An Outrageous Proposal

by Maureen Child

Awkward. “Well, don’t hold that against me. I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

  Ailish only smiled. “Now why would you want to do that?”

  Georgia sighed. The woman was Sean’s mother. How was she supposed to tell the poor woman that her son was a moron? A gorgeous, sexy, funny moron? There was just no polite way to do it, so Georgia only said, “There’s no future in it for me, Ailish. Sean’s a nice guy—” surely she was scoring Brownie points with the universe here “—but we—I—it just didn’t work out.”

  “Yet.” Ailish inspected her impeccable manicure, then folded her hands on her lap. “I’ve a great fondness for you, Georgia, and I’m sure my son does, as well.”

  God. Could she just bash her own head against a wall until she passed out? That would be more pleasant than this conversation. “Thank you. I like you, too, really. But Ailish, Sean doesn’t love me. There is no happy ending here.”

  “But if there were, you’d take it?”

  Her heart twisted painfully in her chest. A happy ending? Sure, she’d love one. Maybe she should go out into the faery wood and make a wish on the full moon, as Sean had told her.

  “Well?” the woman urged. “If my son loved you, then would you have him?”

  Oh, she would have him so fast, his head would spin. She would wrap herself around him and let herself drown in the glory of being loved, really loved, by the only man she wanted. Which was about as likely to happen as stumbling across calorie-free chocolate.

  “He doesn’t, so the question is pointless.”

  “But I notice you didn’t answer it.”

  “Ailish…” Such a nice woman. Georgia just didn’t have the heart to tell her that it had all been a game. A stupid, ridiculous game cooked up by a worried son.

  “You’ve a kind heart, Georgia.” Ailish rose, walked to her and gave her a brief, hard hug. Emotion clogged Georgia’s throat. She really could have used a hug from her own mother, so Ailish was filling a raw need at the moment. She would have loved this woman as a mother-in-law.

  Ailish pulled back then and patted Georgia’s cheek. “As I said, you’ve a kind heart. And a strong spirit. Strong enough, I think, to shake Sean’s world up in all the right ways.”

  Georgia opened her mouth to speak, but Ailish cut her off.

  “Don’t say anything else, dear. Once spoken, some words are harder to swallow than others.” She tucked her purse beneath her arm, touched one hand to her perfect hair and then headed for the door. “I’m glad I came today.”

  “Me, too,” Georgia said. And she was. In spite of everything, these few minutes with Sean’s mother had eased a few of the ragged edges inside her heart.

  “I’ll see you tonight at dinner, dear.” Ailish left and the bell over Georgia’s door tinkled into the sudden stillness.

  * * *

  It was cold, and the wind blowing in from the ocean was damp. But Laura’s house was warm and bright, with a fire burning in the hearth and Beast and Deidre curled up together in front of it. The two dogs were inseparable, Georgia mused, watching as Beast lay his ugly muzzle down on top of Deidre’s head.

  Now here was an example of a romance between the Irish and a Yank that had turned out well. So well that, together, the two dogs had made puppies that would be born sometime around Christmas.

  Stooping to stroke Beast’s head and scratch behind his ears, Georgia told herself that she would adopt one of the pups and she’d have her own Beast junior. She wouldn’t be alone then. And she could pour all the love she had stored up to give on a puppy that would love her back.

  “Thanks for that,” she murmured, and Beast turned his head just far enough to lick her hand.

  “Georgia,” Laura called, and peeked into the room from the hallway. “Would you do me a favor and go to the wine cellar? Ronan forgot to bring up the red he’s picked out for dinner, and I’d like it open and breathing before Ailish gets here.”

  “Sure,” she answered, straightening up. “Where is it?”

  “Oh. Um,” Laura worried her bottom lip. “He, um, said he set it out, so you should find it easily enough.”

  “Motherhood’s making you a little odd, honey,” Georgia said with a smile.

  Laura grinned. “Worth every burnt-out brain cell.”

  “I bet.” Georgia was still smiling as she walked down the hall and made the turn to the stairs.

  This family dinner idea of Laura’s was good, she told herself. Nice to get out of her house. To get away from Dunley and all the well-meaning villagers who continued to sing Sean’s praises.

  As she opened the heavy oak door and stepped into the dimly lit wine cellar, she thought she heard something behind her. Georgia turned and looked up at Ronan as he stepped out of the shadows. “Ronan?”

  He gave her an apologetic look then closed the door.

  “Hey!” she called, “Ronan, what’re you doing?”

  On the other side, the key turned in the lock and she grabbed the doorknob, twisting it uselessly. If this was a joke, it was a bad one. Slapping her hand against the door, she shouted, “Ronan, what’s going on here?”

  “’Tis for your own good, Georgia,” he called back, voice muffled.

  “What is?”

  “I am,” Sean said from behind her.

  * * *

  She whirled around so fast, she nearly lost her balance. Sean reached out to steady her but she jumped away from his touch as if he were a leper. He buried the jolt of anger that leaped to the base of his throat and stuffed his hands into his pockets, to keep from reaching for her again only to be rebuffed.

  “What’re you doing here?” Georgia demanded.

