And realized that she’d nearly emptied the glass of wine he’d so foolishly left sitting on the table.
“Abigail!”
With her hands folded primly in her lap, she straightened her shoulders and looked at him. Her glasses were tilted on her straight little nose, and the expression on her face was one of complete innocence. In a very strange way she looked kind of cute, Callan thought.
Rather than straighten her glasses, he reached over and took them off, then set them on the table. Her eyes were big and wide as she blinked at him, then hiccuped. He couldn’t help but smile. “Abigail, tell me why you quit.”
Her gaze dropped to her lap. “I had to. With Aunt Ruby and Aunt Emerald coming in tomorrow, they would have found out.”
“Found out what?”
“That we’re not engaged.”
“But we’re not engaged.”
“Exactly.” She threw a hand up in the air and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness you understand.”
But he didn’t. Not at all. “Abigail, why do your aunts think that you and I are engaged?”
“Well, I told them we were, of course. Why else would they think such a thing?”
Well, of course. Silly me. He counted to five, then drew in a slow breath. “And why did you tell them we were engaged?”
“What else was I supposed to do? They would have canceled their cruise, maybe even insisted on moving in with me here. I had to do something.”
“They would have canceled their cruise and moved in with you if we weren’t engaged?” He shook his head in confusion. “Why?”
Leaning in close to him, she whispered, “They think I need a man.”
Ah. He almost—just almost—thought he was beginning to understand. “They do?”
She nodded. “We lived together for two years in New York after I finished college, but it got so bad I finally moved here to Bloomfield County.”
He saw her eyeing the wineglass in front of him, and he scooted it out of her reach. “What got so bad?”
“The men. Every week they’d bring home their latest catch for me. Sometimes if my aunts didn’t coordinate, there would be two men at the same time.” She held up two fingers to emphasize, and her eyes crossed as she stared at them. “Imagine every time you turned around there were women all over the place. How would you feel?”
He thought about that for a moment and decided she really didn’t want an answer to that question. “Why can’t you just tell your aunts the truth?”
She snorted in laughter, then covered her mouth. “You don’t know my aunts. They’ve been mother hens since my own mother—their sister—died six years ago. They won’t rest until I’m married and have a family of my own. The only reason they’ve left me alone so long was because of you.”
“Me?”
“Our engagement.”
“Oh, yes.” He’d nearly forgotten about that. “And how did you happen to pick me to be the lucky guy?”
“Well, I had to have someone,” she said as if he’d missed the obvious. “I don’t know anyone else here.”
How flattering to know he’d been chosen because there wasn’t anyone else. “You could have made someone up,” he suggested.
“That would be a big lie. I’m not good with big lies. There’s too much to remember, and I always trip myself up. I’m much better with little lies.”
He didn’t exactly think that Abigail telling her aunts they were engaged was a “little” lie, but that wasn’t important right now. Getting her back to work for him was.
“You could have told me this, Abigail.” Callan took her hands in his. He was amazed at how soft and warm they were. “We would have figured something out.”
She stared down at their joined hands. “You think I’m pathetic.”
Oh, no, Callan groaned inwardly. The feminine mind sober was a perilous thing, but on a Long Island iced tea, it was downright dangerous. The only thing more dangerous could be his response. “Of course I don’t think you’re pathetic.”
“Yes, you do.” She yanked her hands from his and stood, though unsteadily. “You think I’m a pathetic prude.”
Shoulders squared, she moved past him. She was halfway through her living room when he caught her arm and turned her around to face him. “Abigail, please—”
She shrugged off his hand. “For your information, Mr. Sinclair, if I really wanted a man, I could find one. I’m not as big a prude as you think I am.”
“Abigail, I don’t—”
She tugged off her jacket and threw it on the floor. “I have a nice enough body.” She reached for the buttons on her already-half-opened blouse.
“Abigail—”
“See?” She opened her blouse and stared down at herself. Her mint-green bra was lace and satin. “They aren’t so bad.”
