Cinderella and the Billionaire

by Marion Lennox

  He’d grown fond—okay, very fond—of the little boy who’d sat in his office, who’d spent so much time with him. The thought of Henry being an ‘extra child’ to a father who’d sounded responsible on the phone but not emotionally involved left him cold. Henry needed a family.

  More than that, Peggy needed a home, and in the days since he’d met her he’d grown to like her. She loved her little grandson.

  But Henry needed more. He needed a Meg. A woman who cared, who’d take over the reins as Peggy grew older. The three of them would love McLellan Place. It’d come to life again.

  And Meg would be here.

  That was the part of the equation that wasn’t so straightforward. For her to stay seemed a viable solution to her problems and to his need to have someone here for Peggy and Henry. And yet it was much more than that.

  He had to give her space. In business deals he knew when too much pressure threatened a deal and he could sense it now.

  But hell, he wanted to pressure. Because this was perfect.

  Meg was perfect?

  A fisherwoman from Australia, wife to the heir to the McLellan fortune? His mother would have forty fits.

  But at a deeper level his mother wouldn’t care. Since when had she ever cared?

  Meg would care. That was the thing. From the moment he’d met her, he’d known that caring was Meg’s special skill. Her warmth, her humour, her passion... The generosity of her lovemaking. The way she held him...

  That was the thing that had somehow slipped under his skin, into his heart? She smiled at him and he thought she didn’t give a toss about who he was, how much he owned, what his family represented. She was simply Meg, holding Matt.

  A huge part of him was telling him to march back up the beach right now, sweep her into his arms and carry her back to the house. Hold her. Claim her.

  What was he, a Neanderthal? But that was how she made him feel, and when he saw her slip into the water to be with him, the urge was so great it took every ounce of his self-control to keep swimming.

  The seagrasses here had held him fascinated for years and they should hold him fascinated now. They changed every time he visited. His attention should be on them because turning and taking Meg into his arms was not on the agenda.

  Luckily, once he motioned to the grasses, she turned her attention downward.

  She swam as well as he did—maybe better. Snorkels and masks would be good. He should have brought them with him, but yeah, he’d been distracted. Luckily Meg didn’t seem to need them. She was using her arms to sweep forward underwater. Her copper curls wisped around her face. Her body, lithe, slim, beautiful in a simple black bathing costume, was entrancing.

  And then she saw the turtles. Her arms stilled. She floated forward and he thought, She has to breathe sometime...

  Usually the turtles held him entranced. These were little more than hatchlings, floating over and through the rafts of seagrasses, feeding on the tiny sea creatures or on the grass itself.

  He’d seen them first when he was about the same age as Henry. They were almost unheard of at this latitude, but the protection of the bay and the warmth of the currents seemed to provide a haven where they flourished. They’d always held him entranced.

  As they held Meg entranced. She floated, breathing only when she had to.

  He remembered the last woman he’d brought here. Lauren was a high-flying lawyer, whip-smart, with an acerbic wit he found incredibly sexy. She was also beautiful. They’d dated for six months and he’d fleetingly thought maybe they could take things further.

  But then he’d brought her here for a week’s break.

  He’d brought her to this beach and shown her the hatchlings. How sweet, she’d said, but she’d headed back to the beach almost straight away. I’m not wasting tanning time on turtles, sweet as they are.

  Back at the house she’d explored the empty rooms and said, Why don’t we invite...?

  In comparison, Meg looked as if she could float for hours. It had to be Matt who finally broke the moment. He had business calls to make—of course. Promise or not, business called.

  ‘I need to get back to the house,’ he said as they trod water and Meg smiled happily at him.

  ‘That’s okay. You go back. I’ll come when I’m ready.’

  That was another eye-opener. What woman had ever said something like that to him?

  She was independent. He liked that.

  He needed that.

  ‘But tell me about the turtles first,’ she begged. ‘Are they Kemp’s ridley?’ Had she recognised the distinctive heart-shaped shell?

