The Perfect Proposal Read online

  “Naw, naw,” the little cowboy interrupted from the head of the unbelievably long table. “Work’s not what I’m talking about. What do you do for fun?”

  Annie looked startled. “Fun?”

  Les laughed, sending his protruding belly into a jiggly dance. “Mercy,” he bellowed. “If you don’t even know what the word means, then you must not be havin’ any!”

  “Les,” Cora admonished from her end of the massive table.

  “Don’t worry, Annie girl, ol’ Les’ll make sure you know the definition of the word fun before you leave here,” he promised, still chuckling. “The Triple P is just loaded with fun things to do.”

  Mitch’s lips quirked. Annie didn’t look as if she were looking forward to anything the eccentric Les deemed fun. She’d blushed a pretty rose, giving her a cherubic quality. Seemingly sensing his thoughts, Annie looked up and her gaze meshed with his. Mitch felt a definite jolt of awareness until she stabbed a new potato with her fork and shot him a death-ray glare. He wondered briefly if she were that fiery in bed, then promptly closed the door on that line of thinking. Whether Ms. Witherspoon was or wasn’t pure temptation didn’t concern him. Undoubtedly she’d have a sexual harassment suit filed on him faster than he could say orgasm.

  Still, her contrasting personality traits intrigued him. For instance, how could a woman appear so strong, and yet at other times, so vulnerable? Almost lost, for a lack of better description. Vulnerable was undoubtedly a description the lovely Annie would hate. The thought made Mitch smile.

  “Mr. Peters, I appreciate your hospitality and willingness to show me a good time,” Annie said hesitantly. “However, Mitch and I are here on business.” She gave an uncomfortable little laugh. “I doubt William would appreciate it if we took a mini-vacation on his time.”

  Mitch breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that Annie had broached the subject of business first. He had begun to wonder if they’d ever get a chance to discuss his and Annie’s reasons for being at the Triple P. The sooner they wrapped this up, the better.

  Les’s pudgy cheeks dimpled as he smiled mysteriously. “First,” he told her, “no more of this Mr. Peters crap. You’re a guest in my home. Land sakes, call me Les! Second, Cora and I made it a rule never to discuss business at the dinner table. And, third, William told me to make sure the two of you did indeed have a little vacation on this trip.”

  “H-he did?” Annie asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Les smiled broadly and his twinkling gaze cut to Mitch. “In fact, accordin’ to his uncle, Mitch here is supposed to be all kinds of fun. Why, he should be able to show you a good time. Is it true that you went down to the Florida Keys and swam with the sharks?”

  Now it was Mitch’s turn to blush. His uncle had obviously hyped him up as some sort of fun-seeking loafer. While it was true Mitch enjoyed having a good time, he’d never been one to shrug off responsibility. While designing computer software, Mitch had enjoyed the privilege of working wherever he chose. He could work from Colorado Springs as effectively as he could at the offices of Micronet.

  He shifted uncomfortably and darted a quick look at Annie. Her smug smile seemed to say, “It figures.”

  “Yes,” he admitted at last.

  “How exciting!” Cora exclaimed. “A man who isn’t afraid to swim with sharks has got to be an entertaining companion. I’m sure y’all are gonna have a wonderful time.”

  “I’m sure we will,” Annie concurred weakly.

  Mitch could tell the last thing Annie was interested in was having a good time—particularly with him. For whatever reason, that uncharitable revelation bugged Mitch far more than it should have.

  Shrugging off that thought, Mitch redirected his thoughts to a more productive line of thinking and listened as Les continued to regale them with stories starring himself as the dashing hero. Mitch smiled and complimented Les at all the appropriate places. After all, no matter what Les thought, this was business. If he intended to win—and Mitch did—then schmoozing was in order.

  Annie huddled into her down-filled coat as Mitch navigated the little golf cart through the lighted grounds.

  “Cold?” he asked, cutting a glance in her direction.

  “Mmm-hmm.” The heat Annie had silently cursed upon arriving in Petersville had left with the setting sun. The temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees since they’d left the cottage some three hours ago. The time was now past ten o’clock and, aside from being bone-tired and depressed, Annie was more than ready to see the end of this day.

