The Bride’s Proposition

by Day Leclaire

  The tension built, crackling between them with all the fury and energy of a burgeoning electrical storm. All it needed was a single spark to set off the chain reaction. "Oh, we're going to get sidetracked. Count on it."

  "Would it help if I apologize? I really did mistake Marco for you."

  "As I've already explained, that doesn't make me feel better. You won't be able to convince people that we're serious if you continue confusing me with my brother."

  "Do you have any suggestions?"

  "One." He slowly approached, not in the least surprised when she chose to stand her ground. Penelope was not a woman easily intimidated. Not even when confronted with an infuriated husband-to-be. He didn't stop until they stood inches apart. Plucking her glasses from the tip of her nose, he tossed them to the nearby couch. "I suggest you find a way to tell us apart other than name tags."

  Her chin came up in a familiar motion and her eyes turned molten. "Like I said ..." Defiance ripped through her voice-agitating, inciting, arousing. "Do you have any suggestions?"

  "How about this one."

  Wrapping a hand around her nape, Stefano tugged her into his arms. He only gave her enough time to snatch a quick, hungry breath before covering her mouth with his. It was the spark he'd been waiting for.

  And from that single spark came the inevitable explosion.

  CHAPTER SIX

  STEFANO consumed Penelope's mouth, the storm breaking over them, roaring to greedy life. It was a ferocious clashing of the most raw and fundamental of the elements. Hard. Demanding. Primitive. Desperate. He cupped her face, tilting her head back to a more advantageous angle. She groaned softly and he inhaled the needy sound, determined to fulfill each and every desire.

  Their mouths joined and parted. Once. Twice. Then they melded, fusing together with a perfection he'd never known before. Her arms closed around him, circling his waist. The kneading pressure of her fingernails encouraged him to lock her tighter into his embrace. Tripping backward, he thudded against the office door, pulling her with him. He used the solid oak to brace them, to support limbs that had grown weak with want. Then his hands drifted downward, branding her from the soft roundness of her breast to the womanly flare of her hip to the most intimate of spots, a place that trembled beneath his touch.

  It wasn't enough. He thrust a thigh between her legs and filled his hands with her deliciously rounded bottom, lifting her closer still. Her skirt rode upward, baring the tops of her stockings, as well as her garter. She was beautiful in her passion. With her head tipped back and waves of gold-streaked hair cascading over her shoulders, her exposed throat tempted him beyond endurance. He kissed the sweet length from her chin to the vulnerable hollow at the base of her neck. Fumbling with the buttons of her ivory suit jacket, he ripped it off her shoulders and tossed it aside. It fell in a pale crumpled heap near the couch, a white flag of surrender.

  "Show me how you feel, Nellie. Tell me what you're thinking.'

  "I think I was wrong." The words came in soft, urgent gasps.

  "Wrong? Wrong about what?"

  "You are charming. In fact you're downright bewitching."

  He chuckled, his breath a warm balm across her skin.

  "No, cara. You're the one who's bewitching me. You put your spell on me the first time I looked into your eyes."

  Penelope stared in amazement. He found her bewitching? No one had ever described her that way before. In fact, it was probably the very last word they'd use to describe her. Of course, no one had ever kissed her the way Stefano had. It was a kiss that defied logic and reason and even analysis. It made no sense at all, and yet it felt so right.

  "Please, Stefano." Unable to resist, she reached upward. Tangling her fingers in his dark hair, she urged his mouth back down to hers. "One last kiss."

  "You're fooling yourself if you think this will be the last."

  "We'll discuss it. Later."

  "Much later."

  Muttering an Italian endearment, he caught her lower lip between his teeth and tugged. Her control vanished and she surged against him. Their tongues tangled, hot and driven, dueling for supremacy. It was a battle neither of them could win, not when the very word implied a single victor, one overcoming the other. She wouldn't find completion that way. He must have reached the same conclusion, for the tenor of the war they waged changed. The instant the battle turned to a mating dance, Penelope knew she was in trouble. There was only one place this could lead and she wasn't ready for that.

  "Stefano, please," she whispered. "We have to stop."

  He reluctantly lifted his head. "The door's bolted. No one will disturb us."

  "This isn't what we want."

  "Yes, cara. I'm afraid it is."

  "Okay. Then it's not what we should want. Nor is it the point of the exercise."

  "Exercise?" He lifted a questioning eyebrow, regret edging his words. "I gather Penelope has returned."

  "Afraid so."

  He released her, restoring her clothing to a semblance of order with a few deft tugs. It was almost as intimate a touch as his kiss. "Let's hope this little 'exercise' was successful and you'll now be able to tell me apart from my brother."

  Penelope ran her tongue across her swollen lower lip. She could still taste him and an irresistible warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach. This would never do! She couldn't allow him to affect her this way. "It's a start."

