A Convenient Proposal Read online

  “Oh. Well…well, good.” Stunned by the idea of a man who ate yogurt and didn’t steal her razor, Arden started up the beach toward the cottage path. “You’re planning to fly back to Georgia today, is that right? From Miami?” The sooner he left, the better. Even more than last night’s drunk, this morning’s version tempted her into fantasies that would destroy her peace of mind. “I was. My flight left—” he squinted at his watch as they stepped under the palms at the start of the trail “—twelve minutes ago.”

  She walked ahead of him, preparing herself for the worst. “What will you do now?”

  “That,” Griff said, “is what we have to talk about.”

  THE SILENCE IN PLACE OF her reply said all Griff needed to know. Arden had reconsidered last night’s agreement and wanted to back out. As a gentleman, he should allow her that option.

  But he simply didn’t want to. Standing in her neat little cottage, holding a cup of coffee to fight the headache he’d pretended he didn’t have, Griff decided he wasn’t ready to let this woman escape so soon.

  She faced him from the other end of the kitchen, standing with her back to the window above the sink, which left her face shadowed. Now that he could see her in daylight, he recognized shadows in her eyes, too. The lady owned a troubled past.

  He leaned a hip against the counter and took a long draw from his mug. “I gave you the high points of my life last night—or low points, depending on your perspective. You’ve got some mystery going on, though, and I’m curious. Are you on vacation down here, escaping the cold and snow up north with a few weeks in the Florida sun?”

  She sipped from a delicate china cup. “I’ve lived here full time for the last year.”

  “Alone?”

  “I have Igor for company.” She’d left the dog outside when they came in.

  Griff was grateful to be free of the canine’s disapproval, at least temporarily. “So this is your own private piece of Florida?”

  After a pause, she shook her head. “The island belongs to…a friend of mine. I’m the—the caretaker.”

  “You’re here to keep an eye on the place, chase off trespassers, that sort of thing?”

  “Exactly that sort of thing.” She frowned into her coffee. “Obviously, I need more practice at the chasing off trespassers part of the job description.”

  He didn’t believe her, but he let the lie pass. “My mother always said I was obstinate.”

  “I believe that.”

  “Good. Because I’m asking you again this morning if you’ll come back to Sheridan with me and pretend to be my girlfriend for a couple months.”

  Now she frowned directly at him. “It’s a ridiculous idea.”

  “For that reason alone, it’ll work. Nobody would expect me to do something so…so—”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “I was trying for a synonym. But okay. People won’t be looking beyond how beautiful you are and how lucky I am. That’s all I ask—the chance to ease back into my life without a bunch of fanfare. You can make that possible.”

  She gazed at him for a long moment, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking until she said, “And in return you’ll give me a baby?”

  Griff swallowed hard. “I can do my best. There aren’t any guarantees on that kind of thing.” Boy, could he do his best. He’d be more than willing to make love to her morning, noon and night, given the opportunity.

  The baby part, he wasn’t nearly so sure about. His head wasn’t clear enough to consider the inevitable complications.

  Still, how many couples actually got pregnant right away? Most of the time it was months before a woman conceived, if not years. He could even do a little cheating, figure out her monthly cycle and avoid the most dangerous times…if things got that far.

  “What do you think?” Setting his mug down, he crossed to stand in front of her in the narrow aisle. “Anything I can do to help you decide?” Watching her stormy eyes, he removed the cup from her hands and put it gently on the counter. “For instance, just in case you thought last night was a figment of your imagination…”

  Propping his hands on the sink rim behind her slim waist, Griff lowered his head to kiss her again. She was shorter than he’d realized last night on the beach.

  Her lips were just as smooth, though, her taste every bit as potent. Forget champagne…he’d be more than satisfied to sip this ripe, mellow flavor over and over again.

  She gave a little moan and slid her arms around his neck. He caught a whiff of scent from her skin, as clean and clear as the sea itself. The kisses went on and on, deeper, wilder, while her breasts nestled against his chest and her bare knees hugged one of his. A wave of lust broke over Griff. He was desperate, drowning, totally aroused and barely hanging on to the edge of sanity…and the kitchen counter.

  With a gasp, he dragged his mouth free and set his chin on top of her head. “Um, yeah…I think that answered all my questions.” He blew out a breath, took another one. “What do you say? Are you coming with me to Georgia?”

  Stepping back, he eased his knee away from the provocation of hers, then blinked a couple of times to bring his eyes into focus.

  Her perfect cameo face looked as befuddled as he felt. Her troubled green-gray eyes were the color of the ocean just before rain starts to fall. He saw need and pain and doubt chase like lightning across that horizon.

  “Come with me,” he urged. “You’ve got Igor to keep me in line.”

  The mischievous delight in her smile socked him right in the gut. “True.” She hesitated a moment longer…or was it a lifetime?

  “Okay,” Arden said, finally. “Give me an hour to pack.”

  “YOU PACK FASTER THAN any woman I know.”

  Arden eyed him with amusement as she carried her bag into the living room. “Are we talking about vast numbers?”

  Griff grinned. “Three sisters and two grandmothers, one mom, assorted cousins. And the ex-fiancée who brought her entire wardrobe every time she visited me at school.”

