Fortune's Proposal (5 page)

“It's not like I'm supposed to stand up there with them. J.R.'s acting as his best man.”

“That's nice.” She lowered her head finally, resting it on her arm on top of the pillow. “You, um, seem to get along well with J.R.”

“Yeah.”

“And your other brothers?”

“Yeah.” He wondered where she was heading.

But all she did was make a soft little sound that had a ripple working down his spine. “I always thought it would be nice to have a large family.”

“Growing up, it had its moments,” he allowed. And even though they'd all kind of gone along their own paths when they'd become adults, Drew supposed he was still pretty close to his brothers. They might not see each other all that often—not with J.R. and Nick and Darr all living in Red Rock, while he and Jeremy were still in California—but they managed to keep up with each other's lives all the same.

“There are a boatload of cousins, too,” he added. “My dad's brother Patrick and his wife and all of them will
probably be around. You won't get a chance to meet my aunt Cindy, though.” He hadn't asked for details about the wedding, but William had offered up that information. “She's only a few years younger than dad, but she's probably still out there sowing wild oats somewhere. Total character.” It was easy enough to appreciate when she was his aunt. As a mother to her four kids, though, Drew knew she'd seriously left something to be desired. Nurturing, she wasn't.

Which made him think about Deanna's mother. “What are you going to tell your mother?”

She rolled onto her back again and pulled the comforter up to her chin. “Nothing until I have to.” She evidently didn't feel like she was in danger of overheating just because they were in the same bed. “And then nothing more than I have to.”

He very nearly asked her then about her father, but she yawned widely and rolled again, until her back was toward him and he swallowed his curiosity. As far as he could recall, he'd never heard Deanna mention the man.

He didn't know if her father was alive or dead or even if he'd ever been a part of her life at all.

When it came down to it, his assistant knew a lot more about his life than he did about hers.

It wasn't a point that had ever bothered him much before, but now, it niggled at him.

But he said no more about it. He and Deanna might not be involved “that” way, but he was smart enough to know that when a woman—any woman—turned her back like that, it was definitely the end of the conversation as far as she was concerned.

So he just stared into the shadows until he heard
the cadence of her breathing finally change. Slow. Lengthen.

Only then did he finally manage to close his eyes and get some peace from his troubled thoughts. But a short while later, when he felt the soft shape of his sleeping companion brush against him, he was wide-awake again.

And his troublesome body seemed doomed to keep him there.

 

She was roasting.

Deanna kicked at her blankets, only realizing when her bare feet encountered the silky smooth texture of expensive cotton sheets that she wasn't in her own bed in her own apartment.

She went stock still, staring at the window across from her.

Shutters were closed across it, but sunlight was sneaking around the dark, wood slats.

It wasn't the sunlight that had her attention, though.

It was the warm, hair-roughened, sinewy arm that was lying heavily over her waist. And it was the long-fingered hand that belonged to that arm that was cupping her breast.

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. She would have held her breath, if she could. But her heart was suddenly pounding so fast that she didn't seem able to even accomplish that.

But when she realized that her nipples were tightening and Drew's thumb was lazily brushing across it, she gingerly wrapped her hand around his wrist and started to push his hand away from her.

He mumbled something and simply tightened his arm around her waist and she found herself sliding against
the smooth sheet until the entire back side of her was pressed against him.

She might have taken comfort in the fact that his hand had strayed away from her breast to press flat against her belly, except that it had snuck beneath the edge of her camisole and was pressing flat against her bare skin.

And all of him was pressing hard against the back of her.

She swallowed a squeak and scrabbled at his arm again. “Let go.”

He mumbled something again, then his arm mercifully lightened up around her as he rolled back. “Geez, Dee. Can't you let a guy sleep?”

She scrambled out of the bed, dragging down the hem of her camisole with one hand and shoving back her tumbled hair with her other. The diamond ring on her finger felt heavy and wholly unfamiliar as it tangled in her hair.