  ‘They are.’

  ‘These are practically hatchlings. Is this a nesting site? I thought the only nesting sites were in Mexico.’

  She really did know her turtles!

  ‘And here,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve never heard of them nesting anywhere else.’

  ‘Nobody has,’ he told her. ‘That’s a huge reason why I can’t sell this place. Once out of my hands, who knows what will become of it? These are incredibly endangered. The environmental authorities know they nest here, but no one else. This place is an environmental haven and I’ll protect it with every means at my disposal. That’s the biggest reason I bought it when my parents wanted to sell.’

  ‘So you don’t really need a mansion?’ she said, treading water, watching his face. ‘You want a turtle nursery.’

  ‘I don’t want it turned into a resort, if that’s what you mean. This place is special.’

  And then he paused and thought, Why not say it?

  ‘Meg... If you agree to come here... If you agree to marry me, then you’ll be taking on that responsibility, too. You’ll be guardian to the piping plovers, who also nest in the dunes, and to the turtle hatchlings. If I can’t persuade you to marry me because of Henry and Peggy, how about plovers and turtles?’

  It was a joke. Sort of. He expected her to smile. Instead she gave him a look that was puzzled. Questioning. He wasn’t sure what the question was but she didn’t take it further.

  ‘Leave it, Matt,’ she said simply. ‘Go make those business calls and let me play with turtles.’

  And before he could say anything else she duck-dived downward. She was back underwater and he was left to make his way home alone.

  * * *

  In the end she had a fabulous day, floating, swimming, sleeping on the sand. Eating on the terrace under the stars. Talking to Matt about the things she discovered he cared about—amazingly he left his phone inside. Abandoning her bedroom because who needed two?

  They slept that night in the most luxurious bed she could imagine. She slept in the arms of a man she was starting to believe she loved.

  His body was everything she’d ever dreamed of. His voice, his touch, his tenderness, his passion... It must be a dream, she told herself as they loved until exhaustion finally had them drifting to contented, sated sleep.

  Yes, she’d been lonely, but if she could have him like this... She abandoned herself to the belief that maybe the dream could become reality.

  But reality had a way of poking its nose in. In the small hours she woke and headed to the bathroom. His en suite bathroom was bigger than her Rowan Bay living room. The bath looked like a claw-footed, gleaming white island, surrounded by a sea of white marble. The shower could accommodate a small family. It was all glass and chrome. There were two enormous vanity basins. And walls of mirrors.

  She headed back to bed shivering, and as she did she saw Matt’s phone blinking on his bedside table. She’d figured it by now. Blinking meant work.

  ‘Everyone has work,’ she told herself as she headed across the white pile carpet and dived back into bed. ‘And this is just a house, even if it is over the top.’

  Matt stirred and reached out for her. His arms enfolded her and she felt herself drift back into
the dreaminess of being held by such a man.

  But it was a dream. The crazy bathroom was out there, reality, luxury she could scarcely imagine.

  The phone was on the bedside table.

  ‘It’ll be okay if Matt’s beside me,’ she told herself as she drifted back to sleep. ‘If Matt holds me...’

  * * *

  It would work, Matt thought as he lay in the dark and held the woman he’d hardly imagined could exist. This was his perfect woman. His perfect wife?

  With Henry here, and Peggy and the dogs, maybe with children of their own, this place could come to life. It could be a living, laughing home. He’d come down at weekends and it’d welcome him. Meg would welcome him.

  She could come to Manhattan if she wanted, he thought, but he wasn’t sure how she’d fit there. The social side of his financial world wasn’t particularly welcoming, and she’d be a fish out of water, but if she wanted...

  He’d talk to her. In the morning.

  Morning. He’d intended to head back to the city but he had the wisdom to realise he couldn’t leave yet.

