A Daring Proposition (3 page)

He took her hand, enclosing her small palm in his larger one and keeping it. “You don’t look anything like your sister, Red.” Lazily, he took in all of her, from the bare toes to the barely concealed curves of her figure to the sensuous tumble of hair. With the fire as a backdrop, her hair took on golden highlights, the flame of a naturally warm and vibrantly alluring woman. And once his eyes took in that image, they held it, never leaving her face.

Robert coughed in the background. “Leigh doesn’t have a sister, Mr. Hathaway,” he said hesitantly.

“He’s teasing, Robert,” Leigh said evenly. “The last time he saw me I looked a little different!”

“Of course, I did get a glimpse of you without your glasses,” he reminded her lightly, “but this time I’m glimpsing…much more.”

Her hand was released, too slowly, and she reacted immediately by folding closed the lapels of her robe. She forced a smile, willing herself not to look away from him. She was not going to fumble it, not this time. “Robert, would you entertain Mr. Hathaway for a moment while I put something on?”

“Of course, of course.” Robert was grinning from ear to ear. Leigh could well imagine the inquisition Brian was about to be put through. She had a moment’s hesitation about leaving them together, but quickly decided even that was preferable to standing there any longer in her present state of undress.

Once out of sight, she vaulted the stairs two at a time, opening her dresser drawers in a flurry of action. Less than ten minutes later she descended the stairs in a black cowl-necked sweater and white wool pants, her hair brushed smoothly back from her forehead and flowing loosely behind her. Conservative colors always made her feel more comfortable, yet in her haste she was not sure she had chosen well. The black cashmere skimmed the firm mold of her breasts, the white slacks followed the slim curve of her hips a little too faithfully; and then, stark colors rather inevitably drew attention to her flaming halo of hair. Still, she forgot all about clothes when she found the library empty. Nothing mattered if he’d left, if he wasn’t to give her the child she craved after all. She started breathing again when she saw the lights in the living room.

The room was decorated in pastel blues and gold, a woman’s room entirely. It had been a long time since any man had been in there. Robert favored his own apartment in the evenings, and Peter had only been in it once or twice while waiting for her to come downstairs. Brian looked very much out of place amid Andrea Sexton’s collection of bric-a-brac and fragile antiques. He was standing, hands in pockets, staring out the darkened window, and Robert was nowhere in sight. The traitor, Leigh decided ruefully, had probably had a dreadful time deciding whether to stay and grill the tall dark stranger or to disappear so Leigh could be alone with him.

“Mr. Hathaway?” He turned to face her. “Since you’re here, you must have decided to—”

“I’m thirsty as the devil,” he interrupted lazily. When he smiled, he had a strangely compelling charisma. It was easy to see how he had gotten his reputation for leading ladies anywhere but to the altar.

But Leigh was not susceptible. “You
must
be here about the child.”

“And if I say no, does that mean I no longer rate a drink?”

She sighed. “If I give you a drink will you say yes?” she demanded.

“Oh, I’m here to say yes, Leigh,” he declared, “but with a slight change of terms.”

Her smile was radiant, and the appreciation in Brian’s eyes told her that she was transformed into the radiant beauty Robert always told her she was. “
Any
terms, Mr. Hathaway.” Swiftly the smile faded. “Unless you mean…?”

“I came to discuss making babies, Red, yes. But not sleeping with you.”

Relieved, she crossed the room rapidly to the white French Provincial bar. “I don’t know what you drink, but if I could serve you liquid gold… I never,
never
really believed you’d call!” She knew her giddy elation was showing, and she just couldn’t seem to care. “Scotch? Whiskey? Cognac? Wine?” She glanced back up at him after rattling off the selection from behind the bar. “Is something wrong?”

His palm was worrying the nape of his neck as he stared at her, just the trace of an enigmatic smile on his lips. “I don’t know what happened to the sexless CPA, Red, but it’s going to take a little getting used to.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Leigh. And you wear quite a different expression when you’re working.”

She stiffened.

“Scotch, straight,” he requested. “And you’d better get one for yourself. You have yet to hear my terms.”

But that didn’t matter, as long as he didn’t expect her to sleep with him—and he’d already clarified that point. She poured his scotch, keeping her eyes lowered, and just as quickly poured a glass of Beaujolais for herself before quietly edging out from behind the bar. Her exuberance faded a little. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she’d entered, and she was glad for the wine.

“Sit down,” she suggested softly.

He chose the center of the couch, his arms easily spanning the length of it, his foot crossed over one knee. He was perfectly relaxed, she thought fleetingly, while her heart was still thumping erratically. She felt joy. And disquiet. An uncomfortable blend. Taking her drink with her, she sat across from him in a pale blue brocade chair and waited. He didn’t waste any time.