“Don't geez me,” she countered, yanking her hand free. “What is wrong with you?”

His hair was falling over his forehead and his angular jaw was heavily shadowed. Against the backdrop of the pristine, white bedding, he looked dark and dangerous and utterly, totally seductive. Particularly when he focused a heavy-lidded gaze on her face. The corner of his lips kicked up, adding to his devilish appeal. “Evidently, nothing.”

Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. She wasn't naive enough to think that she, personally, had anything to do with that…well…what she'd felt pressing insistently against her backside. “Obviously, we'll have to do something about, um, about this.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

She flushed even harder. “Not that.”

“This. That.” His grin widened. “You've always been so good with descriptions, Dee, but right now you're outdoing yourself.”

She crossed her arms tightly, even though it was too late to hope that he hadn't already taken in the rigid points of her nipples that she knew had to be plainly visible through the snug cotton knit of her cami. For heaven's sake, he'd had his hand there! “I'm glad that you're so amused by me. You know good and well I meant our sleeping arrangements.”

He smiled outright, and annoyed as much with him as she was with her damnable weakness where he was concerned, she huffed and strode into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

When she heard his laugh through the door, she would have locked it, too, if the thing had possessed one.

Instead, she caught her reflection in the mirror over the sink.

“You are in trouble here,” she accused softly.

“Did you say something?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Drew's voice was so clear she suspected he was standing right on the other side of the door. “No!”

“Sounded like you did.”

She felt around the entire door handle and still found no lock. He wouldn't walk in on her, would he?

It seemed unfathomable.

But then she never could have imagined that she'd wake up with his arms wrapped around her body, either.

Well, no. That wasn't strictly true, either. She could imagine it.

But she just hadn't really expected it to ever happen.

“Deanna?”

She swallowed and raked her hair back from her face. “I, um—” She cleared her throat and spoke a little more loudly. “I was just promising myself coffee soon.” She winced at the poor excuse. She didn't even drink coffee.

“O-kay.” He plainly didn't believe her, but at least he didn't make more of the matter than he already had. “I'm gonna go see if we slept right through breakfast.”

“All right.” She turned on the tap and water rushed into the sink, but she crept back to the door and listened against it. She felt like an idiot, but she didn't relax the least bit until she heard the sound of the bedroom door creaking open and then closing again.

She very nearly slid down the wall into a pile of mush.

Only the fear that he could be back sooner rather than later kept her moving and she practically tore open her tote bag, pulling out her shampoo and cosmetics. She raced through the shower, barely allowing herself enough time to appreciate the luxurious spray of water—twice as hot and twice as full as her miserly shower back home—before she was stepping out again onto the thick, woven bath mat. She wrapped a fluffy white towel around herself and tucked in the end as tightly as the plush thickness would allow.

She raked the tangles out of her hair with her comb and managed to put on her makeup using the only corner of the mirror that hadn't steamed up. Not that she wore much in the way of makeup. She rarely did. But there was to be a wedding that day, so she added a touch more eye shadow and blush than she normally
used, and hoped it was good enough to cover the fact that there were shadowy circles under her eyes from too little sleep.

Fortunately, there was still no sound of Drew's return and she plugged in her blow-dryer and made just as fast work out of getting her thick hair dry and lying smooth and flat against her shoulders. It was actually a little long. She was long overdue for a trim, but she'd been saving up for her New Year's weekend with her friends.

So much for that.

She tucked everything back into her small tote and stowed it on the empty shelf below the one that held the towels and walked back into the bedroom, tightening the towel again. She was just pulling fresh panties out of the drawer where she'd stowed them when the bedroom door creaked softly and she whirled around.

Drew, wearing jeans and nothing else, gave her a look that seemed just as shocked.

“Coffee,” he muttered and extended his arm and the sturdy, brilliant red mug he was holding.

She'd worked for the man for four years. She'd personally fixed and served him countless pots of coffee during that time. Knew that he liked it stronger than most people preferred, and that only when he was nursing a hangover did he want any sugar added.

