P.S. I'm Pregnant: Hot-Shot Tycoon, Indecent Proposal
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Gino cleared his throat loudly and slid their coffees onto the table.
‘Here you go, folks.’ Gino sent Daisy a searching look, raising his eyebrows pointedly, before leaving them alone.
No doubt Gino was as confused as she was. Why had she been holding Brody’s hand? Letting him caress her like that? It wasn’t as if they were intimate. Well, not in the proper sense.
She wrapped her hands around her coffee mug to keep them out of harm’s way. ‘I’m so glad there are no hard feelings,’ she said.
At least she would be glad, once she’d got away from that penetrating gaze.
‘Not about making love to you, no,’ he said, the Irish in his voice brushing over her like an aphrodisiac. ‘There are no hard feelings about that. I enjoyed it, a lot. And, I think, so did you.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘But as to the rest,’ he continued. ‘There you’ve more explaining to do.’
Her cup clattered onto the table and coffee slurped over the rim. ‘I do?’
‘Why did you run off?’
‘I don’t know,’ she lied, and then felt guilty again when he lifted one dark brow. He wasn’t buying it.
‘It was a bit too intense,’ she said. ‘And I don’t usually jump into bed with men I hardly know.’ She clamped her mouth shut. Half the truth would have to do. Because she was getting the weird sensation she was being toyed with, lured into some kind of a trap. Which was preposterous, of course, but Daisy never ignored her instincts.
‘That’s good to know,’ he said. She took a gulp of the hot coffee and then reached for her bag. ‘I’m so glad we got all this settled. I’d hate for us not to be friends. Especially as you live right next door.’
Which made the whole thing even more awful. How was she going to face him every day if her hormones went into meltdown every time she looked at him? She’d have to get that little problem under control and quickly. But for now she decided distance was probably the best medicine. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she slid out of the booth and offered her hand. ‘I’ll see you around. The coffees are on me. I’ll tell Gino to put them on my tab. Thanks for being so understanding.’
He clasped her hand, the warm, rough feel of his palm sending little shivers up her arm—and held on. ‘Sit down. We’re not finished.’
‘We’re not?’
He nodded at the booth seat. ‘There’s still the matter of the making up to settle.’
‘What?’ She plopped back in her seat, not at all sure she liked the commanding tone.
‘The making up.’
Finally he let her hand go. She tucked it under the table, her fingers tingling.
‘You said you wanted to make up for what you’d done,’ he said calmly. ‘And we’re going to have to sort it now, because I don’t have much time.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’m catching the Eurostar to Paris in a little over an hour. I’ve got eight days there and then I’ll be two weeks in New York.’
Daisy’s shoulders slumped with relief. Thank you, God. She had no idea why he was telling her his itinerary, but at least she’d have over three weeks before she had to see him again. She should be well over this silly chemical reaction by then. ‘That’s wonderful. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time. I’ll miss you,’ she added, a tad concerned to realise it was the truth.
‘Not for long, you won’t,’ he said, the predatory smile that tugged at his lips concerning her a whole lot more. ‘Because when I get to New York you’ll be meeting me there.’
She choked out a laugh. ‘You lost me,’ she said, but she could have sworn she heard the sound of a trap snapping shut.
He relaxed back in his seat, the picture of self-satisfaction. ‘You want to make things up to me,’ he prompted. ‘It so happens I need a girlfriend in New York for those two weeks. It has to do with a business deal.’ He tapped his fingers on the table in a rhythm that sounded like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place. ‘And that girlfriend’s going to be you.’
He could not be serious? Was he insane? ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to New York. When I said I wanted to make things up to you, I was planning to bake you another plate of brownies. Not take a two-week trip to New York as your fake date. Are you nuts?’ He was still looking at her with that cocksure, you’ll-do-as-you’re-told expression on his face. It was starting to annoy her. ‘Even if I wanted to go.’ Which she most definitely did not. ‘I couldn’t possibly. I’ve got my stall to run.’
He sighed. ‘If your little bodyguard friend can’t run the stall on her own you can find someone to help her. I’ll pay any wages due. My PA will sort out your travel plans.’ He looked pointedly at his watch again, as if to say, I don’t have time for this.
Daisy’s temper kicked up another notch. ‘You’re not listening to me, Brody. I’m not doing it. I don’t want to. You’ll have to find someone else.’ She did not want to spend two weeks alone with him in New York. She already knew how irresistible he was—what if she had another lapse in judgment brought on by extreme hormonal overload and jumped him again? Things could get very complicated indeed. ‘I don’t owe you that much,’ she finished, indignation seeping from every pore.
