The Bride’s Proposition

  The Bride’s Proposition

  Day Leclaire

  PROLOGUE

  "STEFANO SALVATORE is the absolute, hands-down, last man on this earth I’d ever trust."

  "Oh, come now. Why do you say that?"

  Penelope leaned across the tiny table where she sat, ostensibly to reach for a pitcher of cream for her coffee. In truth, she was blatantly eavesdropping on the conversation going on beside her and didn't want to miss a single word. The two chatting women were both young and attractive, clearly businesswomen taking advantage of the warm sunny weather to lunch at an open-air cafe that catered to the suit-and-tie crowd in downtown San Francisco.

  They were also talking about the very man Penelope intended to proposition.

  "Granted, they weren't able to prove anything," said the first woman, a perky blonde who radiated shrewd intelligence. "But everyone knows he did it, Lisa. The facts are indisputable."

  The second woman-Lisa-nodded. "A logical deduction supported by circumstantial, if not direct evidence. How ... unfortunate," She was a brunette-haired beauty with pouty lips highlighted an interesting shade of plum and the sort of sultry voice that left men puddled on the floor. "Such a shame when a good man falls from grace. Honor is so rare these days."

  The blonde shook her head. "I doubt anyone will ever trust him again. Not on a business front, even with the Salvatore name behind him. And no woman in her right mind would trust him as a lover. Not after what he did to his ex-fiancée."

  "But, Kim, I've heard he's so good-looking."

  "Oh, he's gorgeous. That just makes him all the more dangerous. Women adore him. Or they did. He excels at smooth charm and Mediterranean graciousness. One of those men who makes you feel you're the most adored creature on earth. You know the sort I mean?"

  Lisa released a half moan, half sigh and Penelope ducked her head to hide a smile. The irony was almost too much. Here she sat, an investigative dossier on Stefano Salvatore open in front of her, and she was learning more about the man in a few minutes of crass eavesdropping than what she'd read in the first twenty pages of the report. If only she'd had the opportunity to get to know Kim before this, she could have saved herself a fortune in detective's fees.

  "Maybe the rumors are wrong," the brunette offered.

  "I mean, you said yourself that nobody could prove anything."

  "Nor did he defend himself. And Kate Bennett, his fiancée, left him when the story broke. Come on. Use your common sense. Since she was the one most intimately affected, she must have known the truth about the incident."

  "Where there's smoke?" Lisa asked delicately.

  "There's not just a fire, but an inferno. If he'd been innocent, don't you think she'd have stuck by him?"

  "I assume by leaving she pretty much confirmed his guilt?"

  "Oh, he's guilty." Kim hammered home her point by rapping a French manicured fingernail against the tabletop. "I doubt he'll ever be able to repair his reputation despite all the Salvatore brothers rallying around him. You watch at tonight's charity benefit. Assuming Stefano has the nerve to show up, people will keep a careful distance. No one will want to be associated with him. Who'd want to risk being seen doing business with a thief?"

  Lisa grinned. "Or be caught in bed with one?"

  Kim glanced around and Penelope made a production of studying her file so she wouldn't be caught staring. "To tell the truth, it's tempting. If I weren't afraid of losing my job, I just might be willing to chance it,"

  "He's that attractive?"

  "Looks like a dark angel and acts like one, too."

  "I'm drooling."

  "You'd do more than drool if you saw him." Kim checked her watch. "Come on. It's getting late and I still have that Carter deal to put together before the end of the day. Will you be at the benefit tonight?"

  "After the build up you've given Salvatore? I wouldn't miss it!"

  "Then I'll see you there."

  Penelope waited until the two women left the cafe before gathering the file spread before her. The conversation she'd overheard put the final touches on the information her detective had gathered and she smiled in satisfaction. It also allowed her to reach a decision.

  Stefano Salvatore was perfect. He was everything she hoped and more. Of course, it was the "more" that had her a little concerned. But no matter. She'd find a way around that part. Anchoring several bills beneath her coffee cup, Penelope left the restaurant and walked briskly toward Salvatores. She wouldn't delay this matter any further. Time to speak directly to Stefano. Time to make him a small-and she hoped irresistible-business proposition.

  Time to be caught in bed with the man.

  CHAPTER ONE

  "I HAVE a very simple business proposition for you, Mr. Salvatore." Penelope Wentworth made herself comfortable in the chair across from her chosen target and adjusted a pair of practical wire-rimmed glasses before fixing Stefano with her most determined gaze. It could be quite determined, too, considering she'd been using it to great effect since the tender age of ten. "I want you to marry me."

  If she'd startled him, he didn't show it by so much as a flicker of expression. Instead he kept his dark brown eyes trained on her as though she were a unique specimen he'd never seen before. She was used to that, too, often finding herself on the receiving end of that type of look-also since the tender age of ten. The looks didn't bother her. At least they hadn't since she'd turned twelve and learned that the adults in her world were far more intimidated by her than she was by them.

