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Accidental Cinderella
Nancy Robards Thompson
A FAIRY TALE RECIPE FOR ROMANCE INGREDIENTS: 1 beautiful woman 1 scandalous celebrity chef 1 heaping tablespoon of undeniable attraction 3 cups of pure chemistry Unlimited measure of sizzling passionMETHOD:1. Take one drop-dead gorgeous Lindsay Bingham.2. Place her at a castle on an exotic Mediterranean island.3. Add a little spice in the form of handsome celebrity chef Carlos Montigo.4. Make them the hosts of a TV cooking show set in Europe.5. Turn the heat up to an irresistible desire.6. Don't get burned as their scorching passion explodes.7. Cook until Lindsay and Carlos fall hopelessly in love!
“So, a man who cooks. Why hasn’t some lucky lady snapped you up?”
“There’s been no one recently I’ve wanted to be involved with.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sort of.
A swarm of butterflies swooped in Lindsay’s stomach.
“I was a lonely kid,” he said. “The kind of lonely that can only be understood by someone who’s felt it, too. You know, not belonging. I can’t imagine that you were that kind of kid.”
“Ah, but I was,” she said. “Sometimes I still am.”
“I don’t believe it.” His voice was a sexy whisper.
Then he kissed her. His mouth was so inviting, and even though a voice of reason sounded in a distant fog in the back of her mind—she really shouldn’t be doing this—she had to have one more taste.
Dear Reader,
I have a confession to make: even though I’m not a terrific cook, I eat up the Food Network and cooking shows on other channels, such as Top Chef. I can’t get enough of them. From BBQ to beautifully baked cakes (and everything in between), I devour these tasty shows.
On the upside, this indulgence has greatly improved my previously limited culinary repertoire. It also started the wheels turning for Accidental Cinderella. I’ve always wondered about the stories behind these shows; how did these Food Network stars make the leap from the kitchen to cable? That question inspired this book. In these pages I explore what happens when you take an unlikely cooking/travel show host and mix her up with a bad-boy chef in desperate need of redemption. The result is deliciously sweet and spicy.
I hope you’ll have as much fun reading Accidental Cinderella as I had writing it!
Bon appétit!
Nancy Robards Thompson
Accidental Cinderella
Nancy Robards Thompson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
NANCY ROBARDS THOMPSON
Award-winning author Nancy Robards Thompson is a sister, wife and mother who has lived the majority of her life south of the Mason-Dixon line. As the oldest sibling, she reveled in her ability to make her brother laugh at inappropriate moments and she soon learned she could get away with it by proclaiming, “What? I wasn’t doing anything.” It’s no wonder that upon graduating from college with a degree in journalism, she discovered that reporting “just the facts” bored her silly. Since hanging up her press pass to write novels full-time, critics have deemed her books “funny, smart and observant.” She loves chocolate, champagne, cats and art (though not necessarily in that order). When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, hiking and doing yoga.
For Michael, for all the wonderful meals over the years.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
“You almost make a girl believe in fairy tales.” In this rare intimate moment amidst the festive chaos, Lindsay Bingham reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair into her friend Sophie Baldwin’s bridal veil.
Sophie looked every bit the princess she was. Literally. A real princess.
The wedding was magical and the reception was the social ticket of the year, Lindsay marveled. It was still hard to believe that salt-of-the-earth Sophie Baldwin from Trevard, North Carolina, was full-fledged royalty.
Last year, she’d discovered her birthright—or maybe it was more apropos to say her birthright finally found her—and she’d been swept away to the island of St. Michel in imperial fashion. As if that weren’t enough good fortune, she’d just married her prince in a gorgeous December wedding.
Right on cue, tall, handsome Luc Lejardin whirled by on the dance floor with another woman in his arms. But as he caught and held his bride’s gaze, it was perfectly clear he only had eyes for one woman.
Lindsay sighed. She would’ve gladly relinquished rights to an entire kingdom to have a man look at her that way.
“If I keep humming, ‘Wish Upon A Star,’ will I get my turn as Cinderella?”
Sophie smiled. “Maybe, but since that song belongs to Pinocchio, you might end up with a fibbing bad boy rather than a handsome prince.”
Fibbing bad boys. The story of her life.
“That’s right,” she conceded. “Cinderella’s fight song was ‘A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes….’”
Sophie winked at her. “A little dream-wishing never hurt anyone.”
“Yeah, but for the foreseeable future, I’m going to do my best to do more than dream. I’m getting my life together. I’m calling it the ‘New Me’ plan.”
Yeah, rather than the old “Plan of Self-Destruction.” A strategy that involved seeing how many years she could accrue at her dead-end job as a receptionist at Trevard Social Services and how many Mr. Wrongs she could pack into one lifetime.
She sighed against the beat of protest that thrummed inside her. Frankly, her “New Me” plan was a lot easier in theory than in practice. Her receptionist job was comfortable. It was so simple she could do it on autopilot. Even though her boss was a colossal pain in the butt, it was definitely one of those devil-you-know situations. Or so she told herself.
But the job was getting her nowhere.
As were the men she sometimes dated.
From her perspective, the journey toward true love sometimes seemed akin to walking a tightrope strung across a dark, scary abyss. She’d walked that rope before, holding the hand of a man she loved and trusted, a man who, once upon a time, said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Ultimately, he’d not just let go of her hand; he’d shoved her into the darkness below.
