Callan's Proposition. Barbara McCauley

      Three

      They stood beside each other, the quintessential Mutt and Jeff, and smiled down at her. Ruby was the taller of the two, with curly, tomato-red hair she always wore swept up, robust blue eyes and a thunderous voice that could set off a car alarm. Emerald was a pageboy platinum-blonde with big green eyes that always looked surprised and a generous smile that stretched wide across her pale, yet remarkably young-looking face. They were both dressed in a kaleidoscope of bright flowing gauze and dozens of matching plastic bracelets.

      Eyes now wide open, Abigail stared at her aunts, then lifted her head and looked at the man whose arms were wrapped around her. Her heart slammed in her chest. She vaguely remembered sitting on the sofa with him last night, but she had no idea how she’d ended up here in his arms. In his arms, for Heaven’s sake! Thank God he was still sleeping, she thought, and carefully tried to slip under his embrace. He mumbled softly and tightened his hold.

      She bit back the groan hovering in her throat and gave her aunts a weak smile. They smiled back brightly.

      With her dignity long past the point of resurrection, Abigail wiggled gently and eased herself, inch by inch, out from under her boss’s—ex-boss’s, she reminded herself—arms. She’d nearly escaped when he gave a soft snort, then opened his eyes. He stared at her in surprise, then glanced at Ruby and Emerald.

      “Good morning,” her aunts boomed in unison.

      With a look of panic, he catapulted from the couch. Caught off balance, Abigail tumbled to the floor.

      “Oh, dear.” Emerald pressed a hand to her chest.

      “Heavens.” Ruby frowned.

      Callan dragged a hand through his rumpled hair, then his gaze shifted from the two startled women back down to Abigail.

      “Sorry,” he said awkwardly, offering Abigail a hand. Her blouse fell open as he pulled her to her feet. He paled, then turned red. He’s blushing, Abigail thought in amazement and quickly pulled her blouse closed. Mr. Sinclair was actually embarrassed.

      And as she remembered why her blouse was open, she felt her own cheeks burn. Ohmigod, she thought with a silent groan. The memory of her near strip-tease sucked the breath from her lungs. Quickly she buttoned her blouse, desperately wishing that the sofa would open up and swallow her whole.

      But she would deal with what happened last night later. First she had her aunts to contend with.

      “Aunt Emerald, Aunt Ruby.” Abigail’s voice cracked. She straightened the front of her misbuttoned blouse, then cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”

      “We told you we were coming, dear,” Ruby said, though her gaze was still locked on Callan. “Have you forgotten?”

      Abigail glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s only seven-thirty in the morning. I was supposed to pick you up at the airport this afternoon at one-thirty. Flight 312, Gate 22.”

      “Oh, that.” Emerald waved a hand of dismissal. “We took an earlier flight. Ruby was supposed to tell you.”

      “I was not.” Bracelets clacked loudly as Ruby jammed her hands on her well-endowed hips and frowned at her sister. “You were supposed to. I called for the taxi.”

      “You’re arguing again, Ruby.” Forever smiling, Emerald faced her sister and waved a finger at her, which also set her own bracelets clacking.

      Great, Abigail thought. Just what I need right now—dueling bracelets.

      “It doesn’t matter,” Abigail interjected before the discussion could escalate. And knowing her aunts, it most certainly would. Awkwardly she leaned forward and hugged each of them. “It’s…it’s wonderful to see you.”

      In spite of the situation, Abigail was surprised that she actually meant it. Her aunts might be eccentric and flamboyant, but she loved them both. They cooed over her, smoothed her hair and kissed her cheek, then glanced at the man whose arms she’d been in less than five minutes ago.

      Abigail drew in a deep breath, then said in a rush, “Aunt Emerald, Aunt Ruby, this is Mr. Sinclair.”

      Two sets of confused eyes looked back at her. “Mr. Sinclair?”

      “My employer.” As delicately as possible she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I believe I told you about him.”

      “You call your fiancé Mr. Sinclair?” Ruby asked.

      She bit the inside of her lip. Time to face the piper.

      She sucked in another deep breath. “He’s not—”

      “—Mr. Sinclair to you lovely ladies, of course,” he said smoothly. “It’s Callan.”

      Breath held, Abigail watched as he moved beside her and casually slipped an arm around her shoulders. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and gave her a pinch. “Sometimes Abby can be such a tease.”

      Shocked, Abigail stared up at “Callan.” He’d called her “Abby” and said she was a “tease?” She had to be having a hallucination. Some bizarre aftermath of too much alcohol. But when he squeezed her shoulder, he certainly didn’t feel like a hallucination. He felt strong and solid.

      “Abby’s told me so much about you both,” he went on. “I realize how strange this must look, finding us like this, but the truth is, we were up so late last night talking about your visit, we fell asleep right here. Isn’t that right, Abby?”

      Well, technically his explanation was correct, Abigail supposed, and looked back at her aunts. They beamed with pleasure.

      She smiled weakly at them and shifted from one bare foot to the other. Obviously, part of taking off her clothes had included her shoes. “Well, actually, Aunties, the truth is—”

      “The truth is,” Callan said, interrupting again, then paused and leaned toward her aunts as he whispered, “Abby had a little too much to drink last night. She never could hold her alcohol very well, you know.”

      Emerald and Ruby glanced at each other and nodded compassionately, then Ruby said, “It’s a recessive gene in her father’s side of the family, I’m afraid. The Bliss side of the family is quite tolerant of the spirits, though we only partake on special occasions, of course, and even then with the utmost discretion.”

      Abigail choked back a laugh. Discretion was hardly a word that was used synonymously with the Bliss name, and as far as special occasions, the sun rising and setting every day would most likely be considered special to her aunts. But it certainly was true that they were able to consume endless amounts of liquor without any of the side effects that plagued most people, including herself.

      Especially herself, Abigail thought as the memory of the previous night began to emerge all too vividly in her mind.

      She’d shown him her breasts, for Heaven’s sake. What he must think of her, exposing herself like that to him. How could she ever face him again?

      She couldn’t.

      She just couldn’t.

      But at the moment, however, it seemed as though she had no choice. He still had his arm looped possessively around her shoulder and held her snugly against his broad chest. The heat of his body shimmered through his shirt and radiated through her body all the way down to