Fortune's Proposal (12 page)

“Evidently.” Her voice was faint. There was no danger of misinterpreting now, and she was hardly able to think past the blood suddenly thundering through her veins.

His thumb roved up and down the side of her bare neck. “Problem is, I don't want to complicate things.”

She barely kept from arching her neck against his touch like a greedy cat seeking more. “It's already complicated.” More complicated than he would ever suspect, at least where her heart was concerned. “That's what happens when you get mired in a lie.”

His hand slid a little until his thumb found the pulse at the base of her throat.

“Yeah.” His voice was deep as he pressed his thumb against her pulse with enough pressure to let them both know how rapidly it was beating. “But this isn't a lie.”

She'd been sleeping—more or less—beside him for two weeks. But in that moment, the feel of her heartbeat throbbing beneath the warm pad of this thumb was so much more intensely intimate than anything that had gone before that she was in danger of dissolving into a puddle right there where they stood in the moonlit shadows of the barn.

“Drew—”

“What
would
be a lie would be continuing to pretend that I don't want to make love to you.”

She pulled in a shaking breath and didn't even care just then that it sounded as openly desperate as she felt. “It's…it's the situation. If your father weren't missing, you—”

“—would still want this. Bringing you with me to Red Rock just brought it home to me.” His thumb stroked up her throat until it reached her chin. He gently pushed upward, stilling her shaking head and the denial of his words. “Look at me.”

She couldn't do anything but.

“You have to know by now that I can't get through the day without wanting you,” he said, and even though her emotions quaked, she recognized that he sounded more grim than romantic. “And I damn sure can't get through another night. But I don't want to ruin a good thing either, and the last thing I want—when this is all over—is for you to run for the hills.”

Of course he was already anticipating an “over.”

Her stomach knotted. The fastest way any woman in Drew's life could lose his interest was to let him know they were falling for him. Deanna had seen it happen over and over again. And even though she didn't want to categorize herself with any of those women, she knew that she was no different.

If Drew learned how she felt,
really
felt, he'd forget all about the “good thing” they had going. Maybe—given their working relationship—he'd feel some compunction when he ultimately showed her the door, but she had absolutely no doubt that the door was where she would be destined.

He'd find himself another assistant.

And she'd find herself out of his life in every way.

What was worse? Staying with him while hiding
her true feelings, or being without him because she hadn't?

Whichever path she took was paved with misery.

All she had to do was tell him that they could become lovers and nothing would change, and she'd at least have some part of him.

Was that how her mother thought, when she fell for her unattainable suitors?

Maybe Gigi wasn't so hard to understand after all.

Maybe, in comparison to her mother's headlong rushing into impossible relationships, Deanna was the real coward.

She moistened her lips. Swallowed. Her fingers pressed into the sinewy strength of his forearms. “I don't want to ruin anything, either.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“I don't know.” Her voice was nearly soundless.

He exhaled roughly and stepped closer. “I need a better answer, Dee. Tell me no. Better yet, tell me hell, no. And I'll somehow figure out a way to get this under control.”

“Oh, sure.” She moved her hands to his chest and shoved against him, but he was immovable. “Make me be the bad guy.”

“Not bad. Just stronger than I am.” His hands slid behind her. Found the small of her back and deliberately urged her against him. “And you're definitely not a guy.”

While he most definitely
was.

Her fingers were suddenly curling into his chest, rather than trying to push. He'd made certain that she wore a jacket against the evening chill, but he was only in his shirtsleeves. Nevertheless, her fingers felt scorched by his heat, even through the nubby silk of his shirt.

“I don't know what to make of you,” she whispered. “At Red you were—” She broke off, unable to describe what had transpired that night. “But since then—” Again she broke off, just as stuck.

And here she was supposed to be good with words.

“I know.” His voice was even. “I'm the worst kind of bastard. But know this, there has barely been a minute in a single day since we came to Red Rock when I haven't thought about you. About us.”

Her heart squeezed. His words sent shocking thrills straight through her.

“I should tell you no,” she whispered. For both their sakes.

He claimed that he couldn't say no himself. And even though she was painfully aware that he wasn't making any professions of love, rather than frightening her off, knowing that he couldn't deny he wanted her any longer made her feel more than a little bold.

And she could feel the way he was suddenly holding himself stiffly.

As if he'd braced for rejection.

She fisted the silk shirt and levered onto the toes of her borrowed boots until her lips hovered close to his. “I should say no,” she whispered again. “But I can't make myself do it.”

No matter what that meant for her—for their—future.

He exhaled and she tasted his warm breath on her lips.

Then his arms tightened around her, practically lifting her right off her toes as he pulled her even closer. His mouth covered hers, and whatever doubts that might have lingered about the wisdom of their actions died an unobtrusive death beneath the brilliance of his kiss.

If it seemed as if the world had stopped spinning before, now it whirled.

Madly.

Her head felt as though it was spinning, and her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest. All she could do was hang on to the only thing that might keep her sane. Him.

Her mouth opened under his plundering kiss, her hands curled into his hair. And the world spun even more dizzily.

His mouth dragged over her cheek, her temple. “Push the door.”

It took a moment for her brain to make sense out of his low growl. And a moment after that for her vision to see anything beyond his face.

But then she realized he'd lifted her into his arms and carried her around to the front of the barn doors.

No wonder she was spinning.

She stretched out an arm and gave the door a push. Despite the rustic look of it, the door smoothly slid open a foot and without a second's hesitation, Drew turned her sideways and carried her into the dark warmth.

“Do you know where you're going?”

