The Proposal
Book Two of a Marriage of Convenience Series
Jennifer Lewis
Published in 2017 by Jennifer Lewis
On Kindle Direct Publishing
Copyright © 2017 Jennifer Lewis. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic, paper, photocopying or otherwise, unless given express permission in writing by Jennifer Lewis. Reviewers may quote brief passages.
Cover art: www.thebookcoverdesigner.com/designers/betibup33, 2016.
Marriage of Convenience Series
The Arrangement (Book 1)
The Proposal (Book 2)
The Engagement (Book 3) (Coming soon!)
Chapter One
Arms full of pink and blue balloons, Andrea West peered around the curved edge of one to make certain she wouldn’t run into anyone. The low thrum of noise permeated the room as guests talked amongst themselves, sipping punch or finishing cake. Ashlyn sat amid them all, glowing in her 6th month of pregnancy. Andrea thought she looked beautiful, though she knew her friend would disagree.
As she approached, all eyes settled on her. Unease snaked in her gut. She hated to be the center of attention. It reminded her of high school and the one time she tried out for drama class. To have her peers all focused on her proved overwhelming. She nearly fainted. It became clear that day, that anything requiring an audience would not be for her.
Clearing her throat, she pushed past the shyness. “Everyone gets to pick one balloon. With the pins we passed out earlier, pop your balloon. If the baby is a boy, the blue balloons will have a prize in them. The same, if it’s a girl.”
“Oh, I must have the blue one,” Ashlyn’s mother said, coming forward to pick first.
Emme rolled her eyes behind the older woman’s back. “Well, I think pink is perfect.”
The two of them argued upon arrival about whether the baby would be a girl or a boy. They hadn’t stopped over the last hour and a half.
Josh, the only male guest at the baby shower held up his balloon. “Ladies, ladies. You’ll find out who is right soon enough.”
Margaret, Deacon’s mother, picked her own balloon. She remained silent on what she thought the baby would be. Andrea gathered it was because she didn’t mind either way. Sometimes, given Emme’s attitude, she thought her friend only argued with Ann because Ann would argue back. Though they all treated her with respect, Andrea knew Josh and Emme were less than fond of Ann.
The only other guest of the party picked a pink balloon. Kate fast became a friend after taking care of Ashlyn in the hospital. She smiled in a way that told Andrea she enjoyed the banter. Together, she, Emme, Kate and Josh decided it was time to host a baby shower. Ashlyn insisted it be at her home.
Choosing her own balloon, Andrea took her seat next to Emme.
Ashlyn rested her hand on her growing belly. “Okay, on three, pop the balloons,” and she began the countdown.
Through laughter, the guests began popping. The sound echoed in the space between them like the sharp ring of gunfire. Hand trembling against her own balloon, Andrea closed her eyes and tried not to be drawn back to that day. The gunfire, the death; Benton being shot and Ashlyn being kidnapped. She couldn’t bring herself to press the pin into the rubber.
Lowering her balloon, she caught Ashlyn watching her with concern. Offering her friend a smile that belied the internal tension gripping her, she pretended interest in the reactions of the others. She would get past this. A little over four months passed since it happened. Some nights, she awoke, scrubbing her eyes to rid herself of the images floating behind them. Though he considered her unwise for it, she refused Deacon’s offer of a psychologist. She didn’t want to talk about it to anyone.
“Hah!” Emme crowed in triumph. “I knew it was a girl!”
Josh laughed, though it sounded more like a cackle. “Oh, this is rich. Deacon is going to have his hands full. A girl.”
“Josh, it’s going to be a long time before we have to worry about dating,” Ashlyn told him.
In her periphery, something moved. Reminding herself not to be startled, though he lounged there like a silent, deadly rock, Andrea refused to acknowledge Benton. She would offer no more attention to him than he did to her. The last thing she wanted him to notice was her attraction to him. She drowned enough in embarrassment every time one of her friends brought it up.
“You forgot to pop your balloon, Andy,” Josh reminded her, reaching out to pop it with his own pin.
Flinching, she played it off. “Oh, yes, I guess I did.”
Throat suddenly dry, she rose and headed for the kitchen. She needed more punch.
Out of sight of the others, she allowed herself to lean against the counter, expelling a slow, tremulous breath. She closed her eyes, willing the past to stay in the past. But the darkness behind her eyelids was a ripe space for images to rise. All she could see, was Benton lying on the ground, bleeding.
“Are you all right?”
Swallowing a scream, she pressed her hand against her mouth and struggled to calm her stuttering heart. It fluttered against her chest like a bird desperate to escape the confines of its cage. When she righted her breathing and opened her eyes, she ordered them to focus on his face and nothing else. But it proved difficult when the man wore a shirt that molded to his body like second skin, showcasing every ripple of his muscles as he moved.
