The Millionaire's Proposal (2 page)

Ford McCabe blew out a deep breath and glanced in his rearview mirror, catching one last glimpse of Grace Holbrook before she disappeared inside the bank where he’d just conducted his business. For all the ways he’d imagined a reunion with her, none of them had included literally bumping into her. And nothing had prepared him for the wave of emotion that had gripped him upon seeing her, or the heated desire that still flared between them. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to touch more than her hand, to kiss more than her fingers . . . to let his tongue taste the wild pulse he’d felt thrumming at her wrist.

To take off his sunglasses and shock the hell out of her.

Not knowing if she’d welcome him after so long, or scorn him for what had happened in the past, he refrained from doing something so spontaneous. But it hadn’t stopped him from flirting, or spinning a web of sensuality she’d easily tangled herself into. She hadn’t recognized him, but he’d had the advantage of wearing the sunglasses he’d just put on before exiting the bank, and years of a gradual, steady metamorphosis that had changed him, inside and out.

His physical appearance had altered greatly from the lanky, twenty year old rebel he’d been when he’d fled Whitaker Falls. Gone was the thick, dark-brown hair he’d let grow to his shoulders and allowed the wind, or his fingers, to style. The years had darkened the strands to nearly sable; his tastes had changed to a short, no-nonsense precision cut that complimented the executive he’d become. His body had filled out to fit his gangly frame; racquetball and jogging had honed his muscles and kept him in shape. As for the expensive silk shirt and pleated trousers—no one who remembered Ford McCabe would associate him with nothing less than faded and ripped jeans, tattered t-shirts, and tennis shoes held together with duct tape.

He’d come a long way in eleven years, driven by a fierce determination to become something other than the illegitimate kid of a woman who’d lived her life in the depths of a bottle, and died in the same manner. Driven, too, to banish the haunting memories of his best friend’s death, one man’s all-consuming hatred, a town’s criticism, and the sweet love of a girl he could never have.

No matter how hard he worked or the million dollar success he’d achieved as a developer despite his impoverished upbringing, exorcizing any of those personal demons had been impossible, because they all linked to the one person he couldn’t forget: Grace Holbrook, a woman who was lovelier than he remembered in his dreams. While an entire town spurned him for a heritage he’d been unfortunate enough to be born into, she’d been the one person who’d accepted him unconditionally.

Shaking off those unsettling recollections, he set his mind back to his encounter with Grace. She’d introduced herself using her maiden name. Since he hadn’t seen a ring on her left hand—and he’d definitely looked—he assumed she was single, which amazed him. He’d honestly thought she’d be married by now, with the half a dozen kids she’d talked about having tagging alongside her.

It didn’t mean she wasn’t involved with someone, though he doubted as much. A woman in love didn’t respond to another man the way she had to him that afternoon. He’d wanted her eleven years ago, and he wasn’t all that surprised to realize he ached for her still. Considering the spark still evident between them, he intended to pursue the possibility of something more.

Glancing at the passenger seat of his car to the Grace and Charm Flower Shoppe brochure he’d deliberately taken from Grace, he smiled, an impulsive idea forming in his mind. Instead of heading straight toward the hotel he was staying at, he made a left turn at the edge of Oakton Avenue, toward Whitaker Towne Square.

It was time to set his eleven year old plan into motion. He was back in Whitaker Falls to claim what was rightfully his, and to prove that he
belonged
. He couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to begin his adventure than stating his intentions to Grace with an outrageously lavish and romantic gesture.

Grace loved flowers. From the most elegant roses, tulips and lilies, to the simple wildflowers that grew in the fields on the outskirts of Whitaker Falls. She loved their vibrancy and lush scent, and how a simple bouquet could brighten someone’s day and make them feel special.

