Fortune's Proposal

And what would she tell her mother when she did call?

That she was marrying the boss?

Gigi would probably think she’d died and gone to heaven. If she couldn’t achieve that status, then at least her daughter had.

Deanna heard the distinctive sound of the champagne cork popping, and ignoring the sense of guilt she felt, she turned off her cell phone again. The only harmful thing that Gigi would do over the weekend would be to order more needless items. Items that Deanna would ensure were returned, along with all the other things she’d expected to have to deal with.

No, she’d call her mother after the holiday when she was back in town.

Maybe by then, Deanna would have figured out a way to couch her news so that Gigi wouldn’t start flying over the moon.

She hurried into the small employee break room, pulled out two plastic cups from the cupboard and returned to Drew’s office.

He was pulling off his linen, button-down shirt.

She nearly dropped the cups. “What are you doing?”

The shirt came off his shoulders and he balled it up, pitching it aside. The white T-shirt he was wearing beneath it clung to every centimeter of his wide chest.

“Champagne bubbled over.” He picked up the bottle and she could see a ring of shimmering liquid on his desk where the bottle had been sitting. “Here.” He grabbed her hand with one of the cups in it and filled it more than halfway.

“That’s too much.” She had to force herself not to stare at his chest. It wasn’t as if she had never seen it before, and even completely, gloriously bare. When he was playing beach volleyball at their branch picnic every year, for one. But she’d never been his convenient fiancée and been faced with him less than fully dressed …

She could feel hysteria rising and ruthlessly tramped it down.

“Live a little.” He was grinning as he took the second cup from her. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

She was glad to surrender the cup, because that meant that she could wrap both hands around her own, and maybe stop shaking like she was some schoolgirl faced with her first crush.

He filled his own cup, then held it out. “Here’s to marriage.”

Her stomach dipped and swayed, but she managed to give him a stern glare. “You shouldn’t joke about it.”

“Who’s joking?” He nudged the side of his cup against hers in the toast. “At least we both know exactly what we’ll be getting out of the deal. No illusions. No surprises.”

“Right.” She dipped her nose toward the cup. The first taste of champagne was as bitter as the nerves tightening her stomach. She swallowed it anyway.

“A ring,” he said suddenly.

She looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

“We need an engagement ring.” He snatched his phone off his desk again and scrolled through the phone numbers stored in it.

“You’re not going to find a jeweler open on New Year’s Eve,” she warned. “Not even Zondervan’s.”

He grinned as he punched a number and held the phone to his ear. “As much business as I’ve given Bob Zondervan over the years? Want to bet?”

“Um … no, thanks,” she managed with at least a little wisdom considering the number of orders she’d made on his behalf.

“Smart girl.”

Feeling strangely weak, she sat down and shook her head.

Her mother had always told Deanna that a smart girl could catch herself the boss. Deanna had always said that would never, ever be her way.

And yet … here she was.

Her mother’s daughter after all.

Chapter Three

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Up and at ‘em.” Drew nudged Deanna’s shoulder.

But she just sighed and shifted, and instead of her sleeping head resting against the backseat of the limousine that had been waiting for them when they’d landed in San Antonio, it slid sideways until it was resting on his shoulder.

Her hair smelled like green apples.

He closed his eyes for a minute, reminding himself that this was Deanna. His young assistant who was, once again, smoothing out the kinks in his life.

Yeah, okay, so she was going to get something out of it. Namely, getting some help with her crazy mother.

But as far as Drew was concerned, that was a drop in the bucket compared to what he was going to get out of it.

The right to head up Fortune Forecasting once and for all.

“Deanna.” He started to reach for her hand where it was resting on her lap, but hesitated.

The diamond solitaire that he’d chosen from the two-dozen rings that Bob had brought by the office less than an hour after Drew had called him was on her ring finger. Even in the dim light in the back of the limo, the ring gleamed.

How many times had he said that a wedding ring was just a noose in disguise?

Yet now, he had a his-and-her pair of the damned things—platinum to match the band on the engagement ring—in his pocket. All ready to go for the big day.

