The C.E.O.'s Unplanned Proposal

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  But the firm, compelling pressure of his lips on hers, the steady grip of his hands on her shoulders, told her that the night ahead was planned out, already framed in soft, warm touches and a deliberately gradual escalation of ardor. He was in charge of himself, his emotions and her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t healthy. And she was suddenly positive she had to do something about it. Adam needed to lose control. He needed someone to show him how.

  No reason it shouldn’t be her.

  ADAM THOUGHT IT OUT as he and Katie ate their picnic, weighing the pros and cons of taking this relationship into intimate territory. He kept the conversation moving, tried to get her to talk, but didn’t press her. She picked at what food she took—he doubted she even knew what she was eating—and stuffed a considerable amount of it back in the basket when she thought he wasn’t looking. Katie was nervous. A result, he was sure, of the sexual tension humming around them like an orchestra tuning up for the big night. He was a little nervous himself. Though it was more anticipation than anything else. But the lovemaking to come was a settled thing in his mind. Had been since the moment she’d kissed him. It was just a matter of waiting for the right time to suggest they return to the Hall and adjourn to his bedroom. Her attack of nerves was endearing somehow, and made him feel tender and protective and yes, loving toward her.

  But he didn’t want to rush. Katie was special, different from other women, a little on the shy side, a lot unsophisticated, and he wanted to take extra time to romance her, to put her at ease with him. Still, he was surprised by her candid question, the invitation she issued with such cool, and yet nervous, daring. He liked her directness, appreciated the lack of social game-playing. That was not often, if ever, a part of his experience…whether he ended up inviting a woman into his bed or not.

  When he kissed her, he meant for it to be a validation, the seal of approval on and a gentle precursor for the lovemaking to come. But he was totally unprepared for the rush of passion that flooded through him like a high tide at the first touch of her lips, and he had to fight down the sensation of drowning in the sweet, heady taste of her. He felt a little dizzy, in fact, and when she nudged him—pushed him, really—he allowed her to coerce him onto his back on the quilt, wondering what she had in mind. The floor was marbled stone and hard beneath him, despite the slight cushioning of the padded quilt, but he hardly noticed as she followed him down, her lips trailing sensual kisses along his jaw, her hands whispering across his chest.

  He thought perhaps he’d suggest the bedroom sooner than anticipated and he smiled a bit at the idea that he’d worried about rushing her. Then she nipped his ear…and lathed it with her tongue. Something happened to his lungs and his pulse jumped to attention…as did other parts of his body. But before he could rouse enough energy to ask her what, exactly, she thought she was doing, her lips returned to his, smothering him in a kiss that was hard and hot, deep and demanding. Adam didn’t think he’d ever been kissed with such explicit abandon and he knew for certain he’d never been so close to making love to a woman at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

  He moved his arms to halt her impetuous rush into passion and, to his own amazement, found himself folding her into a crushing embrace, drawing her body quickly, insistently down to his. She stopped then, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes, smiling—smiling!—a sweet, satisfied little smile. “Don’t get overanxious, Adam,” she said in a throaty, sexier-than-hell whisper. “This is only the beginning of what I promise you will always remember as a spectacularly exciting night.”

  He blinked and in that split second of confusion, lost control. Of her, of himself, of the situation. Her hands were at the placket of his shirt, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric, lifting, and then he felt the jerk as she tried to rip off the buttons. They held fast and he couldn’t help but be amused by her sigh of frustration. “Honestly, Adam,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “aren’t you uncomfortable wearing all this starch?”

  “It’s not starch,” he said, reaching up to undo the buttons himself. “Just a very good fabric.”

  “I knew there was a reason I prefer cheap cotton.” She tugged the shirttails free of his waistband with a flattering urgency. He let her wrestle the shirt open, and watched her frown when she saw his undershirt. “I’m thinking a lesser woman would admit defeat at this point,” she said.

  “But you’re not a lesser woman.” It was as much hope as statement of fact.

