Fortune's Proposal (4 page)

Her hair would look like burning embers against that white, white comforter…

He cleared his throat a lot more easily than he did the images from his head. “It's been a long night. You go ahead and—” he waved toward the bed “—you know, go to sleep. I'm still too keyed up anyway. I'm going to go find J.R.'s whiskey.”

The relief that filled her eyes would have been comical if it weren't so deflating. Just because—at the moment—he was having a hard time remembering the purpose of their engagement didn't mean that she was having the same problem.

“If you're sure…” She left the words hanging and he made himself nod.

He needed to be remembering how she'd acted the last time he'd been uncontrolled enough to kiss her and not how she'd felt, pressed against him in the limo.

Then she'd been clearly appalled, and he knew to this day that the only reason she hadn't quit on the spot was that she'd felt sorry for him because his mother had just died. That, and the fact that he'd sworn to her it would never happen again.

“Yeah,” he lied. “I'm sure. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

She looked at her watch. “Today will be a busy day, actually.”

“Right. Today.” He reached for the doorknob and quietly turned it. “Happy New Year, Dee.”

Deanna's smile felt almost as shaky as her knees.

She knew it was best if he left for a little while, but a strong part of her wanted to ask him not to.

And that fact alone was reason enough to need some distance from her boss-slash-fiancé, even if it were only for a few minutes. So she kept the words to herself. “Happy New Year, Drew.”

And then he was stepping out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Once he was gone, Deanna's smile died and she drew in a deep breath.

Without his intoxicating presence, the room felt as spacious as her common sense told her it actually was. It was only when she was closed in with him that it seemed as if the walls were only two inches from that big…wide…bed.

She caught her reflection in the oversize mirror. “This is what you get for making rash decisions,” she whispered to herself.

The only response she got was her own glazed-looking expression staring back at her.

The silence of the house seemed to tick like the hands of a clock, and she grabbed her suitcase, hefting it onto the foot of the bed. Drew had given her a reprieve of sorts and she knew she'd better darn well use it wisely. The last thing she wanted was for him to come back and find her still standing around like some ninny who was afraid to climb into bed for what was left of a night's sleep.

She unfastened the stiff latches and flipped open the case, taking out the dress that she'd added on top of her other clothing. When they'd stopped at her apartment
on the way to the airport, she'd done her level best to discourage Drew from accompanying her inside. But the man simply hadn't taken the hint and she hadn't exactly known how to tell him flat-out to stay in the car when she couldn't even come up with a plausible excuse.

So he'd walked up the iron-and-cement flight of stairs to her door and had braced herself for his comments when she'd let them in.

But all he'd done was silently glance over the stacks of shipping boxes that were crammed into her dining room, covering the floor and the small table and even the end of the couch. Boxes containing every item imaginable from small travel-size baby-food mills to closet organizers and exercise equipment that she'd taken from her mother's home to send back to the companies from which Gigi had ordered them.

He hadn't gaped. He hadn't even raised his eyebrows.

She'd been so grateful for that that she hadn't even thought to protest when he'd followed her down the short hallway to stand in the doorway of her bedroom while she'd opened her ancient suitcase that had already been packed for her spa weekend.

He'd told her that they would be in Texas for four days—through the weekend, and returning to San Diego on Wednesday. That didn't necessitate a lot of clothing, fortunately, because she didn't have much in her wardrobe that wasn't either kick-around-the house casual, or wear-to-work professional. She had sweats that she wore to the gym where she coached girls' volleyball in exchange for her membership fee, and she had jeans and shorts and suits.

But there wasn't much call for her to own dresses suitable for an afternoon wedding, and when she'd scooted
through her assortment of hangers for the second time without finding anything she could imagine wearing, she'd looked over her shoulder at him and told him that he would be better off going to Texas alone. He could announce their engagement without her being there, couldn't he?

But he'd just given her that Drew look, the one that saw right through her excuses, and told her to pack one of her suits and to stop worrying about it.

“I'm not wearing something like this to a wedding.” She'd shrugged out of her blazer and shook it at him. “This is for work.”

“Well, even that might be debatable,” he'd drawled, and had joined her in front of her tight closet. He'd reached in and pulled out a frothy thing shoved far to the side. “Wear this, then.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he'd held the hanger up against her shoulders. “It doesn't look like something you'd wear to work. So? Good for a wedding or not?”

She hadn't been thinking about the dress. She'd been thinking about his comment about her suits. They fit and they were professional-looking and the complete opposite of the short skirts and clingy blouses that her fashionista mother preferred.

But knowing that the jet was waiting for them and not wanting to be the cause of their being any later than they already were, she hadn't pursued the matter.

And now, she held the dress up to her shoulders in much the same way that Drew had, and turned to look at herself in the mirror.

It was a vivid, bright pink for one thing, and with her hair, that wasn't a color she ever wore.