  When Les had insisted upon dinner, Annie had foolishly assumed it was because the little Texan intended to talk business, possibly set up some sort of schedule for her and Mitch to give presentations for the Winning Wiener campaign. Those hopes had been completely dashed over dinner.

  All Les wanted to talk about—besides himself—was how much fun he intended for she and Mitch to have.

  Annie rolled her eyes, then covertly looked at the man beside her. Her lips curled. He would be the type to swim with sharks. Since Annie had decided not to like him, it was with supreme annoyance that she noted the simultaneous tingle of awareness and respect upon hearing that adventure. Annie envied him his recklessness.

  Though she wouldn’t call herself a coward, Annie had never been the bold type. She’s always kept her sights on one goal at a time. Had she missed anything? Annie wondered now. Had she truly become so single-minded that the possibility of fun could no longer tempt her?

  “What did you think of dinner?” Mitch asked, tearing Annie from her gloomy thoughts. He pulled up in front of their cottage and killed the motor.

  “You mean dodging it or eating it?” she asked wryly.

  A rumble of laughter emerged from his throat. “Both.”

  “Well, it was tasty, but I could have done without the snow pea going down my shirt.”

  Smiling, Mitch got out and met Annie under the arbor. Together they strolled up the walk. He quirked a brow. “Do you need help getting it out?”

  Annie wanted to be annoyed, but instead had to repress a grin. “No. Did they teach you how to flirt at the University of F.U.N.?”

  Mitch laughed. “I have a doctorate,” he deadpanned.

  This time, Annie did smile. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Because apparently my uncle has portrayed me as some sort of adrenalin-seeking thrill junkie.” Despite his joking tone, Annie heard a note of regret in his voice. She stored that observation for future reference.

  “And that’s not true?” she asked, intrigued.

  Mitch paused to insert the key into the lock and stared at her for a long, charged moment. His clear blue eyes held an unreadable emotion Annie found herself desperately wanting to decipher. “Tell you what. Why don’t you get to know me and form your own opinion?”

  Get to know him? Annie swallowed. Now there was certainly a dangerous prospect. Nonetheless, she nodded. After all, it was only fair.

  Mitch pushed the door open and ushered Annie inside. Entering the cozy cottage made all of her reservations concerning Mitch and this silly competition resurface in her mind. She took a few halting steps toward the back of the cottage and glanced at Mitch. “I’m beat. I think I’m going to go ahead and turn in.”

  Mitch nodded, seeming to sense her skittishness. “Sounds like we’re going to need our rest. Les said they’re expecting us at the packing plant at seven in the morning.”

  Recalling Les’s enthusiastic description of what actually took place at the packing plant made Annie want to lose her dinner. She winced and managed a wan smile. “You’re right. See you in the morning.”

  With that remark, Annie beat a hasty retreat down the hall to the relative safety of her room. She shut the door and sagged against it. Mercy, but this was awkward. How on earth was she going to spend the next two weeks in this house with that man? How could she possibly sleep knowing he was in the next room?

  Better yet, how would he? Annie recalled the tiny couch in the living room
and felt a pang of guilt. Even though Mitch had kindly volunteered to sleep there, fitting his huge frame onto that couch wouldn’t be an easy task.

  In fact, Annie imagined he’d be more comfortable if he gave up that idea altogether and made himself some kind bed next to it on the floor. For an instant, she entertained the idea of telling him just that, but then thought better of it. Advising Mitch Hightower on how to sleep wasn’t her concern. He was a grown man. Surely he’d figure it out.

  Annie opened a drawer and retrieved a gown, then padded quickly to the bathroom to begin her nightly ritual. Knowing Mitch was just a few yards away made the otherwise mundane task of washing her face and brushing her teeth nerve-wracking. She hurriedly finished, then escaped back to her room.

  With a yawn, she drew the covers back and slid into the sumptuous bed. This was heaven, she thought dreamily, her body relaxing into the cloud-like mattress. Considering the hell se was likely to go through over the next couple of weeks, Annie decided getting the bed would be her one perk. She frowned at herself.

