Callan's Proposition

by Barbara Mccauley

  She wanted to dance, too. Right here on the bed. Dance and sing and laugh.

  Burying her head in her pillow, she grinned broadly.

  “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin”’ would be about right.

  She didn’t sing it out loud, just in her head.

  “Abby, you awake?”

  She jumped at Callan’s soft call, unintentionally elbowing him in his ribs. He made a strangled oomph sound.

  Horrified that she’d hurt him, she turned quickly. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  He rubbed at his broad, powerful chest, then a slow grin spread over his sleepy, incredibly handsome face as he stared at her.

  “You could kiss it,” he suggested.

  Heat poured through her body. Her naked body.

  Dear Lord, they were both naked. In bed. In the light of day. His hand slid over her hip.

  She forced the song out of her head. “Ah, Callan, I don’t want you to think—”

  His arms came around her, and he dragged her closer. “I don’t want you to think, either, Abby.”

  And then he was kissing her senseless. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back, lost herself in the feel of his skin against hers.

  When he finally drew back, she was breathless and more than a little aroused. She opened her eyes slowly, met his dark, amused gaze.

  She smiled.

  He smiled back.

  “I’m not sure what to do here,” she said hesitantly. “This is a first for me.”

  Pleasure shone in his eyes at her honest statement. “You’re supposed to tell me I’m wonderful, cook me a big breakfast, then serve it in bed.”

  Amazed, she realized that he was teasing. “Oh, is that the agenda? Well, you were wonderful.” She bit her lip and stared thoughtfully over his shoulder. “Though I am a novice myself, so I can’t really say for sure.”

  He raised a brow at that. “Well, I am wonderful. In fact, last night you told me so. Several times.”

  She felt her cheeks burn. “I said that?”

  “Well, not in words.” His hands moved down her back, slid over her rear end and lingered there. “But they say actions always speak louder than words.”

  He cupped her buttocks in his palms and kneaded. She sucked in a breath. “Is that what they say?”

  “Yep.” His lips nibbled at her ear, then her neck.

  Struggling to breathe, she found her own hands moving restlessly over his arms and chest. “Did you ever wonder who ‘they’ are?”

  “Nope.”

  When his lips closed over the hardened peak of one breast, Abby ceased to wonder herself. She arched toward him, digging her fingers into his scalp at the sweet, wonderful feel of his wet, warm tongue on her sensitive nipple. Her head fell back on a moan.

  “Callan,” she gasped, “please.”

  And then he did. Completely.

  Callan thought he had to be the luckiest man alive.

  He could only imagine the stupid grin he had on his face at the moment, but he didn’t give a damn. He’d just had the most incredible night of his life, and at this very moment he was holding the most incredible woman in his arms.

  Lying on his back, he stroked Abby’s soft hair, fascinated by its silken texture. Her hair was only one of her exceptional assets that she’d kept hidden for the past year, he thought. She had several other qualities of notable mention. Just thinking about those qualities made him hard all over again.

  She’d dozed off after they’d made love, and he could still see the flush of passion on her skin. But as badly as he wanted to make love with her again, he would let her sleep for while. God knew they certainly hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.

  His grin widened.

  Yes, sir. He was one lucky son of a gun.

  He could have it all—Abby and the best secretary in the world.

  Why hadn’t he seen it before? They were both mature, reasonable adults. There was no reason they couldn’t work together, be completely professional with each other during the day and lovers at night.

  He wasn’t sure what Abby was thinking, but he wasn’t going to let her think for a while. She might try to overrationalize the situation. Once she had a little time to let the idea sink in, to accept that they were capable of a relationship both in and out of the office, then she’d see how simple it all would be. How easy.

  How perfect.

  For the weekend, though, he intended to keep her mind and body occupied. Monday morning, after they’d spent two days together, he would discuss it with her. But not before.

  She would see things his way.

