A Proposal Worth Waiting For: The Heir's Proposal / A Pregnancy, a Party & a Proposal / His Proposal, Their Forever. Raye Morgan

he asked, looking around at the others.

      That reminded her. He thought she was a crook, and if he knew who her father was, that would probably clinch the deal in his mind. She had to be careful.

      “You got me,” she responded to his question about Carl. “There’s no telling where he’s gone or what he’s up to.”

      He gave her a quizzical look, then shook his head, looking at her so intensely, she felt suddenly chilled.

      “Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice low.

      Something surged in her chest. “What? You and me?”

      “Yeah.” His eyes shone in the shadows. “I want to talk to you. Alone.”

      She felt the pull he had over her, but she could resist that. She bit her lower lip, thinking fast. She didn’t have time to talk. She had to get going on her plan, and she didn’t want him following her.

      The first thing she wanted to do was to get to the house she’d lived in as a child, the one with the red tile roof, and do a little exploring. Luckily, Jimmy wasn’t living in it and it seemed to be empty. In fact, it seemed no one had lived in it for years. All the better for finding something left behind that might ignite a memory or her imagination in ways that could help her.

      “I don’t think that will work,” she said, looking away. “People will notice.”

      “And you care? Why?”

      She frowned at him. “Because I’m a decent person, Marc. I want people to notice that. Maybe you don’t. But I do.”

      Funny what amazing thoughts came tumbling out of her head because she felt she had to fight back against him. She’d never thought this position over, but now it seemed to be hers.

      “And there’s something else,” she told him. “Look into my eyes. Do you see someone who’s attracted to you?” She glared at him. “Do you see someone who looks susceptible to your load of bull? Because I don’t. And I want you to acknowledge it.”

      He stared at her and shook his head as though he thought she was nuts. “Okay,” he said. “Point taken. I was wrong. You don’t have a thing for me. I can accept that.”

      “Can you, Marc?” She glared harder. “Good. Because I don’t have a crush on you. So don’t expect it.”

      His mouth twisted in half a grin. “All right. Sorry I ever brought it up.”

      “Okay.” She took a deep breath.

      His mouth twisted and his gaze was sardonic. “But you’re still not married to Carl. Isn’t that right?”

      She sighed and tossed her head, letting her hair fly behind her, then looked toward the fire. When she looked back, he was gone.

      * * *

      But he wasn’t far away. Every nerve ending he possessed, every element of caution, was on edge. There was something going on here. He could feel it in the air. He wasn’t sure what it was—but he was going to find out.

      Was Torie involved? Undoubtedly. His gaze kept getting pulled back to her, leaving him halfway between bemused and annoyed. Something about her nagged at him—as though there was something he’d forgotten, something he’d filed away and put into the wrong drawer. Something just didn’t compute. Why did she look so familiar?

      And where the hell was Carl? A part of him wanted to go looking for him, but then Torie would disappear. Better to stay. Someone had to keep an eye on her.

      She spoke to the Texan and laughed at something he said back, but her gaze quickly returned to search him out. What expression did he see on her face? Defiance? Anger? He wasn’t sure what it was, but it only aroused his interest. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She was getting ready to make a move and he wanted to be sure he knew about it when it happened.

      But the night was young and Marge had plans for them all.

      “Come on, everybody,” she announced, calling them all to gather around the fire pit. “I’ve got Jimmy bringing in more wood. We’ll sit around the fire and tell stories.”

      “Ghost stories?” Lyla asked, looking worried.

      “No,” Marge said, laughing. “Let’s get back to the reason you’re all here. I think each of you should talk about Shangri-La and what you would do to change it into your own special dream. How about that?”

      Torie couldn’t hide her smile. Marge was turning out to be quite a saleswoman. She glanced over at where Marc was standing, a beer in his hand, looking watchful.

      Of course, she thought. I’m surely not the only one he’s got his eye on tonight, and that’s obvious.

      Marge was trying to perk the party up, to generate some enthusiasm among the people crowding close to the fire, trying to get warm.

      “Come on people. Dig deep. Think back. Recall patio parties and fireplace sing-alongs from your early days. Think of the potential here.” She looked at the faces turned her way. “Come on, Lyla,” she said. “What would you do if you owned this place?”

      Lyla smiled, looking dreamy, and stepped out into the light. “I see this property as a setting for an entertainment center. I’d set up a stage and put on theatrical performances, drawing audiences down from the Bay Area and up from Los Angeles.”

      “Lots of luck on that one,” the Texan chortled. “Both of those are long drives. You’ll get an audience of ten or so per show.”

      Lyla shrugged elaborately. “I’ll start with that. But we would grow. Word of mouth...”

      “Here’s my plan,” Phoebe chimed in happily. “I would love to have a spiritual retreat for our friends. Some are show-business people, some are politicians. They could come here and be refreshed by nature. I would put in a natural swimming pool right here, with a waterfall and vines hanging over it. I would have Greek statues all around the water.”

      “That sounds like Hearst Castle.”

      “Yes. I love Hearst Castle.”

      “That’s okay if you’re as rich as Hearst was,” the Texan said. “Otherwise, better aim a little lower, I’d say. Stop dreaming.”

      “A human must dream,” Andros protested grandly. “We have a dream too, me and Nina. We would make this place into a first-class destination resort for Mediterranean clients, people who want something different. Our restaurant would be the core project, of course. We would make the best Greek restaurant in the world, right here, an old-fashioned supper club. And we would turn the house into a hotel....”

      Nina chimed in, telling them about her ancient recipes handed down through the family grandmothers. “Old-country charm supported by modern technology,” she declared. “We have such plans.”

      “No way,” the Texan said dismissively. “You’re all aiming to go broke in the first year.”

      “Oh yeah?” Frank retorted. “Then what’s your idea, cowboy? A dude ranch?”

      “Hell no. I have no interest in drawing other people here. The first thing I’ll do is hire a geologist and a mining engineer and start drilling holes.”

      “Holes?”

      That got everyone’s attention and they all stared at him raptly.

      “Sure. We would tear this place apart. I’m bettin’ on gold, lady. There was a pretty good vein that tapped out in the nineteenth century not far from here. I’m bettin’ we can track it down and...”

      “Are you serious?” Marc said, frowning fiercely.

      “California gold. That’s what the state is known for. There’s gotta be some somewhere. I’m bettin’ on these here hills.”

      “You’re crazy,” Frank said, and four or five other