Once Upon a Proposal Read online

  Almost more than his next breath. He took the cold bottle from her. “Where’d you find these?”

  “Fiona’s fridge.” She grinned, though her expression wasn’t entirely easy. “The bar that your mother arranged has everything under the sun from pinot grigio to limoncello and all things in between, but no beer.”

  “Not surprising. Astrid considers any beer—” he glanced at the label on the bottle “—even local brews like this, an inferior breed.” He eyed her. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Need you ask? The charming delight that is my former wife.”

  “She’s hardly the first person to think I am an inferior breed.” She lifted her shoulder and took a sip of her beer. A tiny jeweled flower sparkled amongst her rioting spirals of hair. “Besides. You’re not responsible for what she says.”

  He rolled the cold beer against his palm, cooling the itch to touch those shining curls. “Unfortunately, that’s not necessarily true.”

  She looked up at him and for a blinding second, he nearly forgot what he intended to say. But then her smooth eyebrows quirked together a little over her nose, and he dragged himself out of the warmth of her gaze.

  “I’m the one who brings out the worst in her,” he finally admitted. “I made her miserable during the few years we were married, and she’s never forgotten it. And you are anything but inferior. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to thank you.”

  “You don’t have to.” She held his gaze for a moment, then her lashes swept down as she took another sip of her beer.

  He cleared his throat and focused on his own beer bottle. It was safer. “I told her that we wanted to wait until after the party was over to announce it, but word’s probably going to get around pretty quickly anyway,” he said after a moment. “Discretion has never been one of Stephanie’s strong suits.”

  She nodded. Another little sparkle in her hair flashed in the light. “Fiona’s not going to be fooled. And what about your children? What are you going to tell them?”

  “I’m not worried about my grandmother. She’s always on my side.” He knew it unequivocally. She was the only one in his family who never wavered in that regard. “As for my kids, I’ll tell them only as much as I need to.”

  She frowned. “We’ll be lying to them, too.”

  He’d already realized that. “It can’t be helped. It’s not as if I can give them the real scoop.” And fortunately he knew his ex-wife wouldn’t be in any hurry to tell them, either. She’d figure that announcing an engagement would be his problem.

  “I suppose it’s also probably too much to hope for that word won’t get back to my family somehow. The city sometimes feels ridiculously small. You never know who knows who. I’m not going to lie to my mother, though. Or my sisters. They are discreet. So don’t worry about that.”

  “I’m not worried about your family. But there’s something I need to tell you before it comes back and bites me on the butt. Something that I probably should have told you before.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “That sounds ominous.”

  “It’s not important to me. But it just goes to prove that you’re right. The city is small.” And he hadn’t told her yet that she wasn’t the only one in this mess who had a connection to Harrison Hunt, though his was a whole lot less important.

  He glanced outside. Now that the music was more lively, none of the partygoers were looking their direction, much less approaching the house. “Ethan—the guy trying to raise my kids like they’re his own—works for HuntCom.”

  As she absorbed that, her eyes visibly cooled. “I…see.”

  Her expression, combined with the itch at the back of his neck, assured him that she undoubtedly didn’t. At least not from his point of view. “He’s in their legal department.”

  “What do you want me to do about that?” She set her beer carefully on an antique side table. “Dial up Uncle Harry and ask him to fire Ethan so there’s no European job at all? Seems to me that would have been a better plan on your part than trying to pull one over on the judge in your custody battle.”

  Coming on the heels of the unpleasantness with Stephanie, her assessment bit like sharp, pointed teeth. “I would never put you in that position,” he said slowly. Truthfully.

  He set down his own beer, taking the time to let that quick shard of anger inside him dull. “But that’s the second time you’ve jumped to the conclusion that I wanted something from you specifically because of your association with Hunt. I’ll tell you the same thing I told you before. I’m not interested in HuntCom or trying to use your connection there to my advantage.” He didn’t count using it to stop his ex-wife from bad-mouthing Bobbie behind her back. “Just because that’s what people have wanted from you in the past doesn’t mean that’s what I want. The only reason I’m even bringing it up now is because I didn’t want you hearing it from someone else and starting to think exactly what you’re thinking.”

