Gray caught up with Emma at the top of the steps. She’d looked so odd
right before accepting his marriage proposal. Hurt. The sort of hurt that
had cut to the bone. It stirred something inside of him, disturbing him more
than he cared to admit. He studied her expression, relieved to see that she
appeared more temperate now.
"We need to talk," he said.
"I agree." She started down the staircase ahead of him. "We have a
serious problem to discuss."
Her black skirt—also provided courtesy of the hotel—billowed out around
her trim calves. Huge red poppies covered the skirt, winking saucily with
each determined step. What was it with her and red, anyway? If he didn’t
know for a fact that the hotel had selected her outfit, he’d swear she
taunted him with the color. Gray followed behind, doing his damnedest to
avoid the fluttering poppies. Reaching the bottom of the steps, she headed
into the library, turning the instant he stepped foot over the threshold.
"Okay, I’ve agreed to marry you." She planted her hands on her hips. "Now
what do you plan to do about it?"
Great. An easy question for a change. "I plan to marry you."
Easy question, wrong answer. "Oh, no," she instantly retorted. "I agreed
to marry you to satisfy Tee. But it’s not going to happen."
The hell it wasn’t. Business instincts, honed during more adversarial
crises than he cared to recall, came on line. If she thought he’d been
ruthless before, it was nothing compared to what was to come. "Why don’t we
return upstairs and explain that to your grandfather?"
"That won’t be necessary."
"Somehow, I didn’t think it would be." The crack was probably not his
smartest negotiating tactic.
She bristled at the comment. "You got us into this mess. That
super-analytical brain of yours can darn well get us out again."
"Sure. No problem."
Something in his tone must have clued her in to his real feelings. She
stared in disbelief. "You’re not going to do anything, are you?"
"No."
"I can’t believe this!" She began pacing. The poppies stopped winking and
began to snap and snarl. "Why would you marry me when we don’t have anything
in common?"
Wasn’t that obvious? "Because it’s what we both want. And deep down, I
think you know that. You’re just not ready to admit it."
"You’re wrong."
"Am I?" He approached, allowing all he felt and believed about her to
reflect in his eyes and voice and stance. "Am I wrong?"
She held up her hand. "Stop right there."
"What’s the matter now?"
"You’re not using—" she flipped her dangling sleeve at him to indicate
everything from his head to his toes "—all that to influence me. Keep your
distance until we settle this."
He suppressed a smile. Whether she was willing to acknowledge it or not,
they were meant for each other, despite his bride-to-be taking the longest
possible route to arrive at that conclusion. He took a single step backward.
"Is this far enough?"
"No. But I guess it’ll have to do." Her brow crinkled in thought. "Where
was I?"
"Keeping our distance."
"Before that."
"Something about us being perfect for each other."
"Exactly!" She scowled at him. "I’m glad you recognize it, too. We’re not
the least perfect for each other. We already can’t agree on anything. Do you
think that’s going to change over time? We’ll be at each other’s throats
within a month. A month? Hah! What am I thinking? I give it a day."
"Bull." The field of angry poppies distracted him and he shifted his gaze
upward. Unfortunately, her knit top wasn’t much better, despite being a nice
restful shade of black. It continued to droop off her shoulder, exposing far
too much soft, creamy skin for his peace of mind. All he could think about
was having her tumbled across his sheets, wrapping herself around him in the
most exquisite of embraces. "We were together for six full months and it
worked great."
"Until you stole Tee’s business."
He sighed. "Yeah. Right up until then."
"Don’t you see? That’s my point. Everything was fine until you turned
into Mr. Ruthless. What makes you think it won’t happen again? Because the
second it does, I’m out of there."
"I guarantee it’ll happen again." Steel crept into his voice. "In fact,
it’s going to happen right now. And you’ll learn to deal with it during our
marriage the same as you’ll deal with it now. You’re not helpless, Emma. Far
from it. You’ve always been perfectly capable of standing up to me."
She stopped her pacing and the poppies fell silent. "Why do I get the
feeling I’m not going to like this next part?"
"You’re going to like it just fine. Negotiating’s fun."
