by Robyn Grady
Her response was evasive. “I’m a little tired.”
He found his tie’s longest end and tugged it from his collar in one fluid deliberate action. “We can always stay in.”
Her shoulders came up as she hugged the towel close. “That’s okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Let’s say seven then. Can’t speak for you—” his gaze licked her body “—but I’m starving.”
Four
Tamara didn’t like surprises. She preferred to see what was ahead and strategize well in advance the best course of action. “Whirlwind adventure” was not on her must-do list. Then Armand De Luca had exploded into her life.
These past few days Armand had treated her like a princess, taking her out to dinner, engaging her in stimulating conversation, finding opportunities to touch her—a stroke of her cheek, a casual arm threaded around her waist. Last night, as they’d slow danced together after a delicious meal at one of Sydney’s top venues, he’d stolen another kiss. While her mind had resisted, her body had cried out for more.
This December morning when he’d suggested an impromptu outing to Sydney’s largest mall, Tamara had been cautious. The gleam in his eye told her he had something planned. Now, as he cleaved a path for them through the congested slab of shoppers, she wondered if those plans included jewelry stores and diamond rings.
He glanced over and took her hand. His smile, a dazzling combination of ease and charm, sent her stomach into immediate freefall. The sensation must have shown on her face.
His smile faded. “You need to rest.”
He constantly worried for her health, which was amusing, or touching, more so than annoying. “I feel great.”
No morning sickness and for the first time in ages she was energetic and cheerful, a far cry from her condition a month ago when her life had felt tossed upside down in a trash can. These last two weeks living under Armand’s roof had made all the difference and she couldn’t help but be grateful. Just as she couldn’t help feeling lured by his unique brand of laid-back charm, or the palpable strength of their simmering physical attraction.
His kiss last night had left her troubled, shaky, but ultimately anticipating the next. After sharing time together and discovering a little of the man behind the name, Tamara’s feelings had shifted considerably.
She’d begun to care.
Maybe it was pregnancy hormones prompting her to attach, but she wasn’t wholly surprised by her swing in emotions. She’d like to see any woman resist Armand’s heavy-lidded eyes and dominating presence, which so effortlessly commanded attention and admiration wherever he went. However, while her heart whispered, Accept, believe, say yes, her head still waved a red flag.
Armand De Luca was a tactician, an astute businessman. He needed to seal an important transaction and he needed her to do it. Just because she’d begun to care for him didn’t make it reciprocal. His mention of fairy tales, that kiss last night, the softer looks…surely they were all means to an end. She didn’t want to fool herself into believing it was anything else. She didn’t like surprises, but she disliked disappointment more.
He glanced at his platinum watch then shucked back one shoulder. The canary-yellow of his jersey-knit shirt was a beacon against his muscular bronzed arms and tanned vee at his neck. Her gaze traveled higher and her heartbeat stuttered at the sight of his frown.
“Is something wrong?”
His attention shot from the crowds back to her and the wattage on his smile tweaked up again. “Just running over the agenda for this afternoon’s meeting.”
She groaned. “But it’s Saturday.”
Before the words were out she wanted to swallow them. Men like Armand lived to work, not the other way around. She’d always admired a strong work ethic, yet today she couldn’t help but wish he didn’t have to rush off. He’d worked late night before last. She’d waited ’til eleven before taking herself off to her cloud of a bed. Master had looked abandoned, so he’d come, too.
In the heart of the mall, they skirted around a towering fir dressed in giant silver bells and scarlet gold-trimmed bows while Bing Crosby crooned “I’ll be Home for Christmas” through the speakers.
“I organized a board meeting,” Armand said. “At short notice, this was the best fit day for everyone.”
“What’s so urgent?”
Weird. A couple of months ago, Tamara would have scowled at such a question; everything associated with her own company had seemed so urgent. Yet, although she was determined to some day regenerate her business, her Exemplar Events days now seemed strangely distant, as if they existed at some far-off point she viewed through a telescope.
Which, to a lesser degree, also reflected her feelings regarding Marc. Her friend would never be forgotten, but the sharpest edge of her pain had dulled. Sometimes she managed a smile instead of tearing up when she thought of him. From the sound of their more general phone calls, it seemed Melanie and Kristin had begun to accept the inevitable, too. Which was what Marc would have wanted them to do…think of him fondly and move on with their lives.
Thick garlands of gold, emerald and red glittered above as she and Armand crossed an entrance into a big-name department store. He ushered her down an aisle parading regiments of stainless steel appliances.
“The meeting’s about my proposal for overseas expansion. We spoke about it the other night.”
She remembered. His eyes had gleamed like blue marbles when he’d explained how he, as CEO, needed to continually strategize to keep De Luca Enterprises on a top rung in the global picture. Sometimes she wondered how he managed to spend any time at home. What would that mean when the baby arrived?
Of course, his office hours really only mattered if she decided to accept his offer of marriage. She still hadn’t made up her mind. Not completely.
“I don’t expect any hassles this afternoon,” he said as they dropped pace to appreciate Santa’s gingerbread house and a line of rapt children waiting for a private audience. “I need a motion passed, then everyone can be on their way.”
