The Bride’s Proposition

by Day Leclaire

  He rapped a finger against her notebook. "Number one on your list. You want to change directions. Why?" he demanded. "Is it because you lost control last night and allowed your emotions to get the better of you? Is that why you want to change things?"

  His darling wife blinked back at him with impressive innocence, her eyes vaguely unfocused. "Excuse me? I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Muttering an Italian imprecation, he plucked her glasses from the top of her head and propped them on the tip of her nose. "Can you hear me now?"

  Her chin jutted out at a defiant angle. "I could hear you before."

  "Funny. I thought your loss of sight had also affected your hearing." He eyed her keenly. "Don't you think it's about time you tell me why you're so obsessed with separating emotions from your business dealings?"

  "It's sensible," she answered promptly.

  He shot her a warning look. "I'm not an idiot. I can tell there's a reason for all this sensible behavior. Come, cara. Confess. What deep, dark secret are you keeping from me?"

  He wasn't surprised when she glanced away. Stubborn to the end.

  "It's a reasonable decision based on-"

  "Enough!"

  She escaped the bed, scattering her notebook and pen as she fled. Halfway across the room, she swung around to confront him, her nightgown belling around the slender thighs he'd taken such pleasure kissing the night before. "You want to know? Fine. I'll tell you. I no longer allow my emotions to influence my decisions because I made that mistake years ago."

  "And paid for it?"

  She shook her head, the tousled waves of her hair tumbling to her shoulders in enticing disarray. "Oh, no. I wasn't the one stuck paying."

  The strap of her nightgown drifted down her arm again, revealing the upper curve of one lush breast. Between the tormented expression on her face, her rumpled golden hair and short, not-so innocent white nightie, she looked like a fallen angel facing execution. He fought off the temptation to sweep her into his arms and return her to their bed. Later, he promised himself. First they'd finish their discussion. This moment was long overdue and he refused to do anything to jeopardize its occurrence.

  "I'm forced to disagree, love," he deliberately provoked. "I suspect you paid dearly for whatever happened."

  She exploded, just as he'd hoped. For such an unemotional woman, she certainly had a surfeit of emotions, an irony that seemed to have escaped her notice. If it weren't so serious, it would be amusing. "I wasn't the one who paid the price," she announced, wrapping her arms around her waist. "The employees of Janus Corp took care of that for me. They were the ones who paid dearly."

  "How?"

  Her mouth quivered, despite her attempts to suppress the telltale tremor, "You should have seen me at twenty-one, Stefano. I was quite the corporate woman, despite my age. Ambitious. Hard-nosed. Disgustingly sure of myself and my abilities. After all, I'd been living and breathing the heady corporate air since age ten. I was certain I knew it all."

  "You probably knew a good deal more than most people your age," he soothed.

  "But not enough!" She paced the floor. "I was arrogant. I demanded control of my own company so I could prove my brilliance to the world at large. I talked Loren into giving me Janus to run as I saw fit. He didn't want to do it. We had the most horrendous battles."

  "I gather you won in the end?"

  "Oh, he gave me control, all right. But I'm not sure you could call it winning."

  "Something went wrong."

  "Something went very wrong." Her hands closed into fists. "Janus was a small import/export firm, nowhere near as big as Salvatores or Cornell's firm. But it had potential. A month after I waltzed through the front doors I discovered that someone was using Janus as their private black market outlet. Pirated copies of major motion picture releases were being funneled out of the country through Janus. So were computer software programs. And chips and video games. It was an impressive list."

  Stefano stared, stunned. "What the hell did you do?"

  "I-" She hesitated. "First, tell me what you would have done."

  He answered promptly. "I'd have found who was responsible and turned him over to the authorities, along with whatever proof I'd obtained."

  "An excellent solution. But not the one I chose." She stalked to the windows and swept aside the drapes. Brilliant sunshine poured over her, bleaching the color from her face and throwing her profile into stark relief. "I was furious. Someone had used my company-used me-for illegal profit. The minute I found out about it, I fired them."

  "The guilty parties?"

  "Not even close. I fired all the top echelon people. Every last one of them." Her laugh was painful to hear. "I denounced them publicly, said they were responsible, regardless of the actual culprit because they were the ones in charge and therefore the fault was theirs."

  Stefano threw back the covers and joined her at the window, wrapping his arms around her. "Did you ever find the person behind it all?"

  "It was-" Her voice broke and she bowed her head. "It was a shipping clerk. Oh, Stefano. A lowly shipping clerk. And I'd destroyed the reputation of all those key personnel because I'd made an impulsive decision. I'd reacted in the heat of anger, instead of assessing the situation calmly and rationally. If I'd waited ..." She stumbled to a halt.

  "What did Loren do?"