So bad? His blood shot to his head, then straight down below his waist. Good Lord, she was beautiful. He was only human, for God’s sake. He stared wide-eyed for a full two seconds, then closed his open mouth and pulled the front of her blouse together. His hands were shaking as he closed the top button.
She slumped against him. “Who am I trying to kid?” she said softly, closing her eyes. “I am a prude. I’ve always been a prude. I’ll always be a prude. Abigail Thomas, Queen of the Prudes.”
With a sigh, Callan cupped her chin in his hands and lifted her face to his. “Abigail, I don’t think you’re a prude.”
Her eyes, glazed-green, opened slowly. “You don’t?”
She looked at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips wide and lush. How could he have never noticed those lips before? he thought. They were incredible. He felt a strange kick in his pulse as he stared down at her. Her skin was pale against his, so smooth and soft. When her eyes closed and her lips parted ever so slightly, he found himself drawn downward, closer…closer…
Good Lord!
He pulled back. This was Abigail, for Heaven’s sake. He couldn’t kiss Abigail.
It had to be the stress of her quitting and his exhaustion from working all day, Callan decided. He wasn’t firing on all his cylinders at the moment. Abigail was his secretary, or at least, she had been his secretary. Which reminded him why he was here in the first place.
He wanted her back.
“Abigail.”
“Hmm?” she murmured, her eyes still closed.
“We need to talk.”
“You want to talk?” Her eyes fluttered open again.
When she swayed against him, he walked her to the sofa and pulled her down onto the soft cushions. He was too dirty to sit, but when he spotted a cotton afghan on the arm of the couch, he spread it out, then sat down on top of it.
“I need you, Abigail,” he said gently.
She looked at him, then blinked. “You do?”
“You’re the best secretary I ever had. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Oh. I see.” She laid her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair, but I can’t come back. I just can’t.”
Callan watched Abigail’s head drift to the side. He would let her rest for a few minutes, he decided, then they’d finish this conversation. Before this night was over, she’d say yes. He was certain of that.
He wasn’t about to let her go. Whatever it took, Callan intended to have Miss Abigail Thomas back where she belonged.
Abigail woke slowly. She couldn’t imagine where the cotton in her mouth had come from. Or the subtle pounding in her temple. That was odd, as well. But certainly not as odd as the steady heartbeat she heard rising from her pillow.
Eyes closed, she listened for a moment. There it was, as loud as if she were listening through a stethoscope. Ba-bump…ba-bump…ba-bump… Deep and steady, it pounded in her ear.
She felt a little stiff and sore, and though it took a moment for her eyes to register the command from her foggy brain, they opened slowly. Blue cotton and white buttons stared back at her.
What in the world?
That’
s when she heard the voices. Soft whispers. They seemed very distant, and distinctly familiar.
“He’s a handsome one, don’t you think?”
“Oh, dear me, yes. He looks a lot like Emmett, my leading man from Oklahoma. Heavens, that must have been twenty years ago.”
“His name was Ethan, it was thirty years ago, and they don’t look anything alike. This young man is much more handsome, though he does look a little ragged around the edges. Oh, look, I do believe our Sleeping Beauty is waking up. She has one eye open.”
This has to be a dream, Abigail thought. Dear God, please let it be a dream. Breath held, she opened both eyes.
And slammed them shut again.
She was on the sofa, lying across Mr. Sinclair’s chest. Her blouse was open.
No, no, no, no, no.
“Good morning, Abby, dear,” Aunt Emerald and Aunt Ruby bubbled at the same time.
Three
They stood beside each other, the quintessential Mutt and Jeff, and smiled down at her. Ruby was the taller of the two, with curly, tomato-red hair she always wore swept up, robust blue eyes and a thunderous voice that could set off a car alarm. Emerald was a pageboy platinum-blonde with big green eyes that always looked surprised and a generous smile that stretched wide across her pale, yet remarkably young-looking face. They were both dressed in a kaleidoscope of bright flowing gauze and dozens of matching plastic bracelets.
