Propositioned By The Tycoon: Mr Strictly Business / Bought: His Temporary Fiancée / A Win-Win Proposition. Yvonne Lindsay
Читать онлайн книгу.
“You don’t have to do anything special,” she protested.
He hooked her chin with his knuckle so they were eye-to-eye. “Yes,” he assured her. “I do. I’ll see you about six.”
The rest of the day flew by. Giving in to the inevitable, she phoned the movers. She barely hung up the phone before two burly men arrived on her doorstep. It was almost as easy as shopping on the Internet. They were user-friendly, and all she had to do was point and click. In no time they had far too many of her possessions packed and carted down to their moving truck. Just as Gabe predicted, the other end of the procedure proved equally as painless.
The one uncomfortable moment came when they asked where they should put her clothing. She briefly debated whether to direct them to one of the spare bedrooms, or to Gabe’s master suite. Considering the close call she and Gabe had experienced back at her apartment, it seemed pointless to take a stand she suspected wouldn’t last more than a single night. Even though she knew that nothing would come of their relationship—that nothing could come of it—she might as well enjoy the fantasy while it lasted.
The instant the door closed behind the movers, she finished the few unpacking chores she preferred to see to herself. Then she took a leisurely tour of Gabe’s penthouse suite. It felt peculiar to be back again. Part of her felt right at home, as though she’d never left.
There was the table where she used to sit and keep track of their social calendar and plan the parties that had become her specialty. And in the window seat over there, she and Gabe would curl up together on a quiet Sunday morning over a steaming cup of coffee while they watched the rain pound the city. And over there…How many times had they entertained guests in the living room? Gabe would sit in that enormous chair he’d had specially designed, and she’d squeeze into a corner next to him.
Of course, there were a few changes. A different set of throw pillows were scattered on the sofa. She came across a gorgeous wooden sculpture that hadn’t been there before. It was of a woman in repose and made her itch to run her fingertips along the graceful, sweeping lines. The drapes were new, as were a pair of planters on either side of the front door.
After delaying the inevitable as long as she could, she gathered her nerve and entered the bedroom, only to discover this room showed the most changes of all. The previous bed and furniture, darkly masculine pieces, had been removed, and Gabe had replaced them with furnishings made with a golden teak heartwood that brought to mind sailing ships from the previous century. Catherine couldn’t help but smile. Nothing could have suited him better, though she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d replaced his previous bedroom set.
To her surprise, the changes brought her a sense of relief, as though all the old, negative energy had been swept clean. Checking her watch, she realized that Gabe would be home in just under an hour and if he’d planned something special for their dinner, maybe she should consider dressing for the occasion.
She took her time primping, finally settling on a casual floor-length sheath in an eye-catching turquoise. For the first time in ages, she left her hair loose and flowing, a tidal wave of springy curls that tumbled down her back in reckless abandon. She touched up her makeup, giving her eyes and mouth a bit more emphasis.
She’d just finished when the doorbell rang, and she went to answer it, fairly certain it was whatever dinner surprise Gabe had arranged. Sure enough, it proved to be a small catering company that she’d used for a few of her events. She greeted the chef by name and showed her and her companion to the kitchen.
“Gabe said we were to get here right at six and serve no later than six-thirty,” Sylvia explained. “It’ll only take a few minutes to unload the appetizers and get them heated. In the meantime, I’ll open the wine and let it breathe while Casey sets the dining room table. She’ll be serving you tonight.”
“Thanks,” Catherine said with a warm smile. “I’ll be in the living room. Gabe should be home any minute.”
Or so she thought. By six-thirty, she’d nibbled her way through any number of appetizers that she was certain should have tasted like ambrosia, but for some reason had the flavor and consistency of sawdust. At a quarter to seven Sylvia appeared in the doorway. “Should I hold dinner a little longer? I’m afraid to wait too long or it’ll be overcooked.”
“Hold off for fifteen more minutes. If he’s not here by then, you can wrap everything up and stash it in the fridge.”
“Oh. Oh, sure. We can do that.”
Catherine flinched at the unmistakable pity in the other woman’s voice. “Thanks, Sylvia. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.”
Keeping her chin high, she marched to the master suite and gently closed the door. Then she proceeded to remove her belongings and transfer them to one of the guest bedrooms. Why, oh why, had she allowed herself to believe for even one single second that he’d changed? Nothing had changed. Business always came first with Gabe and it always would.
From deep inside the apartment the phone rang. More than anything, she wanted to ignore it. But it would only make matters worse if she allowed the answering machine to take the call so that Sylvia and Casey could overhear whatever excuse Gabe cared to offer for his delay.
She picked up the bedroom extension. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry.” Gabe’s voice rumbled across the line. “This wasn’t how I planned our first night together.”
She held on to her self-control by a shred. “I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“You’re furious, and I don’t blame you. That deal I told you about earlier came to a head. Roxanne managed to get LaRue to the table, and this was the only time he’d agree to.”
“I’ll bet.”
“It’s going to be a while. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
She heard the unspoken question and answered it. “I promised I’d be here, and I will. The rest we’ll negotiate in the morning.”
He swore softly. “This will be the last time.”
She shook her head in disbelief. He still didn’t get it. “You think it will, Gabe. That’s part of the problem. You always think that next time will be different. But it never is, is it?”
She didn’t wait for his response, but hung up. She needed to inform the caterers that their services wouldn’t be required. But first, she needed a moment to herself. A moment to grieve over the death of a tiny blossom of hope that had somehow, at some point when she wasn’t looking, managed to unfurl deep in her heart.
It was two in the morning before Gabe keyed open the lock to his apartment. Catherine had left a light burning for him, the one by the sculpture of the sleeping woman—a sculpture whose gentle curves and sleek, soft lines reminded him vividly of her. It was why he’d bought the damn thing, even though he suspected it would torment him every time he looked at it. And it did.
Turning off the light, he headed directly for the bedroom, pulling up short when he realized Catherine wasn’t there. For a single, hideous moment, he flashed back on the night she’d left him. His gaze shot to the dresser, half expecting to see another crisp white envelope with his name neatly scripted across the front. Of course, it wasn’t there. Nor was the dresser. Within a week of her departure, memories too painful to bear had him replacing every stick of furniture in the room.
Stripping off his suit jacket and tie, he went in search of Catherine. He found her in the spare bedroom farthest from the master suite. She sat at a small antique desk by the window, her head pillowed in her arms, sound asleep. She wore a long, sweeping silk nightgown in a stunning shade of aqua, covered by a matching robe.
Gabe silently approached and glanced at the papers littering the desk beneath and around