“First, Leigh, I’ll tell you why your contract was nonsense, from both our points of view. From mine—at any time you could reveal my name, and all I could do would be to sue you for breach of contract—but obviously, the damage would already have been done. For yourself—you wanted the contract to ensure that the prospective father wouldn’t involve himself in the child’s life. Sorry, Red, but it can’t be done. As a point of honor, maybe, but these days the courts are very sympathetic to fathers who want to be involved with their kids. Besides, isn’t a child entitled to the love of
both
parents? Were you planning to pose as a widow or divorcée—and didn’t you realize that at some point the child would see through the ruse? And further, you haven’t the right to deny your child a source of care-taking, if something happened to you.” He paused. “But although your original idea was half-baked, I had reasons of my own for being interested in it—with modifications, which I’m here to discuss with you.”

He leaned forward and sipped his scotch, staring at her over the amber liquid. “I come from a family that all but worships children, Red, even if domesticity isn’t the personal lifestyle I’ve chosen, so I took your problem seriously. When I thought about it…you’re obviously young and single and clearly want to stay that way.” He hesitated. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate different lifestyles, but if I were going to be involved, I had to have some assurance that the child would at least have a basically healthy environment, some assurance that you could provide—”

“But I told you I have money.”

“Not good enough,” he said curtly. At his direct gaze, she looked away, staring broodingly out the living-room window. “You came across as a cold and emotionless woman, Red. All business. I liked that in you as far as your work went, but when I thought of an emotional environment for my child…”

She nodded, almost shocked to find herself on the same wavelength with him. “I never meant to give you that impression—that I had no emotional warmth to give a child. I…” She hesitated. “I thought—”

“You wanted to be very sure I understood you weren’t asking for an affair,” he finished for her curtly. “Especially after the, er, misunderstanding that occurred.”

Just the faintest flush corralled her cheeks. She was not the woman he thought she was; she could see it in that look of his. He set his glass down, continuing, “So I found out a few things about you. Your father was Gerald Sexton, a man who had a genius for buying the right piece of land at the right time. Thanks to him, you’ve got a trust set up that should last you a lifetime. But you’ve never been content with that kind of security. You’ve worked like hell to enhance your financial position, and I can almost see why. If it had been up to your stepfather, David Hines, he’d have spent every penny of that not inconsiderable trust. But he and your mother died in a car accident when you turned nineteen.”

Her hands gripped the glass, a curtain of red-gold hair blocking her eyes from him. He
couldn’t
have found out…

“As for you, personally—you knew your multiplication tables at four. You were one smart and sassy child, with every ounce of spirit and independence encouraged. No rules—but not spoiled, not showered with expensive gifts and toys. In high school you were crowned prom queen more than once, and partied with the young set at the country club, so clearly you weren’t always averse to the male of the species, Red,” he added with a twist of dry humor. “By the time I uncovered that much, I was hours past worrying about your emotional stability. In fact, the opposite was true. I was becoming intrigued with the total picture.”

She brushed her hair back from her forehead and faced him again, keeping her face a cameo mold of stillness. He leaned even farther forward, his forearms resting loosely on his thighs, his hands idly twisting the glass back and forth. “When your parents died, you changed your life completely. No more country-club amusements. You graduated cum laude from the University of Chicago, and were certified as a CPA in record time. The cold-blooded world of statistics seemed to suit you very well—and you’re good at it, Red. People respect you. But no one seems to know a single personal detail about you—your private life is very private. I envy you that privacy,” he added softly and tilted the glass to finish his drink.

“I don’t understand,” she said. There was a throbbing in her temples, a consistent dull ache. He had not found out anything about David Hines. He didn’t realize that she had done all that late-night partying as a teenager because she was afraid to go home. Of course, there was no way he could have found out. Still, his attitude toward her tonight made her uneasy. His manner was deliberately relaxed, familiar, as if they were talking on the level of…friends. His low, husky voice in the silent room, the suggestive glimmer in his dark eyes, the taut sense of controlled sexuality in that special quietness of his… No, she thought bitterly, they could never be friends. She wished he would finish the preliminaries and get down to his modifications of her proposition so they could come to terms.

He stood up suddenly, and his eyes bored into hers as she forced herself to remain still. “There’s no medical reason why you have to have the child by artificial insemination, is there?”

Panic gripped her. “I told you I wouldn’t answer any personal questions, Mr. Hathaway. Surely—”

“I didn’t think there was,” he said flatly, just as if she had answered his question. She stirred, suddenly as restless as he was. In the short silence that followed, he simply paced, finally stopping to lean back against a far wall, his face completely in shadow and his hands jammed into his pockets. “You’ve shut yourself off for a long time, Red, and there’s only one likely explanation for that. The reason has to be a man. He was either a bastard or a saint, I’ve decided. A married lover you couldn’t have? A fiancé who died? So you want a child, but you don’t want any other man—intimately. Isn’t that your story?”

It was her turn to bolt from her chair, her face chalky. “How dare you—”

“I don’t give a damn about your secrets, Leigh,” he interrupted brusquely. “You can carry a torch for whomever you like. That’s your business.”

Confused, she stared up into the shadows at him. He seemed so tall and forbiddingly powerful, able to see her clearly in the circle of lamplight while she could barely make out his features.

