The Playboy s Proposition

by Leanne Banks

  She looked at him, her mesmerizing eyes glowing at him, doing strange things to his insides. “Interesting,” she said. “If we’re on equal ground, then I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  Michael’s gut clenched. “Such as?”

  “Favorite dessert?”

  He blinked then chuckled at her curiously. “Tiramisu.”

  “Your Italian roots are showing.”

  “I could prepare a lasagna for you that would make you forget every other pasta you’ve ever eaten.”

  “True?” she asked.

  “True,” he said.

  “Okay, you’re on. I want that lasagna. When is your birthday?”

  “Next month, but I don’t celebrate it,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just another day. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I want to know more about you. How did you celebrate your birthday when you were young?” she asked. “Before your father died.”

  “With a favorite meal, small gifts and dessert. That was a long time ago.”

  “You haven’t celebrated it since you reconnected with your brothers?” she asked, a sliver of outrage in her voice.

  He shook his head. “We’re all too busy. Sometimes they remember to call. That’s more than I got when I was in the foster home.”

  She frowned in disapproval. “Have all of you looked for Leo?”

  His sense of humor at her questions faded. “One way or another.”

  “What do you remember about him?” she asked.

  Michael paused, resisting the memories for a moment because he never remembered without subsequent pain and heavy, heavy guilt. “He was a fighter,” Michael said. “He was only a year older than I was, and I did my best to keep up with all of them, but Leo was tough. Hell, he would even try to take on Damien. That never lasted long. Damien would just pin him down until he agreed to quit. Then Leo would get up and take another quick swipe before he ran off.”

  “Sounds like he was a pistol,” Bella said with a soft smile.

  He nodded. “Yeah, we all were, but he seemed to run full tilt from the minute he woke up until the minute he went to sleep. He was always afraid of missing something….” His chest squeezed tight, making the words difficult. He cleared his throat. “He liked animals. He was always bringing home a stray something and Dad would have to find another home for it because my mother said she had too many two-legged animals to take care of.”

  “And they never found any sign of him?” she said, more than asked, shaking her head.

  “Every body was recovered except his,” he said and the old determination rolled through him again. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to find him.”

  Bella leaned forward and slid her hand across the table to touch his. “I believe you will.”

  Something inside him eased at her confidence in him. He knew it wasn’t based on flattery because she’d essentially already gotten what she wanted from him and she was still pissed that he’d pushed her into their affair. Soon enough she’d realize that he’d done what needed to be done for both of them.

  He captured her hand with his. “Your turn for questions is over. My turn now. What’s your favorite dessert?”

  “Double-chocolate brownies with frosting,” she said with a guilty expression on her face. “Decadent.”

  “Just like you,” he said.

  Her eyes lit with arousal but she looked away as if she was determined to fight her attraction to him. That irritated the hell out of him. There would be no denial from any part of her when he took her tonight in his bed.

  Seven

  O n Saturday morning, Michael surprised himself by sleeping an entire hour later than usual. He did his usual workout and was surprised even more at the sight of Bella dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes and her head covered by a bandana, walking out of the room where she kept her belongings.

  “You’re up early,” he said.

  “I’m painting today,” she said.

  He frowned. “It didn’t look like the spa needed it.”

  “I’m not painting the spa. I’m volunteering—painting a children’s activity center downtown.”

  “That’s nice of you,” he said.

  “They need help with some repairs if you’re interested. If you’re handy, I hear they need some help with wiring and the gas heater.”

  “You sound like Damien,” he said, thinking of his oldest brother. “He started building houses for charity and keeps telling Rafe and me that we should do the same.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “I donate generously to several charities. My money is more valuable than my manpower.”

  “Do you mentor anyone?”

  Her question took him off guard. “No. My schedule is packed. It wouldn’t be fair to promise to mentor someone with the limited time I have.”

  “Hmm,” she said.

  Her noncommittal sound irritated him and he narrowed his eyes. Most would have heeded his expression as a warning.

  “It’s a good thing your mentor made the time he did for you, isn’t it?”

  No one besides his brothers would dare get in his face like she did. “My mentor was retired. I’m not.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” she said, a smile playing around her lips. “But I understand if you’re afraid of getting involved.”

  “Afraid,” he echoed, snatching her hand and pulling her against him. “You aren’t trying to manipulate me into charity involvement, are you?”

  She paused a half beat. “Yes. Is it working?”

  He couldn’t help chuckling. “Not at all.”

  “Okay, no goading,” she said. “I dare you to come down to the community children’s center and help.” She met his gaze, her lips lifted in a sultry half smile. She tossed her head and lifted her chin. “See ya if you’re brave enough.” She turned and walked away, her saucy butt swinging from side to side as she exited his house.

  “Witch,” he muttered and dismissed her so-called dare. He had real work to do. Walking to his office, he sat down with his laptop and crunched numbers. He worked without pausing for the next hour and a half.

  The second he stopped, silence closed around him like a thick cloud. Bella and her dare jabbed at him. Silly, he thought. Stupid. A waste of time. Bella was a misplaced do-gooder. Children didn’t need paint. They needed…parents.

