Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One

by Marie Ferrarella

  “How about your front?”

  Someone like Blaise was not above picking locks! “Blaise, if you don’t leave this instant, I’ll scream!”

  “No, that only happens during . . . not before,” he said seductively, then paused. “Okay, I’ll retreat. “ She heard him go—she thought.

  It was a long time before Pat left the luxury of the tub. By then, the water was cold and had lost its magic. She got out and quickly toweled herself dry, then put on her bathrobe, leaving the shelter of the bathroom carefully. She looked behind her door, expecting Blaise to pop out.

  When he didn’t, she felt a little foolish, but told herself that her actions were justified. Blaise was totally unpredictable.

  As she made her way through the bedroom, a question that had been raised at the press conference came to mind. A reporter had wanted to know about competition between Hamilton and other manufacturers of small passenger planes. It wasn’t so farfetched an idea that one of them could be behind Blaise’s sudden appearance. Curtailing or completely sabotaging the Eagle’s production would benefit a lot of people in the short range, she thought angrily, becoming that much more determined to withstand Blaise’s attentions. She felt it wise not to ignore the possibility of his covert deceitfulness.

  She dressed carefully, wanting to create a good appearance at the party. If these were truly investors who were popping up on her doorstep— and where had Blaise found them when all her pleadings had yielded polite “maybes” at best?— when she wanted her chance at them, no matter what Blaise really had in mind. She chose a shimmering silver-blue floor-length dress with long, straight sleeves and one suggestive slit that traveled practically the length of her left leg. The neckline was deeply cut in the back, showing off her fine, sculptured shoulder blades, and had a slight V neck in the front. She brushed her hair down and then back, adding height to her appearance.

  “Very nice,” Blaise said when she joined him in the living room. He was issuing last-minute orders to the three maids while Angelica was busy in the kitchen, setting things up undoubtedly to please herself.

  “Thank you,” Pat murmured, pleased at his simple words.

  “The dress is nice too,” he added, a wicked twinkle dancing in his eyes.

  Pat laughed, looking at him fondly for a moment. “I don’t remember, were you always this glibly charming and free with your compliments?”

  “Yes and no,” he said. She thought he looked particularly handsome, silhouetted by the light from the white stone fireplace. The few dimly lit lamps added to the intimate mood. She tried to concentrate on his words and not the effect he was having on her. “I was always charming. The nurse told my mother I was the most charming baby in the nursery,” he said, his full lips given to a smile.

  “You probably made a pass at her,” she said, trying to lapse into light cheerfulness.

  “But,” he continued, ignoring her comment. “I am not always free with my compliments. I bestow them only when they’re appropriate—and you are a vision,” he said, holding out her hands as if to drink in the full picture she made.

  Pat refused to take his words seriously. “That line might have worked twenty years ago, but I know better now. The tragedy of life is that men grow better-looking as they grow older and women just grow older,” she said with a sigh.

  “Need I remind you yet again of that commercial about getting better?”

  “That’s just to sell a product,” she said, tossing the comment aside.

  “You, Lady Pat, could sell any product you wanted,” he said, and the way he said it, she could almost believe him. “Some people,” he said, and she realized that he still had her hands and was not letting go, “like their women older.”

  “Boy scout instincts, no doubt.”

  “No one could ever accuse me of being a boy scout,” he said, and Pat had to smile. “And there is something fascinating about a woman who has seen a little of life. She has maturity and experience and is not a mere giggling ingenue,” he said seriously. “At twenty, there’s just the rosebud, the blush on the bloom that is to come. At your age, the promise that was is just beginning to be fulfilled,” he said, his eyes tender with a hint of something that she could not quite believe.

  He took her into his arms, and this time the idea of resistance was far from Pat’s mind. His eyes sparkled as his lips brushed gently against hers, as if he was taking care not to smudge her lipstick.

  “How come they haven’t made you emperor of the world yet?” she murmured, trying to deny her “ingénue-like” racing pulse.

