Callan's Proposition

by Barbara Mccauley

  He smiled at another couple dancing by, then smoothly turned her. Once again she followed him as if they’d been dancing together for years. “Abby, there’s nothing to be sorry about. We wanted to convince your aunts we were engaged, didn’t we? After that kiss, I’d say we were pretty damn convincing, wouldn’t you? Hell,” he said with a dry laugh, “if I didn’t know better, even I’d have thought that was the real thing.”

  He glanced down at her, wanting to see her face. He wasn’t sure why he felt disappointed that she was looking the other way and he couldn’t read her eyes.

  “I’ve caused you so much trouble,” she said quietly.

  “Stop worrying,” he told her, strangely annoyed she’d said nothing about the kiss. “Just relax and enjoy the party.”

  “You don’t understand.” She shook her head. “When it comes to Emerald and Ruby, you can’t relax. It’s much too dangerous.”

  He laughed at her then, and for appearances only, he told himself, hugged her to him, thinking how good she felt in his arms. It amazed him how well her body fit against his. How well they moved together. He attempted a complicated step, certain that she’d stumble and he could pull her up closer to him, but she followed him without blinking an eye. In fact, she hadn’t even seemed to notice.

  Damn, he’d always impressed the ladies he’d danced with before. Frowning, he searched his brain for any other steps that Cara had shown him, but he’d pretty much used up his moves.

  When Abby suddenly stiffened in his arms and drew in a sharp breath, he looked down at her. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted in horror.

  “What?” He glanced in the direction she was staring. A man dressed in a tight black T-shirt and pants, his black hair slicked back in a fifties-style pompadour, was smiling at Abby.

  “Roberto,” she gasped.

  “Who the hell is Roberto?” Callan narrowed his eyes as he glared at the man. He reminded Callan of someone, but he wasn’t sure who.

  Abby was already turning in the opposite direction to the man, making her way through the other couples dancing. “I knew they’d do something like this. I have to go.”

  “Do something like what?” He followed after her, but not before giving Roberto another fierce look. “Who the hell is that guy?”

  “I can’t explain now. I’m sorry, but—”

  “Abby!” Ruby stepped in front of her niece. “There you are. We have a surprise for you. Roberto’s here.”

  “No, Aunt Ruby, please,” Abby pleaded. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Abby, for Heaven’s sake, what’s wrong with you? The Thomas-Bliss family always performs at celebrations, and the guest of honor is always the star. You know that. Come along, dear.”

  “I can’t. Really, I can’t,” Abby said frantically. “It’s been too long. I…I can’t remember.”

  “Nonsense.” Ruby waved a hand at her. “It’s like riding a bicycle. You’ll be fine. Now come and change.”

  Callan watched as Abby glanced back at him, her eyes beseeching. He wanted to save her, he just didn’t know from what, so he simply waved as Ruby whisked Abby into a back office.

  Maybe her aunts wanted her to sing, Callan thought. That would fit in with the family profile. And though Ruby and Emerald could certainly sing, maybe Abby hadn’t been blessed with that ability and that’s why she was so embarrassed.

  A little entertainment could be fun, he thought with a smile. So what if Abby wasn’t any good at it? It was just the thing that she needed to loosen up a little.

  His smile faded as he glanced back at Roberto. So who the hell was he? Someone she sang with? Callan didn’t like it, but he could live with her belting out a couple of songs with this fifties reject, he supposed—then tried not to think about her doing anything else with the guy.

  He grabbed a beer from a passing waitress and a little meatball thing on a cracker. Hell, even if he wasn’t getting married, that was no reason not to enjoy a good party. And he couldn’t wait to hear Abby sing. For her own sake, he just hoped she wasn’t too bad.

  “Lose your fiancée already?”