  "Nothing," she whispered. "I begged him to fix things, but he wouldn't. He said I'd wanted the responsibility and now I'd have to learn how to handle the consequences that came with it."

  Stefano massaged the taut muscles knotting her shoulders. "I know you, Nellie. You would have done everything in your power to correct the situation."

  "I made a public apology and helped most of my former employees find new positions. But it wasn't enough. It will never make up for what I'd done to them."

  "Cara-"

  She turned in his arms. "Now do you understand why I sympathize with what you're going through? Why I'm so certain you're innocent? Right from the start I looked at your situation logically. I researched. I made a thorough analysis. I didn't leap to conclusions. I didn't base my decision on emotion or instinct. And I never will."

  "You have got to be kidding. Every last decision you've made has been based on emotion and instinct. At least the ones in regard to me."

  She stared at him with a bewilderment that tore at his heart. "Don't be ridiculous. I've been totally logical about the Bennett situation."

  "No, you haven't," he argued. "You've dismissed all the facts against me without any proof to the contrary."

  "You're wrong! How can you say that?"

  "I can say it because it's true." He fought for patience. "You've stood up for me from the start without a shred of evidence supporting my innocence. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate your faith-"

  "You're welcome!"

  "There's no need for sarcasm, love. The only reason I'm bothering to bring this up is that damned list of yours." He inclined his head toward the notebook she'd dumped on the floor. "You intend to change the conditions of our marriage and I'm not about to let that happen."

  "I'm not trying to change them, just return to our original agreement. Last night-"

  "Last night scared the hell out of you." She wouldn't like this next part, but it had to be said. "That's why you want to change things. Because you're terrified."

  She shoved against his chest, struggling to free herself from his hold. "Have you lost your mind? That's not it at all."

  "Yes, it is." He tightened his grasp, refusing to release her. "You lost control last night. And this morning, after having entirely too much time to reflect, you've suddenly discovered that your emotions are engaged and you're panicking. You didn't expect to feel anything for me, and that's why you're so afraid. You're afraid because it's too late. No matter what you say or how hard you fight, there is an emotional connection between us. The choices and decisions you've made in our relationship haven't been the least logical. And now you're doing everythin
g in your power to hide from the truth. To deny what is."

  "No!"

  "Dammit, Nellie. You didn't just marry me to save your business." How could she ignore the truth, especially after what they'd shared? "If that's all you wanted, you could have chosen some safe, easily manipulated Joe off the streets. But you didn't. You chose me, even though you knew we'd never be able to maintain an emotional distance."

  "We can." She glared at him. "At least, I can."

  "Be honest, Nellie. You've sensed the connection between us from the start. Hell, we both go up in flames every time we touch. You're trembling even now. And with each day that passes, with each kiss and caress we exchange, with each new occasion we make love, we tighten the bonds between us. The emotional bonds."

  She fought the suggestion for all she was worth. "It's lust. A ... a physical release. Chemistry."

  "It's love."

  He'd said the forbidden and she wriggled free of his grasp in a flat-out panic. "No! No, don't use that word."

  "Why?" He captured her again, thrusting his hands into her hair and tipping her head back until their gazes clashed. "Because you're afraid of it? Because the parents you loved died, taking that love with them? Because the uncle you adored, though kind and hardworking, didn't understand what it was to love a child? Because you were taught, in the most ruthless way possible, that strong emotions will destroy you?"

  "Stop it!" She covered her ears. "I can't think straight."

  He pried her hands free. "What about the gifts you gave me? They were gifts from the heart, Nellie. Gifts that delivered little pieces of yourself into my keeping. They're treasures that I'll protect and hold safe for the rest of my life."

  She was crying, great heaving sobs. "I can't love you. If I do--"

  "What? What terrible thing will happen, cara?"

  "I'll make a mistake!" Her expression pleaded with him, begged for his understanding. "I'll make another horrific mistake. Like I did with Janus."

  "Or maybe you'll just make decisions with your heart instead of your head. Not with anger. Not with rational deductive analysis. But with love and compassion and the sort of generosity that's such a natural part of your personality."

  She hit him with her only weapon-words. "You're wrong. You're romanticizing our relationship. I slept with you, Stefano. But it wasn't out of love. It was lust, pure and simple."

  "There's nothing pure or simple about lust," he informed her gently. "Don't throw away something that's so vital to us both."

  She drew away, freezing him with an icy, golden stare. "I don't love you, Stefano. I'm sorry if you read something more into our relationship than there was."

  He simply smiled. "I didn't, Nellie." He headed for the bathroom, pausing at the door to glance back at her. "Fair warning, cara. When you taint something beautiful, you'll find it takes more than tarnish remover to repair the damage. Don't tarnish what's between us. You may never get it to shine again."