  “No, I’m not.” She pulled at the undershirt, sending a spinning thrill cavorting across his skin. “Which is exceedingly lucky for you.”

  This he realized, was fun. Unfortunately, not the best place to get naked. “We can go back to the house,” he suggested, not particularly crazy about the idea, but knowing it would be better now than a few minutes from now. “My bedroom will be a little more conducive to comfort.”

  Her concentration switched from his undershirt to his face. “This isn’t about comfort, Adam. Haven’t you ever been seduced before?”

  Five minutes ago, he would have said an uncompromising yes, but now…well, now he wasn’t so sure. “I think I’m about to find out I haven’t,” he said, his voice sounding rough and unsteady even in his own ears.

  “When you’re certain of it, let me know.” She bent her head to his chest and pushing his undershirt out of her way, she blazed a trail of fire across his stomach with her lips and tongue…and moved lower, her hand slipping inside the waistband of his trousers. Adam had been with aggressive women before, but had always been aware throughout that his wealth and position was as much the object of their desire as his pleasure. Something was always expected from him in return. But Katie seemed to want nothing except for him to lie back and let her share the responsibility for making their pleasure a mutual decision. He thought she honestly would have preferred it if he’d been wearing cheap cotton and she could have ripped it to shreds in the heat of her wildcat passion.

  When his cell phone interrupted with an unnerving trill, he was annoyed but reached for it automatically. Katie got to it first, cut the power off in midring and tossed the phone behind her into a monstrosity of a fern. “Don’t panic,” she said. “I’m sure whoever it was will call again later.”

  “Whoever it was could come looking for us,” he said, not caring at the moment if he ever received another phone call or even if the Mormon Tabernacle Choir showed up in the solarium.

  Katie teased him with a long, slow slide of her fingertips across his chest. “Then they’ll get an eyeful, won’t they?” And she bent again to let her lips trail after her descending fingers.

  He knew he should insist they go to his bedroom before this got any more serious. He was aware that anyone, at any time, could walk in on them here. Not likely, perhaps, but definitely possible. And he was surprised to realize the possibility lent a forbidden and frenzied sweetness to their kisses, a heightened excitement to every touch. Her every movement was intoxicating, and his passion was on the rise, sweeping him along with her on a strangely erotic and uncharted journey. When she pushed up onto her knees, caught the hem of the red dress, and shimmied it up and over her head, he knew it was too late to worry about whether they should or shouldn’t be naked together in the solarium, whether or not they might get caught. She had really lovely breasts. He cupped them full and heavy in his hands and then leaned up to take one rosy, willing tip into his mouth. He realized she had stolen his illusion of control, wiped it out with her uninhibited desire, was seducing him with his own passion, and seemed to be having a wonderful time of it, too.

  But he didn’t want her to remember him as a lover who simply waited for her to give him pleasure, so he borrowed some of her tactics and rolled her over onto her back, providing himself with yet another delightful view and the opportunity to explore her body as she had just been exploring his. His mouth found the smooth hollows of her waist and from there, he lost track of time and space, of her machinations to get him out of the rest of his clothes, and of his collusi
on, in turn, to relieve her of the scrappy bit of silk that was the only thing, other than the dress, she’d been wearing. On some level, he noticed the delightful symmetry as their bodies blended into one and he noted by touch, and with a quickly distracted curiosity, the scarring on her lower back that gave her skin a dappled, silky texture beneath his hands.

  But talking by that point was out of the question. Nothing made sense to him, except that she somehow reached past years of self-control and inner isolation to free emotions he hadn’t known he possessed. She was wildly tender—very demanding—and he reciprocated in kind, touch for touch, kiss for kiss, pleasure for pleasure. She wanted his response, his attention, his total concentration and she would not settle for less. Luckily, neither would he. She had bewitched him until he couldn’t even think about anything except her. As the night stretched into long conversations and endless possibilities, including, but not limited to, a canvas hammock, a chaise in a secluded corner of the garden, and not one, not two, but three different campsites in the north ell of the house, he forgot completely his original plan to end the evening in his own bed.

