"Dex, wait! Haven't you forgotten something? Your ring."
"Keep it," he said bitingly. "A memento of a failed affair Unless, of course, you want to pay for it in kind. Unlike the dozens before me, I still have not seen your bedroom."
This mocking cynicism was the last straw. Flinging the ring at him, she yelled, "Get out! Go, gol"
"No one tells me to leave," he stated softly.
"Until now," she shot back.
"Never ever," he drawled quietly "And certainly not a devious little girl like you, who doesn't know whether she wants to jilt me or jump me. I think we really need to know the answer, Bethany. Don't you?"
JACQUELINE BAIRD began writing as a hobby when her family objected to the smell of her oil painting, and she immediately became hooked on romance. She loves traveling and worked her way around the world from Europe to the Americas and Australia, returning to England to marry her teenage sweetheart. She lives in Northumbria, the county of her birth, and has two grown sons.
Books by Jacqueline Baird
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GIORDANNI'S PROPOSAL
First North American Publication 1999.
Copyright © 1998 by Jacqueline Baird.
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CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
'No, no, nein, nada, non. Is that clear enough for you, Mike? Or do I have to spell it out? N—O.'
'Don't be so negative, Beth, darling,' Mike drawled, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. 'You know you'll have fan, you always do with me.'
Beth stared down at her stepbrother in exasperation, but a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her wide mouth. He really was the limit. Sprawled in her one and only comfortable chair, with one long leg draped over the arm, negligently swinging an expensively shod foot, he was the epitome of casual male elegance. The price of his shoes would have kept her for a month, she thought wryly. But that was Mike: handmade shoes, Savile Row suits, nothing but the best would do. Image was everything, according to Mike.
'Much as I love you, Mike, I am not going to dress up as a French tart to your matelot and let you throw me around the boardroom of Brice Wine Merchants, even if, according to you, the firm is celebrating its centenary and the chairman's birthday, and whatever else you care to tag on. The answer is still no
'But, Beth, I have a two-hundred-pound bet with my boss, the marketing director. He said I wouldn't dare liven up the chairman's party with an impromptu cabaret. Of course, I said I would, and I can't afford to lose.' He glanced up at her, his blue eyes narrowing assessingly on her lovely face. 'Unless, of course, you lend me the two hundred quid.'
'Oh, no! No way! Lending money to you is the equivalent of throwing it down the drain. You made the bet; you get out of it. Or, better still, why not ask one of your numerous girlfriends?'
'Ah, well, there's the rub. . . For the past six months I've concentrated exclusively on one particular, lovely girl.' His handsome face took on the expression of a love-sick puppy dog, much to Beth's astonishment. 'Elizabeth is the perfect woman for me. She is beautiful, intelligent and wealthy, and I fully intend to marry her one day. But unfortunately, when I suggested the wheeze to her, she told me to grow up and act responsibly, hence my throwing myself on your mercy.'
Mike in love. . . That Mike was contemplating marriage was mind-boggling. 'You really want to marry the girl?' Beth asked incredulously.
'Yes, more than anything else in the world.'
There was no doubting his sincerity; it was in his eyes, the unusual seriousness of his tone, the way he straightened up in the chair, before continuing, 'Which is why I daren't take the chance of asking another girl. If Elizabeth found out it would be curtains for me. She's very strong on fidelity. But as you're my stepsister, even if the joke does get out, she might be mad for a while, but at least she'll know I wasn't unfaithful.'
Then Beth did smile. This was typical of Mike's convoluted logic: it never occurred to him for a moment to forget the whole stupid idea. She remembered the first time she had met him. Home for Beth and her mother had been a small cottage in the village of Compton, not far from Torquay in Devon. Her late father had been an artist who'd never quite made it big before he died tragically young of a cerebral haemorrhage. Her mother also considered herself an artist, but in truth was a run-of- the-mill singer, who, between marrying men, craved fame. The summer Beth had met Mike, her mother had been performing in the summer season cabaret at a local theatre in Torquay, It was at the theatre that Leanora had met Ted, Mike's father. He'd been a widower and the agent of the star of the show.
After a whirlwind romance her mother and Ted had decided to marry. Beth, at eight, had been dressed up as a flowergirl in satin and lace, while Mike, at twelve, was supposed to be an usher. After a civil ceremony performed by a registrar they had, along with about a hundred guests, all descended on Torquay's largest hotel for the wedding breakfast.
During the reception Mike had crept under the top table unseen, except by Beth, and had tied the groom and the best man's shoelaces together. When the best man stood up to speak, the groom had been tipped backwards off his chair, and, as his arm was around his new bride at the time, Leanora had gone flying as well.
