A Daring Proposition by Jennifer Greene

crowd—male and female—turn to look at them.
    It had been a long time since she had stood that close to any man but Robert. She willed away the first moments of dread. Brian had gone out of his way to establish trust by setting the scene in a crowd. They wandered around, pausing at different exhibits, for the most part silently. Leigh felt a blend of amusement and simple relief at being ignored. It almost seemed that Brian had completely forgotten about her until, as she bent over a glass-tabled exhibit, her hair brushed in a wave over her eye. When she tried to untangle her hand from his to push it back, his hold on her tightened.
    Unsmiling, Brian looked down at her, his own fingers brushing the strands from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “Do you have any idea how many people have stared at your hair, Red?” he questioned curiously. “That rich, dark copper color…”
    Confused and wary of his soft tone, she said shortly, “I wish you wouldn’t call me Red!”
    He shook his head at her. “Why the hell are you so skittish?” Deliberately, he wound an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close, reaching behind with his other hand to snatch hers. Her fingers curled in a fist; his own fingers covered her fist, preventing her from moving unless she wanted to make a graceless tussle in the crowd. “Can you believe it?” he whispered dryly. “Our shirts are touching. What’s going to happen? You’ve never seen anyone do this before, of course.”
    She drew in a deep, furious breath. It was her own fault. If she hadn’t been so foolish as to let him see that she was afraid of him, she doubted if he would have pressed for any physical contact at all. If she could only relax, prove to him…
    It happened after a time. The stiff mannequin she had become relaxed somewhere between ancient lyres and Indian cultures, as her muscles protested against her rigid control. In reward, his viselike grip loosened, and his arm simply rested lightly on her shoulder, his fingers on occasion, perhaps by accident, brushing against her hair. The dread she had initially felt faded; the inner tension never quite disappeared, but to her surprise it was not altogether an unpleasant sensation. There was even a peculiarly enjoyable feeling of being encircled, protected; for a few moments she admitted to herself that she felt safer than she had in a long time. His arm was heavy; she was becoming slowly accustomed to his scent; and when he half turned once, the weight of one of her breasts crushed against the hardness of his chest. He didn’t seem to notice, and perhaps because of that Leigh did not instinctively jerk back. The warmth that flooded through her was more a result of sheer feminine awareness than panic.
    By late afternoon they had checked out most of the exhibits, and most of the people seemed to be leaving the museum as dinnertime drew closer. Leigh felt pangs of hunger herself, but she was loath to say anything. She had no doubt that it would be back to their impersonal relationship once they left the museum, and that was what she wanted, of course. Still…
    An unexpected confusion about her own feelings nagged inside as she allowed Brian to lead her into still another exhibition room. Although she’d often been to the museum as a child, she didn’t remember the place: it was an exhibit of gems, and everywhere there was the sparkle and silence of brilliance—diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, opals, moonstones, tourmalines. She stopped before a particularly fantastic moonstone, huge and oval in shape, indescribable in its beauty, and glanced up to share an appreciative smile with Brian.
    His black eyes were oddly warm, lazy. “I suppose you’re going to want one of these stones for an engagement ring?” he questioned teasingly.
    “No,” she said quickly, her smile fading. “I really don’t care much for jewelry, and I think under the circumstances the most we need to bother with would be simple gold