Finding this preferable to her memories, she dropped her gaze and studied his boots. Clad in jeans that hung well on trim hips, Benton hooked a thumb in his belt and remained quiet. She knew he waited for an answer. The problem was, she didn’t feel like talking to him. No, talking was the last thing she wanted to do with Benton. The shame of it had her face coloring.
Had it really been so long since she had sex, that she fantasized about the bodyguard despite his obvious disinterest in her?
“Andrea?”
Shaking her head, she chastised her wandering mind and raised her eyes to focus on his serious, gray ones. She frequently wondered what Benton thought. The man certainly shared his inner world with no one. Andrea could count on one hand the time he revealed anything personal to her. And that, she thought, was simply an accident, a product of conversation.
“I’m fine, Benton. Thank you for asking,” she told him, all polite disinterest.
Those sharp, gray eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just needed some punch.” She tried to move past him; he blocked the way, sculpted arms folded across his chest.
Andrea struggled to temper her irritation. “Benton.”
“You should have taken up Deacon’s offer on the psychologist.”
Jerking back as if slapped, she said coolly,”I don’t see how that is any of your business.”
“You’re Deacon’s employee. You’re my business.”
Of course, Deacon’s employee.
“I’m fine, Benton. Now please let me get back to the party.”
He inclined his head, drawing a hand through his closely cropped, brown hair. “Andrea, I know you aren’t.”
Distress creeping into her expression, Andrea crossed her arms as if warding him off. “I don’t want to talk about this, Benton.”
“Talking would help.”
“Then, I’ll talk to one of my friends.”
She tried to go around him, and he stepped to the side, a solid wall of muscle. “Why don’t I believe you?”
She closed her eyes, searching for patience, knowing she should be more appreciative of his concern. “You don’t have to believe me. Listen, I appreciate that you care, but-”
Benton grinned, teeth flashing in his handsome face. Warmth
blossomed from her center, and she struggled to breathe, hating that this happened every time he smiled at her; which wasn’t often.
“For a quiet, little thing, you sure are more stubborn than men twice your size.”
“I’m not certain whether that is a compliment or not.” Why didn’t he just let her leave?
“It is.”
“Thank you, then,” she returned primly, smoothing her hands on her skirt. They itched to touch him. The man was 6’2” worth of temptation she didn’t need.
“You’re welcome.” But he seemed in no hurry to move.
“Benton, Ashlyn will be opening her gifts soon. I promised to take pictures.” And she had a date this evening she wanted time to get ready for.
“I’m not stopping you.”
Supposing it was her imagination he kept her trapped in the kitchen, or wishful thinking, she felt her face flame. The curse of being a redhead. Her pale skin had no qualms with expressing her embarrassment.
“My mistake. Excuse me,” she murmured, attempting to go around him. He shifted again and she bumped into him. Her hip felt like lightning struck it. Heat traveled from the spot and rose, clouding her thinking. This close to him, she caught his scent; male and woodsy, as if he spent all of his time outdoors.
Benton made no motion to move. “What’s your hurry?”
“I told you, I-”
“Ashlyn hasn’t even touched her gifts, Andrea.”
Lips pursing, she fired, “As if it’s any of your business, but I have a date I don’t want to be late for.”
The amusement drained from his expression; something dark crossed his face, but it fled as soon as it came. She thought it only another wishful thinking moment on her part.
“Oh? Brad from accounting?”
“Is nothing sacred?” She muttered, hating the rumor mill at work. If anyone so much as sneezed, everyone else knew about it.
“He’s a waste of time.”
Searching his face, finding nothing, Andrea shook her head. “I don’t know why you care, Benton.”
“I told you-”
“I’m Deacon’s employee, so I’m your business. I get it.” Believe me, I get it.
His eyes narrowed again, but he said nothing.
“Well then, if he’s a waste of time, you have nothing to worry about,” she tried breezily, shifting away from him.
His hand fell on her shoulder, stilling her. The contact burned, searing into her skin and leaving her scorched.
“If he tries anything, you tell me.”
Andrea shrugged his hand away. “I can assure you, Benton, I will be fine. I can handle myself.” Since the incident, she started taking self-defense classes in the hopes of regaining her sense of peace and control.
He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? All five feet of you?”
“Five feet two,” she corrected.
“Yes, can’t forget the two inches.”
“Those two inches are very important when you ‘re short,” she told him, making a show of looking down her nose at him.
“Duly noted.”
The man honestly infuriated her. Sometimes, she thought he cared for her past being Deacon’s bodyguard and driver. But then he dispelled that notion with his actions and words. Yet, he seemed to take the time to make contact with her whenever they were in the same space, teasing her and pushing until she thought she might be rude with him. The man made no sense.