  He glanced down at his sister and took a swig of beer. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “And spoil all the fun? Now why would I do that?” She smiled at him, one of those sweet smiles that didn’t affect brothers, but made most men go moon-eyed. Like her husband, Ian, who was currently having an intense discussion with Gabe at the bar. Cara and Ian had only been married six months, but Ian was as moon-eyed now as he had been before the wedding. From what Callan had heard, Ian had fought the valiant battle, but finally bit it big-time.

  The Sinclair men were made of tougher stuff, Callan thought, and took another smug pull off his beer.

  Cara slipped an arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, Cal, I’d say you have a thing for Abby. Unless you always kiss your secretary until smoke comes out your ears.”

  He frowned at her. “That was just for show, Sis. Abby is my secretary, that’s all. Besides, she’s told me that she doesn’t think of me that way.”

  Cara raised her brows. “What way?”

  “You know,” he said irritably. “That way. She just sees me as her boss. ‘Professionally’ was how she put it.”

  “Oh.” Cara’s eyes were bright with amusement. “So the way she looks at you, the way she kissed you, that was strictly ‘professional.”’

  “That’s right.” He started to take another swig of beer and stopped the bottle halfway. “What way does she look at me?”

  “As if she wants to cover you in whipped cream and gobble you up,” Cara said with a grin. “In one bite.”

  The image made his heart stop, then jump. “Don’t be ridiculous. We work well together, that’s all.”

  “You dance well together, too. At least, she does,” Cara teased.

  “Don’t you have to take food or drink to your husband, like a good little wife?” Callan asked. His sister’s comments were starting to get on his nerves.

  And so was waiting for Abby. What was taking so long?

  The lights flashed then, and Emerald took center stage. Roberto lurked in the background, and Callan frowned darkly at him.

  “Sing us a song, Emmy,” Charles Waters, the manager at Mackintosh Department Store, yelled out.

  “Maybe later, Charlie,” Emmy replied sweetly, “but for now the spotlight is on Callan and Abby. Abby’s getting ready, so we’ll start with Callan.”

  Start with Callan? The beer that had been halfway to his mouth froze in midair. His throat went dry. He never agreed to starting anything.

  His brothers suddenly had him surrounded and were pushing him toward the stage while the crowd shouted encouragement. Emerald slipped an arm through his and pulled him the rest of the way. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  “Since we really didn’t know what Callan could do,” Emerald said to the crowd, “Ruby and I asked his brothers to choose a song that they know he likes.”

  When a microphone was shoved in his hand and a pair of sunglasses slipped on his face, Callan decided that he would kill all three of his brothers. Slowly and painfully.

  When the music started, Bob Seger’s “Old-Time Rock and Roll,” he scowled at all of his siblings and brother-in-law, who had lined up in the front row to watch. They were obviously having a good time at his expense.

  Oh, what the hell. Callan sighed. Poor Abby was going to have to endure the same indignity, so why not be a good sport? He lifted the microphone…

  He missed a few words and more than a few notes, but the crowd cheered him on. His brothers and brother-in-law laughed at him, while Cara just shook her head and rolled her eyes, but Callan had to admit he’d done a decent job by the time he’d finished.

  Emerald praised his efforts as she took the microphone back and shooed him off the stage. New music started up again, familiar, but Callan couldn’t place it yet. The lights on the stage went dark.

  “And now, ladies an
d gentlemen—” Emerald moved to the side of the stage “—from her starring role in the hit musical Grease, we present to you Abigail Thomas, playing Sandy, and Roberto Santini, playing Danny Zuko.”

  The music grew louder, and Callan recognized it now as the final number between Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta in the movie. That’s who Roberto looked like, Callan realized. John Travolta twenty years ago.

  And Abby played the starring role? His Abby? Stunned, he watched in amazement as the lights flipped back on and lit a woman from behind, leaving only a silhouette.

  His mouth dropped open.

  Dressed in skin-tight black pants, black leather jacket and spiked high heels, she was all curves. One never-ending leg was bent, her toe pointed, and she held her head to the side, frozen in place while the music continued to pound.

  Roberto stood opposite her, clasped his hand to his heart and began to sing that he had chills.

