by Maisey Yates
He let his eyes wander over her body, and he suddenly saw the appeal of women concealing more than they revealed. It was making him unbearably curious.
He wondered what it would take to get her to loosen up a little, to get her to let her hair down. He could picture her with her blond hair loose around her face; her cheeks flushed pink with passion, her gorgeous mouth swollen from kisses. His kisses. She would be an aggressive lover, he decided. A woman so bound and determined to give as good as she got in the boardroom would very likely behave the same in the bedroom.
He felt himself getting hard thinking about it. He let his eyes wander over her figure, catching hints of the lushness that lay beneath her loose cut clothing. Oh, yes, beneath that armor she was all woman. Slender, yet soft and curvy.
“Whoever I want?” He lowered his voice and brushed his knuckles gently across her cheek.
Elaine had never had a man look at her like this. As if he was seeing straight through her, with all of his desire reflected in his eyes. Desire for her. She was momentarily immobilized by the flash of attraction that raced through her. She’d never felt anything like the fluttering, twisting sensation that was curling low in her belly.
“What if I told you that I wanted you?”
She realized that she was starting to lean towards him, her lips parting slightly, as if in invitation, her eyes drifting closed…
She backed away from his touch as if she’d been burned, mortified heat flooding her face again.
“No! No. No. I mean, this is a business deal, and I’ve no desire to…muddy the waters by introducing anything physical, and anyway it’s…it would be inappropriate.” Her face was burning, and she knew she was glowing like a beacon. She was starting to wish she hadn’t come. She was totally and completely out of her depth with him.
He laughed. She was absolutely priceless, clinging to her prim and proper persona. “Point taken.”
It would be better that way. Much better to keep business and pleasure firmly separated. Especially when there was a marriage license involved. He didn’t want to be tied to one woman for a year, and he had a feeling that if he did sleep with her, the “anyone at any time” offer would be revoked.
And anyway, if he changed his mind he could have her if he wanted her. He had seen it in her eyes, in the rapid beat of her pulse at the base of her elegant neck. She wasn’t immune to him. But in his experience very few women were. They loved his status, his wealth, and his skill in the bedroom. Sometimes they even loved him. But he didn’t love them. Ever.
“You would have to move into my penthouse,” he said.
“Absolutely not!” And there it was again, that flustered look that made her seem soft, maybe even feminine. That made her seem so desirable.
He took a step toward her. “I can’t exactly have my new wife living across town. I do have a reputation, after all. Any woman of mine is always kept as close as possible.”
The low, seductive timbre of his voice caused a shiver to race up her spine. When she’d imagined this little arrangement she hadn’t pictured them living together, somehow. The thought of being in such close quarters with a man as…disturbing as Marco made her feel…hot.
But she could do it. To get the business she would do anything. She wasn’t about to let her life’s ambition go. She would find the whole thing much more tenable if she brought him to her turf. Really, she’d find the whole thing much more tenable if he was living on another continent, but as that wasn’t an option…“If we have to live together, you can move in with me.”
“No,” he countered, “you will move in with me.” Poor Elaine. She really was so painfully naive. The first rule in a business dealing was to know your adversary. And she clearly didn’t know him. Marco De Luca did not negotiate. “And you’ll take my name.”
“What?” Her face was red again, but this time he was fairly certain it wasn’t from embarrassment. “I wouldn’t do that if I was entering into a real marriage with you! It’s anti-feminist! Making a woman lose her identity just because she’s getting married! It’s an archaic form of control!”
He shrugged. “So call me a caveman, then. I’m not exactly a modern, sensitive male. And the closest I get to ‘enlightened’ is ordering a latte. When it comes to relationships, just like in business, I’m in charge. No one would believe it if I moved in with you and you kept your maiden name. My distinguished conservative clients would lose a lot of respect for me if I let my little wife run rough-shod over me in her ugly clogs.”
She curled her toes inside her sensible footwear, hating him for making her feel self-conscious about her appearance. She had made the decision a long time ago, and with good reason, not to put emphasis on her looks—in fact, she did the opposite. And she refused to be made to feel silly for wanting to be taken seriously based on her qualifications instead of how sexy her legs looked in heels and a mini-skirt!
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth.
“And—” his lip curled into sneer “—I expect you to understand that as my wife my satisfaction is your priority. I am expecting to take full advantage of all of the perks this arrangement can afford me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I told you I’m not sleeping with you. Don’t you dare make me sound like a…a…prostitute!” She clamped her mouth shut again, her pulse pounding in her ears. The absolute rank arrogance of the man!
He barked out a laugh. “That isn’t what I said. I won’t have any trouble finding a woman to share my bed. What I need is a woman to hold on to my arm and gaze at me adoringly during business functions. When I have an engagement that requires your presence, it takes priority. Not your work. Not your social life.”
He could see the internal argument she was having with herself play out in her blue eyes. “Fine. I agree to your terms.”