  "Since when did marriage become a business proposition?" he asked.

  She almost smiled at the casual way he asked the question, as though he were indulging idle curiosity. She might have believed him if it weren't for the deadly stillness that had seized him the instant she'd popped her question. "Marriage is always a business proposition. Most people cover up that fact by hiding behind an excess of emotion. A foolish indulgence, if you ask me."

  He surprised her with a quick, flashing smile and she forced herself to conceal her reaction, though it was difficult. She should have given more credence to Kim's claim about him, instead of dismissing it as the sort of feminine exaggeration women indulged in when attracted to a man. Kim hadn't exaggerated. Not even a little. It annoyed Penelope to discover that all the research and computations she'd run on Stefano Salvatore had failed to take into consideration the sheer presence of the man. It was quite a presence. "Dark angel" struck her as all too apt.

  He was extraordinarily good-looking, his features arranged in a way guaranteed to turn most women into total idiots. And yet, he still managed to retain an air of undeniable masculinity. His arching cheekbones tempted a woman's touch, while an aggressive nose kept him from appearing too pretty. A bold, kissable mouth sat at odds with his square, authoritative--and no doubt, stubborn-jawline. Thick black hair tumbled across his brow above the most enticing earthy brown eyes she'd ever seen. Calm. Knowing. Focused. And sharply intelligent.

  "I see. Thank you, Ms .... ?"

  "Wentworth. Penelope Wentworth."

  A hint of amusement drifted through his gaze - a gaze almost as disconcerting as her own. "Thank you, Ms. Wentworth. But I'm not interested in marriage, whether it's a business proposition, a romantic entanglement or at the end of a shotgun."

  "I see," she said with a brisk nod. "I assume that's a direct result of your failed engagement and that unfortunate incident that preceded it."

  He surged to his feet and Penelope pressed her spine tight against the back of her chair. Oh, dear. Maybe she should have chosen a different angle. This had clearly been the wrong one with which to initiate negotiations. He circled his desk with slow, deliberate strides, coming to a halt directly beside her chair. When he reache
d for her, it took every ounce of self-possession not to flinch. Not that her well-practiced self-possession helped. Grasping her arms, he yanked her from the chair and towed her toward the door to his office, her glasses bouncing on the tip of her nose with every step.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded. My goodness!

  She sounded downright breathless. That had never happened before.

  "I'm throwing you out of my office, Ms. Wentworth.'

  "Would you mind telling me why?"

  "I don't mind in the least." He wrapped a large hand around the knob and yanked open the door. "I don't marry nutcases. Hell, Nellie. I don't even talk to them." With that, he propelled her from his office and slammed the door in her face.

  Well! Penelope frowned at the solid oak door as she straightened her glasses. How rude. He hadn't even listened to what she had to say. Not giving herself time to reconsider, she turned the knob and re-entered the room. He must not have been accustomed to having people cross him. He'd returned to his desk and buried himself in his work. It wasn't until she slammed the door that he looked up.

  She caught her breath at the expression in his eyes.

  Why had she thought they were calm? They were the most volatile and impassioned she'd ever seen. Slowly he regained his feet, thrusting back his chair with such force it crashed against the wall behind him, making the windows shimmer.

  "What part of being thrown out don't you understand?"

  A trace of a lilting accent slipped into his words, adding a raw, elemental quality to his anger. She lifted her chin and poked her wire-rimmed glasses more firmly on the bridge of her nose. If he thought he could intimidate her, he'd have to work a lot harder than glaring and tossing chairs around and smoldering with overwrought testosterone. She'd faced endless business meetings with an endless assortment of testosterone-wrought males. She could handle one more. After all, it was simple emotion and simple emotion rarely withstood the overpowering force of cool, calculated logic.

  Besides... She was determined.

  "Mr. Salvatore, you haven't bothered to hear my proposition.'

  "And I don't intend to."

  Italian. Definitely an Italian accent. Why did it have to be something so darned sexy? Not that she'd allow sex to sway her. Much. "What if it involves Janus Corporation?" she asked, forcibly restricting her focus to the business at hand.

  She'd gotten him with that one. He folded his impressive arms across an equally impressive chest. "Go on."

  Gesturing toward the chair, she offered her most engaging smile. "You were going to invite me to have a seat, I believe."

  The smile worked. It often did, perhaps because it was wide and nonthreatening. Or perhaps because it was a bit lopsided. Whatever the appeal, a hint of amusement glittered in his eyes again. Penelope had learned long ago to use whatever tools worked best in business. Sure, a woman should be logical in her dealings. Still, a certain amount of plain friendliness didn't hurt. It was personal involvement that she fought to avoid. Because personal involvement led to illogical business decisions, something to be avoided at all costs. She'd learned that lesson years ago and she didn't intend to ever forget it.

