The Bride’s Proposition

by Day Leclaire

  "And if I decided to make demands?"

  To his surprise, she didn't hesitate. "The marriage could be on any terms that work best for you. I have a goal to meet. If that involves some sort of sacrifice on my part, so be it."

  "Very magnanimous."

  The dryness of his tone must have penetrated. She took a deep breath and nodded briskly. Stefano had witnessed enough Salvatore board meetings to determine their negotiations had just ended. He could read the decision in her expression and in the determined carriage of her body. His mouth tugged to one side. In the little time he'd known her he'd discovered that Ms. Penelope Wentworth was nothing if not determined. Apparently, when she wanted something, she went after it with unwavering tenacity. She approached, holding out her hand. He took it in his, sensing the strength beneath the softness.

  "You have twenty-four hours, should you change your mind. I'm hoping to schedule an appointment with Mr. Cornell for noon tomorrow."

  "You're serious about this? You'll marry a man you don't know? Get rid of one of your companies just so you can control your inheritance?"

  "I'm quite serious."

  "And there isn't any way I can convince you to sell Janus Corporation?"

  "Not without marriage." Regret edged her voice. "It isn't within my power, remember? Not while Uncle Loren controls everything."

  She didn't delay. Crossing to the door, she left without a backward glance. The instant she'd gone, Stefano snatched up the phone and punched in a series of numbers. "It's Salvatore. I have a job for you." He frowned at the door. "I want all the information you can dig up on a woman named Penelope Wentworth. And I want it yesterday. "

  He dropped the receiver into the cradle and crossed to the window. If he wasn't mistaken, Crabbe and Associates owned a building directly across from Salvatores. No doubt Penelope had an office somewhere near the top floor. A corner window, like his own, he suspected. He scanned the bland bank of windows with an intent gaze.

  He'd make a point of asking his investigator to find out which one. Because the next time he confronted Ms. Wentworth, he intended to know every detail about her right down to the shade of lipstick coating that all-too kissable mouth. He wasn't sure how he'd do it, but Penelope wasn't going to marry Robert Cornell any more than she was going to ruin Salvatores by handing over Janus Corp to their chief competitor. Stefano intended to see to it.

  Personally.

  The first call came through as Penelope glided down the elevator shaft on her way out of Salvatores. It just happened to coincide with the moment she turned her cellular phone back on. The calls continued in an endless stream as she crossed the street to her own office. If she'd had to use her car, she'd have turned the cell phone off again. Ever since a nasty fender-bender that had necessitated a two-day hospital stay, she'd been careful never to combine the two.

  It didn't take long to reach her office. "Put everything on hold for the next ten minutes," Penelope instructed her personal assistant as she exited the elevator.

  "But, Ms. Wentworth-"

  "Please, Cindy. I need ten minutes of peace and quiet and then I'll deal with whatever latest emergency has cropped up since we last spoke."

  She didn't wait for a response, but entered her office and firmly closed the door. Leaning against the solid wood panel, she focused on business, hoping to clear the images of Stefano from her mind. It didn't work. This was one aspect of her plan she hadn't taken into consideration.

  She'd anticipated a nice, tidy arrangement between the two of them. But her reaction to her intended bridegroom felt anything but tidy. Uncomfortable emotions consumed her from the instant she'd set foot in Stefano's office. And they'd continued long past the moment she'd slid her fingers across his palm and experienced the power and warmth of his handshake. When she'd left his office, she hadn't dared looked back, afraid that she'd lose every ounce of common sense her uncle had instilled over the past sixteen years.

  She closed her eyes in frustration. How had Stefano managed to distract her from business?

  Maybe his appearance was a factor. She hadn't expected him to be quite so good-looking, despite the photograph her investigator provided. Nor had the report prepared her for the sheer force of his personality. Or perhaps it had been a combination of factors. Perhaps Stefano's powerful disposition combined with the intriguing facts she'd read about him were sufficient to explain her response. Put all his various parts on display in the personal setting of his office and those parts formed a devastating whole.

  Damn.

  Penelope straightened away from her door. An irritating hint of disinfectant lingered in the room from the janitorial staff's last visit and she wrinkled her nose. Now why did they clean in here every night? It wasn't as though she got it dirty in the short twenty-four hours since their last scrub-fest. Stefano's office hadn't smelled of chemicals. Thinking about it, she couldn't recall any odors other than the delicious scent of his cologne. Why didn't her office smell that nice? She'd have to speak to Cindy about it.

  The windows drew her and Penelope crossed the room and swept aside the gauzy curtain that blocked her view of the city. Her gaze focused on Salvatores and she analyzed the building, attempting to determine which window belonged to Stefano. As she recalled it occupied a corner location, similar to her own. He'd had a nice office, totally unlike hers.

  A frown lined her brow at the realization. It was totally unlike hers. She glanced over her shoulder, her frown deepening. When had all the warmth and character been leeched from the room? Or had it ever been there to start with? And why didn't she have a wall and table covered in personal photos, like Stefano? Or furniture that offered warm, vibrant colors while looking comfortable enough to sleep on?

