, he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. There was something about the woman that intrigued him. That made him want to find out what made her tick. Or to be more precise, what made her walk into his yard at night and collect eucalyptus nuts while sound asleep. It could be just her looks that attracted him, but he’d met dozens of beautiful women and had carefully kept them at arm’s length—at least emotionally—which was where they belonged. He usually didn’t pursue women, figuring they weren’t worth the time and effort. And when they pursued him, he’d eventually ended things. Which was exactly what he’d probably do with this one, if…if it came to that. Which it wouldn’t, because in the morning the mystery would be over. Tonight she’d stepped out of a dream and into his backyard. But tomorrow, he’d find out she was an ordinary woman and that would be the end of it. Wouldn’t it?
Chapter One
At eight o’clock the next morning a loud roaring sound woke Sarah with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed and blinked. She’d been dreaming. She was wandering through a forest in the moonlight, dressed in a long white gown, lost and alone until she saw a dark, mysterious man through the trees. He took her arm and they strolled farther into the trees until…he kissed her. A most amazing kiss that made her tingle all over. That made her want to kiss him back. But before she could, he was gone and it was too late. He’d disappeared, leaving behind only the memory of his shadowy face and the way he tasted, of wine and cigar smoke and coffee.
She was surprised she was able to taste and smell in a dream. That was a first. Also a first to wake up and find her heart pounding and shivers running up and down her spine. Not only that, she’d awakened with her lips still tingling, but with a feeling of disappointment, disorientation and unfulfillment. Where was she? Who was he? What was wrong with her?
One good thing. She hadn’t had an asthma attack in the middle of the night. She hadn’t had one for a long time, but the memories of gasping for breath, staggering into a steam-filled bathroom and the ever-present inhaler she kept at hand even now, just in case, would always be there.
The sun was shining on unfamiliar, faux-finished, pale yellow walls. The air coming through the open window was perfumed with roses—instead of the traffic fumes she was used to. Considering her black thumb, the roses couldn’t possibly be hers. The antique armoire in the corner was smoothly finished in an aged patina and not hers, either.
Then it all came back to her. Instead of sleeping in her own bed in her tiny apartment in crowded, foggy San Francisco, she was house-sitting at Aunt Mary’s sprawling home some thirty miles south in Portola Valley, a suburb of the City by the Bay. And that buzzing sound? That was the man next door cutting down Aunt Mary’s three-hundred-year-old oak tree! She’d been warned he might take advantage of her aunt’s absence and attack the tree just because it was shading his swimming pool. Not on her watch he wouldn’t. That was her primary job while she was there, to protect and preserve one defenseless tree.
She bounded out of bed, tore off her white cotton nightgown and tugged on a pair of drawstring pants, a comfortable faded T-shirt, and her large glasses, and ran on the filed floor through the house and out the back door.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she shouted across the fence. She was wasting her breath. He didn’t see her. He didn’t hear her. But she saw him, all six-foot-something of muscular man, naked to the waist of his low-slung jeans.
She blinked. And stared. It was him. The man in her dreams. Then she shook her head. No, it couldn’t be, because the man in her dreams lived in a forest, loved trees and would never hurt one. He didn’t hear her, this tree killer, but she heard him, the whole neighborhood heard him.
Finally he turned off the chain saw, wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked over the fence.
“Hello,” he said with a dazzling smile on his tanned face that she supposed charmed every woman he encountered. And made them forget he was doing something he shouldn’t. But not her aunt. Not her, either, unless he put that chain saw down and swore never to use it again. “Did I wake you?”
“Me and the rest of Portola Valley. Yes, you did.”
He didn’t seem to get the message. Instead he merely set the saw on the ground and let his gaze roam over her baggy clothes. “Sleep well?” he asked as if this was an important question. He was anxious to hear her answer.
What did he care if she’d slept well, unless this was a chain-saw related question. Still, it was an odd question to ask a stranger. What did that have to do with anything? She decided he was just trying to change the subject. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. As if she didn’t know.
“Just trimming the tree,” he said, bracing his arms on the fence between the two properties. “Before it trims me. It’s got some dead limbs I wouldn’t want to fall on my house or yours for that matter. I’m new here.” He reached over the fence to shake her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. Or have we?” He was staring at her intently as if he wasn’t sure. But she was. They had not met anywhere, any time. Except maybe in her dream. If it had been in real life, she would have remembered. She didn’t meet that many good-looking men. And when she did, she was tongue-tied and shy. Not today. Today she had something to say.
“No, I’m sure we haven’t.”
“Max Monroe,” he said.
Gingerly she extended her hand and shook his, her small hand immediately engulfed in his, while trying not to stare at the rivulets of sweat that dripped across the well-defined muscles on his chest. What did the man do to keep in such good shape? Was he a professional athlete? Or did he go to a gym and work out with a personal trainer? Things she might have done if she weren’t afraid of having an attack triggered by exercise. Never mind. She did what she could to keep in shape by walking to work in the city.
She couldn’t remember what Aunt Mary had told her about him. She really hadn’t been listening. Now she wished she had so she could pigeonhole him, and put him in a category the way she, as a social scientist, would do with a piece of historical information.
