Fortune's Proposal

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  He pushed the phone back in his pocket and opened the bathroom door, leaning out, and knew he was a dog when disappointment snagged at him that Deanna had already pulled on the bright yellow dress and was standing in front of the mirror, working a comb through her wet hair.

  Not because the dress didn’t look nice. It did, particularly against her satiny-smooth, tanned skin.

  But because he knew only too well that she looked even better with nothing on at all.

  She was giving him a startled look through the mirror’s reflection. “What?”

  He barely managed to unscramble his thoughts. “Remember I mentioned Red? The restaurant?” He didn’t wait for her wary nod. “We’ll go there for dinner,” he said abruptly.

  She lowered her comb, still watching him through the mirror. “Why?”

  “Because after this afternoon, we need a break from everything.” God knows he did.

  Of course, the logical thing would have been to take a break from the other source of his problems—her—too.

  But he’d been trying to do that every night when she headed off to bed, and it had been failing him miserably.

  “And I figure I owe you something. You know.” He felt strangely inept and didn’t particularly like it. “For handling everything at the office for me the way you have been. You’ve been taking care of everything for me and…and I owe you.”

  She looked over her shoulder directly at him then. Her brows pulled together. “I’ve been trying to do my job.”

  “And you’ve basically been doing mine, as well,” he returned. “You’ve managed to keep everyone on task in San Diego and Los Angeles.”

  “Because everyone in both offices knows how to do their jobs,” she pointed out.

  “Maybe,” he allowed. “But I just want you to know that everything you’ve done hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Put it in my next performance review.”

  “Dammit, Deanna, I’m trying to show some appreciation here.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Fine,” she said mildly. “We’ll go out to dinner, then.”

  “Good.” He pushed the door shut between them and shook his head. Why had he ever thought she was the least complicated, most predictable woman he’d ever met?

  His gaze landed on the filmy white panties again.

  The only thing predictable about her was turning out to be his increasingly unquenchable interest in everything about her.

  He muttered a low oath again, directed solely at himself, and flipped on the shower.

  Cold.

  “You’re right.” Two hours later, Deanna sat back in her chair and folded her napkin, setting it beside her dinner plate. “The food here is wonderful.”

  Sitting across the small round table from her, Drew smiled faintly. “There’s a reason why Red’s made a name for itself well beyond Red Rock. The food can’t be beat.”

  Even as often as she warned herself otherwise, Deanna knew that ninety percent of the appeal that evening for her was Drew himself.

  He’d set himself out to be charming, keeping her amused with no seeming effort at all, and not once dwelling on either his father, or the company that he was willing to marry her to get.

  For a seeming gesture of appreciation for her work of late, if she hadn’t known better, the evening would have had all the trappings of romance.

  But her head did know better, even if the rest of her kept getting caught up in him.

  Obviously, the appeal for the rest of the diners was the restaurant itself, which was housed in a converted hacienda that Drew told her dated back to Texas’s early statehood.

  Even on a weeknight at the relatively late hour, the main dining room—which struck Deanna as blatantly romantic with its seductive dark woods and touches of passionate color—was still packed. Marcos Mendoza, Isabella’s handsome half brother who managed the restaurant, was frequently on the floor, visiting with his patrons, his flashing white smile clearly as much an attraction to the female part of the crowd as was the excellent fare. He’d met Drew and Deanna at the door when they’d arrived and even as consuming as her emotions for Drew were, she was no exception to that. Isabella was a beautiful woman and her half brother was an equally arresting man and he seemed quite at home helming the busy restaurant.

  “We can’t leave without having Maria’s famous flan, though,” Drew was saying as he poured the last measure of sangria into their glasses.

  “I couldn’t possibly eat another bite,” Deanna protested. She hadn’t even been able to finish her entrée, excellent as it was. The menu at Red wasn’t like any menu she’d ever seen before in a Mexican restaurant. It wasn’t abnormally extensive, but the choices were far more varied and inventive than the budget-friendly restaurants she was used to. In the end, she’d depended on Drew to choose, and the spicy grilled tuna concoction had been nothing short of amazing.

