The Millionaire's Proposal

by Janelle Denison

  Forcing herself to relax, she released his wrist. He gave a gentle tug, and the ribbon unfurled, revealing a teasing glimpse of the swells of her breasts. As if he had all the time in the world, his long fingers worked at the buttons, slowly undoing them until he reached the last one, right over her rib cage.

  She was still decently covered, but the anticipation of knowing what he intended caused her chest to rise and fall with rapid breaths. And still, he took his time exploring, reveling in every moment. His warm palm smoothed beneath the neckline of her open gown, gliding over her collar bone and gradually moving down. Finally, he parted the material to the side, baring one plump, blue-veined breast to his reverent gaze.

  Seemingly enthralled with how full and firm she’d become, he cupped the heavy weight of her flesh in the palm of his hand. Her breast grew excruciatingly tighter in his gentle grasp, and she sucked in a startled gasp when he rasped his thumb over the velvety tip, puckering her nipple.

  He immediately released her, his awed expression quickly changing to a concerned frown. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head, and managed a husky, “No.” Quite the contrary—his touch felt good, arousing and thrilling. “My breasts are just very sensitive.”

  His features relaxed again. “I’ll be more careful.”

  Before she could reassure him that he hadn’t caused her any real discomfort, she felt his fingers graze her knee then skim up her thighs, which quivered from that light stroking. Cool air washed over her heated skin as he traveled higher, pooling the hem of her gown around his wrist as he reached her stomach. She didn’t have to look down to know she was exposed to his gaze, from chest to thighs, except for the material bunched around her ribs, and her panties, which he’d inched lower so he could splay his hand over her protruding abdomen. Amazingly, his long fingers spanned her taut, curved belly, lovingly cradling the life inside her in the palm of his hand.

  A profound breath shuddered out of him. “I never thought I could want something as much as I want this baby.” He glanced up at her, staring deeply into her eyes. His gaze held a wealth of emotion and gratitude so powerful she felt it to her very soul. “You’re giving me something I never believed I’d ever have.”

  She rested her hand over his, threading their fingers, joining the three of them as one. “And what’s that?” she whispered.

  “A family,” he said, his voice tight and raspy. “Security. Laughter and love in our home.”

  A rush of tears stung the backs of Grace’s eyes and she managed, just barely, to keep them at bay. His words said so much, but she wanted, needed, so much more. She needed his love—not for the baby she carried that would make his life complete, but for her, as his wife, and the woman who loved him unconditionally.

  With their hands still clasped over her belly, he leaned over her, sliding his other hand into her unbound hair to cradle the back of her head. Lifting her mouth to his, he kissed her, slow and deep and luxuriously, making her weak with desire in no time flat.

  Breaking the kiss, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, drawing deeply of her scent. “You smell so good,” he murmured, his warm breath dampening her skin.

  She felt so pliant, so dewy, all she could manage was a soft moan.

  He strung a series of moist kisses along the slender column of her throat, nuzzled the under curve of her jaw, touched his tongue to the pulse pattering at the base of her collar bone.

  Sensual hunger coiled low and deep within her, and she shifted restlessly beside him. “Ford . . .” Her voice quivered with uncertainties.

  “I’m only kissing you, Grace,” he murmured soothingly. “And touching you.”

  She swallowed. Hard. She’d given him the right to kiss her, anytime, anywhere. It was the anywhere that concerned her at the moment . . . as well it should have, because his mouth glided down, and his tongue traced the slope of her breast all the way to the aching crest . . . which he kissed in the most delicious, sensuous way.

  A whimper escaped her, and her hand lifted, clenching in his silky hair—not to push him away, but to hold him close.

  “So many tastes and textures,” he whispered in fascination, continuing on once he’d spent a fair amount of time lavishing attention to her breasts.

  He scooted down on the bed, until finally he pressed an achingly tender kiss on the center of her belly, just below her navel, then rubbed his cheek over the taut, silky skin stretched over her abdomen. And then, as if he and the baby were the only ones present in the room, he murmured silly, nonsensical things that made Grace smile, and no doubt soothed the daughter Ford was so certain she was having.

