The Millionaire's Proposal

by Janelle Denison

  Not sure if her stomach was in the mood for something so heavy, Grace set hers on a napkin.

  “So, who’s getting married?” Marie asked abruptly.

  Grace transferred a startled glance the older woman’s way. “Uh, what makes you ask that?”

  Marie motioned to the floral items on the work bench. “Handheld bouquets mean one of two things in Whitaker Falls—a school dance, or a wedding, and the prom just passed.”

  “Grace and Ford McCabe are getting married today,” Darcy announced around a mouth full of Marie’s confection.

  Grace scowled at Darcy, but there was nothing she could do about the news her assistant had imparted. After dealing with her father’s censure this morning, she didn’t think she could handle Marie’s disapproval, too.

  “Ford McCabe, hmmm?” Marie asked, surprise and something more bemused in her tone. “Out of all the eligible men in Whitaker Falls, you had to stir up a ruckus with the town’s rebel? And here I thought you were a good girl.”

  The teasing note to Marie’s voice made Grace relax and smile. “I am a good girl. I just had a momentary lapse in judgment.” Then she grew serious, wanting Marie to hear everything from her, rather than through gossip. “I’m pregnant with his baby.”

  Marie just smiled, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “I’m thinking you never stopped caring about Ford McCabe.”

  The woman’s insight caught Grace off-guard. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, you never fooled me, sweetie-pie, when you’d ask me about Ford and his mama, and why everyone treated Ford so badly.” She touched Grace’s back in a soothing, comforting gesture and continued. “And I know those day old loaves of bread and cakes and cookies I gave you to take home never made it to your mother, either. One day, I saw you sneaking off toward Cutter Creek with my white bag in hand, and I knew . . .”

  She silently thanked Marie for her loyalty, and for never saying anything to her parents about her trysts to Cutter Creek. “His mother hardly ever bought groceries for Ford,” she said, attempting to justify what she’d done. “And I felt sorry for him.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it started out that way, out of the goodness of your heart.” Picking up the crown of roses and baby’s breath, Marie placed the wreath on top of Grace’s upswept hair, arranging it just so. “But then the look in your eyes changed when you mentioned Ford. You spoke of him with that soft, girlish catch in your breath and an unmistakable softness in your eyes.”

  And despite everything, Grace still felt that girlish excitement when it came to Ford, and a very womanly desire that held too many emotions attached to it. “Marie . . . do you harbor ill feelings toward Ford?”

  Marie appeared genuinely perplexed by her question. “Whatever for?”

  “For all the terrible things he did when he was a kid?”

  The older woman continued to arrange the wreath of flowers on Grace’s head, then loosened wisps of hair from the top knot she’d worn so a few tendrils curled around her face. “I didn’t condone what he did, but I also understood that he was a very troubled boy. He didn’t have an easy life, and the residents of Whitaker Falls didn’t try to make his life any different or better, either.” The frown of disapproval creasing Marie’s brow was no doubt for the narrow-minded people who’d treated Ford with nothing but contempt.

  After a moment, Marie’s expression softened. “You make a beautiful bride, Grace.”

  Craving the emotional support she knew Marie could offer her, Grace asked, “Would you do me a favor?”

  “If it’s within my power to grant, sweetie-pie.”

  Grace bit her lower lip nervously. “Could you . . . would you . . . be a witness at my wedding today?”

  “I’d love to.” Marie’s smile encompassed Grace in its warmth and affection. Her gaze sparkled with mischief. “That would give me a chance to make sure your young man’s intentions are honorable.”

  Grace laughed, feeling more optimistic than she had in weeks. It was nice to know she had an ally in Marie.

  Would nothing in his life ever be easy or simple, Ford wondered as he stared into Grace’s upturned face as Reverend Jones recited traditional wedding vows that would bind the woman standing before him as his wife. She looked beautiful in her pale pink outfit, the wreath of roses and baby’s breath haloing her head and soft tendrils of hair framing her face. The bouquet of flowers in her hand trembled ever-so-slightly, giving testimony to the nerves and reluctance shimmering in her honey-brown gaze.

