Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One

by Marie Ferrarella

  The rest of the press conference passed quickly, and soon Pat was watching the men and women file out, with several of the reporters still hovering around Blaise. Mainly women, she noted, gathering up her notes from the table and slowly, deliberately, putting them in order.

  Sam rose quietly. “What country?” he asked as soon as there was no one near them.

  “News to me,” Pat admitted, a grimace playing at the corners of her mouth as she watched Blaise talking easily to the circle of people around him.

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t know about him, boss lady.”

  “Neither do I, Sam, neither do I,” she said with a sigh. “Sam, could you—“

  “I’m already gone,” he said, second-guessing her and starting to clear the room of the other employees who had been present.

  Pat caught Pardy grumbling to someone about being kept in the dark and not being trusted. She found Sam again and whispered, “Explain to him that I’m as much in the dark as he is.” She knew he didn’t like the task, because he and Pardy did not get along, but she also knew that Sam would do anything she told him to, for which she was grateful.

  Pat turned her attention back to Blaise. There were only two reporters left now, one of whom was the “new woman,” who was very obviously taken with Blaise. Pat began to wonder if any woman was truly immune to him.

  She hung back, waiting, feeling like a schoolgirl who had to wait her turn with the handsome professor. Finally, everyone was gone and Pat and Blaise stood in the empty room.

  Blaise turned, sensing her presence. She was surprised that he even knew she had stayed behind, considering the attention he had gotten from the other women. But he was not one to be drunk on his own prowess. Business was first, always first, with someone like him.

  “I think it went very well, Lady Pat. You handled yourself like a champion. I’m proud of you.”

  His words of praise almost made her forget her anger at not having been informed. But she managed to pull some of her fire back into her eyes. “What country?” she asked.

  “Hmm?” he asked mildly as he handed her neatly stacked notes to her.

  “What country is funding us?” she asked more clearly, her tone a little more demanding.

  “Oh. I don’t know yet,” he replied truthfully, the admission not troubling him in the slightest.

  It did Pat. “What!” she cried.

  “Easy, Lady Pat,” he said soothingly. “Some country will come through. As a matter of fact, with that little item mentioned in the articles, we’re sure to get several offers hoping to counter the ‘offer’ we already have.”

  “But what if we don’t?” she demanded.

  He looked at her patiently, and said slowly, as if to a child in need of educating, “You have to think positively, Lady Pat. If you don’t believe you’ll win, there’s no reason to get into the game.”

  “This isn’t a game, Blaise. This is very, very important to me and I won’t have you treating it as if it’s an afternoon’s diversion!” she said hotly. “This may be small potatoes to you, but it’s not to me.”

  Blaise seemed unaffected by her tirade. “Did you see the way those reporters looked when they left the room?” he asked mildly. “They were impressed, Lady Pat.”

  Pat beckoned to the part of her that was the successful manager, and was able to respond to him softly but assertively. “I acknowledge your glowing background in high finance and accept the possibility that you had sound reasons for saying what you did. But if you’re going to help me, which was your idea in the first place, you’ve got to keep certain things in mind. How do you think I felt when you announced a financial agreement of which I was unaware? Certain members of my staff now believe that I have been withholding information from them. I just can’t have you ruining the atmosphere of cooperation and trust that has kept this project moving so far.”

  A flicker of regret passed over Blaise’s otherwise stoic expression, and he put his hands on her shoulders. “I must confess that you’ve got a point. In all honesty, the idea of a foreign investor never occurred to me until I started speaking. But you’ve got to admit that it was a brilliant move. With another government coming into the picture, we’ve taken the Eagle out of the realm of ‘small potatoes,’ as you call it, and made it an international project. Something your staff is going to be proud of working for—not just their shares or their memory of Roger. Now they’re working on something that is seriously going to be looked at as a piece of history. Is that so bad?” he asked.

  Pat considered his words carefully, and his boyish enthusiasm won her over. “I never doubted your instincts, Blaise,” she said with an indulgent smile. “I suppose you’re right on that count.”

  He took his hands from her shoulders. “Of course I am,” he told her, grinning. “It’s my business to be right—about everything,” he said with a wicked wink, making Pat think fleetingly of his prophecy last night that she would be his.

  “But what if no country comes forward!” she persisted.

  “About everything,” he repeated, then kissed her and walked away.

  The room echoed his voice and his presence long after he was gone. Pat walked to the wall of windows and looked down at the parking lot two stories below. She saw Blaise get into his car and speed away. Was this her knight in shining armor at long last? Or was she going to be bitterly disappointed? With her mind in turmoil, she walked out of the conference room.

  When Pat got home that night, Blaise was not around. Angelica informed her that he was “out,” which was the only message he had left. He was “out” the following night as well. And the following. Pat did not see him for four days and began to believe that he had either decided to leave or was avoiding her. In either case, she had too much to do to be concerned about his presence, or the lack of it.

  But she was.

