The Bravo Billionaire Part 9

Mrs. Bravo, Emma thought. That's me. How strange.

Also, she noted, he'd said, "Mrs. Bravo's rooms." She decided that meant he wouldn't be expecting her to sleep with him which was good. They understood each other. There might be a certain attraction between them, but Jonas must have realized that getting involved in a love affair with her would only make everything all the more complicated. And Emma certainly did not need to be his lover to teach him the things he needed to learn.

It was all working out for the best. And she did not feel the least bit disappointed that she wouldn't be climbing all over him naked all night long.

"The suite is ready, sir," Palmer said. "Shall I show Mrs. Bravo the way?"

Jonas took her arm. His touch sent a hot little thrill coursing through her. "I'll take her up. She has a suitcase and a garment bag in the limo. See that they get to her room right away, will you?"

"Immediately." Palmer turned and left them.

Jonas wrapped her hand around his arm. She was getting kind of used to that, to her hand tucked nice and comfy around his forearm, which was warm and hard and dusted with s.h.i.+ny, springy brown hair. He led her up the stairs and down a couple of hallways, to a suite of rooms in the southwest corner of the house.

She loved the rooms on sight.

The large bed-sitting area had dove-gray walls, white woodwork and chairs upholstered in black and gold brocade. A black velvet skirt and white duvet covered the bed, which had mountains of pillows but no head or footboard. On the antique black and gold bed table stood a crystal vase filled with lush white peonies. A crystal chandelier glittered overhead and French doors led out to a terrace that overlooked the curving palm-lined drive. Farther out lay the sprawling grandeur of L.A. and beyond that, the endless Pacific.

There was also a walk-in closet, a dressing room the size of her bedroom at home and a bathroom tiled in vivid fuchsia, with touches of black, white and gold and a wall of mirrors over the twin sinks. The tub stood on a platform and was big enough for two or three or four, if it came down to it.

Emma couldn't help wondering who'd been in that tub before. But then she reminded herself that there were several other bedroom suites at Angel's Crest. They probably all had tubs the size of this one, lots of room for rich folks to do things regular people only imagined in their wildest dreams.

"Is it acceptable?"

Emma turned. Jonas stood in the doorway to the dressing room.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

"You're sure? There are other options and you can have it all redone if you'd prefer."

That made her smile. "Blythe," she said, knowing that he would understand.

And he did. Something happened in his eyes. Something warm and a little bit sad. "My mother," he said. "She wanted to make the world a better place and she constantly wanted it redecorated."

Emma nodded. "I think she redid her own bedroom suite about what? at least six times in the past five years."

"Six would be about right. She never lasted more than a year before she wanted everything changed in her rooms, anyway."

"It was part of her charm."

"Yes," he said softly. "I suppose that it was." He looked at her for a long moment. "You'll be all right here, then?"

"Yes, I will."

"Palmer will have your things sent up soon."

"I know."

"Dinner at eight?"

"I would like that." They would share a meal. That sounded very nice. They should do that often. It would give her a chance to get to know him better, to figure out ways to help him to open up.

"In the small dining room?"

"I think I can find my way there.""There's an intercom box right next to the hall door.""I saw it.""Just push the b.u.t.ton if you have a problem. Palmer will see you get whatever you need." "Okay." "Until eight, then?" "Yes. Until eight." He turned and disappeared through the dressing room. She waited until he had time to get out into the hall and then she wandered back into to the main room, where she kicked off her high-heeled sandals and fell across the black-skirted white bed.

She was staring at the dangling crystals on the chandelier when she heard the discreet tap on the door. It was Palmer, with her things. He vanished into the walk-in closet carrying her suitcase and her garment bag. When he reappeared, he was empty-handed.

"Is there anything else right now, ma'am?""Nope. Thanks a bunch."The butler made himself scarce.Emma glanced at the bedside clock. Twenty after seven . She should probably give Deirdre a buzz, just to see how the workday had gone and to check on the Yorkies and Festus.