  It seemed as though his marriage to Grace wouldn’t be simple or easy, either.

  Ford had envisioned a new beginning when he’d made the decision to move back to Whitaker Falls, a life full of promise and the opportunity to put the horrible memories of his past to rest. The goals he’d imagined had included Grace on some level, because she was a big part of why he’d returned, but he never would have guessed that fate would bring them together the way it had.

  His gaze flickered briefly to the plump, grand-motherly woman standing next to Grace, dressed in a plain blue cotton dress, her hands folded in front of her ample waist, watching over Grace like a mother hen. When she’d first arrived, the other woman had shaken his hand in a firm grip and welcomed him back to Whitaker Falls—one of the few people who’d been warm to him since his return.

  The past week had been interesting and frustrating for Ford. He’d experienced varying degrees of shock and surprise that he was back and living out at Cutter Creek, along with animosity and outright hostility. People watched him as if they expected him to sprout horns, and others whispered his transgressions behind his back and speculated why he’d returned. A few folks had no qualms about resurrecting old, bitter grudges and confronting him with them, of which he’d sincerely apologized for whatever sin he’d committed as a youth, and continued on his way. It was all he could do, until time proved that he’d become a decent, law-abiding citizen.

  Though he couldn’t fault any of them for being cautious and wary, their behavior only confirmed that nothing had really changed in Whitaker Falls . . . yet so much would change, starting here and now with Grace.

  Following Reverend Jones’s instructions, Ford picked up Grace’s left hand and slipped a sparkling diamond bridal set on her slender ring finger, which he’d bought for her at an exclusive jewelry store in Richmond that past week. A shocked gasp caught in her throat as she stared at the elegant band of princess cut diamonds that tiered to a one caret flawless stone. Suppressing a smile, Ford tipped her chin back up, wanting to look into her eyes while they promised to love, honor and cherish one another—until death did they part. That was a pledge he intended to keep. She believed he was marrying her for the baby she carried, and though that was a good portion of the reason, he silently admitted that he’d dreamed too many times to count of making Grace completely his.

  Reverend Jones finally closed his Bible and glanced at the newly married couple. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Ford’s gaze dropped to Grace’s sensual mouth as he waited impatiently for the good reverend to give him permission to kiss his new bride. As her husband, that was one privilege he planned to take advantage of. But much to Ford’s disappointment, Reverend Jones only said, “Congratulations to the both of you.”

  Before Ford could take it upon himself to perform the traditional seal-of-vows kiss—and he’d been seconds away from taking matters into his own hands—Grace turned toward Marie, putting a major crimp in Ford’s plan.

  Grace embraced the older woman in an affectionate hug. “Thank you for coming, Marie,” Grace said, her tone heartfelt and quivering with emotion. “It meant a lot to me to have you here.”

  “There’s no way I could have refused you,” Marie replied, her green eyes suspiciously moist. Then she turned toward Ford and shook her finger at him. “You take real good care of my girl, you hear?”

  The woman’s fierce protectiveness amused and touched Ford. “I intend to, Marie,” he promised.

&n
bsp; “See that you do, or else you’ll answer to me.” The stern lecture ebbed into a fond, amicable smile. “Now, I insist that the two of you come by the cafe so I can feed you both before you go home. No sense having to worry about cooking on your wedding night.”

  The relief Ford detected in Grace’s expression was unmistakable, making him realize that she’d been worried about more than cooking a meal on her wedding night—she was nervous about being alone with him.

  There was no reason for her to be skittish around him, because he planned to make their arrangement as easy on her as possible—no barbaric marital demands, and no unrealistic expectations. He’d only take what he could coax her to willingly give him.

  He wanted her trust, and he intended to secure it; he’d need every ounce of her support and faith for what lay ahead.

  “You settling in okay?”

