The Proposal

by Jennifer Lewis

  “Andrea?”

  “What? Oh, sorry, Mom.”

  “I said, who is that?”

  Closing her eyes, she hoped her mother let this one slide too. “It’s...”

  “Benton? I thought you two were just friends?”

  “Mom-”

  She heard her dad say something in the background.

  “Your father wants to know what a man is doing at your apartment.” There was laughter in her mother’s voice.

  “Tell Dad I’m not 17 anymore.”

  “We just worry about you, honey. Are you sure you know him well enough to invite over?”

  Forcing back a sigh, she said, “I’ve known him for a year, Mom.”

  “Oh.” There was a wealth of information in that one word.

  “It’s not like that, Mom, I-”

  “Are you not telling us something, Andy? You aren’t letting him stay over are you? Your father wants to know, not me.”

  Frustrated with her parents treating her like she was a teenager again, she felt her face grow warm and snapped out before she could stop herself, “I’m not at my apartment, Mom.”

  Silence greeted her again, and her mother’s next words were muffled. Grace was obviously telling her dad something she didn’t want her daughter to hear.

  “Your father wants to know what you’re doing over at a man’s house.”

  “Oh, honestly, Mom, we’re having dinner.”

  “That’s nice.” Her father said something else. “Your father wants to know why we haven’t heard about this Benton before.”

  “Because, he’s just a friend.”

  “Hmm. Well, I was thinking, we could take a taxi from the airport so your friend doesn’t have to drive all that way. We could just meet you at your apartment.”

  “Mom, you are not wasting money on a taxi.” She heard her father raising his voice and could nearly make out the words this time.

  “Oh, well, your father says he wants to meet this Benton, so I suppose we aren’t taking a taxi. But he really doesn’t want you to put us up at a hotel. He says he isn’t so old he can’t sleep on the floor.”

  Knowing her father was nearly as stubborn as Benton, she said, “You aren’t sleeping on my apartment floor. I’m... Not there right now anyway.”

  “What do you mean? Andrea, are you living with Benton?”

  She should have known her mother would easily deduct the meaning behind her words. Andrea couldn’t lie to her mother, but neither did she want to discuss her current living arrangements.

  “I take it that means you are. Oh, honey.” She lowered her voice. “If your father knew she were living with a man without being married, he would just have fits. I’m very surprised you haven’t told me about this. You usually tell me everything.”

  Now in fear of hurting her mother’s feelings, Andrea confessed, “I wanted to, but, you know Dad...”

  “Please tell me he at least proposed. Is that what you’re calling me about? Is it just hard to tell me? You know you can tell me anything. I can handle your father.”

  Engaged? “Wait, Mom-”

  She could clearly hear her father in the background this time. He yelled something about ‘engaged’ and ‘I haven’t even met the man’ and then a few words she hoped he hadn’t said. She could picture his face, growing redder by the moment and knew that if he could, he would invite Benton out to his garage for a talk.

  “Oh honey, even if you went about it the wrong way, at least where your father is concerned, this is the best Christmas present you could give us!”

  “Mom, I’m not-”

  “Honey, I have to go. Your father looks like he’s having a heart attack. Let me smooth things over for you. I love you, and we’ll see you in a week.”

  Before she could respond, her mother hung up. Mouth wide, she stared at the phone in disbelief.

  “What was that about?” Benton asked, pulling the last of the groceries out of the bags.

  “I...” How was she going to tell Benton her parents thought they were engaged? The entire conversation went off the rails so quickly she couldn’t even pinpoint where it went wrong.

  “Andrea? Are you all right?”

  “My parents...” It would be better just to get it over with. “My parents think we’re engaged.”

  His hands stilled, his eyes snapping to hers. “What?”

  “I couldn’t lie to them about my apartment, so I told them I was living with you and they got the wrong idea. My father is so old fashioned... Oh, God, Benton. When we get them from the airport, my dad is going to want to kill you.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Jamming her hands through her hair, she said, “Of course I am! I wouldn’t make this up. Here, I’ll just call them back.”

  She dialed her parents’ number, but no one answered.

  “Oh, this is just ridiculous. I’ll set them right tomorrow.”

  Benton walked to her, handing her a pile of envelopes. “I got your mail for you.” Instead of looking upset like she expected him to, he seemed amused.

  “I’m so glad you find this funny!”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sure you are. Lord.” She sifted through her mail, looking up when she realized he was still standing there. “Oh, go make dinner and leave me alone.”

  He saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Smart ass,” she muttered, wondering what the last envelope contained. It had the address of a Seattle law firm. Flipping it over, she carefully opened it and began reading. Surprised lanced through her. “Oh, my God.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My great aunt... She passed away. I just saw her a month ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” He abandoned dinner and came to sit beside her. “Were you close?”

