Day Leclaire - The Provocative Proposal

by The Provocative Proposal (lit)

  She spun away, refusing to face him until she’d put as much distance between them as possible. “When do you suggest we spend that time? The benefit’s tomorrow night. It can’t be tomorrow during the day. I have a job. Am I supposed to neglect it just so we can become better acquainted? Not a chance.”

  He pointed out the obvious. “There’s tonight. Are you willing to work on our relationship now?”

  She gave it serious thought. “I guess.”

  Her unenthusiastic response was the best he could hope for. He didn’t bother pushing for more. “Then that’s the first condition met. Talk to me about your problems with my second condition. What’s wrong with taking my recommendations for how we interact in pub­lic?”

  “I can’t allow you to jeopardize my career.”

  “I’m not talking about jeopardizing your career. I’m talking about how we sell ourselves as a couple. If I take your hand in mine while we’re sitting at the dinner table, I expect you to follow my lead and not jerk free at the first opportunity.”

  “We weren’t in public when I did that,” she retorted, stung. “I wasn’t expecting you to touch me.”

  “I may catch you by surprise when we’re with your employer or a client. What are you going to say then? ‘Sorry about that. We didn’t practice being lovers long enough, but hang on. We’ll get it right this next time around.’”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You’ve got it. I am being ridiculous. You won’t need to say a word because our awkwardness with each other will be obvious to even the most casual bystander. Look at that damned kiss. We can’t even manage some­thing that simple.”

  He’d hit a sore point and in response she snarled her­self into a knot again—arms folded across her chest, knees locked together at an awkward angle, mouth com­pressed into a line that would have done a schoolmarm proud. “Since we won’t be kissing in public or in private or anywhere in between, it won’t be a problem.”

  “Oh, it’s going to be a problem,” he warned softly.

  “Let me guess. In order to—how did you phrase it?” She unsnarled long enough to rescue her coffee mug as she considered her choice of words. “Oh, right. In order to perfect our docking procedure, you want us to live together?”

  He tried not to wince. “It would help. There’s nothing like sharing pajamas to take the formality out of a re­lationship.”

  “Let me guess. The catch is that you don’t wear pa­jamas.”

  He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

  She retreated into formality. “You don’t seem to un­derstand that this job won’t last more than a couple of days. You’ll only be around my co-workers and clients for a few brief hours, at most. We can fake a relationship for that long without turning it into a major production.”

  “It will only take you a day or two to turn an Impossible?”

  “If I’m lucky.”

  “What if you aren’t?” He waited for that to impact before adding, “And what about afterward? Let’s say you get the promotion. Won’t you need us to continue to maintain a pretense for a while? Or will this myste­rious problem you’re having—the one that convinced you to hire me in the first place—disappear the minute you win your promotion?”

  “Why are you doing this?” He found it telling that she deliberately avoided answering his question. Even more telling, she wrapped her hands around the coffee mug and retreated behind a facade of calm he knew she was far from feeling. “I’m hiring you for a simple job and for some reason you’re pushing this far beyond the scope of your employment. Why?”

  Hell. He’d overplayed his hand. “I take my job seri­ously.”

  She immediately rejected that one. “It’s more than that. How do you know Bull? I know him through my brother. What about you?”

  He made a split-second decision. “I know him through Seth, too.”

  Tess’s hand jerked and coffee sploshed over the rim. Clearly, he’d shocked her with his admission. “You know—”

  “Seth. Yes. We were at university together.”

  “You never said. He never—” She shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  Time for a little honesty. “After you hired me, you phoned your brother for a...” He leaned against the counter across from her, choosing his words with care. “I guess you’d call it a protector, for want of a better word. Let’s just say Bull wasn’t Seth’s first choice.”

  “He got in touch with you?” she asked incredulously.

  “Seth didn’t realize I was the immediate cause of your problem and since I’m the best man for the job, he called the.” A quick grin slashed across his face. “Face it, even Bull admits I’m the best.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Really? Then what are you do­ing working for me as a paid escort?”

  Shayde lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “I’m between jobs.”

  Fortunately, she didn’t follow up on that one, instead seizing on a different and more immediate concern. “What did you tell Seth? About us, I mean.”

  He debated for a brief second. “I told him you needed an escort for business functions.” Was she concerned about how her brother might react? “I had the impres­sion he thought it was a practical decision based on your current situation.”

  A hint of relief brightened her eyes. “Why didn’t he simply vouch for you? Why send Bull?”

  “He figured you might not take his word for it, that you’d think he was blowing you off with excuses. So he sent someone who’d convince you I was safe.”

  A genuine smile eased her mouth. Heaven help him, but she was beautiful. Did she have any idea the effect of that smile on a man? “Bull did convince me you’d make a good protector,” she conceded. “But I’m not sure how safe I’d consider either of you.”

  “There’s a reason for that.”

  “Which is?”

  “I make an excellent protector against outsiders.” He fixed her with a look that warned that the caveman hadn’t been fully contained. “But not necessarily from myself.”