  Ford’s deep, rumbling voice caused a shiver to ripple down Grace’s spine, prompting her to glance over her shoulder. She found him lounging in the doorway of the guest bedroom, still wearing the chocolate colored slacks he’d donned for the ceremony, but the matching jacket was gone, and so was his tie. The first three buttons of his white dress shirt were undone, and he’d cuffed his sleeves to reveal strong, tanned forearms.

  Despite her resolve to maintain her emotional distance from him, her heart fluttered beneath her breast. The man was too sexy and appealing for her peace of mind.

  “I’m settling in just fine,” she said, valiantly trying to concentrate on the task of putting away the clothing, toiletries, and other personal items that they’d picked up from her cottage on the way out to his house at Cutter Creek.

  “Good.” He smiled amicably, producing one of those gorgeous dimples that made her pulse race. “I want you to be comfortable, since this is your house now, too.”

  With a sweep of her hand she indicated the queen-sized bed covered in a plain hunter green spread and mahogany dresser against the far wall. “This is great.” The room was a bit on the masculine side, and simply decorated, but she was certain once she brought over some of her things it would feel and look more like the feminine haven she’d grown used to at the cottage.

  She was still surprised, and relieved, that Ford hadn’t argued when she’d requested the guest room next to his huge master bedroom, though the rogue had pointed out that the arrangement seemed a bit incongruous, considering that they’d already shared a bed.

  Ultimately, he’d respected her wishes with minimal fuss, and that’s all she cared about. She wasn’t trying to make their relationship difficult, just bearable for her. She wasn’t ready to share nightly intimacies with a man she was uncertain of. If she had to spend the rest of her life with Ford, then she planned to learn everything about him, past, present and future, before giving him free access to her heart, body, and soul.

  He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his stance casual and relaxed as he watched her. “You know, I have to confess, I thought the wedding ceremony was lacking.”

  She shrugged while tucking a stack of t-shirts into the dresser drawer. “The ceremony was short, simple, and to the point.”

  “But . . . lacking,” he insisted.

  The light from the lamp on the dresser caught the ring on her finger, dazzling her with a thousand-watt sparkle. There was certainly nothing lacking about the extravagant and obviously expensive bridal set he’d chosen for her to wear. “We promised to honor and cherish one another, until death-do-we-part. What more could you possibly want?”

  “What more could I possibly want . . .” he repeated the question thoughtfully, as if pondering a multitude of wicked desires. Pushing off the doorframe, he strolled slowly toward her. His stride was lazy, but the gleam in his smoky violet eyes was very masculine and filled with purpose. “How about to kiss my bride?”

  Awareness zinged to life within her, and she moved to the bed where her suitcase lay open, putting distance between them before he trapped her near the dresser. “That’s not a necessary part of the ceremony.” Damning her quivering voice when she wanted to appear unaffected by him, she picked up the silk chemise she slept in and folded it, keeping her hands busy.

  “It’s necessary to me,” he said, coming up behind her.

  He didn’t touch her, but she could feel the heat of his body down the length of her back. The warmth of his breath tickled the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, and the citrusy cologne he wore made her senses spin. Her nerves tripped all over themselves, and a rush of pure, undiluted longing nearly overwhelmed her.

  His hand appeared at the side of her waist, and he gently tugged her nightgown from her idle fingers, depositing the slip of silk into her half-empty suitcase. His large palm flattened on her abdomen, slid gently around her waist, pressing her back to his chest.

  She swallowed hard, but didn’t move.

  “Kissing the bride is a tradition,” he said, his low voice rumbling near her ear. “And it’s a nice way to seal the vows we took.” With a subtle pressure, he coaxed her to turn around in his embrace, keeping their bodies flush by splaying a hand low on her spine. “I’d really like to kiss my bride,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth.

  Her hands curled around his arms, mainly because she didn’t know what to do with them. Through the sensual fog quickly settling over her, she realized that Ford was asking for her permission, not taking what he believed was his due. That knowledge chipped at her will to resist him.

  But she knew what happened when they kissed, knew that every responsible thought short-circuited once their lips touched, and she did very foolish things. She clung to that shred of instinct, tried desperately to ignore the warm, large hand stroking over her bottom, urging her intimately closer.