Her business gave her an everyday opportunity to share her joy of flowers, and to surround herself with the beauty of nature’s gift to earth. Opening a flower shop was a dream she’d had since she was a little girl, a goal inspired by a mother who’d loved growing her own flowers and tending the enormous garden that had once been behind their home. Now, at the age of twenty-nine, Grace and Charm was the focal point of Grace’s life.

Two hours after her run-in with the gorgeous stranger, Grace pulled her van into a vacant slot in front of her shop, mentally chastising herself for checking the area for a champagne colored vehicle, or the tall, dark-haired, sexy man she couldn’t seem to get out of her mind. Neither car nor man were around, much to her disappointment—most likely he was already heading back to where he’d come from, their encounter forgotten.

Sighing, she gathered her briefcase, brochures, and the other items she’d picked-up after a Saturday morning spent running errands and visiting with her father, Dr. Ellis Holbrook. It was her weekly routine, her day to get caught up on banking and business related tasks she didn’t have time for during the week. Darcy Jenkins, her twenty-two year old employee, worked the morning shift on Saturdays, and Grace closed up by four in the afternoon, after the weekend business was ordered and delivered. Sundays she was closed—it was her one day to indulge herself and do as she pleased.

The bell above the glass door tinkled as she entered the establishment. Darcy grinned as she walked out of the long, glass enclosed refrigerating unit where they stored their supply of fresh-cut flowers. Carrying a bucket of bright yellow calla lilies and deep red dahlias, she brought them to the sturdy wooden work bench dominating the area just behind the front counter.

“Afternoon, boss,” Darcy greeted, her brown eyes sparkling cheerfully. She wore her dark-brown hair in a pony-tail, and a lavender apron over her t-shirt and jeans, the front of which was embroidered with the shop’s name and a colorful bouquet of flowers.

“Hi, Darcy.” Grace gave the fresh flowers in the cooler a cursory glance as she passed, a habit that helped her keep a mental inventory of what she had, what she was low on, and what she needed to order. The flowers were categorized in plastic buckets of water by type of blossom and foliage, then grouped by color.

Her gaze stopped at the section where she stocked the long-stemmed roses. Yesterday afternoon before closing she’d noted over twelve dozen, in a variety of colors, and had planned to use the excess blooms in the basket arrangements and centerpieces she made up on Mondays for Whitaker Country Club’s standing weekly order.

Amazed that she’d sold out of the expensive roses, she shook her head and pushed through the low swinging gate that separated the work area from the gift part of the boutique, where she displayed gift baskets, figurines, cards, and other specialty items. She set a white bag on a side counter along the back wall—lunch from Marie’s Cafe for the both of them, another Saturday routine Grace had established.

“You’ve been busy this morning,” Grace commented, though it was obvious by the excess foliage, cut stems, and unusable flowers littering the work bench that Darcy had been going crazy with orders. Not that Grace was going to complain about the extra sales. At seventy-five dollars a dozen, the cost of those roses alone could practically cover her month’s rent.

“Umm, very.” Darcy clipped the end of a calla lily and pushed the stem into the floral arrangement she was creating. “I’ve been going non-stop since I opened the doors this morning. In fact, this is the first chance I’ve had to start on the centerpiece Mrs. Thorne ordered for her dinner party tonight.”

Grace headed toward the small office in the back to put her purse and briefcase away, along with the brochures she’d picked up from the printers. “I’ll deliver it on my way home this afternoon.” She opened the door, stepped inside her office, and came to an abrupt halt.

Dozens of long-stemmed roses, in every shade she’d had available, were displayed in the most elegant, crystal cut vases she offered her customers—at a substantial extra charge. The mild warmth of the room coaxed the tight buds to open and bloom and release their rich, intoxicating fragrance.

Grace’s hand fluttered to her chest in dismay. Darcy knew to keep arrangements—especially roses!—in the refrigerator until the customers picked them up. Within a few hours the roses would be completely open, but the unfurling process was for the customer to enjoy. She was looking at hundreds of dollars in merchandise that should have been in the cooler—and that thought was enough to give her a mild heart attack.