But she hesitated. If she called Deirdre, she'd get a lot of questions. Her friend would want details about the trip and the wedding itself, about how it had gone. Telling it all would take time, which Emma did not have right then. She wanted to shower and put on fresh makeup. And she had brought a very nice dinner dress. It was purple. Of silk shantung. A sleeveless curve-hugging sheath with a wide square neckline in her favorite length short. She'd brought high-heeled dress sandals to match.

No. No time to call Deirdre. She'd do it later, after dinner. Emma rose from the bed and headed for the bathroom, peeling off her clothes as she went.

* * * When she came downstairs, Jonas was waiting for her. He'd dressed for dinner in another of those beautiful suits of his.

"Drink?" he asked."Well, why not?"He ushered her into the living room off the grand foyer. She sat on one of the pretty sofas covered in blue-and-gray striped silk. Emma smiled to herself, thinking that the room had looked just the same five years ago, the first time she'd visited Blythe at the mansion. So many of the rooms had changed over the years, since Blythe was always redoing them. But this one, for some reason, she had left alone. Emma was glad. The room had gauzy white window coverings and walls that were a soothing shade between green and gray. There were beautiful rugs on the inlaid floors, all with intricate patterns woven in to them.

Family photos graced the tables, each in a beautiful, distinctive frame, pictures of Jonas and Blythe and Mandy. And older pictures, too. Of Jonas as a child, with his father Harry and a twenty-something Blythe. There was even one of Harry as a very young man, with his parents and with his younger brother, Blake. Emma s.h.i.+vered every time she looked at that one. Blake Bravo had the strangest, scariest pale eyes. Blythe had told her he had died years and years ago. And from some of the things Blythe had said he had done, well, maybe the world was a better place without Blake Bravo in it.

Jonas went to the liquor cart. "What can I get you?"

Emma turned from the picture of the man with the crazy eyes. "Hmm?"

"What will you have to drink?"

She confessed, "I like those kinds of drinks they always put umbrellas in. You know, the sweet, frozen kind."

He picked up a pitcher that was right there on the cart "Strawberry daiquiri?"

"Well that would be just fine." She wondered how he could have known to mix up her favorite kind of drink. And then she remembered. It was probably in her file.

He poured the drink into a tall gla.s.s and carried it to her.

"Thank you." She sipped. Oh, it was heaven. Thick as Italian ice and just a little bit tart.

He had the kind of drink she would have expected him to choose three fingers of something from a crystal decanter. Maybe whiskey, maybe Scotch.

They sat for a while, sipping. Talking a little. It was pleasant and relaxing and when he offered her a second daiquiri, she took it.

Why not?

After a time, he led her through the foyer and into the small dining room, where the beautiful walnut table could seat up to twelve. The room had murals of tropical scenes adorning the walls and arches supported by marbleized columns. Jonas sat at the head of the table and Emma sat to his immediate right.

He offered wine.

She shook her head. Two daiquiris were more than enough. She felt warm and easy and very relaxed.

They ate. There was a creamy asparagus soup, then a wonderful salad with a dressing that tasted like oranges. The main course was lamb chops with dill and tiny red potatoes bathed in b.u.t.ter and herbs.

They had coffee after the meal coffee sweetened with amaretto, which Emma couldn't bring herself to refuse. Palmer offered dessert, but Emma shook her head again and Jonas waved the butler away.

On the sideboard sat a clock made of some kind of green stone, with a gold face and black Roman numerals marking the hours. That clock said it was ten-thirty. Imagine that. The time had flown by. And tomorrow would be a workday, for both of them. Hadn't he mentioned an important meeting? He'd want to be rested for that.

Emma needed rest, too. She'd hardly slept a wink last night, she'd been such a bundle of nerves about today, about the whole unbelievable idea of getting married, about the pa.s.sionate kisses she and Jonas had shared that were not going to go any farther than that.

Emma slid her linen napkin in at the side of her saucer. "It was a wonderful dinner, Jonas. Thank you."

