by Susan Crosby
“No.” She watched him shove his hands into his pockets, recalling that he’d done the same thing when he’d greeted his parents. Don’t touch. She knew now where that warning had come from, how long he’d lived with it. She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him close. To comfort. To tell him everything would be all right
“You’re searching for something.” For the childhood you lost, Mollie thought, suddenly sure of it. “Something you miss. Your father?”
“When my mother married James, part of the deal was that he could adopt me, because he couldn’t have children of his own.” He rested his palms on the window frame and looked out at the night. “He nurtured my God-given talents. Gave me opprtunities I might not have had otherwise. I owe him.”
Nurtured? Nurturing meant caring, loving and showing affection. How could he think that James had nurtured him?
She and Gray couldn’t think more differently, Mollie decided, a fact that should have deterred her but didn’t. If anything, she cared even more deeply about him.
“You forfeited your father’s name and history, which hurt you.”
He angled a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. “The way you feel about your mom is how I felt about my dad. He was the best. Good and kind. Fun-loving. He always had time for me. We did a lot together—fishing, playing ball, tinkering with the car. People came and went constantly at our house, stayed for meals. And he always tucked me in bed, kissed me good night.”
“That changed after your mother remarried.”
“More than you would believe. James has been good to me, although not the same as my dad. I do feel an obligation to him. He’s always treated me as his own.”
“Parents shouldn’t make their children feel obligated, Gray. They should just love them.”
He padded across the room and sat beside her, murmuring her name so softly and with such wonder that she could hardly breathe. “I don’t know what to do about you,” he said. “Everything is so clear to you.”
“Not always, but I’m a simple person, Gray, with simple needs.”
“I’m not.”
“I know that Something is tearing you up inside.” She knelt before him, needing to touch him, waiting for him to need her in the same way. She finally touched his clenched fist.
He reached for her, groaning her name, and then he kissed her.
She’d been kissed before, but not like this. Nothing like this. He wrapped his arms around her, dragging her against him as he plundered her mouth, and only her mouth, in a kiss that went on forever, it seemed. Forever. He was her forever. She’d known it the minute he’d walked into her shop. Now her fate was sealed.
He lowered her to the bed, then flattened his body on hers, still kissing her, a beggar feasting at a banquet. He tasted hot and wild and hungry. She could feel him down low, hard, blissfully hard for her. Needing him closer she wrapped her legs around his hips and arched to meet him. He reared up, sucked in a harsh breath.
She wasn’t coherent. His mouth fastened on hers again, stopping the words she attempted, pulling new sounds from her that she didn’t recognize. His skin was moist under her hands as she dragged them down his back, feeling his muscles bunch. Nothing about him was soft—except his lips skimming her neck, then journeying slowly back up to her mouth. This wasn’t just a first kiss, but a lifetime kiss. Promise and fulfillment. Now and always. Nothing had prepared her for the escalating sensations, for her total abandonment, for the love that crushed her heart. Was it really possible to love someone that fast?
He dragged his mouth from hers, then held himself motionless, his breath ragged. Rolling onto his side, he cupped the back of her head and pressed her face against his chest, the gesture so tender, it made her eyes and throat burn. Love and joy and confusion bubbled inside her.
“You don’t do anything halfway,” she said, as he pulled her leg over his hip, bringing their lower bodies back in contact. She felt him, still flatteringly hard. “I didn’t know a kiss could feel like that. Could do all that to me.”
“You’ve been one surprise after another, as well,” Gray said in the understatement of the century. He’d been blindsided by her response—by the way she’d pushed her hips off the bed, not only meeting his but forcing a rhythm he’d had to break. Who would’ve guessed Miss Mollie Sunshine was combustible enough to shoot fire directly into his body?
Moving back a little, he grabbed the sheet and pulled it over her, needing to put a barrier between them, needing to defuse the urgency, to think about something else, something to ice down his need. “I have to go into the office tomorrow,” he said. “If you don’t mind coming with me, I can take care of the most essential business, then we can scout potential locations for the anniversary party.”
She took her time answering, as if his words were in a foreign language requiring translation. “You sure can turn it off as fast as you turn it on,” she grumbled, turning her back to him, flouncing a little.
He heard the blunt tone of voice, the accusation that lingered. She was wrong. He wanted her. Ached with wanting her. But he wouldn’t make love to her in his parents’ house.
He climbed out of the bed, once again wishing he’d taken her to his hotel, instead—and grateful he hadn’t. Had he really known her only five days?
When he reached the doorway, he turned. “Do you want me to leave the door open?”
“I’m not afraid of the dark.”
His mouth twitched at her indignant tone.
“I don’t have nightmares, either,” she continued, “so you don’t have to worry about coming in here in the middle of the night to comfort me.”
He grinned. Spamng with her had become the highlight of his life. “I’ll shut the door, then.” He grabbed the knob.
“It isn’t fair,” she complained.
“What isn’t?”
“You come in here and get me all riled up, then off you go, not a care in the world! You came, you kissed, you left.”