  Far more than a start, if she were honest. Surely she wouldn't get them confused again. Because Stefano was right. If she kept mistaking the Salvatore brothers, she'd undermine all the good they were trying to accomplish. Although she hadn't initially seen the benefit in pretending a romance, Stefano had made a valid point. Her uncle would be devastated by her actions if she married and immediately afterward forced a takeover. A love affair, however, allowed him to save face.

  "Is that the only reason you kissed me the way you did?" he demanded. "As an exercise to tell me from my brother? Somehow I don't think so. I think you want more than that. I know I do."

  She shook her head, panic overriding every other emotion. "That's not possible. It's not what we agreed to."

  "What if I've changed my mind?" he pressed. "You've been warned that I'm not a man who honors his word."

  She dismissed the last part of his statement with a wave of her hand. But the first part intrigued her. "Have you changed your mind?"

  He smiled in a way that made her feel as though she were free-falling without a parachute. Unfortunately, no parachute meant an eventual crash to earth. "Be honest, Nellie. Do you think we can live with each other for months on end and not take this a step further?"

  The crash had come far sooner than she'd expected.

  "So we should make love because it's inevitable?"

  "No. We should make love because it's what we both want."

  She forced herself to step well clear of his arms and employ rational thought rather than untidy emotions. "I never said I wanted to make love with you. We kissed. It was ... nice. End of story."

  "Nice?"

  Perhaps she shouldn't have dismissed those moments in his arms with such callous disregard. It seemed to have had the unfortunate result of rousing his anger again. She sighed. Men were such prickly creatures. "All right, fine. It was better than nice. You're quite good at it. But I don't see any point in turning it into a major life event. I'm sure you've kissed plenty of women without feeling the need to take them to bed." She started to adjust her glasses and suddenly realized they weren't there. "Or am I mistaken?"

  "You're not mistaken."

  Before she could guess his intent, he caught her hand and tugged, returning her to his arms. Their bodies collided, reigniting tiny explosions of desire. It had to be a chemical reaction. There couldn't be any other reasonable explanation. Something about Stefano's body chemistry-pheromones or his scent or the natural combustion of skin abrading skin-affected her in ways she couldn't explain. It stirred a longing she'd never experienced before, driving her to respond on
an elemental level. It was primitive and desperate and irrational.

  It was also totally irresistible.

  She attempted to back away, but he followed, every movement one of unspoken seduction and innate grace. She bumped against the arm of the couch and lost her footing. He caught her before she could fall, twisting so that he was the one who landed on the couch cushions with Penelope on top of him.

  "Give yourself to me, Nellie."

  "I can't. We can't."

  His gaze never left hers, his eyes filled with an enticing combination of hunger and patience. "Give yourself to me."

  She silenced him the only way she knew how. She cupped his face, the softness of her palms abraded by the faintest rasping burn from his jaw line. Heaven help her, but he was gorgeous. Tension had drawn the skin taut across his cheekbones and driven brackets alongside his mouth, emphasizing the fullness of his lips. Long, thick lashes framed midnight-black eyes-eyes that had witnessed both intense joy and darkest sorrow and chose to reflect back the joy.

  "What will you do when you have me?" she whispered.

  "Cherish you:'

  A tremor shook her at the undeniable sincerity in his words. She couldn't listen to any more, no matter how much his promise made her soul sing. She found his mouth with unerring accuracy, pleading without words, taking a fleeting rapture, in the momentary joining. She felt his hands at her blouse, felt the buttons give way one by one. She deepened the kiss, shutting out the voice of reason, pushing aside duty and responsibility and all rational thought.

  Instead she allowed herself to simply feel.

  His lips flirted with hers, his tongue wickedly playful.

  She wanted to laugh and cry and moan all at the same time. He bewildered her, delighted her, aroused her. But most of all he stirred those sensations she craved, coaxing them forth from deep within and then bestowing them on her in return. Her blouse fell open and he tugged down the top edge of her bra, releasing her breasts. They filled his hands, the tips burgeoning within his palms. Faint calluses abraded the sensitive nipples and she groaned at the sensation. He lifted her higher and her groan became a gasp as he took a furled tip into his mouth, catching it with his teeth.

  "Stefano!"

  "Yes, cara. Say my name. Inhale me. Taste me. Take me inside of you. I want to imprint myself on you so you'll never confuse me with anyone else."

  The soft curls of her hair spilled across his face and shoulders in an erotic caress. "I couldn't. Not after this."

  "I'm going to make sure of it."

  He reached down and cupped her thighs, parting them.

  She squirmed, cradling the ridge of his desire against the most feminine part of her. His hands swept relentlessly upward, tracing the top edge of her stockings and the flimsy straps that held them in place. And then he explored further still. His fingers found the edge of her panties and slipped beneath to stroke the moist, heated core within. Her breath burst from her lungs in a muted shriek.

  "No more," she cried, her head dropping to his chest. His heart pounded beneath her cheek. "I can't take any more."