For another, it was ruffled.

Well, not exactly ruffled. The skirt was just made of dozens of pieces of fabric that all seemed to float independently of each other, making it look like it rippled even when she was holding it still. And the narrow, halter-style bodice was snug. And low.

She'd never worn it before.

For that matter, she hadn't bought it.

Gigi had. She'd given it to Deanna for her last birthday, and when Deanna had protested that it was too expensive—a more tolerable excuse than that the dress simply wasn't to Deanna's taste—her mother had produced the receipt to prove that the clearance-priced dress wasn't returnable. She'd lamented how her little Deedee just thrived on thwarting her and in the end, rather than go to battle over what was supposed to be a birthday gift, Deanna had taken the dress and put it in the back of her closet.

Where it had stayed. Lurking, as if it had been biding its time, waiting for Drew Fortune to find there.

Even as tired as she was, Deanna recognized the ridiculousness of the notion and she rubbed her eyes. At least the dress had come with a matching wrap. It was thin and almost translucent, but it would cover up her bare shoulders.

And as much as she didn't want to wear a dress chosen by her mother, she did have to admit that it was more suitable for the occasion than anything else her closet had contained. So she hung up the dress and its wrap behind the door that J.R. had indicated, and she made quick work of unpacking the rest of her items, most of which she left folded and tucked in one of the empty chest drawers. When the suitcase was empty, she wedged it out of the way in one corner of the closet on the floor, hung Drew's garment bag on the rack as
far from her dress as was physically possible, and then turned to ponder his well-used duffel bag that was still sitting on the bed.

As his assistant, she really shouldn't have had any issue with simply unpacking his things for him. And as his fiancée, if she were one of the true variety, she wouldn't have had any issue, either.

Instead, she stared at the thing as if it would singe her fingers raw if she dared to unzip it.

In the end, she chickened out of dealing with it entirely, and transferred it from the foot of the bed to the chair in the corner.

Then she carried her small tote bag into the attached bathroom where she quickly washed her face and cleaned her teeth, changed into her cotton tank top and flannel pajama pants, and padded barefoot back to the bed.

Which side of the bed did Drew like?

She felt her skin flush just from having the question enter her mind and chewing on her lip, she jerked back the downy-light comforter to reveal crisp white sheets with a lovely embroidered edge.

She would have sighed with purely feminine appreciation for the beautiful, luxurious bedding if her heart hadn't felt like it had climbed up into her throat. As it was, she climbed into bed, keeping so close to the edge of the mattress that she was in danger of rolling off, only to realize that she'd forgotten to turn off the light.

She got out of bed again, turned on the light in the bathroom and pulled the door nearly closed so there was only a sliver of light showing, then turned off the bedroom lamp and returned to bed.

Her head sank into the fluffy pillows and she determinedly closed her eyes.

The image of Drew's face seemed burned into the back of her eyelids and she opened them again.

She was tired right down to her bones for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which was her boss.

Who was, sooner or later, going to be sharing this very bed with her.

She dragged the comforter up to her chin, but it still didn't block out the reality of it all and she trembled so hard suddenly that it was a wonder the bed didn't vibrate from it.

At this rate, it was going to be a very long four days.

“G
uess you found what you were looking for.” J.R.'s voice was quiet behind Drew where he was sitting in an alcove that overlooked the outdoor courtyard at the center of the house.

“You always do have the good stuff.” Drew picked up the decanter of amber liquid and poured another finger into his squat, crystal glass. “Texas hasn't changed that, at least.”

“Don't know what you have against Texas.” J.R. folded his long body into a leather side chair. “You used to enjoy coming to Red Rock when you were a kid, too.”

There'd been a lot of summer visits to the Double Crown Ranch where their father's cousin Ryan, and his wife, Lily, lived.

“Riding horses and fishing and playing at cowboy was all right when I was ten.” Warmth slid down his
throat as he sipped his brother's fine whiskey. “I still can't believe you gave up everything in L.A. to come and live here.” If his brother hadn't resigned from Fortune Forecasting, he would have been in line to run the place.

Drew couldn't help wondering if William would have demanded that his eldest son toe up to the marriage line before handing the company over, or not.

But J.R. had resigned. He'd walked away from it all, so the question was now moot.

“I gained everything that matters to me when I came to Red Rock,” J.R. said quietly.

“You mean Isabella, I suppose. But you barely knew her before you moved here.”

His brother shrugged. “Isabella. The ranch. California was fine for its time, but this is home now. I can't imagine life anywhere else.”

“You sound like you're channeling Dad,” Drew muttered. He swirled the glass, watching the liquid glisten in the light from the small lamp he'd turned on next to his chair. “He acts as if life didn't begin for him until he left California, too.”

He heard J.R. sigh. “That's not it at all.”

