A Convenient Proposal - By Lynnette Kent Page 0,41

had at dinner with the Campbell clan. Perhaps the clatter of dishware had made the situation worse. Or her condition might have deteriorated.

She wasn’t sure whether Kathy’s pregnancy announcement or the reminder of her own impending deafness had been the low point of the day.

With Igor walked and fed, she carried her shopping bags into the smaller bedroom to sort through her purchases. Dresses for day parties and dances and the wedding, plus some clothes for horseback riding soon hung from a rack on the closet door. She’d also indulged in a new outfit simply because she loved it—dark gray leggings and a silvery cashmere sweater to wear over them would be warm and cozy on cold rainy evenings in Georgia.

The doorbell sounded just as she slipped the sweater over her head. Igor ran down the hallway ahead of her to stand guard at the door. Through one sidelight window she could see Griff on the porch.

“Back to the sunroom,” she told Igor, clipping the leash to his collar and leading him away. “We’re going to have to work on peace negotiations between you and Griff. But until we do…” As she shut him in, she was pleased to see the dog settle on his bed, apparently content to observe life through the windows.

Then she hurried back to the front door. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, pulling back the panel. “I…” She hesitated, because he held a big carton in front of him, which gave off a tantalizing aroma. “What do you have there?”

“Dinner from New Moon, the best Chinese food in Georgia.” As she stepped back, he came in sideways and headed for the kitchen. “I decided the weather discouraged taking you out, so I’d bring the restaurant here.” He set the box on the kitchen table.

“Also champagne, because…” He shrugged. “Because we like champagne.”

“Excellent planning.” Arden moved toward the cabinets. “I’ll get plates—”

His arms came around her from behind, and his warm mouth pressed against the curve between her neck and shoulder, revealed by the wide cowl of the sweater. “I thought we could reheat the food later,” he murmured, stringing kisses over her skin. “What I’m really craving wasn’t on the New Moon menu.”

Romance novels spoke of thrills—Arden now understood the sensation, like tiny streams of excitement coursing over and through her body from the places where he set his lips. She wanted so much to surrender and let desire flood through her.

But the revelations of the day tied her to sanity. Her doubts and worries about the situation refused to be shut off.

“Mmm,” Griff said, bringing his hands to her shoulders. “You’re tense tonight.” He kneaded gently, finding all the tight spots between her elbows and the nape of her neck.

Arden almost whimpered. “That feels so good.” Tears burned her eyes at the intensity of the relief.

“My dad let slip the big news today.” He wrapped his hands around her head, massaging a different place with each finger.

She could barely think for the pleasure. “About…?”

“Kath’s baby.” His fingers shifted, resumed their magic. “I’m gonna kill her for not telling me.” Annoyance edged his tone.

“She wanted to.” Arden couldn’t believe she was playing peacemaker between brother and sister. “You’ve only been home a couple of days.”

“That should have been the first thing she said. ‘Welcome home, bro. I’m having a baby.’”

“Perhaps she didn’t want to distract attention from…um…me.”

“Maybe. Stupid.” His hands settled quietly on her shoulders. “Feel better?”

“Much.” She was tempted to suggest they eat now and gradually recover the mood for sex with champagne.

Sex with Griff was, however, the only way to reach her goal. She’d agreed to this crazy plan in order to get pregnant. The more often they had sex, the more likely she would be to conceive.

And so she turned in Griff’s arms, raising her face to his. “Now, what can we do to satisfy your appetite?”

AFTER THREE DAYS OF RAIN, Friday served up sunny skies and warmer temperatures. Griff woke early, with anticipation, and puttered around the house for several hours until he could legitimately show up at the cottage at nine to take Arden riding.

She met him at the door wearing breeches, boots and a heavy sweater.

“You look great,” he said, admiring the fit of those tight pants and the line of her legs in riding boots. “But I thought you said you’d never done this before.”

Her smile was sheepish. “I haven’t. Kathy suggested I’d feel more comfortable in the right clothes, and be safer with boots instead of