  Arden picked up the dog’s bowls and went to the kitchen sink to wash them. “Plus assorted friends, I imagine.” Her emphasis on “friends” gave the word a different meaning.

  He waggled a flattened hand. “Maybe one or two. That’s ample, if not strictly vast.”

  “You’re right.” The bowls went into a duffel bag along with a small bag of food and a liter bottle of water. The dog’s suitcase, Griff assumed. “I don’t keep all my clothes here on the island. I’ll need to stop in Miami to pick up a few more things.” With her duffel in one hand and Igor’s in the other, she stopped in front of Griff. “Will that lump me in with the rest of your women?”

  He stared down at her a moment, considering the question. “No,” he said at last, moving to close the door behind them. “No, I think you’re in a class all by yourself.”

  At that, the bags thudded down on the porch’s cement floor. She whirled to glare at him. “There are rules to this arrangement,” she said in a stern voice. “We both have to remember them.”

  Griff crossed his arms and braced his shoulders against the door. “Rules?”

  She held up one finger. “This is a business deal, not a romance.”

  “Okay.” He had to agree. She wouldn’t come, otherwise.

  The second finger came up. “This engagement exists in public only. When we’re alone, we don’t need to maintain displays of affection.”

  “No?” He shrugged, looking at the bead board ceiling. “Then you won’t be getting pregnant.”

  “That is part of the contract.” The squeak in her voice told him more than she would want him to know.

  Griff lowered his eyes to meet her gaze. “Last I knew, getting pregnant required a certain level of, uh, affectionate display.”

  She actually stood there pondering the issue, while he did his best to hide a smile.

  “Well, yes,” she finally agreed. “But it’s just sex. No…no—”

  “Feelings?” What in the hell was just sex? />
  “Emotions,” she corrected. “No emotions involved. We’re not planning a life together. This is strictly an engagement of convenience.”

  “Right.” He lowered the shades on the porch and held the door for her to exit. Her “rules” sent a chill down his spine. But he’d worry about that after they got past the first hurdle—meeting his family.

  As they walked along the path to the other side of the island, Igor darted into the brush under the tall trees, always checking back after a few moments to be sure they hadn’t gotten lost. At least for now, he didn’t seem to object to another male’s presence on the journey.

  “Does your friend who owns the island come down fairly often?” Griff slipped his fingers into the handle of her heavier bag. After a short tussle, she conceded and let him carry it.

  “Never. The main house is old and falling apart. Only the cottage is livable, but it’s not big enough for more than two people.”

  “So your friend has a family?”

  An annoyed glance flashed his way. “You’re being nosy, aren’t you?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “I call it making polite conversation.”

  “The kind I—your adoring fiancée—will have to parry at all these parties we’ll be attending?”

  “Exactly.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be prepared.”

  But she hadn’t, he noticed, answered the question.

  As the path led them past the ruined glory of the island mansion, Griff stopped for a moment to stare. “That place doesn’t need a caretaker—it wouldn’t provide shelter for a drenched rat. So why does your friend want someone living on this pile of sand?”

  “I think I told you last night—to warn strangers away. To watch out for the wildlife, pick up trash and take care of the cottage. That sort of thing.”

  From the high point where the house stood, the path began a gentle slope down toward the water. Griff cupped his free hand loosely around Arden’s elbow, just in case.

  “Considering I didn’t see a trace of you until I’d been here several hours,” he said, “and then you let me spend the night, I have to say I’m wondering about your job performance.”

  During the long pause following his comment, they stepped out from under the trees onto the beach, barely a hundred yards from the dock where his rented speedboat bobbed on the waves.

  Then Arden put the dog’s bag on the ground, unzipped a pocket on the side and withdrew a cell phone, which she held up in front of his face. “My performance, as you put it, consists of calling the police. I didn’t expect to have visitors after dark last night, so I didn’t take the phone with me to watch the fireworks. Most people come during the day to sunbathe and swim.”

  Griff raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Drug runners and smugglers might appreciate having a base on a small, out-of-the-way place like this. And they like working in the dark.”

  “That’s why the Coast Guard patrols at random times every day. That’s why there are motion detectors posted in the ruins and throughout the woods, linked to a monitoring system in the cottage and an alarm on the mainland. I don’t know how you bypassed them.”

  “Beginner’s luck—I walked along the shore. Your friend must have deep pockets.”

  “Plus…” Ignoring his comment, she bent to Igor’s kit again, and this time came up with a shiny, businesslike pistol. “I do know how to use this, should the occasion arise.”

  “Whoa. That’s not your standard hunting rifle.” He held his hands in the air as he backed up a step. “You didn’t have that at the beach last night, either. Did you bring it along today in case Igor couldn’t keep me under control?”

  “I thought I would put it in storage while I traveled. There’s no sense leaving a weapon for someone to find.”

  “Good point.” Griff blew out a long breath. “You’re quite a puzzle, Arden Burke. And very good at avoiding questions.”