  The twinge inside him took him by surprise. He frowned at the odd sensation and shrugged, turning back to his number crunching, but his concentration came and went.

  Ten minutes later, he sighed, swearing under his breath and leaned back in his leather chair. Raking his hand through his hair, he shook his head. Stupid dare, he thought, remembering the expression in her mesmerizing, nearly purple eyes.

  In the long run, how much did a fresh coat of paint really matter? Two more minutes of denial rolled through his brain and he tossed his pen at his desk and turned off his laptop. What a surprise. He toyed with the idea of joining her. He liked the notion of surprising her. He liked the idea of doing something with his hands other than using his laptop or BlackBerry. Even the devil had a conscience. Or perhaps the devil couldn’t resist a dare from a woman with black hair and purple eyes.

  Bella continued edging the walls of one of the playrooms. She much preferred rolling paint on the walls because that part of the job was easier and more rewarding, but edging was crucial to the finished product. She would take her turn with the roller later on.

  “Sandwich? Water?” Rose, a mother of one of the children who visited the center, offered as she carried a tray.

  Bella smiled and lifted her water bottle, having chatted with the young woman earlier that morning. “I’m still good, thank you. How’s it going in the other rooms?” she asked as she turned back to edging.

  “Very well, except the service man hasn’t arrived to fix the heater,” Rose said. “It’s gas and I’m really concerned about the safety if—” She broke off. “Oh, hello,” she said,
her voice a bit breathless. “Can I help you?”

  “I wondered if you could use two more hands,” Michael said.

  Surprised, Bella whipped around and kicked over her paint can. “Oh, no.” She bent down to right it, but he caught it first. Her face mere inches from his, she felt her heart race.

  He gave a half grin that made her stomach dip. “I didn’t know you were planning on painting the floor.”

  She scowled. “It’s your fault. You surprised me. I was sure you weren’t coming. What made you?” Realization hit her and she answered for him. “The dare.”

  “I don’t accept every dare. It depends on the source and actual dare.”

  “Well, I feel honored,” she said and picked up an extra brush and put it in his hand. “Rose, this is Michael Medici. Rose’s son takes part in the center’s activities,” Bella said.

  “Good to meet you,” he said.

  Rose’s eyes were wide with admiration. “Good to meet you, Mr. Medici. I’m so grateful for your help. Excuse me while I check on my son.”

  “I’m thrilled for you to finish the edging,” Bella said, wondering how he would respond to the not-so-desirable task.

  He glanced around the room and shrugged. “Should be cake.”

  Surprised again, she watched him begin and noticed he worked with speed and ease. “When did you get your painting experience?”

  “Painted the entire group home twice. Once while I lived there as a teenager and once after I left. Nobody else wanted to edge, so I took that job.”

  “And became an expert,” she said, envying his skill. “You can do it freehand.”

  “Part of my philosophy. If you’re going to do something, be the best at it.”

  She should have expected that. His competitiveness was born not only from the need to survive, but from his determination to thrive. She still wondered though, why had he accepted her dare? Was there a secret tenderness underneath his hard, cynical exterior? Or was she just dreaming? She felt a hot rush of embarrassment. Why was she dreaming?

  “Do you want anything to eat or—” A loud explosion rocked the building. “What was that?” She ran toward the door.

  Michael snagged her hand. “Whoa, there,” he said. “You need to get out of here and dial 911.”

  “I can’t leave. What about the rest of the volunteers?”

  “I’ll work on that,” he said and glanced down the hallway. “Smoke’s coming from the back of the building. We don’t have time to waste. Get out.”

  “But—”

  He turned and looked her straight in the eye. “Do I need to carry you out? Because I will.”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts,” he said. “Get out and make the call.”

  Frustrated and afraid, Bella saw the rock-hard expression on his face and knew further protests were futile. She ran from the house, checking rooms for volunteers on her way to the door, but it appeared that most people had already left. Punching the numbers for help on her cell phone, she looked at the center and watched in horror as flames shot out of the back of the building.

  Less than a moment later, a man pulled Rose out the front door. “My baby,” she cried. “My baby. He’s still in there.”

  A knot of dread formed in the back of Bella’s throat. “Oh, no,” she said, reaching out to Rose and taking the sobbing woman into her arms.

  Sirens shrieked in the distance. Bella glanced toward the building. Where was Michael?

  “I have to go back,” Rose said. “I can’t lose him.”

  “You can’t,” Bella said, wishing she could go in and look for the boy. “You need to be waiting for him when he comes out.”

  Rose looked at her with tear-stained eyes. “But what if he doesn’t come out? It was so smoky in there. I could hardly breathe.”

  A slice of fear for Michael’s safety cut through her. Why was he still in there? The sirens grew louder as the first red truck pulled in front of the center. Another explosion roared from the back of the house. The volunteers standing outside yelled “No!”

  Bella felt her stomach dip to her feet. What if Michael—

  Smoke billowed through the front door as the firemen opened it. Michael, coughing hard, stepped outside with a small child in his arms. His T-shirt covered with soot, he quickly stepped away from the building. A medic raced toward him.

