An Outrageous Proposal

by Maureen Child

  She shook her head sadly. “It’s beige, Sean. Could any color be more ordinary?”

  “I’ve had it on good authority that beige is calming and instills a sense of trust in the passenger.”

  “Who told you that?” she asked, tipping her head to one side as she studied him. “A man?”

  He scowled. “I’m a man, if you’ve forgotten.”

  She gave him a wicked smile. “That’s one thing I’m certain of.”

  He stood up, too, but she skipped back a pace to keep some distance between them. “But you’re not a designer.”

  “I’m not, no.” Considering, thinking, he watched her and said, “All right, then. Tell me what it is you’re thinking, Georgia.”

  “Okay…” She took a breath and said, “First, the carpeting. It looks like the kind you see in a dentist’s office. Trust me when I say that is not soothing.”

  He frowned thoughtfully at the serviceable, easy-to-clean carpet.

  “It should be plush. Let a passenger’s feet sink into it when they step on board.” She wagged a finger at him. “Instant luxurious feel and people will notice.”

  “Thick carpet.”

  “Not beige,” she added quickly. “I think blue. Like the color of a summer sky.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She ran one hand across the back of the leather seat again. “These are comfortable, but again. Beige. Really?”

  “You recommend blue again?” he asked, enjoying the animation on her face.

  “No, for the seats, gray leather.” She looked up at him. “The color of the fog that creeps in from the ocean at night. It’ll go great with the blue carpet and it’ll be different. Make Irish Air stand out from the crowd. And—” She paused as if she were wondering if she’d already gone too far.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on, no reason to stop now.”

  “Okay, don’t line the seats up like bored little soldiers. Clump them.”

  “Clump?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “In conversational groups. Like seats on a train. You said this is the midsize jet, right? So your others are even wider. Make use of that space. Make the interior welcoming. Two seats facing back, two forward. And stagger them slightly too, so the people sitting on the right side of the plane aren’t directly opposite those on the left. Not everyone wants strangers listening in to conversations.”

  She walked down the aisle and pointed. “Have the last two back here, separate from the others. A romantic spot that seems cozy and set apart.”

  He looked at the configuration of his jet and in his mind’s eye, pictured what she was describing. He liked it. More, he could see that she was right. He’d seen the same sort of design on private corporate jets, of course, but not on a passenger line. Offering that kind of difference would help set Irish Air apart. The congenial airline. The jets that made travel a treat. And gray seats on pale blue carpet would look more attractive than the beige. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

  Better yet, why hadn’t the “expert” he’d hired to design the interiors thought of it?

  “Oh, and I hate those nasty little overhead light beams on airplanes. It’s always so hard to arrow them down on what you want to read.” Georgia looked at the slope of the walls, then back to him. “You could have small lamps attached to the hull. Like sconces. Brass—no, pewter. To go with the gray seats and offset the blue.”

  She reached down and lifted a table that was folded down into itself. Opening it, she pointed to the space on the wall just above. “And here, a bud vase, also affixed to the hull, with fresh flowers.”

  Sean liked it. Liked all of it. And the excitement in her eyes fired his own.

  “Oh, and instead of the standard, plastic, pull-down shades on the windows, have individual drapes.” She leaned over and put her hands to either side of one of the portholes. “Tiny, decorative curtain rods—also pewter—and a square of heavy, midnight-blue fabric…”

  Before he could comment on that, she’d straightened up and walked past him to the small galley area. The flight attendant was sitting in the cockpit with the pilot and copilot, so there was no one in her way as she explored the functional kitchen setup.

  She stepped out again and studied the wall with a flat-screen television attached to it. “The bathroom is right here, yes?”

  “One of them,” he said. “There’s another in the back.”

  “So, if you get rid of the big TV—and you should have individual screens at the seating clumps—and expand the bathroom wall another foot or so into the cabin,” she took another quick look around the corner at the galley. “That gives you a matching extra space in the kitchen. And that means you could expand your menu. Offer a variety of foods that people won’t get anywhere else.”

  He could bloody well see it, Sean thought. Frowning, he studied the interior of the jet and saw it not as it was now, but as it could be. As it would be, he told himself, the moment they got back to Ireland and he could fire the designer who’d suggested ordinary for his extraordinary airline.

  Following Georgia’s train of thought was dizzying, but the woman knew what she was talking about. She painted a picture a blind man could see and appreciate. Why she’d wasted her talent on selling houses, he couldn’t imagine.

  “You could even offer cribs for families traveling with babies.” She was still talking. “If you bolt it down in the back there and have, I don’t know, a harness or something for the baby to wear while it sleeps, that gives the mom a little time to relax, too.”

  He was nodding, making mental notes, astonished at the flow of brilliant ideas Georgia had. “You’ve a clever mind,” he said softly. “And an artist’s eye.”

  She grinned at him and the pleasure in her eyes was something else a blind man could see.

  “What’s in the back of the plane, through that door?” she asked, already headed toward it.

  “Something I’d planned to show you later,” he told her with a wink. Then he took her hand and led her down the narrow, ordinary aisle between boring beige seats. Opening the door, he ushered her inside, then followed her and closed the door behind them.