"Negotiating," she repeated. "Not compromising, but negotiating. Because
heaven knows, you don’t compromise. That’s a con job, as I recall."
"That was your interpretation. Personally, I haven’t taken a definitive
stance on the subject of compromise. Should I let you know once I’ve reached
a decision?" He didn’t bother to wait for a response. Why give her the
opportunity to blister his hide any more than she already had? "On the other
hand, I consider negotiation a vital business practice and as far removed
from a con job as it’s possible to get."
She let that slide. "What are we negotiating?"
He leaned against Tee’s desk and folded his arms across his chest, more
comfortable now that he was following his own agenda, instead of hers. "I
haven’t made any secret of the fact that I want to marry you."
She waved that aside, her sleeve once again flapping off the ends of her
fingertips. "I’m well aware that for some odd reason I’m on your current
to-do list." She struggled to free her hand from the excess material so she
could tick off on her fingers. "Steal Tee’s firm. Wreck Tess’s wedding. Ruin
Emma’s reputation. Marry the poor, ruined woman."
He chuckled. "Quite a list." Crossing to her side, he gathered up the
excess material hanging off her arm. A few expert twists and he had it
neatly knotted at her elbow. "For your information," he explained, repeating
the procedure with the opposite arm, "marrying the poor, ruined woman tops
the list."
"Lucky me." She inspected her sleeves with reluctant admiration. "How do
you do that?"
"It was a university class I took. ‘Disarming techniques for ruthless
entrepreneurs 101.’"
The pun provoked a quick laugh. "Disarming?"
"You’ll be pleased to know I aced the class." Emboldened by his success
with her sleeve, he hitched up the neckline of her shirt. Disarming
techniques apparently didn’t work with necklines. Her top slid down the
slope of her shoulder once again and he left it there. A little torture was
good for the soul. "What do you say we get down to some more of those
ruthless techniques I learned? Do you want to open the negotiations, or
shall I?"
"You’re joking."
"Not even a little." He took marriage to Emma very, very seriously.
"You’ve accused me of only seeing things in black or red. How about this for
a little black and red. What will it take to convince you to marry me?
What’s your bottom line?"
She stared at him, shock intensifying the gold of her eyes. "I can’t
believe you’re asking me that."
"You’re the one who’s always faulting me for being ruthless. Why the
surprise when I live up to my nature?"
"You can’t negotiate your way into a marriage."
"Watch me."
Her shock faded, rapidly replaced by a glare of outrage. "Forget it. I’m
not for sale."
"And I’m not buying." Years of practice kept him focused on his ultimate
goal, instead of how much he stood to lose if he failed to negotiate an
agreement. Why worry about failure? His mouth compressed. He was only
risking his entire future. "But there must be something you want that only I
can give you. Something that will convince you that our marriage has a
chance for success."
She started to reply, then paused. "Something only you can give me," she
repeated.
He didn’t dare allow himself to believe he’d found a weakness. "Name it
and it’s yours." It took every ounce of control to make the offer in a calm,
steady voice.
"Anything I ask, you’ll do?"
"If it’s within my power."
Please let it be within his power.
"You’re serious about this, aren’t you?"
"Dead serious."
"You want to marry me that badly?"
"I want to marry you that badly."
Their gazes locked as endless seconds ticked by. He had no idea what she
saw there or what she hoped to see. But he didn’t back down from that look.
He returned it full measure.
To his astonishment, she capitulated. "Okay. There are two things I want
from you."
He regarded her warily. Her agreement had been too easily won. Either her
requests were impossible to fulfill, or she had another plan for ending
their engagement, and these requests were a delaying tactic. "And if I give
you those two things, you’ll marry me?"
"Yes."
"Name them and they’re yours, but it has to be something I’m capable of
doing."
"Oh, you’re capable of doing these things."
Gray could read between the lines. He was capable . . . he just wouldn’t
like them. He released his breath in a silent sigh. It didn’t matter what
she asked of him. He’d do it. He’d do anything for Emma, even if it there
weren’t so much at stake. Didn’t she know that? "What’s first?" he asked.
"First, I want Tee reinstated as President and CEO of Palmer Shoes."