Clearly, he'd never noticed that not once had she ever had any coffee herself.

But that's what she got for lying.

If the worst thing that happened that weekend was having to choke down a cup of the vile stuff, she supposed it was a small price to pay, particularly when a part of her was ogling the hard, cut lines of his abdomen.

So she managed a smile and reached out to take
the mug, only realizing then that her panties were still clutched in her fist. She flushed and pitched them back into the drawer then reached for the coffee mug again. “Thanks.”

Unfortunately, when she reached, the tucked towel gave way.

And all she could do was stand there, frozen, as the thick, thick towel fell right to the hardwood floor beneath her bare feet.

H
ell and damnation.

The oath exploded inside Drew's head just as quickly as it passed his lips when that white towel seemed to hit the ground almost in slow motion where it mounded around Deanna's bare feet and slender ankles.

He knew only a second had passed before they were both reaching down for the thing, but what he'd seen in that second was blistered into his brain.

No. Not even blistered. Because a blister would heal and disappear.

More like tattooed.

Because the image of her sleek figure was not likely to leave his mind. Ever.

His hand reached the towel, only to collide with hers. Realizing his gaze was straying back to the expanse of creamy, tanned skin that covered her from shoulders to toes—save a few intriguingly tiny, pale triangles—he let
her take the towel as they straightened, and instead concentrated on the depths of the rich coffee that Isabella had prepared. He never would have figured his assistant for a bikini type, but he damn sure could recognize the source of those tan lines.

“Sorry.” His voice came out like chunks of gravel, and he coughed. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

Deanna was looking anywhere but at him. She was holding the towel so tightly around herself that her fingers were nearly white. “No. It's my fault. I, um, I—” she broke off and shook her head. Her hair bounced against her bare shoulders. “This is what I get for lying,” she mumbled.

“It was a simple accident.” He reached past her, aware of the way she jumped when he did so, and set the coffee mug on top of the chest. “Once we're married and living together—”

“Living together!”

He frowned, looking through the half-closed door out into the hallway. Fortunately, the only sounds he could hear were the laughter and voices coming from the other side of the house where everyone else was still gathered in the kitchen.

He closed the door.

“Yeah, living together.” Only by some pity from God was he able to keep his eyes focused on her face. “That's what generally happens when couples marry.” He kept his voice low. The adobe-looking walls were probably thick here, but he didn't want to take any chances.

“We—” her free hand waved between them “—are not a couple,” she reminded.

He caught that waving hand and held it up between them. The diamond on her finger sent prisms of light dancing around the walls. “For all intents and purposes,
we became one when I put this rock on your finger. What the hell kind of marriage do you think it would look like we have if we don't live together after the I dos? For that matter, it's already striking some of them as odd that we're not already doing so.”

She yanked her hand out of his. “Tell them I'm old-fashioned.” Her voice was shaky and she looked away from him again only to suddenly shove the chest drawer closed.

But that was a little like trying to undo the whole towel-drop thing.

He'd already seen the hanks of ribbon and sheer lace lying neatly inside.

And because he'd seen, up close and personally, the stunningly perfect body they'd be covering, he had a double dose of fresh torment for his overactive mind.

“That's exactly what I told Jeremy,” he said. “That you're old-fashioned.” And for some reason, his brother had found that statement riotously funny.

Isabella had simply smiled serenely as she'd set a platter of bacon and sausage on the table between them that she and Evie—the housekeeper and cook that his brother had brought with him from L.A.—had reheated for him because he'd overslept everyone else by a good three hours, and said she thought “old-fashioned” was still a good trait to possess.

“Great.” Deanna made a face. “Now they'll wonder even more what on earth you're doing, supposedly marrying me.”

“What do you want me to say, Deanna?” He was frustrated on so many levels that he couldn't keep it out of his voice.

“I don't know!” She turned away, still clutching the towel around her like a drowning person clutched a life
vest. She sat down on the edge of the bed, only to bounce back up and move away from it, too.