  For some reason, she'd always chosen sedate colors and perfunctory furnishings. For some reason? Her mouth tilted in a wry smile as she acknowledged the truth. She'd chosen her decor based on practicality and sound business sense, just as she based all her decisions. In the past, that had always seemed perfectly logical. But now...

  A tentative knock sounded on the door. "Ms. Wentworth?" Cindy hovered at the threshold. "The board's waiting for you."

  Penelope gazed out the window for another short moment. There. That window. Stefano's office had to be the corner window closest to hers. How ironic, she thought with a silent sigh. And such a shame. A strange longing washed over her. She'd have enjoyed being married to him, even if it would have been a business relationship.

  "Ms. Wentworth?"

  "Thank you, Cindy," she murmured absently. "Let me get my notes."

  "I have them here." Relief edged the PA's voice. "I also have your schedule for the day and the most urgent of your e-mail and phone messages with tentative replies. As soon as you've approved them-"

  Penelope paused as she exited her office. "Why don't I ever answer them myself?"

  Cindy stared in bewilderment. "You don't have time, Ms. Wentworth."

  "You're right." Penelope resumed the short walk toward the conference room. "I don't have time." Nor did she have time for mooning over a gorgeous businessman whose words were flavored with a sexy Italian accent and who had the unmitigated gall to call her Nellie. No one had ever called her that. Not ever.

  Nor had anyone said her name with such warmth or such a fluid inflection.

  "You also won't have a chance to return home this evening before the charity benefit, so I've arranged to have your dress and accessories delivered," Cindy chattered on.

  Penelope nodded absentmindedly. Responsibility. Duty. Work ethics. They'd been drummed into her since she'd been a bewildered ten-year-old struggling to come to terms with the death of her parents. "Thank you, Cindy. I appreciate your staying on top of everything."

  The PA smiled brightly. "That's what you pay me for-to take care of all of life's nasty details so you can stay focused on business."

  Penelope centered her gaze on the hallway leading to the boardroom and kept moving forward. So she could stay focused on business. And th
at said it all, didn't it?

  "Hello, Nellie. Small world, isn't it?"

  Penelope swung around to face Stefano and he smiled at having caught her by surprise. He liked nudging her off balance. It broke through her rigid control and helped even the score for his ungoverned reaction to her proposition in his office this morning-to her outrageous proposition. She stared at him from behind her wire rimmed glasses, her eyes wide and glittering and far too attractive for his own peace of mind.

  He'd noticed her eyes when she'd been in his office, but hadn't realized how utterly bewitching they were. Golden-brown, they gleamed as clear and rich as sun-struck honey, the intense color set off by a ring of unrelenting darkness. She shot him a look as direct as it was apprehensive. Interesting. Why the apprehension? He'd make a point of finding out.

  She recovered swiftly. "Mr. Salvatore. This is a surprise."

  "Stefano, remember? Actually the surprise is that we've never met before. I'm acquainted with most of the people in this room. I assume you are, too?"

  "Yes."

  He gestured toward a bubbly blonde on the far side of the room. "Babe Fontaine and her brand-new husband, for instance?"

  Penelope inclined her head. She'd worn her hair down for the charity benefit and the loose curls skimmed her bare shoulders in waves of blond and. brown and every shade in between. It was an interesting color, he decided. As interesting as the rest of her. The light shimmered within the palest streaks, accentuating the threads of gold.

  "I know Reggie quite well," Penelope explained. "I've fronted a few of his business enterprises. I also know Babe's daughter, Sami. She recently married, too."

  "I was out of the country so I couldn't attend the ceremony.'

  "You'd like her husband, Noah. Now that I think about it, you remind me of him."

  That snagged his interest. "Remind you ... how?"

  "You're both tough," she answered instantly. "Hard. Determined. Strong."

  Stefano grinned. "You decided all that after one meeting?"

  "Yes."

  His amusement faded. "Once upon a time people considered me charming. Easygoing. Amusing, even."

  She gazed at him once again. Bewitching. The word echoed through his mind, a warning as much as it was an observation. "I can see you playing that sort of role. But it isn't the true man."

  "And how would you know that?"

  Her mouth compressed and she looked away. "Never mind."

  Time for a little insight of his own. "Woman's instinct?" When she refused to respond, he leaned forward. A subtle drift of perfume stirred in the air currents between them and his reaction to the feminine scent hit with startling intensity. He didn't remember her wearing it during their business meeting. Just as well, considering the effect it was having. "Or isn't the consummate businesswoman allowed to possess instincts? Perhaps it conflicts with your analytical skills and ability to formulate logical deductions."

  He'd guessed right. A hint of chagrin slipped across her expression and her bronze dress rustled in a grumbling whisper. "It's been my experience that facts and figures sway men, not a woman's instincts."

  "Is that what your uncle told you?"

