“I don't want to hurt you.”
“Sweetheart,” he said, his tone equally serious, “you were crawling all over me a couple of hours ago. Don't kneel on me, and we'll be all set. Now get over here, woman, before I make a citizen's arrest.”
“You can't. You're a cop. All your arrests are legal.”
“I'm also off-duty and out-of-state, which means…damn it, Murphy, get over here before I come over there! You don't want me putting a strain on my leg, do you?”
Garrett's voice had been teasing. So was Murphy's answer. “That's blackmail. Besides, you said yourself that it's fine so long as I don't kneel on it.”
“Yup,” Garrett answered with a cocky grin, “I did. I must have had a relapse. So what's it going to be? Are you coming over here, or am I—?”
Before he could complete the sentence, Murphy scooted closer to his end of the sofa. If there was a sensation more wondrous than being enfolded in Garrett Thayer's embrace, or cushioning her cheek against the hard, warm, sculpted plane of his chest, she didn't want to know what it was. The rhythm of his heart, drumming steadily in her ear, was the sweetest of music.
“Murphy?” Garrett had pillowed his chin atop her head, and the warmth of his breath seared her scalp as he spoke.
“Yes?”
“Promise you won't think what I'm going to say sounds stupid, okay?”
“How will I know unless you say it?” Murphy asked. A dreamy feeling crept over her; it was getting more and more difficult to concentrate on anything but wanting this single moment, spent nestled in the security of his embrace, to stretch out for…yes, she wanted it to stretch out for the rest of her life.
Garrett had other ideas. He tickled Murphy's ribs until she squealed and, batting his hand away, said, “Okay, okay. Stop tickling me and I promise I won't think whatever you're going to say is stupid.” She then amended jokingly, “At least I won't tell you if I do. Fair enough?”
He nodded, his expression serious. “Look, sweetheart, I understand why you won't accept the necklace. I won't press it on you if you don't want it. But there is something else I want you to have.”
“All right,” Murphy said with forced neutrality. Was he going to try to give her another piece of jewelry that she couldn't accept? Or, maybe, a compliment, which she could—most willingly.
Garrett shifted, and the nylon duffel bag crinkled as he rummaged inside it with his free hand.
A muffled thump said he'd found what he was looking for and dropped the duffel bag to the floor.
An offended yowl said the bag had landed on Moonshine.
The cat leapt to the sofa beside Murphy, wandering onto her lap as though to get a better view of what was about to transpire.
Murphy glanced up, her intention the same as the cat's. What did Garrett want to give her now? And how on earth was she going to refuse him a second time? Her gaze dipped to his hands, and her breath caught.
Pinched between Garrett's index finger and thumb was a ring.
The circumference of the gold band indicated it was meant for a woman's delicate finger. Set in center was a three-quarter carat diamond; the exquisite, multi-facetted gem caught and reflected the muted twilight until it sparkled. Like the pearls, the setting was in need of polishing; intricately carved gold indicated the ring was very old.
Her heartbeat accelerated when he took her right hand and, one by one, opened her fingers from the fist she'd clenched them in. He placed the ring in the center of her palm, then in the same manner, one by one, wrapped her fingers around it. She could feel the heat of the ring brand her skin, while at the same time the sentimental value of it branded her heart.
“My grandfather gave this ring to my grandmother the night he proposed.”
“Garrett, please…” Murphy said weakly, shakily. “I can't accept it. This ring should be passed down through your family. It's something for your sisters, for their daughters, for their daughter's daughters, to remember your grandparents by.”
Her attention, which had been focused on her fist, still clenching the ring, lifted. Her gaze meshed with Garrett's. His eyes were dark and probing.
“I promise you, sweetheart, it will be passed down to future Thayers. It just won't be passed down through my sisters.” When Murphy looked at him in askance, Garrett sucked in a deep breath, then added throatily, “I want to pass it down to my children, and theirs. I…Christ, Murphy, I never in my life imagined I'd be sitting in my underwear when I…oh, hell!”
Murphy gulped. If she'd trusted her voice to speak, she would have. Instead, she waited for him to continue.
Eventually, he did. Looking into her eyes, he said, “I want those children to be ours. I want—that is, you said in Greenville that if things between us had gone normal, and your life was in order, that—Damn it, this is coming out all wrong. What I'm trying to say is…”
“Yes?” she prompted breathlessly.
“Will you marry me?”