The Millionaire's Proposal

by Janelle Denison

  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.”

  “Hrmph,” The sound of disgust erupted from somewhere behind Grace—a typical sound from her father. Ellis Holbrook believed in rising early and making the most of a day. Grace did too, but she’d wanted to make the most of her day with Ford—in bed. Especially since he was leaving today.

  Filling her coffee carafe with water, she glanced over her shoulder at her dad. “Why didn’t you call before coming out here like you normally do?”

  “What, I’m not allowed to stop by and see my daughter any time I want?”

  Refusing to give into his guilt tactics, she gave him a sweet smile as she scooped coffee grounds into the basket. “I’m just surprised to see you, is all. Didn’t you go golfing this morning with Gene and Emmett?” Rain or shine, her father had a standing reservation with his two old friends to play eighteen holes at the Whitaker Country Club on Sunday mornings. Only a medical emergency or some other life threatening crisis could drag him away from the sport—which was what worried Grace.

  “I was golfing, when we came across Sheldon and his golfing buddies out on the ninth hole. He imparted some disturbing news that ruined my game.”

  Sheldon was the president of the only savings and loan in town. Suspecting where this conversation might be headed, she remained nonchalant. “Oh, and what news was that?”

  “Ford McCabe is back in town.” Ellis’s face flushed again, a long ago rage brewing just below the surface.

  Grace’s stomach clenched tight, and she tried desperately to act surprised at his announcement. “Sheldon saw him?”

  “No, he didn’t see him.” He scrubbed a hand through his thick, salt and pepper hair, the gesture agitated. Her father normally had calm, steady nerves, but not where Ford McCabe was concerned. “Yesterday after closing time at the bank Sheldon was reviewing the new accounts and came across a savings and checking account under the name of Ford McCabe. The signature card was signed with Ford’s name and dated yesterday.”

  Grace wasn’t sure what to make of that, and wondered why Ford hadn’t divulged that bit of information to her last night. Certain there was a logical explanation for the information her father had discovered, she shook off the unease settling over her, and turned toward the cupboard to retrieve two coffee cups.

  Her father paced the small confines of the kitchen, the volatile energy surrounding him nearly palpable. “And guess what company is listed under his place of business?” He didn’t give her time to guess the answer to his question, though her belly twisted with an awful apprehension. “FZM, Inc. He’s the owner of the company who bought the land out at Cutter Creek! That house is listed as his primary residence!”

  Ford was going to be living in Whitaker Falls? Why hadn’t he told her? Grace’s mind reeled, and a horrible sense of betrayal pierced her heart. The hand pouring the coffee into their mugs shook uncontrollably, and she set the pot back on the burner before she spilled hot liquid everywhere.

  With her mind and body numb from disbelief, and a dozen other different emotions clamoring to the surface, Grace brought their mugs to the table. She sat through a cup of coffee with her father while he groused about Ford McCabe and spilled the bitter emotions that had accumulated in the aftermath of Ford’s departure eleven years ago.

  Grace made the appropriate comments she knew her father wanted to hear, but all she could think about was confronting the naked man in her bed once her father left. After what she’d shared with Ford last night, she felt confused and deceived by his omission.

  She didn’t offer her father a refill on his coffee, and instead told him she had errands to run and things to do. She walked him to the door, and he stopped just as they entered the living room, staring at all the vases of roses. He appeared perplexed—in his upset state, he obviously hadn’t noticed them upon his arrival.

  “What’s with all the roses?” he asked.

  Grace grasped for the most logical excuse. “Excess inventory from the shop, so I thought I’d bring them home to enjoy.”

  Melancholy touched Ellis Holbrook’s expression as he breathed deeply of an arrangement of roses. “I still miss her, you know,” he said, and Grace knew he was talking about her mother, Felice. “But if she were here, I know she’d be very proud of you and your flower shop.”

  Grace placed a gentle hand on her father’s back as they walked to the door. “Yeah,
I know she would be.”

  Ellis stepped out onto the porch and turned toward her, his sentimental expression hardening with resolve, and his eyes firing with purpose, as if he’d suddenly remembered his reason for coming out to her cottage. “I’m warning you, Grace, if that no good McCabe boy comes around, stay away from him! He was nothing but trouble eleven years ago, and he’s nothing but trouble now.”