“Will Matthew Mohill be there?” The name had stuck. Dante’s friend, the man Armand’s father had entrusted with the balance of interest in the company.
Armand nodded. “Matthew’s a respected member of the board. He knows the company inside out, plus he’s my most loyal supporter. He could vote by proxy, but I wouldn’t think of conducting a meeting like this without him.”
But something in his expression made Tamara wonder if Armand was so sure.
He stopped to jerk his chin at Santa, ho-ho-ing from a giant red chair lined with faux-fur trim. “While we’re here, you want to put in a request to the bearded gent?”
She sighed. “This might sound cheesy, but the only thing I truly want is a healthy baby.”
Her hand still in his, he turned to face her, his eyes brimming with a profound interest she’d come to recognize and secretly long for.
“Then I’ll make a wish,” he said.
She teased, “Have you been a good boy?”
“Painfully good.”
When he looked at her like that, as if she were a spoonful of his favorite dessert, it was hard to think straight let alone carry on a conversation.
She nodded. “All right. But since you’re old enough to sleep without a night-light, you’re eligible for only one wish.”
He tightened his clasp and pressed the back of her hand against his belt. “I wish I didn’t have to be good anymore.”
The delicious glow at her center spread to devour her limbs. Her heartbeat banged at the top of her throat and she could barely push her voice past the swell. “Santa wouldn’t be pleased to hear that.”
“He’s not the one who counts.”
She trembled, certain he would take the next step, thatch his fingers up through the back of her hair and steal the kiss she couldn’t help but ache to give.
“You should be careful,” she murmured. “Santa’s helpers are everywhere.”
He analyzed eve
ry nuance of her face while he slid her hand up the steel struts of his stomach and higher, over the hot groove of his chest. “Here’s something else. I won’t be satisfied with only one wish.”
Muscles gone to jelly, she leaned against the pylon at her back. “And if you had to stop at one?”
“I’d rather be greedy.”
“There’s a saying,” she told him. “Perhaps your eyes are too big.”
He grinned. “Oh, not my eyes.”
Deep inside, raked coals began to smolder. Bing and the shoppers faded into nonexistence as his other arm raised to brace his weight above her head. He tipped so close she could already taste him.
She swallowed involuntarily. “I don’t think we’re talking about Christmas wishes anymore.”
“Me, either. Christmas is a week away.”
He didn’t seem the least concerned they were in a public place—that people were stopping to smile and titter. Tamara knew that in another time with anyone else she would be embarrassed, but with Armand, it was difficult to decipher between what was proper and what was not. She only knew the pleasure of being this near to his strength and his will outweighed by far any guilt.
His raised bicep flexed as his mouth came close to brush her hair. “Do you think we should keep shopping or work up more of a crowd?”
She shivered all the way to her toes. “I think you don’t know how to spell the word good.”
“But you’re wrong. It starts with Y and ends with you.”
He nipped her ear and tiny quills quivered deep inside. If he hadn’t shown some mercy, she might have slid in a puddle to the floor. Instead, looking pleased with her response, he rocked back and turned to start off again.
She had to grin. He wasn’t good, he was exceptional.
Her breathing had returned to normal by the time they stopped before a series of drawn velvet curtains that seemed to be awaiting them. The band of his arm urged her closer and she melded against the masculine pillar of his frame. In her heart of hearts, she didn’t want to fight their attraction, and by now she was afraid he was fully aware of it.
A well-groomed store employee appeared, her pretty face split with a smitten puppy-dog smile. “Mr. De Luca, we have everything ready, just as you requested.”
Tamara sent him an assessing look. “I knew you had something planned.”
His crooked smile burrowed in to warm her all over again. “Just a little surprise.”
Lost for ideas, she hitched a shoulder and let it drop. “What?”
Obviously not engagement rings, and hopefully not more clothes. She already chose from scores of designer labels hanging in her giant walk-in closet, including today’s tangerine-colored summer dress. She felt like a princess in its light-as-gossamer flowing skirt. Then again she’d feel like a princess in a cotton sack with this man as her escort.
Attention fixed on the crimson curtains, Armand eased them both forward. “If nothing suits, just say.”
Tamara’s nerve endings jangled. The little girl inside her was dying to discover what lay beyond, but the cautious woman wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Anxiety won and the words tumbled out. “I don’t like surprises.”
He peered across, his expression intense yet comforting. “You’ll like this one.”
As if by royal command, the curtains magically opened and Tamara’s heart leapt, then thumped like a bongo drum. Too late she clasped a hand over her mouth to catch a small cry of delight.
Behind each curtain was a nursery display, a beautiful baby’s room. The first was in exquisite, highly polished rosewood. The second was a fantasy in lacquered white and fine netting. The third had well-known cartoon characters leaping off the walls, rugs and blankets. The fourth was yesteryear, tranquil mauve satin and cream lace. Fifth in line was brilliantly contemporary, vivid pinks and iridescent blues. Oh, but the sixth…
Her enchanted gaze slid over the broderie anglaise bumper and quilt set, the enormous A-frame dollhouse in one corner and vintage train set chugging away in another. She saw her newborn swaddled in the white cane crib and even heard the lullaby she would sing as she nursed in the rocking chair.
