The Millionaire's Proposal

by Janelle Denison

  “You’ve been busy this morning,” Grace commented, though it was obvious by the excess foliage, cut stems, and unusable flowers littering the work bench that Darcy had been going crazy with orders. Not that Grace was going to complain about the extra sales. At seventy-five dollars a dozen, the cost of those roses alone could practically cover her month’s rent.

  “Umm, very.” Darcy clipped the end of a calla lily and pushed the stem into the floral arrangement she was creating. “I’ve been going non-stop since I opened the doors this morning. In fact, this is the first chance I’ve had to start on the centerpiece Mrs. Thorne ordered for her dinner party tonight.”

  Grace headed toward the small office in the back to put her purse and briefcase away, along with the brochures she’d picked up from the printers. “I’ll deliver it on my way home this afternoon.” She opened the door, stepped inside her office, and came to an abrupt halt.

  Dozens of long-stemmed roses, in every shade she’d had available, were displayed in the most elegant, crystal cut vases she offered her customers—at a substantial extra charge. The mild warmth of the room coaxed the tight buds to open and bloom and release their rich, intoxicating fragrance.

  Grace’s hand fluttered to her chest in dismay. Darcy knew to keep arrangements—especially roses!—in the refrigerator until the customers picked them up. Within a few hours the roses would be completely open, but the unfurling process was for the customer to enjoy. She was looking at hundreds of dollars in merchandise that should have been in the cooler—and that thought was enough to give her a mild heart attack.

  Setting her armload of items down on her desk chair—which was the only space that wasn’t occupied by a vase of flowers—she retraced her steps back to the front of the shop.

  “Darcy, what are all those roses doing in my office?”

  The young girl glanced up from sorting through stalks of pale purple delphiniums, a huge grin spreading across her face. “They’re for you.”

  “Excuse me?” Grace was certain she’d misunderstood.

  Efficiently clipping the stem of a delphinium, Darcy poked it into the arrangement. “It’s true. Every single one of those roses is yours. Bought and paid for by the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in Whitaker Falls.”

  Confused, Grace slowly rounded the work bench and stood across from Darcy. Who in the world would do something so outrageously extravagant for her? She’d dated a few men since her divorce five years ago, but there had never been anyone serious enough to inspire such a lavish, romantic gesture.

  And none of those men would qualify as gorgeous status.

  She frowned. “Was it someone I know?”

  “Oh, I sure do hope so,” Darcy said on a dreamy sigh. “Though I have to admit I’ve never seen him around town. He left a card in one of the arrangements. Why don’t you go see for yourself who they’re from?”

  “I’ll do that.” Intrigued, she headed back to her office, once again overwhelmed by the display of flowers, and the lush, seductive fragrance teasing her senses. It was strange, she thought as she searched each vase for a note. For as much as she loved brightening other people’s lives with flowers, no one had ever sent her a bouquet before, let alone dozens of roses.

  It was a heady, thrilling experience.

  Finally finding a tiny white envelope nestled in a dozen elegant white roses, she plucked it out of the tangle of baby’s breath and fern, and withdrew the florist card inside. I enjoyed bumping into you today, and would like to see you again. How about dinner tonight? Whitaker Country Club. 7 PM.

  The note wasn’t signed, but there was no mistaking the identity of the mystery person—her gorgeous stranger. Grace’s pulse thrummed in anticipation at the thought of accepting his dinner invitation, and was quickly plagued by uncertainty. For as much as she was attracted to him, she knew nothing about the man except that he owned a smile that made her want to follow him anywhere, and breath-taking dimples that made her weak-kneed. Captivating charm and charisma hardly qualified as trustworthy . . . though he had seemed very respectable and pleasant.

  “So, are you going to meet him for dinner?”

  Grace jumped at the sound of Darcy’s voice from just behind her, as she read the note over Grace’s shoulder. Turning, she stuffed the card back into the envelope. “I don’t even know the man! He’s someone I literally bumped into while I was going to the bank.”