  ADAM CAUGHT a yawn at breakfast and stifled it by lifting his coffee cup to his lips, but not, unfortunately, quickly enough to escape notice.

  Bryce narrowed his gaze over a piece of whole wheat toast. “Did you stay up too late last night, big brother?”

  “Yes,” Adam answered, his expression carefully noncommittal, his tone warily neutral while under the table, Katie’s bare foot slipped inside his pants leg and playfully massaged his calf.

  “You look rough,” Bryce continued cheerfully. “What were you doing all night? Watching the Tokyo markets instead of getting your quota of beauty rest?” He put the toast to his mouth, then lowered it without taking a bite as his curious gaze swung to Katie, seated next to Adam at the long cherry wood table. “Now, Katie, on the other hand, must have gotten a good night’s sleep because she looks as perky as the Energizer Bunny this morning. But a whole lot cuter.”

  She smiled her thanks for the compliment and nibbled at a spiral slice of orange. “I had a very good night,” she said. “Spectacular dreams.”

  “Adam must have brought you home early then.” Bryce smiled from one to the other over his toast. “Because I don’t see any Japanese yen marks inked across your forehead.”

  “That’s because he wrote them on my stomach,” she said with a smile.

  Adam choked on his coffee and her toes nipped his ankle.

  Bryce stopped eating, a considering smile easing into his expression. “Don’t tell me my brother has some imagination after all. You’ll spoil my image of him.”

  “In that case, you definitely shouldn’t look at his stomach.” Katie’s smile gave away the whole show and Adam, not knowing where to look, burned his tongue with a hasty gulp of coffee.

  Bryce laughed, apparently more delighted by this information than jealous of it. “The things a guy will do to get back his tie. I’d intended to keep it because it goes so well with my yellow shirt, but…a deal’s a deal.”

  Katie’s toes stopped their clandestine nip and massage. “You made a bet with him?” she asked Adam, point-blank. “About last night?”

  “He didn’t mention that?” Bryce made a clucking noise with his tongue. “Now that’s the big brother I know and love.”

  “There was no bet,” Adam said quietly, but forcefully, gripping his fork too tightly. “And we’ll talk about this later.”

  Katie frowned, while Bryce looked from one to the other, then happily attacked his eggs, glad to have stirred up some trouble, which most likely had been his only aim all along.

  “I’ve invited a guest to join us for a few days before the party,” Archer announced abruptly, either oblivious to or deciding it would be politic to interrupt the conversation at the other end of the table. “She’ll arrive Sunday and stay through the week.”

  “She?” James entered the room in time to hear Archer’s statement. Monica never appeared until sometime after eleven, as she was more night owl than morning glory, a fact which conspired to make breakfast a happier occasion for everyone. James seemed especially cheerful this morning and smiled pleasantly around the table as he pulled out a chair and joined the breakfast already in progress. “So Dad, are you telling us you’re bringing a lady friend out for the party?”

  Archer glanced up, his gaze narrowing at the insinuation. “I wouldn’t think you’d object, James, as you are constantly bringing your lady friends home with you.”

  James’s cheerful mood faded. “Of course, I have no objection, Dad. This is your house and it is your birthday party. I was merely wondering if this is someone special…someone, perhaps, we should all get to know.”

  Adam reached for his coffee cup again, aware of the tension bristling between his father and grandfather, between himself and Bryce, even wafting his way from Katie, who’d become suddenly and uncharacteristically engrossed in the food she was not eating.

  “Yes, James,” Archer said. “She is a special friend. A very special friend. Someone you certainly should make the effort to know. Perhaps you remember her…Ilsa Fairchild?”

  James looked as if someone had just kicked him in the shin. “Ilsa?” he repeated, his voice stumbling over the dual syllables.

  “You may recall her husband, Ian, too,” Archer continued. “I believe you and he were at Harvard about the same time.”