  After what seemed like an eternity of pacifying caresses over her belly and hushed secrets and promises between father and daughter, she heard Ford express his love and adoration for the child that wasn’t even born yet. Grace’s heart filled to overflowing at the incredibly sweet gesture, and the bond that would no doubt form between father and child over the months to come.

  When he was done, Ford gathered her in his arms, tucking her back securely to his chest, and kept his hand splayed protectively over their baby. As much as Grace loved being held in Ford’s embrace, she was sure if she had to endure this every night, she was going to expire from a slow, sensual death before the baby was born.

  Chapter Nine

  “Good afternoon, Grace,” Dr. Chase acknowledged her amicably as he walked into the examination room, his head bent as he perused her prenatal chart.

  Annoyance flickered through Grace, not because of anything Dr. Chase had done, but because she’d made a specific request that had obviously been blatantly disregarded.

  Shutting the door behind him, Dr. Chase lifted his gaze, which settled on Ford, who’d stood up from the only arm chair in the small room as soon as he’d entered.

  The two men shook hands, a firm grip that bespoke of equal respect. Dr. Chase had come to the conclusion that Ford was in Whitaker Falls to stay, and had no qualms about him residing in the town where he’d grown up. Ford had been an exemplary citizen since his return, and though there were those who were holding fast to grudges, most had grown accustomed to his presence, and no longer treated him as a pariah.

  “Hello, Ford,” Dr. Chase said pleasantly, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I’m glad you could make it to the appointment today.”

  Ford’s chest all but puffed out in pride. “I’ll be here for every appointment until the baby is born.”

  The doctor nodded his approval. “That’s great. It’s nice to see a father take an active role in the baby’s gestational period.” Setting her chart on the side counter, he took a pen from his pocket to write notes, keeping his back to Grace. “So, how are you feeling, Grace?”

  Grace’s fingers curled into the edge of the examination table, her irritation mounting. Dr. Chase was avoiding eye contact with her, for a very good reason. “Just fine.”

  “Good.” He kept his head bent over her chart. “Are you experiencing any abnormal discomforts that might concern you?”

  Just the need to scream in frustration. “No.”

  “You only gained two pounds this past month, and your blood pressure looks excellent,” he said, commenting on the statistics Marcie had taken before leading her to the examination room.

  Tired of avoiding an issue she knew full well he was aware of, she called him on it. “Dr. Chase, I requested that my father be present at this appointment. We’re supposed to hear the baby’s heartbeat, and I wanted him to be here.”

  Finally, he turned and looked at her, a silent apology etching his features. “He asked me to handle today’s check-up when Marcie mentioned that Ford was here.”

  Grace didn’t think her father’s blatant rejection could hurt so badly, but it did. She shouldn’t have been surprised that her father had refused to see her once he’d discovered Ford was present, but hearing the baby’s heartbeat was something she wanted to share with both her husband, and her father. She’d foolishly hoped
that the first auditory confirmation of the child she carried would somehow, someway, soften the resentment Ellis Holbrook had cloaked himself in for eleven years.

  “Is he here?” she asked pointedly.

  Dr. Chase appeared extremely uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Very reluctantly, he admitted, “Yes, he’s in his office.”

  “Fine.” Her tone was firm, and sounded much more confident than she felt. “Then I’ll speak to him after we’re done, without you or Marcie warning him beforehand.”

  Dr. Chase didn’t look happy about that, but issued no argument. Ford said nothing, either—he knew how important it was to her to reach some kind of compromise with her father, and though he was the cause of their rift, Ford had promised her she’d have his full support, always. So far, he’d been true to his word.

  Now that Grace’s confrontation had dispelled the awkwardness between her and the doctor, he continued with the check-up. Ford asked more questions than she did, and when Dr. Chase finally found her baby’s heartbeat with the fetal monitor and they all heard that clear, powerful, chug, chug, chug, echoing in the room, Grace knew the pure, unadulterated joy on Ford’s face was something she would remember for the rest of her life.

