Her head snapped up, and he watched those beautiful auburn waves shine in the light. She really was beautiful. Not classically, perhaps, but to him, she was beyond compare.
And he knew as surely as he knew his name that she hated him with a red-hot passion. One he hoped might have developed into something else by now, but sadly, it hadn't, which was partly his own fault, he acknowledged. He'd been too busy trying to save her father's company from the morass it had been in when he was brought on board to put much, if any, time into courting her properly.
And now, it was down to the wire and he was finding his hand pressed, which was not the way he'd wanted to approach her when he was finally able to do so without a thousand other things pulling him away from her.
But he was feeling pressed enough to make that outrageous suggestion that she was sure to turn down, but he felt he had to make it.
"Do you love your father?" he asked suddenly, and he could feel her hand start beneath his where he continued to keep possession of it.
She tugged against the restriction, and, inclining his head just a bit, he lifted his hand from hers. She reclaimed it immediately, looking it over as if she thought he had compromised it somehow – just as he'd expect her to do.
"That's a stupid question. Of course I do."
"But not enough to make a bit of a personal sacrifice for him, in order to make his last months – however many there are – happier? Despite, I might add, the sacrifices he has made for you?"
Stevie stiffened, understandably. He was pressing all the right buttons, and she was just as surprised at his words as she was ashamed. "What, exactly, did you have in mind?"
He gave her a look she didn't like at all. "You already know."
Stevie pursed her lips. "You want me to go live with you all of a sudden? What good will that do for Daddy?"
He gave her a startled look. "Your father would love for us to get together. It would be the culmination of his dream. He's giving me the business, as you know."
"I do." It was no skin off her nose at all. She bore him no resentment about it whatsoever. In fact, she was glad that the business that bore her family name was going to continue, because she most certainly couldn't have run it herself.
"And, if you and I married... It seemed as if the last of the sentence was dragged out of him, "It wouldn't have to be forever. We could," he paused slightly. "Divorce after…after…"
"Married!" she snorted. "Not fucking likely."
Trent fiddled with his remaining utensils in an uncharacteristically nervous manner. "You're willing to dismiss his potential happiness that easily, then. I must admit I'm quite surprised, but then, the decision is, of course, ultimately yours."
"Damned straight it is. This isn't the Middle fucking Ages where he can sell me or give me away to you in exchange for the business or any other such nonsense."
"I won't tell you again to watch your language, Stevie."
She glared at him, and he just gave her that Zen-like expression right back.
"I want to make it clear to you that your father knows absolutely nothing about what I'm apparently botching up badly here." His eyes darted away from hers for a second, then back again, "He knows nothing about my proposal to you. If he did, he'd probably be as horrified about it as you obviously are. But your father has been wonderful to me, and I would like – I would love – to give him something meaningful in return for everything he's done for me. He loves you."
Stevie couldn't help giving a soft snort at that.
Trent persisted, understanding the underlying hurt feelings that caused her to doubt that statement. "He does. I know you don't choose to believe it, but he does, and he loves me, too. He understands and is even grateful that you recognized at an early age the business wasn't going to be your path. I was lucky enough that it was mine and that he saw whatever it was he saw in me, enough to take me on even before I'd gotten my undergraduate degree."
Trent paused to clear his throat and take another swig of his drink.
When Stevie's eyes flitted to his, she would have sworn she saw the added sheen of tears and she could not have been any more shocked. That slight brightness was more emotion than she could ever remember seeing him display in all the years she'd known him.
The great Trent Lazenby was a hair's breadth from crying?
The millennium had been reached! He was a real boy after all!
Well, sort of, anyway.
"Frankly, Stevie, he's the closest thing to a father I've ever known. I know this is what he wants because he's mentioned it on occasion that he has always regretted that there was – is – such distance and animosity between us, and that he would have loved it if we had fallen for each other. He even waxed poetic once, when he'd had entirely too much to drink, about how he wished the company could continue through us and through our children."
"So your solution to that is what? For us to pretend to fall in love for his benefit? You don't think he'd see through it every time I flinched whenever you touched me?"
Wow, how come she'd never seen that muscle jumping in his jaw?
He caught her staring at him, his eyes locking theirs together somehow. "Oh, but that's just it." Trent leaned forward, his gaze never moving from hers and whispering so quietly, she almost automatically had to lean forward, too, just to hear it, rasping from low in his chest, "You see, I don't think you would. In fact, I think it might well be that the exact opposite would occur."
For the second time that night, Stevie felt her mouth falling open in an entirely uncouth fashion, so much so that she had to consciously click it closed.
Her mind was racing, and so was her body.
And he hadn't even touched her.
Yet.
Clearly, that was what he intended, though.
Clearly, that was what he meant by that not so cryptic little remark.
Wasn't it?
That he knew she responded to him on a very basic level, one she'd done everything she could to hide from everyone in her life, most particularly him.