  “You’re going to want at least a forkful. They serve it over some sort of flavored cake with a chocolate mole sauce.” His smile was lazy and full of promise. “You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Considering the datelike quality of the evening, Deanna wasn’t sure she hadn’t already done so. But she shook her head ruefully. “Fine. A forkful only, though. I still need to be able to fit into my clothes when we go back to California.”

  In the flickering light of the candle that burned in the center of the table, Drew’s gaze seemed warmer than ever as it glided over her. “I’m pretty sure you’re safe,” he murmured.

  If they’d been back at the office in San Diego, his ball cap would have been turned backward and his eyes would have been full of all sorts of wicked.

  Her fingers curled where they rested in her lap, safely hidden by the linen tablecloth on the table.

  This is not a date. This is not a date.

  She’d been repeating the mantra ever since Drew had opened the door of the low-slung sports car of J.R.’s that he’d borrowed for the evening. But the words were having even less effect now than they had then.

  “I, um, am going to excuse myself for a quick moment,” she finally said and started to push back the heavy chair that only seemed to make her more aware of her femininity, while making him look even more impossibly masculine.

  He smoothly rose, though, and had pulled out her chair for her before she could so much as move it an inch.

  He was wearing a crew-neck black sweater and the soft knit closely covering his wide shoulder was so close to her that she could have brushed her cheek against it.

  She inhaled carefully as desire clutched inside her, hard and fast. Her legs felt shaky as she rose and stepped away from the table, trying to focus on the delectable aromas of food all around them and not on the delectable scent of him. “Thank you.”

  His smile was faint and she quickly turned away, only to nearly collide with a pretty waitress bearing a heavy tray toward the table next to them. But Drew’s hand closed around Deanna’s waist, scooping her aside, and the waitress smiled and shifted around her, continuing on her way without mishap.

  “Okay?” Drew’s word stirred the hair at her temple.

  “Fine.” If fine meant one who could hardly breathe. She took a step and his arm fell away and before she could do something really stupid, like pull it back around her, she headed much more carefully between the crowded tables until she reached the sanctuary of the ladies’ room.

  She ran her hot wrists under cool water at the hammered metal sink and looked sternly at her reflection.

  Her eyes looked too wide for her face and color seemed to burn up her skin from the wide, low scooping neckline of the impossibly girly dress.

  “This is not a date,” she muttered.

  “’Scuse me?” A striking, gray-haired woman wearing a mint’s worth of turquoise jewelry stepped up to the sink beside her and smiled. “You all right, honey? You look a mite shaky.”

  Deanna nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “Handsome man waiting
out there for you, I bet.” She grinned. “That’s what always gets me to feeling a little flustered.”

  Deanna managed an embarrassed smile. If it was obvious to a complete and utter stranger, then it would surely be like a neon light flashing in Drew’s face.

  “Just remember what my mama always told me.” The woman plucked a folded paper towel off the stack of them sitting between the sinks. “Doesn’t matter how much a man makes you breathless, darlin’, any man worth his salt is gonna work darn hard to prove you make him feel the same way before he expects to go walking in your flower garden, if you know what I mean.”

  Despite herself, Deanna couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay. Thanks for the advice.”

  “Then when he does come to smell those flowers o’ yours, you knock his socks right off.” The woman winked and sailed out the door.

  Deanna gave a faint laugh again and turned off the water.

  She dried her hands and smoothed down the full skirt of the butter-yellow dress that Isabella had loaned her.

  She couldn’t imagine ever knocking Drew’s socks off, but it was certainly an intriguing image…

  “This is not a date,” she whispered again.

  Feeling a little more controlled, she went back out to the dining room, only to find an older woman standing next to Drew, her hand on his shoulder as they laughed together.