  The precious moment warmed Grace, but her happiness was eclipsed by the surprise meeting she’d planned for her father. Somehow, Ford and Dr. Chase had detoured to a discussion about Quarter Horses, which Dr. Chase’s father had bred and raised years ago. While the two men debated bloodlines, Grace slipped from the examination room and headed down the hall to her father’s private office. The door was closed, and she didn’t bother to knock, not wanting to give her father the opportunity to refuse her.

  She found him sitting behind his large mahogany desk, his reading glasses perched on his nose as he read the file in his hand. He frowned at her for barging into his private domain and interrupting him, but he didn’t issue an objection.

  He set the report on his desk, his gaze remaining on her face. “Is everything okay?” he asked, his tone gruff.

  She approached his desk, hating that he looked so tired and haggard, beaten even—more so than she could ever remember. “Do you really care if everything is okay?” It was an honest question, and she wanted an equally honest answer.

  “Of course I care about you,” he replied indignantly.

  He cared about her, but not the baby she carried. Ford’s baby. That much was clear in his words, and the way he avoided looking at her growing tummy, evident beneath the maternity blouse she’d worn.

  “Your grandchild has a strong, healthy heartbeat,” she said, hoping that bit of news would soften him, along with the use of the word “grandchild”.

  His gaze grew hard, concealing the glimpse of misery she’d seen in his eyes. “I don’t have a grandchild,” he said coolly.

  She flinched at his callous words. Her mind registered that he was speaking out of pain and old resentments, but her heart felt as though he’d just trampled on it. “This baby is a part of you, too, Dad,” she said, ruthless in her attempt to make him see reason. “And it’s a part of Mom and Aaron, as well.”

  “That baby is Ford’s,” he spat bitterly. “This child will only remind me of everything I lost because of him, including you!”

  His anguish was so palpable, she wanted to cry. Indeed, tears stung the backs of her eyes. “Oh, Dad, you haven’t lost me,” she said in a tight, aching voice. “I’m right here, if you’d only let me be a part of your life again.”

  Need warred with uncompromising emotions in his gaze. “So long as you stay married to him, I can’t.” As if that were the final say on the matter, he picked up the file on his desk and opened it to read, dismissing her.

  A tear trickled out of the corner of her eye, and she swiped it away, angry at her father’s stubbornness, and so torn and confused over her growing feelings for Ford, and the possibility of losing her father forever. How could she choose between the two most important men in her life?

  With a deep, shuddering breath, she headed for the office door, but turned back around before exiting, catching her father watching her, his expression tormented.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way, Dad,” she said, holding her head high in an attempt to appear composed when she was falling apart inside. “This child and I are the only family you have. I love you, and I want this child to be a part of your life, as it should be, but the choice is ultimately yours.”

  Then she left, leaving the future of his grandchild, and his part in the child’s life, up to him.

  “It just isn’t fair,” Darcy complained as she glanced across the work bench at Grace, where they were each finishing up a bouquet—one for Reverend Jones’s wife for their fortieth anniversary, and another for Marvel Huff’s eighty-third birthday. “You absolutely, positively, glow these days.”

  Grace grinned, and thought, It’s because I’m absolutely, positively, in love with my husband. She was all but bursting with the emotion, but kept the comment to herself since she’d yet to let Ford in on the revelation.

  “Pregnancy does wonders for your complexion,” Grace said, attaching a big, fat, pink bow to Marvel’s floral arrangement and finishing it off. “And for once in my life, my nails are all the same length and no longer brittle, thanks to those prenatal vitamins I have to take. My hair feels healthier, too.”

  “Amazing,” Darcy said, trimming the stem of a dark red snapdragon. “I suppose having a gorgeous husband who dotes on you is the reason for that sparkle in your eyes and your bubbly personality lately.”

  “Yeah, he is,” she admitted, refusing to deny what was so blatantly obvious.

