An Indecent Proposal

by Sandra Marton

  Cade Landon was the most arrogant, egotistical male she’d met in the entire state of Texas, and that was saying a lot.

  He’d humiliated her in front of her banker and her business associates, embarrassed her in front of her crew, made her look like a fool in front of the staff of the hospital—and why? Because she was female, and that made her a lesser creature.

  Her father had treated her mother the same way. Oh, he’d claimed he was just being protective and loving, but Angelica could still remember how her mother had chafed and fumed. Who could have blamed her? No intelligent woman would let herself be treated as if she were a well-trained, obedient dog.

  Men understood how to deal with women back East. But here—Angelica’s lip curled. Here, in Cade Landon’s world, they were too busy being macho to figure out what a woman wanted.

  Well, she’d had it! She wasn’t up to a confrontation tonight but tomorrow she was going to do what she should have done from day one, she was going to stand up to Cade Landon and tell him that either he accepted her right to head up Gordon Oil or—or…

  Or what? Or she’d see him in court? Landon Enterprises probably had a trillion lawyers on retainer. They probably had another trillion dollars to spend disputing her claim.

  She had nobody on retainer, not even a cleaning service, as Cade had so generously pointed out. And the last time she’d checked, she had exactly fifty-three dollars and eighty-four cents in her checking account—

  “Are you awake?”

  Angelica looked at Cade. His eyes were on the road.

  “Of course I’m awake,” she snapped. “Why?”

  He shot her a quick, humorless smile. “Just checking. You slept straight through the flight from Notrees.”

  “I pretended to sleep,” she said, tossing the hair from her eyes. “It was preferable to being forced to endure your company.”

  “You sure had me fooled, sugar. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have carried you to the truck.”

  Angelica flushed but said nothing. Had he carried her to the truck? He must have, because she certainly didn’t remember walking. Now that she thought about it, she did remember the brush of his hand across her breasts as he unfastened her belt, the feel of his arms as they swept around her and lifted her…

  “How do you feel?”

  Awful. Her hand hurt, and her arm, and, now that she thought about it, so did her head.

  “Fine,” she said coldly.

  “Maybe you ought to take another couple of pills.”

  “Maybe you ought to mind your business.”

  “That suits me.” He looked at her and smiled tightly. “In fact, it suits me so well that I won’t ask if you need anything from that all-night market on the corner up ahead.”

  Angelica bit down on her lip. Of course, she needed things. She hadn’t shopped in days, hadn’t even thought of it, to tell the truth, because she’d been so caught up in the disaster Cade Landon had brought down on her head.

  She opened her mouth to say that she’d changed her mind, that she needed some frozen dinners, so she wouldn’t have to worry about cooking while her hand healed, that she was out of tea and coffee and bread and that, given the way she felt right now, the odds of her getting out to shop on her own ranged from slim to nonexistent.

  On the other hand, it would be better to starve than ask Cade for help.

  “The only thing I need,” she said, “is to be in my own house and to see the last of you.”

  “My thoughts precisely,” Cade said, and pulled into her driveway.

  Angelica fumbled at her seat belt with her left hand.

  “Thank you for your help,” she said in a way that made the words a lie.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, his tone as sarcastic as hers. Then he doused the headlights, turned off the engine and got out of the truck.

  “What are you doing?” she said as he came around to her door and opened it.

  “I’m seeing you in.”

  “I don’t need anyone to see me in.”

  Cade tipped back his Colorado Rockies baseball cap. “No?” he said pleasantly.

  “No,” she said, not so pleasantly.

  He laughed softly. “The way it looks to me, sugar, you need somebody just to see you out of this truck.”

  It was true, unfortunately. It was one thing to open a seat belt one-handed, but now she was having trouble grasping the door frame for leverage, and she was feeling too unsteady to risk simply dropping the short distance to the ground without hanging on to something.

  “What do you say, sugar? Shall I help you?”

  Angelica glared at him. “Yes,” she said through her teeth.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Dammit, Cade, this isn’t funny!”

  He reached into the cab of the truck, gathered her into his arms and shouldered the door closed. “You know,” he said, as he started across the narrow strip of lawn, “I’ve been thinking—”

  “I can see the headlines now,” Angelica said sweetly. “‘Cade Landon thinks!’”

  “I’ve been thinking,” he continued without missing a beat, “that I must have the wrong idea about that fancy school you teach in.”

  “I don’t teach there,” she said stiffly. Was it possible to loop your arm around a man’s neck, to feel his arms around you and pretend none of it was happening? “I’m a careers counselor. And I’ve no doubt you have the wrong idea about Miss Palmer’s. It’s not fancy, it’s simply a place where young women can learn in an atmosphere conducive to the development of their full potential.”

  Cade chuckled as he mounted the porch steps. “Meaning, no boys allowed?”

  “Miss Palmer’s is gender exclusive, yes.”

  “Tell me something, sugar. How can you spout such nonsense and still toss off so many dammits?”

  Angelica frowned. “It’s not nonsense. And I don’t—”

  “Yeah, you do. For a lady who probably drinks her tea with her pinky stuck out, you sure curse a lot.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Perhaps it’s because I was unfortunate enough to have spent my early years in Texas.”