Eyes now wide open, Abigail stared at her aunts, then lifted her head and looked at the man whose arms were wrapped around her. Her heart slammed in her chest. She vaguely remembered sitting on the sofa with him last night, but she had no idea how she’d ended up here in his arms. In his arms, for Heaven’s sake! Thank God he was still sleeping, she thought, and carefully tried to slip under his embrace. He mumbled softly and tightened his hold.
She bit back the groan hovering in her throat and gave her aunts a weak smile. They smiled back brightly.
With her dignity long past the point of resurrection, Abigail wiggled gently and eased herself, inch by inch, out from under her boss’s—ex-boss’s, she reminded herself—arms. She’d nearly escaped when he gave a soft snort, then opened his eyes. He stared at her in surprise, then glanced at Ruby and Emerald.
“Good morning,” her aunts boomed in unison.
With a look of panic, he catapulted from the couch. Caught off balance, Abigail tumbled to the floor.
“Oh, dear.” Emerald pressed a hand to her chest.
“Heavens.” Ruby frowned.
Callan dragged a hand through his rumpled hair, then his gaze shifted from the two startled women back down to Abigail.
“Sorry,” he said awkwardly, offering Abigail a hand. Her blouse fell open as he pulled her to her feet. He paled, then turned red. He’s blushing, Abigail thought in amazement and quickly pulled her blouse closed. Mr. Sinclair was actually embarrassed.
And as she remembered why her blouse was open, she felt her own cheeks burn. Ohmigod, she thought with a silent groan. The memory of her near strip-tease sucked the breath from her lungs. Quickly she buttoned her blouse, desperately wishing that the sofa would open up and swallow her whole.
But she would deal with what happened last night later. First she had her aunts to contend with.
“Aunt Emerald, Aunt Ruby.” Abigail’s voice cracked. She straightened the front of her misbuttoned blouse, then cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”
“We told you we were coming, dear,” Ruby said, though her gaze was still locked on Callan. “Have you forgotten?”
Abigail glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s only seven-thirty in the morning. I was supposed to pick you up at the airport this afternoon at one-thirty. Flight 312, Gate 22.”
“Oh, that.” Emerald waved a hand of dismissal. “We took an earlier flight. Ruby was supposed to tell you.”
“I was not.” Bracelets clacked loudly as Ruby jammed her hands on her well-endowed hips and frowned at her sister. “You were supposed to. I called for the taxi.”
“You’re arguing again, Ruby.” Forever smiling, Emerald faced her sister and waved a finger at her, which also set her own bracelets clacking.
Great, Abigail thought. Just what I need right now—dueling bracelets.
“It doesn’t matter,” Abigail interjected before the discussion could escalate. And knowing her aunts, it most certainly would. Awkwardly she leaned forward and hugged each of them. “It’s…it’s wonderful to see you.”
In spite of the situation, Abigail was surprised that she actually meant it. Her aunts might be eccentric and flamboyant, but she loved them both. They cooed over her, smoothed her hair and kissed her cheek, then glanced at the man whose arms she’d been in less than five minutes ago.
Abigail drew in a deep breath, then said in a rush, “Aunt Emerald, Aunt Ruby, this is Mr. Sinclair.”
Two sets of confused eyes looked back at her. “Mr. Sinclair?”
“My employer.” As delicately as possible she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I believe I told you about him.”
“You call your fiancé Mr. Sinclair?” Ruby asked.
She bit the inside of her lip. Time to face the piper.
She sucked in another deep breath. “He’s not—”
“—Mr. Sinclair to you lovely ladies, of course,” he said smoothly. “It’s Callan.”
Breath held, Abigail watched as he moved beside her and casually slipped an arm around her shoulders. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and gave her a pinch. “Sometimes Abby can be such a tease.”