  That’s when she started to move. First the hips, then the shoulders as she turned toward Roberto and pointed a finger. Her hair was…big…her lips bright-red and eyes smoky.

  Abby? This couldn’t be Abby.

  Abby was shy…and sweet…and…plain.

  This woman was devastating. Completely and absolutely.

  When she ripped off her leather jacket and tossed it behind her, any blood that Callan might have had in his brain went south. Her low-cut, off-the-shoulder black spandex top left little to the imagination and much to fantasy. She started to sing, loud and clear and strong, something about needing a man. Roberto followed her around the stage, then fell to his knees at her feet as she told him that he needed to shape up, and she needed a man to keep her satisfied.

  Every man in the place was whistling and hollering, including his brothers, whom he would have throttled if he could have taken his eyes off Abby. When she ran her hands sensuously down her body and told Roberto to “feel his way,” Callan gripped the beer bottle in his hand so tightly he thought it might break.

  The number continued, rose to a fever pitch when Roberto picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around him as they finished the song.

  Callan wanted to kill the guy.

  When Abby and Roberto took their bows, the crowd went wild, screaming and yelling for more. Abby smiled and waved as naturally as if she did this every night. When her eyes finally met his, her smile slowly faded. She backed away, then turned and ran off the stage.

  His jaw set tight, he followed.

  Seven

  Abby stepped out of the tavern’s back exit into the alley. Her legs were shaking so badly she had to lean against the brick wall to hold herself upright. The sound of rustling in the trash cans made her jump, and when a small mouse darted across the alley, she closed her eyes and sagged back against the wall.

  How appropriate, she thought with a shiver. Abigail Thomas—afraid of a mouse.

  But not nearly as afraid as she was of having to face Callan again. After the exhibition she’d just put on, how could she ever look at him again, let alone work with him? She’d seen the shock on his face, the confusion, as he’d stared at her on the stage.

  Even with the cool night air on her skin, she could feel her face burn. Of all the numbers for her aunts to have chosen for her, why the one with the least amount of clothing and the most bumps and grinds? She thought of what she must have looked like, with these skintight clothes and all that wiggling the dance called for. And in front of nearly the entire town!

  Well, she wasn’t going back inside, and since she didn’t have her own car, she would just have to walk home. She glanced down at the four-inch heels on her feet and sighed. Even though she didn’t live far, it was still going to be a long walk.

  The sound of Emerald and Ruby singing drifted from inside the tavern, and Abby knew that her aunts wouldn’t notice her missing for a little while. She’d have time to walk home and call the tavern to leave a message for them that she hadn’t been feeling well.

  And as for Callan, she thought, pushing away from the wall and picking her way out of the alley to the sidewalk, well, she would certainly understand if he’d had enough of her family’s nonsense. She’d heard her aunts force him to sing on stage, and from what little she’d heard while getting dressed for her number, she hadn’t thought him half-bad.

  Still, he was probably furious about being shoved into the spotlight the way he was. After her performance Abby had seen the tight set of his jaw as he’d stared at her.

  She passed by Wagner’s Veterinarian Clinic, then the hair salon, rubbing at the goose bumps on her arms. Her feet were already starting to hurt, but she only had two more blocks to go. As soon as she got home—right after she scrubbed her face, combed out this ridiculous hairdo and took off these blasted shoes—she was climbing into bed and pulling the covers over her head. If she was lucky, everyone would leave her alone for the next twenty-four hours.

  At the sound of a truck pulling alongside her, Abby had the distinct feeling that her luck had taken a long vacation.

  “Abby.”

  She ignored Callan’s call and kept walking.

  “Abby, get in the truck.”

  It was so blasted hard to be dignified in spiked heels, she thought, not to mention the skimpy clothing she had on. For Heaven’s sake, she looked like a street-walker. She wondered what he’d do if she cocked her hip and asked him if he was looking for a date.