‘Oh, but you do, Daisy Dean.’ He leaned forward, those icy blue eyes chilling her to the bone. ‘You told half of London I was selfish, arrogant and not to be trusted. That’s known as slander.’
The blood seeped out of her face. How did he know about that?
‘There happen to be laws against that sort of thing. So unless you want me to be calling my solicitor, you’d best be on that plane.’
He got up from the booth. She drew back, but he caught her chin in his fingers and tilted her face to his. ‘And, Daisy,’ he murmured, the warmth of his breath making her heart go into palpitations. ‘Who said anything about a fake date?’ he finished, his lips so close she could all but feel them pressed against hers.
‘But I’m not your girlfriend,’ she managed to say as her heart pounded in her throat. ‘I certainly don’t love you. And right now I don’t even like you.’
His gaze swept over her, making her notice the length of his lashes again, before his eyes fixed on her face. If she’d hoped to wound him she could see by his expression she’d failed.
‘Make no mistake. This is only a two-week deal. I’m not in the market for anything more and neither are you.’
She thought she could hear a tinge of regret in his voice and cursed her overactive imagination. She doubted he had the emotional capacity for regret. The rat.
‘But we don’t have to love each other for what I have in mind.’
With that, his lips came down on hers in a hard, fast and sinfully sexy kiss. She tried to twist away but he held her firm until she felt the pulse of response, the throb of heat. And before she knew what was happening, she was kissing him back.
He pulled his mouth away first and straightened. ‘You like me right enough, Daisy Dean.’ He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. ‘And we both know it.’
She jerked back, mute with anger and humiliated right down to her knickers—which were now soaked with need.
‘There will be lots we can see and do in Manhattan—and I’ve a mind to show it to you,’ he continued, that devil-may-care charm not the least bit fazed by her furious glare. ‘So, you can spend the two weeks in your bed alone, or make the most of the experience. The choice will be yours.’ He gave her a mock salute. ‘I’ll see you in New York, Angel Face.’
Daisy glared at his back as he strolled out of the café, heard him whistling some off-key Irish ditty as he disappeared down the street.
The overbearing, conceited, blackmailing jerk.
She flung her bag on the seat. How dared he steamroll her like that?
She glowered at the booth opposite, sure she could feel smoke pumping out of her ears. To think she’d actually felt sorry for what she’d said about him. He wasn’t just arrogant. He was a megalomaniac—with an ego the size of his precious Manhattan.
If he thought she was going to step into line, he could forget it. And whatever happened she was not going to sleep with him again. No way, no how.
But even as she made the promise she knew it was going to be next to impossible to keep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY THE time Daisy had packed up the stall with Juno that evening and trudged back to her bedsit, she’d decided the conversation with Brody in Gino’s café had been his crazy idea of a joke. Either that or she’d been dreaming.
He couldn’t be serious about blackmailing her into a trip to New York. This was the twenty-first century—people didn’t do that sort of thing. Well, not people with any semblance of decency.
She turned on the light and toed off her shoes, every cell in her body weeping with exhaustion after a virtually sleepless night and ten solid hours on her feet—not to mention the day’s emotional trauma. Thank you so very much, Connor Brody. Pulling off the bangles on her wrist, she dropped them into her jewellery box, then sat on the bed and unclipped her silver ankle bracelet. She’d just forget the whole ridiculous episode.
She hadn’t even told Juno about Brody’s threat. She’d forced herself to calm down before returning to the stall—her lips still red and puffy from Brody’s goodbye kiss—and had put a few things in perspective. Brody could not possibly have been serious. So why bother Juno with the details?
Edging her curtain back, Daisy peeked at the windows of
Brody’s house. Pitch black. Thank goodness. He must be in Paris. She huffed. Good riddance.
She let the curtain drop, lay down on the bed and stared at the fairy-tale motif she’d painted on the ceiling last winter. A blue-eyed, black-haired cherub winked at her cheekily from behind a moonbeam.
She shifted onto her side and tucked her hands under her cheek—the damn cherub reminding her of someone she did not want to be reminded of.
Sunday and Monday flew by in a flurry of work and other related activities. Daisy manned the stall, ran a class on silk-screen printing at the local community centre, got stuck into her latest clothes designs and did her regular slot at the Notting Hill Arts Project—happily getting neck-deep in tissue paper, glitter and PVA glue as she helped her group of five-to ten-year-olds make their costumes for this year’s Notting Hill Carnival. Just as she’d suspected, there had been no word from Brody. By Tuesday night, the events of the weekend had been as good as forgotten—give or take a few luridly erotic dreams.
Bright and way too early Wednesday morning, her three days of denial came to an abrupt end.