  “Then I’ll stay on my guard.” She took a sip of cof­fee and locked gazes with him over the rim. Her ex­pression warned that she’d fight him every inch of the way. “Which brings us back to your terms.”

  “So we’re in agreement. You accept all my condi­tions.” He managed to make the statement with a straight face. Barely.

  “On your first two conditions, yes. But you’re not moving in here. I don’t care how many people vouch for you.”

  He didn’t care about the third one. He couldn’t even say why he’d thrown it in, other than to see what it would take to slip beneath her guard and prompt a re­sponse. He’d gotten what he really wanted with the other two points “Fine. Then we start now.”

  She backed into an angle formed by the kitchen coun­ters, her hold on the mug turning into a white-knuckled grip. “Now?”

  Did she have any idea how blatantly she projected her emotions? Somehow he doubted it or she’d have taken steps to disguise them. Communicating her feelings so clearly couldn’t help in her dealings with clients. All they had to do was look at her to know her every thought.

  Or perhaps her behavior was unique to this situation, a singular response to him as a man. If so, she’d be wise to hide her reaction. Observing her standing there, wary and defenseless, stirred something fiercely masculine within him, an irresistible urge to give chase in direct opposition to her nervous retreat. It was man versus woman at its most primitive, perfuming the air with the hungry scent of want. He found himself obeying the ancient call without thought.

  He shoved off from the counter and approached. “You promised we’d spend time together tonight.” He stopped a scant foot away, noting that her breathing had kicked up several notches. “I suggest we get started.”

  “I have a better suggestion,” she hastened to propose.

  “We can take a few minutes before the benefit to be­come better acquainted. Say...an hour to gain a working fa
miliarity right before the evening begins. “

  “We could do it that way....” He snagged a rosy curl, allowing the strand to wrap possessively around his fin­ger. “If you were the one in charge. But you’re not.”

  “We had this discussion, remember?” she tried again. “I’m your employer.”

  “You pay my salary, but I make the decisions.” He tugged her closer. “Or did you plan to violate the terms of our agreement so soon?”

  “No. Yes.” She glared at him in frustration. “You’re making this very difficult.”

  He offered a sympathetic smile. “I have a reputation for that. Let’s see if I can’t make it a little easier for you.”

  Rescuing her coffee cup before she dropped it, he set it on the counter. Then he slid his fingers into her hair and tipped her face up to his. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Correcting a mistake.”

  “We agreed that there wouldn’t be any more kiss­ing.”

  He smiled at the disgruntled complaint. “That was before you promised to do things my way.”

  A hint of color clung to her cheekbones and a dis­tressing defenselessness swept across her face. “You said you’d make this easier. I think I should warn you that this doesn’t feel particularly easy.”

  “Give it a chance. We only have twenty-four hours to become accustomed to each other’s touch. That’s a lot of ground to cover in very little time.”

  “I’d rather become accustomed without touching.”

  He didn’t doubt that for a minute. “Sorry. It has to be my way. But you won’t suffer for long.” He lowered his head and murmured against her lips, “Trust me.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to think, let alone protest. This time he managed a successful docking and fully covered her mouth. He even managed to align their noses properly. Falling into the kiss, he submersed him­self in the taste and feel of her. Everything about her felt incredible. Her hair. Her lips. Her skin. And every­thing about her aroused him, desire igniting a flame that could build into something far more intense with very little effort.

  At first, she stood rigid within his grasp, not fighting, but not participating, either. “Relax,” he encouraged. “We’re not going to do anything that makes you un­comfortable. You set the pace.”

  Her hands slid up to his shoulders, holding on lightly as though she couldn’t decide whether to slide into the embrace or push him away. “You feel... different.”

  “Different, how?”

  “Hard.” She didn’t say it coyly, as some women would. She was being serious, not playing sexual word games. “Uncompromising.”

  “I’m both of those things,” he admitted without apol­ogy. “But I don’t use those qualities to hurt people.”

  “Even in your role as protector?”

  “No way. Not against the good guys.”

  That caught her attention. “Am I one of the good guys?”

  Did she doubt it? “Absolutely.”

  He tried their kiss again, using more caution this time, setting a slower pace. Her hands slipped upward, smoothing across his shoulders in a light, experimental touch. And though she relaxed into him somewhat, it wasn’t a total surrender to the embrace. Her lips softened, but didn’t part. Her breathing quickened, but didn’t grow urgent. And yet, he could feel her building passion, just as he could feel the desperate control she maintained over it.

  He could sense she wanted to let go. So why didn’t she follow her instincts and lower her guard enough to free the desire simmering beneath the surface? Why did she resist what they both craved? Forcing the issue hadn’t worked. Nor had coaxing.

  He eased back and studied her upturned face. “It’s a start, I guess.”

  “Not a very successful one,” she admitted wryly.

  No. The kiss hadn’t been as successful as he’d have liked. They continued to respond like two strangers, their bodies instinctively fighting to find a comfortable fit—­and not succeeding. And he could guess why. “It wasn’t so bad,” he reassured. “Not when you take into consid­eration that we don’t know each other very well. I also suspect you’re the sort of woman who prefers to build a relationship the slow, old-fashioned way.”

