She listened, bewildered. What could possibly compare to entering his haremlik? Her chest grew tight, and time seemed to hang on the edge of his words. Her fingers tingled where they twined within his.
His expression never wavered, but his grip tightened ever so slightly, so slightly, she might have imagined it. "I have learned there is a part of you which I cannot command or take, a part you must offer freely. I would have that part of you as well."
He rose from his throne. Still holding her hand firmly in his, he took a step toward her, the ceremonial robe swirling from the powerful set of his shoulders. "I will free you if you wish, but I ask that you stay."
He would disregard their bargain to make her happy. The knowledge filled her with tenderness. But Alessandra no longer wanted freedom. She wanted him—all of him. And that he asked her to stay willingly proved he could respect her as more than a slave.
The white turban covered his head, hiding all but his dark features from her view. His expression softened, the cold mask melting away to reveal his heart's desire. "Stay with me, Alessandra. You already have my heart, I would give you my loyalty as well." He peered down at her, his sparkling gaze reaching into her very soul. 'Be my wife in the eyes of Allah and your Christian God. Be the mother of my children, if we are so blessed. I don't offer you a lifetime of slavery, but a lifetime of love."
He spoke of love... and marriage. A haze of surprised emotions assailed her, and she could do no more than gape at him.
"I love you." Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a gentle into her palm. "I will marry you in your Christian way and de-
172 Jeanie LeGendre
vote my life to your happiness. Will it be enough?"
Marriage! It was more than she dared hope. The shadows fled her heart. She felt fully alive, blissfully complete. Tears of joy prickled at the backs of her lids, and a sound, half-sigh and half-laugh, bubbled from her lips. "You offer me everything you are, and it is more than I ever imagined."
His dark eyes caressed her, promising to fulfill her dreams. She stepped into the strong circle of his arms and raised her face to him.
He smiled, a smile that brightened the strong lines of his face, a smile filled with love. "Come with me, my beloved. We have the entire night before us." His mouth slowly descended on hers. "And our entire lives."
About the author:
Jeanie LeGendre lives in Florida with her romance-hero husband, her two darling little girls, a feisty five-pound Maltese, and two stray tabby cats who adopted the family as their own. Born into a big Italian brood, she simply adores family — her mom and sister live close by, her various aunties, uncles and cousins are all near and dear to her heart, and she considers herself blessed with the most precious friends on the planet.
She has had a head full of romance for as long as anyone can remember — no one was surprised when she named her daughters after her favorite heroines — and believes the stories in Secrets really can happen. After all, she and her husband are living proof.
The Proposal 175
THE PROPOSAL
BY IVY LANDON
To my reader:
Sex of an unconventional kind for those who seek the hard
to find.
"I have an important proposal I need to run by you tonight." Craig's husky voice came through Tracey Vennet's speaker phone, and the anticipation of seeing him sent a thrill down her spine.
Tracey made a note to have her secretary cancel her dinner engagement with the Japanese trade group and reschedule for next week. It was uncharacteristic of Craig not to give her more warning of his sudden arrival in town. Usually their meetings were set weeks in advance.
She kept her tone smooth and business like. "Is anything wrong?"
As president of Acton Industries, she was responsible to Craig Logan, CEO and owner of Acton, and his demands on her time took top priority. She tapped her pencil on her desk. In her mind, Craig Logan would always be first.
She'd fallen in love with him the first time they'd met during the Tinker Truck advertising campaign. While the other executives sat around the enormous conference table, Craig had taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and kneeled on the floor. With childish pleasure and intuitive genius, he'd pushed the Tinker Trucks across the carpet, scooping up imaginary piles of sand. Afterward, he'd quickly sketched his suggested design changes and diverted the necessary handing to the appropriate department.
His maverick design and her hard work on the ad campaign led to the most successful new toy on the market. When she convinced a major film company to use Tinker Trucks in their movie, sales skyrocketed, and Craig promoted Tracey to the presidency. Oddly, he left her alone to run Acton as she wished, only rarely flying in to check on his company.
Tracey looked forward to the intimate dinners in the private com-
178 Ivy London
pany dining room where she had Craig to herself. On several occasions he'd taken her to his penthouse apartment, and they'd made love on his bed overlooking the city's skyline. Their sex life might not set her ablaze with passion, but she'd always believed torrid lust a romance writer's invention. For months now, she'd hoped for a proposal that would make their arrangement more permanent.
"Nothing's wrong," Craig's voice reassured her. She could almost see the corners of his lips twitching into a teasing smile. "At least nothing we can't fix over the weekend. Are you free?"
For him, she would always be free. "I'll give my theater tickets to my mom. Unless you'd like to go?"
"Let's keep this weekend private. I don't want to see anyone but you." At his sensual tone, her heart beat accelerated a notch. She imagined him looking lazily across his desk though half-closed lids that disguised the most brilliant intellect she'd ever matched wits with. Many a businessman had been taken in by his enigmatic expression, unsuspecting of a mind that was equally comfortable reading Homer's Iliad in Greek, sketching pigeons in Central Park, or calculating the mathematical equations for high-tech computer chips.
