The Proposal Read online

  Closing her eyes, she released a breath and reprimanded herself to be in the moment.

  “Everything all right?” Brad asked.

  Smile overly bright, she nodded. “Yes, thank you. Where did you say we were going?”

  “Canlis. I hope you like a beautiful view.”

  She did, but Brad didn’t know that. If there was one thing that irked her about the men she dated who came from money or had money, they thought it appropriate to make her decisions for her. The last man she dated ordered her food and wine without stopping to see if she liked it or suffered from an allergy. Maybe she simply wasn’t refined enough to appreciate the gesture.

  His brown eyes slid to her before returning to the road. “Andrea?”

  “Yes, yes I do.”

  “Are you certain everything is all right? Did you have a long day?” He asked, pressing the subject.

  “Just a busy one, is all.” Orchestrating a baby shower and being thrust into the role of master of the games by Emme left her scrambling at the last moment to think of what exactly women played at those sorts of things.

  In the end, everything went off without a hitch. She supposed she worried too much about whether her friends enjoyed themselves or not. Even if the entire thing became a disaster, she knew Ashlyn would still thank her for it. Deacon’s wife was far too well-mannered not to.

  “Care to talk about it?”

  “Oh, it was just Ashlyn’s baby shower.”

  Brad nodded, as if it were the most interesting subject in the world. “How did it go?”

  “Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.”

  “That’s good.”

  She twisted the fabric of the clutch in her hands. “How was your day?”

  They sounded like an old married couple.

  “The weather was cooperative enough for a Saturday round of golf.”

  Making a non-committal sound, she looked out the window. The night degenerated into rain. Droplets gathered on the glass, stretching across in fine streaks pulled thin from the wind. The chill from the air hovered around the edge of the door. She ran her finger across the cool metal, stifling another rush of guilt at her lack of attention toward her date.

  She almost wished they were going to the opera. At least there she wouldn’t need to make forced conversation so that Brad didn’t feel neglected. Maybe she should have said no. But at the same time, she couldn’t spend her life hoping something between her and Benton would change. It was foolish on her part to even continue to think about him. Why did he have this hold on her?

  Luckily their approach to the restaurant saved her from further reflecting on it. The aroma of food reached her before Brad opened her door and she felt her stomach quietly rumble. It reminded her that she forgot to eat lunch in the excitement of the shower. A small glass of wine and good food would quell her rebellious thoughts and help her concentrate on the reason for being here in the first place.

  The Maître d’ greeted them at the door and a server took their coats. Brad relayed his reservations and the austere looking man collected two menus. The table was situated in the corner, near the row of windows overlooking the beautiful Seattle landscape. Pinpoints of light spread out across the skyline, banked by the water. If he was attempting to impress, she admitted he chose a perfect view.

  Upon seating them, the Maître d’ wished them to enjoy their dinner and a server immediately approached.

  “May I offer you something to drink? Perhaps something from our wine list?”

  Brad scanned the list the server handed him. “Château Lassègue, Saint-Émilion, Grand Cru, 2006.”

  Andrea smoothed her skirt and struggled not to raise her eyebrow. The entire procession was said with a perfect accent. She couldn’t help but think he did try to impress her.

  “A good choice, sir. Would you prefer a bottle?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Very good.” And the server moved away.

  “That sounds awfully expensive,” she ventured, knowing that it had to be with a name like that.

  “Only $150 a bottle,” Brad dismissed. And then smiling, added, “You’re worth it.”

  Maybe another woman would blush and feel flattered. In another time, maybe she would have done the same. Five years ago, when she first started working for Deacon and became newly introduced to the world of the rich and excessive.

  Andrea admitted she liked wine. But she didn’t like her bottle to be priced more than $20. She supposed that was her frugal, 18-year-old self speaking; the one that clipped coupons and struggled to make rent each month. She might have more money than she knew what to do with now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate where she came from.

  “I was thinking a four-course meal?”

  Since she was hovering on starving now, Andrea agreed. She began looking at the menu, noting that Brad didn’t even touch his. When the server came back with their wine, he poured them each a glass and asked if they were ready to order. Andrea began to say she needed more time, but Brad took control and ordered for both of them.

  Lips pressing into a thin line, she ducked her head and handed the menu to the server.

  “It’s very good, trust me,” he told her.

  Smiling tightly, she murmured, “I’m sure it is.”

  “Are you upset?” He asked, face clearly expressing he couldn’t see why.

  “No, of course not,” and she occupied herself with sipping her wine.

  As they waited for their first course, Brad regaled her with tales of his family, his connections to Deacon as a child, and his triumphs as head of accounting. Not once, during it all, did he ask about her life, hobbies or even family. Was it terrible the resulting disappointment barely bothered her?

