* * *
Mark checked everything a final time. It was all perfect, exactly the way he wanted. His insides were churning the way they always did right before he opened a new restaurant. Except this was an even more important event.
His penthouse was spotless, thanks to the emergency housekeeping service. Two hundred and fifty orchids had been brought in and the dining area smelled of fresh flowers and exquisite French cuisine.
The driver called. “I have Ms. Rosenberg.”
“Good.” Mark placed both hands on the counter and closed his eyes, head bowed. Taking a moment. He hadn’t been sure if she would come until the call. She could’ve always changed her mind, and there would have been nothing he could do about it.
A few minutes later the driver called again to let him know Hilary was on her way up. Quickly, he finished setting the table. André had done a great job with dinner. He’d been determined to save Mark’s “doomed love affair,” after hearing about the “grand failure” of lunch at Gavin’s home.
The bell rang. Mark cleared his throat before opening it…and there she stood looking like a vision in a dress that shimmered like mother of pearl.
“Hey,” she said, her face unreadable.
“Hi. Come on in.” His hands flexed with the need to touch her, but he controlled himself. He hadn’t waited this long to screw things up now.
“I thought we were going to a restaurant,” she murmured, taking in the flowers.
“We are. It’s a new one called Chez Mark.”
“Ah.”
“No, I considered it, but decided this was better. More private.”
She turned and looked at him. A smile ghosted on her lips. “What on earth could you tell me in private that you haven’t said all over the country already?”
The question threw him. He’d had everything all planned out. They’d wine and dine, chat a bit. He’d tell her how much he loved her again, this time with all the damn eye contact she could handle, so she’d know how serious and sincere he was. Then he’d go on bended knee and propose.
Except all those things sort of vanished from his mind. He didn’t want to eat—couldn’t, not when he had no idea if she was going to have faith in him and his love. He wished he could pull his heart out of his chest and show it to her…but he couldn’t. So he opted for Plan B.
He pulled out a velvet jewelry box and hesitated. He knew a lot of great moves, but he had no idea what to do in a moment like this. Before he could lose courage, he thrust it at her, his fingers tight around the box so they wouldn’t shake. “This.”
The smile vanished, and she pulled her lips in even as her eyes got wide. Finally she said, “Mark… This… I thought this was just dinner.” She blinked away tears. “This isn’t some…game of escalation. You’re just starting to tell me you love me and now…”
He took her hand, willing her to feel what he felt. “Do you think it’s a game to me? I bared my heart and soul to you in front of the entire country. Do you think I’d do that for a woman I was planning to ditch in three months?”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“I’m going to keep at it until you tell me to my face that you don’t want me…or else you finally realize I mean it when I say I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I can’t change my upbringing or my past. But I can change my future. I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you the way you deserve to be loved.” He dropped to one knee and opened the box, showing her a pink princess-cut diamond ring. It had reminded him of her and what they could have together. “Hilary… Will you take a chance on me?”
* * *
Hilary couldn’t stop the tears. How crazy when she’d thought she was cried out already.
And she wanted to speak but she couldn’t push the words out through the big lump in her throat. So she did the second best thing she could and launched herself at him, dropping to her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a long, deep kiss.
His strong hands settled on her back and pulled her close. He tasted like the brightest possible future, the future she was always afraid would never be hers because she was a Rosenberg. She wanted to be in his arms forever, kissing him like this forever, but she knew he deserved a real answer. She broke the kiss briefly and whispered, “Yes” against his lips.
“I thought you’d never say that,” he said, his voice shaky and thick.
“I was afraid, Mark. I thought maybe you’d wake up and wonder what the heck you were doing with somebody like me, when you could have anybody in the world.”
“Crazy, crazy woman.” He pressed his forehead against hers, then took a deep breath and put the ring on her finger. It looked perfect, just like their love. “I should spank you for making me as crazy as you are.”
She gave him a small smile, but there was a gleam in her eye as well. “Is that so?”
“Well… I guess now I can call off the space shuttle.”
“
Space shuttle?
”
“I was going to launch one…have them fly it in geosynchronous orbit over the city. It was going to be called the
Marry Me Hilary
.”
“I haven’t driven you crazy. You were crazy from the beginning,” she said with a laugh.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that. If announcing my love for you to the world wasn’t enough, I had no choice but to do it to the solar system.”
She put her hands on his cheeks and cradled his face. She’d never told any man this, and she wanted him to know she meant every word. “I love you, Mark. I’m the luckiest woman in the entire universe.”
His gorgeous face split into a radiant smile. “And I’m the luckiest man in the universe. What a perfect pair we make.”
“So…about that dinner…”
“Yes?”
“Think it can wait?” she murmured, gently pulling at his lower lip with her teeth.
His answer was a soul-searing kiss.
——
The Pryce Family series continues with
The Billionaire’s Inconvenient Obsession
.
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Coming up next is
The Billionaire’s Inconvenient Obsession
(Iain Pryce’s story).
The Billionaire’s Inconvenient Obsession
Deep in debt and stalked by a deadly conman, Jane Connolly needs a job and a safe place to stay. With no one to turn to in an unfamiliar city, she can’t refuse the kindness of a magnetic stranger.