Aw, hell. The poppies began to dance again, their glee setting his teeth
on edge. What he wouldn’t give for a weed whacker right about now. "You’re
going to regret asking for that."
"No, I won’t." The expression in her eyes was painful too observe. An
intense love for her grandfather vied with a bone-deep anger directed
squarely at Gray. "Tee’s in that bed because you stole the company his
father founded, a business that literally created this town. Worse, he’s
lost face with the people of Palmersville. For a man as proud as Tee, that’s
a fate worse than death. No wonder he’s given up on life."
"He’s faking."
She turned on him, her fury almost knocking the poppies off her skirt.
"How dare you suggest such a thing! That poor man is sitting at death’s
door, and it’s all your fault." Gray had been an idiot to rescue her hand
from the arm-eating sleeve. Now she was free to plow a finger into his chest
to emphasize her point, something she did with painful relentlessness. "And
you’re going to fix that by giving him back Palmer Shoes."
"Even if it means the company going down? Even if it means that two
thirds of the people of Palmersville will lose their jobs if the old man
screws up?"
"That won’t happen."
There was no point in explaining that Tee’s return to the helm of Palmer
Shoes guaranteed the business going under. Facts and figures weren’t going
to win against blind emotion. "And your other demand?"
An intense longing flickered across her face, disappearing before he
could react to it. "I’ll marry you if you can find out what I truly want and
give it to me."
He stared blankly. "Come again?"
"You heard me."
He’d heard. He just hadn’t understood. "Okay . . . . What do you want?"
"I’m not telling. You have to figure it out." She wrapped her arms around
her waist. It was a telling gesture, one that spoke of loneliness and
estrangement. She was holding him at a distance and he didn’t like it. Not
considering their current topic of conversation. "If you give me what I
want, I’ll marry you."
For some reason, he was having trouble wrapping his brain around her
final request. "Let me get this straight. You want me to figure out some
secret desire. I’m supposed to guess what it is and fulfill it."
That odd look returned, more intense this time. A yearning for . . .
what? "It would be nice if you didn’t have to guess. I’d rather
you understood what I wanted."
Dammit! He’d been so close. All she’d had to do was give him a couple of
tasks—he didn’t care how difficult—and like a fairy tale prince of old, he’d
overcome any obstacle and face any danger to fulfill them. But a secret
wish? "How the hell am I supposed to figure out what you want?" He thrust a
hand through his hair. "Knowing you, whatever it is will change on an hourly
basis."
"Not this." Something about her expression warned that she took this
particular demand very seriously. "I’ll tell Reverend Franklin what my
second condition is. That way you can be sure that I won’t change it on a
whim or in order to get out of our agreement."
Gray scrambled to set parameters, to bring
some sense of organization to help counterbalance Emma’s brand of chaos.
"When am I supposed to give you this second
thing? During the ceremony?"
She shook her head. "Before might be best. That way we don’t have to
waste our time preparing for a wedding that’s not going to happen."
Comprehension dawned. "You don’t think I can figure out what it is, do
you?"
To his concern, her mouth trembled. "No," she whispered.
There was only one way to convince her. He drew her into his arms. This
time she didn’t resist. Forking his fingers deep into her hair, he tilted
her face up to his. The loose waves spilled across her bared shoulders in
delightful abandon. That sort of abandonment was one of the reasons he loved
her so much. Where he planned every detail, life simply happened to Emma.
Where he graphed and charted and enumerated, she embraced life, chasing
wherever it led. His was a world of red and black, while she was a
butterfly, carrying every color of the rainbow on her wings.
He lowered his head and kissed her. With a joyous moan, she wrapped her
arms around his neck, giving herself up to the moment. He deepened the kiss,
feasting on her mouth. With that one kiss he told her in every way possible
what she meant to him. They belonged together. They always had. And nothing,
not even a secret desire, would keep them apart. Reluctantly he pulled back.
"I don’t consider anything about our engagement and wedding to be a waste
of time," he said. "This is real. This is going to happen and I want you to
enjoy every minute of it. When we get to the front of that church, I’ll give
you your second request. Guaranteed."
"How can you be so sure?" she asked in wonder.
He answered with absolute honesty. "Because there isn’t a man alive who
knows what you want better than me."
