Read A Daring Proposition Online
Authors: Jennifer Greene
A Daring Proposition
A Daring Proposition
By Jennifer Greene
Leigh Sexton is desperate to have a baby, and Brian Hathaway would be the perfect bio-dad. One of Chicago’s most notorious playboys, Brian is no family man, which suits Leigh just fine. An heiress and successful CPA, she is more than capable of raising a child alone. Now all she has to do is work up the nerve to ask Brian to impregnate her…artificially. Leigh has no interest in conceiving the old-fashioned way, despite how her heart races whenever she’s near him.
Brian is intrigued by Leigh’s request. He’s not into commitment, even with a woman as attractive as Leigh, but he’s also not the type to make a deposit and then disappear. If he goes along with her scheme, he’s got one demand of his own: marriage before conception. He agrees to keep things clinical—he can get sex elsewhere— but having a wife at home will keep the husband-hunters at bay.
It seems like the ideal compromise—until they start falling in love.
Previously published.
Dear Reader,
This was the first story I wrote…the first story I sold…and it has always been one of those infamous “books of my heart.”
I can’t imagine that any of us escape big hurts sometime during our lives. Leigh, the heroine in this one, experienced such a devastating hurt that it changed her life. She’s an upbeat and happy personality. She hasn’t buried herself in some closet to whine, nothing like that. But she did completely give up believing that her life could ever be “normal”—that she could have a husband and children, the way other women could.
Enter: the one man who sees past all her “nos” and “can’ts” and “absolutely nevers.” He sees exactly what no one else has—a woman with a vulnerable and loving heart.
Over eighty books I’ve written many different kinds of heroes—but this nature of hero is the one who always “gets” me. I think we women always fear that no one will love us, if they knew all the flaws beneath the surface. I think we all dream, not of a fantasy prince, but of a real live man who really loves us for who we are.
I was so thrilled when Carina Press enabled me to share this story with you again. I love how publishing has changed—books are available in such a variety of forms now, so that a reader can pick whatever method works best for her. From my standpoint, this opportunity has been especially personal—because I was afraid this “book of my heart” would never have a second viewing.
I hope you enjoy the story—and don’t hesitate to write me!
Jennifer Greene
www.jennifergreene.com
A hot, fast wind blew off Lake Michigan, adding noise and dusty debris to the late August heat wave, as Leigh Sexton walked briskly along the sidewalks of downtown Chicago. Ahead, the skyscraper that housed the distinguished architectural firm of Hathaway, Hathorne and Brent beckoned with the promise of air-conditioned comfort and insulation from the din of industry and rush-hour traffic.
Entering the cool, silent lobby of the building, Leigh felt instantaneous relief. But as she crossed the patterned carpet to the elevator, stepped in and punched the button for the twentieth floor, a film of perspiration coated her brow. Leigh knew it had nothing to do with the humidity and smog she had just escaped, but instead reflected her own inner apprehensions.
For the past four weeks, Leigh had been coming regularly to Hathaway, Hathorne and Brent to audit the firm’s accounts, but now the job was over. Indeed, the cocktail party now taking place on the twentieth floor was a celebration of just that, and more specifically of the fact that Leigh’s careful audit had saved the firm three-quarters of a million dollars. Ordinarily she would have pleaded flu rather than attend this type of bash. Though she was only twenty-five, Leigh preferred a reclusive private life to the social whirl most women her age enjoyed.
In the three years she had worked as a CPA for White’s Accounting Firm, Leigh had consistently refused every social invitation that had come her way through job contacts, despite the protests of her gregarious boss, Jim White. It had not been Jim’s insistence that she attend this party that had induced Leigh to make an exception for Hathaway, Hathorne and Brent. No, it was simply that this was the last chance she might have to corner one particular man. Her decision to do so had been weeks in the making—years, really, she thought fleetingly. Yet it was the idea of that upcoming confrontation—the awkwardness and embarrassment of it—that had churned her emotions to their present state of turbulence, and caused beads of moisture to break out on her high, pale forehead.
The elevator came to an abrupt halt, and the doors opened. Leigh paused only a moment before stepping over the threshold and automatically brushing a hand across her temples to make sure her rich coppery hair was properly restrained. She could already hear laughter coming from the reception room where the party was being held. In the long floor-to-ceiling windows she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Clear wire rims blocked the beauty of her wide-spaced brown eyes and dimmed their amber glints; the high-collared brown linen dress was a loose smock that hid the voluptuous curves of her womanly figure. Only someone who looked closely would see the uniform for the disguise it was, and hardly anyone ever did look closely. Most people expected a certain sexlessness from a CPA, which was precisely why the job suited Leigh. She was reassured by her unprepossessing reflection in the glass.
Wending her way past mostly empty tables, she took a deep breath and joined the party. The closed area already reeked of alcohol and although uniformed waitresses proffered trays of delicate-looking canapés, most people seemed to prefer liquid refreshment. Immediately, Leigh saw the burly form of her boss and heard his jovial laughter, which was aimed at Taylor Brent, one of the firm’s partners and its marketing director.