  ****

  An hour later, Penelope entered the empty elevator at Salvatores and punched the button that would take her to Stefano's office. All she could think about was getting to her husband as quickly as possible. She fought a rush of tears, brushing her fingertips impatiently across the tips of her lashes. Tears were so irrational. She hated when she gave in to them. They served no purpose whatsoever, other than as a pure feminine release. Far better to deal with the situation, than to succumb to an emotional outburst.

  The instant the doors parted, she hastened from the car. A knot of Salvatores stood at the far end of the hall and she wondered if they'd already heard what had happened. She could only hope that they hadn't and she could get to Stefano before the news broke. She raced down the corridor, brushing by what seemed an endless number of brothers-in-law. Ignoring their questions, she finally spotted Stefano. Thrusting Marco from her path, she threw herself into her husband's arms and promptly gave into a pure feminine release to end all pure feminine releases.

  She burst into noisy tears.

  "What's happening?" she heard Pietro ask.

  "Stefano made Penelope cry."

  "What the hell did you do to her?" Luc demanded.

  "Maybe she didn't want Stefano at all. Maybe she meant to cry on Marco's shoulder."

  Marco merely grinned. "I do believe our dear sister-in-law has finally learned to tell which of us is her husband."

  Stefano wrapped his wife in a protective embrace. "Cretinos! Can't you see something has happened? Give her some space." He tipped her face up to his. "What's wrong, Nellie? Why are you crying?"

  "Oh, Stefano. The most awful thing has happened. The news just broke." She drew a shuddering breath. "You're being tarnished again."

  "Calm down, sweetheart. Try to be logical, for once."

  "How many times do I have to explain?" Anger swept away her tears. "I'm always logical."

  "Of course," he soothed. "Now tell me how I'm being tarnished."

  She fought for composure with only limited success. "The reporter said you'd given them the information."

  "What information?"

  "About Loren. Someone leaked the facts about his medical condition. And everyone is saying it's you,"

  Stefano looked at his brothers. "Pietro, check it out Discover what's going on. Luc, I could use your help on this. See if you can find who really broke the story."

  "I think we can guess."

  "I don't want guesswork. I want proof."

  "That might not be possible."

  "Make it possible!"

  With that, Stefano gathered Penelope close and strode down the hall toward his office. Once inside, he settled her onto the couch. Crossing to the small wet bar, he poured a brandy. "Come, cara. Drink this and tell me what you know." '

  Penelope took the snifter and managed a small sip. "A reporter for Financial News called to confirm facts he had regarding Loren's health."

  "I assume you denied it."

  "Yes, of course. But he didn't believe me. He said he was following up on confidential information he'd received from my husband." She fought for control, her fury at the unconscionable slur threatening to cause another feminine release. "He claimed you'd been indiscreet during a recent phone conversation."

  "I haven't spoken to a reporter in over a year."

  She waved that aside, the brandy swirling in her glass. "I know it wasn't you. I'm sure it must have been Cornell. Though how he got hold of Loren's medical records I can't begin to guess."

  "Can't you?" Stefano poured himself a whiskey and turned to face her. "I hate to say this, but your uncle's condition has deteriorated noticeably these past few months. You said so yourself. A good investigator could have uncovered the information for Cornell." He took a long swallow of his drink. "No doubt this is the wedding present he promised."

  She started. "Of course. He promised to deliver it as soon as we tied the knot."

  "Hang in there, sweetheart," Stefano reassured.

  "We'll figure a way out of this mess."

  "I waited too long before marrying, didn't I?" She leaned her head back against the couch cushions and closed her eyes. "The value of Crabbe is plummeting as we speak and it's all my fault. I've done what damage control I could, but it won't be enough."

  "This isn't your fault," Stefano announced grimly. "It's mine. I shouldn't have challenged Cornell."

  That caught her by surprise. She took another sip of brandy and regarded her husband over the rim of the glass. How chivalrous of him to take responsibility. And how typical. "It isn't your fault. You haven't done anything wrong. And one of these days-no matter what it takes-I'm going to prove it."

  "That's my sweet, logical, unemotional wife." He joined her on the couch, pulling her into his arms. "Don't worry, cara. You have all the Salvatores behind you. And you'll find we're a determined bunch."

  She relaxed against his shoulder. "There's one bright spot."

  "What is it?"

  "My lawyer received an offer to purchase Crabbe late yesterday. Even
after they heard today's news, they didn't back out."

  "A lowball offer?" he asked neutrally. "How'd you know?"

  "Lucky guess:'

  "If I can get some concessions for the staff, I might accept it."

  "Who made the offer?"

  Her brow wrinkled in concentration. "A firm called Obit. Ever heard of them?"

  "Doesn't ring any bells."

  "The amount they've proposed would be ridiculous under normal circumstances, but combined with what I received from you for Janus, it should be enough to take care of Loren."