  “... so, you see, we actually golfed 19 holes!”

  Cheek resting on the tips of her fingers, she sipped more of her wine and mustered a smile. “How funny.”

  “I know! That’s what I thought.”

  They were on their second course by then. She hid a yawn behind her hand, not wanting Brad to realize just how boring he was. A warm glow hugged her, heating her cheeks. It left her struggling, her head floating, feeling too heavy for her shoulders to handle. She suddenly realized she was on her fourth glass of wine. Knowing she would regret it if she kept it up, she pushed the glass aside and concentrated on food and water.

  Brad speared a vegetable. “What do you think?”

  She nodded. “Very good.”

  “I told you I know how to order for a lady.”

  “A lady can order for herself, Brad.”

  “I knew it. You were upset. I only wanted you to have the best experience.”

  It hovered on the tip of her tongue to tell him it seemed more like an issue of control than deference for his dates.

  “My apologies. I’m feeling tired.”

  He nodded. “I understand.” But she could tell he was put off.

  They ate the rest of their dinner in near silence. Thanking the Lord for the reprieve, Andrea excused herself to the bathroom as he paid the check. She could only imagine how expensive it was. Well over $300, she imagined. She sincerely hoped Brad didn’t expect to be compensated in any way.

  Staring at herself in the mirror, she wet her hands beneath the cold faucet and patted her burning cheeks. It wasn’t like her to drink so much. She had a one glass rule during a date. She didn’t want to be responsible for anything she said or did under the influence. The next day would be a horrible one of backtracking if she did.

  “Just behave,” she told her reflection.

  Brad offered her his arm on the way to the car, obviously noting how much wine she imbued. Though he remained largely silent again on the ride to her apartment, he didn’t seem upset. He even began conversation that led her to believe he might ask for a second date. Andrea hoped he didn’t. He might have enjoyed two hours’ worth of talking about himself, but she didn’t.

  At her apartment, he walked her to the door.

 
; “I had a nice time, Andrea. Thank you for consenting.”

  He was close, too close. Her keys were in the lock and her hand on the knob. His own hand came up to rest on the door near her head.

  “I appreciate you-”

  Before she could finish, he leaned in and pressed his lips against her. He was faster than she gave him credit for. She didn’t have time to deflect. The kiss did nothing for her; it felt warm, wet and vaguely repulsive as the scent of wine on his breath fanned across her face.

  Chapter Three

  “Brad-”

  She dropped her hand from the door and lifted it to press against his chest. Instead of taking the hint, he took it as an invitation. He moved in closer, his other arm coming around her waist. His lips found hers again, more insistent and firm than the first try. Her second arm was trapped between them, and she struggled in his arms, attempting to pull back. He seemed to take that as encouragement too.

  Fear bloomed, spreading until she felt the beginnings of panic seep in. His hand was on the back of her head now, holding her into place. She couldn’t get the breath to tell him to back off.

  When he finally came up for air, she shoved at him. “Please let me go!”

  He frowned. His eyes were slightly glazed, showing he drank more than she thought.

  “Honestly, Andrea. After a nearly $400 dinner, what’s one little kiss?”

  Temper drove away the anxiety and she shifted. Wedging her knee between them, she tried to regain her balance.

  Willing her voice steady, she tried reason. “I don’t owe you anything, Brad. It was a date.”

  Brad’s eyes widened, nostrils flaring, rendering him nearly unrecognizable as the man that sat so pleasantly across the table from her earlier in the evening. Fingers scratching on the wool of his coat, she gripped the lapels and shoved. It felt useless. He was more solid than he looked.

  Grabbing her shoulders, he bared his teeth like a rabid animal. Her heart hammered in the back of her throat painfully. He kept pushing, until the railing bit through her coat. The cold metal jammed into her back, sending a resulting shock of pain up her spine. Frantically, she tried to recall the self-defense moves she learned. And still, a part of her mind tried to reason that it couldn’t be happening.

  “You-” He didn’t finish whatever he tried to say.

  In a blur, he was jerked viciously from her and slammed into the wall opposite her door. Arm twisted behind him, face shoved into the wood and Benton’s knee in his back, Brad could only let out a surprised squeak.

  “I believe the lady said no.”

  “Benton!” Mind working furiously, she reached for his shoulder to pull him away. It was like trying to mold stone.

  Benton hauled Brad up, ramming him into the wall again. “Apologize.”

  It only took a second before a strangled, “Sorry,” whispered in the space between them.

  Peeling him from the wall, Benton shoved him down the stairs and hurled him at his car. Brad hit the metal, bouncing off like a ping-pong ball. He rose on his hands and knees, spitting blood.

