The Perfect Proposal (7 page)

A rumble of laughter emerged from his throat.
“Both.”

“
Well, it was tasty, but I
could have done without the snow pea going down my
shirt.”

Smiling, Mitch got out and met Annie under
the arbor. Together they strolled up the walk. He quirked a brow.
“Do you need help getting it out?”

Annie wanted to be annoyed, but instead had
to repress a grin. “No. Did they teach you how to flirt at the
University of F.U.N.?”

Mitch laughed. “I have a doctorate,” he
deadpanned.

This time, Annie did smile. “Why am I not
surprised?”

“
Because apparently my uncle
has portrayed me as some sort of adrenalin-seeking thrill junkie.”
Despite his joking tone, Annie heard a note of regret in his voice.
She stored that observation for future reference.

“
And that’s not true?” she
asked, intrigued.

Mitch paused to insert the key into the lock
and stared at her for a long, charged moment. His clear blue eyes
held an unreadable emotion Annie found herself desperately wanting
to decipher. “Tell you what. Why don’t you get to know me and form
your own opinion?”

Get to know him?
Annie swallowed. Now there was certainly a
dangerous prospect. Nonetheless, she nodded. After all, it was only
fair.

Mitch pushed the door open and ushered Annie
inside. Entering the cozy cottage made all of her reservations
concerning Mitch and this silly competition resurface in her mind.
She took a few halting steps toward the back of the cottage and
glanced at Mitch. “I’m beat. I think I’m going to go ahead and turn
in.”

Mitch nodded, seeming to sense her
skittishness. “Sounds like we’re going to need our rest. Les said
they’re expecting us at the packing plant at seven in the
morning.”

Recalling Les’s enthusiastic description of
what actually took place at the packing plant made Annie want to
lose her dinner. She winced and managed a wan smile. “You’re right.
See you in the morning.”

With that remark, Annie beat a hasty retreat
down the hall to the relative safety of her room. She shut the door
and sagged against it. Mercy, but this was awkward. How on earth
was she going to spend the next two weeks in this house with that
man? How could she possibly sleep knowing he was in the next
room?

Better yet, how would he? Annie recalled the
tiny couch in the living room and felt a pang of guilt. Even though
Mitch had kindly volunteered to sleep there, fitting his huge frame
onto that couch wouldn’t be an easy task.

In fact, Annie imagined he’d be more
comfortable if he gave up that idea altogether and made himself
some kind bed next to it on the floor. For an instant, she
entertained the idea of telling him just that, but then thought
better of it. Advising Mitch Hightower on how to sleep wasn’t her
concern. He was a grown man. Surely he’d figure it out.

Annie opened a drawer and retrieved a gown,
then padded quickly to the bathroom to begin her nightly ritual.
Knowing Mitch was just a few yards away made the otherwise mundane
task of washing her face and brushing her teeth nerve-wracking. She
hurriedly finished, then escaped back to her room.

With a yawn, she drew the covers back and
slid into the sumptuous bed. This was heaven, she thought dreamily,
her body relaxing into the cloud-like mattress. Considering the
hell se was likely to go through over the next couple of weeks,
Annie decided getting the bed would be her one perk. She frowned at
herself.

Why had she felt sorry for Mitch? It if
wasn’t for him, neither one of them would be in this position.
She’d be the head of Hightower Advertising, and Mitch would be back
at his computer company, working on his tan or whatever it was he
didn’t do there.

Well, Annie decided, remembering her promise
to get to know him, that was hardly fair. She happened to know that
Micronet was a Fortune 500 company. If he’d owned half of it, then
surely he couldn’t have been the idler the papers made him out to
be.

Still, Annie didn’t want to
entertain any good thoughts about him. Charming though he may
be—and she had to admit he was—unfortunately Mitch was still the
enemy. He was after
her
job.
Her
position. And, if he won his uncle’s cockamamie contest, then
she would be forced to start over somewhere else. Despite William’s
wishes, Annie would not stay on with Hightower if she lost this
campaign. It would simply be too hard. She let out a deep,
shuddering breath, and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

As long as she watched herself with Mitch,
she would be fine. Deciding her best course of action would be to
ignore him, Annie resolved to do just that. Granted, it would be
difficult, but she’d had to do things that required much more
determination. Ignoring Mitch should be a piece of cake.

