‘Hello, Ryan,’ she said huskily, coming to a halt in front of him, glad he couldn’t see her trembling knees under the long black dress that she hoped he recognised—her battle dress!
She loved him. She could do this! She pinned on a dazzling smile as she confronted her lover, brutally attractive in his formal white jacket and black tie. Sexual electricity crackled between them as they measured glances.
He inclined his dark head in the parody of politeness that he did so well. ‘Miss Sherwood. Gatecrashing again?’
‘Actually, no, this time I managed to get one of these.’ She brandished the ticket that Carl had scrounged at Peggy’s behest.
It had been Carl who had given Jane a ride back to Auckland that morning, after mentioning that Ryan’s memo had included a reminder that he would be requiring his adviser at an important fund-raising dinner that he was scheduled to attend that evening. As soon as Jane had learned that the fund-raiser’s venue was the same restaurant which had hosted the Spectrum Developments bash, she’d known exactly what fate decreed she must do. She only hoped the grand gesture wouldn’t backfire on her this time!
So she had shamelessly borrowed money from Peggy that she might never be able to repay and got Carl to drop her off at the hotel where the fund-raiser was being held. She had booked a room and called Dr Frey, wickedly invoking Ryan’s influence to get herself an urgent appointment during which he had reduced the taping on her broken hand and delighted her with the news that her burn no longer needed a permanent dressing. Then she had spent two hours in the beauty parlour, getting the full works, and an hour at the hairdresser. She had even bought a new pair of high heels, but the lucky black dress was her charm.
She was once again dressed to kill—or be killed...
‘Did you cash in my cheque? Or perhaps you’ve acquired yourself another rich protector?’ Ryan’s cutting drawl drew the attention of all those in the vicinity who hadn’t yet recognised that here was a potentially explosive encounter.
‘Maybe I still have friends in high places,’ she countered lightly, not wanting to get Carl into any trouble.
‘As long as you’re not counting on me being one of them,’ he said, lifting his champagne glass towards his mouth.
She didn’t flinch at his studied indifference. ‘No,’ she said huskily. ‘I’m counting on you being my husband.’
A fine tremor shook his hand and a small amount of champagne splashed out of his glass onto his white silk lapel. He brushed at it without taking his eyes off Jane’s exotically made-up face.
‘I beg your pardon?’ His tone was neutral, giving her no hint of what was going on inside his head.
‘I’m here to ask you to marry me,’ she said steadily.
Ryan’s dark eyebrows lifted.
‘I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I don’t think I quite heard what you said,’ he drawled, looking pointedly at the semi-circle of fascinated faces which surrounded them.
Oh, God! Jane’s chin tilted higher and her voice rose firm and clear above the surrounding hum. ‘I said, Will you marry me, Ryan?’
Conversation stilled, more heads turned, and Ryan took a leisurely swallow of his champagne and considered his options.
‘Why—are you pregnant?’ he demanded, and a sizzle of scandalised excitement swept through their immediate audience.
Mortified colour swept into Jane’s cheeks. In none of the possible scenarios she had rehearsed in her head had he asked that! ‘No, of course not,’ she gritted.
His eyes swept slyly over her waistline and he leaned forward, his voice dipping to a murmur for her ears alone. ‘You might be, since I didn’t use anything last night...’
Her temper fizzled with the knowledge that he was toying with her. She was showing him that she trusted him not to complete his revenge and he was playing games. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know yet, would I?’ she bit out fiercely.
He straightened, playing to their audience again. ‘So, tell me then, Jane—why should I many you?’
‘Because I love you,’ she declared, tossing it out like a challenge. She would offer him her gift, and if he wanted to throw it back into her face then it would be his loss. But she believed he wouldn’t. She believed that he loved her; she had to!
‘I beg your pardon?’ He cupped his hand around his ear, his blue eyes glittering with mockery. ‘What was that you said?’
‘I said, I love you!’ She threw out her hands in a gesture of helpless surrender and shouted it to the restaurant ceiling. ‘I love you! I love you!’ She looked at him furiously. ‘Are you happy now?’
‘No, but I’m getting there,’ he taunted, taking another sip of champagne, patently enjoying himself.
Red misted her vision. She had had enough. She snatched the glass from his hand and threw it onto the floor, ignoring the thrilled gasps of horror that erupted around them
‘A simple “yes” or “no” will suffice, Ryan, and then we can both get on with our lives!’ she flared. ‘Now, are you going to marry me or not?’
‘Can I think about it?’