by Day Leclaire
"If there's any suspicion that you're marrying in order to take over Crabbe and Associates, it will put your uncle in a very awkward position. Your board will assume it's a vote of no-confidence, as will the general public."
"I won't let anything hurt my uncle."
Stefano leaned forward and lowered his voice.
"You're going to hurt him. Have you discussed your marriage plans with him?"
How could she? Not that she could explain that to Stefano. "No, I haven't discussed them."
"Don't you think walking into the next board meeting and assuming charge will humiliate him?"
She hadn't thought of that and should have. It was a logical progression. Of course, she hadn't planned to make the changeover in front of the board, though the results could very well be the same. Why was nothing about this easy? Perhaps because she'd been forced to make this decision without the opportunity to plan a strategy. "What do you suggest?" she asked tightly.
"We don't have a lot of time to spare because of Cornell, but I suggest we spend the next few weeks creating a whirlwind romance. Let people think we're falling in love."
"Is that really necessary?"
"It's not just Loren I'm considering. I have my father to worry about, too. Dom will be much more accepting of our marriage if he believes love prompted it, rather than business." He allowed her to mull that over before continuing. "According to my investigator, you have a birthday in a few weeks. It will provide the perfect opportunity to fly to Vegas or Reno and have an impromptu wedding. It will cause talk, but it won't throw suspicion on your motives or on your uncle's abilities. People will think you finally decided to cut loose and took it to extreme measures."
That made sense, despite her reluctance to waste the next few weeks faking a romance. If it helped Uncle Loren save face and satisfied Stefano's father, she wouldn't object. "Okay. I'll agree to that condition, as well. Anything else?"
"We'd better discuss the duration of the marriage."
"It doesn't have to last long at all."
"Yes, it does."
"Stefano--"
"If we marry and divorce in a few short months, we'll both end up looking like fools. That won't help either of our careers. Is there any reason the marriage can't last a while?"
"What if we meet someone else?"
She wished he'd stop staring at her as though he could see straight through to her soul. "Is that likely?" he asked roughly.
His tone had acquired far too possessive a quality and she fought against it with the most outrageous lie she could manage. "I could meet someone tomorrow."
He didn't take the bait. "Then I suggest you forget about marrying me and wait until you find that someone."
"Darn it, Stefano! You know I have no interest in marrying you or anyone else. If it weren't for-" She broke off, painfully aware that she'd almost given herself away. She thrust the wineglass to a safe distance, wishing she could do the same with Stefano. Both caused ungovernable reactions, something she couldn't afford right now. "If it weren't for certain unforeseen events, I wouldn't be marrying now."
"You flatter me, cara," he murmured in a dry tone.
She fought for control. "I apologize, Stefano. That was rude." If she didn't move this conversation along, there might not be a marriage to negotiate. The way she was going, she was likely to insult her way out of it. "You want to live together? Fine. You think the marriage should last a while? I'll agree to that, too. Now I have a question for you. Will we have to live together the entire time?"
"It's possible. I suggest we remain flexible on that point." A slight smile eased the harshness around his mouth. "Do you know how to do flexible?"
"I'll give it a stab." The waiter removed their plates. Before Penelope could protest, he placed a delicious looking chocolate-and-raspberry cheesecake in front of her. "I couldn't possibly eat this."
"Not part of today's scheduled food intake?" Stefano jibbed.
She snatched up her fork and glared at him.
Demolishing the decadent dessert, she acknowledged that he knew precisely which buttons to push to get her to do as he wished. She stewed over that distressing fact as she scraped the last smidgeon of chocolate from her plate.
"I have a condition of my own," she announced. "And what's that?"
She adjusted her glasses with a determined air. "I want it clearly understood that I'll be in charge of our marriage. I make the decisions. I call the shots. I choose what we do and when we do it."
"And my role?"
She smiled grimly. "You get to obey."
"What happens if I don't agree to this rather interesting condition?"
"I'll go pay a visit to Mr. Cornell and see if he won't be more willing," she answered promptly.
It was the most outrageous bluff she'd ever attempted and she suspected he knew it. Even so, she refused to back down, just as she refused to spend the next weeks and months having her buttons pushed by Stefano Salvatore. She wasn't about to gain her independence on one front only to lose it on another.
An odd smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"You propose an interesting condition, cara."
The return of his accent should have warned her.
"Then you agree?"
"This is your only condition? You're sure it's what you want? All you want?"
"I'm positive," she announced with more bravado than honesty.