“You’re independent to a fault, Red,” he said very, very slowly. “A fault we share. Conventions mean nothing to you—something else we share. You want no permanent commitment to a member of the opposite sex—and neither do I. You’ve also got a good brain and a very alluring soft-spoken way about you. Your determination to have a baby this way is nutty as hell, but I admire your courage. You’re completely different from any woman I’ve ever known, and I know a lot of women—too many of whom are trying to lead me to the altar.” He paused. “Why don’t you get yourself another glass of wine,” he said softly.

She shook her head wildly, and pivoted so that she was facing the window. She had a horrible feeling she knew what was coming.

His reflection was suddenly in the paned glass behind her. He’d moved without sound and showed no expression. And as he approached, she felt his nearing sexuality like an internal drumbeat—a slow, insidious rhythm as menacing as it was powerful.

She whirled before he was close enough to touch her. He stopped, with a frown between his eyes, and rather than be subjected to his intense scrutiny she moved rapidly away to the bar and refilled her wineglass. “Mr. Hathaway,” she began.

“Brian.”

She shook her head.

“Leigh, that baby deserves a name.”

She shook her head again and took a long swig of wine, setting her glass on the bar with trembling fingers. She felt caged; she hadn’t felt so stifled in a long time. “You’re not seriously suggesting…” She wouldn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “No,” she said simply.

Brian came to the opposite side of the bar and held out his glass for a refill. “Relax,” he said quietly. “If there’s anyone who should be skittish about the subject of marriage, Red, it’s me. I’m thirty-five and have avoided that tie for more than a decade. I’ve never had the least urge to come home to curlers and ten o’clock headaches and boredom. In most marriages I’ve seen, the satin turns to cotton the day after the honeymoon.”

“Your preference for a playboy’s lifestyle is well known,” she said caustically.

“I play the game fair, Red. I always have,” he replied evenly. “I’ve never promised commitments I didn’t intend to keep. But I’m tired of the scenes that keep occurring every time one of my lady friends gets it into her head that there’s no reason why an unattached bachelor like me shouldn’t marry her. A wife—a pregnant wife—and child…”

“I see,” she said coldly. “A wife and child would mean you
couldn’t
marry someone else. But why don’t you just marry one of your ‘lady friends’ as you call them?”

He shook his head. “I would have married a long time ago, if only for business reasons, if I thought I could find someone who shared my idiosyncratic concept of marriage. Respect, independence, determination and honesty—with no demands made.”

“No!” she said wildly.

“I wouldn’t take anything away from your…past lover, Red. You don’t have to sleep with me—I can get that elsewhere.” His eyes bored into hers. “I’m talking about a marriage on terms we both understand. Not a fly-by-night arrangement, a legal marriage. I’m sick of eating in restaurants, coming home to a lonely apartment. A name for your child, protection—those things I can offer you. We’d have no emotional ties, just respect for each other, an objective ear on occasion. It’s the one kind of marriage I believe I could live with, where two people might actually have a chance to fill one another’s needs, without hurting or destroying each other.”

“Brian…” But that last argument had pierced through the wall. He was talking about the only kind of marriage she could live with, too, and the word
protection
floated back to her—the child’s name, the blunt promise that sex was easily available to him elsewhere, not important… And Robert would be so pleased—thrilled, in fact. She gave Brian a long look. She could not doubt that he meant every word he said; sincerity was in his eyes, his face, his posture.

She took a breath. He sounded so persuasive, but if ever a man personified virility, total domination and control, it was Brian Hathaway. “You wouldn’t consider—” she started softly.

“You can have your baby out of wedlock—but not by me, Red. It has to be marriage. I’ve tried to make it clear that I wouldn’t infringe on whatever torch you’re carrying. The kind of arrangement we’re talking about would only work if we both really did feel the same way, if we both thought we stood to gain by it. Of course, a certain amount of keeping up appearances would be necessary. I’ve noticed how you get an attack of the vapors every time I touch you. It would certainly be impossible for both of us if you had hysterics every time our elbows happened to jostle over an occasional breakfast table.”

“Don’t be silly,” Leigh said petulantly, furious with herself for having repeatedly revealed so much to him.

With a sense of shock, she saw that he was buttoning his suit coat. He was done talking, then. He was free to walk out. There would be no baby, no longer even a hope of one, and all of it probably quickly forgotten by this dark stranger who seemed so perfect for her purposes.

“You may need a wife—a wife and child—for now, Brian,” she reflected aloud, “but later you might change your mind. Still,” she considered, “if by then I were pregnant…the child means everything to me. It sounds crazy, but I could almost believe—”

“Nine months as a trial?” he broke in. “Your nine months, Leigh.” Abruptly, he made for the door, saying she could have until Saturday to change her mind. He would pick her up at eleven, and they would iron out whatever else needed discussing. And then, he simply left, barely giving her the chance to say good-night.

In a daze she took the two empty glasses to the kitchen and washed them out before wearily climbing the stairs to bed. She gathered the covers snugly around her, eager to put an end to a day that had been too long. Yet her eyes remained wide open in the darkness.