The Millionaire's Proposal (6 page)

His eyes crinkled at the corner. “It was my pleasure.”

“It cost you a small fortune,” she said, knowing exactly how much money he’d doled out for the flowers and the extravagant vases. “It was unnecessary, and certainly overkill.”

He merely shrugged off the exorbitant amount as inconsequential, and rubbed a red rose petal between his fingers. “If I remember correctly, you always loved flowers, roses especially.”

“I do.” She was deeply touched that he remembered. “They remind me of my mother and all the time I spent helping her tend to her rose garden when I was a little girl.” Her father had since replaced the rose garden with sod, because it had been too painful for him to look at the garden that had once been his beloved wife’s. Needlessly, she fussed with an arrangement of tight, fragrant buds—anything to keep her busy and moving. “I have no idea what I’m going to do with so many dozen.”

“Enjoy them.”

Her mouth opened to reply, then snapped shut when she saw that he was making himself comfortable. Slipping out of his navy coat, he draped it over the back of her floral sofa. He loosened his tie, and her stomach dipped.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she blurted, her voice high-pitched to her own ears. “Coffee? Juice? Wine?” She breezed past him toward the kitchen, and he caught her wrist, halting her progress.

His eyes were warm, and kind, and a tad amused. “I’m not thirsty.”

“A slice of cheesecake, then? I bought a few slices from the bakery yesterday, and I even have fresh strawberries to top it off.”

“I’m not hungry for dessert, either.” His soft, low voice catered to her jumbled nerves. The way he stroked his thumb over the pulse point in her wrist sent a pleasant thrum of desire through her. “Would you rather I go back to my hotel?”

“No!” Startled by her sharp tone of voice, she cleared her throat. Despite wanting him, the good girl she’d been for so long was very nervous about the night ahead. “I mean, I want you to stay, it’s just that . . . well . . .” Twin spots of heat burned her cheeks, and she looked away.

Tucking a finger beneath her chin, he brought her gaze back to his. “It’s just what?” he prompted.

Drawing a breath, she summoned the fortitude to confess her insecurities. “It’s been a long time, Ford.”

He seemed to consider that. “For us . . . or with any man?”

Certain she couldn’t become any more embarrassed than she already was, she muttered, “Both.”

He tilted his head, and smiled. “Would it help if I told you that it’s been a long time for me, too?”

It did help, and there was enough honesty in his expression that she believed him.

“Tell you what, why don’t we just start where we left off at the country club? We’ll take this slow and easy, and we can put a halt to this any time you want.” The backs of his knuckles stroked her cheek, and goose flesh rose on her skin. “You only need to tell me to stop and I will, okay?”

She nodded, appreciating that bit of security, and the right to change her mind at any time.

He indicated the bright lamp in the living room. “Can I turn off this light?”

“Yes,” she said, preferring the softer illumination from the kitchen to guide them, instead of the harsh glare of the lamp. She watched him move away, and flip the switch on the wall, throwing the room into an intimate, romantic setting. Then he came back to where she stood and stopped in front of her, and she could feel the heat of his muscular body, could smell the male scent of him.

“Would you mind if I took the clip from your hair? Or maybe you’d like to do it for me?” He made the suggestion lightly, but the husky quality to his voice was very revealing. “More than anything, I’d love to see your hair down.”

He was giving her the choice, and she accepted it. Holding his watchful gaze, she reached up and unsnapped the clip securing the mass of hair on top of her head. Soft, buoyant curls cascaded to just below her shoulders, framing her face.

She thought she heard him suck in a breath, and her own heart skipped a beat. Silently, she willed him to touch her hair, and then he did, reverently threading his long fingers through the thick, warm strands.

A deep groan of pleasure rumbled from his throat. “It’s still so rich, so silky,” he said, awed.

He spent another minute luxuriating in the weight and texture of her hair, burying his hands in the mass and using his fingers to massage her scalp. Grace shivered and all but purred—his fascination with her hair was one of the more sensual experiences of her life.

“Can I kiss you now?”

She smiled up at him, feeling lethargic and complacent. “I’m not used to having someone ask permission to kiss me.”

He grinned, too, stealing her breath with those gorgeous dimples. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, and give you that option to say stop.”

She didn’t want him to be chivalrous, not when she’d begun to ache deep inside for something more. Following her emotions, she said, “In that case, I’d like it very much if you kissed me.”

He obliged, taking time and care with her mouth, and slowly pulling her deeper into his embrace. She went willingly, sliding her hands over the hard contours of his chest, surrendering to the heat of his lips. His own palms caressed her leisurely. He cupped her breast gently through the material of her dress, grazed his thumb over the hardened tip, and she moaned at the exquisite pleasure. Sweet, hot desire, unlike any she’d ever known, electrified her body.

Breaking the escalating kiss, he pressed his lips to her temple, holding her close. “You’re trembling, Grace,” he murmured, his own body taut and restrained, but unmistakably aroused. “Should I take that as a good sign, or bad?”

She closed her eyes, and considered his question—another chance for her to change her mind. Nothing had ever felt as good or right as this moment. What had begun as tension had blossomed into quivering anticipation, and a need that transcended the mere act of making love. There was an emotional connection still between them, and it pulled at her heartstrings.

“Oh, it’s a good sign,” she reassured him, a bit of humor lacing her voice. Glancing up, she met his smoky gaze, and remembering her vow to please herself, she catered to the yearning deep within her. “Would you like to go into my bedroom?”

His breath seemed to leave him in a quiet rush. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Silently, she led him to her room, stopping at the side of her four poster bed, covered in the mauve and blue quilt her Mother had made for her when she’d turned sixteen. It was a cherished heirloom, one she’d hoped to pass on to her own daughter one day.

