A Proposal Worth Waiting For: The Heir's Proposal / A Pregnancy, a Party & a Proposal / His Proposal, Their Forever. Raye Morgan
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you had a whole list.”
“I do. Here goes.” His head tilted back and he began to go through the reasons, counting them off on his fingers.
“No ring on your finger. No ring on his. Separate bedrooms. You two sit at a dinner table like strangers. Newlyweds usually can’t keep their hands off each other.”
Her lower lip stuck out and she took a deep breath. “Circumstantial evidence. What else?”
He turned and held her gaze with his own for a long, long moment before he spoke. And then he said, in a soft, husky voice, “The way you look at me.”
She gasped sharply and her cheeks colored again. “You don’t play fair, do you?” she said breathlessly, looking at him wide-eyed, knowing she probably looked hurt rather than angry. Because that was pretty much the way she felt.
He hesitated. She could see the indecision in his eyes. Then he reached out and touched her cheek softly with his fingertips. One casual caress and his hand was gone again.
“Torie, I don’t mean anything personal by that. I just mean that like any healthy young woman, you’re attracted to men. Not just me. It could be anybody. You’re not committed to one guy yet and it’s written all over you.”
He was so right about everything—probably why he was annoying. The more he talked, the less she found she could argue back about.
Still, this was not fair. She turned back to glare at him. “It’s all none of your business, you know.”
“Wrong.” He shrugged, his eyes cool and mysterious. “You came here under false pretenses. You claimed something that isn’t true. I should send you packing.”
She drew in a quick breath. “No. Your mother can do that if she wants. But you have no standing to do it. You didn’t invite us.”
“I didn’t invite you,” he repeated, shaking his head. The bitter twist was back in his mouth. “You’re right. It’s up to my mother. If she doesn’t care that you lied to get in here, why should I?”
Her courage took on new life. “You got that right. Good for you.”
“Tell me this, Torie.” He moved closer, looking down into her eyes. “Just exactly why are you here?”
“Me?”
“Yes. You.” He shook his head. “You’re not married to Carl. You don’t care if he buys the place or not. What do you want out of all this?”
“I...” She closed her eyes and swayed a bit. She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him that she’d lived here in the past, that if he thought hard, he would remember her, that his family had ruined her family and they ought to face that fact—and help her get to the truth. That was what she wanted. But she didn’t have the proof to back up those claims. Not yet. Soon, she hoped to lay it all before him. Very soon.
“I’m helping Carl,” she said. “Believe it or not, he thinks he needs me. He thinks portraying himself as a married man gives him more gravitas to make his case and submit his purchase plans.”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, his gaze travelling over her face as though sure the truth was in there somewhere. “That’s not it. I don’t think Carl wants to buy Shangri-La at all. He doesn’t have that land-grab look in his eyes.”
She threw out her hands, palms up. “Okay Mr. Know-It-All, then what did we come here for?” She waited, breathing fast. What was he going to guess? Did he have any idea?
“You got me.” His blue eyes searched her dark ones. “I don’t know. I don’t know why you came. I don’t know what you were doing out at the caves. I don’t know who you really are. But I intend to find out.” He flashed her a lopsided grin, his eyes filled with mischief. “So be careful, baby. Just remember. Like the song says, every move you make.”
“You’ll be watching me,” she said, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice but not entirely succeeding. “Got it.”
“WHAT was that?” Lyla’s coal-black eyes were wide and startled. Her stylishly short hair was swept back in two wings at the sides of her face, making her look all the more surprised. “Was that a wolf?”
It was well after dark and Jimmy had started a fire in the fire pit on the patio overlooking the ocean. The others were gathering there, and Torie had joined them. The strange, high-pitched cry, wild and unnerving, had come during a lull in conversation.
“It sounds like a coyote,” she told the pretty woman reassuringly. “They usually shy away from humans. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Hey, no problem,” the man named Frank told her with a leering smile. “No one’s going to let a lovely lady like you get eaten by wolves.”
“Define wolves,” his wife Phoebe interjected caustically, looking daggers at Lyla.
Torie turned away. She was definitely staying out of this one. The drinks had been flowing freely for over an hour now, so the voices were getting higher and laughter was ringing throughout the patio area. That was good as far as she was concerned. At some point, she was hoping to feel safe in slipping away and following her own plan. It was just a matter of time.
She sank down into a deep wicker chair, staring into the golden flames that were leaping higher and higher, ignoring the others and letting memories creep up out of her subconscious.
She remembered parties around this very fire pit—but not parties that she ever attended. She remembered slinking about in the shadows, watching as Ricky or Marc gathered here with their high-school friends, envying them their abandoned joy, wishing...she wasn’t sure what. But wishing with all her heart anyway for something...someone.
She glanced out into the trees, wondering if there was anyone watching the way she’d watched. Sure enough, there was Marc. He wasn’t exactly hiding the way she had, but he was watching. Right now, he had his attention trained on someone else, though, and that made her smile. He was so busy keeping tabs on everyone. What made a man so paranoid?
But she knew very well what did that. It affected her, too.
He glanced her way and her gaze met his and she made a face, hoping to annoy him. Then she winked, for no reason at all. She caught the ghost of a smile on his face before he turned away and started watching the big Texan who was enthralling one and all with tales of his cowboy days herding cattle out on the range, heading for the Chicago stockyards.
“Has this guy ever heard that trains took over that job about a hundred years ago?” Frank muttered as he walked past her.
She glanced around the circle. Once again, Carl had disappeared and she frowned. What was his problem, anyway?
Someone put a stick in her hand and she noticed, vaguely, there was something white attached to the end of it.
“Oh my gosh,” Lyla cried out as someone handed her one too. “Toasted marshmallows on a stick. Are you serious?”
Torie blinked, realizing she was right. Dutifully, she began waving it toward the flames but she wasn’t particularly interested in the results.
“You’re letting it burn,” a low voice said from behind. Marc had come in from the cold and he reached out and took the stick from her, turning it expertly so that it browned evenly. He handed it back.
She gave him a questioning look, then stared at the gooey mess on the end of her stick. “I’m supposed to eat this?”
“You’ll love it.”
“I doubt it.”
He took it off the stick and popped it into her mouth before she could stop him. That made her laugh. It was good, sugary and crisp on the outside, creamy on the