Giorganni's Proposal

by Jacqueline Baird

  She looked uncertainly into his grey eyes. Was he teasing or what? But before she could answer Brice cut in.

  'Come on, Dex. I daren't keep my wife waiting.'

  'Certainly, Brice.' Dex straightened to his full height and, slanting Beth a quick glance, confirmed, 'Seven- thirty, don't forget. But in case you do, I will ring tomorrow to remind you,' before turning on his heel and walking away with the chairman.

  Beth followed him with her eyes; his dark head was bent towards the older man and he was seemingly deep in conversation with him as they exited the room. She let out her breath on a long sigh. She doubted if she really would see Dex again, and common-sense told her she would probably be better off without him.

  Glancing around the room, she spotted her coat; someone had kindly placed it over a chair for her. The party seemed to be turning into some kind of stag night, with little appreciation of the fine wines on offer; it was more a case of who could down the most. There was nothing for her here. Crossing the room, she picked up her coat and pulled it on, wrapping it firmly around her.

  Finally she spotted Mike near the door, and on her way out she collared him and hissed in his ear, 'I'm leaving you to your booze-up! But don't think I've forgotten. You owe me, and you owe me big for this, buster.'

  'Hey, you should be thanking me. You've only pulled one of the wealthiest bachelors around. I heard him ask you out.'

  The one trouble with auburn hair, she thought wryly, was the inevitable tendency for blushes to form on the pale complexion that went with it. 'Mr Giordanni? You know him?' She hesitated, torn between the desire to escape and the desire to hear more about Dex.

  'Know him, sis? Not exactly, but I've heard of him. Everyone has. In the past ten years he has built up a huge business empire—he dabbles in everything, though there are some funny rumours as to how he got started. I know he owns a shipping line, and a string of hotels all over the globe—a couple of them here in London. Brice is hoping to get the contract to supply his hotels with liquor. Apparently, Giordanni has also just bought the Seymour Club in London—his reason for being here, I expect. His main home is somewhere in Italy, I believe.'

  The more Mike talked, the more despondent Beth became. Dexter Giordanni was right out of her league, and she would be a fool to think otherwise.

  'Okay Mike, forget it.' She tried to smile. 'I'm off. Enjoy your night' And she left.

  For a brief moment in time she had thought she had met the man of her dreams. Who was she kidding? Love at first sight was a myth, and in any case things like that never happened to Beth—except in her fantasies! Once more in the safety of her own apartment, Beth vowed for the hundredth time that never again would she get involved in Mike's hare-brained schemes. As for Mr Giordanni, obviously he had simply been flirting with the only woman around at the time, and would never give her a second thought. Beth dismissed him from her mind. She would never see him again.

  She showered and changed into a soft towelling robe, then curled up in the solitary armchair and sighed with pure contentment. Alone at last. Funny, as a child she had longed to be a part of a large family. Her own father had died when she was two and she had no memory of him. Her first stepfather had not lasted past her sixth birthday, when her mother, Leanora, had divorced him, and Beth had very little memory of him either.

  Then had come Mike and his father, the lovely house on the English Riviera, overlooking the bay in Torquay and for a few years Beth had felt part of a family. Until her mother had decided a young actor suited her better and had divorced Mike's dad to marry her toy-boy. Then she'd stuck Beth in a boarding school and taken off on tour.

  For once, her mother had been the one to suffer when, a year later, the young man had divorced her. But nothing stopped her mother for long, though, Beth thought dryly, stirring in her seat. Three years ago, Leanora had married an Australian cattle rancher. The poor man had been visiting Devon to trace his ancestors when Leanora had convinced him he needed a wife. Beth had never even met Leanora's fifth husband—technically her stepfather.

  After the fiasco this afternoon, she had reached the conclusion that there was a great deal to be said for being an orphan. Without family to get her into trouble, life was a joy. . .