“Andy, where are you?” Josh called. “Did you get lost?”
“Thank you again for the concern, Benton,” she said dismissively, leaving him in the kitchen.
Once she reached the living room, Josh handed her the camera and Ashlyn started opening her gifts. Andrea tried to forget the strange encounter in the kitchen and focus on her friend. Not every moment with Benton need be deemed significant.
Mind drifting to her date, she could admit to herself that she wasn’t overly excited. Brad had been after her for a few months now to go out to dinner; she finally caved and agreed. The reason for resisting stood in the kitchen, though he didn’t know it. The reason she said yes was for her own benefit. She wasted time waiting for something that would never happen.
Hadn’t this last year proven just that?
If nothing changed in the year since Benton came to work for Deacon, she doubted it would in the next or the ones after that. If Benton stayed that long. He reminded her of a wolf, loyal to those he considered his pack, but just as apt to run when he felt it time. She didn’t know how she would feel when that time came. She didn’t want to think about it.
Thinking about Benton’s offer to do, what, to Brad (she didn’t want to imagine it) should he make a pass at her, her mind wandered to the night in the club. If Benton would smash a man into the floor for touching her, what would he do in a worse situation?
“You need to stop thinking about Benton,” she murmured to herself.
“What?” Emme asked.
“Nothing. That’s a cute outfit,” she said, taking a quick picture and shifting the attention back to Ashlyn.
After all, she doubted Benton thought of her.
Chapter Two
Choosing a demure, blue dress, long-sleeved and faux-wrapped, Andrea pinned her hair up and slipped into a pair of matching heels. She considered canceling at the last minute, but then Benton entered her mind. She felt an uncharacteristic surge of spite. So what if Brad hardly stirred her or rarely invaded her thoughts. They at least owed it to themselves to try and he was a nice man.
She took a slow breath and pressed a hand to her forehead. Whatever happened, she would have dinner with a pleasant distraction and enjoy herself. Before she could dwell on it more, a knock sounded on her door. Reaching for her coat, she plastered a smile on her face, took a breath and swung the door open with purpose. Benton wouldn’t ruin tonight, in spirit or otherwise.
A single rose greeted her. She accepted it, automatically raising it to her nose.
“Hello, Andrea.”
“Thank you, Brad.”
“Can I help you into your coat?” He offered, holding out his hand.
“Yes, thank you.” What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she crave attention like this?
Once he bundled her into her coat, she reached for her small clutch on the table near the door. Locking it behind her, she slipped her keys into her pocket. Brad opened an umbrella and held it over her as they walked to his silver Mercedes sports car. He opened the door for her and waited until she was comfortably seated before closing it.
They sped into the night, low, soothing music on the radio. The inside of the car smelled of leather and the faint tinge of Brad’s aftershave. The scent was pleasant. She wanted it to tickle her senses, stroking a fire low in her belly the same way a single smile from Benton could do. But she could only feel a detached sort of comfort; Brad was safe.
All her life, Andrea stuck with safe. She kept to herself in school, studied hard and graduated with honors. After college, she became Deacon’s executive secretary after a few temp jobs failed; her bosses were more interested in her curves than her work ethic. Deacon remained nothing but a gentleman, and she flourished under his leadership.
The few relationships she cultivated lasted less than a year or two. Though comfortable, none felt like more than a close friendship. Those men reminded her of Brad. Polite, generous with their time and boring in their tastes. She would never have called herself a woman who lusted after the impossible. Danger was something she watched on television, not welcomed into her life. But there she was, attracted to a man who reminded her of a sleek, deadly panther.
Secrets burned in his eyes. The lazy, but calculated way he watched the world told her he saw far more than he showed. Everything about him commanded attention. She doubted Brad could take a bullet and get up like it was a scratch. The man oozed danger from his pores like another would sweat. She had yet to see him back down from anything. He reminded her of a caged animal, sedate and biding its time until the door opened, releasin
g a devil capable of tearing someone apart.
The guilt of her thoughts weighed on her. Brad didn’t stand a chance, and it wasn’t for lack of his trying. When he saw she forgot her coffee, Brad brought her one from the shop down the street. If she fell behind on her work and became late to deliver reports to accounting, he came and got them on his own. A gentleman to the last, he offered to take her to the Opera and theater as if she belonged there, as if she wasn’t that sheltered girl from the low-income side of town.
The truth was, she didn’t care for the opera. She liked theater as much as any woman, but she didn’t need grand gestures or fancy restaurants to prove a man wanted her. It would be in the way his eyes caressed her, the touch of a hand on the small of her back or the way he stood for her when no one else dared. Maybe she wanted the impossible. Maybe her standards didn’t exist, maybe a comfortable love would be all she could hope for.
The Proposal Page 1