  She shrugged and the light slid across her shoulders, drawing his attention to the taut, creamy skin bared by her halter neckline. "It's a lesson I learned the hard way. Logic always wins the day." She turned to face him. "Why are you here, Mr. Salvatore?"

  She was a lovely woman, her fine-boned appearance deceptive. Just as she'd sensed a hardness in him, he sensed a core of strength that drove her. It would be a mistake to underestimate her ability or determination. "I'm here for the same reason as you."

  To his surprise, alarm flared briefly in her gaze before subsiding. "You mean the charity benefit."

  "What other reason could there be?"

  "None," she lied with blatant disregard

  And that's when he knew. She'd come for another reason. He deliberately switched his attention to the radiant gathering that ebbed and flowed around them, Cornell was here. Somewhere. He'd bet every share of his Salvatore stock. No doubt the delectable Ms. Penelope Wentworth hoped to set up an appointment with him. Fury swept through Stefano, as intense as it was inappropriate. She wasn't betraying him, he fought to remind himself. She wasn't Kate. Penelope had warned him that she'd planned to go to his competitor. Besides, it wasn't as if he wanted to marry her. He simply wanted Janus Corporation.

  "You told me I had twenty-four hours, cara mia."

  "Did you know you speak with an accent whenever you're upset?"

  "I hadn't noticed."

  "Were you born in Italy?" she persisted.

  "No, I was born here. But Italian was our first language. We still speak among ourselves in Italian, fight in Italian, express our emotions in Italian." He lowered his voice to a soft caress. "Make love in Italian."

  "Quite reasonable," she retorted with amazing composure. If it hadn't been for the molten flicker of her eyes he might have thought her unaffected.

  He stepped closer, not bothering to control the accent that betrayed him. "Most competitors use it as a warning. Perhaps you should, too. Once again, Ms. Wentworth, you told me I had twenty-four hours."

  She didn't pretend to misunderstand. "You do."

  "You plan to see him tonight, don't you?"

  "I was hoping to set up an appointment."

  She had every right to make whatever arrangements she chose. He'd turned down her proposal. He had no intention of marrying her. So why the possessive attitude? He couldn't explain it. All he knew was that an irrational annoyance gripped him. It was the thought of Cornell getting his hands on Janus Corporation, Stefano tried to tell himself. But if that were true, why did an image of Penelope in Cornell's arms taunt him? Just the mere thought of Cornell stripping the thin slip of bronze from her body, of laying her tousled curls on his pillow and covering her body with his was enough to ignite the infamous Salvatore temper.

  "You don't know Cornell or you wouldn't go anywhere near the man."

  She shrugged. "I've had him investigated, just as I had you investigated, Stefano." She slanted him a teasing glance. "If you want the truth, you were considered the bigger threat."

  "Then you hired a fool for an investigator. Either that or Cornell got wind of your activities and rearranged the facts to suit his purpose. He's not a man to fool around with."

  "And you are?"

  He wished he could explain, could put all the pieces he'd gathered about Cornell into a whole that would give her a true understanding of the man she planned to proposition. But it would take hours. And it would rely on her trusting his gut instincts, something he suspected she'd be loathe to do. Hell, if she didn't trust her own intuition, why would she trust his?

  "No," Stefano conceded. "I'm not a man to fool around with. But I wouldn't hurt you. I can't say the same about Cornell."

  A hint of amusement drifted into her honey-gold eyes.

  "Perhaps I gave you the wrong impression about this marriage. I wasn't planning on giving myself heart and soul to the man I marry." She regarded him with calm deliberation. "It's temporary. No consummation, no strings or marital obligations, remember?"

  He dropped his hands onto her shoulders. The supple muscles of her arms tensed beneath his palm, her skin as soft and fluid as the finest silk. He urged her closer until she locked against him in a perfect fit. Then he lowered his head, his mouth a scant inch away from her ear.

  "Listen to me, Nellie, and listen well. With Cornell, you won't have any choice. He takes what he wants and discards it when he grows bored. He'll make you a part of the agreement no matter what he promises."

  Her breath stirred the air between them. "Me? What do you mean?"

  "Use your imagination."

  Apparently she possessed an active one, despite a logical turn of mind. Distaste followed on the heels of comprehension. "You don't know that for certain," she protested.

  "Yes, I do. If you tell him you don't want to consummate the
marriage, you'll rouse his hunter's instinct. He'll take you down because it's a challenge he won't be able to resist. And if you say nothing, he'll make you his if only to put his stamp on you. And when he's satisfied that there's nothing more he considers novel or interesting, he'll get rid of you on his terms and in as public and humiliating a way as possible."

  She jerked free of his hold and he didn't attempt to restrain her further. "You're lying. You're saying that so I won't approach him."

  "You're right. I am telling you this so you won't approach him. But it's not a lie."

  "How do you know?"

  "That's not open for discussion. You can trust me or not. Your choice. But I'm warning you. Go to Cornell and you'll regret it."