An Outrageous Proposal (7 page)

“So, do you need help packing?”

Now it was Georgia’s turn to laugh. “For a trip I’m not taking
until next week?”

“Fine, fine.” Laura sighed a little. “I’m just trying to help
out. I want you settled in and happy here, Georgia.”

“I
am.
” She looked around the
bedroom of her new cottage.

It really helped knowing the owner, since Sean had given her
the keys so she could move in
before
escrow closed
on the place. It was good to have her own home, even though it wouldn’t really
feel like hers until she had some of her own furniture and things around her.
Thank God, though, as a rental it had come furnished, so she at least had a
place to sit and sleep, and pots and pans for the kitchen.

She’d taken the smaller of the two cottages Sean had shown her.
The other one had been a row cottage, differentiated from the homes on either
side of it only by the shade of emerald green painted on the front door. It was
bigger and more modern, but the moment Georgia had seen
this
one, she’d been lost.

Mainly because this cottage appealed to her sense of
whimsy.

It was a freestanding home, with a thatched roof and
white-washed walls. Empty flower boxes were attached to the front windows like
hope for spring. The door was fire-engine red, and the back door opened onto a
tiny yard with a flower bed and a path that led into the faery wood.

The living room was small, with colorful rugs strewn across a
cement floor that was painted a deep blue. A child-sized fireplace was tucked
into one wall with two chairs pulled up in front of it. The kitchen was like
something out of the forties, but everything worked beautifully. The staircase
to the second floor was as steep as a ladder, and her bedroom was small with her
bed snuggled under a sloping ceiling. But the windows looked out over the woods,
and the bathroom had been updated recently to include a tub big enough to
stretch out in.

It was a fairy-tale cottage, and Georgia already loved it.

This would be her first night in her new place, and she was
anxious to nudge Laura on her way so that she could relax in that beautiful tub
and pour herself a glass of wine to celebrate the brand-new chapter in her
life.

“It is a great cottage.” Laura looked at her for a long minute
then frowned and asked, “You sure you don’t want Fiona and me along for the trip
back to California?”

“Absolutely not.” On this, Georgia was firm. “I’m not going to
be there for long, and all I have to do is sign the papers to put the condo up
for sale. After that, when they find a buyer for the place, they can fax me the
paperwork and I’ll handle it from here. Then I’ll arrange for my stuff to be
shipped to Ireland and I’ll be done. Besides,” she added with a grim nod, “when
I leave California, I’ll be stopping in Ohio for the wedding.”

Laura shook her head. “Why you’re insisting on going to that is
beyond me. I mean come on. You’re over Mike, so what do you care?”

“I don’t.” And she realized as she said it that she really
didn’t care about her ex-husband and his soon-to-be wife, the husband-stealing
former cheerleader. After all, if Mike hadn’t been willing to cheat on his wife,
Misty never would have gotten him in the first place.

So Georgia figured she was much better off without him anyway.
“It’s the principle of the thing, really. You know damn well Misty only sent me
that tacky invitation to rub in my face that she and Mike are getting married.
They never for a minute expect me to show up. So why shouldn’t I? At the very
least I should be allowed the pleasure of ruining their big day for them.”

Laura chuckled. “I guess you’re right. And seriously? Misty
deserves to be miserable.”

“She will be,” Georgia promised with a laugh. “She’s marrying
Mike, after all. May they be blessed with a dozen sons, every one of them just
like their father.”

“Wow,” Laura said, obviously impressed, “you’re really getting
the hang of being Irish. A blessing and a curse all at the same time.”

“It’s a gift.”

Georgia glanced down at her ring finger. She still wasn’t
entirely accustomed to the weight of the emerald and diamond ring Sean had given
her for the length of their “engagement.”

The dark green of the stone swam with color, and the diamonds
winked in the light. It occurred to her then that while her new life was
beginning with a lie—Mike was apparently
happy
with
his. It didn’t matter so much to her anymore, though Georgia could admit, if
only to herself, that she’d spent far too much time wrapped up in anger and
bitterness and wishing a meteor to crash down on her ex-husband’s head.