  Hands flying to her mouth, Andrea choked out, “Benton, stop!”

  Brad drew his hand across his lips. “Deacon will hear of this!”

  Benton remained an unmovable wall between them. “You’re damn right he will.”

  “I was wrong, Andrea, you aren’t worth it!” Brad stumbled to his feet, wrenching his car door open. “Keep your pit bull away from me!”

  “Get in the car, Hemmings, before I rip your pathetic head from your shoulders.”

  Brad hurried into his car, slamming the door and hitting the gas, tires screeching across the pavement as he tore from the parking lot.

  Stunned by the events of the night, Andrea pulled the hair clip from the remnants of her style. She straightened her clothing, because it made her feel better, more in control. Pressing a hand to her chest as if it could still her furiously pounding heart, she closed her eyes, swallowed and gathered herself.

  Benton surrounded her, his height and his smell, boxing her in. It left her feeling nothing like she had with Brad. She was safe and sheltered, as if the entire night didn’t happen at all. He blocked out the dark; the wind, the chill and the outside world. He was far more dangerous than Brad could ever hope to be.

  Picking up her purse from the concrete, he found her keys out and unlocked the door, gently pushing her inside. She allowed him to remove her coat, to set her purse on a side table. They were normal motions. They detracted from the ugly of moments before. But reality seeped in, leaving her hands trembling and cold. If Benton saw it, he didn’t comment. She appreciated that. What she didn’t appreciate, was him showing up unannounced at her apartment. His caveman antics could have Brad screaming assault.

  Pressing her fingers to her eyes, she spoke only when she trusted her voice. “What in the hell are you doing here, Benton?”

  “Rescuing you, apparently.”

  “I had everything under control.” She had been about to level him with a knee to the crotch.

  “Yeah, I saw that.”

  His easy deflection of her efforts stung. “What were you doing? Following me?”

  “I was checking up on you. You don’t know Brad from Adam.”

  Gritting her teeth, she continued, “Your job is to take care of Deacon and his family, not me! I don’t need your help, Benton.”

  “Oh?” He asked, advancing on her. “It didn’t look like that to me.”

  Jerking her chin up, she fisted her hands at her sides and stood her ground. Though everything from his thunderous countenance to his massive size should make her want to back away, she refused to give him the satisfaction. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket. She found herself drinking him in, in a way she never did Brad in his $1000 suit. And it annoyed her; because he was treating her like a helpless woman.

  “I’ve been taking self-defense classes.” Why didn’t her tone sound more confident? “If he didn’t leave me alone, I would have-”

  Amusement warmed his expression as his lips twitched. “What? Stepped on his toes with your heels? Poked him in the eye?”

  “This is not funny!”

  As if flipping a switch, his expression went dark again. “No, it’s not. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t come along? What if he raped you?” He added, tone sharpening like the wicked edge of a blade.

  She felt herself go pale, ice stabbing at her insides. “He wouldn’t have… I don’t think he...”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Feeling a childish urge to argue with him, she nearly stamped her foot. “Neither do you!”

  “Yeah, well, he was doing a damn good job of assaulting you.”

  When he said it like that, breaking it down to the stark, harsh truth, she couldn’t formulate a reply. Shame crept in. She shouldn’t have agreed to go out with Brad. She hadn’t truly wanted to. Now she didn’t know what would happen on Monday when they both returned to work. What would Brad say to Deacon?

  Twisting away from him, she made a big show of removing her shoes and placing them in the hall closet. She didn’t want him to look at her right now. She didn’t want him to see her breaking apart.

  His hands fell on her shoulders from behind. Closing her eyes against the sensation, she felt a bit like a woman on a runaway roller coaster. The night went nothing like she expected it to. Honestly, all she wanted to do was be alone so she could have a good cry.

  “Andrea-”

  “Don’t say it, Benton. I shouldn’t have gone out with him. I get it.”

  Benton twisted her around, eyes dark and snapping with a temper she didn’t understand. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.”

  “I didn’t-”

  “No, but I know you.”

  Feeling her eyes begin to mist over, Andrea swallowed hard and whispered, “Do you?”

  Those fingers flexed against her. “Shit. Look, don’t do that.”

  All at once overwhelmed, she pressed her fingers to h
er mouth and dropped her chin. A tremor snaked through her as the tears threatened fall. Benton cursed again and pulled her to him, rubbing her back.

  Hands fisting in his shirt, she dropped her forehead against his firm chest and struggled to get a hold of herself. It felt entirely too good to be held by him, overwhelmed by his scent and caged in by the steely strength of his arms. She hated it the same as she loved it.