Whenever they decided that would be.

Given the way his father was harping on the subject, it wouldn’t be soon enough for William.

Drew ignored her slender fingers and jiggled her narrow wrist with the oversize watch on it instead. “Rise and shine, Dee,” he said more loudly.

Her head shifted again and her eyes slowly opened. She stared at him drowsily. “Hmm?”

She’d have that expression in bed, he thought, and abruptly went hard.

An oath zipped around inside his head and he stared over her head out the window, focusing on the lines of the fencing that marked off his brother’s property.

Deanna was his assistant. His fiancée for convenience’s sake. Not a woman he needed to be envisioning—way too easily envisioning, at that—in his bed. Or pressed back against the deep limo seat …

“We’re almost at Molly’s Pride.” He cleared his throat. “My brother’s ranch.”

She blinked a little, then seemed to realize that she was all but sprawled over the side of him, and straightened like she’d been stung by a bee.

Her hand went to her hair, smoothing it back from her face. “I fell asleep.” She grimaced. “How embarrassing. I hope I wasn’t drooling.”

She hadn’t been, but knew he was damnably on the verge of it. “Snoring, maybe,” he said blandly.

She gave him a narrow look, then rolled her eyes. “I was not.”

No, she hadn’t been. She’d been soft and warm and the desire had hit him nearly out of the blue. He’d thought he’d conquered it a long time ago when she first started working for him. And he’d made a monumental ass out of himself by kissing her at one of the lowest points in his life.

Good assistants were hard to find.

Sexual partners weren’t.

Fortunately, she’d turned her attention out the windows and he ran his hand around the back of his neck, feeling like he was ready to boil over.

“Oh, my. Is that your brother’s ranch?” She was practically pressing her nose against the window like a little girl.

Only thanks to the way she’d slept for the past hour with her body snuggled up against his, he knew that beneath the shapeless green sweater she’d changed into at her apartment before they’d gone to the airport, the little girl was all woman.

“It’s so beautiful.” Fortunately, she was oblivious to his failure to comment. “It looks like it should be in an old movie. A Western.” She looked at him over her shoulder, her smile flashing. “With John Wayne striding over to the old hacienda. I can’t wait to see it when the sun is up.”

Deanna was an excellent assistant and extremely good with marketing. Was it any wonder her imagination had gone into overdrive at the sight of his brother’s place? “Clearly, you need more sleep.”

She turned up her nose and looked out the window again. The limousine halted in front of the house with its stone entrance and Moorish-style arch and without waiting for the driver, he pushed open the door and climbed out of the car. The drive from San Antonio hadn’t taken all that long, but he still felt stiff and cramped from being on the plane in the first place.

Drew liked space.

It was one of the reasons he liked living in San Diego so well. Whenever he wanted space around him, he just headed for the beach. How much more space could a man need when he was staring out at the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean?

Still, his gaze ran over the house that his oldest brother had bought, pretty much out of the clear blue sky a few years ago, when he’d transplanted himself lock, stock and barrel from Los Angeles to Texas. J.R. had given up his position at the headquarters of Fortune Forecasting, as well as his designer suits and cars and coffee, in favor of jeans and cattle and pickups. He’d also quickly turned around and married Isabella Mendoza, who’d helped him decorate the place.

It had been a year since Drew had last seen Molly’s Pride and even though it was well past midnight, he could see the property and the two-hundred-year-old hacienda gleamed with care.

He pulled open Deanna’s door and she climbed out, her somewhat-awed gaze still focused on the house rather than Drew. Which was a good thing because he still felt like he was about ready to bust out of his jeans.

Maybe it would’ve helped if she hadn’t changed. If she’d just stayed in that boxy, matronly looking suit that she’d worn to the office.

All her suits were the same. They all disguised the fact that her rear was pretty much made for filling out a snug pair of soft blue denims.

Annoyed with his thoughts, he left her to gather her tote and jacket and grabbed their few bags from the trunk when the driver opened it. “I’ve got ‘em. Thanks.” He gave the guy a generous tip that earned him an enthusiastic smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Fortune. Happy New Year. You, too, ma’am.” The driver slammed the trunk shut and quickly climbed back behind the wheel, no doubt anxious to get on with his own celebrating. A moment later, the long vehicle was driving off, leaving him and Deanna standing there alone in the moonlight.

