Callan's Proposition

скачать книгу бесплатно


“Yes, you do,” he replied. “Now sit up.” She shook her head, then felt the couch dip as he sat beside her. Well, maybe she did stiffen up just a little, she thought, and buried her head deeper under the pillow. “Please go away.”

“I’m not going away.” His finger brushed her cheek when he parted the fringe covering her face. “I’m going to sit right here until you talk to me.”

“I can’t.” She tried to ignore the feel of his callused finger on her cheek and the shiver working its way up her spine. “After what I did last night, I can’t ever talk to, or even look at you, again. In fact, I’m moving to Alaska.”

He chuckled. “And what exactly is it that you think you did?”

Still refusing to look at him, she held up her hand and extended her index finger. “One, I told my aunts that you were my fiancé. Two—” her second finger came up “—I got drunk. Three, I…I—”

She groaned into the pillow. Oh, God. She couldn’t even say she’d nearly stripped for him, let alone believe she’d actually done it.

“Abby.” He said her name softly, then took hold of her shoulders and pulled her upright. When she kept the pillow pressed to her face, he tugged it away from her. “It’s okay to let loose once in a while. You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed about.”

“Easy for you to say.” She still refused to look at him. “You weren’t the one who made an idiot out of yourself.”

Her pulse jumped when he put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. A midnight shadow of beard covered the lower portion of his face, and one thick shock of dark hair fell over his forehead. The rough texture of his finger under her chin sent an army of tiny shivers marching through her.

“You didn’t make an idiot out of yourself,” he said gently. “Actually you were kind of cute.”

“Cute?” She blinked at him. “Mr. Sinclair, please don’t patronize or lie to me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not lying or patronizing. Now say my name.”

“Mr. Sinclair?”

“Callan, or Cal, if you prefer.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “You want your aunts to go on their trip and not move in with you, right?”

“Well, yes, I—”

“Then I’m your man.”

“What?”

“You told me that your aunts think you need a man, right?”

She felt her cheeks burn. “Well, I suppose I may have said—”

“So for the two weeks your aunts are here, I’m your man, Abby.”

“You’re my man?” she whispered.

He nodded. “For two whole weeks, I’m all yours.”

Abigail suddenly found it hard to breathe, let alone speak. Her mind felt sluggish and heavy, but she knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol she’d consumed last night and everything to do with the touch of Callan’s finger on her chin and the way he’d said, “I’m all yours.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I want you back, Abigail,” he said firmly. “And if that means pretending to be your fiancé for a few days, then fine. We’ll make your aunts happy, and after they leave, everything will go back to normal.”

Normal? He actually thought that they could pretend to be engaged, and after her aunts left, they could go back to normal? She didn’t believe that for a moment. This was a very dangerous proposition he was making her. She’d be a fool to accept. A complete and utter fool.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t.

Could she? “My aunts will never believe it,” she said, though her voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else.

“Well, we’ll just have to be convincing, then, won’t we?” he murmured. “Now say my name.”

She swallowed hard, then squeaked, “Callan.”

He rolled his eyes. “You sound like Minnie Mouse. Try it again.”

She looked at his mouth again, felt her own lips tingle. “Callan,” she breathed.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and before he released her, she could swear his thumb brushed over her jaw. Still staring at her mouth, he cleared his throat. “Well, there. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

No, she thought with a sense of dread. It wasn’t hard at all. In fact, it was much too easy.

He rose suddenly, still looking at her as he tripped over the leg of her coffee table. “You don’t need to come in to the office this morning. I’ll, ah, meet you at the tavern at one o’clock.”

“But—”

“One o’clock,” he backed toward the front door, then closed it behind him on his way out.

This was a bad idea, she thought and stared at the door. Bad, bad idea. They would never get away with it.

Closing her eyes, she realized that she hadn’t even warned him about her aunts and their…unpredictable behavior. Unless Emerald and Ruby were unusually subdued, which Abby seriously doubted, Callan Sinclair was in for a lunch he’d never forget.

With a gasp she opened her eyes abruptly.

Oh, no.

There was one other little minor detail she’d forgotten to mention. Only it wasn’t exactly minor, and it certainly wasn’t little.

Groaning, she slumped back on the couch and realized the full meaning of jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

“You want me to pretend you’re what?” Standing behind the bar, Reese Sinclair looked up sharply from the beer mug he was busy filling. “To who?”

“Keep it down, will you?” Callan frowned at his brother, then quickly glanced over his shoulder at Abby and her aunts sitting at a table in the middle of the tavern. The lunch crowd was heavy today, and neither Abby nor her aunts had spotted him yet. “Engaged. I want you to pretend I’m engaged. To Abby.”

Beer poured over the sides of the frosty mug in Reese’s hand. He swore, then reached for a towel. “You’re kidding, right? You and…Abby? Since when do you call Abigail Abby?”

He’d decided that if they were going to be “engaged” he should think of her as Abby. “Since this morning.”

“This morning?” Reese raised both brows. “You mean morning, as in, woke up next to her?”

“Something like that.” He’d actually woken up under her, he recalled and remembered the feel of her soft, slender body on top of his. Strange, but he could still feel the warmth of her skin on his chest and the brush of her silky hair against his face.

Reese slung the towel over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. “She was a little tipsy when she left here with you last night. If you’re trying to string her along to ease a guilty conscience, I’m not having any part of it.”

“Reese, for God’s sake, will you—”

“Abigail’s a nice girl,” Reese went on. “A little dull, maybe, but sweet. I wouldn’t like to think that my own brother took advantage of a kid like that.”

Kid? Abby was no kid, Cal thought, remembering the womanly curves she’d been so insistent on showing him last night. And under different circumstances, with any other woman, he would have been more than eager to see that incredible body. But this was Abby, for God’s sake. He couldn’t think that way about Abby.

“She’s twenty-six, for your information,” Cal said irritably. “And no, I didn’t take advantage of her, you moron. We fell asleep on the couch, with our clothes on, that’s all.”

Well, maybe there was a little more than that, but whatever happened last night was between him and Abby, Callan thought, then glanced over at the table again. As if she knew he was watching her, she slowly looked up and met his gaze.

He felt an odd catch in his throat as he stared back at her. She wore a high-collared gray sweater, and he realized it was the first time he’d seen her without a business suit—well, other than last night, but she had been wearing her suit then, too, or at least most of it. He looked at the oversize sweater she had on, the big, black-rimmed glasses, the tight knot of blond hair at the base of her neck, and he wondered why all this time she’d been hiding behind a facade of plain, when she really wasn’t plain at all. She was actually kind of pretty. More than kind of, he thought. She had really soft, smooth skin, her eyes were an unusual shade of gray-green, and that body, well, hot damn, that body was—

“Cal, hello, anybody home?” Reese waved a hand in front of his face and pulled him out of his illicit thoughts. “What’s the matter with you?”