A Prince for Jenny Read Online Free

right now. Safe.
    "Daddy, aren't we ever going inside?" Megan, the impatient one. "I want to pet the guinea pigs before Jenny paints."
    "All right, children. Let's go." He glanced at his watch. Three-thirty. He'd be out of there in five minutes.
    Gwendolyn met him at the door. The children raced off to see the guinea pigs, and he faced Jenny's executive assistant.
    "She's waiting for you in the garden," she said. "Wipe that scowl off your face."
    "It matches the one on yours."
    "Let's get this straight: Jenny sees you through the eyes of innocence, but I don't. I don't know why you came back. All I know is that if you do or say anything to hurt her, I'll personally run you out of town on a rail."
    "Miss Phepps, I can assure you my motives are pure."
    "Good. Keep them that way."
    The minute he saw Jenny, he knew he'd lied. She was sitting at the white wicker table wearing a feminine dress that matched her eyes and a bright smile that rivaled the sun. He hadn't come merely to see that his children arrived safely; he'd come to see Jenny's smile.
    "Hello." She rose, graceful as a willow. "I knew you'd come."
    "Hello, Jenny."
    "Say it again." Pressing her hands over her heart, she spoke in a breathy, wistful voice.
    "Hello..."
    "No. My name."
    "Jenny..."
    "Again," she whispered.
    "Jenny..."
    Her name was music on his lips, part litany of praise, part litany of supplication, and he had the sensation of falling, falling straight into her blue eyes, through their golden center all the way to the magic that lay beyond. Wind stirred her hair and the filmy skirt that rustled around her legs. One delicate finger touched her lips.
    He stood breathless at the wonder of it all.
    "I made tea," she said.
    Two china cups sat upon the table. And two lace-edged napkins. Sitting down, she lifted one of the cups and offered it up to him. How could he refuse?
    "That's kind of you, Jenny." He sat at the wicker table, feeling too big and unaccountably ill at ease. When he took the teacup, her soft hand touched his, and he felt an astonishing shock of awareness.
    To cover, he took a sip of tea. It was cold.
    "This is delicious."
    She smiled as if he'd awarded her a great prize. "Mother taught me how to make tea. It was a long time ago. I couldn't read very well, but I could make tea."
    He pictured her as a little girl, struggling with the printed word, probably frustrated. How wise her mother had been to teach her something at which she could excel.
    "Your mother must be a lovely woman."
    "She is ... and lucky too. She has Jake. Sometimes they dance in the moonlight."
    The wistful quality of her voice tore at his heart. He studied her, the golden hair that would gleam in the moonlight, the silky skin that would be soft to the touch, the heart-shaped lips that would taste so sweet. Feelings stirred deep within him, feelings that had nothing to do with compassion but everything to do with a man wanting a woman.
    "Do you dance in the moonlight, Daniel?"
    "I used to." A century ago, it seemed.
    "How wonderful that must be." Jenny glanced down at her lap. "My brothers tried to teach me once, but I'm too clumsy to dance."
    "You're as graceful as the dandelions that dance on the summer breeze ... and twice as pretty in that lovely blue dress."
    "Thank you." Softly, she reached out and touched his hand. "You're a nice man."
    As she rubbed a delicate finger across his knuckles, Daniel imagined himself whirling her around in the moonlight, holding her lithe body close so she wouldn't stumble. Passion stirred his loins, and he mentally pulled himself back from the brink. God in heaven, what was he thinking of? Casting himself in the role of hero, of somebody who would ride up on a white charger and rescue her from her burden of innocence.
    Her hand burned on his, but he gladly suffered the pain. Never again would he use his stinger on her, for Jenny was more than born special: She was special in ways he dared not even think about.
    "I'm glad you came,