It felt intensely … intimate. And despite the chill in the air, he felt hotter than ever.

At any other time, he would have probably found the situation ironically humorous.

Right now, he just felt like he was ready to put his head in a noose, and was almost—almost—glad to do it.

She was watching him, her eyes looking dark and mysterious, though the way she moistened her lips warned him that she was more likely just nervous as hell. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

The only thing he was sure of right then was that he was having a heck of a time remembering why he should not be wanting her the way he was.

He freshened his grip on her suitcase—one of those hard-sided kind of things invented long before rollers had come along—and turned toward the arched entrance, gesturing with his chin. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

She moistened her lips again, leaving them even more softly shiny, and walked ahead of him through the arch that led to a massive wood door.

“Better knock,” he advised. It was hours past the time he’d warned J.R. that he’d be arriving, and he figured walking in might not be such a good idea. God only knew if J.R. had taken to keeping loaded weapons at the ready along with his other Texas rancher ways …

She reached out and knocked tentatively on the door.

“Come on, Dee. They’re never gonna hear that.”

She gave him a look, then curled her fist and knocked harder. “Satisfied?”

Since he heard the slide of a lock a moment later, he just smiled at her. Then the door was swinging open and his brother appeared.

“About damn time,” J.R. greeted, but there was still a faint smile on his face.

“Good to see you, too,” Drew returned and then, because he wasn’t much one for putting off the inevitable, he slid his free hand around Deanna’s shoulder and felt the little start she gave. They’d have to work on that. “You remember my assistant, Deanna,” he began. J.R. nodded. “We’re late because just tonight, she agreed to marry me.”

A full heartbeat of silence followed his abrupt announcement.

Then J.R.’s smile became a little more broad, though Drew recognized the disbelief in his brother’s hazel eyes, as he turned his focus on Deanna. “Well, then,” J.R. said smoothly, “that sure does make up for the pipsqueak’s tardiness.” He reached out and took the tote bag that was slung over Deanna’s shoulder and wrapped his hand around her elbow, drawing her inside.

“Pip-squeak?” Deanna laughed a little and looked over her shoulder at Drew.

“Better than runt,” he muttered. “That’s what he used to call Darr.” Two years younger than Drew, Darr was the baby of the family. He was also a firefighter and could probably take them all down without breaking a sweat.

“You’re all still on the easy side of forty,” J.R. was saying, as he chuckled and wrapped an arm around Drew’s neck, hugging him hard. “So I’ll call you whatever the heck I want. Damn, it’s good to see you.” Just as abruptly, he was pushing Drew away and taking Deanna’s cumbersome suitcase. “Even if I was beginning to wonder if you were going to get here before dawn or not.”

He turned and headed barefoot along the distressed wood floor through the silent house. “Isabella stayed up for a while but finally bit the dust a few hours ago.” He looked over his shoulder at Deanna. “My wife.”

Deanna nodded. “Drew’s told me about her. I hope I’m not putting you out too badly. I warned Drew that he should have called ahead to let you know I was coming with him.”

“Don’t you worry any about that,” J.R. assured. “We’re glad to have you.” He grinned. “Particularly when you’re brave enough to take on our Andrew, there. And what’s better to have around for a wedding than more family? “

Drew could see the color come into her cheeks.

“You’re very gracious.”

“My wife would kick me otherwise,” J.R. assured. He turned down a hall. “Jeremy’s out for the count, too.” He jerked his chin. “He’s in that room there at the end of the hall. Got in yesterday.”

Deanna’s wide gaze was taking in the white plaster walls around them, which Drew knew were relatively fresh even if they did look authentic to the old house. “Is that one of your wife’s tapestries?” She pointed to a colorful weaving on one wall as they passed it. “Drew’s told me what a talented artist she is.”