Irritation joined frustration. “I'm not likely to attack you, for God's sake. Just because we woke up the way we did doesn't mean I don't have some self-control.”

“I didn't say you didn't.”

“You were the one cozying up to me in your sleep, you know,” he added. “Now you're acting like a virginal nun who's afraid to be alone with a man.”

She went red. The color spread from the tips of her ears behind which she'd tucked her shining hair to the hollow at the base of her throat, over her smooth, toned shoulders and right down beyond the edge of the towel cinched above her breasts.

He actually found himself watching her shapely calves below the towel to see if she blushed there, as well.

And then horror dawned on him, and he barely kept himself from swearing all over again. “You're not, are you?” Just because she'd covered up all that glory of a body with her ugly suits at the office didn't mean she had kept the wonders from her boyfriend.

What had she said his name was?

Mike? Mark?

He realized he was pretty much hating the other guy right about now, which was ludicrous.

Drew didn't do jealousy.

He hadn't when the woman he'd vowed to love until death did them part cheated on him with his best friend, so why the hell was he feeling that way now when he thought about a guy who Deanna had already admitted she was no longer even seeing?

Her lips had pinched together. “No, I'm not a vir
gin,” she said witheringly. “Not that it's any of your business.”

“Why the hell not? You know all about my love life.”

“That's because you bring it into the office,” she exclaimed, her arms flying out to her sides. “And expect me to help you get rid of them when they no longer amuse you.”

“I don't do that,” he dismissed.

She gave him an “Oh, really?” look that was just as effective as any similar ones he'd gotten from his mother growing up whenever he'd tried to claim innocence over some infraction. He would have run his finger around his too-tight collar if he'd been wearing a shirt. Instead, all he could do was grimace and try not to shift his feet like some damn guilty kid.

“Okay, so I've had you order some pieces of jewelry for me,” he allowed.

“Humph. You order so much from Zondervan's that when you asked for this—” she held up her hand and wiggled the ring on her finger “—they jumped to help you out!”

“So?” His voice tightened defensively. “At least I don't have my assistant break up with the girls I date! I'm not that big a crumb.”

She exhaled noisily, the fight seeming to go out of her in one big rush. “You're not a crumb.” She sat back down again on the bed. She gave him a sidelong look, and actually managed to stay sitting there, though she did rearrange the edges of the towel to cover her knees.

He considered telling her that it was too late for her to bother covering much of anything now that he'd seen it all.

In glorious, God-given, high-definition detail.

Maybe he should be running Hades instead of just moving in. It might suit him better even than running Fortune Forecasting.

Drew Fortune, vice president of hellfire and damnation.

“It's just the situation,” she said, drawing him back to terra firma. “It's making me a little—or a lot—crazy.”

He would have sat down beside her, but common sense warned him it would be better all around if he didn't.

And because his common sense felt in dangerously short supply, he figured he'd better pay attention when it did rear its head.

“It's only for a few days,” he assured, speaking to himself as much as to her. “Then we'll go back home and things can get back to normal.”

“Until we have to come up with a wedding and move in together,” she countered in a low voice. “What if people ask if we've set a wedding date? What are we supposed to tell them, then?”

“We'll tell them we're still deciding on a date. Hell, we'll tell them we're planning a quick trip to Vegas. I don't know, all right? We'll think of something.”

She gave him a quick, narrow look. “You're not breaking out into a rash or anything are you? I mean, we are tossing around the terms marriage and wedding quite a bit here.”

“Smart aleck.” But at least she'd recovered her equanimity enough to razz him about it.

That at least was something they were both comfortable with. He teased her about being completely anal when it came to details around the office and she gave him heck about everything else.

It was the constant in their relationship.

And now, now he'd had to go and remember what he'd spent nearly four years trying to forget.

That Deanna Gurney wasn't just a stellar assistant.

She was a desirable woman.

And as far as everyone else in Red Rock was concerned, she was ostensibly his woman.