  “So you could have told me before. When you first learned about Uncle Harry.”

  “I was wrong, all right? You deserved full disclosure right from the start, but frankly, I was more interested in convincing you to help me follow my attorney’s advice!” At least as much of the advice as Gabe could stand to follow. “It wouldn’t matter to me if you’d never heard of Harrison Hunt.”

  He exhaled and found another store of patience from some place that he didn’t even know existed.

  She was standing there so stiffly in her pretty, torn gown, as if she were braced for the inevitable worst, and just then he wanted to string up everyone from their thumbs who’d ever put such doubt in her.

  “Bobbie,” he began again, more calmly. “I’m a simple man. I build things. I don’t go around manipulating people and situations. I’m just trying to hold onto my kids. Despite your suspicions that nobody could possibly want something from you simply because you are you, I’m telling you the truth. I just need you to help me level the playing field when I get to court.”

  She chewed her lower lip. “I work in a coffee shop, Gabe. I can barely pay my own bills. How on earth is that going to provide any sort of leveling?”

  “Not everything is about money.” He could almost hear the Gannon family collectively gasping. “And I’m not exactly standing in the welfare lines. A lot of what I have is tied up in the company, but that doesn’t mean I can’t provide just as well for my children as Stephanie does, courtesy of her husband’s billable hours.” It would just take a helluva lot larger chunk of his income, but he’d deal with it.

  “If you’re going to change your mind about all this, then let me know now,” he added, “because the closer we get to the hearing, the worse it’ll be if you do. I’m trying to prove my stability and now that Steph thinks we’re engaged, if we turn out suddenly not to be right before we go to court, she’ll try using that to her advantage.”

  Bobbie pushed her fingers through her hair, holding the mass of long curls away from her heart-shaped face. She closed her gray eyes and shook her head a little. Her dark hair slid in curling ribbons against her pale skin. “I’m not going to change my mind.” She opened her eyes again, dropping her hands. A smile that struck him as oddly sad played around her soft lips. “In it until the end, and all that, right?”

  He didn’t even realize how much he’d been afraid she would reconsider until the relief hit him after her words. “Right.” His throat felt unaccountably tight.

  “Do me a favor? While we’re pretending for everyone else, don’t pretend with me. Custody of your children is so much more important than me ruining some stupid fund-raising dinner for a jerk. If you think I’m becoming a hindrance, you have to tell me, so—”

  He caught her face in his hands and her eyes went wide as her voice trailed off. “Have a little faith in yourself, Bobbie. I do.”

  She blinked, looking startled, and moistened her lips. “I’ll…try.”

  “Good.” He realized he was staring at her glistening lower l
ip and made himself drop his hands. “Good,” he said again and picked up his beer to wash down the gruffness in his throat. “Now that we’ve got that straightened out, maybe we should go join the party. Do you want to dance?” She was young and beautiful. Of course she’d want to dance. And he wasn’t hypocritical enough to deny that putting his arms around her for the few measures of a song was an appealing notion.

  “I’m not much good at it.” She lifted her skirt a few inches, smiling wryly. “My coordination only seems to come together when I’m playing sports.”

  “What about yoga?”

  “Well.” She tilted her hand back and forth, suddenly looking discomfited. “I guess I do passably well. Sometimes.”

  He knew only too well that she’d looked more than passably sexy in her yoga getup. He took another pull of cold beer, willing his body back into order. “That leaves a lot of other sports still. Tiddlywinks. Boxing.”

  The dimple in her cheek appeared. “Neither, I’m afraid.” She shrugged, looking more at ease. “I like golf and softball. Volleyball. Basketball was a no-go for obvious reasons.” She waved her hand at herself. “I did run track in school, though. High jump. Hurdles. Relay.”