‘Daisy, Daisy, open up, dear.’ Mrs Valdermeyer’s excited voice was punctuated by several loud raps on the door. ‘A package has arrived for you. Special delivery no less.’
Daisy rolled over, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Stumbling out of bed, she checked the Mickey Mouse clock on the mantelpiece and groaned. It was still shy of seven a.m.
She pulled the door open and her landlady whisked past, holding a small brown-paper parcel aloft like a waiter on silver-service duty. She laid it ceremonially on the bed. Then turned to Daisy and bounced up on her toes.
‘Isn’t it exciting?’ She clapped her hands. ‘It’s from that handsome young man next door—it says so on the front.’
Daisy felt a much louder groan coming on, but bit it back.
‘What’s going on?’ Juno stood in the doorway, wearing her Bugs Bunny pyjamas and a sleepy frown.
‘Daisy has a package from a gentleman admirer. Isn’t it exciting?’ Mrs Valdermeyer plopped down on the bed and patted a spot next to her. ‘Come in, Juno, and let’s watch her open it.’
Daisy felt the groan start to strangle her. Fabulous. When had her bedroom become package-opening central?
‘What gentleman admirer?’ Juno asked. Walking into the room, she glanced at the package. ‘Oh, him,’ she scoffed.
Daisy opened her mouth to speak—and start ushering her audience out the door—when Mrs V interrupted her. ‘Don’t be such a grump, Juno dear.’ She whisked a pair of scissors out of her dressing gown with a flourish. ‘The man is positively delicious and he saved Mrs Pootles from a fate worse than death. Daisy could do a lot worse.’ She offered Daisy the scissors. ‘In fact Daisy did do a lot worse—remember that awful Gary?’
‘Do I ever,’ Juno replied, sitting next to Mrs Valdermeyer. She caught Daisy’s eye. ‘But I’m not sure this guy is that big an improvement.’
‘Well, he’s certainly a lot better looking,’ Mrs Valdermeyer shot back.
‘We’re not dating, Mrs V,’ Daisy interceded, before her landlady got totally the wrong idea. ‘So there’s no need—’
‘Why ever not, dear? He’s loaded, you know. Which, I might add, comes in very handy if the passion fades.’
Daisy grabbed the scissors, resigned to opening the package as quickly as possible before the conversation deteriorated any further.
She snipped the string and folded the paper back carefully, aware of the two pairs of eyes watching every move she made. Her heart pummelled as she opened the lid.
Please don’t let him have put crotchless knickers in here. Or something equally tacky.
But as she upended the box she was surprised to see three envelopes of varying sizes and a slim, black velvet case bounce onto the bed.
‘How marvellous. Jewellery. Open that last, Daisy,’ Mrs Valdermeyer said, thrusting the first of the envelopes into Daisy’s hand. ‘Jewellery needs to be properly savoured.’
Once Daisy had opened all three of the envelopes, Mrs Valdermeyer was practically doing cartwheels around the room and Juno’s frown had turned into the San Andreas fault.
Daisy slumped onto the bed, stunned. In her lap she had a first-class return ticket to JFK dated for twelve noon that coming Sunday, a carefully typed itinerary of her travel arrangements signed by someone called Caroline Prestwick and a gold credit card in her name.
Her hand shook as Mrs Valdermeyer thrust the jewellery case into her lap on top of the other booty. Daisy picked it up, and found another envelope attached to the bottom of the case.
She ripped it off, stared blankly at her name scrawled on the front in large, block letters and then tore it open. Inside was a sheet of thick textured white paper with the Brody Construction logo stamped across the top. As she scanned the contents of the letter her fingers began to tremble.
Angel Face,
I found the sparkles in Paris and thought they would suit. Get anything else you need with the card—and don’t spare yourself. I want you to look the part.
There’s a car booked for the airport. See you at The Waldorf.
Connor
PS: I’ve my solicitor on speed-dial if you don’t show.
‘It’s all so wonderfully romantic,’ Mrs Valdermeyer crooned over her shoulder. ‘Two weeks at The Waldorf and a gold credit card. You’re going to have the time of your life, Daisy.’
‘What does he mean about his solicitor?’ Juno said.
‘I’m not going.’ Daisy folded the letter and shoved it back in its envelope. She couldn’t possibly go. Okay, somewhere in the last few days she’d got over her anger, and for a moment Mrs Valdermeyer’s industrial-strength enthusiasm had almost blinded her to the truth. For a split second she’d seen herself on Connor’s arm decked out in glitters and her best posh frock. She’d never been further than Calais on a school trip so she felt she was entitled to get momentarily carried away. But she couldn’t do it. And what had he meant by ‘I want you to look the part’—as if she were his personal mannequin? The cheek of the man.