  “You have a bedroom on your jets?” she asked, clearly shocked at the sight of the double bed, bedecked with a dark blue duvet and a half-dozen pillows. The shades were drawn over the windows, filling the room with shadow. Georgia looked up at him, shaking her head.

  “This plane is mine,” Sean told her. “I use it to fly all over the damn place for meetings and such, and so I want a place to sleep while I travel.”

  “And the seats that fold into beds aren’t enough for you?”

  “Call it owner’s privilege,” he said, walking closer, steadily urging her backward until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she plopped down. Swinging her hair back from her face, she looked up at him.

  “And do you need help designing this room, too?” she asked, tongue firmly in cheek.

  “If I did, I now know who to call,” he assured her.

  “Does that door have a lock on it?” she asked, sliding her gaze to the closed door and then back to him.

  “It does.”

  “Why don’t you give it a turn, then?”

  “Another excellent idea,” Sean said, and moved to do just that.

  Then he looked down at her and was caught by her eyes. The twilight shine of them. The clever mind behind them. Staring into her eyes was enough to mesmerize a man, Sean thought. He took a breath and dragged the scent of her into his lungs, knowing that air seemed empty without her scent flavoring it.

  Slowly, she slipped her shoes off, then lay back on the mattress, spreading her arms wide, so that she looked like a sacrifice to one of the old gods. But the welcoming smile on her face told him that she wanted him as much as he did her.

  In seconds, then, he was out of his clothes and helping her off with hers. The light was dim in the room, but he saw all he needed to see in her eyes. When he touched her, she arched into him and a sigh tea
sed a smile onto her lips.

  “Scáthanna bheith agat,” he whispered. Amazing how often he felt the old language well up inside him when he was with her. It seemed only Irish could help him say what he was feeling.

  She swept her fingers through his hair and said, “I love when you speak Gaelic. What did you say that time?”

  “I said, ‘Shadows become you,’” he told her, then dipped his head for a kiss.

  “You make my heart melt sometimes, Sean,” she admitted, her voice little more than a hush of sound.

  That knot in his guts tightened further as words he might have said, but wouldn’t, caught in his throat. Right now, more words were unnecessary anyway, he told himself.

  Instead, he kissed her again, taking his time, tasting her, tangling his tongue with hers until neither of them were thinking. Until all either of them felt was the need for each other. He would take his time and savor every luscious inch of her. Indulge them both with a slow loving that would ease away the ragged edges they had been living with and remind them both how good they were together.

  * * *

  Well, Georgia told herself later that night, Sean was right about one thing. Flying Irish Air did deliver you to your destination feeling bright-eyed and alert. Of course, great sex followed by a nap on a real bed probably hadn’t hurt, either.

  Now Sean was out picking up some dinner, and she was left staring into her closet trying to decide what to pack, what to give away and what to toss.

  “Who’m I trying to kid?” she asked aloud. “I’m taking my clothes with me. All of ’em.”

  She glanced at the stack of packing boxes on the floor beside her and sighed. Then her gaze moved around her bedroom in the condo she and Laura used to share.

  She’d had good times in this house. Sort of surprising, too, since when she’d arrived here to move in with her sister, she hadn’t really been in a good place mentally. Marriage dissolved, bank account stripped and ego crushed, she’d slowly, day by day, rebuilt a life for herself.

  “And now,” she whispered, “I’m building another.”

  “Talking to yourself? Not a good sign.”

  She whirled around to find Sean standing in the open doorway, holding a pizza box that smelled like heaven while he watched her with amusement glittering in his eyes.

  In self-defense, she said, “I have to talk to myself, since I’m the only one who really understands me.”

  “I understand you, Georgia.”

  “Is that right?” She turned her back on the closet, the boxes and everything she had to do. Snatching the pizza box from him, she headed out of the bedroom and walked toward the stairs. He was right behind her. “Well then, why don’t you tell me what I’m thinking?”

  “Easily enough done,” he said, his steps heavy on the stairs behind her. “You’re excited, but worried. A bit embarrassed for having me catch you doing a monologue in your bedroom and you’re hoping you’ve some wine in the kitchen to go with that pizza.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him and hoped the surprise she felt was carefully hidden. “You’re right about two of them, but I happen to know I don’t have a bottle of wine in the kitchen.”

  “You do now,” he told her, and dropped an arm around her shoulders when they hit the bottom of the stairs. “I picked some up while I was out.”

  “I do like a man who plans ahead.”

  “Then you’ll love me for the plans I have for later.” He took the box from her, walked into the kitchen and set it down on the counter.

  She stood in the doorway, her gaze following him as he searched through cupboards for plates and napkins and wineglasses. His hair was shaggy and needed a trim. The jeans he wore now were faded and clung to his butt and legs, displaying what she knew was a well-toned body. He whistled as he opened the bottle of wine and poured each of them a glass of what was probably an outrageously expensive red.

  You’ll love me for the plans I have for later.

