Millionaire's Woman: The Millionaire's Prospective Wife / The Millionaire's Runaway Bride / The Millionaire's Reward
thing she wanted to worry about was watering plants.
She was concentrating so hard on descending gracefully, balanced as she was on her giddily high, needle-thin heels, that she didn’t lift her head until she’d reached the safety of the tiled floor of the small entrance lobby.
‘Wow.’
The deep male voice brought her head turning. Nick Morgan was leaning against the far wall, hands thrust in his pockets and black hair slicked back from his brow. He looked like something every red-blooded woman from the age of sixteen to sixty would love to find in their Christmas stocking. An exquisitely cut dinner jacket sat on shoulders broad enough to satisfy even the most demanding female, and the smile lighting up his blue eyes was electric.
Cory forgot to breathe as he walked towards her, only managing to mumble, ‘Hello,’ at the last moment.
‘You look sensational.’
‘Do I?’ Oh, come on, you can do better than that. She wasn’t totally without the ability of social repartee. She took hold of herself, adding, ‘Thank you, you look pretty good yourself,’ with a coolness she hoped he didn’t know was completely feigned.
His gaze moved over her hair, eyes made up to look huge, and carefully painted lips, and there was a faint note of surprise in his voice when he said, ‘You’ll set tongues wagging tonight. They’ll all want to know where I found you.’
He made it sound as though she was a stranded puppy he’d brought in from the cold. She forced a smile, saying lightly, ‘I think it was the other way round, don’t you? Or rather, it was Rufus who did the finding.’ And then, because his comment really had caught her on the raw for some reason, she added sweetly, ‘Perhaps it would be better if we didn’t explain I had to pick you up from the floor.’ She hadn’t, not exactly, but if ever there was justification in stretching a point, Cory felt this was it.
He blinked, just once, but she knew she’d taken him aback. The smile dimmed a little for one thing. ‘Quite.’ He took her elbow. ‘Shall we go?’
That had set the boundaries quite nicely; at least she hoped so. There was no way she was going to let this man patronise her, even if he did have the clout to take half of London to Templegate as his guests. Wealth did not equate to lordship, not in her book.
Once outside, even the heavily laden city fumes couldn’t obliterate the beauty of a perfect June evening. The air was soft and warm, the buzz of the city lazy and evocative. Cory felt a little thrill of anticipation she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of just minutes before.
Instead of the taxi she’d been expecting, she found herself led to a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. After seating her inside the vehicle, Nick Morgan joined her. ‘Templegate, please, George,’ he said easily, before settling himself more comfortably beside her. She could feel the imprint of a hard male thigh against her hip but didn’t dare move. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he bothered her in any way—if he was thinking along those lines, which he probably wasn’t, of course.
Burningly aware of the way the slits in the dress revealed a tantalising amount of leg, Cory tried to think of something else. Nothing came to mind.
Too late she realised he’d said something and she’d missed it. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said politely.
‘I asked you if you’d been to Templegate before.’
It was slightly stiff as though he was offended about something. Cory suddenly wondered if he usually had to repeat himself when he was taking a woman out for the evening. She rather doubted it.
The surge of adrenalin this caused enabled her to say quite airily, ‘No, I haven’t as it happens although I’ve heard about the place, of course. One goes to see and be seen, I understand?’
‘I wouldn’t know about that.’
Oh, no. Right.
‘The chef there is second to none, however.’ He looked her full in the face as he spoke, forcing her to meet his gaze. The blue of his eyes was like the deepest ocean, something to drown in. ‘And the guy in the cocktail bar, Luigi, is a master of his art. His drinks carry a sting in the tail that have made many a grown man wake up with the mother and father of a hangover the next morning.’
‘Thanks for the warning,’ she said tightly. He was too close. The confines of the luxurious car were too intimate. Her dress was too revealing. She turned her head to look out of the window.
There was a long pause when the air between them hinted at the delicious sensuality of his aftershave.
‘Relax, Cory.’
It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name and it acted on her overwrought nerves like a cattle prod. ‘Relax?’ Her gaze shot to meet his again. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m perfectly relaxed.’
‘Yeah?’ He glanced meaningfully at her lap and for the first time she realised her hands were tight fists.
‘Look, you won’t be expected to do anything tonight,’ he said quietly. ‘Just enjoy yourself, okay? There are no hostess duties, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
She wasn’t sure exactly what was worrying her but playing hostess was only part of it. She managed a little bounce of her head which could have passed for a nod. ‘Your girlfriend,’ she said awkwardly. ‘She’s not going to get the wrong idea about this?’
‘Girlfriend?’ Dark brows furrowed and then cleared. ‘Oh, you mean Miranda? The model? No, she’ll be fine. And, incidentally, she’s a friend without the girl in front of it, if you get my meaning.’
She did. And she wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. Probably a bit of both. Which went with the general craziness of this whole evening.
‘If we’re supposed to be a couple—’ again her eyes shot to his and he smiled innocently ‘—at least as far as my guests are concerned, I should know a bit about you, shouldn’t I? Your work, hobbies, things like that.’
It sounded reasonable. It would have been reasonable if it was anyone but Nick Morgan. Which wasn’t fair, Cory acknowledged silently. She didn’t know him, not in the least, and he might be a very nice person under the arrogance and good looks and blatant wealth. William had been all those things too and she’d given him the benefit of the doubt, more fool her.
She smiled a brittle smile. ‘I’m a social worker, working with disfunctional families on the whole. The hours are long, but when I’m not working I’m either eating, sleeping or preparing to do one or the other. Okay?’
He didn’t say a word, merely continuing to observe her as the Mercedes purred through the evening traffic. Much to her annoyance, Cory found she was the one who looked away first.
She didn’t know why she was loath to reveal anything about herself and her private life to this man, but the check was there, in her spirit. In truth she had lots of friends with whom she socialised and, although she had to do the odd intense stretch at work where she had no time to see anyone, these didn’t occur all the time.
It was a good minute or two before he spoke again, and then his voice was bland. ‘No time for fun then?’
‘Not much, no.’
‘Pity.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He was really annoying her now, not by what he said but the tone in which he said it. But then it was her fault if he was pitying her. ‘I love my work.’
‘I enjoy mine but I still have a life outside it.’
‘Like tonight?’ she asked with a touch of sarcasm.
‘Tonight, I admit, I’m combining work and pleasure.’
He didn’t rise to her bait and Cory found herself feeling somewhat ashamed. She was being awful and she didn’t understand why.
And then