Free Out of Her Comfort Zone by Nicky Penttila Page B

phone and set it to voice-block, some sort of white noise that made it hard to remotely record voices. It was habit; he had so many confidential meetings in public places. She was so comfortable with it she usually didn’t notice. This obviously wasn’t going to be a classified conversation, anyway, since he hadn’t asked her to shield her mouth with her hand.
    After some small talk that made her more nervous than their first date had, he set his coffee down, half-finished, and reached into his pants pocket. His bare forearm flashed blond. A classic surfer dude, he’d surprised her that first time in bed by being such a natural blond all over. He’d had his hair dyed, but black over blond, not the usual reverse.
    He put his hand flat on the table. Halfway down his pinkie rested a lady’s ring. “I want to make our merger permanent. Marry me?”
    “It’s beautiful.” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
    “I know, it’s a ruby. My grandmother was kind of eclectic too.”
    “No, I love it. And wow, something from your family. It’s perfect.”
    “I didn’t think you wanted a huge rock. Your hands are so delicate. And all that blood-diamond talk.”
    “You listened.” She loved that about him. She loved him.
    “Here.” He turned his hand. The ring slid off his finger and landed in his palm. He lifted his hand to her. His hazel eyes held far too much worry. Her heart ached for him.
    How could he doubt? She hadn’t wanted a gorgeous guy, just a smart, responsible one who listened. Elliott exceeded all expectations, plus he made her laugh. And whoever had taught him it was all right to have emotions and maybe even talk about them sometimes was an angel.
    “Of course I’ll marry you. In fact, if you hadn’t proposed by Christmas, I was going to do it myself at New Year’s.”
    He blew out a breath and that beautiful smile rolled across his lips. He raised his brows expectantly. She held her hand out, fingers stretched, and he slid the ring on. It seated itself perfectly, the wine-dark stone seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it. Before she could pull it closer to admire it he twined his fingers in hers and lifted her hand. He placed a kiss, so soft, so filled with promise, on her palm. The connection burned, a physical signature on an emotional contract, soft, hot, iron. She might be floating.
    Emily’s mind was so full of sensation and a spinning web of dreams of the future she didn’t notice when he set her hand back on the table and let go.
    “There’s one thing.” His voice dropped, as if carrying a heavy load of something, like reluctance. “It’s kind of private.”
    She tried to blink some sense back into her brain. She pushed the happiness back, but it flowed past her measly barriers. She must be smiling like a banshee, but for once she didn’t care.
    Elliott sat back in the chair. “I have a proposition.”
    “A pre-nup? Sure.”
    He shook his head. “Our lawyers will take care of that. I’m talking about the party.”
    “The party? Oh.” The event she always left town for. Elliott’s annual stag night, complete with strippers, or whatever they were. It was important for his job, he said, and since his job was matching personalities to start-ups it made sense, sort of, at least for the geek-tech men. But she didn’t have to like it.
    As his wife, she didn’t want to put up with it.
    “Will you stop with the party now? After all, women need venture capital too.”
    “That’s what I want to talk about.” He patted his shirt front, straightening invisible wrinkles. “I have… a proposition.”
    Now she knew something was wrong. Elliott never repeated himself, except to sing that blasted song, “say something once, why say it again?” She crossed her arms in front of her. The ruby caught at her sleeve, startling her.
    “This is the thing. The parties are great, and they do serve their purpose. But I’ve grown tired of them, especially since you. Because