  All of which required plenty of coordination. “Discus,” he offered.

  “Ah.” Her smile broadened suddenly, mischievously. “Discobolos. The Discus Thrower.” Her gaze ran down his body as if she were comparing him to Myron’s famous Greek sculpture. “I can imagine that.”

  The heat running up his spine might have been embarrassment. It was more likely knowing she was comparing him to a naked statue and, judging by her expression, he wasn’t faring too badly.

  He let out a laugh aimed more at himself than anything and drank down the rest of the beer. This is what he got for spending months—years—focused on things more important than his sex life. Now it was an effort to think about anything else.

  “Outside,” he suggested. The chilly night air would have to suffice since a cold shower wasn’t available as long as he was at Fiona’s.

  She nodded and headed for the doorway. Her chin ducked for a moment, but not quickly enough to hide her flushed cheeks from him. “Maybe Fiona will open her gifts soon and we can go home.” She didn’t wait for him, but hurried outside, still holding her torn skirt off to the side.

  He let out a long, long breath and started to follow. But a sparkle on the carpet caught his attention and he bent down to pick it up.

  A tiny, faceted daisy winked up at him.

  Smiling slightly, he slipped the hairpin into his pocket and followed Bobbie into the night.

  Fiona, they soon found, was not even remotely close to opening her gifts. Even though his grandmother had complained loudly about the party, she was the one in the center of the dance floor cutting a rug with Gabe’s father.

  Gabe stood behind Bobbie, where she’d stopped to watch from the edge of the crowded dance floor. It was even more crowded around the wooden square, though, which was his only excuse for standing so close to her that he could smell that hint of lemony freshness in her hair. And when a couple brushed against them as they sidled through to the dance floor, it was only natural for Gabe to slide his arm around Bobbie’s waist to keep her from being knocked sideways.

  She looked up at him and her eyes seemed darker, more like the smoky color of her dress in the soft light from the twinkling strands circling the tent above their heads. “Thanks.”

  He managed a nod. He could feel the natural curve of her waist beneath the smooth, silky fabric of her gown.

  “Fiona and your father are putting everyone else to shame.”

  He nodded again, making himself look away from her face. On the opposite side of the dance floor, he could see his mother standing arm-in-arm with Stephanie. Fortunately, both of them seemed more interested in whatever they were talking about—most likely the spectacle Fiona was making of herself as she swung around with abandon to a song he was pretty sure Lisette listened to on her MP3 player—than in paying him any heed.

  Barely a few minutes had passed when the pounding song ended, though, giving way to a slower beat. He could hear his grandmother’s breathless laughter amid the small exodus from the dance floor.

  He leaned down so Bobbie would hear. “This is more my speed. You game?” His arm was still wrapped around her waist and he felt her quick inhale.

  “I suppose I can’t do more damage to my dress than I’ve already done.” She gave a little turn right out from beneath his arm, then caught his hand in hers as she stepped off the grass onto the dance floor.

  Fiona passed by them, smiling benevolently. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to see.” She patted their arms before stepping off the dance floor. “Where’s that boy with the cocktails?” he heard her asking.

  “I hope I’m as fabulous as she is when I’m her age.” Bobbie stepped into his arms, though her gaze seemed carefully fixed on Fiona’s movements.

  “You’re pretty fabulous now.” God knew she felt fabulous. He’d have to be dead not to know it. And lately, since he’d met her, he was feeling more alive than he had in years.

  Her lips curving, she looked up at him through the dark fringe of her eyelashes. “You’re just saying that because I’ve fallen in with your plans.”

  They were barely shuffling around on the crowded dance floor. He tucked his knuckle beneath her softly pointed chin and nudged it upward.

  Her playful smile slowly died as he looked into her wide eyes. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

  “Gabe—” Her soft voice broke off.

  He’d never before thought his thumb had a mind of its own, but evidently it did, brushing across the fullness of her lower lip.