Thinking about it now could still bring a smile to Beth's face, and the four years that their parents had been a couple had probably been the happiest of Beth's childhood. They'd divorced when she was twelve, and Beth had spent the rest of her formative years at a convent boarding school, but Mike had always kept in touch; his letters and the few holidays they'd shared had been some of the brightest spots in her otherwise pretty miserable teenage years.
Which was why, she thought wryly three days later, as she stepped into the elevator of the Brice building at six o'clock on a Friday evening, she was about to make a fool of herself for the umpteenth time. Because of Mike. . .
'It is not too late to change your mind, Mike.' She cast an imploring glance at the man standing beside her. He was dressed in a long trenchcoat, as Beth was herself, perfectly suitable attire for an overcast October day in London. But the blac
k beret perched at a flamboyant angle on his fair head looked decidedly odd.
'Stop worrying. It'll be fine. I've arranged with Miss Hardcombe, the Chairman's secretary, to start the music as we walk in the door. We throw off our coats and go into a one-minute routine, the same one we did for the school concert, and hey, presto, it's over! I am two hundred pounds better off, plus I score Brownie points with my boss for imaginative thinking.'
'But it's ten years since we last danced together at that school concert! We were just children, and still young and stupid enough to think we were going to be showbiz stars, for heaven's sake! We should have at least practised. I am bigger, slower and terrified,' Beth cried as the elevator door slid back.
It went fine at first. There were a few raised eyebrows as they entered the boardroom, but as bottles of wine and glasses littered the large table it was obvious a celebration was in progress, and Beth felt slightly reassured. A few grins made by the dozen men present, when Mike wished the chairman a happy birthday, did not bother her, and then the music started.
But when they slid off their coats the grins changed to chuckles, and Beth realised straight away she was at a distinct disadvantage. Whereas Mike looked reasonably decent, in tight black flared-bottom trousers and a navy and white striped sailor's jumper, she as the only woman present, looked outrageous, in a tiny black Spandex skirt, a red, scoop-neck clinging knit sweater and red stiletto-heeled shoes.
Worse was to follow, as Mike curved an arm around her waist and swung her round and away from him. She was supposed to let her feet slide along the floor, but unfortunately they had not counted on a thick-pile carpet, and her heel stuck. The chuckles turned to outright laughter. Then, when Mike picked her up and spun her around his head, to enthusiastic shouts of 'Bravo!', he got carried away and spun her around and around, until when he finally let go she was so dizzy she fell smack on her behind, her legs waving in the air.
Dazedly she looked up at the circle of sombre-suited men laughing down at her. Except that one of the men wasn't laughing. He stood slightly back from the rest, and, from her position on the floor he looked enormous. She tilted back her head and her green eyes clashed with a pair of icy grey.
He was the most compellingly attractive man in the room. How had she not noticed him before? Mesmerised, she stared up at him as he slowly shook his head, a stray curl of black hair flopping over his broad forehead. He arched one dark brow in a look that managed to be both entrancing and insulting before, making no effort to hide his boredom and contempt, he deliberately turned his back on her.
Arrogant devil, she thought furiously. But still her eyes fingered on his wide back, and his long, long legs, and she had the oddest feeling she had met him before. Impossible—he was not the kind of man any woman with a red corpuscle left in her body would ever forget. The word 'macho' could have been invented for this man. Also 'tough', 'uncompromising'. . . Beth's lips twitched. And with a gorgeous tight bum, she noted on a more basic note.
Suddenly, instead of looking at his back, she was staring once more at his front, at a rather indelicate level. She swallowed hard and jerked her head back, lifting her eyes to his face, and she had to swallow again at the transformation in his expression.
His hard mouth was curved in a wickedly sexy smile. 'Allow me,' he said in a deep velvet voice, and held out a very large hand.
Blushing to the roots of her hair, Beth grabbed the hand he offered and scrambled to her feet. She barely heard the numerous congratulations from the rest of the guests, or Mike's moment of triumph. Her whole attention was on the man before her.
Flushed and dishevelled, she had no idea how gorgeous she looked. She wasn't a conventionally beautiful woman, like her statuesque, elegant mother—for a start, Beth was only five feet two—but there was quite a lot else about her that was memorable. She had big eyes of a deep jade-green, a generously curved mouth and thick, naturally curly auburn hair, which had now sprung from the band holding it in check to riot around her small face in a rosy cloud. Unfortunately she also had a rather large bust that was in imminent danger of popping out of her top.
'Thank you,' she muttered, finally finding her voice, stumbling a little, scarlet with embarrassment. With her free hand she hastily adjusted her top, while her other hand stayed clasped in his much larger one. She looked up into his grey eyes and wondered how she had ever thought they were icy—now they were luminous, almost silver, and glittering with obvious appreciation. And his flashing smile was enough to make her want to collapse at his feet again.
'My pleasure. It isn't every day I get to rescue such a beautiful damsel in distress.'