"Then that's what you will have." He leaned across the table to seal his promise with far too brief a kiss. "I'll see to it personally."
This had to stop, Stefano told himself as he hailed a cab. He didn't want a real relationship with Penelope. Ever since Kate Bennett he'd been off both women and commitment. Oh, not permanently. He wasn't a total fool. One day the right woman would come along.
But she wasn't Penelope Wentworth.
To continue to play the sort of games he had over lunch could only lead one place--to total disaster. What if he began to care about her? What if she came to care about him? One of them was guaranteed a world of hurt. He could handle it. But what about Penelope?
Oh, she'd rationalize away the heartache. She'd find some logical explanation for why their relationship hadn't worked. But inside, deep inside where logic had no place and hurt left bruising fingerprints on fragile emotions, she'd change. And it wouldn't be for the better.
No. If he were smart, he'd keep their association as unemotional and painless as possible. He'd make certain she understood their marriage would remain a business proposition, no more. That way they'd both remain safe.
That way there'd be no harm, no foul.
This had to stop, Penelope told herself as she exited the cab outside Crabbe and Associates. She didn't want a real relationship with Stefano, certainly not the type of marriage he seemed to be insisting upon. It sounded far too risky. Someday, maybe. After all, she wasn't a total fool. One day the right man would come along.
But he wasn't Stefano Salvatore.
To continue to play the sort of games she had over lunch could only lead one place--to total disaster. What if he began to care about her? What if she came to care about him? One of them was guaranteed a world of hurt. She could handle it. But what about Stefano?
Oh, he'd deal with the heartache. He had with Kate Bennett. But it would consume some of the passionate spark that illuminated his soul. It would eat away at the charm and the grace and the protective generosity she found so attractive. It would change him. And it wouldn't be for the better.
No. If she were smart, she'd keep their association as unemotional and painless as possible. She'd make certain he understood their marriage would remain a business proposition, no more. That way they'd both remain safe.
That way there'd be no harm, no foul.
Stefano held the receiver to his ear with an uplifted shoulder and gazed out of his office window. "I don't understand the problem." He leaned back in his chair and silently counted the windows fronting Crabbe and Associates until he reached th
e corner office Penelope occupied. Was she sitting at her desk, staring out the window and counting office windows, too? "You agreed that we'd have a whirlwind romance."
Her voice acquired an odd, high-pitched intonation.
"A whirlwind romance involves flowers or candy. The occasional dinner date. It doesn't involve-" She gulped air. "It doesn't involve you know what."
"I see." He grinned. "People were around when you opened the box, weren't they?"
"Yes, people were around!" He could practically hear her gnash her teeth. "There were three presidents from three different firms sitting in my office when your gift arrived. I assumed from the shape of the box that it was chocolates. I thought opening your gift would be an excellent way to let people know we were romantically involved."
"You must have realized it was too light for chocolates."
"No, I did not realize it was too light."
He straightened in his seat, a frown tugging at his brow. "And why is that, cara? Hasn't anyone ever sent you chocolates?"
"We're getting off the point."
A painful vulnerability had crept into her voice, a vulnerability he'd have given anything to ease. "You'll excuse me if I say that's precisely the point. Are all the men you've ever known blind? Or just stupid?"
He could sense her struggle for composure and an image formed in his mind, one he'd seen many times since meeting her. At the first sign of opposition, she'd straighten her glasses and lift her chin. The overhead lights would catch in her hair, softening the tawny streaks and igniting the gold. If he'd been there with her, she'd have fixed him with gleaming eyes filled with determination. And then she'd argue with unending logical precision.
When they'd first met, her cool, calm facade had been sufficient to fool him. But no longer. A woman's sensitivity lurked beneath the surface. And with it burned an emotional warmth and irresistible allure. Where most saw the practical businesswoman, he saw a delicious feminine mystique, one that tempted him past endurance. Stefano's mouth twisted. So much for keeping a professional distance.
"I haven't called in order to discuss my past relationships," she stated. "Have you any idea of the reaction when I opened your gift?"
He reluctantly allowed the conversation to return to the subject at hand. "I know how I would have reacted. What did your visitors do?"
"They- Never mind what they did! Suffice to say that the reaction was all you could have wished. There's no doubt in anyone's mind that the two of us are conducting a torrid affair."
"Perfect."
"It is not perfect. By any chance, do you recall agreeing to my being in charge of our relationship?"
"No."
He'd thrown her with that one. "What do you mean, no? My one condition to this proposition was-"
"-was that you'd be in charge of our marriage. I don't believe we're married, yet."