  “I’m working on it,” he replied, his voice enticing and low against her ear.

  But the doorbell rang and terminated what might have come to pass. Blaise released her, suddenly becoming the worldwide financier about to entertain prospective investors.

  Reluctantly, she gave up the lover who had been next to her only a moment before and joined Blaise at the door to greet her guests.

  Houston Fields was a tall, wide man with a gusto for living and an even greater one for eating. He arrived with an entourage of men who were his business associates and friends, one condition depending upon the other. They brought their wives. Everyone in the party seemed to know Blaise.

  Pat wondered if there was anyone whom Blaise did not know, as he led her through the introductions. Houston’s wife, Eloisa, was a Eurasian with lovely, almond eyes and a quiet, regal bearing that could easily have belonged to a princess. She and the women kept discreetly quiet while male voices were raised in friendly comaraderie. They sipped wine politely and partook of the hors d’oeuvres while a five-piece orchestra, bathed in the light from the glowing fireplace, provided soft, dreamy music.

  Dinner was a success and all appeared to be going smoothly.

  Houston Fields was the center of attention, a position he was used to by virtue of his girth, his millions, and his booming voice. He had, to Pat’s relief, an amazing sense of humor. The first time he slapped his knee in merriment, Pat thought he was going to knock over the table. It was barely steadied in time.

  Eventually, over after-dinner drinks and dessert, the matter of the Eagle was brought up. Houston cast a round, tiny eye at Pat, as if studying her critically.

  “So this paper bird of yours can really fly?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious. Business had a way of sobering everything, Pat thought as she nodded.

  “Yes. We have some of the finest engineers in the industry working at the plant,” she said, warming to her subject. “It’ll not only fly, but it’ll revolutionize air travel as we know it. There’s no telling what possibilities lie ahead,” she said with enthusiasm.

  “Yes, well ...” Houston cleared his throat, and Pat thought she was losing him.

  Quickly, she began to tell him about the plane’s inception, how her husband had seen every detail through, spending countless nights up with the plans. While it was true that he had employed the finest engineers, there was no doubt that it had been his brainchild all the way. He had been the inspiration behind it—and he had been the creator of more than one successful invention, although none as revolutionary and seemingly as impossible as the Eagle.

  Pat recited the plane’s specifications, knowing them better now than she knew her own name, and she could see that she was impressing Houston ever so slightly, although he kept a “damn poker face” on, just the way Blaise had said all good financiers did.

  When she was finished, Pat watched Houston lean back expansively, still watching her face.

  “Well, little lady, you can join my organization as a salesman, er, woman,” he corrected with a laugh for her benefit, “any day. Of course, it’s a little unfair of me to make you go through the paces, since Blaise here handed me everything I could ever possibly want to read on the subject before I got here. But it was nice finding out just how much you really believe in this plane of yours.”

  Through her paces? her mind echoed. Like a trained horse? But her anger simmered down after a moment. The big ma
n had meant it as a compliment, undoubtedly. Pat had not traveled in her husband’s circle of friends for twenty years without learning how to read a person’s nature, so she kept her peace and smiled.

  “Does that mean we have a pledge from you?” she asked, hoping that she sounded sufficiently subdued. She had been through so many disappointments, and even Roger’s friends had turned their backs on the project now that he was gone.

  “That it does, little lady, that it does. The meal here alone was worth a goodly sum,” Houston said happily, patting his ample bulk.

  Pat glanced at Blaise and saw him nod and smile at her. A feeling of relief mingled with joy and possibly even foolish love washed over her as Blaise, who sat at the opposite end of the dining-room table, gave her the high sign. He rose and walked toward her. Her eyes slid appreciatively over the fine figure that he cut. His navy jacket was buttoned, accenting the impressive difference between his waist and his shoulders, and Pat was not unaware that several of the wives looked at her with envy, imagining, no doubt, that there was something going on between her and Blaise. She put the thought aside.

