An Outrageous Proposal (9 page)

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 teased 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

O
h, 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.”

She hoped not, because she
really
didn’t want him looking too closely into her mind right now. Twists of emotion
tangled inside her and this time she didn’t fight them.

Okay, yes. She had feelings for him. Why wouldn’t she? He was
charming and fun and smart and gorgeous. He was easy to talk to and great in
bed, of course she cared about him.

That didn’t mean she loved him. Didn’t mean anything more than
what they had together was important to her.

Even she wasn’t buying that one.

Oh, God.
No sense in lying to
herself, Georgia thought. She’d sew her lips shut and lock herself in a deep
dark hole for the rest of her life before she ever admitted the truth to
Sean.

This wasn’t affection. It wasn’t lust. Or hunger.

It was love.

Nothing like the love she had thought she’d found once
before.

Now, she couldn’t imagine how she had ever convinced herself
that she was in love with Mike. Because what she felt for Sean was so much
bigger, so much…
brighter,
that it was like comparing
an explosion to a sparkler. There simply wasn’t a comparison.

This was the kind of love she used to dream of.

And wouldn’t you know she’d find it with a man who wouldn’t
want it? Feelings hadn’t been part of their agreement. Love had no place in a
secret. A pretense.

So she’d keep her mouth shut and tuck what she felt for him
aside until it withered in the dark. It would. Eventually. She hoped.

Oh, God.

She was such an idiot.

“Well,” Sean said after a sip of his wine, “I’ll admit to you
now I’ve no notion of what you’re thinking at this minute. But judging by your
expression, it’s not making you happy.”

Understatement of the century.

“Nothing in particular,” she lied smoothly. “Just how much I
have to do and how little time I have to do it.”

He looked at her for a long minute as if trying to decide to
let it lay or not, and finally, thank God, he did.

* * *

“So no second thoughts? Being here,” he said, glancing
around the bright, modern kitchen, “doesn’t make you want to rethink your
decision?”

She followed his gaze, looking around the room where she’d
spent so much alone time in the past year. It was a nice place, she thought, but
it had never felt like
hers.
Not like the cottage in
Ireland did.

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I came here to live
with Laura when my marriage ended and it was what I needed then. But it’s not
for me now, you know?”

“I do,” he said, resting one elbow on the tabletop. “When you
find your place, you know it.”

“Exactly. What about you? Did you ever want to live somewhere
else?”

He grinned. “Leave Dunley?” He shook his head. “I went to
college in Dublin and thought it a fine place. I’ve been all over Europe and to
New York several times as well, but none of those bright and busy places tug at
me as Dunley does.

“The village is my place, as you said,” he told her. “I’ve no
need to leave it to prove anything to myself or anyone else.”

“Have you always been so sure of yourself?” She was really
curious. He seemed so together. Never doubting himself for a minute. She envied
it. At the same time she simply couldn’t understand it.

He laughed. “A man who doesn’t question himself from time to
time’s a fool who will soon be slapped down by the fates or whatever gods are
paying attention to the jackass of the moment. So of course I question,” he
said. “I just trust myself to come up with the right answers.”

“I used to,” she told him and pulled a slice of pepperoni free
of the melted cheese and popped it into her mouth. “Then I married Mike and he
left me for someone else and I didn’t have a clue about it until he was walking
out the door.” Georgia took a breath and then let it go. “After that, I had
plenty of questions, but no faith in my own answers.”

“That’s changed now, though,” he said, his gaze fixed on hers.
“You’ve rebuilt your life, haven’t you? And you’ve done it the way
you
want to. So, I’m thinking your answers were always
right, you just weren’t ready to hear them.”

“Maybe,” she admitted. Then, since marriages, both real and
pretend, were on her mind, asked, “So, why is it you’ve never been married?”

He choked on a sip of wine, then caught his breath and said,
“There’s a question out of the blue.”

“Not really. We were talking about my ex—now it’s my turn to
hear your sad tales. I am your ‘fiancée,’ after all. Shouldn’t I know these
things?”

“I suppose you should,” he said with a shrug. “Truth is, I was
engaged once.”

“Really?” A ping of something an awful lot like jealousy
sounded inside her. Just went to show her mom was right. She used to tell
Georgia,
Never ask a question you don’t really want the
answer to.

“Didn’t last long.” He shrugged again and took a sip of his
wine. “Noreen was more interested in my bank account than in me, and she finally
decided that she deserved better than a husband who spent most of his time at
work.”

“Noreen.” Harder somehow, knowing the woman’s name.

“I let her maneuver me into the thought of marriage,” Sean was
saying, apparently not clueing in to Georgia’s thoughts. “I remember thinking
that maybe it was time to be married, and Noreen was there—”

“She was
there?”
Just as
she
had been there, Georgia thought now, when he’d
needed a temporary fiancée. Hmm.

He gave her a wry smile. “Aye. I know how it sounds now, but at
the time, it seemed easier to let her do what she would than to fight her over
it. I was consumed at the time with taking Irish Air to the next level, and I
suppose the truth is I didn’t care enough to put a stop to Noreen’s plans.”

Dumbfounded, she just stared at him. “So you would have married
her? Not really loving her, you would have married her anyway because it was
easier than saying ‘no thanks’?”

He shifted uneasily on his chair and frowned a bit at the way
she’d put things. “No,” he said finally. “I wouldn’t have taken that trip down
the aisle with her in the end. It wouldn’t have worked and I knew it at the
time. I was just…”

“Busy?” she asked.

“If you like. Point is,” Sean said, “it worked out for the best
all around. Noreen left me and married a bank president or some such. And I
found you.”

Yes, he’d found her. Another temporary fiancée. One he had no
intention of escorting down an aisle of any kind. Best to remember that, she
told herself.

He lifted his glass and held it out to her, a smile on his face
and warmth in his eyes. Love swam in the pit of her stomach, but Georgia put a
lid on it fast. She hadn’t planned to love him, and now that she did, she
planned to get over it as fast as humanly possible.

So, she’d keep things as they had been between them. Light.
Fun. Sexy and affectionate. And when it was over, she’d walk away with her head
high, and Sean would never know how she really felt. Georgia tapped her
wineglass to his, and when she drank, she thought that the long-gone Noreen had
gotten off easy.

Noreen hadn’t really loved Sean when she left him, or she’d
never have moved on so quickly to someone else.

Georgia on the other hand…it wasn’t going to be simple walking
away from Sean Connolly.

* * *

Georgia was glad they’d come to the wedding. Just seeing
the look on Misty’s face when she spotted Georgia and Sean had made the trip
worthwhile. But it was more than that, too, she told herself. Maybe she’d
had
to attend this wedding. Maybe it was the last step
in leaving behind her past so that she could walk straight ahead and never look
back.

And dancing with her ex-husband, the groom, was all a part of
that. What was interesting was, she felt nothing in Mike’s arms. No tingle. No
soft sigh of regret for old time’s sake. Nothing.

She looked up at him and noticed for the first time that his
blue eyes were a little beady. His hair was thinning on top, and she had the
feeling that Mike would one day be a comb-over guy. His broad chest had slipped
a little, making him a bit thick about the waist, and the whiskey on his breath
didn’t make the picture any prettier.