  She nodded. “I used to spend summers at her house. It’s old, but lovely.” She read on. “I don’t believe it.” She looked up at him. “She left me her house.”

  “Obviously, she loved you.”

  “What in the world?” She let the letter fall into her lap. “If I want the house, I have to be married.” She looked up at Benton. “Otherwise, it goes to the city. What if they tear it down? It’s such an old house, it’s almost historic.”

  “Well, since you have yourself a fiancé...”

  She glared at him. “Very funny, Benton. I swear, what else can happen lately? I think I’m at my quota.”

  Benton took the letter from her, reading it quickly. “You love that house a lot.”

  “Of course I do. I have so many childhood memories...” She leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes. “What a day...”

  Benton left her to her letter, and went back to the kitchen. She opened her eyes, watching him deftly chop vegetables. She liked watching his hands; they were slender, with long fingers and well-manicured nails. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what they would feel like on her skin. Silently chastising herself for her wandering thoughts, she reminded herself that her aunt recently passed, her apartment was in shambles and her parents thought she was engaged.

  Her life went from being predictable and well-managed, to a mess she wasn’t certain she could sort all by herself.

  Why would her aunt want her to be married? They never discussed marriage in any of her visits. It was as if her aunt conspired with her parents. She remembered mentioning Benton, but her aunt hadn’t commented much on the subject. What had she said? Did she talk about Benton so much her aunt got the wrong idea? What was it with older people and wanting younger people to get married and have babies immediately?

  “What’s for dinner?” She asked to distract herself.

  “Stir fry. You could help. Chop the chicken and get it cooking.”

  Since it seemed a better alternative than sitting here ruminating over her troubles, she tossed her blanket aside and joined him. After washing her hands, she opened the chicken breasts and began chopping them on a spare, plastic cutting board.

  Benton was no more silent than he usu
ally was, but she found herself wondering how the visit with his father went. Did she dare ask him? As it stood, he took the decision out of her hands.

  “I’m sorry my father bothered you at work.”

  His measured tone gave away nothing.

  “It’s okay. Did the meeting go okay?”

  “No different than it always does,” Benton replied, not answering her question at all.

  “Something tells me that it isn’t necessarily good.”

  Benton shrugged and finished chopping an onion. She wasn’t going to push, but he surprised her by continuing. “He wants what he always wants. Money.”

  “Oh.” She added olive oil to a heating skillet and tossed in the chicken. Benton began seasoning it. She didn’t know what else to say.

  “The jackass has a gambling problem. I never see him unless he’s in debt over his head.”

  She laid a hand on his arm, stilling his motions. “Benton, I’m sorry.” She couldn’t imagine not having parents as caring as her own.

  “It is what it is.”

  Biting her lip, she pulled her hand away, sensing he didn’t want her to feel sorry for him at all. He was a man that kept everything so closely guarded, that any secrets he let slip, she admittedly gobbled up like gems. Though he hadn’t told her much, they were slowly growing closer in these few weeks; he trusted her more than she thought he once did.

  A hand stroked down her hair, surprising her. “Don’t worry about it, Andrea. He isn’t worth your time.”

  Glancing back up at him, she felt her chest constrict, a lump forming in her throat. This was so easy, this exchange, as they stood together cooking dinner like any other couple. It reminded her of what she could never have with him. And it killed her to admit it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Benton lay on his back, arms folded behind his head as he studied the ceiling. He had been thinking about Andrea’s dilemma for a while now, unable to sleep. If there was one way he could keep her safe, it was by having her at his side nearly all the time. Her parents thought they were engaged. She needed to be married to get a house that obviously meant a great deal to her. The answer was right there.

  “You’re crazy,” he told himself.

  Ryan and the others would agree. Overseas, he had taken risks no man should walk away from. He told himself it was for his men, that he would lay down his life if he had to. The truth of it was, he didn’t have anything to go home to. With his mother dead and his father a shiftless gambler, what did he have to look forward to? While other soldiers got mail and packages they happily shared with him, he didn’t expect anything waiting for him.

  Talking Deacon into employing him had been on a whim; he hadn’t expected to gain a family out of it. He hadn’t expected to genuinely care about those around him. In the year since, they all wormed their way past his guard. And Andrea. He tried to keep her at a distance, to not let his attraction to her become anything more than a passing thought. He should have known long before she came to live with him that he failed.