Mitch crammed the little pillow under his
head, muttered a hot oath, and searched unsuccessfully for that
elusive comfortable position. Why had he told her he would take the
couch? he wondered again. What warped personality had invaded his
body and made such a suggestion? He’d be damned if he knew. Perhaps
Annie’s panicked expression, that frightened deer-in-the-headlights
look had prompted his momentary lapse of sanity. Who knew?

Regardless of his motivation, the fact
remained that he was the one who was pulling a stint as a
contortionist on the couch—not her. Nope. Presently Annie was
sprawled out in a gigantic bed designed for sin, sleeping
peacefully while he, on the other hand, would undoubtedly end up in
traction.

A vision of Annie spread amid a tangle of
sheets came to him suddenly. That coffee colored hair spread over
one of those pale pink pillows. Her plump breasts covered only with
a whisper of see-through fabric. Feeling a definite stirring in his
groin, Mitch cursed. Considering that he didn’t have the room to
twitch, much less stir, only irritated him further.

Mitch told himself that there was no room for
sexual attraction in this already bizarre chain of events. Wanting
Annie Witherspoon would be the end of his career at Hightower
Advertising. Furthermore, he suspected Uncle William would have his
hide. That’s enough, Mitch, he told himself. Stop thinking about
her that way. Stop thinking that she’s in the other room, only a
few feet from where you are.

Mitch sighed at the futility of that thought.
Telling himself not to think about Annie as a woman was like
telling a sugar addict not to think about sweets. Nevertheless,
he’d sworn off the fairer sex for a reason. He had to keep his goal
firmly in mind.

And from what he’d been able to discern this
evening over dinner with Les Peters, getting the little cowboy to
cooperate was going to be every bit as difficult as remembering
Annie was his adversary. Les had smoothly fended off every subtle
inquiry about the Winning Wiener campaign. Suspiciously so, in
fact.

In fact, Mitch had gotten the distinct
impression that Les was more interested in playing matchmaker than
getting a good hot dog campaign. He’d thought about discussing his
suspicions with Annie, but had changed his mind. He didn’t have any
proof of his deduction, just a strong gut feeling. He doubted Annie
would put much stock in his instincts—hell, she might even tell Les
of his suspicions. Wouldn’t that go over well?

Mitch made another vain attempt at getting
comfortable, then resigned himself to the fact that it wouldn’t
happen on this piece of doll furniture. He exhaled mightily and
pushed a hand through his hair. Mitch knew he had to get up very
early in the morning to put anything over on Annie Witherspoon.
With that last thought, he managed to drift off into a fitful
sleep.

Tuesday morning made its appearance entirely
too early to please Mitch. Between that damned couch and the
recurring dreams of Annie, he’d gotten very little rest. Wincing in
pain, he cracked one eye open and rubbed a hand over his stubbled
face. Even that minimal movement sent a wave of agonizing pain
through each and every muscle of his body—particularly in his back,
he noted grimly. He took a deep breath and heaved himself up,
swallowing a mouth of expletives.

Limping his way through the quiet
house—undoubtedly Annie was still sleeping peacefully—a current of
irritation worked its way through him. Why had he agreed to this?
And not just the couch. Why had he agreed to this whole ridiculous
contest? Even though he’d sold his half of Micronet, he could still
design software. He could open an entire new business for that
matter. True, he wanted to be back at Hightower, to contribute his
part to the family business that he been around longer than he had.
To be part of something that was bigger than himself. But was it
really worth this grief?

Mitch entered the bathroom and hesitated at
flipping on the light. No need to wake up sleeping Beauty, he
thought churlishly. After finishing necessary business, Mitch
stepped into the shower and adjusted the tap to a temperature that
might ease his aching muscles. Seconds later, he shucked his boxers
and stepped into the hot spray. Within minutes the powerful spray
pounded out some of the kinks, but little of his tension.