  "I know, cara. I feel the same way."

  She closed her eyes tight, fighting for breath. "So I noticed."

  He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Now tell me this is nothing more than nice. Tell me how our marriage will remain a passionless contract. You might hate the idea, but what happens between us is inevitable. It was decided from the moment you walked in this office and propositioned me. Fight it, cara. Fight if it will make you feel better. But the surrender will come. And not all your logic or determination will change that."

  She didn't dare believe him. "You're mistaken. I'm not controlled by my emotions."

  To her frustration, he merely smiled. "Keep telling yourself that, Nellie."

  "I don't need to tell myself anything. It's you who needs to understand."

  If she didn't leave now, she'd give in to those emotions she'd denied so vehemently. She wriggled free of his hold and stood. Gasping at the state of her clothing, she tugged first at her bra, then her skirt and finally reworked the buttons to her blouse. Never before had she come so undone. How had Stefano managed it? Clearly he was as dangerous to her equilibrium as he was to her clothes.

  She glanced over her shoulder, throwing him a look of sheer defiance. "This discussion is at an end, Mr. Salvatore.'

  "Postponed, Ms. Wentworth. Consider it postponed." He shifted, wincing as he did so. "I hate to tell you this, but using my couch might have been a mistake."

  "Aside from the obvious reason, you mean?"

  Amusement lit his gaze. "If the obvious reason is making love to you, then yes. Aside from that."

  "Why? What's wrong?"

  He sat up and felt behind him, plucking free a mangled piece of gold wire and glass. "Damn. I'm sorry, Nellie. I forgot I tossed your glasses onto the couch."

  "Forget it. At least the glass didn't break. And it'll serve as an excellent reminder of what I should be avoiding in the future."

  She took her glasses from him and straightened the rims the best she could before perching them on the tip of her nose. If the swiftly controlled twitch of his lips was anything to go by, they must look utterly ludicrous. But they helped restore her business persona. She welcomed the return of her control with a feeling of relief that bordered on desperation.

  Stefano sat up and thrust a hand through his hair. "I suggest we discuss the present I sent since it upset you sufficiently to bring you charging over here."

  "Good." How could she have forgotten? She paced in front of him, struggling to fan the embers of her annoyance. "Excellent. About your present ..."

  "You didn't like it."

  "It's not that-"

  He rubbed his jaw. "Bad color choice, perhaps?"

  "No, no. I'm quite fond of ivory. It's just-"

  "I selected the wrong size." A frown creased his brow. "Though now that I've had the opportunity to ... er ... fully explore the situation, I'm pretty sure I got the size right"

  "The size is perfect!" she snapped. "And stop looking at me in that tone."

  He grinned. "I'm looking at you in a certain tone?"

  "Yes! You're remembering what we-" Her gaze drifted to the couch and she fought to keep from blushing. "Never mind. Just cut it out."

  "If it's not the size or the color, then what's wrong?"

  "It was what you chose to give me. Courting couples send each other flowers or candy-"

  "Courting couples?" He stood, thrusting his shirttails into his trousers and fastening the buttons from his waist upward. Then he snagged his tie from off the floor and draped it around his collar. "How quaint."

  She blinked in surprise. When had she undone his shirt and removed his tie? Aside from a vague memory of resting her cheek against the hard, bronzed width of his chest, she couldn't recall. But she must have since the evidence stood before her. "You know what I mean! Why did you send me undergarments instead of flowers or candy?"

  "Marco gave Hanna flowers and candy. Oh, and feathers. "

  He succeeded in distracting her with that one. "Feathers?"

  "I didn't quite get the purpose behind them, but every time I've asked they start laughing." He worked his tie, the unexpected intimacy of such a simple act catching her off guard. "And though he achieved excellent-if unanticipated-results with his choices, I decided against following in his footsteps."

  She stared at him in utter bewilderment. "Why?"

  "It was another attempt to differentiate us in your mind:'

  "I think you're sufficiently differentiated," she murmured dryly.

  "To be honest, Nellie, I considered sending you chocolate or a couple dozen roses, but decided it was too trite. Since we were anxious to move our whirlwind wedding along at a rapid pace, I chose silk and lace. That way no one would mistake the nature of our relationship."

  "You're right on that account."

  "So what happened when you opened my present?"

  She folded he
r arms across her chest. It was a telling gesture. "I was so startled by what you'd sent, I dropped the box."

  "Wait a minute." His eyes narrowed. "Didn't you say you had company at the time?"

  "Three presidents from three different firms."

  He grinned. "I'll bet that caused quite a stir."

  "I don't think they could have been more surprised if I'd released a rattlesnake in their midst."

  "What did you do?"

  "I stood there with my mouth opening and closing for a good thirty seconds. Then I snatched everything up off the floor. Or tried to." She planted her hands on her hips. "Have you any idea how slippery silk can be?"