Best she just nip this – this whatever it was – in the bud entirely. Shut it down. Tell him emphatically, leaving no room for doubt, that there was absolutely no way she was going to…
His hand covered hers again, and when she tugged, she found it was just as trapped as it had been before.
Retaining possession of it with alarming ease, Trent turned it over, rubbing his thumb, this time, over the very center of her palm while he spoke to her in a voice that belonged in the lusty recesses of a darkly lit, obviously well used boudoir, not a public restaurant. "I recognize and even like to think I understand your animosity towards me, Stevie. I do. I don't condone it when you act disrespectfully towards me, as you've found out firsthand a couple of times." He smiled softly as her entire body flushed so hot she thought she was going to pass out. "But I know from whence it hails, and I can't say as I blame you, really. If the situations were reversed, I don't think I would have acted as overall well as you have.
"But we have the chance, you and I, to do something wonderful for your father. To let him see a dream come to fruition that I know he's had since he met me, even if he doesn't see any progeny before..." He trailed off, not wanting to put too fine a point on it.
Stevie didn't know what to say. What could she say, beyond questioning his sanity?
Just for shits and giggles, though, her agile mind decided to play along.
"If I agree to this, and I'm not at all saying that I would, ever, ever do so, then we could just...play house, for his benefit, right? I mean, he would never have to know that we slept in separate bedrooms."
Another smile that she did not like to see him wearing. They didn't quite fit the definition at all. Not at all. This one sent shivers up her spine, and not the good kind, that would ward her away from him, but the kind that made her wonder just what was really on his mind, and if it was the thought of her, splayed naked on his bed, bound hand and foot and waiting for him to…
&nb
sp; "He would know because I would touch you and you would, as you mentioned, flinch away. No, nothing would work but that we actually become a couple."
She was so shocked when he finally spelled it out to her that he was easily able to capture her other wrist, too.
"Sleep with me tonight, Stevie. All I ask is that you give me one night to convince you that…"
Dear God. How many times had she masturbated to just this type of scenario, safe and secure, alone and lonely, in the knowledge that it would never, ever come true?
"That what? That you like to hit women? I already know that, Trent."
He sat up, just a bit, just enough to lean over the table and rasp something huskily that made her whole body seize.
"That I can make you scream for an entirely different reason than I have before, Stevie. And what's more, I think you know it, too."
Chapter 2
She stood then, surprised that he let her hands go, but he did. "I've heard quite enough of this nonsense, and I'm not going to listen to any more. I can't think of anything more preposterous than what you've suggested." Stevie grabbed her purse and headed for the door, digging into it for her keys as she stalked out.
It wasn't until she was outside that she heard him say, from a point behind her that was much too close for comfort, "I didn't realize just how much you hated him; how little he really means to you."
She slowed at his words but didn't stop.
That was no matter for him and his atrociously long legs. He caught up to her but chose to remain to one side, about one of her paces behind, not grabbing her and pulling her against him, as he wanted to, but hanging back a bit.
Stevie thought she saw him bow out of the corner of her eye. The idiot!
"I'm truly sorry to have offended you. I misread the situation entirely, of course, as I am likely to do. I thought that what remained of your feelings for your father was worth one night of your life to see if you could do something – that would bring no harm to you in any way, you have my word – brighten the last days of his. My apologies. I won't bother you again."
He fell away as she continued walking, and when she got to her car, she was horrified to realize that she couldn't stop herself from scanning the lot for him, and she saw him there, right where he'd stopped walking, looking after her, standing straight as an arrow, as if at attention, saluting her, somehow...
She looked away quickly, and he didn't say or do anything. He didn't so much as move a muscle as she pressed the button to unlock her car door, and even reached for the handle, pulling it open just a bit. But then her eyes found him again, her mind already having long since given into the alarmingly filthy images it had been conjuring of the two of them together that it had long since had a storehouse of to tap into.
Nasty, graphic thoughts of things she wanted to do to him – and wanted him to do to her – that she'd always figured would remain unfulfilled.
But…
Perhaps not?
Of course, she justified in her mind, she'd be doing it for completely altruistic reasons, for her dear father. Or rather, more for the memory of the man she had grown up idolizing rather than the one that she considered she had long since lost to the man who was still standing there, staunch, firm and strict – she well knew – and unwavering.
Waiting, just waiting for her to come to her senses.
Or, more like take leave of them, she sniffed, waggling the car door back and forth in indecision, remaining, like him, frozen in place for an inordinately long amount of time. So long that she had stopped paying attention to him, drowning in her own thoughts and memories, half blind with tears as the realization of what he'd said to her at dinner sank in.
Her father was dying.
Just when she was about to stumble backwards, her grip on the car door much less sure than she had thought, a strong arm wound its way round her waist. And she wasn't allowed to fall, but instead, was brought up tightly to a figure she recognized, although she had never been this close to it before, at least not in this capacity.