  “So what,” Darcy said with a nonchalant shrug and a twinkle in her eye. “There comes a time in every woman’s life when she ought to live a little on the edge.”

  Grace rolled her eyes at that, but oh, how she was tempted! For too long she’d been straight-laced and conservative in her choice of men, trying to gain her father’s forgiveness for getting involved with the one boy the entire town had labeled as “no good white trash” and “nothing but trouble”.

  She bit her bottom lip, struggling with what she knew she should do, and what she wanted to do. “I don’t know . . .”

  Darcy playfully flicked the end of Grace’s French braid. “Let down that hair of yours for once and do something spontaneous,” she urged. “You’ll be in a public place, surrounded by people you’ve known all your life. If you don’t feel comfortable with him you can always call it an early night. And if the chemistry is really good between the two of you, you can always call it an early night.” She followed up that double entendre with a sassy wink.

  Grace laughed and shook her head. She’d never been promiscuous in her life, and she didn’t intend to start now—no matter how sexy the man. “You’re outrageous.”

  “And you desperately need a night out, without your father as your date.”

  Grace heard the wry humor in Darcy’s voice, but knew her friend was being much more serious than she let on. Though she enjoyed having dinner with her father—she hated the thought of him living alone and eating by himself—she had to admit that he was the only man in her life as of late, which was pretty pathetic as far as her own love life was concerned. But lately, even her father had been encouraging her to “get out and date more often”.

  She was certain her father hadn’t meant a stranger, but had more in mind one of the respectable, eligible bachelors in town—none of which appealed to Grace.

  Taking a deep breath filled with the sensual, delicious scent of roses filling her office, Grace made the spontaneous decision to do something for herself, without her father’s approval, and without worrying about what other people might think.

  She turned to Darcy with a smile that wiped away any lingering uncertainties. “I’m going to meet my mystery man and find out exactly who he is.”

  “Great!” Darcy’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Now we just need to find something for you to wear other than one of your conservative dresses or button-up business suits.”

  Before Grace could take offense to that, Darcy eyed her with a sly smile of a woman confident in her ability in attracting men. “I saw the perfect dress for you in the window of Shalimar’s. I’m going to call Andrea right now and let her know that we’ll be there as soon as we close up shop for the day.”

  As Darcy exited the small office, Grace was overwhelmed with the notion that for the first time in a very long time she was actually excited about something other than the joy her business brought her.

  She was excited about seeing a man.

  Chapter Two

  Nervous butterflies fluttered in Grace’s belly as she entered the Whitaker Country Club at precisely 7 PM and walked up to the maître d’s podium. Alfred, the astute man who’d served as host to the country club for as long as Grace could remember, smiled amicably when he saw her.

  “Good evening, Ms. Holbrook,” he greeted, his tone as warm and polite as his kind blue eyes. “You look positively lovely tonight.”

  The enthusiastic compliment caused her cheeks to warm, especially since the deep purple fitted dress, complete with black hued stockings and black heels, was a far cry from the more conservative outfits she wor
e while dining at the country club with her father. Though the sleeves were long, the soft velvet material hugged her curves to her knees.

  “Thank you, Alfred.” Feeling a bit self-conscious, she refrained from tugging at the hem of her dress, or touching the soft curls cascading from the clip securing her thick hair atop her head. The few strands that had escaped her attempt at a sophisticated style tickled the side of her neck.

  She clutched her little black purse tighter in her hand. “I’m meeting with someone at seven. Has he arrived?”

  Alfred acknowledged her question with a curt nod. “Yes, right this way, Ms. Holbrook.”

  Instead of heading toward the main dining room, he guided her down a wide corridor that led to a wing of small, private rooms normally reserved for intimate gatherings, which rented out at an additional fee.