“Isn't it?” Drew looked over at his brother. J.R. was forty-two, married to a woman ten years younger. Their father was seventy-five, still fit and still hardy—and planning to marry a woman ten years younger. “He had a life in California. Now he acts as if none of it matters.”

“He acts as if he's ready to move on and live the rest of his life,” J.R. countered. “Face it, Drew. He's happy. And just because he's marrying Lily doesn't mean he's forgotten Mom.”

Drew stiffened. He didn't want to discuss their
mother. He particularly didn't want to think about the way William had thrown her memory in his face that morning when they'd argued about the company. Strike that.

Yesterday morning.

It was past midnight. Officially New Year's Day.

And their father's wedding day.

He scrubbed his hand down his face and tossed back the rest of his drink.

“So for a guy who's been allergic to marriage ever since you told us things didn't work out the first time, how'd you come to be engaged to your assistant?”

Drew should have known better than to expect his brother to accept his engagement at face value and he supposed it was just as well to get some practice in early, before he faced the rest of the family—and their father—later that day at the wedding. “When you meet the right one, it doesn't matter what you thought you believed.” It was true enough in a sense.

It was also something that his mother had told him more than once since his first—and until now, only—attempt at wedded bliss had quickly and miserably failed.

He could feel the weight of J.R.'s gaze.

“How soon did you know that Isabella was the right woman for you?”

“Almost immediately,” J.R. said easily.

“So I'm not as quick on the uptake as you are.”

“Hmm.”

His brother's speculative tone made Drew warier than ever and he hunched forward and pushed out of the deep chair. “Guess I'd better let you catch some z's before breakfast.” He lifted his empty glass. “Thanks for the hot milk.”

He caught the wry tilt of J.R.'s smile from the corner of his eye as he headed back to the bedroom, stopping off at the kitchen only long enough to set his glass in the sink.

Unfortunately, the anesthetizing effects of his brother's expensive booze evaporated when Drew made it to the bedroom and silently pushed open the door.

The faint light from the bathroom cast a glow over the bed, but the bump of Deanna beneath the fluffy comforter on the side closest to the bathroom was barely visible, except for the cascade of her dark hair across the pillow. The sight did a bang-up job of refreshing the images that had sent him running out of the damn room in the first place.

He stood in the doorway for a while, waiting for her head to lift or for her to make some noise to indicate whether she was awake and knew he was hovering there.

But there wasn't the faintest whisper of movement from the bed and he figured that he'd better get inside the room before the breakfast bacon started sizzling. So he quietly stepped into the room and shut the door.

He'd never gone to such trouble before to keep a woman from waking. He'd never brought a woman to his own place in San Diego. It was always easier to go to hers, simply because it was always easier to leave.

He could make out the shape of his duffel bag sitting on the chair in the corner and it was only then that he realized he hadn't bothered packing any sort of pajamas or robe. He generally didn't bother with either, and when he'd shoved his clothes into his bag in the morning before going to the office, he certainly hadn't expected to be bringing a fiancée along.

He shoved his hands through his hair and wanted to
curse all over again at the situation his father had created. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the chair and winced at the thud of his shoes on the floor and jangling of his belt buckle when his pants followed the shirt.

He looked over at the bed.

Still no movement, thank God.

He wasn't sure how his ordinarily unflappable assistant would react if she woke up and saw him standing like a fool next to the bed, wearing nothing but his boxers and an erection, particularly after he'd assured her more times than he could count that their union would be entirely hands-off.

He let out a long breath and carefully lifted back the comforter and sheet and sat on the side of the bed. She still didn't move.

He rolled his eyes heavenward. If anyone who knew him could see him now, he'd never live it down.

Still moving at the speed of a sloth, he managed to stretch out on the mattress. More importantly, he managed not to groan in appreciation of the comfortable bed after the long, trying day.

He drew the covers over him and stared up into the dark shadows of the beamed ceiling.

He'd thought that once he got to Red Rock, the only thing he'd be able to think about was the looming specter of his dad getting married. But the warm presence of the woman lying within arm's reach of him had taken front and center. And as comfortable as the bed was, he figured it'd be highly unlikely for him to get any sleep that day.

He sighed and stretched out a little more, throwing his arm over his head and his knuckles accidentally rapped against the antique headboard.

The bedding rustled next to him and he clenched his teeth so tightly he'd probably need dental work.

“Drew?”

A fresh litany of curses went through his brain. “Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up.”

She turned on her side to face him and bunched her pillow under her cheek. He could feel her gaze as acutely as if she were pressing her cheek against him. “Are you all right?”

He was going to hell, sure as the sun was going to rise in a few hours, that's how he was. “I'm fine.” His voice was short. “Go back to sleep.”

Of course, she didn't. And the shadowed weight of her gaze simply continued boring into him.

