A Christmas Proposition

“I need to get married...And the only one who can help me is you.”

Trading one scandal for another, Stefanie Ferguson must marry to save her brother’s political career. Luckily, her brother’s best friend wants to help. But until this moment, Emmett Keaton has been off-limits. Now their convenient vows on Christmas Day unleash a passion too long denied. Will this marriage for scandal become a marriage for real?

A former job-hopper, JESSICA LEMMON resides in Ohio with her husband and rescue dog. She holds a degree in graphic design currently gathering dust in an impressive frame. When she’s not writing supersexy heroes, she can be found cooking, drawing, drinking coffee (okay, wine) and eating potato chips. She firmly believes God gifts us with talents for a purpose, and with His help, you can create the life you want.

Jessica is a social media junkie who loves to hear from readers. You can learn more at jessicalemmon.com.

Also by Jessica Lemmon

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

A Christmas Proposition

Jessica Lemmon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07699-9

A CHRISTMAS PROPOSITION

© 2018 Jessica Lemmon

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To Dad,

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

One

December 20

Source: thedallasduchess.com

EXCLUSIVE:

STEFANIE FERGUSON AND BLAKE EASTWOOD REUNION

Good morning, Dallas!

As maven of this fine city, the Dallas Duchess makes it her job to know the happenings of local royalty. In this town, no royalty is finer than the Fergusons.

“Princess” Stefanie Ferguson, socialite, heiress and party girl, has been spotted once again on the arm of cunning and charming Blake Eastwood, who just so happens to be the mayor’s biggest opponent. (Naughty, naughty!) And, my savvy duchess dolls, you’re all aware that the mayor=Stefanie’s gorgeous and recently betrothed brother. Yes, ladies, another of Dallas’s eligible bachelors is about to bite the dust.

(As an aside, you longtimers may recall my breaking story about the mayor shacking up in Montana during a snowstorm with his old flame. Hotcha! You always hear it here first.)

But back to Princess Stef and her dashing bad boy... By now you’ve no doubt seen the photo circulating on social media of Blake and Stefanie dancing cheek to cheek at a Toys for Tots fund-raiser. And if you’re an astute observer like moi, you felt the sparks flying from that photo. As of right this very minute, I can confirm what my pitter-pattering heart was hoping for the most:

Stefanie and Blake are together!

Recently, I spoke with Blake and while I couldn’t get him to commit to a timeline, I did learn a verrrry juicy bit of intel.

Dallas Duchess: I have to ask for the sake of my readers. Are you and Stefanie Ferguson seeing each other again?

Blake Eastwood: [emits a sexy chuckle] Um. Yes. We are.

DD: [squeals of delight] Can you tell me more?

BE: I can tell you that it’s new, but serious.

DD: Put-a-ring-on-it serious?

BE: Come on, Duchess, I can’t let every cat out of

the bag.

DD: But it’s almost Christmas! Surely you can give us one teeny-tiny hint?

BE: Christmastime is Stef’s favorite time of the year. She whispered in my ear just yesterday that it’s the perfect time to shop at Tiffany & Co. I’m a man who knows how to take a hint.

Ladies, gentlemen. If that’s not a confirmation that Blake is popping the question Stefanie is begging him to ask, I don’t know what is!

Go forth and share across social media with the links below. Looks like a Christmas engagement could be forthcoming!

Stefanie Ferguson paced the shining white floor of her sister-in-law’s home office in a pair of knee-high, spike-heel Christian Louboutin boots. Unlike the last public relations hiccup she’d gotten into with Blake, this one couldn’t be handled over a cup of coffee at Hip Stir.

Late last night, she’d been sipping on hot cocoa with Sambuca when she received a text from Blake.

Dallas Duchess has some news to share tomorrow. Me and you, gorgeous.

She’d pecked in an angry “Go to hell” followed by “Leave me alone” and then erased both lines in favor of ignoring him.

Lord only knew what he would’ve done with the screenshots if she’d texted him. It had taken everything in her not to respond to his baiting. Blake was Bad News with a capital B and N.

Last year, he’d gone to the Dallas Duchess via one of her brother’s staff members to break the story about Miriam Andrix returning to Chase’s life. The write-up was in defense of Chase and almost lecturing Miriam for ruining the city’s chaste mayor. Ridiculous. It was clear to anyone who saw them together that Miriam and Chase were gaga over each other—even Stefanie could see that, and she was Chase’s sister.