He lowered his head in a slow nod of acknowledgement. "Tired?"

"A little. I think I'll just-" But he was already up, pulling out her chair for her. "Oh.

Thanks."

He took her hand, wrapped her fingers around his sleeve. "Let's go upstairs."

He would walk her to her room. How thoughtful of him. He really could be a charmer when he put his mind to it.

They went together, as they had earlier that evening, up the stairs, down the two hallways, to the door of her bedroom suite. She turned to him. "Well, I ... I hope that meeting of yours goes well tomorrow."

He deftly reached behind her and opened the door. "It's a simple acquisition we're discussing. Nothing too tricky."

"Oh. Well. Good." She backed into the beautiful pale gray room and Jonas came right along with her.

"Did I tell you I like that dress?" He turned a dial near the door. Wall sconces shaped like golden boughs on either side of the bed glowed to life. The chandelier came on too, but very low. She looked up and the teardrop crystals seemed to wink at her.

"Emma?"

"What? Oh. My dress? Thank you."

"Do you own a dress that isn't tight and short?"

"Not if I can help it." Somehow, he had backed her all the way across the big room, right through the sitting area, to the end of the bed. Her calves came up against the soft white duvet. "I like s.e.xy clothes."

"I noticed."

"I think I look good in them."

"You do."

"Plenty of time to tone things down when I'm a little older."

"Do you see me arguing?"

"No." Since there was nowhere else to go, she dropped to the edge of the bed and then had to tip her head back to look up at him. "But I think, maybe, you disapprove of my clothes. Just a little."

One corner of his mouth tipped up. "I've found I'm becoming ... accustomed to them." He turned and sat down beside her.

She looked over at him, and wondered if she should tell him that he had to leave now. She hadn't planned to let him in. But now he was here. And they were talking. And, well, certainly he'd be leaving in a minute or two.

She frowned at him. "You're not going to try to get me to be more conservative in the way that I dress, are you?"

"Never."

"Well, good."

He lifted his hand and ran the back of his index finger down her bare arm, then slowly back up again. It felt ... really good. Tender. And teasing and naughty in a distinctly delicious way.

"I do wonder, though," he said idly, as he kept on rubbing his finger up and down her arm. "Do you find you have trouble being taken seriously?"

"Nope. No trouble at all."

"What about men?"

"What about them?"

"Don't you wonder if they ever ... get the wrong idea about you?"

"The wrong idea?"

"That's what I said."

"That's not real specific."

He shrugged, and he ran that finger up even higher, right over the curve of her shoulder. His hand reached her nape and lingered, fingers rubbing in a gentle ma.s.sage.

Emma cleared her throat. "Uh. No. If men get any wrong ideas about me, I make sure they don't keep them for long. I never have troubles with men. Men are sweet well, most men are, anyway."

He made a low sound. It might have been one of amus.e.m.e.nt. And he kept on ma.s.saging the back of her neck.

She sucked in a breath and ordered her spine to hold her up straighter. "It's all in how a woman carries herself. My aunt Ca.s.s taught me that."

"Your aunt Ca.s.s, I take it, was a very wise woman."

"Yes. She was. Very wise..."

He moved in closer, his hand sliding around to cup her other shoulder and bring her snug against his side. She should have pulled away. And she knew it. But it just felt so good to be sitting there, bucked up tight against him.

He touched her chin with his other hand, guiding it around so that she had to look at him.

Emma stared into those midnight eyes of his. "My aunt Ca.s.s ... uh ... she had a real good head on her shoulders."

"The way I heard it, she lost a ranch and a small business before you were even ten years old."

"Boy, those detectives of yours are pretty good."

"That's what I pay them for."

"The small business was a beauty shop. We had that after we lost the ranch. And it wasn't much of a ranch, anyway. You need a lot of land to run cattle in dry country. We barely had a thousand acres. And then we had a drought and beef prices dropped. So we lost the ranch and Aunt Ca.s.s sc.r.a.ped enough together to try the beauty shop. But that didn't work out either."