  But later a little imp of mischief whispered in her head as she curled up in her cosy bed and tried to sleep. An even greater joy might be hers if the outrageously attractive Italian Dexter Giordanni actually turned up tomorrow night to take her out to dinner. With his handsome face clear in her mind's eye, she fell asleep, the eroticism of her dreams a testament to the earth- shattering effect he had had upon her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Beth eyed the pile of laundry with a wry grimace. Saturday was her day for washing, cleaning the apartment and shopping—always in that order. Usually she enjoyed having the weekend to herself, but today she felt oddly restless. With a sigh, she picked up the garments and shoved them in the washing machine. Turning it on to the correct setting, she decided to break with habit and do her shopping immediately—not for a second admitting she wanted to get out and back quickly just in case Dexter Giordanni telephoned.

  By late afternoon, her apartment spotless, her clothes dried and ironed, she was beginning to regret turning down her friend Mary's offer to go to the cinema with her. She had a sinking feeling her Saturday night was going to be spent alone in front of the television, and it was her own stupid fault. A man like Dexter Giordanni was not going to call the likes of her in a million years. . .

  Still, she might as well shower and wash her hair; she had nothing else to do. And with that thought in mind she stripped off her jeans and shirt in the bedroom and padded to the bathroom. The ringing of the telephone had her sprinting back to the kitchen like an Olympic runner.

  She snatched the receiver off the wall. 'Yes?' she said breathlessly.

  'I hope I did not disturb you,' the deep, dark voice echoed down the line.

  If only he knew, Beth thought, grinning to herself. Just the sound of his voice disturbed her more than any other man she had ever known. . . 'No, no, not at all. I was just about to step in the shower,' she told him truthfully.

  'Ah, the image is incantevole, but I must not delay you. I simply called to confirm our dinner date: seven- thirty, yes?'

  'What does incanì. . .whatever mean?' Beth asked, diverted by his lapse into his native language.

  'Enchanting. . . Ciao.' And he replaced his receiver.

  Beth stood holding the telephone for a long moment. Dex thought she was enchanting. Taking a deep, contented breath, she replaced her receiver and dreamily made her way back to the bathroom.

  An hour later, wearing only a towel, Beth stood in front of her open wardrobe and viewed its contents with a jaundiced eye. Her date would be here in twenty minutes and she had nothing to wear. Apart from a couple of tailored suits she wore for work, the rest of her clothes were all casual. She was very much a jeans and sweater sort of girl, and somehow the red wool shirt- dress she kept for special occasions looked far too plain. Why, oh, why hadn't she spent the afternoon shopping for an elegant, sophisticated dress to match the sophisticated Dex, instead of lolling around her apartment?

  She glanced across the room to the window. The weather hadn't changed; it was still a grey, cold, overcast autumn evening, and with a resigned sigh she took her only sophisticated dress out of the wardrobe. She had bought it in July for her graduation ball. A simple black satin slip dress, it had a delicate gold thread shimmering though it, tiny shoestring straps, a scooped neck and back and an A-line skirt that ended a few inches above her knee. She dropped it on the bed and turned back to the wardrobe. The frock was fine, but she would be freezing in today's weather.

  Unlike some young woman of her age, who quite happily went out in all weathers with arms and legs bare, Beth was thoroughly sensible, and not prepared to get pneumonia for the sake of fashion. So reluctantly she dragged from the top shelf of a wardrobe a plain black wool shawl, a purchase from one of the high street c
hains, and threw it on the bed.

  She crossed the room, opened the chest of drawers and withdrew a pair of delicate black lace panties and matching garter belt. Dropping the towel to the floor, she quickly pulled on her underwear, then, lifting the dress from the bed, slid it over her head. Cut on the bias, it was too low at the back to allow the wearing of a bra. But, eyeing her reflection in the mirror, she thought, not bad!

  Sitting down at the dressing table, she quickly applied a moisturiser to her fine skin. She took a little longer than usual over her eye make-up, accentuating her large eyes with the merest hint of pale aquamarine eyeshadow at the corners and a fine line of brown kohl around the top lid, finishing off with brown-black mascara to enhance her long thick lashes. A gloss of natural pink for her lips, and she was almost ready.

