The Millionaire's Proposal
Read The Millionaire's Proposal Online
Authors: Janelle Denison
Janelle Denison
Copyright © Janelle Denison, September 2014
Kindle Edition
Cover Photo Copyright by Karen Gibas Photography
Cover Photo Couple: Fred and Brittany Sigman (and Kambria!)
eBook Cover Design by Novel Graphic Designs
eBook Formatting by BB eBooks
All right reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Author.
Dear Reader,
THE MILLIONAIRE’S PROPOSAL was originally written as a Harlequin Romance in 1998 (as The Baby Surprise), and is much sweeter and more traditional in tone than my current books. I’m thrilled to have the rights back to this book that has been out of print for years, and I’m equally thrilled to share some of my earlier novels with my readers.
This book was originally written at a time when millionaires, cowboys, babies and brides were a very popular theme in romance novels. I’ve made a few changes to update certain aspects of the story, but the classic tone remains the same.
I hope you enjoy Grace and Ford’s story!
Happy Reading,
Janelle Denison
T
he impact of colliding into such a solid wall of masculinity knocked the breath out of Grace Holbrook, and dazed her to the extent that she saw a few stars. It was as if he’d appeared out of nowhere, though she was sure he’d just come out of the bank where she’d been heading. That’s what she got for ogling the new brochures she’d just picked up from the printer’s for her flower shop, instead of watching where she was going.
“Are you all right?”
His voice was deep, rich, and incredibly sexy, coaxing her back to the present with that direct pull on her feminine senses. Still feeling dazed, she blinked and slowly glanced up, summoning an apology for her clumsiness.
The words caught somewhere between her vocal chords and lips. He was a tall man, towering over her own five-foot-five frame with shoulders wide enough for a woman of her petite stature to completely lose herself in.
He was staring at her. At least she assumed he was watching her through the dark sunglasses he wore. She couldn’t see his eyes, and resented that they concealed what appeared to be, by lack of original description, a drop-dead gorgeous face. What she could determine of his features was chiseled with strong lines and angles, except for his nose, which looked like it might have been broken at one time. The slightly crooked slope, and those sensual, well-shaped lips of his, and thick, rich sable hair cut into a short, executive style, only served to accentuate his good looks.
Her admiration took in a hunter green and beige patterned silk shirt, and tan pleated trousers that fitted to lean hips and thighs. Expensive Italian loafers completed his urban image.
He wasn’t from around the small town of Whitaker Falls, Virginia, of that she was certain. For one, they didn’t grow such sophistication, and second, word would have spread that a gorgeous new hunk had taken up residence nearby.
“Are you still with me?” He tilted his head and smiled, producing a fascinating dimple at the corner of his mouth that flirted, charmed, and made Grace’s breath hitch in her throat.
I know that dimple, that devastatingly seductive smile,
she thought, then shook off the notion as absurd and a trick of her imagination. Her internal chastisement did little for the awareness fluttering in her belly.
“Since it seems I’ve knocked the breath out of you, maybe I ought to administer mouth-to-mouth?” he suggested, amusement evident in his voice. “I’d be happy to oblige . . . ”
Her face flushed. “Yes. I mean no.” She groaned in mortification. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so flustered. Attempting to untie her tongue, she tried again. “
No
to the offer of resuscitation, and
yes
, I’m fine.”
“I’m disappointed,” he murmured.
Oh, so am I.
Her gaze dropped to his lips, imagining the ways they could revive a woman. An all too familiar emptiness within her expanded to startling proportions.
She realized he was holding her upper arm; he must have steadied her when they’d collided. His grasp was gentle, his long fingers incredibly warm against her skin. Those same fingers that had offered her balance were tucked next to the side of her breast—innocently, of course, yet her pulse quickened erratically.
“I’m more embarrassed than anything,” she said, for lack of something better to say. “I should have been paying more attention to where I was going.”
“As I should have,” he said, sharing half the blame.
His thumb stroked along her arm, an idle caress that caused another riot of sensations to bloom just beneath the surface of her skin. Unable to bear much more of the physical stuff, she eased her arm back and he released her. The movement caused the strap of her purse to slide down her shoulder, jarring the arm carrying the brochures. Half of the printed material slid out of the protective plastic insert and fluttered to the brick sidewalk.