  “Rose,” Bella said, emotion tightening her voice. “Rose, isn’t that your son?” she asked, urging the woman to lift her head from her shoulder.

  Rose glanced up and looked around. Spotting her son, she lifted her hand to her throat. “My baby. My baby,” she said and ran toward him and the medic.

  Filled with a range of emotions she couldn’t begin to name, Bella watched Michael as he brushed off a medic. He glanced around the area and the second his gaze landed on her, she felt as if she’d been hit by a thunderbolt.

  He moved toward her and she automatically did the same. She looked him over, taking in scrapes and burn marks. He covered a cough. “Come on. I don’t want you around this.”

  “Me?” she said. “I’ve been outside just watching. You’re the one who stayed in there too long.”

  “I heard that boy calling and couldn’t figure out where he was. I went in every room. I finally tried the closets. There he was. Everyone accounted for?”

  “I hope so,” she said and looked around. The crowd around the center was growing. “There’s the volunteer coordinator. Looks like she’s checking off a list.” The woman glanced at her and gave a quick wave.

  Michael took her hand. “Let’s make sure everyone is accounted for.” After Michael double-checked everyone’s safety, he answered questions from the police and fire department.

  “We can go now,” he said.

  “Don’t you think you should let the medic take a look at you?”

  “No,” he said. “The press will be here any minute.”

  “Are you afraid of the press?” she asked.

  “No,” he said with a scowl. “But I like my privacy.”

  She studied him for a long moment, taking in his discomfort and realization hit her. “You don’t want them to know you were a hero.”

  He scoffed. “I wasn’t a hero. I just heard a screaming kid and dragged him out of the place.”

  “A burning building,” she corrected. “And you really should see a medic.”

  “Enough,” he said, tugging her with him. “Since you’re so concerned about my injuries, you can take care of them when we get home.”

  “What about my car?” she asked as he led her to his SUV.

  “I’ll send one of my drivers to collect it,” he said and stuffed her inside.

  An hour later, after Michael had taken a shower, wincing as the water sluiced over his scrapes and burns, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into his bedroom to the sight of Bella standing beside his bed. She must have showered also because her hair was damp and she’d changed clothes.

  She gestured toward the bed and he noticed she’d placed a sheet on top of his bedspread.

  “You have plans for me?” he asked, his body quickening despite his soreness.

  She lifted a tube and a small bottle. “Antibiotic ointment for your boo-boos and eucalyptus oil for your massage.” She turned on a CD that played soothing sounds of nature and gentle tones.

  “Massage,” he said in approval.

  “I’m not licensed, but I’ve learned a little on my own.” She waved her hand briskly. “On the bed,” she commanded.

  “Sounds like an order,” he said reclining.

  “It was,” she said, a smile playing over her lips as she studied his face and began to dab ointment on his scrapes. She slid her hands over his shoulders, arms and hands, making hmm sounds.

  Michael was accustomed to having a woman’s sexual attention, but Bella’s tender touch seemed to reach deeper than his skin. When was the last time someone besides himself had taken care of his scrapes? He couldn’t remember. Why did it matter? As s
he began to rub the fragrant oil into his shoulders, he felt as if a stream of water was trickling through parts of him left dry and abandoned for ages. He wasn’t sure he liked the sensation.

  He watched her brow furrow as she worked his right shoulder from the front. “Are you always this tense?”

  He winced when she hit a sore spot. “I had to pull off the door to the closet. It was stuck.”

  She pursed her lips in disapproval. “You didn’t mention that. Anything else I should know?”

  “No. Why are you doing this?” he asked, studying the intent expression on her face.

  “Because it needs to be done and you wouldn’t take the time for it.” He was a complex man, she thought. Far more complicated than she’d suspected. Full of layers that made her curious. She wondered about his secrets as she rubbed his shoulders.

  “There’s a difference between need and want.”

  She put her hand over his mouth. “Be quiet. I need to concentrate.” She turned back to the massage.

  “Are you saying my talking distracts you?”

  “Your voice is—” She broke off, sinking her fingers into his muscles, causing him to moan. She smiled at the sound. “Good spot?”

  He nodded. “My voice is?”

  “Compelling,” she said. “Well, you are compelling, but you already knew that.”

  “How so?” he asked, curious because she clearly wasn’t flattering him.

  “You’re insufferably confident and intelligent. You seem intent on conveying that you only make decisions based on numbers and that you’re nearly heartless. But you’re not. There’s stuff going on beneath the surface. Not exactly sure—” She dug her thumbs into the muscle above his collarbone and he winced. “Oops. Good or bad?”

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  She smiled. “You really need to let me know if I hurt you. If you don’t, you’re going to need to take something for your muscles later.”

  He didn’t believe her. She was a small woman. He’d suffered more than a massage without needing medication. “I’m okay.”

  “All righty,” she said and slid her hand over his face. “Close your eyes,” she said softly. She worked his shoulders, arms, and even his hands. After he turned over, she continued and he wondered how she kept from tiring. Her fingers played him with a soothing rhythm of increasing and decreasing intensity.