  “Waiting for you,” he said tightly. Hell, he’d been in the blasted wine cellar for more than an hour, awaiting her arrival for the family dinner he’d had Laura arrange.

  The cellar was cool, with what looked like miles of wooden racks filled with every kind of wine you could imagine. Pale lights overhead spilled down on them, creating shadows and the air was scented by the wood, by the wine and, Sean thought…by her.

  Having Ronan lock her inside with him had been his only choice. Otherwise the stubborn woman would have escaped him and they’d never say the things that had to be said.

  “I’ve been waiting awhile for you. Opened a bottle of wine. Would you like some?”

  She folded her arms across her middle, pulling at the fabric of her shirt, defining the curve of her breasts in a way that made his mouth water for her. With supreme effort he turned from the view and poured her a glass without waiting for her answer.

  He handed it to her and she drank down half of it as if it were medicine instead of a lovely pinot.

  “What do you want, Sean?” she said, voice tight, features closed to him.

  “Five bloody minutes of your time, if it’s all the same to you,” he answered, then took a sip of his own wine, telling himself that he was supposed to be the cool head here.

  But looking at her as she stood in front of him, it took everything in him to stand his ground and not grab her up and kiss her until she forgot how furious she was with him and simply surrendered.

  “Fine. Go.” She checked the dainty watch on her wrist. “Five minutes.”

  Unexpectedly, he laughed. A harsh scrape of sound that shot from his throat like a bullet. “By God, you’re the woman for me,” he said, with a shake of his head. “You’ll actually time me, won’t you?”

  “And am,” she assured him. “Four and a half minutes now.”

  “Right then.” He tossed back the rest of his wine and felt a lovely burn of fire in its wake. Setting the glass down, he forgot all about the words he’d practiced and blurted out, “When a man asks a woman to be his wife, he expects better than for her to turn on him like a snake.”

  She glanced at the watch again. “And when a woman hears a proposal, she sort of expects to hear something about ‘love’ in there somewhere.”

  This was the point that had chewed at him for three days. “And did your not-s
o-lamented Mike, ex-husband and all-around bastard, give you pretty words of love?” Sean took a step closer and noted with some irritation that she stepped back. “Did he promise to be faithful, to love you always?”

  A gleam of tears swamped her eyes and in the pale light, he watched as she ferociously blinked them back. “That was low.”

  “Aye, it was,” he admitted, and cursed himself for the fool Ronan thought him to be. But at the same time, he bristled. “I didn’t give you the words, but I gave you the promise. And I keep my promises. And if you weren’t such a stubborn twit, you’d have realized that I wouldn’t propose unless there were feelings there.”

  “Three and a half minutes,” she announced, then added, “Even stubborn twits want to hear about those ‘feelings’ beyond ‘I’ve a caring for you, Georgia.’”

  He winced at the reminder of his own words. She’d given him “love”; he’d given her “caring.” Maybe he was a fool. But that wasn’t the point. “You should have known what I meant without me having to say it. Let me remind you again that your lying, miserable ex used the word love and it meant nothing.”

  “At least he had the courage to say it, even though his version of love was sadly lacking!”

  Her eyes were hot balls of fury and perversely, Sean was as aroused by that as he was by everything else about her.

  It tore at him, what she’d said. He had lacked the courage to say what he felt. But no more.

  Pouring himself more wine, he took a long drink. “I won’t be compared to a man who couldn’t see you for the treasure you are, Georgia Page. In spite of your miserable temper and your stubbornness that makes a rock look agreeable in comparison.”

  “And I won’t be told what I should do for ‘my own good.’ Not by you and not by the villagers you’ve no doubt paid to sing your praises to me for the last three days.”

  “I didn’t pay them!” He took a gulp of wine and set the glass down again. “That was our family’s doing. I only found out about it tonight. Ailish and Laura sent Ronan off to do their bidding. He talked to Maeve, who then told every mother’s son and daughter for miles to go to you with tales of my wondrousness.” He glared at her. “For all the good that seems to have done.

  “Besides,” he added, “I’ve no need to bribe anyone because everyone else in my bloody life can plainly see what’s in my heart without a bleeding map!”

  “Yeah?” Georgia snapped with a glance at her watch. “Two minutes. Well, I do need a map. So tell me. Flat out, what is in your heart?”

  “Love!” He threw both hands high and let them drop again. Irritated, frustrated beyond belief, he shouted it again. “Love! I love you. Have for weeks. Maybe longer,” he mused, “but I can’t be sure as you’re turning me into a crazy man even as we’re standing here!”

  She smiled at him and his heart turned over.

  “Oh, aye,” he nodded grimly. “Now she smiles on me with benevolence, now that she’s got me just where she wants me. Half mad with love and desire and the crushing worry that she’ll walk away from me and leave me to go through the rest of my life without her scent flavoring my every breath. Without the taste of her lingering on my lips. Without the soft brush of her skin against mine. This she smiles for.”

  “Sean…”

  “Rather than proposing, I should be committed. What I feel for you has destroyed my control. I feel so much for you, Georgia, it’s all I can think of, dream of. I want to marry you. Make a family with you. Be your lover, your friend, the father of your children. Because I bloody well love you and if you can’t see that, then too bloody bad because I won’t be walking away from you. Ever.”