  Her gaze flickered. “Let’s not forget what we’re really doing here.”

  His left hand seemed damnably independent, too, sliding more firmly around her back, drawing her silk-draped curves even closer against him. “What I’m really doing,” he murmured in her ear, “is trying not to kiss you right now.”

  Her head went back a little further. Her long, spiraling curls tickled his fingers pressing against her spine. “Really?”

  “Don’t be surprised,” he reminded. “You started it.” His lips closed over hers.

  That quick inhale. That faint little mmming sound of delight. It burned through him as suddenly as the flare of a match. Only this flame wasn’t going to burn itself out quickly…or easily. Just then, as unwise as he knew it was, he didn’t care. His fingertips pressed into the smooth arch of her back and he felt her hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders—

  “Oh. I’m so sorry!”

  Gabe barely heard the exclamation, but Bobbie yanked back from him. “It’s not your fault,” he heard her breathless assurance.

  Feeling half-witted, he realized the woman dancing behind them had stepped on Bobbie’s dress that she’d forgotten to hold up, making the tear ten times worse, and ten times more noticeable.

  Her face was flushed and she didn’t meet his eyes when she turned back toward him. “I have to go.”

  “It’s just a tear—”

  “I know.” She was already backing away from him. Physically and mentally. “But I, um, I should do something about it.” Her lips stretched. “Fortunately, I don’t have to go far.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No!” She shook her head. “Stay. Fiona will miss you. I’ll just…later. We’ll…later.”

  Nonsensical, but perfectly meaningful.

  She looked panicked.

  So he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from getting any more ideas, and let her go. “All right.”

  She barely hesitated before hurrying from beneath the warmth and light of the tent. He watched her as she practically ran in her high heels and flapping hem across the lawn and down the slight hill toward her carriage house.

  She might as well have been Cinderella on the run.

  Inside his pocket, he rolled her tiny, sharp-edged hair clip betwe
en his fingers.

  Unfortunately, in this fairy tale, he knew he was no prince.

  Not when he’d long ago stopped believing in happily-ever-afters.

  Chapter Seven

  “So, how was the birthday party last night?” Bobbie’s sister Tommi, looking flushed from the heat of the kitchen, flicked open the top few buttons of her white chef’s jacket and sat down on one of the barstools next to where Bobbie was sitting, filling salt shakers. It was the only “payment” Tommi would accept for the delicious crab bisque and baguettes that Bobbie had scarfed down for lunch.

  The afternoon shift was over, the waitstaff and last of the customers departed, and this being Monday, Tommi wouldn’t be reopening in a few hours again for dinner like on the other days of the week. “It was okay. I didn’t stay all that long, actually.” Bobbie focused hard on not letting the plastic funnel overflow. “Aside from Fiona, I didn’t really know anyone.”

  “Wasn’t her Mr. Handyman grandson there?”

  Bobbie nodded casually. “Gabe? Sure. Of course. Most of Fiona’s family were there.”

  Tommi’s fingertips slowly drummed the bar’s surface. “So…?”

  There was never any fooling the Fairchild women. Not their mother, Cornelia, nor Cornelia’s daughters.

  But Bobbie could still try. She’d warned Gabe that she wouldn’t lie to her family. And even though she knew it would be better to tell them herself than chance them hearing about their “engagement” through gossip, she still couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for admitting to them what she’d agreed to. No matter what the reason, none of them would approve of her participation in something deceitful.

  “So…nothing.” Bobbie tucked her tongue between her teeth, moving the salt shaker to the trio of filled ones before sliding another in its place. She glanced at her sister’s tired face. “I wish you’d hire another sous chef,” she said. The guy who’d held the position had been gone for over a month now. “This place has gotten way too busy for you to handle everything alone.”

  Tommi just shrugged. “We’ll see. Finding the right person isn’t all that easy. Is there something going on between you and Gabe?”