  Realizing she would be completely alone with this stranger, instead of surrounded by familiar faces in the main dining room as she’d originally thought, she caught Alfred’s jacketed arm when he reached for the door knob of the “Crystal Room”.

  He lifted a bushy, salt and pepper brow in inquiry.

  “Did the gentleman give you his name?” she asked quietly.

  That earned her an odd look from Alfred, as if she should have known who she was meeting. “No, Ms. Holbrook, and he reserved the room under your name. Would you like me to find out his name for you?”

  Feeling foolish under Alfred’s concerned scrutiny, she quickly shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “Very well.” He opened the door and waited until she stepped into the room, which she did, very tentatively. “If you need anything you can use the intercom on the wall, or the one on your table. Enjoy your evening.” He executed a curt bow, then was gone, closing the door behind him.

  Standing at the back of the room, Grace waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the overhead chandelier. Gradually, the furnishings came into focus, revealing a small, intimate room. A dining table sat in the middle of the area, just beneath the chandelier, set for two with linen, crystal, gold-rimmed china, gleaming silverware, and one of her floral arrangements. Two tapered candles glowed cozily in the middle of the table, adding to the romantic atmosphere. Moonlight shimmered from outside the open sliding glass door, which led to a balcony overlooking the golf course.

  And that’s when she saw him, standing at the black rod-iron railing enclosing the balcony, his back to her. He wore a navy blue jacket that stretched across his broad shoulders and tapered to a trim waist, and gave way to matching trousers. His dark hair gleamed with moonlight, and she had the sudden giddy thought that she’d finally get to see his face, his eyes.

  Slowly, she set her purse on the edge of the table, summoning the nerve to break the silence that was making her more anxious by the minute.

  “Hello,” she said softly.

  She saw his body tense ever-so-slightly, then after a hesitant second he turned around. Her gaze remained on his face, and though the light from inside the room cast a silhouette over him, his features, unobstructed by the sunglasses he’d worn earlier, were unmistakable.

  Her breath caught painfully in her chest. Her heart seemed to stop beating, then resumed at a maddening pace. She took a step back, feeling as though she’d seen an apparition from her past—one who’d grown into an exceptionally good looking man, and had the grace and manners of a polished gentleman.

  Ford McCabe.

  The last time she’d seen him had been at her brother’s funeral, eleven years ago. She’d been all of eighteen, Ford twenty. Once the services were over, he’d left Whitaker Falls without saying good-bye or ever contacting her.

  He’d broken her heart. According to her father, Ford McCabe had shattered their lives.

  “Ford?” she whispered, hope mingling with the heartache she’d carried around for so long.

  Gradually, he closed the distance between them, leaving the evening shadows behind. Stunned, she could only watch, until finally he stood an arm’s length away and looked down at her with rich, violet colored eyes, and the tentative beginnings of a dimple creasing his lean cheek.

  “Hello, Grace.”

  Ford stared into Grace’s luminous brown eyes brimming with shock and disbelief, and waited anxiously for a response. A deep, vital part of him feared the possibility of her rejecting him, and that emotion had him all tangled up in knots.

  He’d known when he’d made the decision to return to Whitaker Falls that the young girl he’d loved and left behind might have grown to hate him, and in some ways, he couldn’t blame her if she had. He’d been a wild, selfish kid, consumed with his own hatred and bitterness, and torn between believing he deserved someone as sweet and unassuming as her and knowing he had nothing to offer in return. She’d been the only gentle, kind thing in a life surrounded by the disgrace of his uncaring, drunk of a mother. His character had been tainted as white trash right from the cradle, and he hadn’t stood a chance to redeem himself, not when everyone automatically thought and expected the worst from “that wild McCabe boy”. Living up to the reckless reputation the town had labeled him with had been easier to do than struggling for the respect and acceptance he’d always craved.

  He’d returned to his home town to gain that respect and acceptance, and it all started here and now, with Grace.

  He tilted his head, and attempted to lighten the moment. “I suppose you have every reason to be shocked. After all, this is a first.”