That low, rumbling voice of his got her every time. "I'm sorry, Stevie. I should have listened to my instincts and been much less gracious and much more concerned about you and your reaction to the news I revealed to you this evening. Come with me."
His car, it turned out, was right next to hers, a big, comfortable Mercedes. Not the flashiest, latest model, in fact, it could have been almost considered a classic, she supposed. But it was roomy, which he definitely needed, and comfortable. Without allowing her feet to touch the ground, he brought her around to the passenger's side, installing her there and even going so far as to fasten her seatbelt before he closed her door.
When he got in, he immediately turned the heat on for her seat, as well as in the car itself, remembering that she was often cold. Soft jazz began to play through the speakers, and he reached over to take her hand and squeeze it gently, not trying to retain possession of it, just offering comfort. "I'm taking you home with me tonight."
Stevie started to object and made as if she would try to get out of the car.
"Stop. You won't be under any kind of obligation. There are three other bedrooms besides my own. I just don't want you to be alone."
Stevie knew that, despite how soothing he sounded, she should have been giving him a ration about his high-handedness and how she was somehow conveniently ending up doing exactly what he wanted her to do and how wrong that was on so many levels, but she couldn't seem to, somehow. It felt wonderful to be taken care of, even if it was by him.
Despite who it was that was driving her through the night, she hadn't felt this safe in a long time. If she was truthful with herself, since she'd lost her mom. Stevie didn't know what it was about Trent – although she knew she didn't like it – but he did make her feel as if things were going to be all right, and although she was still trying to recover from the shock of everything he'd revealed to her this evening, as he drove, she began to feel better.
Even though they didn't know each other all that well and weren't that comfortable in each other's presence, at least she wasn't, anyway, the quiet ride was calming to her nerves on a lot of levels. Neither of them found it necessary to try to anxiously fill the silence, they were each content with their own thoughts.
When the car stopped, they were in his garage.
"You stay put," he ordered softly, coming around to release the seatbelt and tuck her into his arms.
He was so tall, she practically got acrophobia from her position, wrapping her arms around his neck automatically as if she was worried she was going to fall.
"I've gotcha," he assured, bringing her into his house for the first time and depositing her gently on the big white leather sofa in his living room.
Before she had a chance to get her bearings, he pressed a rocks glass into her hand. "Sip on this, why don't you?"
Stevie took a taste and frowned down at it. "Whiskey. Blech." She held the glass up to him, silently, imperiously asking for something more palatable.
His throaty chuckle set her nerves on edge again, but the harsh swallow of liquor she'd had went a long way towards soothing them as he ignored her request just as imperiously. "You're not supposed to enjoy it. It's just supposed to relax you and help you sleep."
She smacked her lips together loudly in distaste, and he chuckled again.
Her nipples hardened at the sound, and she hunched over a bit, hoping that blatant reaction wasn't as noticeable as she was afraid it was.
And then he came to sit, not in the chair opposite her, which would have been most proper, but instead on the couch next to her, reaching an arm around her to pull her close to him.
Stevie was on alert, in case he tried to do something she found objectionable – or rather, that her mind would find objectionable – her body was likely to go along with anything he wanted at this point, between the late hour, the booze, the unusual and titillating topic of tonight's conversation and his close proximity.
But he did
n't.
He did do something she hadn't expected, though. He talked to her, for the first time ever, which was probably her own fault, although she wasn't necessarily willing to acknowledge that at the moment. It wasn't something she'd ever encouraged him to do, always walking out one door when he was coming in the other, escaping his uncomfortable presence any time she could.
And, to her horror, he proved to be a wonderful listener, too. He talked a little about himself, but also got her talking about things she liked – movies, TV shows – even though she had a feeling he didn't watch much of either of those things. He asked intelligent questions that proved he was actually digesting what she was saying, and even, occasionally, got off an amusing pun or play on words that had her laughing or at least giggling.
Damn, the man was even more dangerous than she'd thought. A man with a sense of humor who knew how to manipulate the language, who looked like him – she was in serious trouble!
As she handed him her empty glass and he handed her back his own, still half-full one, he allowed, "I love to hear you laugh. When I used to come to work with your father in his office in the big house in the summer, sometimes, when you were home from school, I used to listen for it."
"You did?" Flattery was definitely getting him everywhere.
Why was it that she didn't like him again?
"Yes. You're still the happiest person I know, and I find that quite enchanting, although I know you see me as contributing nothing but unhappiness to your life, I'm sure."
Stevie shrugged. "You've certainly made my father happy. That's something I couldn't do, at least not in that way. I do not have a head for business."
"I know, and it must've been extra hard for you, having your mother die early on and then I come in all of a sudden and occupy all of your father's attention."
When she would have looked down at her drink, Trent lifted her chin with his finger so that she had no choice but to look at him. "For what it's worth, I'm truly sorry for any hurt I've caused you."
Never Say Never Page 2