She’d nearly drowned in the misery.
Even now, almost seven years later, when she thought about the man who’d broken her heart, the pain resurfaced like it was covered by fading Novocain.
To numb herself, she dated. She’d even had relationships—if you could call them that. The men all had one thing in common beyond the tall, broad-shouldered, feral masculinity: none were husband material.
She preferred it that way. By dating the perennial bad boy, it was a given that those relationships wouldn’t last. She kept a firm grip on her heart. That way it couldn’t be broken.
Sophie squeezed Lindsay’s hand. “I think focusing on you is a wonderful idea, and to help you with that, I have a surprise for you.” Sophie’s face lit with a certain look Lindsay had seen before. A look that meant Lindsay should probably run the other way—as fast as she could.
Her friend always meant well, and she could also be extraordinarily generous, as evidenced by the way she’d packed the past month full of fabulous surprises—from daylong, head-to-toe spa days, to designer clothes, shoes and handbags, to the custom-made Cartier diamond necklace and earrings she’d presented her attendants to wear with their bridesmaids dresses.
“What are you up to now?” Lindsay narrowed her eyes, playing along with the tone Sophie had set for this one.
“I’ll tell you in a minute. First, I have to say hello to someone.”
She followed Sophie’s gaze to a short, slight man who was making his way toward them.
“Your highness, such a lovely wedding.” The man had a thick Italian accent. He bowed and dusted Sophie’s hand with a kiss. “It is a great honor to bear witness to such a momentous occasion.”
Okay, this could take a while. But Lindsay had monopolized Sophie long enough. It was time to relinquish her friend and give others a turn. It was a good time to get a drink. The guests didn’t want to talk to her, and that was okay. Really, it was. She didn’t want to stand there, awkward as a sixth finger while this man did what every guest at this wedding endeavored to do: endear himself to the future queen of St. Michel.
She turned to Sophie. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
Sophie smiled. “Is everything okay?”
Lindsay nodded. “Absolutely, I need something to drink. Would either of you care for something?”
“Nothing for me,” said the Italian. “But please allow me to be at your service.”
“No, no, thank you. You stay here and talk. I’ll be back.”
“You don’t have to leave,” Sophie whispered.
She’d been so good to make sure Lindsay didn’t feel out of place during her stay at the palace. The poor woman must be exhausted.
“I’m fine,” Lindsay assured her. “I’ll find you later.”
“Okay, don’t forget. Your surprise.”
Sophie had been so generous already. Lindsay couldn’t imagine what else she could pull out of her crown. Especially tonight. Sophie’s big night. It felt wrong for her friend to take time away from her wedding to give her something else. If anyone should be fussed over tonight, it was the bride.
Across the room, Lindsay spied a tux-clad server with a tray of champagne flutes. She walked over and helped herself, then turned to survey the crowd. The guest list was studded with several A-listers who melded so well with the others that sometimes Lindsay had to do a double take before she could identify them. But she was careful to not be too obvious. No one here gawked or gushed.
That’s why it was important that she honored the agreement she’d made with herself and remained cool—and not go stark raving fan girl, even though Johnny Depp was sitting directly in her line of vision at a table for two, with his arm draped around a petite woman.
Lindsay bit her bottom lip instead.
Johnny. Depp.
She watched as the actor lifted a cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag. It was just as well she didn’t try to engage him in conversation, because with all this pent-up nervous energy, she’d probably end up saying the wrong thing or bleating like a startled goat rather than forming words that made any sense.
Her toes curled in her custom-made Jimmy Choos (one of the bridesmaid gifts from Sophie), and she exhaled a full-body sigh, reluctantly tearing her gaze from him.
As she skimmed the crowd, she stopped suddenly, backtracking to a familiar face. A sulking hulk of handsomeness and broad shoulders sat alone at a table toward the back of the ballroom.
It was that famous chef. Oh, what was his name…?
As she studied his ruggedly attractive face, the olive skin and perpetual five o’clock shadow, Lindsay’s mind flipped through names one by one, but she couldn’t quite pin it down.
A couple of years ago, he’d been the poster boy of the trashy tabloids. Oh, what was his name…? He used to have a show on Food TV…but something had happened. She couldn’t remember what. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him on television. Not that she’d ever been a big fan—but boy, he was even better-looking in person than on TV, and the tabloid photos didn’t do him justice.
Montigo.
Carlos Montigo.
Yes! That was it.
She snapped her fingers. As if he’d heard her, which was impossible over the clamor of conversation and music, his dark gaze slid to hers and locked into place.
Her stomach performed a curious lurching summersault. Good grief, the guy was handsome. But based on the headlines, he was no Prince Charming. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
Still, she couldn’t make herself look away.
Ping. There it was. That steel-to-bad boy magnetic draw of attraction—pulling her in a direction her better judgment warned she shouldn’t go.
He kept watching her and she kept watching him back, over the top of her champagne flute.
She’d known guys with bad reputations like him. He was exactly the type of guy she was drawn to.
If there was one thing her résumé of postengagement relationships had taught her it was you can’t rehabilitate a bad boy.
That was the short-term draw.
A slow, lopsided smile that barely turned up the corner of Montigo’s lips promised trouble. Those were definitely bad-boy eyes gazing at her. Dark, sexy, bad-boy eyes that were meandering brazenly down the length of her body.
