Fortune's Proposal (3 page)

She could feel a burning deep behind her eyes and because she couldn't will it away, hoped to heaven that it would just stay where it was because she'd be darned if she'd cry in front of her boss. “Even if I…agreed…the money would just be a quick-fix for Gigi's problem.”

“Which is what?”

She looked up at him and found her gaze trapped in his. “She has a shopping addiction.”

His brows twitched together. “What?”

At least he hadn't laughed.

She sighed and moved the bat and her purse from the chair, sinking down onto it.

“A shopping addiction. And not the kind of thing people are often teasing women about, either. She doesn't just like to go out shopping for shoes or…whatever.” She waved her hand. “When Gigi's…between jobs—” which in Gigi-speak really meant between the men with whom she inevitably got unwisely involved “—she gets
depressed. And when she gets depressed, she shops. Online or on the home shopping networks. It doesn't matter which and it doesn't matter what. She orders stuff that she neither needs nor can afford. And it doesn't matter what I say or what I do, she won't stop and she won't get help.”

She pressed her palms together, staring at her bare fingers. “She's behind on her mortgage again, she's managed to open new credit cards that I didn't even know she had and she figures that I ought to be able to solve it all for her.”

“Why you?”

“Because I've been paying things off for her since I got my first job when I was fifteen.” The year her father had left. The year that Gigi started blaming Deanna for her very existence. “As long as I continue bailing her out, she's never going to get the help she needs.” Deanna had finally faced that truth because she had sought the counseling that her mother refused to believe she needed.

“At least you realize that.”

“Realizing it and being able to stick to it are two different things.” She swallowed the knot in her throat. “It's not easy to say no to your own mother.”

“It's not all that easy to say no to your father, either.” He crouched down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “We can help each other here, you know.”

His hands were warm and steady and nearly dwarfed hers. “It's not a, uh, a good idea. Getting involved at the workplace never is.” She felt that threatening burn get even hotter. “That's what my mother does, and it never leads to anything but disaster.” Certainly not the fairytale wedding Gigi kept hoping for.

“People have been marrying the boss for centuries. There doesn't have to be anything wrong with that.”

“Right. When the two people are actually in love.” She realized her fingers had slid through his until they were twined together. She pulled her hands free and wrapped them over the arms of the chair. “And, like I said, throwing money on the situation doesn't solve the ultimate problem.”

“Then we'll get your mother into counseling. For as long as it takes. Even after our arrangement is ended.”

She pressed her fingers harder into the upholstery to keep them from trembling. “She'll refuse. She always does.”

“We'll make sure she doesn't. We'll find a way.”

“We?”

He covered her hands with his. “Yeah, we.”

Her heart was climbing in her chest. She felt light-headed. She hadn't had any support where her mother was concerned since her father walked out the door and never came back.

It had been just her.

Drew was watching her with that steady gaze and his voice, so quietly assured, was ringing in her head.

We.

The lure of that word alone seemed impossible to resist. “Okay,” she whispered and felt a shudder work down her spine.

His gaze sharpened. “You'll marry me?”

She swallowed hard and had to clear her throat. “Yes.”

His smile was sudden and nearly blinding. “I've always said you are the perfect assistant!” He straightened and leaned over her, pressing a fast kiss to her forehead before turning away. “This is going to work
out perfectly,” he was saying as he strode back into his office. “You'll come with me to Red Rock. We'll announce it there.”

Deanna could hear his raised voice. Could understand his words even.

But she couldn't do much of anything but stare at her tidy desk across from her and feel the imprint of his lips as if they were still grazing her skin.

“Dee, how fast can you pack?”

She scrubbed her hands down her cheeks, attempting to drag her utterly rattled self back together. “C-couldn't you just tell your dad about us? I'd feel like I'm intruding if I go with you to Texas.”

He reappeared in his doorway. The ball cap was back on his head—backward—and the dimple was back in his cheek.

He was also holding up a bottle of champagne that had been delivered that afternoon from one of his clients.