She blinked through her misted vision. “This is…”
“Too much?”
“No. Perfect!”
Fists settling low on his hips, Armand studied the scene and nodded. “I think so, too. Perfect.”
Tugged along by the invisible string that linked her to this final display, Tamara crossed toward the cot, Armand in step at her side. She stroked the beautifully embroidered fabric then bit her lip at a jab of doubt.
But even a ruthless steel magnate wouldn’t manipulate a woman’s emotions to this extent solely to achieve his aim. She stole a glance at his profile—straight nose, invincible jaw, satisfaction radiating from his every pore. No one was that good an actor. Were they?
He’d said more than once he wanted to provide the baby with two parents, a sound family life. Surely any loving mother would want the same. Armand had insinuated he might even be swayed into basing a marriage on more than practicality.
Maybe I just need that special someone to help me believe.
If only she could be sure he was sincere.
His twinkling gaze met hers and Tamara’s pulse rate spiked. At times he could be too forceful, more than a touch arrogant, but right now he seemed too good to be true.
“Are you sure you’re happy with everything.” He tossed another a look around. “Maybe you’d like something extra.”
The young woman shuffled forward, hands clasped before her. “We have gorgeous teddy bears, up to ten feet tall.”
Gaze caressing, Armand shifted around to stand in front of her. “The lady said she has bears.”
Tamara’s eyes closed briefly against the drug of his innate heat and the image of sand running through an hourglass. She had a decision to make. And there was no turning back now.
An hour later, with the soft top down on Armand’s classic E-type Jaguar, they raced along a winding ocean road. Tamara didn’t dare glance at the speedometer, but rather clung to the tan leather armrest, binding in the other hand her streaming hair.
Armand’s eyes were hidden beneath mirror sunglasses. His widow’s peak flashed in and out of view as he changed gears, wind tunneling through his inky hair. Only his set jaw and the hint of a grin bespoke of his unbridled love of speed.
They traveled too fast to allow conversation, not that Tamara minded. She was enjoying herself as she’d never done before. What a new and exhilarating form of release. Pedal to the metal, inhibitions cast to the wind and an attractive, wealthy suitor at her side. The heady thrill was almost enough to make her forget the extraordinary situation that had thrown them together.
The Jag veered off behind a blanket of pine trees and came to standstill at the edge of a precipice. Tamara lost her breath at the spectacular view. The Pacific Ocean seemed endless and, at this distance, somehow motionless yet surging with unleashed energy and life. A crisp briny wind caught her hair, whipping it against her cheeks. The experience of solitude, of strangely owning the world from this unreachable point, was surreal.
Armand pulled the car off the road. He helped her out then retrieved a red-checked blanket from the boot. He stretched it over a concave curve of grass then, one finger curling, beckoned her near. “Sit with me.”
Tellingly warm, she inhaled the pine and sea air then inched forward. “We’re miles from anywhere.” She risked a gibe that wasn’t all tease. “Can I trust you?”
He flipped the glasses back on his head. “You’re worried I’ll throw you over the cliff—” his smile was killer-sexy “—or down on the ground?”
Oxygen evaporated in her lungs as flash fires ignited over her body. Biting her inside cheek, she braced herself against the barrage of giddy sensation. What did he have in store?
Fighting the urge to pat down her burning cheeks, she held the flapping spread of her skirt, kicked off her heels and lowered down onto the blanket. They sat
in a slight hollow, the fresh wind blowing over their heads.
Armand laid full-length, his weight propped upon one elbow. He grasped a seed-blown dandelion from a nearby clutch and twirled it, back and forth, between finger and thumb. That ruby ring glinted in the midday sun as he held the dried flower high. Gusts peeled the fluffy spikes from its stem and spirited them away like tiny angels flying home.
He focused on the blue expanse. “I love the sea. The enormity. The solitude.” He tossed the dandelion stick to the wind. “We should take my boat out soon.”
Smoothing the blanket beside her, she grinned. “Boat or ship?”
“A fifty-foot yacht,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I usually upgrade each year or so. But this one…” He peered off into the waves. “Well, she’s something special. My first craft was a skull. I’d go out with friends and we’d burn our muscles rowing her for hours.”
“Sounds like torture.” She leant back on her hands. “But I guess it’s no different to the endorphin buzz I get swimming laps.”
The same kind of control, yet release. In her early teens she’d visit the local public pool and freestyle ’til her limbs felt ready to fall off, but the logic was simple. The longer she’d spent there chewing up excess energy, the less time she had to sit at home alone.
Tamara tilted her face toward the sun’s warm rays. “You still row with your friends?”
“Not so much now, but we keep in touch. Every few weeks some of us get together.”
She looked at him. “So, you schedule time out from work for play?”
“I learned something growing up in a house with a man who chose to lose himself in paperwork and meetings. Leisure time is important. Important for balance. Important for symmetry. You need to stay focused, but…” He considered it more deeply. “Everyone, even great men, need to let go sometime.”
A slight glitch in his controlled expression spoke to her and she read between the lines. “Your father,” she ventured. “He never got over your mother leaving, did he?”