  She gave him a serene smile, then bent to replace the pistol and close the zipper. “I think I’ve just given you quite a lot of information. Besides, I should be asking the questions, since I’m supposed to know you well enough to want to marry you. For instance, can I trust you to pilot us to the mainland without sinking? How long have you been driving boats?”

  “Hah.” Grabbing up the dog’s bag, he started toward the dock, leaving her to follow empty-handed. “I’ve been fooling around with boats since I was ten, maybe even younger. We have a summer place at Lake Lanier, and we always had ski boats.”

  He climbed onto the prow of the speedboat and transferred her bags into the bottom, then pulled the small craft sideways against the pier. “Does Igor need help?”

  Arden shook her head. “Igor, jump.” She pointed at the boat. “Let’s go.”

  The dog gave her a skeptical look, but after a moment of hesitation, he hopped in.

  “Good boy,” she told him. “Good dog.”

  Griff held up a hand. “Your turn.”

  The boat dipped and rose slightly with the waves washing into shore, but Arden boarded gracefully, with just the slightest dependence on his hand for balance.

  “I’ve never known anybody so good at changing the subject,” he declared. “Will I ever get a straight answer from you on a personal question?”

  “That’s another rule. No prying.” She unrolled a broad-brimmed hat and set it on her head, then took a seat at the bow, next to the dog. “Now, are you planning to bring the dock with us, or shall we untie the rope before you turn on the engine?”

  Chapter Three

  In Miami, they took a cab from the marina to one of the high-rise buildings overlooking the waterfront. Igor was completely at home in the car and then in the elevator.

  Griff was not. “The ride up is taking longer than the trip over here.”

  Arden looked at him in surprise. “Are you claustrophobic?”

  “No…well, maybe a little.” He hunched his shoulders, rolled his head around and then rubbed a hand over his face. “I haven’t been in an elevator, or a building more than two stories high, in months. That’s all.”

  “We won’t be here long.” They stepped into a quiet hallway with closed doors and a deep green carpet. Arden turned left and led him to the last door on the right, where she put her key into the lock of number 3209. “If the height bothers you—”

  “Not height,” he corrected, stepping in after her. “I’m just not used to being…wow.”

  The wall facing the apartment entrance was a panel of glass from floor to ceiling, offering a panorama of the Florida coastline and the Keys beyond. Griff crossed to the wide expanse of window. “Talk about million-dollar views!”

  She stood beside him a moment, gazing out into the sunny afternoon. “You can see storms coming from beyond the horizon. I’ve spent whole afternoons just watching the weather change.”

  He turned his head to look at her, a new understanding in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to offer you anything you couldn’t buy for yourself, would I?”

  Arden decided to answer the question. “Probably not.”

  “And the island—Chaos Key, right?—belongs to you.”

  “Yes.” Before he could continue the conversation, she hurried toward the bedroom. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Make yourself at home—there are drinks in the refrigerator and snacks in the cupboard.”

  She sighed in relief when the snap of a pop top and the rustle of chips assured her he’d accepted the invitation. Given what she’d learned about Griff Campbell already, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d followed her to the bedroom to pursue the conversation he’d tried to start and she didn’t want to finish.

  Igor claimed his usual spot on the king-size bed while she stowed the pistol and ammunition in her wall safe. Then, with a hiss of cold air, Arden opened one side of the hermetically sealed closet she’d installed for storing most of her wardrobe. Choosing casual wear to take with her posed no real fashion dilemma. A couple of cold-weather dresses, a few classic shirts and skirts,
plus jackets and sweaters for outdoors… New jeans and shoes would be required, but shopping would give her something to do with her acquaintances in Sheridan, Georgia.

  That plan called up yet another rule: no attachment to the natives. She would have to be friendly without developing friendships—an art she’d practiced nearly as often as she practiced the violin. In any event, the chance that she would share interests with the residents of a tiny, backwoods Georgia town seemed more than remote.

  Thinking about the parties Griff had mentioned, Arden exposed the second half of the closet…and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her pulse rate quickened and tension cramped her stomach as she caught sight of evening gowns covered with red or navy or emerald sequins, plus the thousands of tiny black beads sewn onto party frocks and formal dresses she’d once considered her work wardrobe.

  Worse still was the corner of a white gift box peeping out from beneath a black skirt hem. She didn’t have to lift the lid to remember the contents—tiny caps knitted from soft pastel wools, cotton blankets and towels in pale green and yellow, a small rattle carved from walnut. In a year’s worth of free time, she’d failed to dispose of her last ties to that fragile, lost soul.

  Arden squeezed her eyes shut. Stupid—she should have planned to buy new dresses rather than subject herself to this ordeal. God knew she would never wear any of these clothes again. Why call up her worst memories?

  Definitely not because she intended to share them with her fiancé. “No confessions” would join the list of rules for this engagement, she decided as she closed and resealed the closet. Her past didn’t affect Griff Campbell in any way.

  As for her hearing loss, she would keep that a secret, too. The whole point of this exercise was to present a lovely, desirable woman to his hometown. Showing up with a deaf, unemployed musician would not create the same impression.

  Anyway, Arden hated being the object of pity. She’d retired from the music business so she wouldn’t have to face the sympathy of her colleagues…and the smugness her rivals.