Shocked, Abigail stared up at “Callan.” He’d called her “Abby” and said she was a “tease?” She had to be having a hallucination. Some bizarre aftermath of too much alcohol. But when he squeezed her shoulder, he certainly didn’t feel like a hallucination. He felt strong and solid.
“Abby’s told me so much about you both,” he went on. “I realize how strange this must look, finding us like this, but the truth is, we were up so late last night talking about your visit, we fell asleep right here. Isn’t that right, Abby?”
Well, technically his explanation was correct, Abigail supposed, and looked back at her aunts. They beamed with pleasure.
She smiled weakly at them and shifted from one bare foot to the other. Obviously, part of taking off her clothes had included her shoes. “Well, actually, Aunties, the truth is—”
“The truth is,” Callan said, interrupting again, then paused and leaned toward her aunts as he whispered, “Abby had a little too much to drink last night. She never could hold her alcohol very well, you know.”
Emerald and Ruby glanced at each other and nodded compassionately, then Ruby said, “It’s a recessive gene in her father’s side of the family, I’m afraid. The Bliss side of the family is quite tolerant of the spirits, though we only partake on special occasions, of course, and even then with the utmost discretion.”
Abigail choked back a laugh. Discretion was hardly a word that was used synonymously with the Bliss name, and as far as special occasions, the sun rising and setting every day would most likely be considered special to her aunts. But it certainly was true that they were able to consume endless amounts of liquor without any of the side effects that plagued most people, including herself.
Especially herself, Abigail thought as the memory of the previous night began to emerge all too vividly in her mind.
She’d shown him her breasts, for Heaven’s sake. What he must think of her, exposing herself like that to him. How could she ever face him again?
She couldn’t.
She just couldn’t.
But at the moment, however, it seemed as though she had no choice. He still had his arm looped possessively around her shoulder and held her snugly against his broad chest. The heat of his body shimmered through his shirt and radiated through her body all the way down to her bare toes.
“Well?” Ruby’s gaze dropped to her hand, and Emerald leaned forward expectantly. “Let’s see it, dear.”
“See it?” Abby had no idea what her aunts were talking about. “See what?”
“Why, your ring, of course,” Emerald said. “We’ve been so excited ever since we heard the good news.”
“Oh, Aunties, I’m so sorry, but—”
“—we just haven’t found the right one yet,” Callan finished for her. He gave her shoulder a big squeeze. “Something that important has to be perfect, don’t you think?”
Startled, Abby stared up at Callan. What in the world was he talking about?
“Absolutely.” Emerald gave an approving nod. “Mustn’t rush things like that and be sorry for it later.”
Ruby’s expression was thoughtful. “Well, you know, Em, your second marriage with Artemus was rather hasty, may he rest in peace, but you have a lovely two-karat solitaire to remember him by.”
“Not nearly as lovely as that three-karat cluster your third husband gave you,” Emerald replied. “That puppy was the size of a Volkswagen, bless the man’s heart.”
They smiled in fond remembrance, sighed, then quickly turned their attention back to Abby and Callan.
“We’ve love to stay and chat, dear,” Emerald said, and gave her niece a pat on the cheek, “but the taxi is waiting. We’ll call you when we get settled in town.”
“You aren’t staying with me?” Abigail asked incredulously.
“Of course not.” Ruby batted her eyes at Callan. “We wouldn’t dream of imposing.”
Since when? Abigail wondered. Her aunts loved to impose. And the one time she wanted them to, they weren’t? “But—”
“Don’t you worry about us, darling.” Emerald slipped her arm through Ruby’s. “We have rooms at a quaint little place in town. Squire’s Tavern and Inn. The travel agent said that the accommodations and food there are five-star.”
Abigail wasn’t sure about the accommodations or food, but she could personally vouch that the drinks there were at least five-star. She was currently seeing dozens of stars from the drink she’d had there last night.
Callan's Proposition Page 3