He gave her a hard look. “There is no chance that I might be tempted to make this arrangement permanent. That isn’t how I operate. Even if you do wind up in my bed, it will only be until I’m finished with you. Don’t fall in love with me, because I certainly won’t be falling in love with you.” It was a slightly more blunt version of the standard dis-claimer he presented at the beginning of every relationship. If there was one thing he hated it was a woman getting over-emotional and acting shocked when it was obviously time to end the relationship. And relationships always had to end.
“I’ll try,” Elaine said dryly. She was grateful for that little slap back to reality. He was a domineering womanizer, the sort of man she despised. And she’d do well to remember that.
Don’t fall in love with him? She nearly laughed out loud. She wasn’t even sure she liked him. And anyway, how could you fall in love if you’d written off the entire emotion?
“Plenty of women before you have fallen for me. Or my wallet, whichever the case may be.”
“Trust me when I tell you I’m not interested in your heart or your wallet. I’m fully capable of supporting myself financially, and as for my taste in men…well, it doesn’t run toward relics from bygone eras.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “We have a deal,” he said.
She stuck out her hand and he shook it in mild amusement. The woman was all business. Except when she blushed.
“Well, Mr. De Luca, it will be a pleasure working with you.” The professional smile she had entered with was pasted firmly back into place. “I’ll have my lawyer contact yours, and they can begin drafting the prenuptial agreement. Send me a copy of your calendar so that we can make a decision on the wedding date.”
“Of course,” he said. She turned to go, her pants tightening against her pert, rounded backside as she strode to the door. “Ms. Chapman?” She stopped and turned to face him again. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight. We’re going to go shopping for an engagement ring in the morning.”
She looked as if she wanted to say something. Her lips quivered, then hardened, but she remained silent.
“Oh, and be sure to wear something…feminine.”
Chapter Two
ELAINE glared at her bedside clock as the shrill alarm reminded her that it was time to get out of bed. She hadn’t slept at all. She’d just twisted around in a tangle of sheets, second-guessing everything that had taken place the previous day.
She was no romantic—far from it. She was a pragmatist right down to her ugly shoes. Marriage, at its heart, was only a business arrangement anyway. The signing of a contract to legally bind two people together, with certain penalties applying should the agreement be broken.
But suddenly it seemed so much bigger than just signing a contract. She was actually marrying the man.
She swung her legs over the side of her bed and padded over to her closet. Wear something feminine, he’d said. If only she didn’t need his help so badly she would have told him exactly where he could stick his opinions on her style of dress. But she wasn’t about to blow this deal by being stubborn over every small demand. She would save up for the big things. This, although a blow to her pride, she could do.
She rifled through the tightly packed closet. Nothing but severe-looking suits in dark colors. Practical, but not exactly pretty. Certainly not feminine.
Although his idea of feminine was probably a corset and fishnet stockings!
There was a pale yellow dress wadded up into a ball and stuffed in the far reaches of the closet. She picked it up and shook out the wrinkles. It had flowers. And it was a dress. That, she supposed, would qualify it as feminine.
She took a quick shower and shaved her legs hurriedly. She got out and propped her leg up on the vanity, dabbed at the razor cut on her knee, then made the fatal error of looking in the mirror. She grimaced at the face staring back at her. There were deep purple shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep. She looked like a raccoon.
It had been a long time since she’d tried to play up her looks. These days she took care to tone down her beauty by wearing suits that camouflaged her hourglass figure and by pulling her long golden hair into the tightest bun she could manage. She didn’t like the way she looked, but at least it had made the guys at work stop patting her on the behind and sending her off to make coffee.
She looked at her make-up bag, shoved against the back of the vanity. It was actually dusty. She did a mental calculation on when she’d gone to her last charity ball. Six months ago. That was how long it had been since she’d touched make-up. But it was desperately needed now.
Even without the raccoon eyes she would feel inadequate enough on the arm of a man who looked like Marco De Luca.
He was the perfect example of how it was different for men and women in the workplace. Where his looks were an asset to him, hers made men treat her like their own personal Barbie doll and made women treat her as if she was the enemy.
In the beginning she hadn’t disguised her body. She hadn’t felt she was at a disadvantage being female. But she had learned very quickly. It had only taken one incident to have her blacklisted from every decent real estate firm in the city; one tiny rumor that everyone had believed without so much as a photo to confirm it.
Even the man involved in the incident had denied it, but that hadn’t made a difference to any of the city’s gossipmongers. In the end the man had been allowed to keep his job, and at the age of twenty she had learned exactly where she stood in the male-dominated corporate world.
She applied the bare minimum of make-up needed to cover up the dark circles, and put on a little blush, mascara and lipgloss to play up her features as subtly as possible. She was reasonably satisfied with the results. She wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants, but the make-up highlighted her features nicely, made them look softer.
She checked her bedside clock. She had five minutes. She raced to her dresser and sifted through her massive collection of underwear, pulling out a pale yellow lace bra and thong. Her affinity for girlie bras and panties was her one concession to femininity. And it was safe, because no one knew about it.
