The Virgin's Proposal. Shirley Jump

he’d left his parents’ home in Toledo at the age of eighteen. It had taken him seven years of selling commercial properties to save enough money to buy a part interest and the position of vice president in the floundering and grateful Corporate Services. Within two years, Edward owned the company and had renamed it Webster Enterprises.

      Nearly three decades later, it was the largest, most profitable firm in the state. Edward had built it up with his own two hands. For that, Matt admired and respected him.

      But Matt despised the underhanded way his father forced people to do his bidding. Edward Webster used every tool at his disposal—guilt, rage and humiliation—to bring others around to his way of thinking. That was a lesson Matt had learned personally. The night his father had turned on his own flesh and blood had wiped out whatever love and admiration Matt felt and had replaced it with simmering resentment.

      “Matthew,” his father said finally, “you should pay Olivia a visit and try to patch things up. She never remarried, you know. She went back to her maiden name, but that doesn’t mean everything is over between you two. People will talk about your return. There are a lot of questions that were never answered. Not for anyone, especially Olivia.”

      Matt had a few questions of his own for his ex-wife, but he didn’t mention that to his father. “There’s nothing to say, Father. Olivia and I haven’t had so much as a conversation in a decade. Much like you and I.”

      Edward tore a fresh-baked roll in half and applied fat-free margarine in precise, economical movements. He said nothing.

      “I have no plans to resurrect anything with Olivia. We won’t be reconciling for the benefit of the country club.”

      “I don’t give a damn about the country club,” Edward exploded, slamming the butter knife down. “That girl is hurting. She needs you. I will not have a son of mine ignore his wife, ex or not, when she’s still suffering from a horrible loss.”

      Matt popped out of his chair and placed both hands on the table. He leaned forward, his gaze leveled on his father’s face. “You think she’s the only one that suffered? Do you? Do you even consider how I might have felt? No, you think about how your son’s actions might affect your social standing.”

      Edward leaned back in his seat. “That’s not true.”

      “When I walked out that door eleven years ago, I was in more pain than you will ever know.” Matt swallowed and willed the shudders of agonizing memories of that night to stop, prayed for the rage to replace the pain. “Do you remember what you said to me? ‘Think about how this will look.”’ Matt shoved his chair under the table and headed for the door. “That told me exactly how much you cared about my feelings, Father.”

      Matt stormed out and headed for the one place he knew would take the edge off his anger—a bar.

      Chapter Three

      Katie hopped onto a barstool at the Corner Pocket, Mercy’s sole choice for evening entertainment, and tried to look cool and unaffected by her solitary status. It wasn’t easy. It seemed every eye in the place, including those of the massive moose-head over the restroom door, was watching her.

      I can do this. I can sit alone in a bar and not feel like a twenty-five-cent sideshow at the circus. Come see the Lonely, Bitter Old Maid—scariest creature this side of the Mississippi.

      “Hey, Jim. How are you?” she said to the bartender, desperate for anyone to talk to.

      “Pretty good, Katie. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you here. Welcome back,” said Jim Watkins, the rotund, friendly owner of the Corner Pocket. His open face and perpetual smile were encouraging and just what Katie needed. “Hey, I heard you got engaged. Congratulations.”

      For a second, Katie stared at him blankly. “Oh…oh that. Well, I—” What could she say? She decided to ignore it. In time people would talk about something else. “Thanks.”

      Katie drummed her fingers on the bar and glanced around the room. It was early yet and there were only a few people she knew here. Thankfully she noticed that Steve and Barbara were nowhere to be seen. They were probably cuddling somewhere, getting popcorn stuck in their teeth and watching Stone Cold Steve Austin wallop Hulk Hogan.

      Jim placed a napkin before her. “What’ll it be, Katie?” He laid a hand on the stack of glasses, waiting for her answer.

      She was tempted to bolt out the door. Instead, she gripped the edge of the bar. “Umm…I don’t know.” She racked her brain for the name of a sophisticated drink, the kind ordered by women who ventured out alone. But she didn’t know any. She rarely drank and usually nursed a draft Budweiser all night. She doubted a beer-foam mustache would make her look cool.

      “Make it a tequila sunrise for the lady,” said a voice from behind her. “And a…a Coke for me.”

      She spun around on the stool. Matt Webster. In the flesh and at her elbow. His eyes skimmed over the floral outfit, lingering just enough to let her know he approved. The breezy spring dress had been a good choice. A very good one.

      Chalk up a point for the new Katie.

      “I thought you might like something sweet but with a little bite to it.” He grinned. “The total opposite of you, of course.”

      Put that resolution to work, Katie girl.

      “You didn’t find me sweet this afternoon?” She batted her eyelashes and did her best to look innocent.

      “Sweet isn’t quite the word that comes to mind when I think of you. And as for having a little bit of a bite,” his voice was low, dark, “well, you didn’t let me get that far.” He was closer now, his breath warm on her face, his mouth inches away. “Fiery, spontaneous and bewitching are better adjectives for you.”

      “A tequila sunrise and a Coke for the happy couple,” Jim announced, placing the glasses before them. Katie jerked back, away from Matt, and felt heat rise to her face.

      She wrapped her hands around the glass, marveling at the way the drink mirrored its name. And how Matt looked as though he’d stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Granted, his leather jacket, white T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans were from an issue of Harley Rider instead of GQ, but the overall effect was the same. Enticing. Magnificent. One-hundred-percent American male.

      She swallowed hard and tried not to think about how good he’d look in a tuxedo. That image was way too powerful. Her hormones were already raging. Picturing him in evening wear would definitely be her undoing.

      “What shall we drink to?” He raised his glass. His gaze never left her face.

      “To new beginnings.”

      He nodded. “Appropriate.” He tapped his glass against hers with a soft clink. She watched him drink. When his lips met the rim, the powerful, gut-coiling memory of kissing him in the supermarket hit her.

      “Celebrating your engagement?” Barbara’s voice sliced through the air with sarcastic precision. “Funny, no one else in town knows about this wedding. How long have you been dating?”

      Katie froze. Putting on a ten-minute charade in the grocery store had been easy. A temporary game, not a life-changing experience. Flirting with Matt in the dimness of the bar was one thing; stepping away from who she’d been for the last twenty-four years and slipping into an entirely new persona, in front of people she knew, was another.

      “Katie and I have known each other for months,” Matt said, saving her from a response. “We’ve just been long-distance lovers. Until now.” He took Katie’s hand, flashed her a wicked smile, and turned to face Barbara and Steve, who was bringing up the rear.

      Barbara’s gaze narrowed. “Then why didn’t you get her a ring?”

      Without missing a beat, Matt answered, “Because I’m having my great-grandmother’s ring reset for Katie. She deserves something as special as she is.”