  And then, almost a week later, she was awakened by someone knocking on her bedroom door. She glanced at the luminous dial on her clock and saw that it was just a little past midnight. Was it Angelica? she wondered, switching on the light and finding her way to the door quickly, entirely forgetting her robe.

  But as she opened the door, she found Blaise standing there, an excited light in his eyes. A different sort of light came into them for a moment as the words on his lips hung suspended while he looked at her appreciatively.

  The lavender nightgown she wore was sleeveless, its lace design coming up around her breasts, which were ripe and full and still proudly high. The lacy material hugged them, adding to the desirable air about her as the folds of nightgown fell gently to the ground.

  “The prodigal son has returned with good news,” he said flippantly, his eyes never leaving her body.

  Pat suddenly realized that she was not wearing her robe and that, illuminated by lamplight, her nightgown was fairly see-through. She swallowed to take the dryness out of her throat. “Just a second,” she said, turning around to pick up her robe.

  But when she turned back, Blaise was in the room and the door was shut behind him. Pat’s nerve endings tingled, sounding an alarm. She tried to remind herself that she had always been able to laugh off advances when they had come from other men, both before and after Roger’s death. But there was no laughter now as an excitement fought to take hold of her.

  “Did you miss me?” he asked in a sultry, husky voice.

  “Well, I did wonder where you were,” she admitted, trying to sound disinterested. “Most of my houseguests don’t just disappear into thin air without leaving some kind of word behind,” she said, walking away from him.

  “I left word,” he said, coming closer to her, almost stalking her, Pat thought desperately.

  “’Out’ is only one word. Usually I get at least a whole sentence,” she said dryly.

  “Next time I’ll leave a postcard in twenty-five words or less,” he promised. “’Dear Lady Pat, I’m out, tilting your windmills.’ How’s that?”

  “What?” she asked, shaking her head. His st
atement made no sense to her. Neither did the growing longing she was feeling. She was getting increasingly nervous over the realization that she wanted him—had always wanted him.

  Blaise reached for her hand and pulled her closer to him.

  Chapter Six

  Blaise’s long, sweeping fingers slid up and down Pat’s body, pulling her against him as he once more captured her lips, draining words of reproach from her and pulling forth the sweetness that had never before been allowed to blossom. Pat felt engulfed and overpowered by him, and the determination to keep business uppermost in her mind died a sharp, quick death as the hungry woman within her opened up to him.

  Pat thought she was on fire as his hands explored the softness that was hidden by the gauzelike nightgown, which comprised the flimsy barrier between them. Somehow, it was no longer on her shoulders, held up only by the force of his body pressing against hers. As Blaise allowed a tiny space between them, the lavender material loosened from its final perch on her nipples and floated to her waist as its place was taken by his cupped hands, which rubbed a sea of molten lava over Pat with each caress.

  His lips were everywhere, kissing her neck, the hollow of her throat, the delicate points of her shoulders, tenderly yet hungrily devouring her as she felt herself pulled closer and closer to him. How long had it been since she was desired, truly desired, by a man? Roger’s lovemaking in total had never even approached this plateau. It had been tender, but awkward at times, and far from satisfying. She had believed that that was all there was—until Blaise.

  Drunkenly, Pat made a stab at control. “Whe— where have you been?” she asked.

  “Then you did miss me,” he said against her ear, his hot breath making her pulse throb erratically and her body plead to be his.

  But Pat had thought with her mind, not her emotions, for so long that there was still a thread of resolve left to cling to. And she did.

  She stepped back. “Blaise, I don’t know what you’re trying to do—“

  He stopped, then smiled that engaging grin of his, his eyes sensual. “I thought I was making it pretty clear. Just let me go on showing you,” he urged, coming toward her again. “You’ll catch on soon enough.”

  Pat put up her hands, making a barrier in front of her. “I don’t want to ‘catch on,’” she lied. “I want to produce the Hamilton jet.”

  “In here?” he asked, looking around the blue and mocha room. “How small are the businessmen using this jet supposed to be?”

  “Stop laughing at me,” she ordered with a pleading note in her voice. “I’m serious.”

  She slipped the nightgown back up, hiding her nakedness from his sight while he gazed at her unabashedly. She could feel the blush going up to the roots of her hair. Blaise had a habit of bringing springtime back into her life, a time when her innocence was still intact and the world was a lot lighter and happier.

  “So am I,” he said under his breath. “Yes,” he said aloud, taking her hands in his, but this time it was a comforting gesture of friendship. “I know you are.” He gazed at her for a moment, as if shifting his thoughts around.

  “Which is why,” he continued, his eyes kind, “you’re going to have a party.”

  “A party?” she echoed in surprise. “What is it that I’m supposed to be celebrating?” she asked, wondering what he was up to now.

  “Hopefully, money,” he said dryly.

  “Does this riddle have an answer?” she asked, her heart still throbbing violently.

  “You are going to be entertaining the about-to-be investors in Roger’s brainchild,” Blaise said, sitting down on her lounge chair in the corner of the room.

  “Shouldn’t I meet them in a board meeting?” she asked, careful not to sit near Blaise.