Blake’s original motivation for his nefarious smear campaign was building a new civic center, which he wanted to erect very close to Ferguson Oil property. Chase had been saying no for years. Blake had promised to “ruin him” if it was the last thing he did, as if he were some sort of mustache-twisting bandit.

Stef reminded herself, again, that she hadn’t known the dirty details when Blake charmed her into his hotel bed one lonely night a few years back. She certainly had never expected him to release pictures of them leaving the hotel together.

Penelope Ferguson had summoned a PR magic spell to bail Stef out of her Blake-related problem then, and she’d had a hand in smoothing over Chase and Miriam’s relationship last year. With Chase’s imminent reelection looming—Stef refused to consider the possibility of him losing—she had zero worries that Pen would be able to work her magic again and smooth this one over, as well.

“You should’ve called me the second Blake the Snake sent you that text,” Penelope scolded from where she sat in front of her computer screen. Her full mouth was a firm line of displeasure, her eyes narrowed in frustration.

Stef stopped pacing and wrapped herself protectively in her own arms. “It was late. I didn’t want to bother you.”

And she hadn’t wanted her sister-in-law to hear the raw vulnerability in her voice. Stef might have refused to respond with the intent of letting Blake know how little he’d affected her, but in truth he had. Like the first time those hotel photos saw the light of day, she felt cheap and used.

He’d been charming and—she’d thought—vulnerable the night he’d told her he wanted her. She’d been fresh off a breakup and vulnerable herself. A night with an attractive man who appreciated her—even one who disagreed with her brother the mayor—was supposed to have boosted her confidence and relieved a long drought of physical affection.

They’d both been attending a boring fund-raiser at the time. Champagne had flowed and he’d been accommodating and, she knew now, lying. He’d been seeking revenge on Chase and would take any of the Fergusons as his pound of flesh. She’d allowed herself to be talked into going to bed with him and she still felt the sting of embarrassment and anger at her naïveté.

The next day, the photos had surfaced and she’d been accused of slutting around with the mayor’s nemesis.

And now this.

“When was the fund-raiser where this was taken?” Pen turned her laptop screen to show the most recent leaked photo of Blake and Stef cheek to cheek on the dance floor.

“Last weekend.”

“You’re looking cozy.”

“He asked me to dance by taking my hand and dragging me to the floor. I didn’t want to cause a scene by telling him where to shove his invitation.”

She’d caused enough problems for her brother and his campaign. Chase didn’t hold her accountable, but she couldn’t unshoulder her fair share of responsibility.

“What you don’t see in this photo is that I’m telling him off. I used some very unladylike language, hence my leaning in close. I told him if he didn’t leave me and my family alone, I’d castrate him with a pair of dull shears.”

Stef smiled, proud. At least she’d stood up for herself then. Pen wasn’t smiling with her.

“What you did was step into a snare of his making, Stefanie. Again.” Pen shook her head. “He timed the release of this photo on purpose, to coincide with the reelection. Why is he hinting that you two are going to be married?”

Stef felt her cheeks warm as she recalled the rest of her conversation that night. “That...is partially my fault.”

Pen raised her eyebrows and waited.

Stef, you’ll be single forever with a mouth like that. You have to be a good little girl if you ever hope to land a husband. Blake had swept her in another circle on the dance floor while her ire had risen to dangerous levels.

Ha! You’re one to talk. Is there a female on this planet who would willingly perch in your family tree or do you have to trick them all into going to bed with you?

You came willingly. A few times if memory serves.

“He was holding me tight, and twisting away didn’t loosen his hold on my waist.” Stef licked her lips, regretting her words now that she’d felt the sting of retaliation. “I may have mentioned something about a ‘tiny prick’ and ‘faking it’ and that if he didn’t let me go, I’d tell everyone within earshot how unsatisfying it was to be bedded by Blake the Snake.”

Pen’s eyebrows climbed higher on her forehead, and just when Stef was sure she’d be read the riot act, her sister-in-law’s smile burst forth like the sun after a hard rain.

“You know how to find trouble, don’t you?” Pen asked through a laugh. She must’ve caught Stef’s crestfallen features when she looked up because she was out of her chair in a shot. “I’m sorry I said that. Ignore me.”

