The Heir's Proposal

Torie heard him coming through the water. He was getting closer. Sweet gratitude surged through her system. She raised her face to where the sun should be and sang harder and higher, trying to give him a clear signal as to her location.

And then she heard splashing very close and in a minute or two she began to make out the dark shape of a man coming toward her.

“Oh, thank God,” she cried as he approached. “I was afraid I was going to have to spend the night out here in the cold.”

He didn’t speak and as he came closer, she could make out his features and she began to realize he had a familiar look to him. She frowned. Oh no! It couldn’t be.

He stopped a couple of feet away. “Mrs. Marino, I’m Marc Huntington. Marge is my mother. Just so you know I’ m not some random beach bum.”

Her heart began to thud in her chest. Marc Huntington. What was he doing here? It had been years since she’d seen him—at least fifteen of them. She’d heard he was overseas, in the service, fighting bad guys and raising hell.

But here he was, staring at her and looking none too friendly, despite his polite words. “How did you get out here, anyway?” he growled. “And why?”

He didn’t recognize her. That was a relief. But why should he? She barely recognized him—and wouldn’t have if she’d met up with him anywhere else. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been about half this size, a lanky, smart-mouthed teenager who probably didn’t even know she existed.

Now he was all corded chest muscles and wide shoulders, with dark hair that tended to fall over his forehead and crystal-blue eyes that seemed remarkably hostile. Bottom line—he was pretty much the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. She drew her breath in sharply and couldn’t say a word.

His brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. It took two tries before she could speak. “Uh…I’m…my name is Torie…But I guess you know that. I was just exploring the caves and the fog came in and…and…”

“Okay,” he said impatiently. “No problem. Your husband was getting excited when you didn’t show up for tea. Everyone is out looking for you.”

Husband? Husband? She didn’t have a husband. Oh. But she did have Carl Marino, and he was pretending to be her husband. She had to keep that straight in her mind.

“I’m sorry to be a bother,” she said, finally getting control of herself. The shock of coming face to face with the man version of the boy she’d had a crush on for years had thrown her for a loop, but she was getting her balance back. She had to remember he was the enemy, just like everyone else in the Huntington family—the enemy she’d come to slay like a proverbial dragon.

And now here was one of them, saving her from the cold. A bit awkward, to say the least.

“I lost track of time.”

He nodded, his blue-eyed gaze skimming over her bare arms and legs in the skimpy sundress she’d worn. “Next time, bring a jacket,” he suggested gruffly. “It can turn cold fast.”

And she’d known that. After all, she’d spent every summer of her childhood right here on this very beach. But it had been a good fifteen years since her last visit and she’d been so excited to see her old secret places, she’d forgotten about the vagaries of the weather.

“I’m okay,” she insisted, despite her chattering teeth. “Are you going to lead me back?”

He looked her up and down and, for the first time, there was a hint of humor in his eyes.

“No,” he said. “I’m going to carry you.”

“What?” She began to back away from him on the sand. “No. You can’t carry me all the way back.”

“Why not? I’m trained to carry awkward loads, and you definitely look like a lightweight anyway.”

She stopped and glared at him. Was he making fun of her? Why the hostility when he thought he’d only just met her?

“Awkward and bird-brained at the same time?” she asked crisply. “I didn’t realize you knew me that well.”

His mouth twisted. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“No, but it’s what you said.”

His look was long-suffering. “Mrs. Marino, your husband is having a fit back at the house. He seems to think you’re likely to walk off a cliff or something, unless you’re carefully watched. So I intend to make sure you get back safely.” He made a gesture with his head. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

She looked at him, at the smooth, hard flesh she was going to have to touch in order to do what he’d suggested, and her heart began to pound like a hammer. There was a time when she’d dreamed about touching him—but that was when she was half in love with him from afar. Now, the thought was horrifying. He was the enemy. She couldn’t do it.

“No,” she said. “I’ll follow you. I’II…I’II hold on to…” She was going to say, your shirt, but he wasn’t wearing one, and the only alternative was the back of his low-slung board shorts. The thought of sticking her fingers down there made her gasp.

He watched her, waiting as her face registered a growing realization of the problem.

“Exactly,” he said, his voice mocking. “I’ll carry you,” he said again.

She was shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”

His patience was running thin and it showed. “Listen carefully. There is a hard current running through the deepest part of the channel, right where we have to cross. If it knocks you down, the strength of it could carry you right out to sea. Then I would have to swim out after you, and I don’t know how successful I’d be. It’s safer for all concerned if you just let me pick you up and…”

“Isn’t there some other way?”

His frown was getting fiercer. “What is your problem?”

She drew in a deep breath and told him with a glare. “You’re almost naked, you know.”

He gave her a look that said he thought she was nuts. “You’re not exactly well-covered yourself. If we’d been swimming, you wouldn’t think twice.”

“But…”

“Look, every minute we delay, it’s only getting worse. Come on.” His quick smile was sarcastic. “I’ll be gentle, I swear it.”

By now she was seriously annoyed with him. He wasn’t even trying to see this from her point of view—and he had no interest in exploring alternatives. She looked around, trying to think of some way to avoid this, and he took a step forward and grabbed her, swinging her up into his arms. It was pretty obvious he wouldn’t mind just chucking her over his shoulder, good to go, but when she shrieked he relented and straightened her so that one arm was under her knees and the other behind her back. She threw her arms around his neck to avoid being dropped, and they started off.

He was impossibly hard and exciting to touch, but even worse, his incredible warmth worked on her like a drug. She was clinging to him, trying to get closer. She closed her eyes and took it all in, trying to pretend he wasn’t the boy she used to watch with stars in her eyes.

Those stars had dimmed when the Huntingtons had fired her father, accused him of crimes and kicked her whole family out of what had long been their beloved home. Let’s face it, the Huntingtons had pretty much destroyed her family and torn apart their lives—and all over a lie. Nothing had ever been the same again and the pain and resentment still smoldered deep inside her.

But she’d never been in stronger arms. It felt good—as long as she didn’t think about who he really was.

The water was surging against him and she could feel the effort it took him to keep his footing. He almost went over at one point, splashing a spray of seawater against her legs, and she cried out, holding on more tightly, pressing her face against his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he told her gruffly. “Just a little bit more. We’re almost there.”

She peeked out. She couldn’t see a thing but the cold, clammy gray of the fog. How did he know they were almost there? She couldn’t tell. But she knew one thing—his skin against hers felt like heaven. To think she’d been resisting.

But the fog was lifting and she began to see the shore herself.

“Here we are,” he said, and she could feel the difference in the way he was walking. They’d hit dry sand. He began to lower her and she felt a pang of regret.

“Put on my jacket,” he told her as he picked it up off the sand and handed it to her. She did as he suggested. It was big and heavy, made of denim with a few studs at the pockets—and it still felt warm, as though his body heat had lasted.