  She refrained from informing her father that Ford was no longer a boy, but a splendidly grown man. “Maybe he’s changed,” she said, though she was beginning to doubt that herself after what she’d just learned.

  Her father scoffed at that. “You’ve always had a soft heart, Grace, but maybe you should keep in mind that Ford McCabe killed Aaron and destroyed our family, not to mention what he did to you.” Hostility and resentment dripped from his tone.

  Grace inwardly winced, knowing that Ford could hear her conversation with her father. Someone had seen her and Ford together eleven years ago, and after the tragic death of her brother rumor of her involvement with Ford had spread, and ultimately cast a shadow over her reputation. Her father blamed Ford for that as well, of course, even though she’d been a willing party to what had happened back then. It was just easier for her father to believe Ford was responsible for ruining her virtue than accept that she’d consented to the relationship.

  “Whatever reason he’s decided to come back to live in Whitaker Falls, it can’t be good,” her father said tightly. “Stay away from him.”

  On that heated note, her father was gone.

  Shutting the door, Graced leaned against the flat surface and closed her eyes, her heart aching in her chest.

  “Is it safe to come out?”

  Startled by the deep voice, Grace lifted her head, and found Ford standing in the doorway to her bedroom, his shoulder leaning negligently against the jamb. He was no longer naked, thank goodness. He’d put his slacks and shirt back on, looking nothing like the sensual, affectionate man she’d left in bed twenty minutes ago. No, now there was a dark, ruthless quality to him that made her realize just how little she knew about the man he’d become.

  When she didn’t say anything, he pushed off the door frame and strolled into the living room toward her, his expression unreadable. “I guess your father’s feelings toward me are one of the things that haven’t changed since I’ve been gone.”

  She choked on a humorless laugh. “You’re right about that,” she confirmed, moving toward the sofa as he closed the distance between them. Last night, she’d trusted Ford, with her heart and her body. This morning, she felt disillusioned and uncertain of his motives. “What business brings you here, Ford?” she asked, giving him one last chance to make amends.

  He stopped in the middle of the room, his entire demeanor tensing. Shadows clouded his gaze, concealing truths, and her heart wrenched painfully.

  “No more lies, Ford,” she whispered around the ache in her throat. “I know about the house out at Cutter Creek being yours. My father found out from Sheldon at the bank. You’re FZM, Inc.”

  He released a deep, harsh breath and scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw.

  After a long, strained moment, he said, “Yes, I’m FZM, Inc, which stands for Ford Zachariah McCabe. The house out at Cutter Creek is mine, and I’m here to give the house one final walk-through before the carpet and tile are installed and the furniture delivered. In about five weeks, I’m moving in.”

  She stared at him, the hurt and devastation coursing through her excruciating in its intensity. “You lied.”

  A muscle in his cheek ticked, his eyes turning dark and unfathomable. “I hadn’t meant for you to find out this way.”

  That was it, just a flat, emotionless excuse that made a mockery of their night together. He offered no other explanation, and what pride she still had left kept her from demanding a more credible answer.

  Tears burned her eyes, but she valiantly blinked them back. She’d hoped this time around would be different for them, but she no longer trusted his intentions, or his purpose for returning. She couldn’t even be sure what they’d shared last night had been real for him.

  Lifting her chin, she clung desperately to what little was left of her composure. “I think it would be best if I took you back to the Hampton Inn.”

  He didn’t argue or object. Didn’t attempt to deny her request. It was as though he’d closed himself off to her emotionally. Instead, he nodded curtly, a virtual stranger, then turned to retrieve the rest of his things from her bedroom, leaving Grace to endure the same heart-breaking loss she’d experienced when he’d left her eleven years ago.

  Except this time, her grief was tinged with Ford’s deceit.

  Chapter Four

  “That nasty flu bug still hasn’t gone away?”

  Grace glanced up as Dr. Randal Chase walked into the examination room of the medical office he shared with her father, her medical chart in hand. “Unfortunately, no.” She gave him a smile as wane as her body felt. “The nausea seems to come and go in waves. It’s strange, really. One moment I feel fine, and then the next I feel like I’m going to lose what’s in my stomach. I’ve been light-headed as well, and my body feels achy.”