  Scrubbing a hand down his face, he twisted and looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It was long after midnight. He promised Andrea to help her clean up her apartment first thing in the morning. If he didn’t get any sleep, he was going to need a pot of coffee to keep going. As it stood, he wouldn’t back out of it for nothing. He knew Brad destroying her apartment had devastated her. The violation of her privacy, of her home and safety was wearing on her. He could see it in the moments when she didn’t think he was watching.

  If he could get his hands around the slimy bastard’s neck... His pulse spiked at the thought of Brad harming Andrea. He wanted to crush the man. When he recalled that night, seeing Brad putting his hands on her, his only thought was decimating the man. It didn’t matter that Andrea wasn’t his to defend. She didn’t deserve to be treated like a piece of meat for the asshole to maul.

  “You aren’t going to get any sleep like this...”

  Giving up for the time being, he tossed his covers aside and walked to the kitchen. He was pulled up short at the sight greeting him. Andrea sat at the table, a thin, white cotton nightgown pooled around the legs tucked up beneath her. Her bare arms, slender and creamy, reached out, hands cupping a steaming mug. He felt like someone punched him in the gut; looking at her, curls tumbling down her back, expression somber and tinged with a bit of sadness, he wanted nothing more than to go to her and take her in his arms.

  Before she noticed him, he took a step back, knocking his elbow into the wall. Cursing himself for the clumsiness he didn’t usually possess, he watched her start, slopping contents of her cup onto the table and her hand. Hissing, she jerked back, pain spasming across her face.

  He rushed to her, taking her hand in his. “Shit, Andrea. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Without thinking, he pulled her up and to the sink, running her hand under the cool water flowing from the faucet. The angry red marks on her skin was his doing and he felt terrible for frightening her.

  “I’m okay.” She tried to pull away. “Benton, really. It’s okay.”

  Realizing he was still holding on to her, he let her go and backed up. She dried her hand on a towel, not looking at him. Beneath her nightgown, with the lights from the kitchen streaming down, he could see the shadow of her curves. She only made it worse when she folded her arms across her breasts, obviously self-conscious.

  She tried for a smile. “The tea wasn’t that hot.”

  His hands flexed at his sides, wanting to touch her, wanting to pull her to him and give into the desire heating his blood. Living with her was a sweet torture, one he wasn’t certain he could survive.

  To distract himself, he asked, “You’re sure you’re okay? You didn’t leave it under the water for very long.”

  “It’s better.” She showed him her hand; the redness had faded to pink. “See?”

  He gestured to the table. “Why don’t you finish your tea. I’ll go back to bed.”

  “No,” she fired out, surprising him. “I mean, why don’t you join me? You obviously can’t sleep either.”

  Knowing this was a bad idea, he still couldn’t find it in himself to tell her otherwise. So, nodding, he grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured himself some milk. Joining her at the table, he handed her a napkin to clean up the spilled tea.

  Eyes on her cup, making him wonder what she saw in its depths, she said, “It’s been a long few weeks.”

  “Yeah.” For lack of anything better to say, he added, “Sorry.”

  She looked up. “It’s not your fault. If anything, I should be telling you sorry for invading your life like this.”

  “I asked you here,” Benton told her.

  A smile ghosted her lips. “More like ordered.”

  He sat back in the chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well...”

  “It’s okay, Benton. I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t want to.”

  Since he didn’t want to examine her words too closely, he downed half his glass of milk and watched her sip at her tea. Her hands were small, delicate in comparison to his. When he held her hand over the sink, it practically disappeared in his own. He didn’t want to notice these things about her, but it was hard when she was always there, within touching distance.

  “Neither of us is going to be much good tomorrow if we don’t sleep.”

  She waved to her cup. “Chamomile. I hoped it would help me be tired.”

  “Yeah, maybe, if I hadn’t scared you enough to spill half of it on the table.”

  This time her smile was warmer, more genuine. “There’s plenty left.”

  He wondered if now was the time to share his thoughts with her. He didn’t know what her reaction would be, but he couldn’t imagine she would readily agree. Still, he didn’t see any point in ruminating on it further. He knew he already made up his mind.

  Folding his arms across his bare chest, he cut to the point. “I have a proposal.”

  Confu
sion clouded her expression. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I want to keep you safe. Your parents think we’re engaged, you need to be married to get the house you love...” He paused, shrugging. “Why don’t we get married?”

  Slowly, the color drained from her face. Though he hadn’t expected her to jump up and drag him to the altar, he hadn’t thought she would look like someone just stole her most prized possession.

  “We could get married while your parents are here for Christmas. Once everything’s settled, we can get a divorce and you can go back to your life.” Why did the thought cause his stomach to tighten, the words nearly sticking in his throat?