  They both seemed to notice Deanna at the same moment, and the woman—slightly shorter than Deanna, and far more curvaceous in her black slacks and ruffled red blouse—stepped forward and caught Deanna’s hands in hers. “So this is the one to catch our Andrew’s heart.” With no hesitation at all, she leaned up and kissed Deanna’s cheeks. “And no wonder. Such a beautiful girl.”

  Deanna couldn’t help but smile in the face of the woman’s infectious greeting.

  “Deanna, this is Maria Mendoza,” Drew introduced. “She and her husband, Jose, are the ones who founded this place.”

  “Sí, sí.” Maria tucked her arm around Deanna’s waist and squeezed. “We have seen many romances come to fruition here at Red.” Her dark eyes danced. “But I’m glad to see our Drew has beautiful company tonight, unlike the other evenings he’s sat alone at the bar.”

  Deanna shot Drew a startled look.

  He’d grabbed the woman’s wrinkling hand and pulled her toward him to drop a noisy kiss on her cheek. “You were as much beautiful company as I could handle, Maria.”

  “Bah. Not even a devil like you can make my Jose jealous.” She lightly slapped his hands and turned again to Deanna. “Andrew tells me how hard you work, niña, while he worries and searches for his father.” She gave Drew a look. “That’s a good woman to have by your side through life.”

  Drew’s smile stayed in place, but Deanna wondered if Maria could see the shadows that entered his gaze as easily as she could.

  “But enough of worrisome things.” Maria clasped her hands together. “When is the wedding date?”

  Deanna shot Drew a look. “We—”

  “We haven’t had a chance to set one,” he said smoothly, and his gaze looked as clear as ever, making Deanna wonder if the shadows had been her imagination after all.

  “But do you want a big wedding, or small…” Maria smiled, surprisingly impish for a woman who Deanna guessed was well into her seventies. “I never tire of weddings.”

  “Deanna doesn’t like being the center of attention,” Drew said, looking oddly serious.

  “Ah.” Maria nodded sagely. “A small, intimate affair, then. Or even an elopement?” She sighed happily. “So romantic.” Then she waved at their seats. “Now, forgive an old woman and sit. Sit. Andrew wants me to bring out my flan for you, niña. You’ll sit in the candlelight and feed each other and fall in love all over again.” She squeezed Drew’s cheeks, then Deanna’s, and hurried through the tables, purpose in her steps.

  Deanna blinked a little and slowly sat. “Wow.”

  “That’s a good word to describe Maria.” Drew took his own seat. “You could have told her we weren’t really engaged. It’s going to come out sooner or later, because my father’s not coming back.”

  Deanna went still. Her unwise enjoyment of their not-a-date started to drain away. “You don’t know that, Drew. You can’t give up hope. Not yet.”

  “Can’t I?” His gaze skewered hers. “What about any of this is giving you hope?”

  He was talking about his father, but he might as well have been talking about them. She tried to clear the knot out of her throat and failed. “If that’s the way you feel, then you…you could have corrected Maria yourself about—” She broke off and waved her hand. The diamond ring glittered in the candlelight. “Particularly because it seems you’ve been spending plenty of time here on your own.”

  His lips tightened. “I had to go somewhere.” His voice was too low for anyone but her to hear.

  “Why?” She lowered her voice, too, leaning toward him across the table. This, she knew, wasn’t about his father. “Just to get away from me?”

  “Yes.”

  Even though she’d expected exactly that answer, she still felt a hideous sting.

  But at least now she had her answer.

  The kiss they’d shared that afternoon that had rocked her existence had been from a man who’d simply needed comfort.

  Even comfort from the likes of her.

  She blinked hard, looking away from him.

  This is definitely not a date.

  “Here we are.” Maria returned, bearing a white plate with the beautifully presented custard dessert that she set between them with a beaming smile. She handed Deanna a sparkling silver spoon, and another to Drew. “Enjoy.” With a sly smile, she quickly moved away from the table.

