Page 17 of Daredevil Lady and the Mysterious Millionaire (The Hidden Hearts Collection #3)

Proposition? The word sounded so businesslike.

Vague remembrance drifted through Rory’s head of her original purpose in coming out with Zeke tonight.

But she had spent very little time talking about her company.

She supposed she had tossed away any chance to recruit him as an investor.

Therefore he surprised her by saying, “I am willing to make any settlement upon you that you would name.”

“Settlement?” she repeated. “Is that the same as money?”

“Well, yes.”

Money? Money for her balloon company? It would seem she had made an impression upon Zeke after all. Despite the champagne still fuddling her brain, she pulled herself into an upright position.

“Oh, Zeke,” she cried. “You’ve made me so very happy.”

Overcome with her joy, she flung her arms about his neck. Zeke was not slow to respond, straining her close.

“Not nearly as happy as you have made me, Aurora Rose,” he murmured, pressing light kisses against her hair.

It came as a shock to Rory when his lips found hers.

She stiffened at first, startled by the contact, the unexpected kiss tearing through her like a flash of lightning.

His mouth tasted of wine, so seductively sweet.

Then what was sweet, what was gentle became fire, the dammed-up passion she had sensed in Zeke breaking free.

And God help her, the fever seemed to have spread to her, licking through her veins with tongues of flame. She had buried her fingers in Zeke’s hair and caught herself returning the kiss with equal fierceness when she broke off, panting.

In some dim corner of her mind, it occurred to her that this was not the usual handclasp with which business contracts were sealed.

But it was difficult to reason anything clearly with Zeke continuing his assault.

His lips grazed against her temples, her cheeks, her chin, moving down to caress the column of her throat,

“Oh, Rory,” he said. “I’ll give you anything you want. A flat in Morningside Heights, your own carriage, a box at the theater, an account at Bloomingdale’s.”

“I don’t need all that. Just enough to keep me from being evicted from the warehouse.”

Zeke paused, his lips a breath away from hers. “Warehouse?”

“Yes, but Zeke,” she managed to say somewhat unsteadily. “I’m not sure prospective business partners should behave this way.”

He frowned, drawing back. “Warehouse? Business partners? What are you talking about?”

“Why, I’m not so sure. What are you talking about?”

“I am asking you to become my mistress.”

His mistress! Rory jerked away, bumping her head against the back of the seat.

“We did agree that neither of us is the marrying kind,” Zeke said.

Rory rubbed her eyes, feeling as if she were groping her way through a fog. “But what about my balloons?”

“You don’t have to bother about them anymore.

I wouldn’t want you to keep on risking that beautiful neck.

” He stroked his fingers through the fall of her pair, brushing it back from her face.

“Look, Rory, I know I’m no good at saying all the words a woman needs to hear.

I guess I’ve been too blunt. All I can tell you is that I want you, possibly more than I’ve ever wanted any woman before. ”

“Possibly?” she echoed, the full import of what he was saying sinking in. It had the sobering effect of a cold water bath. She did not know what outraged her more, the brusque manner of his proposal or his careless dismissal of her balloon company.

“Of all the conceit!” She spluttered, unable to find words strong enough to convey her indignation. “What the devil makes you think I would give up my company to become your mistress?”

He smiled at her then and began to draw her back into his arms. His expression was tender, but smug enough to snap Rory fully to her senses. Before he could kiss her again, she punched, clawed and kicked to be free. He released her so suddenly she toppled to the floor of the carriage.

Her lips still felt branded from the heat of his kiss, even more so by her own response. What was the matter with him, behaving like this with a woman he’d just met, practically a stranger? More to the point, what was the matter with her? Even now, in the midst of her anger, she felt drawn to him.

He reached down to haul her back onto the seat. “Come on, Rory,” he said, his voice cool, but the fire still smoldering in his eyes. “There’s no sense being coy about this. That first kiss told me all I need to know.”

Rory struck his hand away. “You—you’re crazy!” she gasped, glaring at him through the tangle of her hair.

At that moment, the landau was obliged to give way to another vehicle crossing the intersection. Rory saw her chance and took it. As the carriage slowed, she flung open the door and rolled out to the pavement.

Encumbered by her skirts, she barely managed to land on her feet. Regaining her balance, she hiked up her hem past her ankles and tore off down the sidewalk.

“Rory!”

She heard Zeke shout her name, but she didn’t look back. The sound of pounding feet told her that he was coming after her. She pushed harder, lengthening her strides although she was no longer sure whom she was running from, Zeke or herself.

He’d have done better to have pursued her in the carriage. Ever since her grammar school days, she had been able to outdistance any boy on her block.

But luck turned against her as she whipped round the next corner. A loose cobblestone caused her to stumble and twist the same ankle she had injured earlier. She let out a cry as the familiar throbbing pain shot through her limb.

Gasping for breath, she glanced wildly along the vacant street. Not a horsecar in sight at this time of morning. Not much of anything in sight but a milk wagon making its rounds.

Rory hobbled forward, hailing the driver, a genial-looking old man with side whiskers. “Hey, mister. Could you give me a ride?”

The man appeared surprised to be accosted by a young woman in a silk gown and evening cloak, but he replied good-naturedly, “Well sure, but?—”

“Thank you.” Rory wasted no time scrambling up on the box. “Can we please go? I’m in something of a hurry.”

At that instant Zeke came charging round the corner, looking as mad as thunder. The milkman nodded as though in comprehension of the situation.

“Why, the dirty masher! We’ll give him a run for his money. Pestering innocent girls.” The old man clicked both his tongue and the reins. The ancient brown nag hitched in the traces took off with an astonishing burst of speed.

So did Zeke. For one awful moment, Rory thought he might catch up to them. He managed to race alongside, his face flushed with the exertion, his lower lip caught in grim determination. In another second, he would be able to catch hold of the wagon and haul himself aboard.

In desperation, Rory loosed the cloak from her shoulders. Just as Zeke’s hand closed over the wagon’s wooden side, she flung the garment, catching him neatly over the head. Tangled in the cloak’s folds, Zeke lost his grip, staggering back.

By the time he managed to extricate himself, he had lost any chance of overtaking Rory. Her last glimpse was of him planted in the middle of the road, hands propped on his hips. She couldn’t make out what he was shouting at her, but that was likely just as well.

Rory sank back against the wagon seat, heaving a tremulous sigh of relief.

“There, that’s all right, missy,’ the old wagon driver chuckled. “We diddled that young spark real proper. You won’t be bothered by him anytime soon, I’ll wager.”

Rory said nothing. She didn’t feel like betting on that. She was seized by a presentiment even stronger than her banshee dreams. Somehow she knew she had not seen the last of Zeke Morrison.