  Stefano pointed a finger at the chair she'd vacated. 'Please. Sit," he ordered in a tone that had her clamping her teeth together in silent protest.

  A thousand inappropriate retorts tempted her, but she bit back every single one. Shooting off her mouth without thinking was one of her most serious failings, something she couldn't afford to indulge at this particular juncture. Besides, the chair in front of his desk was precisely where she wanted to be, even if the invitation to occupy it had sounded suspiciously like a command. Let's be honest, she silently scolded. If she didn't have a nasty tendency to take charge in any given situation, she wouldn't have found his "request" quite so irritating.

  Determined to be gracious, she sat. "You're too kind," she murmured, hoping he didn't catch the dry tone.

  If he did, he ignored it. "What's your interest in Janus Corporation and why would that tempt me into a marriage with you?"

  "You certainly get right to the point, don't you? I like that," she approved. "None of that false charm you Salvatore men pride yourself on."

  "You don't find me charming?" he asked a bit too politely.

  A trace of an accent rippled through his voice again, brushing her with the faint warmth of distant Mediterranean climes. It was a dead giveaway. The man was in a mild temper. It would seem that emotion brought out the most elemental part of Mr. Salvatore's personality. Penelope smiled, filing the information away for future reference. Perhaps she could make that work to her advantage at some point.

  "No, I don't find you the least charming," she lied with aplomb. Not that it would be a lie for long. All she needed was a little time and effort to eradicate any such foolish inclination. Charm suggested a quality outside of business, and right now she didn't have room in her life for anything that fell outside the realm of business.

  "Excellent. I've recently discovered that charm is a mistake when it comes to women."

  She hesitated, considering that for a moment. Did he really mean all women or just her? A surge of something uncomfortably soft and feminine stirred to life. What would happen if Stefano changed his mind and concentrated the full force of his personality on her? She'd caught a brief flash of his smile--a smile that would prove quite dangerous for a less sensible woman. She'd also been forced to acknowledge his masculine good looks coupled with an equally masculine strength. In the past, she'd always been prudent enough to keep that male energy at a safe distance. How would she handle being married to it?

  Darn it! It boiled down to sheer male presence again, which had to be a deliberate ploy on his part. Why else would she be experiencing these ridiculous impulses? She'd have to reconfigure her calculations to include that annoying element. Perhaps Stefano Salvatore wasn't her best choice, after all. He struck her as far too aggressive and entirely too independent. Somehow she doubted he'd take instruction well, particularly from a temporary wife.

  Then the flaw in her reasoning dawned on her and she rewarded him with a broad, approving smile. His comments weren't aimed at her. He truly did mean all women. It was an attitude, she suspected, brought on by his broken engagement-along with that rather unfortunate incident involving his fiancée’s family business. The combination of those two factors must have had a profound effect on him. Penelope kept a perfectly natural twinge of sympathy hidden, suspecting he wouldn't appreciate it in the least.

  "We're back to that unmentionable topic, aren't we?" she dared to ask.

  "So it would seem."

  "Then charm is out." She didn't phrase it as a question.

  He nodded. "Which leaves us with business. Shall we get to it?"

  "I assume my choices are to say 'yes' to that question or get ousted?" she hazarded a guess.

  "Smart woman. Now who are you, what do you want and what do you have to do with Janus Corporation?"

  "I own it." she explained simply.

  "The company is owned by Crabbe and Associates."

  She grimaced. "Terrible name, isn't it?"

  "Dreadful.'

  His sarcasm didn't escape her notice and she released her breath in a long sigh. "All right, Mr. Salvatore. I won't waste any more of your precious time, since I prefer to stay focused on the business at hand, as well. I am Crabbe and Associates, just as I am Janus Corporation. They all belong to me."

  "I assume you have some sort of proof."

  "I could provide it without too much difficulty."

  He took a moment to digest that. To her surprise he didn't shove the phone in her direction or insist on her handing over irrefutable evidence then and there. Instead he concentrated his shrewd gaze on her for endless moments. "How old are you?" he asked at last.

  For some reason the question struck her as amusing.

  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "I'm curious."

  "I'm twenty-six."


  "Rather young to be in such a position of power."

  "Oh, I'm not in the main position of power. I just own the two companies. My uncle runs them."

  "And that annoys you? Do you feel you should be in charge?"

  She stared blankly. "Feelings have nothing to do with my decision." They'd gotten off track and she attempted to steer them back in the appropriate direction. "Mr. Salvatore-"

  "Stefano.'

  She inclined her head. After all, if they were to be married, it would be ludicrous to insist on calling him by his last name. "Stefano. Are you interested in purchasing Janus Corporation?"

  "My family's been trying to buy that company for years now. It would give Salvatores a lock on the West Coast market.'