“I'm pretty sure my fiancée would be welcome at a family event,” he said drily. “More than that, she'll be expected.” He waved the end of the bottle in front of her. “Call the pilot again. Tell him we'll be an hour later than I planned.”

Deanna felt a ridiculous surge of laughter. Or maybe it was simply that she was on the verge of hysteria.

Had she really agreed to marry him?

“I already built in an hour cushion when I rescheduled your flight the last time I talked to him,” she admitted.

His eyebrows shot up. “Sounds like you were handling me.” Then he grinned again. “Well done.”

She managed a weak smile.

“Come on. We'll pop open this baby and celebrate.
Get a few glasses, would you?” He went back into his office. “And you should let your girlfriends know you won't be making it to the spa after all.”

She very nearly slapped her hand against her forehead. She'd completely forgotten about her friends. She pulled out her cell phone and turned it on again. Ignoring the little indicator that told her she had messages waiting, she quickly called Susan, the one who'd arranged the weekend, and left her own message when her friend didn't answer.

And then, holding the phone, she debated whether to call Gigi. Her mother already expected her to be gone for the long weekend. That hadn't changed, even if Deanna's destination had.

And what would she tell her mother when she did call?

That she was marrying the boss?

Gigi would probably think she'd died and gone to heaven. If she couldn't achieve that status, then at least her daughter had.

Deanna heard the distinctive sound of the champagne cork popping, and ignoring the sense of guilt she felt, she turned off her cell phone again. The only harmful thing that Gigi would do over the weekend would be to order more needless items. Items that Deanna would ensure were returned, along with all the other things she'd expected to have to deal with.

No, she'd call her mother after the holiday when she was back in town.

Maybe by then, Deanna would have figured out a way to couch her news so that Gigi wouldn't start flying over the moon.

She hurried into the small employee break room,
pulled out two plastic cups from the cupboard and returned to Drew's office.

He was pulling off his linen, button-down shirt.

She nearly dropped the cups. “What are you doing?”

The shirt came off his shoulders and he balled it up, pitching it aside. The white T-shirt he was wearing beneath it clung to every centimeter of his wide chest.

“Champagne bubbled over.” He picked up the bottle and she could see a ring of shimmering liquid on his desk where the bottle had been sitting. “Here.” He grabbed her hand with one of the cups in it and filled it more than halfway.

“That's too much.” She had to force herself not to stare at his chest. It wasn't as if she had never seen it before, and even completely, gloriously bare. When he was playing beach volleyball at their branch picnic every year, for one. But she'd never been his convenient fiancée and been faced with him less than fully dressed…

She could feel hysteria rising and ruthlessly tramped it down.

“Live a little.” He was grinning as he took the second cup from her. “It's New Year's Eve.”

She was glad to surrender the cup, because that meant that she could wrap both hands around her own, and maybe stop shaking like she was some schoolgirl faced with her first crush.

He filled his own cup, then held it out. “Here's to marriage.”

Her stomach dipped and swayed, but she managed to give him a stern glare. “You shouldn't joke about it.”

“Who's joking?” He nudged the side of his cup against hers in the toast. “At least we both know exactly
what we'll be getting out of the deal. No illusions. No surprises.”

“Right.” She dipped her nose toward the cup. The first taste of champagne was as bitter as the nerves tightening her stomach. She swallowed it anyway.

“A ring,” he said suddenly.

She looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

“We need an engagement ring.” He snatched his phone off his desk again and scrolled through the phone numbers stored in it.

“You're not going to find a jeweler open on New Year's Eve,” she warned. “Not even Zondervan's.”

He grinned as he punched a number and held the phone to his ear. “As much business as I've given Bob Zondervan over the years? Want to bet?”

“Um…no, thanks,” she managed with at least a little wisdom considering the number of orders she'd made on his behalf.

“Smart girl.”

Feeling strangely weak, she sat down and shook her head.

Her mother had always told Deanna that a smart girl could catch herself the boss. Deanna had always said that would never, ever be her way.

