Like hell you wouldn't! Lauren thought happily as she struggled to uncork the bottle of wine. "Of course you won't hold it against me," she said lightly. "You specifically said—"
"I know what I said," he snapped tersely. "Now, how many?"
She flicked a glance in his direction, implying that she was bewildered by his tone. "Only one."
Angry regret flared in his eyes, and his body tensed as if he had just felt a physical blow. "Did you… care about him?"
"I thought I loved him at the time," Lauren said brightly, twisting the corkscrew deeper into the cork.
"All right. Let's forget him," Nick said curtly. He finally noticed her efforts with the wine bottle and walked over to help her.
"Are you going to be able to forget him?" Lauren asked, admiring the ease with which he managed the stubborn cork.
"I will… after a while."
"What do you mean, after a while? You said there was nothing promiscuous about a woman satisfying her biological—"
"I know what I said, dammit!"
"Then why do you look so angry? You didn't lie to me, did you?"
"I didn't he," he said, slamming the bottle onto the bar and reaching for a glass from the cabinet. "I believed it at the time."
"Why?" she goaded.
"Because it was convenient to believe it," he bit out. "I was not in love with you then."
Lauren loved him more at that moment than ever. "Would you like me to tell you about him?"
"No," he said coldly.
Her eyes twinkled, but she backed a cautious step out of his reach. "You would have approved of him. He was tall, dark and handsome, like you. Very elegant, sophisticated and experienced. He wore down my resistance in two days, and—"
"Dammit, stop it!" Nick grated in genuine fury.
"His name is John."
Nick braced both hands on the liquor cabinet, his back to her. "I do not want to hear this!"
"John Nicholas Sinclair," Lauren clarified.
The relief Nick experienced was so intense that he hardly knew how to cope with it. He straightened and turned toward her. Lauren was standing in the center of the room, an angel in seductive black velvet, an exquisitely sensual young beauty with unconscious poise in every graceful line of her body. There was a fineness about her, a quiet pride in herself that had prevented her from becoming a convenient receptacle for the passions of boys and men.
She was in love with him.
He could make her his mistress, or he could make her his wife. In his heart he knew that she belonged at his side as his bride; anything less would destroy her pride and shame her. That beautiful body of hers had been offered only to him. He could not accept her gift and her love and in return offer her some obscure, tenuous thing called a "meaningful relationship." Although she was very young he loved her, and she was wise enough not to play games with his life. She was also stubborn, willful and courageously defiant, as he had learned to his intense fury and frustration during the past several weeks…
He looked at her in silence, and then he drew a long deep breath. "Lauren," he began gravely, "I would like four daughters with wobbly blue eyes and studious horn-rimmed glasses on their little noses. Also, I've become very partial to your honey-colored hair, so if you could manage…" He saw the tears of joyous disbelief filling her eyes, and he jerked her into his arms, crushing her against his heart, jarred by the same emotions that were shaking her. "Darling, please don't cry. Please don't," he whispered thickly, kissing her forehead, her cheek and finally her lips. Reminding himself that this was only Lauren's second experience with lovemaking, and that he was not going to rush her, Nick leaned down, swung her into his arms and carried her upstairs to the bedroom.
With his mouth still locked to hers, he slipped his hand from beneath her knees. The exquisite sensation of her legs sliding down his thighs made him catch his breath sharply. While he removed his clothes, Lauren undressed before his burning gaze. And when her lacy undergarments finally drifted to the floor, she lifted her face to his and stood before him unashamedly.
A shattering feeling of tenderness made Nick's hands shake as he cupped her face between his palms, his fingers trembling over her smooth features. After weeks of stubbornly defying him and coldly denying him, Lauren was looking at him now with unconcealed surrender. Love glowed in her eyes, a love so quietly intense that he felt both humbled and profoundly proud. "Lauren," he said, his deep voice raw with the new, unaccustomed emotions inside him, "I love you too."