A former mixed martial arts fighter, billionaire Iain Pryce couldn’t walk away from a small town girl in a big city, especially when it’s obvious she’s in trouble. But her sweet spirit threatens the single principle he’s been living under for the past thirteen years: don’t lose control…
——
Prologue
Thirteen years ago
The two most common reasons why people drank were to feel good or to forget. With Iain Pryce it was always the latter, but for whatever reason he couldn’t seem to forget right now.
Damn it
. He should’ve never gone to his parents’ place. His mother always prepared a lavish gift for his birthday, and he hated her for it. It was like she wanted to buy her way back into his good graces. So the wisest thing would’ve been to just skip it and hang out with people he actually liked. But he just couldn’t pass up the vicious thrill of watching his mother cringe in horror as he reenacted how he’d beaten the crap out of the other guy in his most recent cage match.
His mother had tried very hard to fit in with the wealthy and powerful Pryce family, so it upset her that Iain had dropped out of college to fight like an animal in a pit. A sneer pulled at his mouth. He would have bet any two of his limbs what she was really upset about was the way his grandmother, Shirley Pryce, blamed her for his “horrid” fascination with crass violence.
So after each match, he visited his parents’ place. Usually only his mother was home, except when she was out seeing some gentleman
friend
. He showed her his bloody knuckles, displayed the cuts and bruises on his face and body and gave her a highly descriptive blow-by-blow description of the match, always doing his best to highlight the most disgusting and gruesome details.
And as her face turned pale and pain filled her eyes, the bitter pleasure never failed to twist in his belly. Laughter and bile choked him. He could never forgive her for cheating on his father and creating the mess at home.
But his mother hadn’t been home alone with only servants around that night. His father had been home too. Iain had stopped in front of their room and heard the familiar scenario play out—the door was always closed, but his parents’ words never stayed in.
“You’re never home,” his mother would say. Accusing.
“I’ve been busy,” his father would say. Uncaring.
“What business interest could you possibly have in Georgia?”
“I have business interests everywhere. Don’t you know that by now? Let’s not forget our agreement. My finances are my own—just spend the money and have yourself a good time.”
There was laughter from one of the tables behind him. “Yo mama been cocked more times than a shotgun.”
Iain’s hand tightened around the shot glass. His phone pinged, and he glanced at the text:
Hey
,
where are you? I thought we were going out to celebrate your birthday?
Iain downed the vodka. The liquor incinerated his throat and burned his sinuses. He wasn’t in the mood to celebrate, and he certainly didn’t want to tell his younger brother, Mark, he was at a bar using a fake ID.
The bartender ambled over. Despite his thinness, wiry muscle ran along his arms. Both of his forearms had black tats with skulls and some other designs Iain couldn’t quite make out in the dim light. “Another,” Iain said.
The bartender poured him a fresh drink, collected the empty glass and left to serve other customers.
“Yo mama so nasty, she pours salt water down her pants to keep her crabs fresh.” Laughter and beer steins being thumped on the table.
Why the hell did I choose this bar?
It wasn’t that close to his place, and the liquor tasted like piss. The crowd was mostly male. Cheap shirts and jeans strained against thick chests and legs. In a custom-tailored shirt and slacks from Milan, Iain stood out like a cleaver among butter knives.
“Yo, purty boy!” a drunken guy yelled from behind him. “You even got a mama?”
Iain ignored him.
Not worth the hassle
. The guy’s two friends started trash talking, and Iain let it roll off his shoulders. He felt like shit right now, but he didn’t want to fight those morons. It’d be unfair—in his favor—even with three on one. If he kept ignoring them, they’d eventually get bored and move on to a more receptive target.
“Hey, skinny boy, yo mama so nasty, they call her the carpenters’ delight,” the leader of the trio called out.
The taunt pushed Iain back to a time four years before, when he’d found his mother naked with a carpenter who’d come to install shelves in the library. Neither of them had seen him, but he’d seen and heard more than enough. Bile rose in his throat.
Another of the trio added, “Flat as a board and easy to nail.” Snickers and laughter followed.
Maybe worth the hassle after all
.
He got up and walked over to the table. Rage—white and hot—was building up, burning his nerve-endings and dragging him back to the present. But he knew how to appear calm on the outside.
“There’s a party in her mouth, and everyone’s coming.” The biggest of the three looked at him tauntingly and raised his beer mug in mock salute.
“Yo mama’s such a slut, she’s been on more wieners than ketchup,” another one added. The three were nearly helpless with laughter.
Four years’ worth of bitter hatred and fury pumped through his veins as he launched himself at the men. Two kicks to the head, and two of them dropped. The third one was just standing up when Iain scooped up an empty mug and smashed it into his face; he went down, too.
But that wasn’t enough. His body moved on auto-pilot, punishing the men far beyond the point of victory.
Strong hands gripped Iain from behind. He resisted; he was an expert at evading holds and breaking free. But there were too many of them, and then the cops came.
* * *
Iain got his one phone call before they threw him into a cell, so he dialed his father. Salazar Pryce was probably the only one who could bail him out.
Ninety minutes later, his father appeared. Despite the late hour, he was impeccably dressed in a new suit from Italy.
The skin around his eyes creased with disapproval, Salazar stared at Iain. He seemed totally out of place in the gray, concrete ugliness, and Iain couldn’t bring himself to face his father’s disappointment and disapproval.
“I’ve got the lawyers working on this mess right now.” Salazar’s voice was flat. “They’ll handle all the legal ramifications.”
Iain swallowed. “Thanks.”
“Just what the hell were you thinking?”