  Why had she felt sorry for Mitch? It if wasn’t for him, neither one of them would be in this position. She’d be the head of Hightower Advertising, and Mitch would be back at his computer company, working on his tan or whatever it was he didn’t do there.

  Well, Annie decided, remembering her promise to get to know him, that was hardly fair. She happened to know that Micronet was a Fortune 500 company. If he’d owned half of it, then surely he couldn’t have been the idler the papers made him out to be.

  Still, Annie didn’t want to entertain any good thoughts about him. Charming though he may be—and she had to admit he was—unfortunately Mitch was still the enemy. He was after her job. Her position. And, if he won his uncle’s cockamamie contest, then she would be forced to start over somewhere else. Despite William’s wishes, Annie would not stay on with Hightower if she lost this campaign. It would simply be too hard. She let out a deep, shuddering breath, and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  As long as she watched herself with Mitch, she would be fine. Deciding her best course of action would be to ignore him, Annie resolved to do just that. Granted, it would be difficult, but she’d had to do things that required much more determination. Ignoring Mitch should be a piece of cake.

  Mitch crammed the little pillow under his head, muttered a hot oath, and searched unsuccessfully for that elusive comfortable position. Why had he told her he would take the couch? he wondered again. What warped personality had invaded his body and made such a suggestion? He’d be damned if he knew. Perhaps Annie’s panicked expression, that frightened deer-in-the-headlights look had prompted his momentary lapse of sanity. Who knew?

  Regardless of his motivation, the fact remained that he was the one who was pulling a stint as a contortionist on the couch—not her. Nope. Presently Annie was sprawled out in a gigantic bed designed for sin, sleeping peacefully while he, on the other hand, would undoubtedly end up in traction.

  A vision of Annie spread amid a tangle of sheets came to him suddenly. That coffee colored hair spread over one of those pale pink pillows. Her plump breasts covered only with a whisper of see-through fabric. Feeling a definite stirring in his groin, Mitch cursed. Considering that he didn’t have the room to twitch, much less stir, only irritated him further.

  Mitch told himself that there was no room for sexual attraction in this already bizarre chain of events. Wanting Annie Witherspoon would be the end of his career at Hightower Advertising. Furthermore, he suspected Uncle William would have his hide. That’s enough, Mitch, he told himself. Stop thinking about her that way. Stop thinking that she’s in the other room, only a few feet from where you are.

  Mitch sighed at the futility of that thought. Telling himself not to think about Annie as a woman was like telling a sugar addict not to think about sweets. Nevertheless, he’d sworn off the fairer sex for a reason. He had to keep his goal firmly in mind.

  And from what he’d been able to discern this evening over dinner with Les Peters, getting the little cowboy to cooperate was going to be every bit as difficult as remembering Annie was his adversary. Les had smoothly fended off every subtle inquiry about the Winning Wiener campaign. Suspiciously so, in fact.

  In fact, Mitch had gotten the distinct impression that Les was more interested in playing matchmaker than getting a good hot dog campaign. He’d thought about discussing his suspicions with Annie, but had changed his mind. He didn’t have any proof of his deduction, just a strong gut feeling. He doubted Annie would put much stock in his instincts—hell, she might even tell Les of his suspicions. Wouldn’t that go over well?

  Mitch made another vain attempt at getting comfortable, then resigned himself to the fact that it wouldn’t happen on this piece of doll furniture. He exhaled mightily and pushed a hand through his hair. Mitch knew he had to get up very early in the morning to put anything over on Annie Witherspoon. With that last thought, he managed to drift off into a fitful sleep.

  Tuesday morning made its appearance entirely too early to please Mitch. Between that damned couch and the recurring dreams of Annie, he’d gotten very little rest. Wincing in pain, he cracked one eye open and rubbed a hand over his stubbled face. Even that minimal movement sent a wave of agonizing pain through each and every muscle of his body—particularly in his back, he noted grimly. He took a deep breath and heaved himself up, swallowing a mouth of expletives.