  Murmuring, she stirred in his arms, and he pressed a kiss to her temple. Damn, but she felt good. Soft and warm.

  Her hands moved slowly over his chest, downward, under the sheet, and he felt the fire jumping in his veins.

  They could sleep later, he decided.

  He rolled her to her back, watched her eyes slowly open as she looked at him through passion-heavy lids. He moved over her, felt her arms curl around his neck and pull him closer—

  The doorbell rang.

  “My aunts!” Abby’s face turned white. “They told me last night that they were coming over this morning.”

  Ice water wouldn’t have brought them out of the bed as quickly as the insistent bing-bong of her doorbell. Abby scrambled for something to cover herself with, but the clothes she’d worn home from the tavern last night weren’t exactly what she wanted to wear to greet her aunts. She snatched the comforter from where it had fallen onto the floor during the night, wrapped it around herself and stumbled to her closet. Callan reached for his jeans and dragged them on.

  “I’ll let them in,” he said, and tugged up his zipper.

  “No!” She spun, a robe clutched in her fingers.

  “Abby.” He took her chin in his hand. “We had an engagement party last night. Ruby and Emerald think I live here. I don’t think we’re going to shock them.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide. “But—”

  “No buts.” He pressed a kiss to her nose. “I’ll make some coffee, and we’ll visit for a few minutes. Now stop worrying and get dressed.”

  The doorbell rang again, and she glanced nervously toward the front of the house, then looked back at him. She sucked in a long breath and nodded slowly.

  “Good girl.”

  He hurried to the guest bedroom and grabbed a blue T-shirt from his bag and was still pulling it on as he opened the front door.

  Emerald and Ruby stood on the other side of the door, dressed in their usual layers of brightly colored gauze. Together they chirped, “Good morning.”

  They bustled inside, carrying Abby’s purse and clothes from the night before, asking if she was feeling better. He assured them she was fine, and while he made coffee, they gave detailed accounts of the guests activities at the party the night before.

  Miss Rose Primple, the librarian at Bloomfield High School, performed “Second-hand Rose.”

  The mayor sang “Jailhouse Rock” and gave a pulsating-pelvis imitation of the “The King” that brought the house down.

  And Lucian, of all people, his most reticent brother, gave his own rendition of George Thoroughgood’s “Bad to the Bone.” Callan would have given a month’s pay to see that. He could only imagine that his younger brother had one hell of a hangover today.

  If nothing else, Callan thought, as he poured coffee for Emerald and Ruby, the two women had definitely brought a little life to Bloomfield, and he would miss them.

  But even though they certainly knew how to have fun and liven up a party, Callan couldn’t imagine living in the same house with them, never being able to catch your breath or your balance. He thought about what Abby had told him last night, how she’d never fit in with her family’s lifestyle. And though she obviously had the talent, and most likely could be a star, she wanted a regular-hours, same-work-every-day office job.

  And she was all his. In every way.

  He smiled. The lucki
est man alive.

  “Good morning, dear,” Emerald and Ruby said at the same time.

  Callan turned, watched as Abby walked hesitantly into the kitchen. She’d pulled on a long, soft-pink cotton dress, brushed her hair back and clipped it with pearl barrettes over her ears. She kissed her aunts good-morning, then glanced at him, a mixture of shy and coquette that stirred his blood, made him anxious to be alone with her again.

  “Feeling better?” Emerald asked as Abby pulled a mug out of the cupboard.

  “Much, thank you.” Callan saw the blush on her cheeks before she turned to the coffeepot. “It was just a headache. I’m fine now.”

  “Abby.” Ruby patted the chair beside her. “Come sit, dear. You, too, Callan. Auntie Emerald and I would like to speak with you both.”

  Abby spilled coffee over the sides of the cup she’d been filling. Her gaze shot like a bullet toward Callan, but he just shrugged and waved a hand toward the table. Shoulders stiff, Abby sank down onto a chair. Callan was certain she wasn’t even breathing.