  He’d sensed her unease. She was uncomfortable right now, stunned by the immensity of the place, its opulence, its sheer difference from the world she was used to. He’d be a fool if he hadn’t figured it, and he’d be a fool if he messed things up now for want of trying.

  What to do about it?

  His phone lay on the bedside table, a tiny light winking, telling him that even though he’d worked today, messages were building up.

  But Meg... The future...

  He needed to stay for a couple more days, he decided. For now Meg needed to be his priority.

  And wasn’t that what he wanted? Just to hold her.

  To hold on to the dream.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MATT HADN’T BEEN able to spare the days he’d spent taking Henry to Peggy, or the days he’d spent at Meg’s. He rang Helen first thing and heard her astonishment.

  ‘Two more days?’

  ‘Three at the most,’ he said placatingly. ‘Then I’m back full-time.’ His absence was causing huge problems but he needed Meg to decide this was a good place to live.

  Not because of Henry, though. Meg was already agreeing that Peggy and Henry could be happy here. Her job as Peggy’s envoy was done.

  ‘Though they might be happier living somewhere like the gatehouse,’ she ventured. ‘This place echoes.’

  ‘This place needs you,’ he told her, but she looked doubtful.

  But in typical Meg style, she set about enjoying herself. She swam with the turtles. She kayaked and she walked the beach. He had the groundsmen find fishing tackle so she could try her hand at fishing. He was with her as often as he could manage, but when he couldn’t he had one of the gardeners make sure she wasn’t alone. He saw her out of the windows making friends with them.

  He watched her doing her best to feel at home.

  The weather changed and the nights turned autumnal. Night dining on the terrace was no longer an option and Meg decreed she loathed the dining room.

  She suggested they eat in what his grandfather used to call the snug. The room had been his grandfather’s retreat when his grandmother’s socialising went over the top. It had faded sofas, favourite paintings, an open fire, an oversized television. They ate and he tried to make time to watch old movies with her. They talked. Sometimes they made it to bed and made love and sometimes they didn’t make it that far.

  She didn’t complain, though, when he left her to make his calls, to work in his study.

  She wasn’t needy.

  After three days he was feeling more and more that this was working. He was starting to feel as if he’d found a woman who could be part of his life for ever.

  Problem sorted? Time to move on? His life needed to resume and the demands from Manhattan could no longer be ignored.

  Meg’s plan was that she’d stay for two weeks. At least, that had been her plan on coming here. His plan was that she’d stay for ever, but he had the sense not to push.

  Thinking ahead, she’d need time to pack up her belongings at Rowan Bay. Maybe in a few weeks he could snatch a little more time off and go back to Australia with her. He could put Peggy and Henry onto a cruise liner and then bring Meg home for ever.

  Home. For ever. The words felt good. No, they felt great. McLellan Place had never seemed so alive as it did now that Meg was here. But work was imperative. Besides, he needed to be honest about how their life long term would be.

  ‘I do need to head back to Manhattan,’ he told her. ‘I can come back at the weekend. Would you like to come with me or will you stay here?’

  The weather had turned warm again and they’d been lying on the beach, sharing a beach rug. There might just have been a little lovemaking involved. He’d had one of the gardeners set up a sunshade, which was just as well.

  ‘Because there are places I have no intention of getting sunburned,’ she’d retorted as she’d sunk into his arms. They’d fallen asleep after laughter and woken to bliss.

  Now, though, the words had to be said. The real world was breaking in.

  ‘Back to Manhattan,’ she said sleepily, but he heard a note of caution in her voice.

  ‘It’s where I work.’

  ‘That’s surely too far to commute, nine to five.’

  ‘My work’s not nine to five.’

  ‘So you actually live in Manhattan.’

  ‘This is my home.’

  ‘You’re here at weekends.’

  ‘Most weekends.’ Some.

  ‘And if Peggy and Henry come here...’

  ‘Peggy’s independent. Henry can go to the local school. I can put in place as many supports as they need.’