Two dozen people crowded the room, none of them the man Leigh was looking for. A strolling bartender approached, and she accepted a martini that she had no intention of touching, then unobtrusively made her way to the window. The glass wall opened onto a view of Chicago’s skyscrapers and Lake Michigan’s serene dark waters. Leigh knew that the image she presented was as calm and remote as that of the lake; yet many layers beneath was a heart that wouldn’t stop pounding and a deepening feeling of dread.
She turned, as if by instinct, the minute Brian Hathaway strode through the door. An irritated expression showed on his rugged features, and he was still sporting rolled-up shirtsleeves—obviously, his secretary had just reminded him of the affair, and just as obviously, despite his incongruous reputation as both playboy and creative genius, he did not like mixing business with pleasure. By day he was seduced by his drawing board, but when the sun went down
he
did the seducing—in a different arena. One columnist had quoted him as cynically admitting there was no woman he didn’t like, as long as she was pretty and prone.
Taylor Brent immediately approached him, as did Leigh’s boss. Both men appeared anxious to soothe the wounded tiger, their conviviality loud and deliberate. Unlike the other guests, Brian took coffee, and he seemed to be looking for an excuse to get back to work, half listening to Taylor and Jim, while his coal-black eyes restlessly surveyed the rest of the gathering.
Leigh felt her heart skip a beat as he took the time to acknowledge her with a small nod. There had been several occasions when she’d had to contact him directly because the other partners were absent. The first time he had made an automatic, raw head-to-toe assessment of her potential femininity before getting down to business. On the other occasions he’d been preoccupied, yet not lacking in either patience or even kindness, which surprised her because he had a reputation for neither. He could be a formidably unapproachable man, unless one had legitimate business and intended to waste none of his time. And Leigh hoped desperately that he would see the request she planned to make of him today in just that light.
As she approached the trio of men, she tried, unsuccessfully, to quell the fluttery sensations in her stomach. She sighed. She ought to know by now that fear didn’t simply disappear by willing it away. She’d lived with the emotion for how long…eight years? Fear of men—and no matter how neutrally he’d treated her in the past, Brian Hathaway was definitely a man.
“If you don’t mind, I’ve been trying to live down that damn article for over a month,” she overheard Brian say curtly to her boss.
“Oh, come on,” Jim White chaffed, “you must have at least gotten a good laugh out of it! My wife’s been telling me that now all her friends are making out their own fantasy lists.”
“You’d better watch it, Jim,” Taylor Brent warned. “If Hathaway ever got his hands around that columnist’s neck… For close to two years, she’s apparently been taking on our resident bachelor-around-town as her own personal cause.”
“I’ve never even met the damned woman,” Brian growled. “Hell, I don’t mind her chit-chat column. But that feature article…”
“It was only an attempt at levity,” Jim protested.
“Babies are no subject for levity—not in my life,” Brian snapped.
For a long moment, Leigh could not prevent herself from staring with total absorption at Brian Hathaway. He was a full six feet of lean angles and bone, power and assurance radiating from the strong set of jaw and shoulder. Beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, the strong planes of his face took on hollows, and with his burnished tan and piercing jet eyes it had a faintly Indian cast. Next to her extroverted boss, Brian Hathaway appeared to be an ominously quiet man, self-aware, confident, alert, warily intelligent—and distinctly male. And next to his all-American, clean-cut partner,
handsome
seemed a tame word to describe his appearance.
Sexual
was more applicable.
Stark, primitive, virile…leashed.
In Leigh, he evoked a powerful desire to simply cut and run. She took a small sip of the unwanted martini, welcoming whatever artificial courage the alcohol could supply.
The subject of their conversation… She had read and reread that Sunday feature section on fertility some weeks ago, and that was when her decision had jelled. At the end of a half-page article on artificial insemination, the columnist had described a clinic located in California, a sperm bank for Nobel Prize winners. Whimsically, the writer had made up her own list of local men whose genes should not be lost to mankind. Brian Hathaway had been at the head of that list. Obviously, the notable young architect was uncatchable as a husband, the columnist had pointed out, given the long string of leading socialites who had tried over the past decade. And so, not to waste those unbearably sexy looks and unequaled brilliance in the design field…
“She’s got you labeled as one of her ‘ideal men,’” Jim White unwisely continued to tease.
“Of all the absurd labels,” Brian said contemptuously, and with a single glance that silenced Leigh’s boss, he stepped aside.
For just that instant, he was alone, and Leigh could sense he did not intend to stay much longer. It was the moment she had been waiting for, but now that it was here she felt only a sick, thudding sensation in her stomach.
Come on, Leigh,
she urged herself desperately. Tentatively, she forced her feet to move forward before he reached the door. “Mr. Hathaway?” she inquired quietly.