  “I really don’t think we should.” The husky quality of her voice mocked her words.

  He lowered his head, placing a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth, making her ache for more. His lips skimmed to her neck, the tip of his tongue tasting and teasing . . .

  Her control slipped a serious notch. Closing her eyes, she automatically angled her head, giving his mouth more access to her throat. A delicate shiver coursed through her when he discovered a particularly sensitive spot and nibbled gently. Seemingly of their own accord, her hands fluttered upward, sliding into the hair at the back of his neck to keep him from pulling away.

  “One kiss, Grace,” he whispered, undisguised need roughening his voice. “As man and wife.”

  Her lips parted, but there was no forthcoming protest this time, just breathless anticipation for the pleasure of his tempting, insatiable kisses. His mouth returned to hers, putting a match to the sensual wild fire simmering between them.

  The kiss he gave her was slow and deep, exciting and ravenous, and very thorough. He tasted like the chocolate cream pie Marie had served them after their meal, rich and sensuous and deliciously decadent.

  Searing heat settled in the pit of her belly. As her husband, he took liberties she found too pleasurable to deny him, or herself. While his soft, warm lips kept hers occupied in a series of provocative, heady kisses, he skimmed a hand up her rib cage and filled his palm with her breast through her silk blouse and lacy bra, squeezing gently, then flicked his thumb over the sensitive tip. A tiny moan rumbled in her throat, startling her with the undertones of hunger and need it evoked.

  She wanted Ford, but she didn’t want to want him!

  He must have sensed her shift in mood, because he brought their kiss to an end. By the time he lifted his head, a satisfied smile curved his mouth. “Now I feel married,” he said, a teasing light in his eyes.

  And she felt dazed, and on the brink of surrendering to dangerous emotions. She glanced away, ashamed at her lack of control when it came to Ford.

  His fingers touched her jaw in concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

  She summoned a smile to match how weary she felt. “I’m just tired.”

  His hands settled on the waistband of her skirt, his thumbs brushing alo
ng her slightly curved, firm belly, sending tingles skittering along the surface of her skin. “The baby?” he asked.

  Slipping from his unnerving embrace, and away from his tempting touch, she rubbed her forehead. “It’s been a very long day, Ford.”

  “Grace . . .” He let out a low, frustrated sigh. “I know we started off on the wrong foot, and I know you’re not happy with this situation, but I’m willing to make the best of our marriage. Will you agree to just try and compromise? For the sake of our child?”

  She wanted to ask him if that kiss had been for the sake of their child, but bit back the petty remark. Her emotions and hormones were askew, her heart unsure of what she’d gotten herself into by marrying Ford—a man she’d known all her life, but a stranger she wasn’t quite sure she trusted nonetheless.

  “I’d do anything for this baby,” she said, meaning every word, and giving him a silent promise to try and meet him halfway on marital issues. She grabbed her chemise, robe and toiletry bag. “I think I’ll take a nice warm shower, and turn in for the evening.”

  He gave her a smile that was boyishly charming. “Would you like help scrubbing your back?”

  That treacherous heat unfurled in her belly. “No, thank you.”

  “Can’t blame a husband for asking, especially on his wedding night,” he said, backing toward the door. “If you need me for anything, I’ll be in my office down the hall working.”

  Then he was gone, leaving Grace to spend her wedding night alone.

  Chapter Six

  “Good morning.”

  Grace turned from her task of making herself a second mug of hot tea to go with the toast she’d just ate, the greeting she’d been about to return dissolving on the tip of her tongue.

  Her husband strode very deliberately across the kitchen’s hardwood floor toward her, giving her only a handful of seconds to register the fact that he’d just gotten out of the shower. His dark hair was damp and finger-combed away from his face, and he only wore a pair of soft, faded jeans that enhanced his athletic body. His feet were bare, his chest gloriously naked with dew drops of water still clinging to the light furring of hair that sprinkled its way down to his belly, whorled around his navel, and disappeared into the waistband of his low, hip-riding jeans.