  Somehow, she didn’t think he’d see the humor in it.

  When he jumped the curb at the next streetlight and slammed on his brakes, she gasped and took a step back. He threw open his door and stepped in front of her, his face dark and fierce. “Where in the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “There’s a hooker convention at the women’s club tonight,” she said sweetly. “I thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

  He jammed a thumb toward his truck. “Get in. I’m taking you home.”

  “Thank you, but it’s such a lovely night, I thought I’d walk.” She attempted to move around him, but he blocked her way.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said tightly. “It’s cold.”

  “Not at all.” She tried not to shiver. “It’s actually quite invigorating.”

  “You’re freezing.”

  When his gaze dropped to her tight-fitting blouse, she realized it was quite obvious that she was, in fact, cold. Very cold. She covered her breasts with her arms, wondering if there would ever be an end to the embarrassment she’d already suffered tonight.

  Obviously not, she thought, and gave a small squeak as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his truck. He deposited her on the front seat, slammed the door and climbed back in behind the wheel.

  Well, he certainly didn’t need to act like a barbarian, Abby thought, though her pulse raced and her skin tingled from his touch. Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, she sat as primly as a woman dressed like The Happy Hooker possibly could.

  Callan couldn’t decide if he wanted to shake Abby or kiss her, though he suspected his bad mood was a combination of both. So for the short drive to her house, he felt it best to keep his hands tightly on the wheel and his gaze locked to the road. He’d barely pulled into the driveway and stopped the truck before she was sliding out of the cab and walking to her front door, though he decided that the word walking didn’t quite apply to the sensuous sway of her hips and rear end. He didn’t think that mankind had found an accurate word for that completely feminine movement, but he did know that its force equaled atomic proportions.

  He watched her longer than was sensible or prudent, closed his eyes on a groan, then got out of the truck and caught up with her at the front door. Because she’d left her purse at the tavern, she stood there in the darkness, shoulders back and head high, waiting for him to open the door for her with the key she’d given him the first night he’d stayed at her house.

  “I’d rather be alone tonight, Callan,” she said after he unlocked the door.

  “Fine.” He swung the door ope
n wide. “After we talk.”

  He saw the slight droop of her shoulders, and though his palms itched to touch her, he didn’t dare.

  That would be a big mistake.

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked with charm-school politeness after she turned on the living room lamp. “Or maybe a brandy? I believe I have a bottle somewhere.”

  “No, I don’t want coffee or a brandy, dammit. I want to know what the hell that was all about back there.”

  “That was our engagement party.”

  He frowned darkly. “You know what I mean, Abby.”

  “If you’re referring to my dance number,” she said coolly, “it’s traditional at my family’s events for the guest, or guests, of honor to perform. You and I happened to be the unfortunate victims tonight. If I had known about the party, I would have warned you, but I didn’t know. By the way, I think you have a very nice voice.”

  He rolled his eyes at her compliment. God help him, what the hell was he going to do with this woman?

  Don’t go there, Cal.

  He pointed to the sofa. “Sit down, Abby.”

  Back straight, hands folded demurely in her lap, she sat on the edge of the sofa and met his gaze. He stood on the other side of the room, needing to keep some distance between them.

  “I apologize if I’ve embarrassed you in front of your family and friends.” Her words held all the starch of a preacher’s collar.

  “Embarrass me?” Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair. “Right now, I suspect I’m the envy of every man in Bloomfield County.”

  Her face turned nearly the same shade of red that was on her lips. “I didn’t embarrass you?”

  “Embarrass me?” He gave a dry laugh and shook his head. “You surprised the hell out of me. God, Abby, you were amazing, unbelievable. There wasn’t a man in the place who could take his eyes off you.”

  Including me, he thought. Especially me. And every other man who’d looked at her, including his brothers, he’d wanted to rip apart. Especially that Roberto guy. Just thinking about the way he’d touched Abby, the way she’d wrapped her legs around him at the end of the number, made his blood start to boil all over again.