The Millionaire's Wish

by Abigail Strom

  He couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to have her sweetness—and her fire—in his bed. A part of him—a very primitive part—wanted to be the man who could change her mind about staying single, who could make her want him as much as he wanted her.

  Of course he’d never act on that desire. After all, it was her lack of interest that made her so perfect for his plan. Even if he could change her mind—which seemed highly unlikely—the last thing he needed was to get tangled up with a woman like Allison, a woman who deserved so much more than he could ever offer.

  But knowing that didn’t stop him from thinking about her.

  The piece in the Gazette drew a comment or two at work. Carol let him know she wanted details at some point, and it turned out that his VP of product development, a software engineer named Derek Brown, had known Allison for a few years.

  “I met her when my nephew was diagnosed with leukemia. There was a bad time when we weren’t sure he was going to make it, and the Star Foundation arranged to have someone bring in all my sister’s meals, clean her house and do a lot of the other stuff she couldn’t focus on. And Allison was with us in the hospital every chance she got. Jimmy’s crazy about her. He’s in remission now, but they still email each other once in a while. I’m telling you, man, Allison is something else. I hope you appreciate how lucky you are.”

  Rick added the Star Foundation’s website to his internet favorites. Every so often he clicked on the link and read a little about Allison or her company, and looked at the one picture of Allison posted there.

  And one day after work he went to a bookstore and picked up her memoir, the one she’d published in college.

  It sat on his nightstand for three days, untouched. He’d always avoided reading anything about cancer, although several well-meaning friends, neighbors and relatives had given him a variety of books to choose from after his mother’s death.

  This was different, of course. He was eighteen years older, and he was interested in this book because of Allison, not because of the subject. Still, it wasn’t until Saturday night that he finally opened it.

  He’d gone to see Julie that afternoon, a visit highlighted by the joyful news that she was doing well and would be going home soon. Her parents had been there, along with her sister and two brothers, and the day had felt like a celebration.

  After a quiet night at home with Chinese takeout and ESPN, he went to bed around eleven, but found he was too restless to sleep. He debated turning on the TV, hesitated a moment, and then picked up Allison’s book from his nightstand. He looked at the back cover first, at the younger version of Allison smiling out at him. Then he turned to page one and started to read.

  Once again Allison was standing in front of her closet, but this time she had Rachel with her. Rachel knew the whole story of the deal with Rick—Allison had broken down and told her the truth after swearing her to secrecy. It shouldn’t have mattered to her what Allison wore today, but her friend was shaking her head back and forth with a pained expression on her face.

  “This is just…wow. I’ve probably seen every outfit you own at one point or another, but to see them all together like this…wow. This is one depressing wardrobe.”

  “Thank you. That’s very encouraging.”

  “I wasn’t trying to encourage you. This is more in the nature of an intervention.”

  “I just need something to wear to afternoon tea. How hard can that be?”

  Rachel sighed. “Do we have time to go shopping?”

  “He’ll be here in half an hour.”

  “I wish I’d known about this date before I came for brunch. I could have picked something up on my way over.”

  “It’s not a date. And I don’t want to buy anything new for a nondate. I don’t want to go out of my way, you know? That would make it seem too…”

  “Real?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I know it’s not a real date—technically, anyway. But you’re going out with a guy you like, and if you tell me you don’t care how you look I just won’t believe you.”

  “I don’t like like him.”

  “My God, how old are you? And you know that line in Shakespeare about protesting too much? I’m thinking it applies here. Look me in the eyes, Allison Landry, and tell me you don’t give a single damn what Rick Hunter thinks of you. And I don’t just mean your mind or your heart or your bright shiny soul. You care what he thinks when he looks at you, too.”

  Allison opened her mouth to deny it, but the words stuck in her throat. She felt her face turning red, as if she’d just admitted something shameful. She slumped down on the edge of her bed, and Rachel sat down next to her.

  “Don’t look so tragic,” her friend said gently. “This isn’t a bad thing. It’s a good thing.”

  Allison shook her head slowly. “How can you say this is a good thing? I have a crush on Rick Hunter! Just saying it out loud sounds ridiculous. You saw that article in People—you know the kind of women he typically goes out with. He’s only spending time with me because I’m a means to an end. And because he thinks I’m not attracted to him.”

  She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Why am I attracted to him? It doesn’t really make sense. He’s so different from me, so—”

  “Are you kidding? Maybe you’re attracted to him because you’re not blind.”

  “You think I’m that superficial?”

  “I think you’re that human. And maybe you like him because he’s different from you. Because he challenges you. And you haven’t been on a date in more than a year. What’s wrong with cutting loose a little?”

  “Nothing, I guess. It’s just…I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

  “You won’t.” Rachel smiled as she reminisced. “Back in college, I had a huge crush on one of my professors. He was twenty years older and happily married, and I never even thought about acting on it, but boy, did I love going to that class. Why don’t you just let yourself enjoy what you’re feeling? Rick never has to know. Sometimes feeling attracted to someone can be an end in itself.”