And yet…here she was.

Her mother's daughter after all.

“C
ome on, Sleeping Beauty. Up and at 'em.” Drew nudged Deanna's shoulder.

But she just sighed and shifted, and instead of her sleeping head resting against the backseat of the limousine that had been waiting for them when they'd landed in San Antonio, it slid sideways until it was resting on his shoulder.

Her hair smelled like green apples.

He closed his eyes for a minute, reminding himself that this was Deanna. His young assistant who was, once again, smoothing out the kinks in his life.

Yeah, okay, so she was going to get something out of it. Namely, getting some help with her crazy mother.

But as far as Drew was concerned, that was a drop in the bucket compared to what he was going to get out of it.

The right to head up Fortune Forecasting once and for all.

“Deanna.” He started to reach for her hand where it was resting on her lap, but hesitated.

The diamond solitaire that he'd chosen from the two-dozen rings that Bob had brought by the office less than an hour after Drew had called him was on her ring finger. Even in the dim light in the back of the limo, the ring gleamed.

How many times had he said that a wedding ring was just a noose in disguise?

Yet now, he had a his-and-her pair of the damned things—platinum to match the band on the engagement ring—in his pocket. All ready to go for the big day.

Whenever they decided that would be.

Given the way his father was harping on the subject, it wouldn't be soon enough for William.

Drew ignored her slender fingers and jiggled her narrow wrist with the oversize watch on it instead. “Rise and shine, Dee,” he said more loudly.

Her head shifted again and her eyes slowly opened. She stared at him drowsily. “Hmm?”

She'd have that expression in bed, he thought, and abruptly went hard.

An oath zipped around inside his head and he stared over her head out the window, focusing on the lines of the fencing that marked off his brother's property.

Deanna was his assistant. His fiancée for convenience's sake. Not a woman he needed to be envisioning—way too easily envisioning, at that—in his bed. Or pressed back against the deep limo seat…

“We're almost at Molly's Pride.” He cleared his throat. “My brother's ranch.”

She blinked a little, then seemed to realize that she
was all but sprawled over the side of him, and straightened like she'd been stung by a bee.

Her hand went to her hair, smoothing it back from her face. “I fell asleep.” She grimaced. “How embarrassing. I hope I wasn't drooling.”

She hadn't been, but knew he was damnably on the verge of it. “Snoring, maybe,” he said blandly.

She gave him a narrow look, then rolled her eyes. “I was not.”

No, she hadn't been. She'd been soft and warm and the desire had hit him nearly out of the blue. He'd thought he'd conquered it a long time ago when she first started working for him. And he'd made a monumental ass out of himself by kissing her at one of the lowest points in his life.

Good assistants were hard to find.

Sexual partners weren't.

Fortunately, she'd turned her attention out the windows and he ran his hand around the back of his neck, feeling like he was ready to boil over.

“Oh, my. Is that your brother's ranch?” She was practically pressing her nose against the window like a little girl.

Only thanks to the way she'd slept for the past hour with her body snuggled up against his, he knew that beneath the shapeless green sweater she'd changed into at her apartment before they'd gone to the airport, the little girl was all woman.

“It's so beautiful.” Fortunately, she was oblivious to his failure to comment. “It looks like it should be in an old movie. A Western.” She looked at him over her shoulder, her smile flashing. “With John Wayne striding over to the old hacienda. I can't wait to see it when the sun is up.”

Deanna was an excellent assistant and extremely good with marketing. Was it any wonder her imagination had gone into overdrive at the sight of his brother's place? “Clearly, you need more sleep.”

She turned up her nose and looked out the window again. The limousine halted in front of the house with its stone entrance and Moorish-style arch and without waiting for the driver, he pushed open the door and climbed out of the car. The drive from San Antonio hadn't taken all that long, but he still felt stiff and cramped from being on the plane in the first place.

Drew liked space.