  “And that’s something else I don’t understand.” Cade lowered her to the porch floor. “If you despise Texas, why did you come back?”

  “I don’t despise Texas,” Angelica said. A frown creased her forehead. Standing on her own, her legs felt amazingly wobbly. She reached back and grasped the porch railing for support. “I just think that anyplace where time stands still is unappealing. And you know why I came back. To run Gordon Oil.”

  “To run it into the ground, you mean.”

  “I have not run it into the ground. The company wasn’t in good shape before, and—and…” Lord, she felt shaky. She took a breath and tried for a nonchalant shrug. “It’s late, and you already have all the answers. So good night, and—”

  “And thank you for your help. Yes, I know.” He stuck out his hand. “Keys, please.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I want your house keys.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not leaving until I’ve seen you safely inside.”

  Their eyes met, and Angelica stiffened with anger at what she saw in his, the steely determination and masculine arrogance.

  It was obvious that saying no wouldn’t get her very far.

  Gritting her teeth, she dug her left hand into her pocket, pulled out the keys and dropped them into his outstretched palm.

  “Fine. Go ahead, Cade. Open the door. I can see we’re going to have to go through this ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ charade or I’ll never get rid of you!”

  “Clever girl.”

  “Clever woman.” Her chin lifted in defiance. “There’s a difference.”

  To her surprise, he laughed. “OK, woman,” he said, “let’s get you tucked away for the night.”

  She didn’t argue as he swung her into his arms again. Arguing with him was useless; besides, she had the awful feeling she might fall down if she tri
ed to get through the door on her own, and heaven only knew how she’d get rid of him then.

  Angelica frowned as he stepped into the darkened entry hall and kicked the door shut after him. What had he meant, tucked away for the night? There was a ring to that phrase that she didn’t much—

  “Where’s the light switch?”

  “On the wall, to the right, but you needn’t—”

  She blinked in the sudden glare as the overhead light blazed on.

  “You can put me down now,” she said, “and thank you for—”

  “Did you know that you have a way of making ‘thank you’ sound like an insult?” Cade shifted her in his arms and looked at the narrow, sharply inclined staircase rising ahead. “Where’s your bedroom? Upstairs?”

  “Will you put me down? I am perfectly capable of—”

  “Of walking those steps?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Well, no. She wasn’t and she knew it. With luck, she hoped she might be able to make it to the love seat in the living room—not the best place to spend the night, considering her height and the love seat’s length, but—

  “Angelica,” Cade said, “I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is your bedroom? And before you decide I only want to know so I can have my evil way with you, let me assure you that all I want is to see you safely to bed so I can get the hell out of here and back to my hotel where maybe, just maybe, I can sit down at the bar and have a steak and fries and a bourbon and branch water in peace.”

  “In peace—with some woman, no doubt!”

  What on earth had made her say that? But Cade didn’t seem to notice. He simply went on glaring at her until finally she puffed out her breath.

  “Upstairs. First door on the right.”

  “Thank you very much,” he said coldly.

  She turned her face from his as he made his way up the stairs. So, he was as eager to get rid of her as she was to get rid of him. That was a comfort.

  But it wasn’t a comfort to imagine him sitting in some cozy pub while some smiling blonde with a large chest and a tiny brain hung on his every word.

  “—the right room?”

  Angelica swallowed hard. “I—I’m sorry,” she said, “did you—did you ask me something?”

  “I said, is this the right room?”

  “I—uh…” She looked around her, then nodded. “Yes, this is it. The light’s there, on the table beside the bed.”

  Cade carried her to the bed, put her down, then turned on the light. He straightened up and glanced around him.

  The room was small, he saw, and the bed narrow. It must have been Angelica’s when she was a girl.

  “I suppose it’s time to thank you again,” she said.

  He laughed and looked at her. “Even if it’ll kill you to do it,” he said—and frowned.

  Damn! The woman had kept him so busy arguing that he hadn’t really taken a good look at her in hours. Now that he did, what he saw was disconcerting.

  Her eyes were smudged with fatigue and almost sunken into her head. Her face had taken on a white, pinched look; even her mouth, that soft, rosebud mouth, was drained of color.

  He looked at her hands, lying in her lap. The bandaged one was obviously swollen; the other was trembling.

  Cade felt as if someone had just sunk a fist into his belly. She wasn’t just tired, she was exhausted—or worse.

  “Angelica.” She looked up, and he could see the effort the simple action cost her. “Angelica,” he said, sounding fierce and angry, “are you ill?”

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly. Too quickly, he thought, and he reached down and gripped her shoulders.

  “No games,” he said, his eyes on hers. “Just tell me the truth. Are you feeling sick?”

  She hesitated, and then she sighed. What was there to gain by lying?

  “Not sick,” she said. “I just—I feel tired. More than tired. And my head hurts. My hand, too, and my arm…” She looked at him and gave a shaky laugh. “Is that truthful enough for you?”

  A muscle knotted in his cheek. “Yes,” he said grimly, “it is.”