He turned, adjusted his eyes down to her lower height, the irritation on his features quickly masked for her benefit.
“I wondered if I could possibly have a few minutes of your time?” she requested. “I…where we wouldn’t be interrupted?”
A frown barely furrowed his forehead, a blend of curiosity and annoyance. “You’re the lady who worked on our books, aren’t you? You did us a good turn, Miss Sexton. I can spare you five minutes. My office is private.”
She took a breath, following him silently to his inner sanctum, where teak paneling and a plush blue carpet created a feeling of serenity and privacy. His desk, of brilliantly polished walnut, was clear. In contrast, the drawing board in the corner was still uptilted; there was a tray on the floor with a half-eaten sandwich and a cup of cold coffee.
“There’s no need for you to be nervous,” he said with that special low-pitched timbre he had used on her before. “I can guess why you wish to speak with me, Miss Sexton.”
She stared at him, totally taken back.
“You’ve left your mark here in the last four weeks,” he complimented her graciously. “On the surface, you’re a very quiet, reserved lady, but there must be more to you than that. No one else has ever taken on my comptroller, criticized his computer and left him smiling. My secretary’s been muttering under her breath about the hours you’ve put in, and I’ve spent enough time with you myself to know that you’re a perfectionist in your work—a quality I admire in my employees. Our personnel director usually hires people in your area of expertise, but if you’re looking for a position, I—”
Leigh shook her head almost wildly, appalled as she realized he was about to offer her a job. “I appreciate your offer, but I’m perfectly content at White’s,” she assured him with a faint tremor in her voice. Hearing the quaver, she struck it out determinedly with a skill she had developed over eight long years. “I… My request is of a terribly personal nature. It’s difficult to—”
He interrupted her with a low chuckle of amusement. “Well, well, well,” he said, his deep voice tinged with innuendo. “They do say still waters run deep, but I never imagined…” He let his voice trail suggestively as, with a swift gesture, he removed her glasses, put them on his desk and then, taking out the hairpins that held her severe coiffure in place, gently shook her flaming tresses onto her shoulders. Paralyzed with astonishment and horror, Leigh saw his eyes trail downward as if his gaze could penetrate the smocklike dress to see the ripe curves that lay beneath, and linger on the shapely legs her sheer stockings left unconcealed.
“It’s odd, but just this afternoon, when I saw you at the party, I had a premonition of the attractive woman who chooses to hide behind that ridiculous disguise. I suppose it’s to keep off unwanted admirers? Really, Red—” his gaze flicked over her gleaming copper-colored hair “—is it necessary to go to such lengths?”
“Mr. Hathaway—” She had no sooner found her voice than he cut her off.
“Under the circumstances, you might call me Brian. Better yet…”
As his arms encircled her waist, drawing her to him, and his full, sensual lips moved toward hers, Leigh knew a moment of sheer panic. Conjuring up all her strength, she wrenched herself from his grasp and moved away so that the broad expanse of his desk stood between them.
“Mr. Hathaway,” she said quickly, sharply, “you seem to have misunderstood me. This is a business proposition…”
“Of a terribly personal nature?” He quirked an eyebrow ironically as he watched her reach across the desk to scoop up her glasses and hairpins. He waited until she had restored the severe hairdo and readjusted the glasses before continuing. “Please excuse my
misunderstanding,
” he said sardonically, folding his arms across his chest. “Your words—”
“Yes, yes,” she interrupted brusquely, feeling more in control now that her armor was again secure. “My choice of words was unfortunate, I admit that. There really is no graceful way to ease into the subject, and I suppose I’d best be blunt about it.”
“Please.” The eyes that met hers were granite-hard, yet intrigued. “But you needn’t cower behind my desk like a frightened kitten, Miss Sexton. I’m not used to having women flee my embrace as if I were a viper, and you can be sure I won’t lay a hand on you again.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized stiffly, but stayed behind the desk. Her back still seemed to burn with the imprint of his fingers, and the scent of his warm, coffee-flavored breath lingered in her nostrils. It had been the old fear of a man’s touch, a man’s advances, and yet…
But Leigh refused to dwell on the unsettling sensations Brian Hathaway’s embrace had aroused in her. Instead, she met his dark gaze and took a deep breath. “I want a child,” she said quietly, but very clearly. “I will offer you ten thousand dollars to impregnate me. Artificially,” she added swiftly. “And of course anonymously. Your anonymity would be stipulated in the contract, and—”
“Hold it, Red.” His hands suddenly dropped to his sides, fists clenched. “I’ve taken all I’m going to take on the subject of that article. If your boss talked you into this as some kind of practical joke—”
“I’m not joking, Mr. Hathaway. I read the article about fertility several times. And I’ve read some other newspaper articles about you. It’s obvious that you don’t think much of the home and family scene, that you’re not interested in…personal commitments…which is fine, you see, with me. What I’ve read has led me to believe that the moral overtones involved in having a child this way wouldn’t bother you.”