He had said she was beautiful, and her own eyes widened in wonder as she drank in the sight of him. 'Tall, dark and handsome' did not do him justice. He was lethally attractive; he radiated a raw, primitive power that was unmistakable. Even in her bemused state she noted everyone had stepped back and given him space, as if it was his due.
'You all right, Beth?' She vaguely registered Mike's belated query.
'The lady is fine. I will take care of her,' the deep slightly accented voice responded curtly. But his gaze never left Beth's small figure, and, stooping slightly, he added, 'If that is all right with you, Beth. I may call you Beth?'
He could call her anything he liked, she thought stupidly, as long as he kept holding her hand and smiling down at her as if he had just discovered the crown jewels. 'Yes, yes, of course,' she murmured, enthralled by the wayward black curl that fell over his broad brow.
He squeezed her hand and slipped his other arm around her tiny waist. 'You look none too steady in those very dangerous shoes,' he said, justifying his familiarity as his silver gaze slid over her small face and lower, to her breasts, and on down to her feet, still encased in the ridiculously high-heeled shoes, and then back up to her face.
Beth was suddenly flushed with a totally different kind of heat. The warmth of his arm around her waist and the obvious admiration in his lazy gaze did weird things to her pulse-rate. What was happening to her? She had never reacted so instantly to a man in her life before. She had an overpowering urge to put her small hand on his broad chest, to run her fingers up the lapel of his immaculately tailored dove-grey suit, and to curl her fingers in the silky black curls that caressed the nape of his tanned neck. She lifted her hand, and gasped; she had almost done it. . .!
'I need a drink,' she blurted, and forced herself to step back. 'It's all right; I'm steady now,' she added, breaking free from his hold.
'You might be, but I don't think I will ever be again,' he husked, his silver eyes capturing hers. 'Don't move and I'll get you a drink.'
She couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to, her gaze following him as he turned and walked to the table, filled a fluted glass with amber liquid and turned back to offer it to her. She took it from him, the light brush of his fingers against hers sending a tremor up her arm that made her almost drop it. She took a hasty gulp of champagne, anything to hide her ridiculous reaction to him, but she had an uncanny feeling she would be unable to hide anything from this man, and yet she didn't even know his name.
'Who are you?' she asked, and was instantly horrified at her own bluntness.
'My friends call me Dex, my enemies, the bastard Giordanni. My mother christened me Dexter Giordanni. Dexter meaning, "on the right hand"—possibly to compensate for my being born, on the "left-hand side of the blanket." So take your pick.' He laughed at the look of shock on her lovely face.
'You're very blunt, Dex,' she said, stunned at his intimate revelation about his birth, but she could not help grinning back.
'So we are friends. Yes?'
'Yes.'
'In that case, can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?'
'Tomorrow night,' she repeated, completely bowled over by his charm and obvious desire to see her again.
'Unfortunately this evening I have to dine with the chairman and his wife.' He gestured with his hand to where the head of the firm stood talking to Mi
ke and a few others. Then, taking a card from his inside pocket, he said, 'Give me your address and phone number, and I will pick you up tomorrow night at seven-thirty. Okay?'
She hesitated, torn between the desire to say yes and her more cautious self, which reminded her that this man was a stranger who could be dangerous to her state of mind. He had already dented her ability to think straight simply by his presence. She looked at him with puzzled green eyes, and felt the tension simmer in the air between them.
He straightened up, squaring his wide shoulders. 'Unless, of course, your dancing partner has a prior claim to your time,' he added, in a voice that was suddenly hard.
'Mike?' she chuckled. 'You've got to be joking! He's my stepbrother. You don't really imagine I would make a fool of myself before a room full of strangers except with a member of the family? And, even so, I'm going to strangle the man when I get the chance.'
Dex's responding chuckle relieved the inexplicable tension between them. 'Good. So how about that address, please,' he pleaded huskily. 'I can see Brice heading this way.'
Beth looked around, and sure enough the chairman was walking towards them. 'All right.' In moments she had rattled off her address and telephone number.
Dex put the card back in his breast pocket just as the chairman arrived at his side.
Beth glanced at the man; not as tall as Dex, and quite a lot older, with a shock of white hair, he was still a very impressive figure.
'Thank you, young lady. You and Mike certainly enlivened the proceedings. That boy will go far.'
Beth blushed again, and mumbled her thanks, but the man had already turned to Dex. 'Sorry, Dexter, old chap, but I must drag you away from this very attractive young lady. My wife is expecting us at seven-thirty, and it is quite a drive.'
'Yes, of course, Brice,' Dex responded smoothly. And, as another man caught the chairman's attention for a moment, he leaned towards Beth and, in a quick aside, added, 'You've made quite an impression on Brice. Like older men, do you?' he asked with a smile, but the edge of cynicism in his tone was unmistakable.
Giorganni's Proposal Page 1