In answer, she slid her hands up his bare chest, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against the full length of his naked, rigidly aroused body, sending flames of desire shooting uncontrollably through his bloodstream. Trying to restrain his exploding passion, he bent his head and kissed her. Her soft lips parted; his tongue slipped between them for one sweet arousing taste, withdrew… then hungrily, urgently, plunged again, and suddenly it was out of control. With a low groan he pulled her down onto the bed and rolled her onto her back, pressing her into the pillows, his hands and mouth fiercely urgent as he kissed and caressed her.
Somewhere in the tumult of her whirling senses, Lauren realized that Nick's lovemaking was different tonight. In Harbor Springs he had handled her body as a maestro handles a familiar instrument, his hands deft, skilled; tonight there was a tormenting gentleness, a subtle reverence in the way his hands caressed and excited her. In Harbor Springs his passion had been carefully controlled, restrained; tonight he was as desperate for her as she was for him.
His lips and tongue touched her breasts, circling her hardened nipples, and Lauren lost the ability to think at all. Her fingers clenched convulsively in his thick hair, holding his head to her breast, then glided over the bunched muscles of his shoulders and arms. "I want you," he whispered hoarsely. "I want you so much!"
His hoarse words of passion inflamed her, and his whispered endearments stirred her to her soul. Each touch of his seeking fingers, each brush of his lips and tongue sent her soaring higher and higher into a universe where nothing existed except the wild beauty of his lovemaking.
When his hands parted her thighs, Lauren moaned in her throat and arched her hips to him. Nick's restraint broke. His lips captured hers in a deep, raw kiss and he plunged into her incredible warmth. "Move with me, darling," he coaxed thickly, and when Lauren did, he groaned and drove full length into her. The fierce hunger of his deep strokes, the urgency of each thrust, sent waves of shivering ecstasy shooting through Lauren, an ecstasy that finally exploded with a force that tore a low scream from her throat. Nick tightened his arms around her, crushing her to him, and with one final plunge, he joined her in blissful oblivion.
Early the next morning she was jarred awake by the harsh ringing of the phone. Reaching across Nick's naked chest, she picked up the receiver and answered it. "It's Jim—for you," she said, handing him the phone.
After a brief conversation he hung up, then swung his legs off the bed and combed his hands through his hair. "I have to fly to Oklahoma today," he explained with a mixture of regret and resignation. "A few months ago I bought an oil company owned by a man who over the years had alienated all his employees. My people have been trying to negotiate with those same employees on their new contracts, but they're used to promises being made and not kept. They're demanding to talk to me, or else they're going on strike." He was already pulling on his trousers and shrugging into his shirt.
"I'll see you tomorrow at the office," he promised a few minutes later at the front door. He drew her into his arms for a long, drugging kiss, then reluctantly released her. "I may have to fly all night to get here, but I'll be back tomorrow. I promise."
18
« ^ »
Dozens of watchful, speculative faces turned to watch Lauren's progress through the office Monday morning. Bewildered, she hung up her coat and continued to her desk, where she found Susan Brook and a half dozen other women gathered around it.
"What's up?" she asked. She fel
t radiantly happy; Nick had called her twice from Oklahoma, and sometime today she would see him again.
"You tell us," Susan said gaily. "Isn't that you?" She plunked the Sunday newspaper down on Lauren's desk and smoothed it out.
Lauren's eyes widened. An entire page had been devoted to the Children's Hospital Benefit Ball. In the center was a color picture of her—with Nick. They were dancing, and he was grinning down at her. Lauren's face was in profile, tilted up to his. The caption read, "Detroit industrialist J. Nicholas Sinclair and companion."
"It does look like me, doesn't it?" she hedged, glancing at the excited, avidly curious faces surrounding her desk. "Isn't that an amazing coincidence?" She didn't want her relationship with Nick to be public knowledge until the time was right, and she certainly didn't want her co-workers to treat her any differently.