Pen grabbed Stef’s shoulders and Stef felt the wobble in her chin paired with heat behind her eyes.

“I don’t try to.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. Seriously.” Pen pulled Stef into a hug.

Stef felt like a fragile piece of china lately, not wanting to be in the way of Chase’s campaign or too involved while Pen and Zach raised their daughter. Heck, even Mom and Dad were going through a second honeymoon phase, so Stef was trying to stay out from underfoot in that capacity, as well.

“You can fix this.” Stef swallowed her budding tears. “You have unraveled some of the biggest knots in Dallas since you moved here. Tell me the easiest, fastest, most succinct way to crush this fake news.”

“As a woman who had her own false engagement to contend with—” Pen smirked “—I have had experience with this sort of thing. Only the ‘groom’ was your brother and part of the plan.”

“And Blake’s a renegade douchebag.”

Of all the bad decisions Stef had made during her thirty brief years on this planet, why this one? Why had she fallen victim to that man’s false charms?

“If you were anyone other than my sister-in-law, I’d advise you to get married.”

“To Blake?” Stef practically shrieked.

“No! My God. No. I’m saying the best way to trump Blake’s claim that he’s engaged to you is to marry someone else. Know any eligible bachelors?”

Stef was staring in shock. This certainly wasn’t the advice she’d expected to get from Penelope.

“I’m joking.” Pen gave Stef’s shoulders a little shake before moving back to her desk. Laptop open, she started typing. “I’ll craft a plan to detangle this mess that will work for you and your brother the mayor.”

“Thank you.”

Pen smiled up at her. “And I promise it won’t involve nuptials.”

Two

Emmett Keaton had been Chase Ferguson’s close friend, arguably his best friend, since college.

He could say with authority that Chase rarely allowed his feathers to ruffle. But today his feathers weren’t only ruffled, they were scattered to the four corners of the earth.

Since it was Emmett’s job to keep the mayor’s office safe, he’d have to assume the role of “the calm one” today. As the scandal currently wreaking havoc had to do with Stefanie, he found it challenging to bank his own anger.

The youngest Ferguson had a talent for finding trouble.

“When I get my hands on that sniveling weasel,” Chase grated out through teeth that were welded together, “I swear on everything holy—”

“Chase.” Penelope—wife to Chase’s brother, Zach—stood in front of Chase’s desk, arms crossed. She was dressed in a white pantsuit, her long blond hair pulled into a neat twist at the back of her head. Her stance broadcast one undeniable truth: she wasn’t intimidated by power. She’d handled many a powerful man as a public relations specialist over the years, and had become a trusted friend when Chase hired her to care for Stef the first time she stepped in it with Blake fucking Eastwood.

Because Chase trusted her, Emmett did, also.

“I’ve got this,” Pen said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

A muscle in Chase’s jaw ticked but he gave his sister-in-law a curt nod. She returned it with one of her own and spun on one very high-heeled shoe to leave.

Once she was out the door, Chase glanced at Emmett with irises so dark they bordered on black.

Chase punched a button on his phone. “Cynthia. Get my sister on the line.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sure you want to do that, boss?” Emmett asked.

Chase didn’t answer.

A moment later, the desk phone rang.

“Where the hell are you?” Chase barked into the receiver. A brief pause and then, “You have thirty seconds.” He slammed the phone down on its base and glared at the only target in the room. Emmett took the blow without flinching. “She was already on her way.”

“Good.”

Chase needed to redirect his anger? Fine.

It was better than him unleashing it on Stefanie.

The door burst open almost exactly thirty seconds later. Stefanie strode into the office in a short red designer dress, tall boots with dangerous-looking heels and a painted pout in siren red.

“I saw Pen on my way in.” Stef tucked her cell phone into an oversize handbag. “She warned me that you weren’t in the best mood. I’m assuming you’re mad at me.”

Nostrils flared, Chase pulled in a deep breath through his nose. When he spoke, his words were carefully measured. “I’m not angry with you, Stefanie. I’m—”

“Don’t say disappointed.” She dropped the handbag onto the leather chair in the corner of the room and sent Emmett a derisive glare.

Typical.

She hated him for reasons he’d yet to discern. He’d only ever offered assistance when she’d needed him—whether she’d asked or not. If memory served, she’d never asked.