It was irritating to have to acknowledge just how much time she
had wasted and how much useless energy had been spent thinking about how her
marriage had ended while the man who had made her so miserable wasn’t suffering
at all.

She had locked her heart away to avoid being hurt again, which
was just stupid. She could see that now. Being hurt only meant that you were
alive enough to feel it. And if her soul wasn’t alive, then why bother going
through the motions trying to pretend different? At least, she told herself,
using her thumb against the gleaming gold band of the ring on her finger, she’d
gotten past it, had moved on.

Then a voice inside her laughed. Sure, she’d moved on. To a
ring that meant nothing and planning a fake future with a fake fiancé.

Wow. How had all of this happened anyway?

Still befuddled by her train of thought, she didn’t notice
Laura scooting off the bed until her sister was standing beside her.

“I should gather up Patsy and go,” she said. “It’s nearly time
to feed Fiona, and Ronan’s probably starving, as well.”

Pleased at the idea of having some time to herself, Georgia
lovingly nudged her sister to the door. “Go home. Feed the baby. Kiss your
husband. I’ve got a lot to do around here before I leave for my trip next week.
Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to nag me before I leave. And then I’ll
be back before you even miss me.”

“Okay.” Laura gave her a one-armed hug and kissed her cheek.
“Be careful. And for heaven’s sake, take a picture of Misty’s wedding gown.
That’s bound to be entertaining.”

Laughing, Georgia vowed, “I will.”

“And about Sean—”

“You said you were backing off.”

“Right.” Laura snapped her mouth shut firmly, took a breath and
said, “Okay, then. Enjoy your new house and the supper Patsy left for you. Then
have a great trip with your pretend fiancé and hurry home.”

When her sister had gone down the stairs and she and Patsy had
both shouted a goodbye, Georgia dropped onto the edge of her bed, relishing the
sudden silence.

Home, she thought with a sigh. This cottage, in Dunley,
Ireland, was now
home.

It felt good.

* * *

She took a long bath, savored a glass of wine in the
stillness, then dressed in what she thought of as her Ireland winter wear—jeans,
sneakers and a shirt with one of her thick, cable-knit sweaters, this one a dark
red, over it—and went downstairs.

Restless, she wandered through her new home, passing through
the kitchen to break off a piece of the fresh bread Patsy had left for her.
Walking back to the small living room, she paused in the center and did a slow
turn.

There were still changes to be made, of course. She wouldn’t
bring all of her things from America, but the few items she loved would fit in
here and make it all seem more
hers
somehow. Though
already she felt more at home here than she ever had in the plush condo in
Huntington Beach.

The fire in the hearth glowed with banked heat, its red embers
shining into the room. Outside her windows, the world was dark as it could be
only in the country. The streetlights of the village were a faint smudge in the
blackness.

Georgia turned on the television. Then, the instant the sound
erupted, turned it off again. She hugged herself and wished for company. Not the
tinny, artificially cheerful voice of some unknown news anchor.

“Maybe I should get a dog,” she mused aloud, listening to the
sound of her own voice whisper into the stillness around her. She smiled at the
thought of a clumsy puppy running through the cottage, and she promised herself
that when she left America to come home to Dunley for good, she would find a
puppy. She missed Beast. And Deidre. And the sound of Ronan’s and Laura’s
voices. And the baby’s cries. And Patsy’s quiet singing when she was working in
the kitchen.

She wanted another heartbeat in the house.

Georgia frowned as she realized the hard truth. What she wanted
was Sean.

She could call him, of course, and actually started for her
phone before stopping again. Not a good idea to turn to him when she was lonely.
He wouldn’t always be there, right? Better she stand on her own, right from the
beginning.

Plus, if she was making Dunley her home now, then she might as
well get used to going about the village on her own. With that thought in mind,
she snagged her jacket off the coat tree by the door and headed for the
Pennywhistle.

It was a short walk from her door to the main street of the
village, and from there only a bit more to the pub, but she fought for every
step. The wind roared along the narrow track, pushing at Georgia and the few
other hardy souls wandering the sidewalks with icy hands, as if trying to steer
them all back to their homes.

