The Playboy's Proposition(7)

"Do you see your brothers now?"

"Sometimes. Not on a regular basis. We're all busy."

"Hmm. You need a tradition."

"Why is that?"

"A tradition forces you to get together. My aunt does this with my  cousins and relatives at least twice a year. Once at Christmas, then  during the summer for barbecue and games weekend."

"Does shooting pool count?"

"It can. Good food helps."

"Oh yeah? Junk food works for us. Buffalo wings, pizza. Maybe with both my brothers married, the women will try to civilize us."

"Maybe so," she said. "I hear marriage can do that sometimes with men."

"I guess I'll always be uncivilized, then because I don't plan to ever get married."

His flat statement comforted her in a bizarre way. After her breakup  with Stephen, she couldn't imagine giving another man her heart, if she  even had a heart to give. She lifted her glass and met his gaze. "That  makes two of us."





Four



M ichael held her gaze for a long moment then pulled her toward him.  "I've been watching your mouth all night," he said and lowered his lips  to hers.

An unexpected sigh eased out of her. His mouth was warm, firm yet soft  and addictive. She wanted to taste him, taste all of him. He fascinated  her with his confidence, power and intuitiveness.She lifted her hands to  run her fingers through his wavy hair. A half breath later, he pulled  her into his lap and devoured her mouth. The chemistry between them was  taut and combustible. Every time he slid his tongue over hers, she felt  something inside her twist tighter.

He slid his hands to her shoulders then lower to her breasts. Her  nipples stood against her shirt, taut and needy. He rubbed them with his  thumbs, drawing them into tight orbs. She felt a corresponding twist in  her nether regions.

"You feel so good," he muttered against her mouth. "I have to have you again."

His voice rumbled through her, making her heart pound. He slanted his  mouth against hers, taking her more fully. She craved the sensation of  his mouth and tongue. His need salved a hollow place deep inside her.

She felt his hands move to the center of her white shirt. A tugging  sensation followed and cool air flowed over her bare chest. His lips  still holding hers, he dipped his thumbs into the cups of her bra,  touching her nipples.

She gasped at the sensation.

"Good?" he murmured. "Do you want more? I can give it to you."

She felt herself grow liquid beneath his caresses. Each stroke of his  thumb made her more restless. He skimmed one of his hands down the side  of her waist then to the front of her skirt.

"It's a damn shame you're wearing tights," he said.

A shiver raced through her at his sexy complaint.

"I think it's time for us to go to my room," he said.

Suddenly, as if the room turned upside down, it hit her that this would  be the beginning of the deal. She froze. He stood and pulled her to her  feet.

She stared at him, struck with the awful feeling of being at his mercy.  Unable to keep herself from breathing hard, she closed her eyes and told  herself it would be okay. It was just sex. Since she'd lost the man she  really loved, it would only ever be … sex.

"Bella," he said, his hand cupping her chin. "Look at me."

She swallowed hard over her conflicting emotions and opened her eyes, catching his gaze for several heart-twisting beats.

He gave a sigh and a grimace then slid his hand down to capture hers. "You've had a busy day, haven't you?"                       
       
           



       

"Yes, I have."

He nodded. "You should get some rest," he said and led her out of the den.

"Where-"

"I have a room for you," he said. "Let the housekeeper know if you need anything. Her name is Trena."

"But I thought," she said, confused by the change of plans.

He stopped in front of a door and looked down at her. "I've never had to force a woman. I'm not about to start now."

She bit her upper lip with her bottom teeth. "This is new for me. I haven't done anything like this before."

"Neither have I," he said and lifted his eyebrow in a combination of  amusement and irony. "Don't count on me being patient for long. No one  has ever accused me of letting the grass grow under my feet. I'll send  Trena in to check on you in a few minutes. Good night."

Bella put her face in her hands after he closed the door. Shocked, she  shook her head and glanced around the bedroom. Furnished in sea-blues  and greens, the soft tones of the room immediately took her anxiety down  several notches. Flanked by windows covered with airy curtains, a large  comfortable-looking bed beckoned from the opposite wall. A large  painting of an ocean scene hung above the bed, making her wonder if  Michael enjoyed the sea as much as she did.

The bed stand held a collection of books, a small seashell lamp and a  tray for a late-night snack. A long cherry bureau with a small padded  chair occupied another. The room had clearly been furnished with comfort  in mind.

She walked into the connecting bath and almost drooled. Marble double  sinks, a large Jacuzzi tub, shower that would easily accommodate two and  flowering plants. Much nicer than her one-bedroom apartment.

Don't get used to it, she warned herself.

A knock sounded on the door and Bella opened it to a competent-looking  woman dressed in black slacks and a white shirt. "Miss St. Clair. I'm  Trena, one of Mr. Medici's staff. Welcome. Please tell me what I can do  to make your stay more comfortable."

Bella glanced around. "I can't think of anything. The room is wonderful."

Trena nodded. "Good. There's water, wine, beer and soda in the mini bar  along with some snacks. There's a fresh bathrobe hanging in the closet  and toiletries in the bathroom."

"Thank you. Oh, I just realized I don't have pajamas," Bella said. She  hadn't been sure whether she would be staying the night or not. "Perhaps  a T-shirt?"

"No problem."

"Again, thank you. I'll just go get my change of clothing from my car."

"If you'll give me the keys, I can do that for you," Trena offered.

"Oh, no," she protested. "I can do that myself."

Trena looked offended. "Please allow me. Mr. Medici emphasized that he  wants you to relax. It's my job and I take pride in doing a good job."

She blinked at the woman's firm tone. "Okay, thank you."

"My pleasure. I'll be back in just a moment."

Wow, Bella thought. The woman brought service to a new level. She  shouldn't be surprised. Michael Medici would employ only the best and  probably paid very well. Stifling a nervous chuckle, she envisioned  Trena shaking her finger at her and saying, "You must relax."

Just moments later, Trena returned with Bella's tote bag of clothes she  always kept in the back of her car in case she wanted to change before  or after work at the restaurant. She also brought her a soft extra-large  T-shirt. Staring at a painting of a pink shell on the wall, she  wondered about Michael.

What kind of man would make a deal to bail out her aunt in exchange for an affair with her?

Who was she to cast stones? After all, what kind of woman would accept his offer?

She thought it would take forever to fall asleep so she picked up a book  on the nightstand, a thriller. Seven hours later, she awakened to the  smell of fresh-brewed coffee with the thriller on her chest.

Shaking her head, she quickly realized she wasn't in her own bed. Her  sheets weren't this soft, her mattress not so … perfect. Scrambling out of  bed, she pulled on her clothes and splashed water on her face and  brushed her teeth and hair. And added lip gloss.

Calm, calm, she told herself and walked into the kitchen.

A bald, black man standing next to the coffeemaker looked up at her. "Miss St. Clair?"

She nodded. "Yes."

His mouth stretched into a wide grin of reassurance. "Pleasure to meet  you. I'm Sam. Mr. Medici instructed me to fix your breakfast. Would you  like a cappuccino?"

"It's nice to meet you, too, Sam. There's no need for you to fix my breakfast."                       
       
           



       

Sam's smile fell. "My instructions are to feed you a good breakfast. I wish to do as he instructed."

Geez, Michael sure had his staff trained. "I'm not really hungry … ."

"But a cappuccino? Latte?"

She sighed, not entirely comfortable with others serving her to such a degree. "Latte, thank you. Where is Mr. Medici?"

Sam chuckled. "Long gone. That man rises before the sun. Very rarely  does he sleep late. He left a note for you," he said and held out an  envelope. "Would you like oatmeal pancakes? I make very good pancakes."