Refusing to think about lost dreams, she reached for the loosened tie around Ford’s neck and disposed him of it. Her hands went to his shirt, unbuttoning it with sure and steady fingers. Together, they worked to remove their clothing, which became a slow, seductive process of discovery that heightened the hunger and passion spiraling between them.

Time lost meaning, and the night turned magical. Ford spent an immeasurable amount of time acquainting himself with the womanly changes to her body, worshiping the supple, pliant curves she’d developed with his slow hands and generous mouth. In turn, she reveled in the impressive man he’d become, with well-formed muscles, and sleek, hot skin.

When he gently laid her on the bed and moved over her, her own flesh caught fire. Brushing her hair from her face, he kissed her, long and lazily. Finally, he lifted his head and stared down at her with eyes filled with a combination of anguish and joy.

The poignant mixture of emotions made Grace’s breath hitch in her chest.

“Ahh, Grace, I really have missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and deep and intimate.

She swallowed back the tightness in her throat and skimmed her fingers along his cheek. “Me, too.”

His expression softened. A tender smile touched his mouth, relaxing the taut line of his jaw. With one arm bracing his heavy weight above her, his other hand continued to explore, shaping the swell of her breast, stroking over her hip, and finally parting her slender thighs to fit himself more fully against her.

She sighed, then gasped when his fingers brushed along the juncture of her thighs and dipped more intimately inside her. She arched toward him, moaning softly.

Her uninhibited response seemed to gratify him. Immensely. But he held his own desire in check, an uncertain frown marring his brow. “I’ve dreamed of this, of you, for so long. I want it to be perfect.”

The glimpse of vulnerability reminded her of the boy he’d once been and made her realize that for as much as he’d gained wealth and confidence, some things hadn’t changed at all.

“It will be,” she told him, and drew his mouth down to hers as he pushed deep inside her, filling her, claiming her.

The tight fit of them together stole her breath, made her desperate for more of him. She wrapped her legs around his waist as his slow, deep thrusts gradually quickened, and cried out his name as they gave themselves over to the most seductive, exquisite pleasure.

And not once during the long, wonderful night did she tell him to stop.

Bam, bam, bam.

The pounding sound reverberating in Grace’s mind grew louder, the voice calling her name more gruff and insistent. Ignoring the annoying noise, Grace snuggled closer to the warm, hard body curled against her from behind and willed the intruder away. Strong, male limbs entwined around her legs, and a corded arm banded possessively around her naked waist.

A sleepy smile curved her mouth.
Ford
. He was still there, testimony to the fact that their night together hadn’t been a fabulous, glorious dream. Floating somewhere between slumber and consciousness, she had the fleeting thought that maybe this time around things could be different for them. Maybe this time, they could find a way to be happy together.

The pounding continued. She frowned, and the man behind her stirred. A broad hand caressed her hip, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. His breath was sleep-roughened when he murmured into her ear, “Grace, honey, someone is at your door.”

Grace’s eyes popped open at the same time her heart sped into overdrive. Surely Ford was mistaken . . . no, sure enough, that obnoxious sound was coming from the front of her house.

Untangling herself from him and the covers, she stumbled out of bed, grabbed her robe from the connecting bathroom, and thrust her hands inside the sleeves, her disoriented mind whirring with a hundred thoughts. Mainly, who in the world could be here?

One glance at her reflection in the bathroom mirror made her cringe—she glowed, no doubt, but she looked like a tousled mess! Her hair tumbled around her face and shoulders in a wild disarray, her lips looked pink and swollen from Ford’s ardent kisses, and there was even a red chafe mark on her neck from his stubble. Since the person pummeling her front door sounded extremely persistent, not to mention impatient, she had no time to make herself presentable.

She passed through the bedroom, her gaze pausing briefly on the gorgeous man sprawled on his back on her bed. The covers swathed around his hips, leaving his chest gloriously bare. A sexy, lazy smile canted the corners of his mouth.

Ignoring the renewed awareness tickling her belly, she tightened the sash of her robe. “Stay in here,” she ordered in a hushed voice.

“Don’t worry, Grace,” he murmured huskily. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

The invitation in his hazy violet eyes was clear, and her breasts tightened at the thought of spending a lazy Sunday morning in bed with Ford—just as soon as she got rid of her unexpected visitor.

The incessant knocking spurred her into action. Exiting the bedroom, she closed the door behind her, which put her right in the living room. “I’ll be right there,” she called in an attempt to inform the other person she was on her way.

Seeing Ford’s suit jacket on her sofa, she stuffed the masculine article of clothing into the coat closet. With her still sleepy head struggling for wide-awake cognizance, she unlocked her front door, opened it . . . and came fully alert when she encountered her father standing on her porch, his face red with outrage.

“Dad,” she said in a voice that was so tight it squeaked. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer her question, but barged past her and into her cottage without an invitation. Her father wasn’t a tall man, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in a physically fit body and sheer stubbornness. It was that head-strong will that sent a ripple of alarm through Grace.

His gold/brown gaze took in her disheveled appearance, and a scowl of disapproval darkened his expression. “It’s after ten in the morning, Grace. What are you still doing in bed?”

Enjoying myself. Pleasing myself. Falling in love all over again.

Biting back the private comments, she casually clutched her robe at her neck, too aware of the fact that she was naked beneath. Very aware, as well, that her father was too close to her bedroom door for comfort. “It’s Sunday, Dad,” she said, heading into the kitchen, knowing he’d follow. “I don’t have to work, so I can be as lazy as I want to be, which means sleeping in till noon, if I’d like.”