Finally, though, she reached the pub, yanked open the heavy
door and stepped into what felt like a
wall
of
sound. The silence of the night was shattered by the rise and fall of
conversations and laughter, the quick, energetic pulse of the traditional music
flowing from the corner and the heavy stomp of booted feet dancing madly to the
tune.

Just what I need,
Georgia thought,
and threw herself into the crush.

Seven

G
eorgia edged her way to the bar, slipping
out of her jacket as she went. The heat inside was nearly stifling, what with
the crowd of people and the fire burning merrily in the corner. Waitresses moved
through the mob of people with the sort of deft grace ballet dancers would envy,
carrying trays loaded with beer, whiskey, soft drinks and cups of tea.

A few people called hello to her as she made her way to the bar
and Georgia grinned. This was just what she needed, she thought, to remind
herself that she
did
have a real life; it merely
also included a fake fiancé. She had friends here. She belonged, and that felt
wonderful.

Jack Murphy, the postmaster, a man of about fifty with graying
hair and a spreading girth, leaped nimbly off his stool at the bar and offered
it to her. She knew better than to wave off his chivalry, though she felt a bit
guilty for chasing him out of his seat.

“Thanks, Jack,” she said, loud enough to be heard. “Looks like
a busy night.”

“Ah, well, on a cold night, what’s better than a room full of
friends and a pint?”

“Good point,” she said, and, still smiling, turned to Danny
Muldoon, the proprietor of the Pennywhistle.

A big man with a barrel chest, thinning hair and a mischievous
smile, he had a bar towel slung over one shoulder and a clean white apron strung
around his waist. He was manning the beer taps like a concert pianist as he
built a Guinness with one hand and poured a Harp with another. He glanced up at
her and asked, “Will it be your usual then, love?”

Her usual.

She loved that. “Yes, Danny, thanks. The Chardonnay when you
get a minute.”

He laughed, loud and long. “That’ll be tomorrow morning by the
looks of this crowd, but I’ll see you put right as soon as I’ve finished with
this.”

Georgia nodded and turned on her stool to look over the crowd.
With her jacket draped across her knees, she studied the scene spread out in
front of her. Every table was jammed with glassware, every chair filled, and the
tiny cleared area closest to the musicians was busy with people dancing to the
wild and energetic tunes being pumped out furiously by a fiddle, a flute and a
bodhran drum. Georgia spotted Sinead’s husband, Michael, and watched as he
closed his eyes and tapped his foot to the reel spinning from his fiddle. Sinead
sat close by, her head bent to the baby in her arms as she smiled to the music
her husband and his friends made.

Here was Dunley, Georgia thought. Everyone was welcome in Irish
pubs. From the elderly couple sitting together and holding hands to the tiny
girl trying to step-dance like her mother, they were all here. The village. The
sense of community was staggering. They were part of each other’s lives. They
had a connection, one to the other, and the glorious part of it all, in
Georgia’s mind, was that they had included
her
in
their family.

When the incredibly fast-paced song ended, the music slid into
a ballad, the notes of which tugged at Georgia’s heart. Then one voice in the
crowd began to sing and was soon joined by another until half the pub was
singing along.

She turned and saw her wine waiting for her and Georgia lifted
it for a sip as she listened to the song and lost herself in the beauty of the
moment.

She was so caught up, she didn’t even notice when Sean appeared
at her side until he bent his head and kissed her cheek.

“You’ve a look of haunted beauty about you,” he whispered, and
Georgia’s head spun briefly.

She turned and looked up at him. “It’s the song.”

“Aye, ‘The Rising of the Moon’ is lovely.”

“What’s it about?”

He winked and grinned. “Rebellion. What we Irish do best.”

That song ended on a flourish, and the musicians basked in
applause before taking a beer break.

“What’ll it be for you then, Sean?” Danny asked.

“A Jameson’s if you please, Danny.
Tá sé
an diabhal an oíche fuar féin.
”

“It is indeed,” the barman answered with a laugh.

“What was that?” Georgia asked. “What did you say?”

Sean shrugged, picked up his glass and laid money down for both
his and Georgia’s drinks. “Just a bit of the Gaelic. I said it’s the devil’s own
cold night.”