  “Sean…”

  “I’m not the bloody clown you once pledged yourself to,” he added, stabbing the air with his finger as he jabbed it at her. “You’ll not compare me to him ever again.”

  “No,” she said, still smiling.

  “How much time have I left?”

  “One minute,” she said.

  “Fine, then.” He looked into those twilight eyes, and everything in him rushed toward the only happiness he would ever want or need. “Here it is, all laid out for you. I love you. And you bloody well love me. And you’re damn well going to marry me at the first opportunity. And if you don’t like that plan, you can spend the next fifty years complaining about it to me. But you will be mine. Make no mistake about that.”

  “You’re nuts,” Georgia said finally when the silence stretched out, humming with tension, with love, with the fraught emotions tangled up between them.

  “I’ve said as much already, haven’t I?”

  “You have. And I love it.”

  He narrowed his gaze on her. “Is that right?”

  “I do. I love everything about you, crazy man. I love how you look at me. I love that you think you can tell me what to do.”

  He scowled but, looking into her eyes, the dregs of his temper drained away, leaving him with only the love that had near choked him since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.

  “And I will marry you,” she said, stepping into his arms. “On December twenty-second.”

  Gathering her up close, he asked, “Why the delay?”

  “Because that way, Maeve wins the pool at the pub.”

  “You’re a devious girl, Georgia,” he said. “And perfect for me in every way.”

  “And don’t you forget it,” she said, grinning up at him.

  “How much time have I got left?” he asked.

  Never taking her gaze from his, she pulled her wristwatch off and tossed it aside. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

  “That won’t be enough,” he whispered, and kissed her long and deep, until all the dark places inside him turned to blinding light.

  Then he lifted his head and said softly, “Tá tú an-an croí orm.”

  She smiled and smoothed her fingertips across his cheek. “What does that mean?”

  He kissed her fingers and told her, “‘You’re the very heart of me.’”

  On a sigh, Georgia whispered, “Back atcha.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Up Close and Personal by Maureen Child!

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  One

  “Laura, I know you’re in there!”

  Ronan Connolly pounded on the brightly painted blue front door a few more times, then paused to listen. Not a sound from inside the house, though he knew too well that Laura was in there. Hell, he could practically feel her, standing just on the other side of the damned door.

  Bloody hardheaded woman. How had he ever thought that quality attractive? Now that attractive hardheadedness had come back to bite him in the ass.

  Seconds ticked past and there was no sound from within, which only irritated him further. He glanced at the sunshine-yellow Volkswagen parked alongside the house—her car—then glared again at the still-closed front door.

  “You won’t convince me you’re not at home. Your bloody car is parked in the street, Laura.”

  Her voice came then, muffled but clear. “It’s a driveway in America, Ronan. You’re not in Ireland, remember?”

  “More’s the pity.” He scrubbed one hand across his face and rolled his eyes in frustration. If they were in Ireland right now, he’d have half the village of Dunley on his side and he’d bloody
well get her to open the damned door.

  “I heard that,” she said. “And feel free to hop onto one of your private planes and go back to Connolly-land anytime you feel like it!”

  If only he could, Ronan thought. But he’d come to California to open an American branch of his business and until Cosain was running as it should, he was going nowhere at all.

  At the moment though, he was tired, on edge and in no mood to be dealing with more females. Especially one with a head as hard as Laura’s.

  He had spent the past six weeks traveling across Europe acting as bodyguard to a sixteen-year-old pop star whose singing was only slightly less annoying than her attitude. Between the girl and her grasping mother, Ronan had been more than ready for the job to end so he could get back to his life. Now that he was back, he’d expected peace. Orderliness. Instead…

  Grinding his teeth together, he took a long moment or two and counted to ten. Then did it a second time. “Whatever the hell you want to call it, Laura, your car is here and so’re you.”

  “I might have been out,” she shouted. “Did you ever think of that? I do have friends, you know.”

  The Connolly temper lifted a couple notches inside him and Ronan was forced to fight it back down.

  “But you’re not out, are you?” he asked, entirely reasonably, and he gave himself points for it. “You’re here, driving me to distraction and making me shout at a bloody closed door like I’m the village idiot turned loose on his own for the first time.”

  “You don’t have to shout, I can hear you,” she said, her voice carrying nicely through the door.

  Laura Page lived on a tidy street in Huntington Beach, California, in one of a dozen town houses built to look like a Cape Cod village. When he’d first seen her place, he’d thought it charming. Now he glared at the building as if it were to blame for his current situation.

  A cool ocean breeze shot down the narrow street and rattled the limbs of the nearly naked elm tree in Laura’s front yard. Roiling gray clouds overhead promised a storm soon, and he hoped to hell he wasn’t still standing on this bleeding porch when it hit.

  “Your neighbors can hear me, too,” he pointed out with a brief nod at the man clipping his hedge with enough vigor to whittle it into a toothpick. “Why not open the door and we can talk this out. Together. In private.”