  “We want you both to know we’ve had a wonderful time this week,” Ruby said. “But we’ve decided to leave for Florida a few days early and take in the Miami sights.”

  “You’re leaving?” Abby had a blank look on her face.

  “Today, if you don’t mind terribly.” Emerald patted her niece’s hand. “We have a taxi waiting to take us to the airport now.”

  “But you—”

  “We’ll be back for the wedding, of course,” Ruby reassured her. “Let us know the minute you set the date.”

  When Abby started to protest, Emerald shushed her. “Now, now, dear, you know how we hate goodbyes. So just give us a hug, and we’ll call you when we get back to New York.”

  They both stood, pulled Abby to her feet, then hugged her in turn. Callan found himself enclosed in their arms next, and they each kissed him soundly on his cheek.

  “We’ll miss you both.” Emerald patted Callan on his cheek and looked up at him with a smile. “Take good care of her, Callan. She’s a jewel.”

  They blew out as they’d blown in, even gave them a few verses from a song out of Gypsy when Abby and Callan walked them to the front door.

  The silence fell, heavy and awkward, when the door closed behind them. Hands clasped in front of her, Abby shifted from one foot to the other. “Well,” she finally said. “I guess that’s that.”

  He moved toward her. “What’s what?”

  She cleared her throat. “You know, that. You don’t have to…stay.”

  “Do you want me to leave, Abby?”

  Her gaze lifted, leveled with his. “No.”

  Thank God. He released the breath he’d been holding, then took her face in his hand and brushed his lips over hers, felt complete satisfaction at the shudder that moved through her body.

  She smiled softly, then took his hand and led him back to her bed.

  The luckiest man alive.

  After the most incredible weekend of her life, it wasn’t easy for Abby to settle back into work on Monday. The fact that Callan had been out on the Palmer job site since early that morning should have made it less difficult, but she had taken twice as long to type up a breakdown on the Waterman project, she’d made two errors on the month’s spreadsheet and she’d nearly forgotten to order the insurance certificates for the remodel Gabe was working on.

  Worse still, she’d caught herself daydreaming at least a dozen times.

  And, God help her, she’d been humming all day. Had to bite her tongue several times to keep herself from singing out loud.

  She and Callan had yet to discuss what had happened between them the past two days and what it meant. Over the weekend, every time she’d attempted to broach the subject of work, he’d quickly distracted her.

  Much to her embarrassment, she’d been easy to distract.

  At the memory of how much she’d enjoyed those distractions, her cheeks warmed. And other, more intimate, parts of her anatomy ached.

  Every touch, every sigh, every moan, came back to her, and her skin burned. He’d been an incredible lover, what every woman fantasized about. Attentive and gentle one moment, forceful and strong the next. She’d barely caught her breath all weekend.

  She could barely catch it now.

  But it was Monday. Her aunts had left on Saturday, and the weekend, as wonderful as it had been, was behind her.

  There was no reason to pretend any longer.

  She blinked back the threatening tears. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. The past two days with Callan had been more wonderful than she ever could have dreamed. She refused to regret even one minute. But she had to face reality now, face the fact that she’d made love with Callan. And a situation that had been improbable before, now became impossible.

  With a heavy sigh, she tucked a loose strand of hair into the bun at the base of her neck and forced her attention back to her computer screen. She needed to finish typing up her releases for payments to subcon-tractors by the end of the day. At the rate she was working, she wouldn’t be finished for two weeks.

  She’d almost typed one half of a payment when the door opened and Callan walked in. She soaked in the all-male sight of him: worn denim covered his long, powerful legs; a navy-blue flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms; thick work boots encased his large feet. Everything about him was big, she thought, and felt a blush work its way up her neck.

  And when he smiled at her, her entire body felt soft and warm.

  “Hi.” His voice was husky; his gaze locked on her mouth.