“You speak
Gaelic?
”

“Some,” he said.

Amazing. Every time she thought she knew him, she found
something new. And this was touching, she thought. “It sounds…musical.”

“We’ve music in us, that’s for sure,” Sean acknowledged. “A
large part of County Mayo is Gaeltacht, you know. That means ‘Irish-speaking.’
Most of those who live here have at least a small understanding of the language.
And some speak it at home as their first language.”

She’d heard snippets of Gaelic since she first came to Ireland,
but it had never occurred to her that it was still a living language. And, to be
honest, some of the older people here spoke so quickly and had such thick
accents, at first she’d thought they were speaking Gaelic—though it was
English.

“Of course,” she said after a sip of wine. “The aisle signs in
the grocery store are in both English and Gaelic. And the street signs. I just
thought maybe it was for the tourists, you know…”

He tapped one finger to her nose. “It’s for us. The Irish
language was near lost not so very long ago. After the division and the Republic
was born, the government decided to reclaim all we’d nearly lost. Now our
schools teach it and our children will never have to worry about losing a part
of who they are.”

Georgia just looked at him. There was a shine of pride in his
eyes as he spoke, and she felt a rush of something warm and delicious spread
through her in response.

“We’re a small country but a proud one,” he went on, staring
down into his glass of whiskey. “We hang on to what we have and fight when
another tries to take it.” He shot a quick look at the man on the stool beside
Georgia. “Isn’t that so, Kevin Dooley?”

The man laughed. “I’ve fought you often enough for a beer or a
woman or just for the hell of it.”

“And never won,” Sean countered, still grinning.

“There’s time yet,” Kevin warned companionably, then smiled and
turned back to his conversation.

Georgia laughed, too, then leaned into Sean as the musicians
picked up their instruments again and the ancient pub came alive with music that
filled the heart and soul. With Sean’s arm around her, Georgia allowed herself
to be swept into the magic of the moment.

And she refused to remember, at least for tonight, that Sean
was only hers temporarily.

* * *

Two hours later, Sean walked her to the cottage and
waited on the step while she opened the door. Georgia went inside, then paused
and looked at him.

For the first time in days, they were alone together. With his
mother recuperating at his house and her at Ronan and Laura’s, they’d been able
to do little more than smile at each other in passing.

Until tonight.

Earlier that night, she’d been wishing for him and now, here he
was.

He stood in the doorway, darkness behind him, lamplight shining
across his face, defining the desire quickening in his eyes. The cold night air
slipped inside, twisted with the heat from the banked fire and caused Georgia to
shiver in response.

“Will you invite me in, Georgia?”

Her heartbeat sped up, and her mouth went dry. There was
something about this man that reached her on levels she hadn’t even been aware
of before knowing him. He’d made a huge difference in her life, and she was only
now realizing how all-encompassing that difference was.

Just now, just this very minute, she stared up at Sean and felt
everything within her slide into place, like jagged puzzle pieces finally
creating the picture they were meant to be.

There was more here, she thought, than a casual affair. There
was affection and danger and excitement and a bone-deep knowledge that when her
time with Sean was done, she’d never be the same again.

It was far too late to pull back, she thought wildly. And
though she knew she’d be hurt when it was all over, she wouldn’t have even if
she could.

Because what she’d found with Sean was what she’d been looking
for her whole life.

She’d found out who she was.

And more importantly, she
liked
the
woman she’d discovered.

“Is it so hard then, to welcome me into your home?” Sean asked
softly, when her silence became too much for him.

“No,” she said, reaching out to grab hold of his shirtfront.
She dragged him inside, closed the door then went up on her toes. “It’s not hard
at all,” she said, and then she kissed him.

At the first long taste of him, that wildness inside her
softened. Her bones seemed to melt until she was leaning into him, the only
thing holding her up was the strength of Sean’s arms wrapped around her.

Her body went up like a torch. Heat suffused her, swamping
Georgia with a need so deep, so all-consuming, she could hardly draw breath.
When he tore his mouth from hers, she groaned.

“You’ve a way about you, Georgia,” he whispered, dipping his
head to nibble at her ear.