"You mean it isn't you?" one of the women said disappointedly. None of them noticed the sudden lull, the silence sweeping over the office as people stopped talking and typewriters went perfectly still____
"Good morning, ladies," Nick's deep voice said behind Lauren. Six stunned women snapped to attention, staring in fascinated awe as Nick leaned over Lauren from behind and braced his hands on her desk. "Hi," he said, his lips so near her ear that Lauren was afraid to turn her head for fear he would kiss her in front of everyone. He glanced at the newspaper spread out on her desk. "You look beautiful, but who's that ugly guy you're dancing with?" Without waiting for an answer, he straightened, affectionately rumpled the hair on the top of her head and strolled into Jim's office, closing the door behind him.
Lauren felt like sinking through the floor in embarrassment. Susan Brook raised her brows. "What an amazing coincidence," she teased.
Nick came out of Jim's office a few minutes later and asked Lauren to come upstairs with him. Once they were in his office, he pulled her into his arms for a long, satisfying kiss. "I missed you," he whispered, then he sighed and reluctantly released her, linking his hands behind her back. "I'm going to miss you even more—I have to leave for Casano in an hour. Rossi couldn't reach me, so he called Horace Moran in New York. Apparently some Americans are snooping around the village, asking questions about him. I have a security team checking it out. In the meantime, Rossi's gone into hiding, and there's no phone where he is.
"I'm going to take Jim with me. Ericka's father panicked and sent Ericka to Casano to try to soothe Rossi. She speaks some Italian. I'll be back on Wednesday, or Thursday at the latest."
He frowned. "Lauren, I never explained to you about Ericka—"
"Mary did," she said, managing to look cheerful even though she felt miserable about his leaving. Besides missing him, she would also have another three or four days of anxiety, waiting to tell him about Philip. She definitely couldn't tell him now, when he was about to go away. His anger would ferment and simmer for days. She had to tell him when she could be with him to soothe it. "Why are you taking Jim?"
"When the president of Sinco retires next month, Jim is going to take over the position. By taking him with me, we can discuss immediate goals and long-range plans for Sinco." He grinned at her. "Also," he admitted, "I'm feeling very grateful to Jim for his interference in our lives, and I've decided to interfere with his. By taking him to Italy, where Ericka is… I see you understand my thinking," he said when she started to smile.
With a final hug he let her go, then he went over to his desk and began shoving papers into his briefcase. "If Rossi calls again, I've told Mary to transfer his call to you wherever you are. Assure him that I'm on my way and that there's nothing to worry about.
"We have four labs testing samples of Rossi's formula right now. Within two weeks we should know whether he's a genius or a fake, and until we know which he is, we'll assume he's not a fake and pamper him."
Lauren listened to his rapid-fire monologue with an inward smile of admiration. Being married to Nick was going to be like living on the fringe of a tornado, and she was going to be caught up in the whirl.
"By the way," he said, so casually that Lauren was instantly on guard, a magazine reporter called me this morning. They know who you are and they know we're getting married. When the story breaks, I'm afraid the press will start hounding you."
"How did they find out?" Lauren gasped.
He shot her a glinting smile. "I told them."
Everything was happening so quickly that Lauren felt dazed. "Did you happen to tell them when and where we're getting married?" she chided.
"I told them soon." He closed his briefcase and drew her out of the chair in which she had just sat down. "Do you want a big church wedding with a cast of hundreds—or could you settle for me in a little chapel somewhere, with just your family and a few friends? When we come back from our honeymoon we could throw a huge party, and that would satisfy our social obligations to everyone else we know."
Lauren quickly considered the burden a big church wedding would place on her father's health and nonexistent finances, and the highly desirable alternative of becoming Nick's wife right away. "You and a chapel," she said.
"Good." He grinned. "Because I would go quietly insane waiting to make you mine. I'm not a patient man."
"Really?" She straightened the knot in his tie so that she'd have an excuse to touch him. "I never noticed that."
"Brat," he said affectionately, then he added, "I've written a check and given it to Mary. Put it in your bank, take a few days off and use it to buy your trousseau while I'm gone. It's rather a large check. You won't be able to spend it all on clothes. Use the rest of it to buy something special as a memento of our engagement. Jewelry," he said, "or a fur."