“You must be Mary’s niece. She told me about you,” he said. There she was at a disadvantage. He knew all about her, she knew nothing about him. Sarah wondered what her aunt had told him. That she was a nerd? That she didn’t date and had no social life to speak of? That she worked too hard and needed a break along with some new clothes and a new attitude? Was that why he was looking at her as if he was trying to figure her out, as if she might be a creature from another world.
“Did she also tell you that’s her tree you’re hacking at?” Sarah asked.
“It’s our tree,” he said pleasantly, slapping the bark with one hand. “And I offered to keep it trimmed so it doesn’t endanger either of our houses.”
“That’s good of you, but my aunt is more worried about the tree than her house. You can replace a house, but a tree like that…” She looked up into the branches that towered above her, and felt a little dizzy. That’s what came from sleeping in a strange bed and being awakened so rudely and so suddenly. She’d been working long hours, too, trying to finish a project. Because of her past medical problems, she always tried to avoid the stress of deadlines by getting her work done ahead of time. Her aunt had said she looked pale and hoped she’d get some rest while she was house-sitting. Not with this Paul Bunyon next door, she wouldn’t.
Sarah had been bogged down researching a paper about the gold rush for the next meeting of the Northern California Historical Society. She loved the subject, but with the hint of spring in the air and the promise of warm weather just around the corner, she’d been distracted.
Maybe she’d be able to concentrate better away from the office. She hoped so, because she’d informed the staff she’d be working from her aunt Mary’s this week. Her boss wasn’t too happy about it. In fact, Trudy had been in a bad mood for the past six months, uncharacteristically taciturn and closed off from the easy camaraderie they’d shared in the past. Still she agreed to Sarah’s working from home for a week. After all, Sarah hadn’t taken a vacation in three years.
She didn’t need time off, no matter what other people thought. She might be a little dizzy right now, but it was only because she’d changed her environment. She’d gone from city to suburb, from concrete to grass and from tall buildings to tall trees. Speaking of trees, she really had to be firm with this man.
Sarah put her hand on the fence to steady herself and her arm brushed against his. She felt a zing of electricity run up her arm, but from the look on his handsome face, Max didn’t feel anything at all. She really had to get a grip on her reactions. She jerked her arm away and took a deep breath.
“Just to give you some background, the tree is older than any building standing around here,” she said, gathering her thoughts at last. “The tree was standing when the Ohlone Indians lived here. Why, they might have danced around it to celebrate the beginning of spring. They’d have their skin painted, and their long hair bound and dyed.” She stared off into space, easily imagining the scene, almost hearing the beat of the drums. Her enthusiasm made her one of the foremost experts in her field; she lived and breathed the history of early California. If that made her a nerd, so be it.
“Really?” he said, raising an eyebrow, a half smile on his lips. “Funny you should mention it, because that’s just what’s going to happen here this afternoon.”
“A Native American ceremony, here?” she asked, wide-eyed. Now that would be something to see.
“I don’t know about the Indians, but there will be dancing, and you might see some dyed hair and some painted skin. You’ll come by, won’t you?”
“Come by?” she repeated. What on earth was he talking about? Why would she want to come by unless it was for real?
“To the pool party I’m throwing this afternoon. This house happens to be a great place for parties. Part of my job is entertaining clients and courting new ones. I’ve been afraid the noise of a party would disturb your aunt, so knowing she was going on vacation, I planned it for today. Now that you’re here, I don’t need to worry. See you at four.”
“Uh…I’m not sure. I usually work on the weekends,” she explained. No way was she going to a party to hang around a pool with a bunch of half-naked strangers. She hadn’t come to the quiet of the suburbs to be forced into awkward and stressful social situations. She learned long ago to avoid anxiety-producing situations whenever possible. Let people think she was antisocial. Her life was just the way she wanted it. Besides, she had much too much work to do.
“Work, on a day like this?” he asked, with a glance at the blue sky above. “Three hundred years ago you wouldn’t catch the Ohlone Indians working if they had a chance to play, would you?”
“Probably not,” she admitted. “They took every opportunity to dance and sing and feast, but I’m not a Native American.”
“But you know a lot about them,” he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
“I should. It’s my job to know about California’s history.” It’s my life also, she thought. She never understood why anyone, Aunt Mary included, thought it wasn’t enough of a life. Living in the past, some people said about her, shaking their heads. So what was wrong with that? The past was full of exotic characters, ranchers and explorers, swindlers and miners, spellbinders and promoters. In Sarah’s experience, people today weren’t all that exciting.
“So I heard,” he said, leaning over the fence and studying her with narrowed gray eyes. She couldn’t help thinking how unusual that was. She’d never known anyone with gray eyes. Gray eyes, a firm jaw and broad bronzed shoulders. What a combination. She suddenly felt breathless again. She inhaled deeply. She was fine. No wheezing, no reduced air flow. Just a case of jitters. Pretty silly for a twenty-five-year-old historical scholar. She’d better pull herself together and remember why she was there.