“I’m concerned,” Chase said, and her head swiveled back to her brother. “Your Christmas retreat is soon, yes?”

“Yes.” A smile of pure delight crested her red mouth.

That smile lit her face like a string of holiday lights. Emmett had never seen someone so in love with the idea of Christmas. Loving the holiday was as foreign to him as understanding anything else about the lush lifestyle his best friend’s family led. In spite of his own amassed fortune, Emmett had no desire for frills of any kind. And he certainly had no desire to celebrate an occasion that brought forth bad memories and worse consequences.

“Where is it this year?” Chase asked.

“San Antonio.”

“Cancel it.”

Her face morphed into tortured shock. “What? Never. Absolutely not.”

“That wasn’t a request. There was no question mark at the end of my sentence.” Chase pointed at her, his quaking arm revealing his anger. “Because you don’t have the sense to stay away from Blake Eastwood, my campaign is suffering from the fallout.”

Emmett’s hands balled into fists at his sides.

He was rarely in disagreement with his friend, but in this case, Chase’s comments were out of line. Stef had been briefly involved with Blake—whom Emmett would love to go a round or two with, bare-knuckle—but the accusation that she was to blame was harsh.

“Whatever you have to do in San Antonio with your girlfriends can be done from Dallas just as easily. You’re not leaving the city, and if you do go out, you’re going to be chaperoned. Do you understand me?”

Her stricken expression faded into a laugh of disbelief. “You can’t ground me, Chase. You’re not my father. And even if you were Dad, he can’t ground me, either. I’m thirty years old!”

“Then why are you acting like a spoiled teenager?” Chase roared.

“Hey!” Emmett’s outburst was so unexpected that both Fergusons faced him wearing shell-shocked expressions.

He took a step closer to Chase, instinct more than decision driving him. “Let’s keep the blame where it should be. On Blake. Stefanie’s been through enough. She doesn’t need you piling on.”

Chase’s lips pressed into a thin, frustrated frown. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath and leaned both hands flat on his desk.

Emmett flickered a glance over at Stefanie, who, for the first time in her life, regarded him with something akin to gratitude. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“I’m asking, Stefanie—” Chase addressed his blotter before sitting in his chair and meeting his sister’s eyes “—for your cooperation.”

“Penelope is amazing at her job. There’s no reason she can’t—”

“I’m asking,” Chase repeated, his voice firmer.

“I look forward to this retreat every year. I can’t cancel an event that happens in four days.”

“Why not?” Chase’s forehead dented. “Can’t you and your girlfriends drink champagne and talk about fashion another time? Mail them their gifts. Hell, invite them here. You can host at my mansion.”

“I...can’t do that.” She regarded her impractical boots, appearing tormented by the idea of canceling.

Disappointment, Emmett could understand. Torment didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense.

Stef loved her family above all else. Over the years, Emmett had witnessed the special bond she and Chase had—she respected her brother. And she would never lie to him. So why was Emmett getting the distinct impression that she was trying hard not to do just that? Why couldn’t she party here in town? Why did she have to travel to San Antonio?

She wasn’t lying—not yet—but she was definitely keeping from saying too much.

“Plans can be changed. I’ll foot the bill for it, if you like,” Chase told her. “I’ll grease some palms and find you a last-minute venue in Dallas. You can’t leave town with this mark on your back. I forbid it.”

“What mark? Do you think I’m going to be kidnapped by Blake’s henchmen or something?” Stef let out an exasperated laugh. Emmett didn’t find it funny. His back went ramrod straight, his senses on high alert at the idea that any harm would befall her.

He forbade it.

“You do things without thinking,” the mayor said. “Who knows what could happen?”

“Chase, that’s enough.” Emmett took a step closer—to Stefanie this time.

His friend was right to watch out for his youngest sibling, but he was handling this wrong. Not that Emmett had much experience with sensitivity—he had been raised by Van Keaton, after all. But Emmett knew Stef and he also knew the situation. He couldn’t keep from stepping at least one toe in her corner.

“You can stand down,” Stef snapped. “I don’t need your protection from my stupid brother.”

“You need protection from yourself,” Chase interjected.

This conversation was getting nowhere.

“I’m going to San Antonio tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few days. I’m sure your precious campaign will be intact when I return.” She grabbed her handbag and slung it over her shoulder as Chase rose from his chair, his face a beet-worthy shade of red.