“I was as riled up as you. Men can’t hide that. What do you want from me, Mollie?”
She sighed. “I don’t know.”
The intricacies of her mind intrigued him. “Stopping was the right thing to do,” he said.
“I suppose. Good night.”
He didn’t lie down but stared out his bedroom window for a long tune, contemplating the hole he’d dug for himself. He’d pursued the downfall of Stuart Fortune without letting consequences block his path. Now Mollie sat squarely in the middle of the narrowing road. He couldn’t step over or around her on the final leg. She would need to be beside him.
Hell, he needed her, too. When the end came, they might have only each other, all bridges burned behind them.
Only each other. Something of my own. The phrases danced a bit, then mingled. Merged. Burned.
Finally he slept.
“Marry me.”
The air between Gray and Mollie snapped and crackled. They were seated in his car at the private airstrip where they’d landed the day before. It was 6:00 p.m. He’d canceled her commercial flight home in the middle of the night when he’d come to his decision to propose.
“What?” Mollie asked, her voice filled with the same shock reflected on her face.
He was amazed at his calmness. Everything was clear now. Stuart Fortune had to fall, but his tumble would throw Mollie’s life into a tailspin. She would need protection from the inevitable pain and disillusionment ahead of her when she learned that Stuart was her father—and protection was something Gray could provide. When the press moved in, he would build a fort around her, keeping her safe, something her father should have done.
But marriage is for life.
Yeah. So?
“Marry me,” he said, more insistently, ignoring the voice in his head. “We can stop in Las Vegas on the way back to Minneapolis.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Serious, sober and not asking out of sexual frustration, in case you’re wondering. Although t
hat’s part of it.” If she needed coaxing, he would coax. But she was alone in the world and earned barely enough to support herself. She could accept his proposal for security and companionship, if nothing else, as his mother had with his stepfather. Experience had taught Gray that marriage wasn’t only for the love-struck. Other reasons mattered She wanted a family so much she could taste it. She’d said so.
“I can’t leave you alone, I admit that. We rile each other up, and the tension will become unbearable. But there’s more, Molhe. It feels right. Everything about it feels right.”
She stared at him for a long time. “I need to think about this,” she said, finally, her voice strained.
“Take your time. I’ll take the luggage to the plane.”
Mollie watched him walk away from the car a minute later, a suitcase in each hand. He disappeared into the jet, not looking back, not hesitating. Exactly how much time did she have to make this life-altering decision?
She should have insisted on knowing his reasons other than that it “feels right.” Why hadn’t she asked why he proposed?
Do you really want the answer to that?
She entwined her fingers. Maybe not. She was more than a little in love with him, but he hadn’t mentioned the word—although he probably couldn’t verbalize it anyway, given his upbringing. He hardly touched her beyond what courtesy required, unless they were kissing. She rubbed her temples, concentrating on the bigger picture.
Surely he wouldn’t propose marriage, a lifetime commitment, without loving her a little?
Hopeless romantic The words taunted her. She pushed her hair out of her face, then rested her hands against the back of her neck. There was no one in her life to object or consent to the marriage. Except for the fact they’d known each other less than a week, she couldn’t think of any reason to say no. Some explanation existed for why she’d obsessed about his photograph in the newspaper. And there was some rationalization for why he’d come so coincidentally into her life. Maybe there was such a thing as destiny. Or maybe angels could assist mortals, after all.
It could be that he’d been sent to her specifically so that his life would change from something sterile and all-business to one of warmth and affection and love, which he seemed to be starving for A lot of people recognized his analytical and brilliant mind, his power and status. But had anyone recognized how lonely he was? Or were his eyes mirrors reflecting her own loneliness, her own hunger for someone to love and for someone to love her. Her need to raise her own family—with both a mother and father.
She wanted to belong to him, body and soul. She wanted the right to touch him, to hold him, to be held
She saw him then, standing in the open hatch of the plane, waiting. He wasn’t making this easy on her. She wished he would come open the car door, take her hand and help her out, then guide her straight into his arms She wished he would tell her he loved her, needed her. Was his wanting her enough for now? A line from her mother’s journal popped into her mind: “I shouldn’t have married him thinking I would change him.”
Karen had found out the hard way that people don’t change, except to reveal more weaknesses. Yet, Gray wasn’t cruel like her mother’s husband had been. He wouldn’t hurt her. The worst that could happen would be that he never opened up emotionally. Could she live with that?
Oh, she wanted to try. She had so much love inside her, all bundled up and waiting to burst out and straight into him. She wanted to fill him with love and tenderness and laughter. She wanted his life to be bright and happy, everything that it hadn’t been. She wanted the chance to show him that nurturing meant caring, loving unconditionally, being there through good times and bad, not expecting more than he could give.
Pollyanna. A rebellious inner voice muttered the word in an exasperated tone.
Mollie opened the car door, shut it firmly behind her, then walked to the plane. Up the stairs. He waited, his gaze on hers, patient, gentle, with barely a flicker of anticipation—or was it wariness?—in his eyes.