It was one of the reasons he liked living in San Diego so well. Whenever he wanted space around him, he just headed for the beach. How much more space could a man need when he was staring out at the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean?

Still, his gaze ran over the house that his oldest brother had bought, pretty much out of the clear blue sky a few years ago, when he'd transplanted himself lock, stock and barrel from Los Angeles to Texas. J.R. had given up his position at the headquarters of Fortune Forecasting, as well as his designer suits and cars and coffee, in favor of jeans and cattle and pickups. He'd also quickly turned around and married Isabella Mendoza, who'd helped him decorate the place.

It had been a year since Drew had last seen Molly's Pride and even though it was well past midnight, he could see the property and the two-hundred-year-old hacienda gleamed with care.

He pulled open Deanna's door and she climbed out, her somewhat-awed gaze still focused on the house rather than Drew. Which was a good thing because
he still felt like he was about ready to bust out of his jeans.

Maybe it would've helped if she hadn't changed. If she'd just stayed in that boxy, matronly looking suit that she'd worn to the office.

All her suits were the same. They all disguised the fact that her rear was pretty much made for filling out a snug pair of soft blue denims.

Annoyed with his thoughts, he left her to gather her tote and jacket and grabbed their few bags from the trunk when the driver opened it. “I've got 'em. Thanks.” He gave the guy a generous tip that earned him an enthusiastic smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Fortune. Happy New Year. You, too, ma'am.” The driver slammed the trunk shut and quickly climbed back behind the wheel, no doubt anxious to get on with his own celebrating. A moment later, the long vehicle was driving off, leaving him and Deanna standing there alone in the moonlight.

It felt intensely…intimate. And despite the chill in the air, he felt hotter than ever.

At any other time, he would have probably found the situation ironically humorous.

Right now, he just felt like he was ready to put his head in a noose, and was almost—almost—glad to do it.

She was watching him, her eyes looking dark and mysterious, though the way she moistened her lips warned him that she was more likely just nervous as hell. “Are you sure we're doing the right thing?”

The only thing he was sure of right then was that he was having a heck of a time remembering why he should not be wanting her the way he was.

He freshened his grip on her suitcase—one of those
hard-sided kind of things invented long before rollers had come along—and turned toward the arched entrance, gesturing with his chin. “Yeah. Let's go.”

She moistened her lips again, leaving them even more softly shiny, and walked ahead of him through the arch that led to a massive wood door.

“Better knock,” he advised. It was hours past the time he'd warned J.R. that he'd be arriving, and he figured walking in might not be such a good idea. God only knew if J.R. had taken to keeping loaded weapons at the ready along with his other Texas rancher ways…

She reached out and knocked tentatively on the door.

“Come on, Dee. They're never gonna hear that.”

She gave him a look, then curled her fist and knocked harder. “Satisfied?”

Since he heard the slide of a lock a moment later, he just smiled at her. Then the door was swinging open and his brother appeared.

“About damn time,” J.R. greeted, but there was still a faint smile on his face.

“Good to see you, too,” Drew returned and then, because he wasn't much one for putting off the inevitable, he slid his free hand around Deanna's shoulder and felt the little start she gave. They'd have to work on that. “You remember my assistant, Deanna,” he began. J.R. nodded. “We're late because just tonight, she agreed to marry me.”

A full heartbeat of silence followed his abrupt announcement.

Then J.R.'s smile became a little more broad, though Drew recognized the disbelief in his brother's hazel eyes, as he turned his focus on Deanna. “Well, then,” J.R. said smoothly, “that sure does make up for the pip
squeak's tardiness.” He reached out and took the tote bag that was slung over Deanna's shoulder and wrapped his hand around her elbow, drawing her inside.

“Pip-squeak?” Deanna laughed a little and looked over her shoulder at Drew.

“Better than runt,” he muttered. “That's what he used to call Darr.” Two years younger than Drew, Darr was the baby of the family. He was also a firefighter and could probably take them all down without breaking a sweat.