‘Of course you’re going, my dear. Don’t be absurd,’ Mrs Valdermeyer said.
‘I really don’t think she should,’ Juno piped up. ‘She’d be totally at his mercy and—’
‘Stop right there, Juno.’ Mrs Valdermeyer got up and took Juno’s arm. ‘I want you out of here. Daisy and I have to talk about this in private,’ she said, dragging Juno to the door.
Before Juno had a chance to say anything else, she’d been shoved over the threshold and had the door slammed at her back.
Mrs Valdermeyer brushed her hands together. ‘Right, now the most unromantic woman in the Western World has gone, let’s discuss this properly.’
She sat down next to Daisy, laid a hand on her knee.
‘You don’t understand.’ Daisy fisted her fingers on Connor’s perfunctory letter. ‘It’s not romantic at all. He just needs a girlfriend to hang on his arm for a couple of weeks. We’re not even dating. It’s a business thing. Or something.’ She let out a trembling breath. The truth was, he thought so little of her, he hadn’t even had the courtesy to tell her why exactly he needed her there.
Daisy shoved Connor’s letter and the jeweller’s case back in the box—ignoring the cold fingers of regret gripping her stomach.
How pathetic that she felt depressed she couldn’t go. She was her own woman, she didn’t need a man to complete her and she certainly didn’t need some too-sexy-by-half egomaniac sweeping her off her feet only to dump her back down to earth again two weeks later.
‘He may very well think that,’ Mrs Valdermeyer said gently, resting her knarled hand over Daisy’s. ‘But I suspect there’s a bit more to it.’
Tears pricked Daisy’s lids—and made her feel even more pathetic. ‘Like what?’ she said, cynicism sharpening her voice.
‘Daisy, dear. Men don’t ask a woman on a first-class, all-expenses-paid trip to New York just for the sake of a business deal.’
‘He didn’t ask me,’ Daisy said, the tears she was busy ignoring clogging her throat. ‘He told me. And I think he’s expecting some pleasure mixed in with his business to justify the expense.’
Mrs Valdermeyer chuckled fondly. ‘He is a scoundrel, isn’t he? Just like my third husband, Jerry.’ She patted Daisy’s leg, still chuckling. ‘But once you’ve tamed him, my dear, you’ll see they’re the very best kind. Both in bed and out.’
Daisy tried to smile at the old lady’s irascible tone, but somehow she couldn’t muster more than a strained grimace. ‘I don’t want to tame him. Believe me, it would involve far too much work.’
Mrs Valdermeyer took Daisy’s hands in hers. ‘Look at me, dear.’ Daisy lifted her eyes, saw that the old woman wasn’t smiling any more. ‘Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too seriously? Surely, this is about a man and a woman having a marvellous adventure together. Nothing more. And you’ve had far too few adventures in your life to let one as spectacular as this pass you by.’
Daisy huffed. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I had enough adventures to last me a lifetime before I ever came here.’
‘No, you didn’t. Those were your mother’s adventures. They don’t count. This is going to be your adventure and you’re going to enjoy every minute of it. You need to get out there and experience life before you can think about finding love, you know.’
A flutter of butterfly wings began to beat under Daisy’s breastbone. She tired to ignore them. ‘I really don’t think…’
Mrs Valdermeyer held up her finger to silence her. ‘Don’t think, Daisy. You’re a dear sweet girl who thinks far too much, mostly about everybody but herself. For once, don’t think, just feel.’ She patted Daisy’s knee. ‘Take it from me, I’m an old woman and there are a few things I’ve learned. You’ve got the rest of your life to plan things out, to do the right thing, to be cautious and careful and responsible. That’s what you have to do when you start a family—that’s what your mother should have done and didn’t. And if you find the right man to do it with it won’t be boring, let me tell you. But you’re young, and free and single and you get to be spontaneous now, to live life as it comes and take whatever fun and excitement you can grab.’ She picked up the velvet jeweller’s case. ‘Now, I want to know what sparkles your handsome scoundrel picked out for you in Paris. Don’t you?’
Mrs Valdermeyer placed the case back in Daisy’s lap.
Daisy stared at the embossed gold lettering on the top, ran her finger over the textured velvet. She sighed. What the heck. What harm could it do to take a quick peek? She lifted the heavy case in one hand and opened the lid.
The sight of the emeralds winking on a lattice of silver chains had her heart leaping into her throat and threatening to choke her. She took an unsteady breath and touched the precious stones.
The butterflies went haywire as the fanciful, fairy-tale images that had been hovering at the back of her mind came into sharp, vivid and all-too-real focus.
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