The doorbell rang, and the sound put an uncomfortable jittery sensation low in her belly. She clamped a hand to her stomach in an attempt the squelch the feeling. The last thing she needed was to start acting like a silly teenage girl with a crush. She hadn’t acted like a silly teenage girl when she’d been a teenager. No reason to start now that she was nearly at the halfway mark of her twenties.
“Coming!” she shouted, still trying to clasp her bra.
She gave herself one last glance as she raced by the bedroom mirror, and grimaced. Her hair was starting to curl, and in no time it would turn into frizz. Normally she didn’t dare let her hair dry naturally, but at the moment she didn’t have time to worry about it.
She slipped the dress over her head as she hurried out of her bedroom. It was shorter than she remembered, ending above her knees, and the scoop neck showed a lot more cleavage than she remembered too. The last time she’d worn it had probably been her sophomore year of high school. But it was too late to change now.
She swung open the door and her heart slammed against her ribcage. If he’d been handsome yesterday in his suit, he was devastating today in dark blue jeans and white button-up shirt. The color of the shirt enhanced his golden-brown skin, and he had the sleeves scrunched up to his elbows revealing his muscled forearms.
That tightening sensation was back, winding through her midsection and sending electric pulses through her bloodstream. Muscled forearms were something else she liked, apparently.
She was staring. Oh, no. She was staring and she couldn’t stop. Thankfully, he didn’t notice. Or maybe he pretended not to. Or he was just so used to women gawping at him that he took it as his due.
“You’re ready,” he said, in a tone she wasn’t certain was complimentary. He assessed her slowly, his brown eyes taking a leisurely tour of her body. She had to fight the urge to try and cover up. “Typical female behavior demands that you keep me waiting for at least half an hour.”
“I haven’t picked up my copy of The Rules lately, so I must be out of the loop,” she said waspishly.
He chose to ignore her biting retort and let his eyes roam over her body again. “Don’t you think it’s a little chilly out for a dress that skimpy?” The dress ended well above her knees, showing off killer legs she’d done a great job of camouflaging with her baggy pants.
“Skimpy?” She tugged at the hem, as if trying to add length to it. “It’s perfectly decent. Besides, it’s all I had that was appropriately feminine for you.” She said it sweetly, but he could feel her barely contained annoyance radiating off her in waves.
Fine. That made two of them. The last thing he wanted to do was take a woman shopping. Much less take a woman shopping for a ring. Commitment, and anything resembling it, had been something he’d always endeavored to avoid. He’d spent too much of his life looking out for the needs of others, being the stable influence. As soon as his younger brother had turned eighteen Marco had taken his life back, and he wasn’t about to forfeit it again by thrusting into the claws of some greedy female.
Usually if he was going to buy a woman jewelry, or some other gift, he had his PA sort it out. Anything else was much too personal and might convey intent that was most definitely not there.
But this was a necessary evil. It would call attention to them. Give the press a bone to gnaw on. Which was exactly what he wanted.
“It’s fine,” he said, trying not to give away just how fine he thought the dress was. “Just get a jacket.”
“Well, as long as it meets with your approval, Mr. De Luca.” She grabbed a light jacket and swept out the door.
Marco walked behind her, trying not to pay too close attention to the sway of her hips and the flare of that dangerously short dress. He felt his body tighten and he nearly groaned out loud. Who knew that Elaine Chapman had been hiding legs that could bring a man to his knees? And that image brought to mind a host of interesting possibilities.
He pulled his keys out of his pocket and pressed a remote unlock button, making the headlights of a
low-slung black Ferrari flash.
“I expected it to be red,” she mused.
He chuckled. “I hate to be too obvious.”
She had to bite back a laugh. Marco was completely obvious in every way. His clothing screamed wealth, from his custom-made suit jackets to his handcrafted Italian leather shoes. And his body screamed sex, from his broad shoulders to his bold swagger.
He wore his confidence with the ease of a second skin, and it made her envious. She doubted he did anything based on the approval or disapproval of others. He simply succeeded. He lived to please himself. She wanted that.
He opened the passenger door and gestured for her to get in. She stopped in her tracks and gave him a look that could have melted ice.
He quirked a dark eyebrow at her. “You don’t allow men to open doors for you?”
“I can open my own doors.” She was being pigheaded, and she knew it. She let men open doors for her all the time if they offered.
She saw a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. Something exciting. “Yes, I’m sure that you can. But as of today you are my woman. And that means that I will treat you as I would treat a lover, bella mia.” He purred the endearment, and she felt it vibrate all the way down to her toes.
Her knees swobbled slightly and she gave in and sank into the car’s plush leather seats to avoid giving herself away.
An arrogant grin lit his handsome features. “Now, let’s go find you a ring. Something to show the world that you are mine.”
When they entered Tiffany & Co. a thousand childhood dreams that she’d never actually had converged on her, and a wave of emotion swamped her. The sophisticated surroundings and the man standing next to her made for an intoxicating romantic fantasy.