  “All I need is a night’s sleep… Hey!” Her voice rose as Cade began undoing the buttons on her blouse. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “You’re the one with two university degrees,” he said tightly. “Figure it out for yourself.” She slapped at his hands but he ignored her. One by one, the buttons slipped from their holes. “Let me tell you something, sugar. This may come as a shock—hell, maybe it’s going to be a disappointment—but I am not a man who’s turned on by women who look as if they’re about to pass out.”

  “I’m not…” She frowned. “Is that—is that how I look?”

  Cade smiled tightly. “To be precise, you look like something the cat dragged in. Give me your left arm, please.” She did, and the blouse slid from her shoulder. “Can you move your right arm at all?” Her sudden intake of breath provided all the answer he needed. “Just sit still, then, and let me—OK. Now, lift your leg.”

  “Cade, really, you don’t have to undress me!”

  “Somebody has to,” he growled as he undid her laces and yanked off her shoes. “And I don’t see any ladiesin-waiting hovering in the background.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But what?” He lifted angry eyes to her face. “Are you going to tell me you’ll be able to unzip your jeans or get them off?” He smiled grimly at her silence. “Exactly. Now, lie back, please, and stop arguing.”

  Stop arguing? Angelica would have laughed, but she didn’t have the energy. Arguing was useless. Cade had already tilted her onto the bed, already reached for the snap at her waist. His touch was deft and impersonal, but she closed her eyes anyway.

  This was not how she’d imagined Cade Landon undressing her, she thought.

  Her eyes snapped open. She hadn’t thought of him undressing her at all—or had she?

  “Lift up,” he said. His face might have been carved of stone, for all the expression it wore.

  Dutifully, she raised her hips while he slid down her jeans and tugged them off, leaving her in a white cotton camisole, white cotton panties and heavy wool socks.

  A truly alluring outfit, she thought. Not that it mattered. If Cade Landon were the last man on earth, she wouldn’t—she couldn’t—

  Oh, God, she thought, and a tremor raced through her.

  “Angelica?” She looked at him. The expression on his face had changed, become puzzled.

  “I—I’m OK.” Say something, she told herself, say anything. “I—I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Cade smiled a little. “Sorry. I should have thought of that. OK, put your arm around my neck and—”

  “No! I mean—I can do that much without help!”

  “But you’ll need help to get there,” he said, and lifted her into his arms. “Which way?”

  Which way? Which way, indeed? My God, what was happening to her? This man—this contemptible manwas holding her all but naked body in his arms, she hated him and he hated her, and yet—and yet, the desire to bring his mouth down to hers, to spread her hand over his chest and feel the beat of his heart, was almost more than she could endure.

  “Angelica,” he said impatiently, “where’s the bathroom?”

  The bathroom, she thought, the bathroom.

  “It’s—it’s just down the hall.”

  He nodded, his expression blank, and carried her into the corridor. It was all she could do to keep from burying her face in his shoulder for fear he might read in her eyes what was happening to her, the hot, sharp waves of desire that were curling through her bones.

  She was almost breathless by the time he put her down inside the white-tiled room.

  ‘I’ll be just outside,” he said, and switched on the light. Then he smiled reassuringly, shut the door after him—and groaned softly into the silence.

  Damn! Maybe he really was contemptible. Maybe he was the no-good bastard Angelica Gordon thought he was.

>   No, he thought, and took a deep, deep breath, no, if he were really that, he’d have acted on the sudden, intoxicating desire that had almost driven him to his knees, he’d have stripped away that silly, virginal camisole, the cotton panties, the sweat socks—he’d have stripped off that whole idiotic outfit and made love to Angelica until she lay trembling in his arms.

  How could he have felt that way? Undressing her had been a purely mechanical act, one he hadn’t thought about except in terms of how to best do it efficiently, without hurting her injured hand.

  And then, when he’d finished, he’d looked at her as she lay there in that sexless getup and all of a sudden he’d felt as if the breath were being sucked out of his lungs.

  He’d wanted to kiss the weariness from her eyes, to kiss her lips until they were pink again. He’d wanted to stroke the smooth inch of belly that he glimpsed under the hem of the camisole….

  He sighed, lifted his hands to his face and massaged his temples. Forget the bourbon. Forget everything but a hot shower or, better still, a cold one and then a good, sound night’s rest.

  Sleep was what he needed, sleep and a ticket on the first plane out of Dallas—

  The bathroom door swung open. Cade turned around. Angelica was standing in the doorway.

  “I’m finished,” she said—and all at once, to his horror, tears rose in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

  “Sugar,” he said, clasping her shoulders, “what is it?”

  “I—I just got a look at myself in the mirror,” she sobbed, and raised tearstained lashes to him. “You’re right, Cade, I look like hell.”

  He stared at her for a long moment and then he laughed and swept her into his arms.

  “I lied,” he said as he carried her into the bedroom. “You’re beautiful.”

  For some reason, the flippant answer made her angry.

  “Don’t treat me like a fool,” she snapped. “I know I’m not!”

  He grinned as he whipped back the blankets and deposited her gently beneath them.

  “OK, then you’re not.”

  “Cade, dammit—”

  He leaned forward, captured her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the mouth.