“You're all still on the easy side of forty,” J.R. was saying, as he chuckled and wrapped an arm around Drew's neck, hugging him hard. “So I'll call you whatever the heck I want. Damn, it's good to see you.” Just as abruptly, he was pushing Drew away and taking Deanna's cumbersome suitcase. “Even if I was beginning to wonder if you were going to get here before dawn or not.”

He turned and headed barefoot along the distressed wood floor through the silent house. “Isabella stayed up for a while but finally bit the dust a few hours ago.” He looked over his shoulder at Deanna. “My wife.”

Deanna nodded. “Drew's told me about her. I hope I'm not putting you out too badly. I warned Drew that he should have called ahead to let you know I was coming with him.”

“Don't you worry any about that,” J.R. assured. “We're glad to have you.” He grinned. “Particularly when you're brave enough to take on our Andrew, there. And what's better to have around for a wedding than more family?”

Drew could see the color come into her cheeks.

“You're very gracious.”

“My wife would kick me otherwise,” J.R. assured.
He turned down a hall. “Jeremy's out for the count, too.” He jerked his chin. “He's in that room there at the end of the hall. Got in yesterday.”

Deanna's wide gaze was taking in the white plaster walls around them, which Drew knew were relatively fresh even if they did look authentic to the old house. “Is that one of your wife's tapestries?” She pointed to a colorful weaving on one wall as they passed it. “Drew's told me what a talented artist she is.”

J.R. nodded and the look of pride on his face was plain to see. “There's not a corner of this place where she hasn't made her mark,” he said before pushing open a door. “You'll be in here.” He stepped aside and hopefully missed the panicked glance that Deanna threw in Drew's direction as she entered the bedroom.

The most notable feature was the wide bed that took up a good portion of the space.

His damnable body stirred again and he felt heat start to climb up his neck when his gaze ran into J.R.'s. “Looks comfortable,” he said, ignoring the heat both in his neck and in his gut, and went into the room behind her.

He dropped his duffel and suit bag on the white comforter covering the bed and watched Deanna's fingertips gently graze the petals of one of the roses clustered in a vase on the chest of drawers next to one of the windows. Her reflection jumped back at him from the big, heavily framed mirror that sat on the floor against the wall across from the bed. Next to that was a fireplace where logs were already placed, just waiting for a match.

Her auburn hair was tousled around her shoulders and her expression was almost unbearably soft as she touched the flowers.

He felt a bead of sweat angling down his spine. He
shrugged out of the leather bomber jacket and pitched it across a chair in the corner that sat next to a small table with a reading lamp.

His brother had a faint smile on his lips as he ambled into the room after them. He set Deanna's suitcase on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Bathroom's attached through there,” he gestured. “Extra blankets and pillows are in the closet, there. If you need anything else, just yell.”

Drew figured that what Deanna needed was a separate bedroom, and was grateful as all get-out when she only smiled and quietly told his brother that everything was lovely and she was certain they'd be just fine.

“Right, then. See you at breakfast.” J.R. stepped out of the room. He grinned. “Or not.” He reached for the door and pulled it closed.

Alone, Deanna turned away from the pink roses and looked at Drew.

“I can't help it,” he said in a low voice. “What do you want me to do? Tell him we don't sleep together?”

She made a face. “He'd never believe you weren't sleeping with any woman you brought with you, much less your own fiancée.”

He almost felt himself flush, which was stupid. He was no kid. Of course he had sex with the women he saw.

That was pretty much all he had with the women he saw. It wasn't as if he was looking for a partner in life after all.

“Then I'll sleep on the floor if it makes you feel better.”

“Not exactly comfy.” She tapped her soft-soled boot on the hardwood floor and let out a huge breath. “We'll just have to make do with the bed.” She shook her head
and looked away. “At least it's huge,” she added. “You could sleep a family of five in that thing.”

It was definitely an exaggeration, but he let it pass. Because whatever she wanted to think, there would still only be the two of them on that soft-looking mattress.

And his imagination was becoming increasingly fertile.