J.R. nodded and the look of pride on his face was plain to see. “There’s not a corner of this place where she hasn’t made her mark,” he said before pushing open a door. “You’ll be in here.” He stepped aside and hopefully missed the panicked glance that Deanna threw in Drew’s direction as she entered the bedroom.

The most notable feature was the wide bed that took up a good portion of the space.

His damnable body stirred again and he felt heat start to climb up his neck when his gaze ran into J.R.’s. “Looks comfortable,” he said, ignoring the heat both in his neck and in his gut, and went into the room behind her.

He dropped his duffel and suit bag on the white comforter covering the bed and watched Deanna’s fingertips gently graze the petals of one of the roses clustered in a vase on the chest of drawers next to one of the windows. Her reflection jumped back at him from the big, heavily framed mirror that sat on the floor against the wall across from the bed. Next to that was a fireplace where logs were already placed, just waiting for a match.

Her auburn hair was tousled around her shoulders and her expression was almost unbearably soft as she touched the flowers.

He felt a bead of sweat angling down his spine. He shrugged out of the leather bomber jacket and pitched it across a chair in the corner that sat next to a small table with a reading lamp.

His brother had a faint smile on his lips as he ambled into the room after them. He set Deanna’s suitcase on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Bathroom’s attached through there,” he gestured. “Extra blankets and pillows are in the closet, there. If you need anything else, just yell.”

Drew figured that what Deanna needed was a separate bedroom, and was grateful as all get-out when she only smiled and quietly told his brother that everything was lovely and she was certain they’d be just fine.

“Right, then. See you at breakfast.” J.R. stepped out of the room. He grinned. “Or not.” He reached for the door and pulled it closed.

Alone, Deanna turned away from the pink roses and looked at Drew.

“I can’t help it,” he said in a low voice. “What do you want me to do? Tell him we don’t sleep together?”

She made a face. “He’d never believe you weren’t sleeping with any woman you brought with you, much less your own fiancée.”

He almost felt himself flush, which was stupid. He was no kid. Of course he had sex with the women he saw.

That was pretty much all he had with the women he saw. It wasn’t as if he was looking for a partner in life after all.

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor if it makes you feel better.”

“Not exactly comfy.” She tapped her soft-soled boot on the hardwood floor and let out a huge breath. “We’ll just have to make do with the bed.” She shook her head and looked away. “At least it’s huge,” she added. “You could sleep a family of five in that thing.”

It was definitely an exaggeration, but he let it pass. Because whatever she wanted to think, there would still only be the two of them on that soft-looking mattress.

And his imagination was becoming increasingly fertile.

Her hair would look like burning embers against that white, white comforter …

He cleared his throat a lot more easily than he did the images from his head. “It’s been a long night. You go ahead and—” he waved toward the bed “—you know, go to sleep. I’m still too keyed up anyway. I’m going to go find J.R.’s whiskey.”

The relief that filled her eyes would have been comical if it weren’t so deflating. Just because—at the moment—he was having a hard time remembering the purpose of their engagement didn’t mean that she was having the same problem.

“If you’re sure …” She left the words hanging and he made himself nod.

He needed to be remembering how she’d acted the last time he’d been uncontrolled enough to kiss her and not how she’d felt, pressed against him in the limo.

Then she’d been clearly appalled, and he knew to this day that the only reason she hadn’t quit on the spot was that she’d felt sorry for him because his mother had just died. That, and the fact that he’d sworn to her it would never happen again.

“Yeah,” he lied. “I’m sure. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

She looked at her watch. “Today will be a busy day, actually.”

“Right. Today.” He reached for the doorknob and quietly turned it. “Happy New Year, Dee.”

Deanna’s smile felt almost as shaky as her knees.

She knew it was best if he left for a little while, but a strong part of her wanted to ask him not to.

And that fact alone was reason enough to need some distance from her boss-slash-fiancé, even if it were only for a few minutes. So she kept the words to herself. “Happy New Year, Drew.”

And then he was stepping out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Once he was gone, Deanna’s smile died and she drew in a deep breath.