Tracey worked through the afternoon, a special lurch of excitement urging her to clear her desk of the most pressing items. Making a short trip to the private restroom off her office three hours later, she took time to pat a few stray hairs back into her smooth jet chignon. She freshened her makeup, giving just a hint of eye shadow to blue eyes glowing with anticipation. After using her pinkie to dab on fresh lip gloss, Tracey straightened her white silk blouse and navy skirt. Not the ideal clothes for a romantic dinner, but then Craig knew she'd worked all day, and he usually seemed much more interested in what she had to say than the clothes she wore.
One of Craig's better qualities was his ability to look beneath the surface, to see more with just a glance than others saw with a telescope. And he had an uncanny knack for anticipating what might go wrong, delving straight to the heart of a problem, and fixing it before others recognized a difficulty existed. She'd trusted Craig's judgment implicitly and hoped he hadn't spotted any prob-
the Proposal 179
lems at Acton.
Craig's lighthearted hint that they could fix whatever he'd noticed cast a slight shadow of unease on Tracey's anticipation. As she walked down the staircase to the private dining room, her blood coursed through her veins in expectation.
She opened the heavy wooden doors and walked across the plush oriental carpet. She'd been in this room many times, but never before had the scent of fresh cut flowers wafted to her nostrils. Never before had the crystal chandelier been dimmed and replaced by candles on the dining table. Craig waited with a velvet jeweler's box next to gleaming silver, delicate china, and a crisp lace table cloth. A silver bucket holding a magnum of Dom Perignon on ice sat in the center of the table with two crystal flutes.
When she entered the room, Craig's face broke into a grin and he rose to his feet, his dark suit fitting his lean and tanned body to perfection. "Come in. You're early, darling. I've only been waiting fifteen minutes."
He held out his hand, and
by the teasing glimmer in his dark eyes, she knew he wasn't angry. She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and lightly brushed his cheek with her lips. "Sorry, I took a last minute phone call from our Paris office."
His eyes boldly raked her silk blouse and plain skirt. "You didn't have time to change into something more suitable for our date?"
"I was working. As it was I had to cancel the meeting with—"
He interrupted with light teasing. "Another woman would have gone shopping, ordered something delivered."
"Is it me you want?" Her eyes narrowed. "Or me in designer clothes."
His eyes twinkled. "I want you naked."
"Craig!"
He waved a hand dismissing her outrage and the sudden heat in her cheeks. "Forget it. We have more important things to discuss."
Pulling out a chair for her, he pushed the velvet box in her direction before taking a seat. When she started to open the box, his hand gently pressed down on hers, stopping her. Raising her gaze to meet his, she arched her brow in a questioning gesture.
180 ivy Landon
"I'm going to ask you something important."
Her mouth went cottony dry. Were her dreams going to come true? Was Craig going to ask her to become his wife?
"Yes?" She'd never known him to be so hesitant before and thought it rather sweet.
"First, you must promise not to answer my question for at least twenty-four hours."
"But why?"
"Because the answer you give me in twenty-four hours may be different from the one you give me now."
"If this is a riddle, I don't understand."
Craig paused, then leaned forward placing both elbows on the table and resting his chin in his palms. "Do you trust me?"
At his hungry stare, her heart thumped against her ribs. "Of course, I do."
"Will you do anything I ask of you for the next twenty-four hours?"
She had absolutely no idea what he was asking her. And it was unlike him to be so vague. "Could you be more specific?"
"Will you marry me, Tracey?" As soon as the words popped out of his mouth, he pressed one finger to her lips. "Don't answer that. Not until tomorrow. Instead I'd like an answer to my first question, will you do anything I ask?"
A swell of confusion engulfed her. "Why?"
"Because our sex life is not all it should be. Because if we're going to spend the rest of our lives together, I want to do certain things for you. Please you in ways you have never imagined."
She stiffened, all her fears crashing on her in a stormy convergence of black clouds. Her hands turned to ice. He'd found her inadequate in bed. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she forced the words past her lips. "You weren't satisfied when we made love?"
His eyes blazed. "That's part of it. How could I be satisfied when you didn't enjoy it?"
"But I did—"
"You enjoyed the holding, the cuddling, the talking." His tone hardened in a voice he used in the board room when he dared anyone
181
to contradict him. "But as for the sex—you tolerated me." His hands reached across the table and gripped her shoulders. "I want to shatter your inhibitions and release your passion."
If his hands hadn't gripped her tightly, she would have slumped in her seat. At the moment she wished she could say, "Beam me up, Scotty," and a transporter would whisk her away so she didn't have to face him. She should have known he would realize she didn't enjoy sex. Not that she hated the act. Tracey just thought it was a whole lot of fuss over very little. Still she'd always felt deficient in the bedroom, and she'd been so sure love would solve her problems. Only it hadn't. She loved Craig with all her heart, but she hadn't seen stars, and if she was honest with herself, she hadn't felt much desire.