  He adjusted the gold wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose and offered a warm, sympathetic smile. “While I do a quick, routine examine, I’ll have Marcie pull your lab report to see what the tests we did a few days ago reveal. Hop up onto the examination table.”

  Grace did as he ordered, sitting on the edge of the narrow table covered in a thin layer of tissue paper. Setting her chart on a nearby counter, he poked his head out the door, gave Marcie instructions to bring him Grace’s lab report, and returned to his patient. Using his stethoscope, he listened to her heart and lungs, proclaiming everything clear and in order.

  “Stick out your tongue and say ahhh,” he said, withdrawing a tiny flashlight from his white lab coat pocket. Flattening her tongue with a wooden depressor, he checked her throat and tonsils. “Everything looks fine. Lie down on the table and I’ll check your stomach.”

  Marcie delivered the requested report, setting it on the counter, then disappeared again. Grace reclined back on the stiff table, and the doctor slipped his hands beneath her blouse to continue his examination. “Have you been feeling bloated?”

  “A little,” she confessed, then sucked in a breath when his chilled fingers touched her belly.

  “Sorry ‘bout that. My hands are a little cold today.” His fingers moved efficiently and impersonally over her, probing gently. As he continued, he said absently, “I hear that furniture has been delivered to that monstrous house out at Cutter Creek.”

  Grace’s stomach rolled at the mention of Ford’s property, which was now common knowledge among the residents of Whitaker Falls. Closing her eyes, she swallowed the nausea rising in the back of her throat.

  “Hmmm,” she replied non-committally, suspecting his idle comment was an attempt to keep her mind on his verbal exchange, and not his exploring fingers. The vacant house at Cutter Creek was the hot topic of conversation in town, as was speculation of Ford McCabe’s return.

  Ford had been gone for almost five weeks, and she was beginning to wonder if maybe her fluctuating “flu” was possibly some kind of stress disorder. She dreaded his return, thought about it constantly, and agonized incessantly over the fact that he’d deceived her. His duplicity was never far from her mind, nor was her own gullibility—without a doubt, she’d been a fool to fall back into his arms so easily. Considering she hadn’t heard from Ford since he’d left, she’d determined that their night together hadn’t meant as much to him as it had her.

  She groaned when Dr. Chase poked at a particularly tender area near her uterus.

  He frowned, his touch lightening. “Am I hurting you?”

  “It’s just a little uncomfortable,” she acknowledged.

  He motioned for her to sit up, and made a few notations on her chart, his back to her. “Marcie said she saw a champagne colored sports
coupe heading down the gravel drive toward the house this morning on her way to work. It seems your father’s nemesis has returned.”

  Ford was back!

  Grace pressed her fingers to her temple in an attempt to stop the spinning in her head—from sitting up too fast or that last bit of unsettling news, she wasn’t sure. Even after four and a half weeks, she still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Ford McCabe would be living in Whitaker Falls permanently.

  Dr. Chase turned back toward her, his demeanor turning professional once again. “Physically, everything seems in order.” He opened the file with her test results. “Let’s see about your lab report.” His index finger skimmed down the page. “Your thyroid looks good, blood sugar is fine, cholesterol is right where it should be . . .” His finger stopped and he glanced up at her, undisguised surprise in his eyes. “This says you’re pregnant.”

  “You tested for pregnancy?”

  He shrugged. “Just trying to rule out all probable causes for your symptoms. According to this, you’re positive.”

  Her mouth suddenly felt dry as cotton. “That’s impossible. I’m sterile.”

  “Says who?”

  “David and I . . . we couldn’t have children. He’s gone on to have two kids, so that leaves me.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.” He regarded her with kind blue eyes. “Were you ever tested for infertility?”

  “No . . .” The admission came reluctantly.

  He contemplated her reply for a moment, then grabbed her chart again. “When was your last menstrual period?” He clicked his ball point pen, poised to jot down the information.

  “I’m not very regular, so I don’t keep track.” She’d never had a reason to mark her calendar and count days because she was inevitably late. “I’d say somewhere around six weeks ago. I should start any day.”