It was ironic as anything in life could be that she was even more off-limits than she'd ever been, thanks to the agreement they'd struck.

Not only could he still remember how it had felt to kiss her four years ago, but now he had the Technicolor image of her body indelibly etched in his head, and his skin still felt singed from the heat of her body in his arms.

“We'll work things out,” he finally said.

She was looking down at her hands, spread flat on her lap. “Promise?”

“I do. Promise, that is.” He smiled crookedly when she looked at him and was glad to see the small one she gave him in return. “Drink your coffee if it's not gone cold,” he urged. “I don't know what Isabella puts in it, but it's pretty good.”

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Okay.”

“And I'll go find something to do for thirty minutes. Is that enough time for you to finish dressing?”

At that, her smile did widen. Wryly. “Five minutes would do.”

In his experience, he hadn't met a woman who could dress that quickly.

Undress, sure.

His gaze kept straying to the hollow at the base of
her throat. He'd never realized before just how sexy that spot was…

“Drew?”

He shook off the haze that encroached on him way too easily and reached behind him for the door. “Fifteen minutes, then. After I shower and change, we'll probably have to head off for the church, but you can still grab some food from the kitchen while I'm getting ready. There was stuff left after I ate, and I know Isabella is looking forward to meeting you.”

Which just had her looking worried all over again.

“Don't worry. There're all gonna love you,” he assured. And before he could say anything else that would either worry her more or set them back on the sex track where they had no business running, he let himself out of the room and closed the door.

The sooner they got through his father's wedding and the next few days and they could get back to San Diego and some normalcy, the better.

 

“So there's the newly engaged!”

The loud greeting was called across the expanse of lawn between the crowded parking lot and the church when they arrived nearly two hours later.

Deanna felt Drew's hand tighten around hers as they crossed the grass leading up to a lovely, old-fashioned-looking church. It was white with a tall steeple, and outside, the building was surrounded by an expanse of emerald-green lawn and lush greenery dotted with pink and red flowers. There were garlands of green and white wound around the railings of shallow steps leading up to the wooden double doors, which were bedecked with wreaths of even more flowers.

And for the first time since the debacles of the
morning, she was able to forget everything but that moment.

Mostly.

The feel of Drew's hand wrapped around hers wouldn't let her completely forget.

Still, the sight of the church was like something out of a magazine. Or a fantasy. “It's beautiful,” she breathed.

“Too bad it'll be the sight of Dad's worst mistake,” Drew said in a low tone.

“Judging by the happy looks I'm seeing on people's faces, they don't share your view,” Deanna pointed out, just as low. “Just promise me you won't stand up and shoot off a flare gun when the minister asks if there's anyone present who objects.”

They'd driven into town by themselves, using one of the trucks from Molly's Pride and judging by the scarcity of available parking spots and the number of people milling around on the grass outside the church, they weren't exactly beating any early arrival records.

Not surprising, given Drew's continuing displeasure with the entire affair.

“That's Nick,” he told her as he lifted his free hand in a wave toward the guy who'd called out the greeting.

She would have guessed that, from the description that Drew had given her of his brothers. Nick was about the same height as Drew, although a little more leanly built. But he had the same brown hair and as they got closer, she realized, the same brown eyes. More specifically, though, it was the pretty redhead who stood beside him with a baby on the hip of her narrow blue sheath dress that helped identify him.

“And Darr, presumably, is standing beside him?”

“Yeah.”

The youngest Fortune brother was not quite as tall as Nick, but he was stocky and muscular. He was also wearing a string tie with his blinding-white shirt and dark suit, while his brothers wore traditional ones with theirs, and he had a cowboy hat on his head.

Drew had told her that Darr was the most “Texan” of the Fortune transplants to Red Rock, and the seriously good-looking man was definitely living up to that. Particularly when he doffed his hat once she and Drew stopped in front of him and greeted her with a “ma'am,” an up-and-down look that told her he was taking her measure and a grin that she hoped meant he wasn't entirely disappointed with the results.