And now he wanted her to give him a blind promise—so he could crash through her inhibitions. She forced a breath of air into her starved lungs, barely realizing she'd stopped breathing. Suppose he discovered she had no passion? Suppose something was missing from her? No doubt he wanted to find out before he saddled himself to a wife.
"Think it over carefully. Once you give me your word, I'll expect total cooperation."
"You mean obedience," she snapped.
He inclined his head slightly but didn't deign to give a reply.
The pads of her fingers worried back and forth over the velvet nap of the jewelry box, too large for a ring. She wondered what it held, then realized her thoughts fluttered in indecision, preferring to dwell on anything but Craig's proposal. To allow him to order her about, to give him the power over her like a master over a slave terrified her. The thought of losing her freedom to anyone, even a man she trusted might be asking more than she could give.
Yet as she looked across the table and discerned his excitement, his exhilaration sparked her sense of adventure. If she could experience the pleasure of orgasm with this man, it would be worth any freedom she gave up. And submitting to him would only be temporary.
Taking another deep breath, she nodded. "I'll do anything you ask for twenty-four hours."
She expected a smile of triumph. Instead his eyes glittered with
182 Ivy Landon
excitement, and his face softened, aiming a quiver of fear at her heart. Somehow she knew that after today their relationship would never again be the same. After today he might never want to see her again, and yet, she'd never forgive herself if she didn't try with everything she had to keep this man.
"This calls for a toast." Craig popped the cork of the champagne and poured her a glass.
Looking deeply into her eyes over the rim of the bubbling wine, he clinked her glass with his. "To passion."
"To love."
The fizzy drink quenched her parched throat. Uneasily she set down her glass, waiting for what he'd do next.
Craig nodded toward the velvet box. "Open it."
She lifted the lid and sucked in her breath. A golden choker at least two inches wide and set with sparkling diamonds and sapphires rested elegantly in the velvet box. "It's gorgeous."
"The blue stones reminded me of the dark cobalt in your eyes," he admitted. "Come here and I'll latch it for you."
She did as he asked, turning her back. The gold choker settled about her neck, and she raised her chin to prevent the diamonds from scratching her. The clasp snapped shut with a click, the necklace fitting her as if custom made.
"How does it look?" She turned around for him to admire.
"It's perfect. The necklace will remind you of your promise. There's only one problem."
She swallowed hard, realizing the beautiful necklace suddenly seemed too tight about her neck. And somehow she knew he'd make her wear the necklace for the next twenty-four hours as a constant reminder of their bargain. "What's the problem?"
"Your blouse is blocking my view. Would you remove it, please?"
Her pulse raced. Although the elegant dining room was private, anyone could enter at any time. "But the waiter—"
"Has been told to knock."
"He could forget."
Craig didn't say another word. He strode across the room and slid
The Proposal 183
the bolt home with a loud metallic clunk, locking them in privacy. Then he folded his arms across his broad chest and waited in silence, the light of anticipation in his eyes.
She inwardly quailed at the idea of submitting to his request. Craig had never even seen her in a swim suit, and although they'd made love several times, the room had been pitch black; she'd insisted on it, and he'd gone along with her wishes.
Until now.
As her hand went to the first button, her fingers trembled. The gold collar forced her chin up, and as she undid one button after another then slipped off her blouse, she watched Craig's lips break into a grin of delight. The cool air on the bare flesh of her shoulders and midriff gave her goose bumps, or was it due to his hot look?
Standing before him clad only in her bra and skirt made her stomach clench. But when she rea
lized how much he enjoyed looking at her, she forced herself not to squirm.
"In the candlelight, your skin has a pearly luminescence. Please remove your bra next."
Next? Her heart slammed into her ribs with the force of a freight train. Next, implied he might ask her to remove every stitch of clothing. Her knees felt like they might buckle at any moment and despite her promise she didn't know if she could continue.
If Craig sensed her hesitation, he gave no indication of it. He returned to his seat and poured them another glass of champagne. However the moment her hands went to undo the clasp his gaze pierced her with a fierce brilliance, and she had to remind herself she'd agreed to this. The air-conditioning cycled on, and the cool air from the overhead vent tingled on her bared breasts. She had the urge to raise her hands and cover herself to stop his bold gaze from raking her. But she refrained from such a childish gesture.
Nor did she dwell on how she wished her bosom was bigger. Watching Craig's face, she reminded herself this was the man she loved, the man she intended to marry. There was nothing wrong with him staring at her bare breasts. So why did her insides feel so tight?
"You're lovely. Later I'm going to explore every inch of you. I'm
184 Ivy London .
going to caress you, and nibble."
At his words, heat rose from her breasts, up her neck, over her shoulders.
"Place your clothes, there." He gestured to a basket. "And then come have dinner before it gets cold.
Relief washed over her when he didn't ask her to remove her skirt. Still, she'd never done anything more difficult than fulfilling his request of sitting across the table from him while she remained exposed.
His hands removed silver platter covers and the mouth-watering scents of conch-and-shrimp fritters, a West Indian soup, and stuffed Cornish game hen wafted to her nostrils. She snapped open her linen napkin and placed it over her lap while Craig filled her plate.
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