Most of the time, Mitch considered himself to
be a laid-back, good-humored type of guy. Yet one day spent in
Annie Witherspoon’s distracting company and one night on an
uncomfortable couch had put him in the foulest mood he could
recall. Rather than delve into the whys, Mitch instantly decided
the problem lay with Annie. If she would have accepted his presence
at Hightower without question, then he imagined William would have
simply handed Mitch the reins. Obviously, she hadn’t. And she had
just enough influence over his uncle to get herself a shot at what
should have been his job.

With an angry twist, Mitch turned the water
to the off position and rested his head against the tiled wall. It
didn’t help matters that instead of thinking about all the ways to
outsmart Annie, all he could think about was kissing her. About
having those smart, pretty lips beneath his and kissing them until
she moaned. He’d desperately wanted to last night when they’d been
on the front porch. For an instant, they’d connected. He’d felt it.
Nevertheless, he didn’t understand the attraction.

Hell, for the most part she’d been sassy,
insulting, and belligerent. Mitch’s lips quirked into a half-smile.
Not qualities he generally looked for in a potential bed-mate. So
what made Annie different? What made her so—

A sound drew his thoughts to a halt. Before
he had time to figure out where the noise had originated from, the
curtain whipped back, sending wave of cold air over his wet
skin.

“
What the hell,” he
muttered, then stopped because he’d lost the ability to form any
coherent thought.

Annie was naked.

Gloriously, Lady Godiva naked. Mitch blinked
and downloaded the vision before him into his mental hard-drive for
future recollection. In a nanosecond, his gaze took in her perfect
form. High, rose-tipped breasts, tiny waist, perfect hips, a nest
of dark tangled curls, and long shapely legs. With little effort
Mitch imagined that her every part would fit perfectly in his
hands. Imagined himself cradled between her thighs, her legs
wrapped around his waist. A surge of blood pooled in his loins,
making his body react instantly.

Annie’s mouth worked up and down until
finally a blood-curdling scream came out. She grabbed the shower
curtain and hastily wrapped it around her.

“
What the hell are you
doing?” she shrieked.

Mitch made no move to cover himself. “Taking
a shower.”

“
With the water off?” she
shouted incredulously. “Can’t be very productive to do it that
way.” Suddenly her eyes narrowed and she glanced below his waist.
Her already pink cheeks bloomed to red. Her mouth formed a
perfect
O
. “Oh,
no,” she breathed. “You were…you were…” She swallowed and glanced
nervously at his erection again.

Before it dawned on Mitch what Annie had
mistakenly assumed, she’d scooped up her robe and darted out of the
bathroom.

Equally embarrassed and
outraged, Mitch hurriedly wrapped towel around his waist and took
off after her. “No, I wasn’t,” he called emphatically to her. He
found her in her room and gave her an implacable look. “I
was not
doing what you
thought I was doing.”

Annie wore an amused little smile. “Look,
Mitch, I apologize for walking in on you. Normally, I start my day
off with a cup of coffee, but…” She shrugged. “To each his own.”
Wearing a maddening little smile, she turned away from him and
started to make the bed.

“
I was taking a shower,” he
reiterated through clenched teeth.

She shrugged again, unconcerned. “Sure. Call
it a shower if you want. I don’t care.”

Mitch stalked toward her. “I’m calling it a
shower because it was a shower. I haven’t done what you’re
suggesting since I was a pimply-faced teenager who couldn’t get
laid.”

Annie heaved a beleaguered sigh. “You don’t
have to convince me, Mitch. Or impress me. It’s a natural human
thing. You don’t have to be ashamed.”

Mitch smiled though it held
no humor. “Does that mean
you
do it?”

Some of the color left her face, then
promptly returned, heralding her anger. “We aren’t talking about me
and my sexual…urges.”

“
Now we are.”

She sighed impatiently. “No, we’re not.”

“
Fine,” he said. “We won’t
talk about whether you do or you don’t.” He grinned. “But I think
you are. Impressed, that is.”

Annie’s eyes rounded and she laughed, though
it sounded forced to Mitch’s ears. “Hardly,” she said. “Not in the
least. I know you don’t believe this Mr. Hightower, but some
members of the opposite sex don’t find you irresistible.”