  Exactly the way he’d woken her up this morning, she thought.

  Remembering what had happened after he’d woken her up, she jumped up and grabbed a large brown envelope sitting on her desk and held it in front of her as if it were a shield.

  “Hello.” She cleared her throat. “The soils report from the Waterman project is on your desk along with the breakdown for the subcontractors, a set of blueprints from the architect on the New Jersey development, and you have a voice message from your sister.”

  He moved toward her with intent in his eyes. She backed toward the file cabinet.

  “Oh, and Mr. Palmer’s secretary called a few minutes ago. He changed his flight from two in the afternoon to eleven in the morning. She hopes that won’t be a problem for you picking him up at the airport.”

  “No problem at all.”

  Damn, but she was cute, Callan thought as he watched Abby fidget. All neat and tidy and conservative in her usual business attire. He’d never thought those suits sexy before, but now, hell, after their weekend together, her starched look just made him want to unbutton her jacket and mess her up.

  He’d intentionally stayed out of the office longer than necessary today, just to give her a little time alone. He knew that it was going to be awkward for her at first, working with him and sleeping together, too, but she’d get used to the idea. It was just a matter of time and patience on his part.

  He could see she was flustered, that she was struggling to maintain a professional façade. She held a large mailing envelope in her hands with a death grip, and she was stiff as a post. It gave him tremendous satisfaction that he unnerved the fastidiously efficient Abigail Thomas.

  And he wanted to do so much more.

  But the time had come to discuss their…situation. And since she was probably feeling a little too timid to bring it up, he’d make the first move to put her at ease.

  “Abby—”

  “Callan, we need to talk.” She lifted her chin, firmly met his gaze. “Could we please go in your office?”

  “Huh? Oh, sure.” He gestured for her to go first, closed the door behind them. He still had his hand on the doorknob when she turned to face him.

  “Abby—”

  “I just want you to know how much I appreciate what you did for me. I don’t know how to ever thank you.”

  Since Callan knew that Abby was much too reserved to bring up the subject of their lovemakin
g, she was obviously talking about the engagement masquerade. “You don’t need to thank me, Abby. I enjoyed meeting your aunts. They’re terrific ladies.”

  “They think you’re terrific, too.” She stared down at the envelope she still clutched in her hand, then drew in a slow breath and looked back up at him. “And so do I.”

  He smiled at her. Now they were getting somewhere. This was the perfect time to discuss their own situation, though he knew he needed to choose his words carefully and not mention how great the sex had been between them and how much he enjoyed being with her the past two days. He didn’t want to embarrass her.

  “Abby—”

  “I also want you to know how wonderful this past weekend was for me,” she said before he could continue. “You were a wonderful, incredible lover. You made me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.”

  Her eyes fluttered downward. He blinked at her, too stunned that she’d brought the subject up to even feel smug or proud. She might be dressed like a puritan, but she certainly wasn’t talking like one.

  Damn if it didn’t turn him on.

  He felt himself grow hard. He wanted her right now. Right here. His blood pumped fierce and hot in his veins. He glanced at his desk, noted that it was cluttered with paperwork. One swipe of his arm could take of that, he decided.

  “…always be grateful, but I’m sure you see how things are different now.”

  He stopped midstride on the way to his desk. He’d lost part of what she’d said, and something told him he needed to stop thinking with the lower part of his anatomy and listen to what she was saying.

  “The agency assures me that they have a competent replacement, and they’ll send her out first thing in the morning.”

  “Replacement?” His head whipped up. “What replacement?”

  “I just said that the agency—”

  “Never mind about the agency. What replacement?”

  “Mine, of course. I just explained that.” His eyes narrowed as he moved toward her. “Explain it again.”

  Her shoulders squared, but she didn’t back away when he inched in close. She lifted her chin, hugged that damn envelope even tighter. “I can’t work here now, Callan. Not after what happened between us this weekend. Surely you can understand that.”