  Despite her rocky relationship with her father, her husband and marriage couldn’t be more wonderful. She enjoyed Ford’s company immensely, and hated when they were apart—by the end of the work day she was anxious to see him, and be with him. They spent the evenings together in his big bed, talking about the past, and the future, and sealing a bond between her, him, and the baby that would make them a family.

  The only thing missing from their flourishing marriage was the kind of wondrous, physical intimacy husbands and wives shared. True to Ford’s word, he didn’t press her to make love, but the exquisite pleasure he lavished on her with his exciting kisses and thrilling caresses as he familiarized himself with her blossoming curves was nothing short of torment.

  For the past week she’d been gathering up the nerve to reveal her feelings to Ford, hoping that he might return the sentiment and they could take the next step in making their marriage real, physically as well as emotionally. She craved a deeper union, and knew he did, too. She was ready to be Ford’s wife, in every sense of the word, but she was still working up the courage to lay her deepest feelings bare.

  Carrying her cheerful bouquet of spring flowers to the refrigerator, she wondered if tonight might be a good time to plan a romantic dinner, and let things progress from there. Ford had called a little over an hour ago, promising to be home from his meeting in Richmond by six. That gave her four hours to stop at the market and run by Marie’s for the chocolate cream pie that Ford liked. And maybe she’d see what Shalimar’s had in the way of a pretty, silky nightgown to compliment her fuller figure.

  Pleased with her plan, she grabbed a cellophane wrapped spray of hyacinths, deep purple anemones, and English ivy, and stepped from the unit. “I think I’ll take Marie some flowers.”

  Darcy lifted a knowing brow. “Ahh, You’re craving a banana-cherry chocolate milkshake, aren’t you?”

  The mention of the ice cream treat she’d come to favor did make her stomach rumble. “Are you saying I have ulterior motives for visiting Marie and giving her flowers?”

  Darcy nodded and laughed. “Let’s just say that lately you’ve been making daily trips to the cafe for that odd delicacy.”

  Her chin lifted in mock defense. “It’s not odd.”

  Darcy rolled her eyes. “Only a pregnant woman wouldn’t think so.”

  Grace made a face at her frien
d and went to retrieve her purse from the office. A few minutes later she headed out the door, saying hello to Patty Goldberg as she entered Grace and Charm to place an order. The brief lull in business had ebbed, as had the animosity toward Ford—except for her father’s resentment, which was something Grace refused to dwell on at present.

  At the moment, life couldn’t be more perfect. She was determined that tonight with Ford would be equally flawless.

  “You here for your afternoon banana-cherry chocolate milkshake?” Marie’s tone was friendly enough, but her gaze lacked its normal cheerful sparkle.

  Grace grinned impishly at the other woman, who stood on the opposite side of the long counter separating the dining area from the grill. “Boy, am I predictable, or what? I also need a whole chocolate cream pie to go.” Hoping to put a smile on Marie’s too serious expression, she extended the bouquet of flowers. “And I brought you some flowers to brighten your day.”

  Her eyes softened at the thoughtful gesture, but didn’t ease the troubled frown creasing her brow. “I certainly needed that today.” Reaching beneath the counter, Marie withdrew one of the expensive crystal vases Grace had given her from all those roses Ford had bought her. “Would you mind putting the flowers in water while I make your milkshake?”

  Grace filled the vase with water from behind the counter, then set about arranging the spray of flowers while Marie blended her concoction of bananas, cherries, chocolate syrup and vanilla ice cream. Grace snuck surreptitious glances at the older woman, wondering what had her so preoccupied. Marie was never this quiet unless something was wrong.

  Pouring the mixture into a tall glass, she set it in front of Grace. “Here you go, sweetie-pie.”

  The silly sentiment lacked its normal oomph, prompting even more concern from Grace. “Marie . . . is everything okay?”

  Reaching inside the glass enclosed refrigerator displaying the half dozen pies and cakes Marie made, she retrieved one of the chocolate cream pies and slid it into a bakery box, her back to Grace. “I got an interesting call from Hank today.”