  “If Houston is finished, I’d like to adjourn to the living room, where we can all gather in a little closer,” Blaise said, helping Pat out of her chair.

  A warm thrill passed through her as his hand touched her bare shoulder. He had done it. She had misjudged the man. Blaise had succeeded where she had failed in rounding up financing. Surely she could stop distrusting him now.

  The relief made her heart sing.

  Fields and his party stayed until well after eleven, then left after promising a million dollars.

  “I can’t believe it!” Pat cried, wanting to pinch herself to make sure the situation was real. “A million dollars,” she whispered.

  They were standing on the terrace that encircled the back of the house, looking out into the inky blackness of the cold, crisp New Mexico night. Pat wore her ermine wrap, but Blaise weathered the cold in just his suit. Directly behind the house was a smartly landscaped area with a gazebo and trees, which were not native to the land. Beyond that—desert. It gave one a feeling of being isolated. Only three stars winked down from a sky that held a quarter moon.

  “I told you I didn’t deal in thousands of dollars,” Blaise said, leaning against the railing as he watched her.

  “I know—but a million. How did you do it?” she asked, turning to him.

  “I’m a wizard,” he said with a laugh. “And you charmed the pants off old Houston.”

  “Pantless or not, the man wouldn’t have promised to invest a million dollars if you hadn’t approached him,” Pat said honestly. “I’m very, very grateful.”

  “How grateful?” he asked, his tone making her nerve endings tingle.

  A deep color came to her, which the night hid, mercifully. Pat looked down, sweeping lashes touching her face.

  “No, no, Lady Pat. I’m not asking for a pound of flesh or your lovely, supple body in payment for anything I’ve done. That’s not how I work,” he said evenly. “If you come to me, you come out of your own volition, not out of gratitude.” He touched her hair, slowly pulling out the two combs that held it back. The golden-brown tresses fell loose and free, framing her face and making her look like a sultry gypsy, but he made no move toward her, even though she caught herself wishing that he would.

  “Did you ever stop to wonder, Patti, what would have happened in our lives if Aunt Delia hadn’t come out on the terrace that time?” he asked, referring to her engagement party, when she had found herself alone with him on a terrace quite like this one. He had almost kissed her then.

  Pat raised her head slightly. The thought had teased her mind every so often when she was alone at night, waiting for Roger to come home. “Nothing would have happened,” she said quietly.

  “If you say so,” he said, his voice trailing off. But his tone gave lie to her words.

  “I was engaged to Roger.”

  “Yes, but engagements have been broken,” he replied in the same tone. “And you were so pretty, dressed in moonlight.” He turned his eyes fully on her. “And now you’re beautiful.”

  “I never know what to say,” she replied honestly. “You keep giving me compliments and I—“

  “—Should just say thank you,” Blaise said. “That’s all. ‘Thank you.’ It’s not so hard,” he said, running his finger over her lips, tracing the pattern of a kiss on them and giving her goosebumps in the process. Goosebumps, like a kid, she told herself, glad that she was wrapped in her fur piece so that he could not see the effect he had on her.

  “It’s getting colder,” she said. “I’d better go in.”

  “I can warm you,” he offered smoothly.

  “You already have,” she replied honestly. “I don’t need a full-fledged fire.”

  “I think you do,” he said, his voice trailing after Pat as she went inside.

  Chapter Seven

  Pat entered her bedroom with terribly mixed emotions. The dinner had been a triumph, and the Eagle was secure for at least a little while. That was all she had hoped for. Houston Fields was a man of his word—she knew that from all the things she had heard about him.

  So why had she turned away at the last moment from the man who had arranged everything?

  She looked in the mirror as she slowly got undressed, as if seeking an answer to her question from the face that looked back at her. Was it Roger’s memory she was afraid of dishonoring? Was it still Blaise himself she did not fully trust? Or was it herself? Was she afraid to let love, or whatever this emotion actually was, take possession of her?