  ‘And you say you want me, too.’

  ‘I do.’ And then he thought, Why wait for the champagne and roses, the perfect moment? He’d already raised it. Why not say it formally? ‘Meg, you do know I’d like to marry you. It seemed sensible back in Australia. It seems even more sensible now. So... Meg O’Hara, will you marry me?’

  What followed was a troubled silence. This wasn’t going well, he thought, and he had the sense to realise it.

  She sat up and tugged her T-shirt on, almost as if she needed to be dressed to say what had to be said.

  ‘I told you that my boss’s son asked me to marry him just before all this happened,’ she said, almost casually.

  ‘He’s obviously a man of taste.’ He wasn’t sure where she was going. ‘I can’t fault him on reasoning.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it.’ Her gaze met his head-on, but her eyes seemed troubled. ‘I told you his reasons. They were sensible. Just like yours, only different.’

  ‘I’d like to think that difference is huge.’

  ‘Yeah, I get a bigger house and I don’t have to gut Graham’s fish.’ She shook her head. ‘No, that’s not fair. The truth is, Matt, that I’ve fallen for you. Hard. I think... I think... I could even love you.’

  Love. That was a word to take his breath away.

  Did he even know what it meant? He still wasn’t sure but now wasn’t the time to say it.

  ‘Then what...?’ he ventured.

  ‘Because I want the fairy tale.’ The words came out too fast, too loud, and she bit her lip, seeming to almost cringe as she heard them. ‘No. That’s not true. It’s no fairy tale. My gran and grandpa had it and so did Mum and Dad. There were no mansions, no double washbasin made of marble, no walk-in his-and-hers dressing rooms, no acres of gardens and staff to match. But they used to hug. All the time. When Dad walked into the room, Mum’s eyes used to light up. She’d just drop everything and hug.’

  ‘Your dad was a fisherman, right?’ he asked cautiously. ‘I’d imagine he spent days at sea.’

  ‘He did,’ she conceded. ‘And so did Grandpa. When they could, Mum and Grandma
would go, too, but sometimes they couldn’t. And that’s what I’ve been thinking. I’m figuring that what you’re proposing is like the old days, for me to be here keeping the candle burning for your return.’

  It was. ‘Is that selfish? You could have a great life here, Meg. A far easier life than the one you have in Rowan Bay.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said uneasily. ‘Matt, these few days...they’ve been wonderful but I’m still... There are still things I need to know.’ She closed her eyes for a moment and then she opened them, decision made. She pushed herself to her feet.

  ‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘When Dad was at sea Mum always knew exactly where he was, what he was doing. Take me to Manhattan and show me the other side of your life.’

  * * *

  The chopper took them back to Manhattan early the next morning. He’d normally head straight to the office, but he took Meg to his apartment first.

  Which didn’t go as well as he’d have liked.

  Matt thought of the night he’d brought Henry back here. There’d been a choice then: hand Henry over to Social Services or take him home himself. He’d walked into his apartment with the bewildered, shocked Henry and he’d wished the place had seemed more homey. Now, as he ushered Meg through the ornate foyer into his elegant sitting room, he wished the same.

  ‘It’s just a place to crash,’ he told her and wondered why he sounded apologetic. ‘I need to get a decorator in, make it seem a bit more kid-friendly.’

  ‘Can a decorator do that?’ Meg crossed to the picture windows opening to vistas of New York. ‘How? Replace your Pre-Raphaelite paintings with Pooh Bear and Eeyore?’

  Pre-Raphaelite?

  His grandfather had started Matt’s art collection and Matt had added to it. Local dealers gave him a heads-up when good pieces came up for auction. They were a good investment. Impressive. Solid.

  ‘Do you like them?’ he asked cautiously, aware of his prejudiced surprise that she even knew the label.

  ‘Nope.’ She finished checking the paintings in the living room, glanced into the dining room to see more, and she shuddered.