  She picked up her hairbrush and brushed her auburn curls vigorously. Then, with a deft twist, she piled her hair on the top of her head, securing it with a discreetly coloured band, and finished off by pushing a few strategic curls firmly in place.

  Satisfied with the result, she stood up, and from the dressing table drawer removed a pair of fine black nylon stockings. Carefully pulling them on one by one, she clipped the small black suspenders in place and, straightening, smoothed her skirt down over her thighs. She turned to look over her shoulder at her image: no bumps or brief line! Good.

  She slipped her feet into classic black patent leather pumps with two-and-a-half-inch heels. She needed the height, she reminded herself, before taking a small black patent clutch purse from the dressing table and quickly transferring a few essentials from her everyday shoulder bag.

  The doorbell rang, disturbing the silence and panicking Beth. She grabbed the black shawl from the bed and slung it around her shoulders before dashing out of the bedroom to the front door. She pressed the button for the intercom and heard that familiar rich voice.

  'Giordanni, here.'

  'I'll be right down,' she responded. For some reason she was not quite ready to ask him into her home.

  The elevator deposited her in the foyer, and when she saw him leaning indolently against the porter's desk, dressed in an immaculately fitting black dinner suit with a white silk shirt and perfectly knotted black velvet bow tie, her heart skipped a beat. Suddenly she had a vivid image of herself untying the bow tie and running her fingers over the broad expanse of chest, and she wished she had asked him up to her apartment. She caught her breath at the uncharacteristic erotic thought.

  Consequently she blushed fire-engine red when, straightening to his full height, he strolled across and quite naturally took her arm, and looked down at her.

  'I was right, you look enchanting. Shall we go?'

  Her, 'Hello, Dex,' was greeted with the briefest of slanting smiles before he was ushering her out of the door and into a chauffeur-driven limousine.

  'I don't keep a car in London. I am not here that often, and when I am I use a rental service. So I hope you don't object to a driver this evening, Beth. Plus, I thought we might celebrate our meeting with a few glasses of champagne, and I never drink and drive.'

  'A very laudable resolution,' she managed to say calmly. She cast him a sidelong glance, almost furtively. He was as devastatingly attractive as she remembered, and, sitting next to him in the close confines of the back seat of the car, with the pressure of his thigh lightly pressing against her own and the soft elusive scent of his aftershave teasing her nostrils—or maybe it was simply the scent of the man himself—she was completely overwhelmed by Dex, the car—everything.

  A large hand closed over her small hands, which were clenched in her lap. 'Beth, really. "A laudable resolution"? My knowledge of your language is excellent, but what does that mean?' he asked with a chuckle, and lifted her hands to his lips so she was forced to look at him, his silver eyes glinting down into hers. 'Beth, I like you for your openness, your honesty. Don't go all stuffy on me now.'

  The touch of his lips on her hand and the humour in his gaze excited her, but also calmed her nerves. If he wanted honesty he could have it, she thought, secretly pleased. 'You're right, Dex, "laudable" was a bit much. But you make me rather nervous. I've never been out with a man quite like you before, or sat in a chauffeur- driven limousine. It's quite awesome.'

  He lowered her hands to her lap and gave them a gentle squeeze before letting go. 'You are not frightened of me, Beth, are you?' he asked softly, but before she could respond he added, 'You have no need to be. I have only your best interests at heart, and I am sure you will very soon get used to my great wealth and everything else; women usually do.'

  Beth looked up, not all sure she liked his last comment, and thought she caught a flash of something very like cynicism in his eyes. But, realising she was watching him, Dex turned the full force of his megawatt smile on her small face and dropped a brief, swift kiss on her forehead.

  'Don't look so worried, little one. Tonight we are going to have fun, I promise.'

  The brief kiss banished all her doubts, and half an hour later, seated opposite Dex in the most exclusive restaurant in London, she wondered why she had worried. He was the perfect companion. Articulate, charming, Dex ordered the meal with an efficiency and knowledge of fine food Beth marvelled at. But he was not above making her laugh with his description of the waiter.