When he left, Lauren leaned back against his desk, her smile tinged with wistful sadness as she remembered Mary's words at lunch. "From that day forward Nick has never bought a gift for a woman… He gives them money instead and tells them to pick out something they'll like… he doesn't care if it's jewelry or furs…"
She shoved the gloomy thought aside. Someday, perhaps, Nick would change. In the meantime she had more to be thankful for than any woman alive. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was ten-fifteen, and she still hadn't done any work.
Jack Collins stared dazedly at the big round clock on the wall across from his hospital bed, fighting the grogginess he always got from the hypodermics they gave him before they took him down for tests. He tried to focus, to concentrate. The clock said ten-thirty. It was Monday. Rudy was supposed to call with the results of the investigation on the bilingual secretary who'd been assigned to Nick Sinclair.
As if he had conjured up the call, the phone beside his bed began to ring. He groped for it and missed, then brought the receiver to his ear.
"Jack," the voice said, "this is Rudy."
Jack slowly composed a mental image of Rudy's round face, his beady eyes. "Did you check out the Danner woman?" he asked.
"Yeah," Rudy said. "I checked her out, just like you said. She's livin' in a fancy condo in Bloomfield Hills, and some old guy is payin' her rent. I talked to the gatekeeper, and he said this old guy keeps the place for his mistresses. The last dame who lived there was a redhead. Old man Whitworth came calling on her one night and found her entertaining another man, and he threw her out.
"The gatekeeper says Danner lives nice and quiet—he can see her condo from his gate." Rudy's chuckle was lewd. "The gatekeeper said Whitworth isn't getting his money's worth out of her, because he's only been there once since she moved in. The way I figure it, Whitworth's gettin' old and…"
Jack struggled against the fog that seemed to cloud his senses. "Who?"
"Whitworth," Rudy said. "Philip A. Whitworth. I figure he's lost the urge and—"
"Listen to me, and shut up!" Jack rasped. "They're taking me downstairs for tests, and they gave me a shot that's putting me to sleep. Go to Nick Sinclair and tell him what you've told me. Have you got that? Tell Nick—" dizziness washed over Jack in waves "—tell him I think she's the leak in the Rossi deal."
"Sh
e's what? She is? You gotta be kidding! That broad is…" Rudy's tone changed from scorn to military self-importance. "I'll take care of it Jack, you leave everything to—"
"Shut up, damn you, and listen to me!" Jack rasped. "If Nick Sinclair is away, go to Mike Walsh, the corporation's chief attorney, and tell him what I said. Don't talk to anyone else about it. Then I want you to watch her. I want her office calls monitored. I want you to keep track of every move she makes. Get another man to help you…"
Lauren was staring dreamily into space when the phone rang on Tuesday morning. She was so happy and so excited that she could hardly concentrate on the mundane tasks of her job. Even if she had wanted to get Nick off her mind, which she didn't, it would have been impossible to stop thinking of him, because the office staff was teasing her constantly. She answered the telephone and absently noted the tiny click that had occurred every time she'd picked it up since yesterday. "Lauren, my dear," Philip Whitworth said smoothly, "I think we ought to have lunch together today."
It wasn't an invitation, it was an order. With every fiber of her being, Lauren longed to tell Philip Whitworth off and hang up on him, but she didn't dare. If she angered him, there was always the chance that Philip might tell Nick who and what she was before she had a chance to tell him herself. Then, too, she was living in Philip's apartment, and she couldn't move away while Nick was gone because he wouldn't be able to call her. If he called her at the office, she could tell him she was moving into a motel, but she'd have to invent a reason, and she didn't want to add an outright lie to her deceit. "All right," she agreed unenthusiastically. "But I can't be away from the office for very long."
"We can hardly dine in your building, Lauren," Philip reminded her sarcastically.
A frisson of alarm tingled over her at his tone. She felt uneasy about being alone with him, uneasy about what he wanted to say to her. Then she remembered Tony's and felt better. "I'll meet you at Tony's restaurant at noon. Do you know where it is?"