The Bravos: Family Ties: The Bravo Family Way / Married in Haste / From Here to Paternity. Christine Rimmer
“Fine. Let’s get married.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Would you, um, say that again?”
He put up a hand. “Wait.”
“But—”
“No. I mean it. Wait right there.” He slid from the bed, went to his knees, yanked open the bedside drawer and took something out of there.
“Fletcher, have you completely lost your mind?”
He shoved the drawer shut. “I think I might have.” He put his fist to his chest and loudly cleared his throat. “Cleopatra. Marry me.”
She clutched the sheet harder and stared down at him—naked on his knees. Proposing to her. “I … what?”
“I said, marry me.” He held out his fist and opened his fingers. A gold-embossed red jewelry box sat on his spread palm. A ring box.
Her stunned gaze tracked from the box to his face and back to the box. She blinked, thinking this truly could not be real. But when she opened her eyes again, he was still on his knees, still holding out that little box. “You’re serious … aren’t you?”
He grinned all the wider. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Give me your hand.” Numbly she did. He set the little red box in it. Then he wrapped her fingers around it. “Marry me, Cleo.”
A marriage proposal. From Fletcher. It was the last thing she’d ever expected to get from him. “But … why?”
He rose and sat on the bed beside her. “Well, first of all, because you’re the perfect wife for me.”
She swallowed. “I am?”
“You are. I knew it from that first day, when you came to my office to tell me you wouldn’t, under any circumstances, put KinderWay in my casino. Cleo, you’re wonderful with Ashlyn—as I knew you would be. You’ll make a great mother. That’s of major importance. And then there’s the fact that you know and understand the world I live in—after all, you grew up in my world.
“And then there’s your honesty. I look in those amber eyes and I know you’ll never lie to me. I can trust you. And every time I’m near you, all I can think about is getting you naked.” He tugged on the sheet she still clutched to her breasts. She didn’t let go. She still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Come on,” he urged. “Say yes.”
Marriage.
Fletcher wanted to marry her.
A gleeful voice inside her head was loudly shouting, Yes!
But she didn’t say the word out loud. Not yet. She was a practical woman at heart. She might make a bold leap, but she’d get a few questions answered first.
“Fletcher?”
“Anything.”
“I could never marry a man who wasn’t one hundred percent true to me. If I married you, I’d have to be the only woman in your bed. Ever.”
He frowned. “Haven’t we already had this conversation?”
“That was about being lovers, a promise for as long as it lasted between us. This is for much, much more. This is … forever. Because that’s how long I would want our marriage to last. It would be you and me, just you and me. Can you promise me that?”
By then, he was scowling. “I’m no virgin. I’ve had my share of lovers. But I would never betray my wife.”
She set the red box beside her on the bed and she reached out to smooth the scowl from his brow. “Please. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. But I had to know….”
He caught her hand and kissed it. “I’ll be a faithful husband. Say yes.”
“I, um, one more thing.”
“What now?”
“Well, you’ve yet to mention love….”
“Love,” he repeated, looking a little bit stunned.
“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes, refusing to waver. “Love.”
He dropped her hand—but only long enough to pick up the red box and remove the biggest, brightest princess-cut diamond she’d ever seen. He took her left hand. It happened to be the hand she was using to hold up the sheet, which dropped around her waist. Neither of them noticed.
She was starting to put it together. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
His expression grew severe. “The ring and the proposal, absolutely. Forgetting to use a condom—no. That was a mistake. The truth is, I got carried away.”
“Oh, Fletcher.” Her heart was pounding so hard the sound rang in her ears.
“Are you listening?”
“Oh, yes. I am.”
“All right then. I love you, Cleo. Passionately. Completely. To distraction and beyond …” He slid the platinum band on her finger.
And she grabbed for him. “Oh, Fletcher. I love you, too—and yes. Yes, yes, yes!”
He caught her, turned her so she lay across his naked lap and gazed down at her, his pale eyes alight. “I think a kiss would be a good idea about now.”
“I think you’re right.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers.
Chapter Twelve
Matthew Flint turned from the window that looked out on the Strip and the Stratosphere tower looming proudly in the distance. “You’ve told me more than once that you would never marry a man in the gaming business.”
Cleo glanced down at the diamond on her hand—the diamond she’d been wearing for just over forty-eight hours now—and then quickly back up at her father. “What can I say? I fell in love.”
Flint didn’t reply. He only looked at her, a long, probing sort of look. Then he strode to the wet bar against the far wall and poured himself a whisky. He glanced up before putting the stopper back in the crystal decanter. “Drink?”
“Thank you, no.”
Her father picked up his glass. “What about the mechanic? You seemed so sure he was the one.”
“I was. But then I met Fletcher and … that was it. I couldn’t think of anyone but him. Believe me, I tried.”
Flint nodded. “You’ve never been one to make rash decisions. I have no doubt you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
And she had—at least, when it came to becoming Fletcher’s lover. In terms of marrying him, well, maybe she hadn’t been terribly thoughtful about that. For the first time in her life Cleo was wildly, madly in love. When you were madly in love and your guy proposed, there was only one answer.
Wary as she always was around the man who had fathered her, Cleo watched as Flint approached. At sixty-five he remained straight-backed and broad-shouldered. A handsome man, grown statesmanlike with age. He gestured with his whisky glass. The amber liquid swirled. “It’s a beautiful ring. I’d say ten carats at least.”
“Yes,” she said, ill at ease with him so close. He’d been good to her, in his way. But she’d never felt as if she really knew him or even as if she might someday come to know him.
He raised his glass. “Bright lights, late nights.” She gave him a nod and he took a sip. Not a very big one. He liked whisky, but in moderation. Power was and always had been his drug of choice. “Well.” He crossed around behind his desk and dropped into his high-backed oxblood leather swivel chair. “Fletcher Bravo. I suppose I can get used to your marrying the competition. He’s got talent, that Fletcher. But then, all the Bravos