He could stop that, simply enough. Just roll over and pull her into his arms. That would send her scurrying back to her own corner of the bed for certain.

“People get up early around here,” he finally warned.

“I get up early at home.” Her voice was even. “And much as I'd like to sleep, somehow it's difficult when you're two feet away, simmering like a pot on the stove.”

There wasn't two feet between them. Not even close.

Drew would be better off if there were.

He even found himself strongly considering the wisdom of sleeping on the floor, but was damned if he'd move now. Who knew what she'd end up making of that.

“I'm not simmering,” he muttered. A patent lie that she had the nerve to actually snort softly over.

Then she was shifting again, turning onto her back. She smoothed the comforter under her arms and he
realized they were bare. He could see the creamy sheen of her skin from her fingertips right up her arms and over the curve of her shoulders until her hair blocked the view.

He closed his eyes.

Yup. Open the doors to Hades. He was moving in.

“Your brother has a really nice home.”

“Yeah.”

Merciful silence ticked for a few seconds.

“How much older is he than you?”

“Eight years.”

“And your other brothers?”

He sighed. “You're not going to go to sleep, are you.”

“Are you?”

He doubted the reasons for their wakefulness were even in the same library much less on the same page. “Nick's thirty-nine. He and Charlene have a baby. Matthew.” The pictures that Nick emailed him of the little guy were cute as hell, even though Drew still had a hard time envisioning his brother as a family man. Drew had his reasons for being wary of marriage, but Nick had been a diehard bachelor from the womb. “He's a financial analyst at the Fortune Foundation.”

Deanna shifted again. Now she was looking at him once more, her head propped on her hand.

The comforter fell away enough for him to realize she was wearing some skinny-strapped thing that was almost as pale as her skin.

And it didn't hide a damn thing the way her boxy suits did. The swell of her breasts was apparent.

He figured he ought to be grateful that the light from the bathroom was as faint as it was. But a strong part of him was wishing it weren't.

Which just proved what a hell-bound dog he was.

“That's a philanthropic organization, right?”

Who knew she'd be such a chatty Cathy in the wee hours of the morning when she was generally pretty quiet in the office?

Feeling way too warm, he shoved back the comforter, but kept the sheet in place. The light was dim, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

And every time he thought the simmering want inside of him was going to settle and cool down, something—like that clinging shirt of hers—just fueled the fire all over again.

“The foundation was begun in memory of Ryan Fortune. My dad's cousin.” And his dad's fiancée's deceased husband.

He felt his jaw tighten again. Maybe his father should be worrying about how that would have sat with his wife instead of tossing her memory into Drew's face.

“Did you know him well?”

He dragged his thoughts together. “Well enough, I guess. Ryan was a good guy. Believed in good things. He was always trying to help others. Sharing what he considered his own good fortune. Maybe he's up there somewhere watching what the foundation does now.” He didn't want to think what Ryan might be thinking about his own cousin marrying his wife. “The agency has grown a helluva lot more than anyone ever expected. It started out as a small storefront and now they've got a big building on the highway just outside of Red Rock.”

“What about your other brothers?”

Fortunately, they were easier subjects. “Jeremy's three years older than me. You'll meet him at breakfast, no doubt. I'll be surprised if he stays past tonight after the
wedding, though. Hardly anything keeps him away from his practice in Sacramento. He's an orthopedic surgeon.” And no happier about William's impending marriage than Drew was.

“He's not married either, right?”

“Nope.” Not for lack of trying from plenty of women, though, who seemed to find his workaholic brother's blue eyes as irresistible as his status as a surgeon.

“Then there's you,” she quickly dipped her chin, nodding toward him.

The faint scent of green apple taunted him. “And Darr brings up the rear,” he added abruptly.

“The firefighter.”

“Yeah. He and Bethany have a little girl named Randi.” Another cutie who looked just like her mother with wavy blond hair and big blue eyes.

He could appreciate cute kids as long as they weren't his own. Being an uncle suited him just fine.

“And who else should I know when we go to the wedding?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does if you want anyone to believe we're really…involved.” She said the word as if it were something that should only be voiced if you were wearing hazmat gear.

He could relate.

“What about Lily?” she continued. “The bride? She was married to Ryan Fortune and you've said that he was a good guy. What's she like?”

Drew had liked her just fine until his dad had lost all sense over her. “I always thought she was devastated when Ryan died.”

“How long ago was that?”

He didn't even have to calculate. “Six years ago.” Just two years before his mother had died.

And not long after that, neither Lily's nor William's supposed devastation over the losses of their spouses had seemed to matter quite so much.

They'd gotten involved and according to his father, William would have married Lily a year ago if it weren't for Lily's insistence that they give Drew and his brothers some time to adjust to the situation.

As if that was likely to happen.

“Will it be a large wedding?”

“There's likely to be a lot of guests, I suppose.”

“You don't know?”