  Without it, without Blaise in her life, there was only neat order, she thought as she slipped under the covers and sat up in the large, canopied bed with its delicate lace curtains opened at the sides and front. True, there was controversy, but nothing she was not up to. A romance with Blaise . . . well, that was something she was not quite sure about. She did not want to begin an affair knowing that someday it would end, as all his others had. So, she had better pull out the stops while she had any say in the matter, Pat told herself, trying to argue away the longing that she felt taking deeper and deeper hold of her.

  She fluffed up the pillow behind her, and when she turned back around, Blaise was peering in through the unlocked French doors that led into her bedroom, having come around from his own terrace.

  “Not asleep yet, I see,” he said mildly, pushing open the door. “I approve,” he said, his eyes on the blue lacy nightgown she wore. “I think blue’s more your color.”

  “Just look at you, a grown man peeking into a woman’s bedroom,” Pat said, trying to sound stern, but not succeeding. She felt an excitement bubble up inside her despite all the determined words in her lecture of only a few seconds ago.

  Blaise closed the door behind him. “Some of my best memories started by peeking into a woman’s bedroom,” he said, his smile inviting and broad. “Besides, I forgot to tell you.”

  “What?” she asked, cocking her head slightly and succeeding in looking both sweet and fetching at the same time. She caught her reflection in the mirrored closet doors by the side of her lounge chair and was pleased with the image. What nonsense, her more sensible side chided, yet she could not stop.

  Blaise sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, raising his eyes to her in supposed supplication. “Am I permitted to advance toward the queen?”

  “That depends on what you mean by advance,” she bantered back.

  His rich, throaty laugh sent a shiver all through her. “Anything I possibly can,” he whispered, at once a young boy and a man of the world. “But for now,” he said in a voice that was meant, she supposed, to put her at ease, “I just wanted to tell you about the country that came through.”

  Pat’s eyes narrowed; the meanderings of her mind landed abruptly on earth. “Look, Blaise, if you need a ruse to stay here, I’d appreciate it if you’d pick something else,” she said hotly. “I’ll not have you belittling the significance of the Ea
gle or my involvement with it. And—“

  “There really is someplace,” Blaise stated simply, his expression having changed from surprise at her tirade to understanding to a seriousness that was unquestionably genuine.

  “There really is someplace?” she echoed, bemused. Was it possible that he had not been teasing? It seemed unlikely that Blaise would have kept something this important from her for a whole day, but his level gaze indicated that he had spoken the truth. “Where then?” she asked.

  He took her hands in his, and the gentle pressure was reassuring. “Canada.”

  She leaned back a little. “Canada?” she repeated. “But ...”

  “At the moment, our brothers to the north have close to one million unemployed, and the two hundred eighty-two souls in the House of Commons would like to remedy that situation—and to get themselves reelected. So, we are slated to meet with them next week and see about setting up a factory there to make your Eagles. In exchange for that, the Canadians will advance us thirty million dollars ... if they like the deal,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Thirty million . . . thirty million dollars?” Pat stammered. This was too wonderful to be happening.

  “If they like the deal,” Blaise repeated, making it sound that he had absolutely no doubt about getting their approval.

  “Blaise, you’re a miracle worker!” Pat cried, staring at him in amazement.

  “There has been talk of canonization,” he acknowledged. “Hey, you’re trembling. Easy, it’s only money.” He playfully tugged at the bow that laced together the front of her nightgown. “I’d rather you trembled that way because I’m so close to you, not because you got a measly thirty million dollars,” he said, his eyes playing wickedly with her cleavage, which rose and fell inches away from him.

  Pat’s skin began to burn as she realized the situation she was in. “Um, perhaps you’d better leave ...” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

  Blaise shook his dark head. “Nope. Uh-uh. Not a good idea at all.”

  “But I ... I can’t let you ...” Speaking seemed to require a great deal of effort as the bow became undone, exposing her soft breasts to his searing touch.