Her ragged breathing blasted through the receiver.
"Stefano?"
"Yes, cara?"
"Are you in your office?"
"Sitting at my desk, staring out the window."
"Staring at the window to my office?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. For some reason, I do that a lot these days."
"Stay right where you are. Don't move a muscle until I get there. Is that clear?"
"As clear as my gift."
"It was sheer, not clear!" With that, she slammed the phone down.
Stefano smiled as he punched the button to disconnect his portable phone and tossed it onto the desk. Interesting. It would seem his bride-to-be was in a bit of a snit. Got her impeccable feathers all in a ruffle. His smile grew to a grin. He looked forward to seeing this side of her, assuming she remained ruffled for the few minutes it took to walk from her building to his.
He didn't have long to wait. Blatantly disobeying her "order," he left his office and headed toward the elevators. Halfway there, he heard the warning ping of an arriving car. Something in the strident sound suggested it might be Penelope.
It was.
"Stefano Salvatore, I told you not to move." He heard her voice even before he could see her.
"Hello, Penelope."
Stefano released his breath in a long sigh. Damn. This was definitely not a good sign. If he was here, and she was there, then her opening salvo could only have been directed toward one other person. He arrived in time to see Penelope clutching a fistful of Marco's jacket in one hand and waving her index finger beneath his nose with the other. At the opposite end of the hallway, Hanna was bearing down on Penelope. Stefano bit off an expletive and broke into a jog. It would appear a collision was inevitable.
"Don't you 'hello, Penelope' me!" She stopped waving her finger and started poking Marco's chest with it. "I want you to explain why you sent me that underwear. What in the world were you thinking?"
"Er-"
Hanna arrived first. Linking arms with Marco, she gently removed Penelope's fist from her husband's suit jacket and smoothed the offending wrinkles. "Yes, do explain yourself, Marco," she encouraged sweetly. "I'd also like to hear why my husband is sending intimate apparel to a woman other than his wife."
"Marco?" Penelope broke off mid-jab. "You're ... you're Marco?"
"Afraid so. My brother is over there." He pointed toward Stefano. "He's the one with the really furious expression."
She flinched. "Uh-oh."
Time to step in. "I'll handle this, if you don't mind," Stefano said. He scooped up his future wife before she had a chance to open her mouth again. Not that such an unusual state of affairs lasted for long.
"There's a logical explanation for this," she began, squirming in his arms.
He stilled her restless movements by tightening his hold. Her breath escaped in a startled rush and she sank into his embrace, her entire body becoming soft and pliable and lushly feminine. His mouth tightened in frustration. Did she even realize how instinctively she responded to him? Couldn't she use that response to tell him from his brother?
"A logical explanation." He repeated the words in a clipped tone, finding himself heartily sick of the phrase. "It doesn't surprise me that you think so. Unfortunately you're not going to be able to logic your way clear of this situation. I should also warn you that your logic has the uncanny knack of annoying the hell out of me. Particularly when you're dead wrong."
"Stefano--"
"Not now."
Something in his voice stopped her cold. The minute he'd gained his office and closeted them behind a locked door, he released her. She stumbled into the room, straightening first her suit jacket, then her glasses and finally her hair. Unruffling her ruffles, no doubt. Planting his back against the solid oak door, he deliberately remained silent, afraid if he opened his mouth he'd be unable to halt the fierce torrent of words. Then he waited.
Penelope cleared her throat. "Under the circumstances, complaining about your gift loses its punch at this juncture."
"You thought Marco was me." The words rumbled across the room.
Her eyes widened at the sound. "Well, yes-"
"Again." The rumble grew louder.
Lightning flashed in her eyes in response. "You say that as though it were deliberate. In case you've forgotten, you two look alike. It's hard to tell the difference."
"You'll have a hard time convincing everyone we're madly in love if you keep confusing the two of us."
"Perhaps name tags?"
"I assume that's an attempt at humor?" He straightened away from the door, aware that this clash had been inevitable, brewing between them from the start.
Her hand whipped upward to adjust her glasses once more. Other than that single telling gesture, she managed to retain her composure. It impressed him no end. It also made him all the more determined to shake her icy calm and expose the passion sparking beneath.
"Have you noticed that your accent is back?" she announced.
"Does it make you nervous?"
"Very." A hint of irritation broke through, blazing across her face for a brief
instant-Nellie eclipsing Penelope. "I assume the accent is a result of your being upset."
"A distinct possibility."
"I came here to discuss your present, in case you've forgotten and I don't intend to get sidetracked"
