Saturday night came far too quickly, especially in the midst of a busy work schedule that did nothing to abate her nerves. At five o’clock, Caron had been headed toward the Gala for professional primping done by experts, when she’d received the news—the toilet had overflowed in the bookstore. Immediately detouring, she’d rushed back to the store, unable to leave Kasey to such ugliness on her own. An argument with the plumber had ensued over his outrageous fees, and she’d fired him in favor of someone she could afford to pay. The result—toilet fixed but she was late for her appointment with makeup and hair. Almost two hours late. Terribly, horribly late. And since there was absolutely no parking to be found in the hotel parking garage, any relief she had found in finally arriving at the five-star downtown Hyatt, was quickly fading. Could this get any more embarrassing?

Caron’s little red Volkswagen sputtered on the third go-around in the parking lot, and one look at the gas gage said, yes, it could get worse. Her car was on empty. She blew strands of dark hair from her eyes. This was not exactly the makings of a Cinderella fantasy night.

Desperate times required desperate measures. She lightly pedaled the accelerator, ever aware of her fuel gage, and turned toward the front door of the hotel, pulling up behind a line of cars waiting for the valet. Damn! Already people in fancy dresses and tuxes were speckled along the sidewalk and entryway. This was beyond late. This was downright cringe-worthy.

Desperate times, she reminded herself. She shifted into park and killed the engine. She slid out of the car despite being more than a little self-conscious about her pink sweatpants and butterfly T-shirt. Her face was bare of makeup; her hair, piled on top of her head. A wilted flower amongst the glamorous roses in glittery dresses. Nevertheless, the fastest path to the entrance, and the parking of her car, was right there, at the front. She slammed the car door shut and tried to think of the bright side. Instead, she thought how little time the stylist had to transform her into runway-ready. At least she didn’t have time for nerves. There was a light at the end of the long, twisting, black tunnel called this day.

Spotting a doorman, she rushed forward, ignoring the horns honking as several cars pulled forward and her Volkswagen remained in place. She half ran to the uniformed attendant, hoping to reach him ahead of a lady in an elegant, white formal. She hated to be rude, but she had to get into that hotel.

Caron held out her keys, panting a bit breathlessly, “I’m in the show, and I’m very, very late.” A gorgeous brunette in a red satin gown walked by, and Caron cringed, her pink sweats feeling dingier by the minute. “Make that three verys. I have to get into costume and I can’t find a parking spot and—”

“Miss. I have cars ahead of you. I can’t just move you ahead.”

This was the part where she needed money that she didn’t have. The part where someone rich hands cash to the naysayer and makes them a yeah-sayer. Sometimes she really hated the way money made the world go around.

She plunged onward in her argument. “Again,” she said. “I’m in the show. I’m one of the Hollywood starlets—Audrey Hepburn. They can’t start without me.” He gave her a quick inspection that said, he’d believe that the day hell froze over. She frowned. “I’m aware I don’t look the role at the moment. I missed my appointment with hair and makeup. The toilet at my store… ”

He snatched her keys as if the mention of a toilet disgusted him. “I’ll take care of it.”

Apparently, the mention of a toilet was almost as good as cash. It sure scored her a parking spot. Whatever worked. Now if she could get a ticket to claim her car and disappear. And she almost wished she could just disappear. Unfortunately, it looked like she’d need that cruise to get her fantasy escape. Tonight was turning into one big flop.

On that note, she accepted the ticket from the valet and whirled toward the door and right into the hard, tuxedo-clad chest of a man. His hands came out to steady her—strong hands—warm hands that sent a shockwave of awareness through her body.

She blinked up into the amber gaze of a handsome face framed with dark hair, a hint of gray sprinkled at the temples. Very George Clooney Ocean’s 13 sexy with a strong, square jaw, and firm, nice lips. Oh God. Don’t look at his lips. Back to those amber eyes. Eyes that inspected her pink butterfly shirt with a lifted eyebrow. She swallowed. She’d made it to the fantasy but managed to do it in pink sweats and tennis shoes.

This was so her life, not Cinderella’s.

* * *

She had blue eyes. That was the first thought that came to his mind as he stared down at the heart-shaped face of the woman who’d unwittingly become his prey. Sky blue, deep, almost navy with a hint of yellow.

He’d guessed green from a distance, a contrast to her dark brown hair. But he liked the blue. He hadn’t been on the hunt in a long time; and on this night, certainly, he hadn’t expected to be. But there was no denying the demand within him for this woman–the primal hunger she’d taken from dormant, to downright raging. The minute he’d seen the pink sweat suit in the midst of the clingy silk gowns, he’d stood at attention.

“I am so sorry,” the woman apologized for running into him, her voice as adorable as her pointed chin and cute button nose. “I am sort of in a rush. The makeup people are going to kill me. I. . .sorry.”

“I’m not,” he replied, reluctantly letting go of her petite shoulders when everything male inside him roared with demand, demand to pull her close. No. He wasn’t sorry at all. In fact, he’d put himself in her path for a reason. To meet her. “I’m Baxter Remington. You are?”

She swallowed hard. She had a slender neck, a neck meant for kissing. “Baxter Remington,” she repeated. “As in the Baxter Remington who owns Remington’s? With coffee bars all over the United States?”

And Canada, but he didn’t say that. It still amazed him that his father’s little dream was launching into a global enterprise. “You know our coffee?”

“Of course,” she said. “The shops are everywhere.” She crinkled her nose. “It’s a little pricey for me, though.” Her eyes flared, as if she realized she’d misspoken. She quickly added, “But worth it. I just can’t afford… I mean…” She obviously cringed. “I’m late. I need to go. Sorry again.” She started to turn.

“Wait!” he called out before he could stop himself.

“Sir?” The valet was standing beside Baxter, offering service, Baxter’s 911 Porsche sitting a few steps from the curb in need of attention.

Baxter held up an impatient hand and focused in on the female turning back to him with surprise on her face, as if she hadn’t expected him to continue their conversation. Certainly, she hadn’t lured him to call after her as most of the women he knew would. Was that what intrigued him? Her unassuming nature? And yet she sent fire through his veins. She wasn’t his normal blond, blue-eyed, big-breasted, thirty-second distraction and then back to work. She was brunette, and wore no makeup. There were no plastic bells and whistles designed for attention, just pure, natural woman. Pretty, earthy, genuine.

“How do I find you later?” he asked.

Her lips parted in hesitation, and then a slow smile lit her features. “Look for Audrey Hepburn.” And then she turned and rushed away.

Baxter stared after her, the thrum of carnal desire burning a path through his body. To think he’d almost skipped this event, since there was more than coffee brewing right now at Remington. He was hot in the midst of allegations about his VP’s supposed insider trading, which he hoped like hell weren’t true. A good reason to hide from the press. Seems little Miss Audrey Hepburn had given him a reason to come out and play.