  Very quickly he made her feel completely at ease, though every so often he very gently flirted with her, making her aware by a touch, a glance, of his purely masculine interest in her as a woman. Or maybe not so pure. . . Beth did not know, and she had not àie experience to make a judgement.

  They had exchanged snippets of information about themselves. Dex was thirty-three to her twenty-one. He knew she was a graphic artist, and she knew he was extremely wealthy, as he told her in great detail how many companies he owned. In fact, his wealth struck the one discordant note in her otherwise rapt fascination with the man.

  'You're not one of those bleeding-heart radical types who object to a man being disgustingly rich, are you?' he asked jokingly.

  For a second she felt his humour did not ring true. But, dismissing the uneasy thought with a toss of her head, she aimed for a sophisticated response.

  'Not at all. Someone once said that no woman can be too rich or too thin, or something like that, and I'm inclined to agree.' She wasn't sure she meant what she had said, but it seemed to please Dex.

  'Good girl! I knew the moment I saw you you were my type of woman,' he drawled, watching her with a gleam of satisfaction in his grey eyes.

  Beth felt the colour rise in her cheeks. She was delighted he thought she was his type, but not absolutely sure if she had been complimented or insulted.

  By the time the main course arrived Beth had just about got her chaotic emotions under control, and was actually beginning to feel as if she had known the man for years.

  'Honestly, Dex, I don't think I'll be able to eat all this.' She eyed her duck and cranberry sauce. It looked delicious, but they had started with roasted asparagus salad, followed by a fish course—A trio of smoked fish with beetroot—and now, with the main course before her, she wondered if she would ever get through it all.

  'Eat what you like and leave the rest. For myself, I am a big man with a big appetite. I intend to enjoy. . .' His silver eyes gleamed with blatant desire as they caught and held hers, then deliberately dropped to the soft valley of her breasts, delicately exposed by the neckline of her dress. 'Everything. . .' he husked, his gaze lifting to her face. 'It is the only way to live.'

  Beth was not stupid, she knew what he meant, and she could feel the colour rising in her cheeks yet again, as her stomach clenched. She knew it had nothing to do with the food but everything to do with the potent appeal of the man opposite.

  'Eat. I did not mean to embarrass you,' Dex offered quietly. 'But you have the most amazing effect on me. I look at you and I want you in my bed.'

  Beth gasped out loud, and his eyes narrowed with piercing intensity on her flushed face.

  'You know
this is true, and you feel the same; don't try to deny it,' he commanded arrogantly, but then in a softer tone he added, 'But perhaps now is not the time to talk of such matters.'

  She wanted to deny it. His supreme confidence was somehow insulting. But she knew what he said was true, so instead she contented herself with fiddling with her fork and asking, 'Are you always so blunt on a first date?'

  'No,' he said, and, reaching across the table, he covered the hand holding her fork, 'Only with you, Beth.' Suddenly grinning, he added, 'So, tell me more about yourself. Your friends, parents, whatever. Talk to me, so I can take my mind off your luscious body and get back to my meal, hmm?'

  He was impossible, but Beth found herself grinning back and doing exactly as he had said. 'Family—I don't have much. I don't remember my father; he died when I was a baby. I've spent most of my life in Devon with my mother. She had aspirations to be a famous singer, but unfortunately also a tendency to get married a lot. She is on her fifth husband now and lives in Australia. I haven't seen her for three years, though we do write occasionally.' Beth broke off, raised her glass to her mouth and took a gulp of champagne. She didn't really like talking about Leanora, and sometimes it still upset her, though she never liked to admit it.

  'That explains a lot,' Dex murmured.

  'Sorry, what did you say?' Lost in her own thoughts for a moment, she had missed his comment.

  'That must have hurt a lot,' Dex repeated softly.

  'No, not really,' she quickly assured him, comforted by the sympathy in his tone. 'I got used to it, and on the plus side I acquired a stepbrother—Mike. If it hadn't been for Mike I wouldn't have met you.' She stopped. The champagne was going to her head and she was revealing more than she meant to.