Setting her armload of items down on her desk chair—which was the only space that wasn’t occupied by a vase of flowers—she retraced her steps back to the front of the shop.

“Darcy, what are all those roses doing in my office?”

The young girl glanced up from sorting through stalks of pale purple delphiniums, a huge grin spreading across her face. “They’re for you.”

“Excuse me?” Grace was certain she’d misunderstood.

Efficiently clipping the stem of a delphinium, Darcy poked it into the arrangement. “It’s true. Every single one of those roses is yours. Bought and paid for by the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in Whitaker Falls.”

Confused, Grace slowly rounded the work bench and stood across from Darcy. Who in the world would do something so outrageously extravagant for her? She’d dated a few men since her divorce five years ago, but there had never been anyone serious enough to inspire such a lavish, romantic gesture.

And none of those men would qualify as gorgeous status.

She frowned. “Was it someone I know?”

“Oh, I sure do hope so,” Darcy said on a dreamy sigh. “Though I have to admit I’ve never seen him around town. He left a card in one of the arrangements. Why don’t you go see for yourself who they’re from?”

“I’ll do that.” Intrigued, she headed back to her office, once again overwhelmed by the display of flowers, and the lush, seductive fragrance teasing her senses. It was strange, she thought as she searched each vase for a note. For as much as she loved brightening other people’s lives with flowers, no one had ever sent her a bouquet before, let alone dozens of roses.

It was a heady, thrilling experience.

Finally finding a tiny white envelope nestled in a dozen elegant white roses, she plucked it out of the tangle of baby’s breath and fern, and withdrew the florist card inside.
I enjoyed bumping into you today, and would like to see you again. How about dinner tonight? Whitaker Country Club. 7 PM.

The note wasn’t signed, but there was no mistaking the identity of the mystery person—her gorgeous stranger. Grace’s pulse thrummed in anticipation at the thought of accepting his dinner invitation, and was quickly plagued by uncertainty. For as much as she was attracted to him, she knew nothing about the man except that he owned a smile that made her want to follow him anywhere, and breath-taking dimples that made her weak-kneed. Captivating charm and charisma hardly qualified as trustworthy . . . though he had seemed very respectable and pleasant.

“So, are you going to meet him for dinner?”

Grace jumped at the sound of Darcy’s voice from just behind her, as she read the note over Grace’s shoulder. Turning, she stuffed the card back into the envelope. “I don’t even know the man! He’s someone I literally bumped into while I was going to the bank.”

“So what,” Darcy said with a nonchalant shrug and a twinkle in her eye. “There comes a time in every woman’s life when she ought to live a little on the edge.”

Grace rolled her eyes at that, but oh, how she was tempted! For too long she’d been straight-laced and conservative in her choice of men, trying to gain her father’s forgiveness for getting involved with the one boy the entire town had labeled as “no good white trash” and “nothing but trouble”.

She bit her bottom lip, struggling with what she knew she
should
do, and what she
wanted
to do. “I don’t know . . .”

Darcy playfully flicked the end of Grace’s French braid. “Let down that hair of yours for once and do something spontaneous,” she urged. “You’ll be in a public place, surrounded by people you’ve known all your life. If you don’t feel comfortable with him you can always call it an early night. And if the chemistry is really good between the two of you, you can always call it an early night.” She followed up that double entendre with a sassy wink.

Grace laughed and shook her head. She’d never been promiscuous in her life, and she didn’t intend to start now—no matter how sexy the man. “You’re outrageous.”

“And you desperately need a night out, without your father as your date.”

Grace heard the wry humor in Darcy’s voice, but knew her friend was being much more serious than she let on. Though she enjoyed having dinner with her father—she hated the thought of him living alone and eating by himself—she had to admit that he was the only man in her life as of late, which was pretty pathetic as far as her own love life was concerned. But lately, even her father had been encouraging her to “get out and date more often”.