  “All in good time, Lady Pat. First, we see them through a wineglass and make nice to them. Friendly people can be touched for money much more easily than unfriendly people,” he said.

  “But I haven’t time for a party,” she protested, rising from the edge of her bed and standing in front of him.

  “Have you time for bankruptcy?” he asked evenly, looking up at her.

  She cast her eyes down, staring at the carpet. “No.”

  “Then you have time for a party. Tomorrow night,” he said. “The invitations are already out,” he added.

  She looked at him in surprise. “How did you—?”

  “Never ask me how. I have my ways, Lady Pat,” he said, lacing his fingers together and resting his head against them as he watched her. “You shouldn’t wear things like that. A gunnysack would be far better,” he said, “if you want to be left alone.”

  “I don’t usually have parades coming through my room,” she said evenly.

  “Lucky thing,” he replied as he rose and went to the door. “You rained on mine.” He stopped in the doorway. “Oh, by the way, I think I have a country for you.”

  Her eyes grew wide as she fairly bounced across the room to the door, putting her hand on his to stop his exit. “Wait a minute!” she cried. “What country? Explain!”

  But the look on Blaise’s face was mischievous. “I’m tired. I just flew back,” he said mysteriously. “And all this resistance has sapped my strength,” he said, stretching before her. The movement was slow, purposeful, and utterly sensual. “We’ll talk in the morning,” he said, and left.

  Pat slammed the door behind him in frustration. She heard him laugh softly as the door to his own room closed.

  This had to be a ploy to get her to come to him, she thought. At times, his ruthless teasing was too exasperating to bear.

  Angelica came through like a trooper the next evening.

  When Pat came home from the plant at three-thirty, she found that Blaise had called in a maid service and had placed three young girls under Angelica’s direction, telling her just what he wanted done. Normally, Angelica did not like having anyone dictate her movements, but Pat noted that she acquiesced to Blaise’s requests easily enough. The house was suitably decorated for the occasion, and food was being brought in from a restaurant that specialized in exotic dishes.

  “Houston Fields is a gourmand,” Blaise explained to Pat as she looked questioningly at him when the caterer hurried past her into the kitchen. She grasped his arm in time to keep from being trampled by two men carrying in trays of hors d’oeuvres.

  Blaise did not seem to mind in the slightest as he smiled down at Pat while one of the maids looked on enviously. “Not now, Lady Pat,” he said playfully.

  She shot him an annoyed look, and the maid quickly hurried out of the living room.

  “Well, at least I know the name of one of my guests,” she said flippantly.

  “I’ll fill you in on the others while I help you dress for dinner,” Blaise offered, about to follow her out of the room.

  Pat turned, standing her ground firmly. “I’ve been getting myself dressed ever since I was in the first grade,” she said.

  “And hasn’t it been lonely?” he asked devilishly.

  “Blaise Hamilton,” Pat said, half-amused and half-desperate, “you are the most impossible man I have ever run into!”

  “Good,” he said, coming after her. “Now shall we go?” he asked, taking her elbow.

  “I go,” she said in slow, deliberate fashion. “You stay,” she said, pointing to his chest.

  Blaise snapped his fingers. “Foiled again. Okay, then take a bubble bath.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, that luxurious thing movie stars are always doing,” he prompted.

  She cocked her head. “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “To make you feel sexier,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips.

  “It’s the jet we want to fly, not me,” she responded dryly.

  “You fly what you want,” Blaise said, his eyes caressing her, “and I’ll fly what I want. Besides, Fields likes his women feminine.”

  “I’m not anyone’s woman,” she said archly.

  “Yes you are,” he
said softly.

  She threw up her hands and walked out.

  “The bubble bath is on the sink in your bathroom,” Blaise called after her, stepping out of the way of a delivery man. “Half an hour should do it.”

  “So now you’re an expert on bubble baths,” she said with a mocking tone as she turned back to look at him.

  The look on Blaise’s face was positively wicked. “I’ve shared a lot,” he said.

  Pat turned away without another word.

  She had no intention of taking a bubble bath, meaning to shower quickly and be ready. But Blaise and Angelica seemed to have everything under control, so, half out of boredom, half out of a desire to recapture a time when she was free to take long bubble baths, she poured the pink crystals into the sunken Grecian tub and watched the suds seductively rise up to her touch.

  Tying her sunlight-brown hair up on top of her head with a ribbon, Pat gingerly slid into the steaming hot water, letting it erode the tense, tired ache from her body. Slowly, ever so slowly, she relaxed and let the bath work its magic. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to let go completely for the first time since Roger’s death. Blaise did have something here, she admitted grudgingly.

  It was only after she had opened her eyes and returned to the present that she realized the noise that had roused her was the soft turning of her bathroom doorknob. She smiled in satisfaction, having locked the door before she had gotten into the tub.

  “It’s locked,” she called out triumphantly.

  “Playing hard-to-get only makes the sport more interesting,” Blaise said with a laugh. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Good. Knew you would. Sure you don’t want your back scrubbed?” he offered, his voice sexy.

  “No!”