  Deanna was afraid that if she put one spoon in her mouth she would be sick. But she was very aware of Maria watching from the sidelines and the delightful woman had done nothing to deserve being disappointed.

  It wasn’t Maria’s fault that she—like everyone else—had all too easily believed the lie that she and Drew had perpetrated.

  So Deanna dipped the tip of the spoon through the ruffles of whipped cream, glistening chocolate sauce and silky custard and tucked it into her mouth. Flavors exploded in her mouth and she forced a smile in Maria’s direction. “Delicious.”

  Maria’s eyebrows rose and she nodded, making her silver-streaked dark hair bounce around her shoulders. Her hands fluttered in an urging sort of way.

  Deanna looked back at Drew. She scooped up another spoon of the confection and leaned across the table toward him. “Open up.” Her voice was flat.

  He slowly leaned closer, too, and put his lips around the spoon.

  Her hand trembled violently and she quickly sat back in her chair, setting the spoon down on the linen tablecloth. “There. I had a bite. It’s delicious. So can we go now?”

  “I don’t leave because I don’t want to be around you.” His voice was low, but deliberate. He slowly dipped his own spoon into the dessert. “I leave because I do. Too much.”

  The aching tightness at the back of her jaws went lax. Butterflies suddenly flitted around inside her chest. “Excuse me?”

  He lifted the spoon and held it toward her. “Open.”

  She mindlessly parted her lips and leaned forward.

  The cool silver spoon slipped past and just as mindlessly, she closed her lips softly over the tidbit.

  He slowly withdrew the spoon. “Kind of tastes like flowers, doesn’t it?”

  A shiver worked down her spine. “Flowers?”

  “Whatever stuff it is that Maria refuses to say is in her recipe.” He scooped a spoonful into his mouth and his hooded eyes narrowed for a moment in appreciation.

  Deanna swallowed, her mouth running dry. Her hands curled around the heavy, carved arms of her chair.

  “Not that I know what a flower really tastes like,” he continued, dipping the spoon yet again before extending it toward her. “But that’s what I can’t help thinking every time I put my mou
th around it.”

  “Flowers,” she murmured huskily.

  His dimple flirted next to the faint smile on his lips. “A whole damn garden of ’em.”

  She exhaled and leaned forward, parting her lips for another bite.

  Chapter Eleven

  “That’s going to be one lucky baby coming into the world with you two as parents.” Drew lifted his wineglass in a toast toward Isabella and J.R. who were standing arm in arm in front of the fireplace where a low fire was crackling with a comfortable warmth.

  “Hear, hear,” Jeremy echoed.

  They, along with Lily and the rest of their brothers and their wives, had gathered in the great room at Molly’s Pride later that week to celebrate the coming baby.

  They could easily have included more of the family, but Isabella had persuaded J.R. to keep things small. “We’ll have even more to celebrate with everyone when your father returns,” she’d told him.

  Now, as she watched the family mingle, Deanna fervently hoped that the Fortune and Mendoza families would have that opportunity. Unfortunately, judging from the expressions on some of the faces there, she knew that after two weeks since their father had gone missing, at least some of them—Drew particularly—were seriously doubting whether that day would come.

  Not that Drew had said anything more than he had that evening at Red. Not that Drew had done anything more than what he’d done that evening at Red, either.

  She was torn between wanting to comfort and encourage him to have more faith where his father was concerned—even though she had her own painful doubts after all this time—and wanting to kick herself for continuing to fall into his allure when she ought to know better. And in the end, all she seemed capable of doing was walking on eggshells around him whenever they were alone.

  Which, thanks to his admittedly valid excuse of hunting down leads over his missing father, were increasingly rare.

  She shook her head when Nick passed by with another wine bottle and lifted her glass, which was still nearly full. Everyone had a glass. Even Isabella, though hers was filled with fruit juice.