  Her expression clouded over with confusion, and much to his disheartenment, her demeanor turned cool and distant.

  “What’s a first?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

  He spread his hands wide, presenting the wealthy man he’d become. “Seeing Ford McCabe within the walls of the Whitaker Country Club.” His voice was low and teasing, meant to cajole a smile from her.

  Her rigid posture relaxed a fraction, but no smile. “I suppose it is,” she agreed, her gaze flicking over him, absorbing the changes from skinny, rebellious boy to a distinguished grown man. “It looks like you’ve come a long way since leaving Whitaker Falls.”

  “I have.” Seeing the barrage of questions leap to her gaze that he wasn’t ready to answer, he decided to cut them off at the pass. His gaze encompassed the expensively furnished room. “I have to admit that the accommodations here are outstanding. Better than I ever imagined. Will you stay and have dinner with me?”

  He held his breath while she thought over his question, and let it out in a quiet rush when she finally made her decision.

  “Yes, I’ll stay.”

  Relief washed over him. “I’m glad.”

  An awkward silence settled between them. Shifting on her feet, she smoothed a slender hand down the front of her dress in a nervous gesture. His gaze followed the movement, entranced by the lush, womanly curves she’d developed over the years. She was still petite and slender, but her breasts were fuller than before, her hips more gently rounded. Her legs looked as gorgeous as ever, lithe and toned, and graceful as a dancer’s.

  Heat curled through him—as a teenage boy, he’d spent hours fascinating about those limbs, that lissome body, and he wasn’t surprised to realize she affected him just as powerfully as she had in his youth.

  He lifted his eyes to hers, and for the first time their gazes connected, spiraling him back in time, then fast-forwarding him to the present again. All the lonely years in between crashed in on him, and before he could stop himself, words were spilling from his mouth.

  “I’ve missed you, Grace,” he said huskily, the sentiment honest and straight from a part of himself he’d kept sealed off to anyone who tried to get close to him. “More than you could ever know. For eleven years, you’re all I ever thought about.”

  Her eyes widened, and he saw her tightly woven emotions unraveling, softening—banishing the last of her reserve. “I missed you, too, Ford.”

  A smile tipped his mouth, and immense pleasure washed over him at her admission, which bolstered his confidenc
e and gave him hope for what lay ahead. Giving into temptation to touch her, he wound his finger around one of the silken curls escaping her upswept hair, and was gratified when she didn’t pull away.

  Caught up in the notion that he might have consumed her thoughts as much as she had his, he couldn’t resist prompting her for more. “Yeah?”

  She nodded, and shivered delicately when the pad of his finger strummed gently along the side of her neck. He expected her to say more about missing him, but those trusting eyes of hers he’d never forgotten locked on his, shimmering with a more painful accusation. “You left without saying good-bye.”

  His hand stilled at her collarbone. Fell away. The injured note in her voice struck him right in the mid-section, making him realize she still harbored a wealth of hurt from his past actions. His reasons for leaving Whitaker Falls so abruptly had come on an overwhelming revelation that had left little room for good-byes. As long as he remained in the small town where he’d grown up and made a disreputable name for himself, he’d never amount to anything—no would give him the chance to prove that he could change, that beneath all his recalcitrant behavior there were redeeming qualities crying to be recognized and nurtured.

  He’d attempted to modify his rebellious ways and wild habits, all in the hopes of being respectable enough for Grace Holbrook. But one fateful night had destroyed all his own personal hopes and dreams, forcing him to escape the condemnation that had spread through the community of Whitaker Falls. He could only hope eleven years was enough time to heal the wounds of the past.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, knowing the apology was little compensation for what he’d done to her.

  She graciously let that go, but if he expected a relaxing evening with her, she had other things in mind. She circled around the table, putting it between them. “Why didn’t you tell me that it was you outside of the bank today? You acted as though we didn’t know one another.”