She shivered and tipped her head to one side, giving him easier
access. “I was just thinking the same thing about you…” She sighed a little.
“Oh, that feels so good.”

“You taste of lemons and smell like heaven.”

Georgia smiled as her eyes closed and she gave herself up to
the sensations rattling through her. “I had a long soak in that wonderful tub
upstairs.”

“Sorry to have missed that,” he murmured, dragging his lips and
tongue and teeth along the line of her neck until she quivered in his arms and
trembled, incredibly on the brink of a climax. Just his touch. Just the promise
of what was to come was enough to send her body hurtling toward completion.

The man had some serious sexual power.

“I thought about you today,” he whispered, turning her to back
her up against the front door. He lifted his head, looked her dead in the eye
and fingered her hair as he spoke. “Thought I’d lose my mind at the office
today, trying to work out the figures on the new planes we’ve ordered… Galway
city never seemed so far from Dunley before.” He dropped his hands to her waist,
pulled up the hem of her sweater and tugged at the snap of her jeans. “And all I
could think about was you. Here. And finally having you all to myself
again.”

The brush of his knuckles against the bare skin of her abdomen
sent a zip of electricity shooting through her veins. Releasing him long enough
to shrug out of her jacket, she let it fall to the floor, unheeded.

“You’re here now,” she told him, reaching up to push his jacket
off, as well. He helped her with that, then went back to the waistband of her
jeans and worked the zipper down so slowly she wanted to scream.

“I am,” he said, dipping his head for a kiss. “And so’re
you.”

He had the fly of her jeans open, and he slid one hand down
across her abdomen, past the slip of elastic on her panties and down low enough
to touch the aching core of her.

The moment his hand cupped her, she shattered. She couldn’t
stop it. Didn’t want to. She had been primed and ready for his touch for days.
Georgia cried out and rocked her hips into his hand. While her body trembled and
shook, he kissed her, whispering bits and pieces of Gaelic that seemed to slide
into her heart. He stroked her, his fingers dipping into her heat while she rode
his hand feverishly, letting the ecstasy she’d found only with him take her up
and then under.

When it was done and she could breathe again, she looked up
into his eyes and found him watching her with a hunger she’d never seen before.
His passion went deeper and gleamed more darkly in his eyes. He held her
tenderly, as if she were fragile and about to splinter apart.

“Shatter tú liom,”
he said softly,
gaze moving over her face like a touch.

Still trying to steady her breathing, she reached up to cup his
cheek in her palm. The flash of her ring caught her eye but she ignored it. This
wasn’t fake, she thought. This, what she and Sean shared when they were
together, was
very
real. She had no idea what it
meant—and maybe it didn’t have to
mean
anything.
Maybe it was enough to just shut off her mind and enjoy what she had while she
had it.

“What does that mean?”

He turned his face into her palm and kissed her. “‘You shatter
me,’ that’s what I said.”

Her heartbeat jolted, and a sheen of unexpected tears welled up
in her eyes, forcing her to blink them back before she could make a fool of
herself and cry.

“I watch you tremble in my arms and you take my knees out from
under me, Georgia. That’s God’s truth.” He kissed her, hard, fast, and made her
brain spin. “What you do to me is nothing I’ve ever known before.”

She knew exactly what he meant because she felt the same. What
she had with Sean was unlike any previous relationship. Sometimes, she felt as
though she were stumbling blindly down an unfamiliar road and the slightest
misstep could have her falling off a cliff. How could anything feel so huge? How
could it not be real? And still, this journey was one she wouldn’t have missed
for anything.

“Say something else,” she urged. “In Gaelic, say something
else.”

He gave her a smile and whispered,
“Leat
mo anáil uaidh.”

She returned his smile. “Now translate.”

“‘You take my breath away.’”

To disguise the quick flash of feelings too deep to explore at
the moment, Georgia quipped, “Back atcha. That means ‘same to you.’”

He chuckled, rested his forehead against hers, pulled his hand
from her jeans and wrapped both arms around her. “I’ve got to have you, Georgia.
It feels like years since I’ve felt your skin against mine. You’re a hunger in
me, and I’m a starving man.”