  Limping his way through the quiet house—undoubtedly Annie was still sleeping peacefully—a current of irritation worked its way through him. Why had he agreed to this? And not just the couch. Why had he agreed to this whole ridiculous contest? Even though he’d sold his half of Micronet, he could still design software. He could open an entire new business for that matter. True, he wanted to be back at Hightower, to contribute his part to the family business that he been around longer than he had. To be part of something that was bigger than himself. But was it really worth this grief?

  Mitch entered the bathroom and hesitated at flipping on the light. No need to wake up sleeping Beauty, he thought churlishly. After finishing necessary business, Mitch stepped into the shower and adjusted the tap to a temperature that might ease his aching muscles. Seconds later, he shucked his boxers and stepped into the hot spray. Within minutes the powerful spray pounded out some of the kinks, but little of his tension.

  Most of the time, Mitch considered himself to be a laid-back, good-humored type of guy. Yet one day spent in Annie Witherspoon’s distracting company and one night on an uncomfortable couch had put him in the foulest mood he could recall. Rather than delve into the whys, Mitch instantly decided the problem lay with Annie. If she would have accepted his presence at Hightower without question, then he imagined William would have simply handed Mitch the reins. Obviously, she hadn’t. And she had just enough influence over his uncle to get herself a shot at what should have been his job.

  With an angry twist, Mitch turned the water to the off position and rested his head against the tiled wall. It didn’t help matters that instead of thinking about all the ways to outsmart Annie, all he could think about was kissing her. About having those smart, pretty lips beneath his and kissing them until she moaned. He’d desperately wanted to last night when they’d been on the front porch. For an instant, they’d connected. He’d felt it. Nevertheless, he didn’t understand the attraction.

  Hell, for the most part she’d been sassy, insulting, and belligerent. Mitch’s lips quirked into a half-smile. Not qualities he generally looked for in a potential bed-mate. So what made Annie different? What made her so—

  A sound drew his thoughts to a halt. Before he had time to figure out where the noise had originated from, the curtain whipped back, sending wave of cold air over his wet skin.

  “What the hell,” he muttered, then stopped because he’d lost the ability to form any coherent thought.

  Annie was naked.

  Gloriously, Lady Godiva naked. Mitch blinked and downloaded the vision before him into his men
tal hard-drive for future recollection. In a nanosecond, his gaze took in her perfect form. High, rose-tipped breasts, tiny waist, perfect hips, a nest of dark tangled curls, and long shapely legs. With little effort Mitch imagined that her every part would fit perfectly in his hands. Imagined himself cradled between her thighs, her legs wrapped around his waist. A surge of blood pooled in his loins, making his body react instantly.

  Annie’s mouth worked up and down until finally a blood-curdling scream came out. She grabbed the shower curtain and hastily wrapped it around her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she shrieked.

  Mitch made no move to cover himself. “Taking a shower.”

  “With the water off?” she shouted incredulously. “Can’t be very productive to do it that way.” Suddenly her eyes narrowed and she glanced below his waist. Her already pink cheeks bloomed to red. Her mouth formed a perfect O. “Oh, no,” she breathed. “You were…you were…” She swallowed and glanced nervously at his erection again.

  Before it dawned on Mitch what Annie had mistakenly assumed, she’d scooped up her robe and darted out of the bathroom.

  Equally embarrassed and outraged, Mitch hurriedly wrapped towel around his waist and took off after her. “No, I wasn’t,” he called emphatically to her. He found her in her room and gave her an implacable look. “I was not doing what you thought I was doing.”

  Annie wore an amused little smile. “Look, Mitch, I apologize for walking in on you. Normally, I start my day off with a cup of coffee, but…” She shrugged. “To each his own.” Wearing a maddening little smile, she turned away from him and started to make the bed.

  “I was taking a shower,” he reiterated through clenched teeth.

  She shrugged again, unconcerned. “Sure. Call it a shower if you want. I don’t care.”

  Mitch stalked toward her. “I’m calling it a shower because it was a shower. I haven’t done what you’re suggesting since I was a pimply-faced teenager who couldn’t get laid.”

  Annie heaved a beleaguered sigh. “You don’t have to convince me, Mitch. Or impress me. It’s a natural human thing. You don’t have to be ashamed.”