  His words echoed in her head, and Georgia tried to shrug them off. Not easy to do, though, when a new and startling discovery was still rattling through her system. Warning bells rang in her mind and a flutter of nerves woke up in the pit of her stomach.

  Mouth dry, heart pounding, she looked at Sean and realized what her heart had been telling her for days. Maybe weeks.

  She’d done the unthinkable.

  She’d fallen in love with Sean Connolly.

  Nine

  Oh, absolutely not.

  She refused to think about it. Simply slammed a wall up against that ridiculous thought and told herself it was jet lag. Or hunger. Probably hunger. Once she got some of that pizza into her, her mind would clear up and she’d be fine again.

  “You know, you don’t have to do the packing yourself,” Sean was saying, and she told herself to pay attention.

  “What?”

  He snorted a laugh. “Off daydreaming while I’m slaving over a hot pizza box were you?”

  “No.” God, now she was nervous around him. How stupid was that? He’d seen her naked. She’d made love to the man in every way possible. How could she be nervous over what was, in essence, a blip on the radar? This wasn’t love. This was lust. Attraction. Hell, even affection.

  But not love.

  There, she told herself. Problem solved. Love was not a word she was going to be thinking ever again. “What did you say? About the packing?”

  “While you take care of putting your house up for sale tomorrow, why don’t I make some calls and see about getting movers in here?” He looked around the well-stocked condo kitchen. “You can go through, tell them what you want moved to Ireland and what you’re getting rid of, and then stand back and watch burly men do the heavy lifting for you.”

  Tempting. And expensive. She argued with herself over it for a minute or two, but the truth was, if she did it Sean’s way, the whole business could be finished much faster. And wasn’t that worth a little extra expense?

  Especially if it got her back to Ireland faster? And then hopefully in another week or two, they could end this pretend engagement? She glanced down at the emerald-and-diamond ring on her hand and idly rubbed at the band with her thumb. Soon, it wouldn’t be hers anymore. Soon, Sean wouldn’t be hers anymore.

  She lifted her gaze to his and his soft brown eyes were locked on her. Another flutter of something nerve-racking moved in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it aside. Not love, she reminded herself.

  And still, she felt a little off balance. Georgia had to have some time to come to grips with this. To figure out a way to handle it while at the same time protecting herself.

  She wasn’t an idiot, after all. This hadn’t been a part of their deal. It was supposed to be a red-hot affair with no strings attached. A pretend engagement that they would both walk away from when it was over.

  And that was just what she would do.

  Oh, it was going to hurt, she thought now, as Sean handed her a glass of wine, letting his fingers trail across her skin. When he was out of her life, out of her bed and still in her heart—not that she was admitting he was—it was going to be a pain like she’d never known before.

  But she comforted herself with the knowledge that she would be in Ireland, near her sister. She’d have Laura and baby Fiona to help her get over Sean. Shouldn’t take more than five or ten years, she told herself with an inner groan.

  “So, what do you think?” Sean carried the wine to the table beside the window that overlooked the backyard. “We can have you packed up in a day or two. A lot of your things we can carry back on the jet, what we can’t, we’ll arrange to ship.”

  “That’s a good idea, Sean.” She took a seat, because her knees were still a little weak and it was better to sit down than to fall down. Taking a quick sip of the really great wine, she let it ease the knot in her throat.

  Then she picked up the conversation and ran with it. Better to talk about the move. About packers and all of the things she had to do rather than entertain even
for a minute that the affection she felt for him could be something else. Losing Sean now was going to hurt. But God help her, if she was really in love, the pain would be tremendous.

  “There are really only a few things I want to take with me to Ireland,” she said. “The rest I’ll donate.”

  That thought appealed to her anyway. She was starting over in Ireland, and the cottage was already furnished, so there was no hurry to buy new things. She could take her time and decide later what she wanted. As for kitchen stuff, it didn’t really make sense to ship pots and pans when she could replace them easily enough in Ireland.

  All she really wanted from the condo aside from her clothes were family photos, Laura’s paintings and a few other odds and ends. What did that say about her, that she’d been living in this condo, surrounded by stuff and none of it meant enough to take with her?

  She had more of a connection with the cottage than she did with anything here.

  “You know,” she said, “it’s kind of a sad statement that there’s so little here I want to take with me. I mean, I was willing to stay here when it clearly didn’t mean much to me.”

  “Why would that be sad?” He sat down opposite her, opened the pizza box and served each of them a slice. “You knew when it was time to move on, is all. Seems to me it’s more brave than that. You’re moving to a different country, Georgia. Why wouldn’t you want to leave the past behind?”

  She huffed out a breath and let go of the ‘poor me’ thoughts that had just begun to form. “How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Manage to say exactly the right thing,” she said.

  He laughed a little and took a bite of pizza. “Luck, I’d say. And knowing you as I’ve come to, I thought you might be getting twisted up over all there is to be done and then giving yourself a hard time over it.”

  Scowling, she told him, “It’s a little creepy, knowing you can see into my head so easily.”

  He picked up his wineglass and toasted her with it. “Didn’t say it was easy.”