by Cheryl Holt
“Not till you say yes.”
“Lucas this is crazy. You are crazy.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no reason you should want to marry me. You don’t even like me.”
“That, Faith Benjamin, is where you’re wrong.”
She tugged again and he obliged her, coming up to his feet.
He was tall and strong and he towered over her with broad shoulders a woman could lean on in times of despair. Not that she was the leaning type. Not that she ever wished she had a man to rely on. She didn’t. She was fine on her own. Usually.
If she was lonely occasionally or yearned for a partner who would stand by her, she had Gracie. As opposed to Lucas who had no one, she could depend on Gracie and always had.
He’d proven himself to be fickle, to spin and change direction at the drop of a hat. He flitted from opinion to opinion, not knowing what he needed or who he trusted.
A woman who tied herself to such an erratic, variable individual was just asking for trouble. If she chose a husband, she’d select someone who was steadfast and committed, someone she could count on through thick and thin.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I can’t figure you out. I haven’t seen you in three months, and suddenly, you show up and propose to me. It’s too bizarre.”
“It’s not bizarre. It’s the only rational, sane thing I’ve ever done.”
“But…why?”
“Because if you decide to love me, you’ll never stop.”
“No I never would.”
Her eyes grew wet with tears.
His comment was so sweet and it completely captured the essence of who she was. She was an orphan who didn’t know where she came from or where she belonged. When she loved, it was forever. She didn’t cut people loose, didn’t leave them behind. She couldn’t.
If Lucas recognized that core facet of her personality, then he truly knew her in a way few others ever would. What would it be like to bind herself to a man who understood her so thoroughly? What would it be like to have him as her own?
The disturbing questions swirled by and she was startled to discover that she was actually considering his absurd proposal. Would she like to wed him? Is that what she’d been hoping would happen?
She’d accused him of being crazy but maybe she was the one who was insane.
“Marry me,” he quietly urged. “Let me be your husband. Let me be a father to Bryce and Peanut. Let me be a part of you.”
“You mean it, don’t you?” She was frowning, trembling.
“You’ll never be alone again Faith. You’ll always have me by your side, guarding your back.”
To a girl who’d been abandoned on the day she was born, it was the best offer he could have tendered, the best reason he could have provided to earn her agreement.
“What about Harold’s money and the lawsuits and your family and…and…”
“I don’t care about any of it.”
“You say that now but how will you feel in three months? Or six? Or a year? Your mother would have a fit if you married me. So would your brother and sister.”
“I’m sure they would but I’m thirty years old. I don’t need their permission.”
She yanked her gaze from his. It was so difficult to concentrate when he was staring at her. She looked down at her hand that was still clasped in his. His was larger, cradling hers, holding her safe.
“I’m not a model or a movie star,” she pointed out. “How would I ever make you happy?”
“I don’t want a model or a movie star for my wife. I want someone who loves and understands me. I want you.”
“But I’m not anyone special. I’m just me, plain, ordinary Faith Benjamin.”
“There’s nothing plain or ordinary about you. My grandfather recognized that.”
He grinned. “I’m simply picking up where he left off.”
“I’m so confused. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything right now.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger. Of course it fit perfectly. He must have learned her ring size and had it designed for her.
She should have jerked it off and given it back but she didn’t. It seemed appropriate to have it on. She felt relieved, as if she’d been expecting a proposal for ages and had been aggravated by his delay.
“I’ll think about it,” she ultimately grumbled.
“Fair enough but I deserve a chance to convince you.”
“I suppose you do.”
“In fact I deserve numerous chances. I deserve constant, incessant, perpetual chances.”
“Don’t be greedy.”
“I cheat,” he said.
“No kidding.”
“And I always win.” He glanced behind her to the stairs. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“Last door at the end of the hall.”
As if she was a bag of flour, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Her torso hung down his back, her face at his waist.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, shrieking and laughing.
“You need to be reminded of how great I am at persuasion. I’d like to begin right away.”
“I don’t know Lucas. I might be a tough nut to crack.”
“I doubt it. I give you a week—tops. I’ll have you eating out of my hand.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Don’t have to. You’re already all mine. You just haven’t realized it yet.”
He went to the stairs and started to climb.