  “Ilsa?” James repeated the name again as if he couldn’t believe he’d gotten it correctly the first time.

  Smiling now, Archer cut into his poached egg. “She never remarried, you know, after Ian died.”

  “I didn’t know.” James picked up his coffee cup, set it down without taking a drink. “She’s…coming here, to Braddock Hall?”

  “That’s right. I invited her…as my special guest.” Archer nodded in a way that defied anyone to challenge him. “As you said, it is my birthday party.”

  “But, Dad…she’s my age.”

  Archer paused, a chunk of egg white poised on the end of his fork. “And your fiancée is no older than Bryce. I fail to see how age is relevant to this conversation.”

  The remainder of Adam’s appetite slunk away. So much for a hearty breakfast, he thought. Beside him, he felt Katie’s tension, and across the table, he could see his brother’s apprehension etched into his carefully careless expression. Now, however, the focus had shifted to the other end of the table and the incredible possibility that Archer was romantically involved with Ilsa Fairchild.

  James twisted his cup in its saucer. “How…how did you become acquainted with…with Ilsa?”

  “She and your mother worked together on the library board. I’ve run into her a few times since. She’s a lovely woman.”

  “Y-yes, she was always very…attractive.” James shook his head, as if he were trying to clear it of misconceptions. “The last I heard she was starting a business. Something unusual, like making match—”

  “Connections,” Archer supplied without missing a beat. “She has a small public relations firm. IF Enterprises.”

  “I’ve had lunch with her,” Adam said, in an attempt to signal James that this was…must be, in fact…a serious attachment.

  “So have I.” Bryce exchanged a meaningful look with Adam and for a moment, they shared the bonding of apprehension. It wasn’t that they didn’t want Archer to be happy, of course, but the idea of any woman coming into the position their Grandmother Jane had occupied so completely was startling at best.

  “Yes,” Archer agreed cheerily. “And I arranged for Peter to meet her, too.”

  James, looking uncomfortable with this information, glanced at the uniformed maid, who immediately filled his glass with fresh-squeezed juice. “Ilsa Fairchild,” he said almost to himself, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

  “She used to come into The Torrid Tomato every week for lunch,” Katie said, her tone trying to bridge the gap between awkwardness and a less intense topic of conversation. “
I call her Mrs. If.”

  An icy chill tumbled down Adam’s spine to collide with the unsettling prospect of a new family crisis. His gaze narrowed on Katie’s smiling face, the frame of dark curls around her face, her blue, blue eyes and suddenly he remembered where he’d seen her before.

  The Torrid Tomato. His lunch with Ilsa. The laughing ballerina of a waitress. “That was you,” he said, stunned at the discovery, his voice accusing, thick with displeasure. “The waitress.”

  Katie’s smile vanished and the icy chill that had begun in him crystallized in her eyes.

  “Mr. Adam?” Abbott appeared beside Adam’s chair, drawing his attention momentarily away. “Frederick, one of the gardeners, brought this to the house just now. He found it in the solarium, in a potted plant there, and thought you had mislaid it.” The butler placed Adam’s cell phone next to his plate and backed away from the table.

  “Thank you, Abbott.” Adam picked up the small phone and, noted with disgust, that his hand was shaking. Trying to gain control of a sudden, heart-deep feeling of betrayal, he used the corner of his napkin to wipe off a speck of dirt and then dropped the phone into his pocket. “Thank Frederick, too, please.”

  “Yes, Mr. Adam.”

  “You left your phone in the solarium?” Bryce’s eyebrows were up, his gaze shifting from Adam to Katie and back again, sensing disaster, perhaps, but unsure of its source. “In a potted plant?”

  “It appears so.” There was no graceful way out of this, Adam realized as he tried to think of a reasonable explanation for Katie’s deception. But the only alibi which occurred to him was that she was an opportunist and he had fallen, quite willingly, into her trap…just as his father did on a regular basis with each successive wife. Just as now, possibly, his grandfather was doing with the Fairchild woman.