Groaning at yet another blunder, and in an attempt to conceal the heat creeping up her neck and over her face, she bent to retrieve the brochures.
Could this encounter get any worse, or any more humiliating
, she wondered.
He crouched beside her, picked up one of the brochures, but didn’t hand it over. In fact, as she collected the mess she’d made, she grew uncomfortably aware of him watching her.
Tucking the last of the brochures back into the protective insert, she glanced up and found herself irritated by the sunglasses preventing her from really knowing him. She was certain his gaze was directed at her, but what
part
she couldn’t be sure.
Uneasy under such intense private scrutiny, she grappled for something to say. “I’m okay, really,” she told him, just in case his perusal was nothing more than the concern that she still might be feeling unstable. She almost laughed at that. Who was she kidding? He’d shaken up sensual emotions she’d long ago buried and had her thinking tempting, provocative things no sane woman would consider with a man she’d known less than five minutes.
“You’re more than okay,” he said, his voice low and husky. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”
Grace wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet, but that certainly wouldn’t do. How could this man make her feel so special, so desired, with nothing more than three ordinary words? She’d never considered herself beautiful. Oh, she supposed she was pretty enough, but her simple beauty didn’t inspire men to do double-takes. She wasn’t voluptuous by any stretch of the imagination, but slender with gentle curves. She had thick, shoulder-length blonde hair she normally wore up, or in a French braid, like today, and had inherited common brown eyes with little specks of gold in the center. Nothing distinctive or spectacular about her other facial features, either.
You have the sweetest mouth I’ve ever seen or tasted
.
The eleven year old memory whispered through her mind. One man had appreciated that physical trait of hers, told her as much, and proved his reverence by spending hours teaching her all the sensual delights to be found with her mouth, and his.
She closed her eyes and shivered at the recollection, and along with the memories came the dull pain of loss, confusion, and a long-ago heartache that had never completely healed.
Why now
?
“The compliment wasn’t meant to cause you distress.”
She opened her eyes, searching what she could of the man’s face. That engaging smile again. That irresistible dimple. He was a stranger, yet . . . there was something familiar about him. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A connection she struggled to understand.
As if she’d scrutinized him longer than was comfortable, he straightened abruptly, breaking the silent contact and forcing her to stand, too, or remain staring at his knees.
She shifted the load in her arms, curiosity getting the best of her. “Have we met before?”
His expression revealed nothing, if in fact he had anything to hide. “I suppose, in another lifetime.”
Was that a yes or no
? His ambiguous answer frustrated her, and made her more determined to find out who he was. “Well, I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Grace Holbrook, the clumsy proprietress of Grace and Charm Flower Shoppe, located in Whitaker’s Towne Square.” Smiling, she offered her hand, a prompt for his own introduction. “And I promise I’m not nearly so clumsy with my customer’s orders.”
He laughed, a deep throaty sound that did wonderful things to her nerve endings. Reaching out, he clasped her hand in his, but instead of giving it the brief shake she expected, he brought her fingers to his mouth and brushed the tips against his slightly damp lips.
“It’s a pleasure,” he murmured, his warm breath, the vibration of his voice, tickling her fingertips.
The unanticipated gesture stunned Grace. Her stomach dipped and tumbled and she experienced a moment of sheer light-headedness. The attraction between them was strong and undeniable . . . And dammit, she wanted to see his eyes, his entire face, without those sunglasses!
He moved her hand away from his lips and his mouth curved into a mischievously wicked grin. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”
His witty, double meaning wasn’t lost on her. Her muddled brain just couldn’t think of an equally clever response at the moment.
He nodded amicably, as if hadn’t just turned her inside out with a reckless, dangerous kind of wanting. “Have a good day, Ms. Holbrook.” One of her brochures still in hand, he headed toward a champagne colored luxury coupe she’d never seen before, his stride relaxed and confident.
As he slid inside the leather interior and pulled out of the parking slot, it occurred to Grace that the rogue hadn’t given her his name.
