A Convenient Proposal - By Lynnette Kent Page 0,4

he wouldn’t even remember what he’d offered, what she’d said…what they’d agreed to do. And that was for the best.

So why was she going back to him? Why should she care what happened to this stranger on the shore?

He’d turned onto his back again. Kneeling beside him, she studied the strong face and neck, the muscled shoulders and chest, the narrow waist and hips and really, really great calves. Not many men had such slim, straight legs. His tan testified to six months in the Caribbean sun and his hair, probably a light brown in Georgia, was a tangle of gold and silver waves. He would make beautiful babies.

Or maybe not. Arden shook her head at her own foolishness. Maybe he was sterile. She should have him take a fertility test, not to mention other important examinations, before she committed to sex with a man about whom she knew nothing at all.

A sudden ache constricted her chest and throat. Her own ability to conceive wasn’t in question. She knew she could make a baby. But could she carry it full term this time?

Shaking her head again, she got to her feet. Whatever she decided tomorrow, whatever Griff did or didn’t remember, she couldn’t let him spend the night on the beach.

Too bad she didn’t have the violin handy. She could make some pretty awful noises, enough to wake the dead, let alone the drunk. Her music was yet another loss she’d dealt with during this last year.

So she kicked him. With the side of her bare foot, again, and again. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to irritate him thoroughly. After an amazing amount of abuse, Griff woke up, swearing and yelling even after he recognized her. He fell when she tried to help him up, and during their climb across the beach toward the dunes.

“How far?” he panted, as they stepped onto the path leading inland. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not far. No.” She barely found the breath to speak. He was leaning on her, his arm over her shoulders, and she felt as if she was bearing at least half his weight. “Just put one foot in front of the other.” That was the most she could manage at this point.

As live oak trees started closing in overhead, the darkness became complete. All she could see was a swath of white sand leading into the jungle. Had she gotten them lost?

No. With relief, she saw the side trail branching off to the left and the signpost for the cottage.

“A few more minutes,” she told Griff. “And we’ll be home.”

Home was a small stucco bungalow in a clearing within the dense grove of trees—one bedroom and one bath under a red tile roof. She’d left the porch light on during her walk to watch the fireworks. The yellow glimmer guided her back.

Griff straightened up as he saw it, and blew out a deep breath. “I was beginning to wonder if you were planning to maroon me in the wilderness.”

She slipped out from under his arm and stepped up to open the door to the screened porch. “I will, if you don’t behave.”

He followed her inside. “I hear you.” Then he swayed and yawned at the same time. “At this point, I’m too incapacitated to make trouble for anybody.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Arden pushed open the door into the house, then gasped as a furry shadow raced past her.

In the next instant, Igor pinned Griff Campbell against the wall.

Chapter Two

Crouched within biting distance, hackles raised, teeth bared, the black-and-brown collie mix made no sound, not even a growl. But the grim look in his eyes promised attack.

Pressed against the wall of the screened porch, Griff cleared his throat. “Arden? A little help here?”

She took hold of the dog’s collar. “What in the world is wrong with you, Igor? Is this how you say welcome home?”

Igor waved his fluffy tail back and forth. But he didn’t change his stance, and his glare stayed on Griff.

“I don’t usually get this reaction,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen him behave this way. Then again, I haven’t seen him with another person since I took him from the shelter.” Shaking her head, Arden started backing up, holding on to the dog. “I’ll put him away.”

“No, wait. Let’s see if we can call a truce first. He’s a rescue?”

She nodded.

“Let me guess…his owner was a guy?”

“Yes.”

“Abusive, probably.” Griff relaxed slightly. “Igor might think all men are out