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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Carl had asked her to come along. It had to be separate bedrooms, no matter how strange that looked.
Marc’s eyes narrowed. “Carl’s a bit older than you are, isn’t he?”
She wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer. Suddenly the bag of gravel felt hard and uncomfortable, and she got up to stretch her legs a bit. There wasn’t much room for pacing, but she did her best.
“Where did you two meet?”
She glanced at him. The question flustered her. Her fingers were trembling. He was going to figure this whole charade out, wasn’t he? He wanted to catch hold of a string and begin to pull it all apart. She could see it coming. But she had to make an attempt—keep her finger in the dike, so to speak.
“I...uh...he hired me to plan some cocktail parties for his business clients.”
“You’re a party planner?”
“And a caterer.” She nodded, brightening to a theme she knew well and something she didn’t have to skate around. “Yes. Any event, large or small. I can make it magical.”
“I’ll bet you can.” His smile was ironic. “So you partied and you fell in love?”
She frowned, not trusting him at all. “You might say that.”
Okay, it was time she got a little tougher. She couldn’t let him think he had the upper hand. Turning, she glared at him.
“Listen, Marc. What’s with the third degree? What is this intense interest in my private life?”
His wide mouth twisted. Maybe he was coming on a bit too strong.
There was no doubt he was suspicious—suspicious of every one of the visitors they were stuck with for the weekend. The last time they’d had an influx of strangers like this had been shortly after his father had died, drowned just outside the bay when his small sailboat had capsized. Once the word had spread that he’d taken the Don Carlos Treasure down with him, fortune hunters had come crawling all over the place. None of them believed that the old Spanish fortune that had been in the Huntington family for over a hundred years had really gone down into the sea. Everyone thought if he just looked hard enough, he would find the hiding place.
And the place searched most often were the caves. Of course. The caves had been where the treasure was first found. And the caves had been where the treasure had been hidden the first time it had disappeared.
But not this last time. Experts had gone over the place with a fine-tooth comb. There was no treasure, not anymore. It was pretty obvious his father’s suicide note had said it all. The Don Carlos Treasure had gone back to the sea, from whence it had come.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and Spanish doubloons back to Neptune.
So was that what this pretty young woman had been looking for in the caves? Of course it was. Why else would she hurry right out there? She even had the look of a treasure hunter—always hopeful.
His gaze held hers for a long moment. There was a spark of humor in his eyes, but that didn’t make her feel any better about this air of tension between them. Finally, he actually smiled.
“No big deal,” he said. “Just making conversation. Passing the time.” He slid off his bag as well and faced her in the small space. “I think the rain has stopped. Let’s go.”
She took a deep breath and watched as he left the shed, then hurried to catch up with him. He started across the dunes, striding quickly in the wet sand, and she had to run to keep up. His legs were much longer than hers.
About halfway to the cliff, he stopped, turning to watch her arrive at his position.
“Rest a minute,” he said.
“I wouldn’t need to if you wouldn’t go so fast,” she said testily.
“Sorry.” But his gaze was restless. He looked toward the large white house up on the cliff. “I can’t help but wonder what they’re doing up there,” he said, mostly to himself. He shook his head. “What is she thinking?”
“Who?” Torie asked, though she was pretty sure he meant Marge. “What’s wrong?”
“‘Turning and turning,’” he muttered, along with some other words she couldn’t make out. He was staring into the distance. “‘The center cannot hold.’”
“What?”
He looked directly into her eyes. “I think I’m in need of some ‘passionate intensity’,” he said.
Funny, but those words seemed to strike a chord with her. “Me too,” she said. “Where do I go to get some?”
His grin was quick and then gone just as quickly. “Try a little Yeats,” he suggested. “That just might be your answer.”
And he was off again across the sands.
She came behind him, muttering about Lawrence of Arabia, but he didn’t go as quickly this time and she arrived at the end of their mad scramble across the dunes only seconds after he did.
“My dear Mrs. Marino.” He said with a touch of sarcasm. “We have reached the end of the line. I think we’d better part company here.”
“You’re not going up to the house?”
“Not yet. I have things to do in another part of the estate.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Unfortunately, I think you’re right.”
He sounded bitter, but before she had a chance to analyze that, he stepped closer and grabbed the two sides of the jacket, acting as though he was straightening the collar, but she was pretty sure he was really just trying to make a point—and maybe trying to establish his sense of control. The way he pulled on the jacket, she had to look up into his face.
“I still want to know what the hell you were doing in the caves,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “You want to come clean now, or wait until I’ve got more information to go on?”
She stared up at him, shaken. His face was only inches from hers. “Uh...nothing. I was just exploring. I...I love the beach and I...”
But an expression flashed across his face and suddenly he was frowning, studying her features, his gaze sliding over every angle.
“Do I know you?” he asked softly.
Her heart was thumping so hard surely he could hear it. “I don’t think so,” she said quickly. “Now if you don’t mind....”
“But I do mind.” He pulled harder, bringing her up to where she could feel his warm breath on her face as he spoke. “And I’ll give you fair warning. I won’t let Shangri-La be trashed. Any excuse I can find to disqualify any of you, I’ll use it.”
She stared up, mesmerized by his voice and his eyes.
A shout from the cliff area turned them both in that direction. Carl was coming down the wooden steps.
“Torie!” he called. “Thank God you’re okay.”
She looked at Marc. He stared back, not letting go of the jacket. For a long moment, their gazes held. There was a look deep in his eyes, a mood, something that told her he was a bit of a loner, that he couldn’t trust anyone enough to let go. Her heart seemed to melt, something in her yearned toward him. Someone ought to teach him how to trust. Too bad she was exactly the wrong person to expect that from.
She was the one who’d been lying to him all along. When he found out, he would discard her like yesterday’s news.
But Carl was coming and it was obviously time to draw apart.
“Just keep that in mind, Mrs. Marino,” Marc said coolly. “I’ll be watching you.”
He gave her one last impenetrably hard look, then turned and