  She shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, except we don’t have time for slow and old-fashioned.”

  She fought free of his hold, “Don’t you get it? I don’t want a relationship with you. I don’t want a relationship with anyone.”

  “Yes. I got that.” The Committee was having trouble comprehending it. “The question is... since you don’t want a relationship, why do you need to fake one? What is it about this job promotion that’s forcing you to pre­tend you’re involved with a man?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “It is when it interferes with the job you’ve asked me to do.” He studied her with a frown, cautiously feeling his way. The hell with it. He’d go with his instincts and if his observations started trouble...well, he was used to that. “You’re fiercely independent, a woman who takes charge of her own destiny, someone who strikes me as honest and aboveboard, and yet, you’ve been forced to create this deception in order to get ahead at work. Why?”

  “As I said—”

  An unpleasant thought occurred to him. “Is one of your clients pressuring you for sex?”

  “No!”

  She reacted with such shocked conviction that he didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. Still... He was close. He could sense it. “But you’re having trouble with a client. And somehow this trouble will be averted if we’re perceived as lovers. Why won’t you tell me what the problem is? Maybe I can help.”

  “I don’t intend to explain anything to you for the simple fact that I don’t—” She stopped abruptly.

  He finished her statement. “You don’t trust me?” She nodded abruptly and he decided to let her off the hook. “Fair enough. Trust can’t be forced, any more than an honest relationship can. But since we have to give the perception of both, I suggest we go back into the hall­way.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  “Don’t sound so hopeful.” Maybe it was just as well Shadoe hadn’t chosen him for Tess. He didn’t envy the poor fool who tried to get her to the altar. He’d probably have to hog-tie and drag her there, kicking and scream­ing the entire way. “No, I’m not leaving. I want to try something else. There’s not enough room in the kitchen for what I have in mind.”

  She didn’t argue. Shrugging, she led the way. Once there, she turned to face him. “Now what?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Now we dance.”

  “Dance?” She stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. “There’s no music.”

  “All the better. This way our bodies can hear each other.”

  She released her breath in a gusty sigh. “Okay. I get it now. You’re one of those guys.”

  His brows snapped together. What the devil was she talking about? “What do you mean ... those,” he de­manded suspiciously.

  She waved her hand through the air. “You know. One of those New Age types. Weird mumbo-jumbo philos­ophies, crystals, dancing without music. You know. Those guys.”

  Aw, hell. He didn’t see a viable way to refute that one. Considering how stubborn she could be, she’d view any form of protest as confirmation of her suspicions, while out-and-out arguing would only serve to cement her position. He didn’t like no-win situations. They licked him off. Wrapping his hands around her jean-clad hips, he yanked her into the cradle of his thighs. Her shocked gasp pleased him no end.

  “You got me, babe,” he growled. “There’s no point in arguing with fact. I have crystals strung from one end of my house to the other. Want a mood adjustment? I’ve got just the rock to do it.” He slid a hand up her spine, locking her close. “And they haven’t written a philos­ophy book that I haven’t read and found a doctrine or two to incorporate into my own personal code. Makes it confusing on occasion, but what the hell. At least it cove
rs every eventuality.”

  It took her two deep breaths before she recovered her self-possession enough to respond. “Let me guess. I’m not as accurate a judge of character as you.”

  He rocked his hips in a slow circle, the hand he’d anchored on her hip encouraging her to follow his lead. “Do I look like the sort of man who’d put up with mumbo-jumbo?”

  A nervous laugh slipped free. “Did you know that your eyes get all smoky when you’re upset?”

  To his frustration, her movements ran counter to his. Rather than matching his steps with instinctive ease, she zigged in opposition to his zags. And when she wasn’t zigging all over the place, she abused his poor toes by cheerfully stomping all over them. At least, he assumed she was cheerful about it. She sure as hell didn’t look apologetic.

  “Everyone should have a warning sign,” he gritted out. “I’m impressed you’ve figured out mine so fast. I’ll be more impressed if and when you take that warning to heart.”

  She abused his toes some more before peeking up a him with the sort of sweet, innocent smile that instantly put him on red alert. “You might not have noticed, but this doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “It might work better if you’d stop trying to lead. That’s my job.”

  “Sorry.” Not that she looked the least sorry. “P used to being the one in charge.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Tess slowed to a halt. “Okay, Shayde. We’ve danced. Now explain why it was necessary other than to prove that we’re as incompatible at this as everything else we’ve tried.”

  Did she really not know or was she being deliberately obtuse? “Haven’t you ever watched couples dance?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can’t you tell the ones who’ve danced together be­fore from the ones who haven’t? The ones who are lov­ers versus acquaintances?”

  A swift shadow slipped across her face. “Yes.”

  “There’s an intimacy to their movements. A knowing. Their bodies are in rhythm with each other.” He pulled her close again. “Come on. Let’s give it another try.”

  A hint of strain etched her features. “I’d rather not.”