Without his intoxicating presence, the room felt as spacious as her common sense told her it actually was. It was only when she was closed in with him that it seemed as if the walls were only two inches from that big … wide … bed.

She caught her reflection in the oversize mirror. “This is what you get for making rash decisions,” she whispered to herself.

The only response she got was her own glazed-looking expression staring back at her.

The silence of the house seemed to tick like the hands of a clock, and she grabbed her suitcase, hefting it onto the foot of the bed. Drew had given her a reprieve of sorts and she knew she’d better darn well use it wisely. The last thing she wanted was for him to come back and find her still standing around like some ninny who was afraid to climb into bed for what was left of a night’s sleep.

She unfastened the stiff latches and flipped open the case, taking out the dress that she’d added on top of her other clothing. When they’d stopped at her apartment on the way to the airport, she’d done her level best to discourage Drew from accompanying her inside. But the man simply hadn’t taken the hint and she hadn’t exactly known how to tell him flat-out to stay in the car when she couldn’t even come up with a plausible excuse.

So he’d walked up the iron-and-cement flight of stairs to her door and had braced herself for his comments when she’d let them in.

But all he’d done was silently glance over the stacks of shipping boxes that were crammed into her dining room, covering the floor and the small table and even the end of the couch. Boxes containing every item imaginable from small travel-size baby-food mills to closet organizers and exercise equipment that she’d taken from her mother’s home to send back to the companies from which Gigi had ordered them.

He hadn’t gaped. He hadn’t even raised his eyebrows.

She’d been so grateful for that that she hadn’t even thought to protest when he’d followed her down the short hallway to stand in the doorway of her bedroom while she’d opened her ancient suitcase that had already been packed for her spa weekend.

He’d told her that they would be in Texas for four days—through the weekend, and returning to San Diego on Wednesday. That didn’t necessitate a lot of clothing, fortunately, because she didn’t have much in her wardrobe that wasn’t either kick-around-the house casual, or wear-to-work professional. She had sweats that she wore to the gym where she coached girls’ volleyball in exchange for her membership fee, and she had jeans and shorts and suits.

But there wasn’t much call for her to own dresses suitable for an afternoon wedding, and when she’d scooted through her assortment of hangers for the second time without finding anything she could imagine wearing, she’d looked over her shoulder at him and told him that he would be better off going to Texas alone. He could announce their engagement without her being there, couldn’t he?

But he’d just given her that Drew look, the one that saw right through her excuses, and told her to pack one of her suits and to stop worrying about it.

“I’m not wearing something like this to a wedding.” She’d shrugged out of her blazer and shook it at him. “This is for work.”

“Well, even that might be debatable,” he’d drawled, and had joined her in front of her tight closet. He’d reached in and pulled out a frothy thing shoved far to the side. “Wear this, then.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he’d held the hanger up against her shoulders. “It doesn’t look like something you’d wear to work. So? Good for a wedding or not?”

She hadn’t been thinking about the dress. She’d been thinking about his comment about her suits. They fit and they were professional-looking and the complete opposite of the short skirts and clingy blouses that her fashionista mother preferred.

But knowing that the jet was waiting for them and not wanting to be the cause of their being any later than they already were, she hadn’t pursued the matter.

And now, she held the dress up to her shoulders in much the same way that Drew had, and turned to look at herself in the mirror.

It was a vivid, bright pink for one thing, and with her hair, that wasn’t a color she ever wore.

For another, it was ruffled.

Well, not exactly ruffled. The skirt was just made of dozens of pieces of fabric that all seemed to float independently of each other, making it look like it rippled even when she was holding it still. And the narrow, halter-style bodice was snug. And low.

She’d never worn it before.

For that matter, she hadn’t bought it.

Gigi had. She’d given it to Deanna for her last birthday, and when Deanna had protested that it was too expensive—a more tolerable excuse than that the dress simply wasn’t to Deanna’s taste—her mother had produced the receipt to prove that the clearance-priced dress wasn’t returnable. She’d lamented how her little Deedee just thrived on thwarting her and in the end, rather than go to battle over what was supposed to be a birthday gift, Deanna had taken the dress and put it in the back of her closet.