“Heaven.” He lowered her legs until her feet hit the ground and then he was stepping closer to her, brushing right up against her until the barn door at her back stopped them. “And no, I can't see a bloody damn thing. So unless you want to take a stroll back to the house right now—”

“No.”
She shook her head even though he couldn't possibly see. Not even the door that was still ajar let in any light. She couldn't even see him standing in front of her and he was so close she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. If they went back to
the house, it would give her time to chicken out; to start thinking with her head again, instead of her heart.

And if she did that, she just might hate herself forever…

His hands pushed beneath the jacket until it fell off her shoulders. “Good. Because I don't want to wait, and I can feel everything I want to.” Unerringly, his palms closed over her hips, then purposefully delved beneath the loosely knit top.

Desire clenched hard inside her and she bit down on her tongue to keep from gasping, but a faint, mewling sound still escaped.

“We're in a barn,” he murmured, his lips touching her temple. “Don't hold back.”

Her hands instinctively closed around his arms. “A-are there animals in here or something?” She couldn't hear anything but the thundering of her heartbeat in her head and the rustle of her skirt against the solid wood behind her back.

“Just me.”

Her head fell back against the door as his hands slipped over her waist, climbing toward her breasts. “You're not an animal.”

“You're not wearing a bra,” he murmured, quickly discovering that particular fact for himself. “Makes me feel like an animal.”

Her lips parted. She hauled in oxygen as his hands slowly shaped her breasts as if he were molding a sculpture. Only she could feel her flesh tightening, swelling, and no inanimate sculpture ever did that. Not even beneath the chisel of the most skilled artisan.

Then his fingers dragged over her aching nipples, taunting them to even harder peaks, and she couldn't stop the moan from rising in her throat. She stared up
at him in the utter darkness, feeling his touch, feeling his heat, but not being able to see.

It was as disturbingly intense as the feel of his thumb had been on the pulse at the base of her throat.

Intense. Erotic. And emboldening.

She exhaled and the shaking sound of her breath sounded loud between them. Her hands slid over his forearms until they reached his wrists. They felt bony. Strong. And as her fingers explored them, she realized she could feel
his
pulse charging beneath her fingertips, too.

“Maybe there are two animals here,” she whispered. Her fingers grazed past his wrists, over the backs of his hands that cupped her breasts and she pressed her palms against them. Her fingers slid between his. “Harder.”

She felt his momentary stillness, then his hands tightened on her and the shards of light pulsing through her blood went even brighter, aiming straight to the center of her. Then she heard rustling again, felt his movement, and his hands moved beneath hers and she felt the wet heat of his mouth close over her breast.

She gasped. His other hand pushed at her sweater where it was tangling beneath her arms. “Take it off.”

Shaking, she obediently dragged it over her head, not feeling the slightest worry for where it landed—or what it might be landing in.

She was a California girl. She didn't know barns from nothing. All she knew, right then, was that Drew was sending
her
straight to heaven and he wasn't stopping to ask directions.

Her head fell back against the door again when his mouth slowly dragged down the valley between her breasts, over her stomach, not even pausing when he reached the stretchy waist of the gauzy skirt. He just
pulled it down as he went. “If you're as naked under this as you were the sweater, I'm going to have a heart attack,” he muttered.

She gave a strangled laugh. “No.” Her fingers slid through his hair. She'd never realized how silky or thick it was. “I'm not that hard-up for clothes.” But she'd rinsed out her bra after her shower and it was still damp, hanging safely hidden in the guest room's closet where she'd thought Drew wouldn't be able to notice it.

“On second thought, that might be a shame,” he drawled and she nearly jumped when she felt his lips graze her right hip. Then he was tugging the skirt down even more. She felt it pass her thighs, then her knees. “Lift.” His hand circled her right knee.

She lifted and felt him pull the skirt over her boot. Her hand tightened against his shoulder as she lifted her left. And then the skirt was gone.

And even though the barn was perfectly warm, she felt chills dance over her skin. Aside from panties and leather boots, she was nude. She twisted her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “You take something off, too.”

“Honey, before we're through there won't be anything but skin between us.” His hands circled behind her knees again and she felt his lips against the front of her thigh while those hands started to slowly climb. Higher and higher while he maddened her with a kiss on her leg here, then there, never in any path or order.

And then his hands reached her derriere, and she felt his fingers slowly explore the narrow bands of stretchy lace that masqueraded as panties. “If I'd only known—” his voice was low and deliciously rough “—that under those ugly suits you wore stuff straight out of a man's
fantasy, I'd have never gotten anything done at the office.”

She felt herself flush, but this time, it was a good flush. “I like pretty things.”

“Yeah, I noticed that when I saw the things you'd unpacked in the drawer that first day when you lost the towel.” His fingers hooked the lace, teasingly gliding back and forth against her hip.

“If you were a gentleman you wouldn't remind me.”

“Baby, I'm a man, and that was a pretty spectacular moment for me. See, I like pretty things, too,” he murmured meaningfully. “And I've been thinking about you wearing them…and then not wearing them…ever since.” He continued tracing along the edges of the lace across her abdomen. Then lower.

She sucked in a breath. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“What do you think?” He waited a beat. “What do you
want?
”

For him to end this wondrous torture. “I want you.”

His fingers delved between her thighs and his voice dropped a notch. “So I can feel.” His fingers glided over the damp lace, then retraced his steps. Again. And again.

She made a strangled sound. “Drew—”

“So perfect,” he murmured, his breath hot against her thigh. “So wet.”

She had a strange sense that she ought to have been mortified. “I can't help it,” she admitted breathlessly. “That's what you do to me.”