She stopped on the top step. He didn’t move to let her pass by.
“I love you,” she said. Undaunted by how he stiffened, she took his hands in hers. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Nine
Her declaration of love sliced through Gray’s equilibrium like a guillotine. Words eluded him. How could she love him when she didn’t know him? She must have given him a stamng role in some romantic fantasy—and the death of any fantasy was brutal, particularly to someone young and trusting and lonely. He knew that better than most, he supposed.
Being a practical man, he knew he couldn’t return those fantasy feelings. Being a man of conscience—toward Mollie, at least—he knew he should rescind the proposal rather than put her through everything he had planned, particularly now that she fantasized herself being in love. Conscience or practicality? Which carried the most weight?
The decision was taken out of his hands when she smiled at him, her eyes warm and welcoming, her tender hands touching him, offering comfort and peace. So he kissed her, knowing she needed to hear words of love in return, knowing they weren’t in him to say. Love was too fleeting, too fragile, too risky. Risk didn’t belong in personal relationships.
But hope drifted around him like a feather floating and tickling and brushing against his heart as Mollie snuggled against him after the kiss ended.
“We need to get up in the air,” he said, distracted by the scent of her hair, which oddly aroused and relaxed him at the same time. Not only would he get to make love with her, he would get to sleep beside her. All night. Every night.
She preceded him into the plane and immediately took her seat. He left her to buckle herself in as he opened the cockpit door to speak to the pilot, then he took a folder from his briefcase, sat beside her and met her gaze. Starry-eyed. He finally knew what that meant.
“I have a few questions,” she said.
“Go ahead.”
“Am I part of your rebellion?”
The plane rumbled as it moved toward the runway. “Meaning?”
“You know your mother won’t approve of me as your wife. Is that why you asked?”
“No.” He leaned toward her. “Absolutely not.” Or was it...?
She sat silent for a minute, then said, “I don’t want to give up my shop.”
He took note of her defensive tone. “I won’t ask you to. But I hope you’ll let me help you make it easier to run. And I hope you’ll hire some help.”
“I’d already decided to do that, with or without your input. I’ve got interviews set up for tomorrow with three women who’ve come by looking for work since Mom died.”
The plane gathered speed, then lifted. They were airborne.
“I’m afraid I could get used to this life of luxury,” she said, looking out the window. “I suppose I should have asked this question before I said yes to your proposal, but where will we live?”
“Not in California. I resigned as CEO today.” So far, only his stepfather knew, but he would announce it to the board of directors next week.
One week closer to freedom.
“Good,” Mollie said, squeezing his hand, her face serious. “That job was killing your soul.”
He had a soul? “It’ll take a few months before I can abdicate all responsibility, not counting the time my parents will spend trying to change my mind. I’ll be linked to the company forever, anyway, because of my software designs, but I intend to settle in Minneapolis. I’m moving forward on my plans for that company I told you about.”
“What kind of business is it?”
He hesitated. Would she recognize it as a Fortune company? He needed to know the answer to that question. “It’s called Knight Star Systems. They design and manufacture security systems.”
When she didn’t show signs of recognition, he opened the folder, withdrew a sheet of paper and passed it to her. “I started on the wedding arrangements.”
She sat back in the seat, surprise in her pretty green eyes.
“When?”
“While you were touring McGuire Enterprises earlier today.”
“You were that confident?”
“If it was going to happen today in Las Vegas, I had to be prepared. Nothing was done that couldn’t be undone.”
Mollie read the neatly typed notes, wishing she could cuddle up next to him. This was beginning to feel like a business deal. Which, she reminded herself, was one of the reasons why she was marrying him. He needed her to balance his dreary, business side.
“You can call the florist from here and tell her what you want,” he said, making notes in the margins of his own paperwork. “The next number connects you with a woman who will try to track down a dress to your liking.”
Mollie shook her head and laughed softly.
He looked up. “What’s the joke?”
“Don’t you find it just a little ironic that the wedding planner doesn’t get to plan her own wedding?”
“I didn’t commit to anything. I just researched and lined up people, just in case. You’ll get to make all the choices.”
“Las Vegas.” She sighed. “I hope the wedding won’t be at a place with Elvis in neon lights.”
He smiled. “It’s a chapel on the strip, but it’s one used by people who require confidentiality We should be able to announce the marriage ourselves, instead of the press treating it like a circus. Only the best for you, Mollie Sunshine.”
Mollie Sunshine? Oh, she liked that “The chapel is famous for confidentiality?” she asked. “But the paparazzi haven’t caught on?”
He grinned.
She rubbed her face with her hands. “Your father probably hates me. The way I figure it, he blames me for you quitting. And your mother is going to die. She’ll be furious at being excluded from the plans. I’m sure she wanted a big, splashy, society wedding, like the one I’m planning for Chloe Fortune and Mason Chandler.”
“She liked you.”
“How could you tell?” Mollie dialed the first number. “Her expression never changed.”
“I know her better than you. I could tell.”