He took her to the new pied à terre. That was what he had bought it for, after all. Molly raged at him all the way in the taxi. But she did not try to walk away. That had to be a good sign, thought George.

Now if he could only find a way to make her see how he loved her, and how she loved him, he could ask her to marry him and the fun could begin.

Maybe in 20 years he'd convince her, he thought, watching her prowl through the pristine rooms. She picked up a little prancing horse sculpture.

"More Ferrari memorabilia?" She did not try to disguise her contempt.

George braced himself. Here comes the big one, he thought.

He said quietly, "The horse was the emblem of a First World War pilot who Ferrari admired. He was his hero. Good manufacturers put our heart and soul into what we do."

Molly stared.

He took her hands. "I love that car because it's a brilliant piece of design."

She rallied but it was an effort. "And about three people in the world can afford them."

"So? Does that mean they shouldn't exist? That's very puritanical of you." His voice fell to a caressing murmur. "You don't have the mouth for a puritan, either."

He watched her eyes darken. Excitement took hold of his gut. Here goes, then.

He put a hand in his pocket and brought out a small ring box.

"You don't like bouquets. You can't eat chocolate. It limits a man. I couldn't think of anything else."

Molly looked stunned. She took it in those crazy lightning-painted fingernails as if she had never seen a ring box before. She did not say anything.

George despaired then. He said, "Marry me," though he knew it was hopeless.

She looked up at him.

And then? And then?

She reached up, wove her fingers into the turquoise hair and ? took it off.

George stared.

She shook out her hair. It was a soft tabby brown. Free, it flowed like silk, wafting the scent of lavender through the still air.

She met his eyes, half defiant, half shy. "It's my natural color. I had it dyed back this afternoon. When I knew you were coming tonight."

He could not believe it. "For me?"

She swallowed, painfully unsure but bravely trying to tease him. "You said you like your women naked. This is as naked as I get."

He was shaken to the heart. Beyond strategy. Beyond anything but the truth.

"Do you love me?"

Molly flinched. He almost said that it didn't matter. That wanting was enough. But he knew it wasn't.

He held his breath.

She put up a hand to her scented hair, looking vulnerable. "Yes. I think so."

He took the box and opened it. The ring was a ruby, red as flame, all fire and mystery. No boring, traditional diamonds for his hip chick.

She stared at it for a long moment in silence. George took it out of the box and took her hand. "You have to be sure."

But he was already smiling. That hair said it all. He slid the ring on her finger. "Marry me, Molly di Perretti, prime babe and hip chick. This millionaire may not count. But he needs you."

She looked down at the ring for a moment, then up into his eyes. She was torn between tears and laughter.

"Not just a millionaire," she teased softly, lovingly. "My hero."

The End