  An end in itself. That was a new idea, something that had never even occurred to her.

  Rachel got up from the bed and went over to the closet, where she pulled out a pair of khaki pants and a blue cotton sweater.

  “Here,” she said. “The pants are boring but the sweater is exactly the color of your eyes. And it’s lightweight enough for the warm weather.”

  Glad to have the decision taken out of her hands, Allison put the outfit on. Then she and Rachel studied her reflection in the mirror that hung on the closet door.

  “It’ll do,” Rachel said after a moment. “I know I won’t be able to talk you into full makeup, but how about a touch of something? A dab of concealer under your eyes, maybe some lipstick?”

  “I suppose I—”

  “Great,” Rachel said briskly, grabbing a couple of tubes from her purse. She told Allison to look up as she applied the concealer with practiced ease, and then let her friend put on the lip gloss herself. It was a soft rose shade and wasn’t obvious, Allison noted with relief when she looked at herself in the mirror. Just a little extra shine, a little extra color.

  “You look great,” Rachel assured her, and Allison smiled at her in the mirror. “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem. And now I should be heading home.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  The spring day was so gorgeous that Allison decided to wait outside for Rick. He arrived at three o’clock exactly, and despite her best efforts to remain unfazed, she couldn’t control the sudden pounding of her heart or the smile that spread across her face when he got out of his sleek black car.

  He was smiling, too, but his eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than her secondhand truck. They exchanged hellos as he came up to her.

  “How was your week?” he asked.

  “Busy, but good. How was yours?”

  “The same.”


  He took off his glasses, tucking them in a pocket. Allison felt a little inward shiver when his green eyes met hers.

  He took a step closer, his eyes tracing over her face.

  “You’re wearing lip gloss,” he said suddenly.

  She cursed Rachel silently. “Um, yes.” His gaze was directed at her mouth, and she licked her lips nervously. “It’s flavored,” she blurted out, realizing it for the first time as she tasted strawberries.

  His gaze traveled up her face to her eyes. “What?”

  “I—” She’d completely lost her place in the conversation and could only stare back at him, at the intense green eyes under dark brows and tousled hair, at the almost imperceptible twitching of a muscle at the corner of his jaw, and at his mobile, sensitive mouth.

  He swallowed, then took a step back to open the passenger door for her. “Ready to go?”

  “Sure,” she said quickly, avoiding his eyes as she stepped into the car, settling into the soft leather seat and buckling her safety belt with shaking hands.

  What the heck was that? It had almost seemed like he was going to kiss her, or wanted to kiss her, or something. And she’d practically asked him to. It’s flavored, she’d said—a moment destined to become one of those that stick with you for all time, never losing its ability to make you squirm with embarrassment.

  Rick slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. “Any music preferences for the ride?”

  She loved music, but at the moment she couldn’t think of a single artist or album or genre. “What’s in your CD player right now?”

  He hit the play button, and Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald started singing a duet. “How’s this?” he asked, pulling away from the curb.

  “Perfect,” she said, surprised. She wouldn’t have figured him for an Ella Fitzgerald fan.

  He smiled at her, and her tension started to ease away. “Okay, I know you like the classics. Big band music and old movies. What about the modern era? What have you seen this year that you liked?”

  As they talked, she let herself look at him, a move made easy since Rick kept his eyes on the road most of the time.

  He was wearing a short-sleeved white polo shirt, and she found her gaze lingering on his arms. The exact point his deltoids gave way to the swell of his biceps and triceps…the play of hard muscle beneath smooth skin…the flex and release of his forearms as he drove.

  She noticed other things, too. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes when he laughed. The faint scent of his aftershave. The warm, deep voice that seemed to vibrate somewhere in her chest.

  There was a kind of doubling in her awareness. She was interested in their conversation, entertained by Rick’s agile intelligence and original mind. But she was conscious of him physically, too. Her nerves tingled. Every inch of her skin felt sensitized. And the left side of her body, the side nearest to him, felt warm, as if he were radiating heat.

  The drive gave her time to get used to the awareness. As she and Rick continued to talk, she felt more confident that she could hide it. Not that she could submerge it completely, but that she could keep it at bay—enough, at least, to keep from blushing like a teenager every time their eyes met.

  Maybe Rachel had been right. Maybe she could enjoy this feeling, as long as she kept it buried deep, where it belonged.

  Their discussion veered toward politics. At one point Allison was arguing so fiercely against a position Rick had defended that it took her a few minutes to notice a suspicious twitch at the corner of his mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I agree with you, that’s all.”

  “What? Then why did you say—”

  “I like hearing you argue,” he said. “I like how committed you are. When you’re all riled up like that I feel like I can see right into you.”

  Exactly what she wanted to avoid. “What do you mean?”

  She saw him reaching for words, his dark brows drawing a little closer together. “When you talk about something you care about, you don’t hide who you are. You just put yourself out there. You don’t give a damn what anyone else might think.”

  When it came to things like politics, maybe he was right. But she didn’t want more credit for honesty than she deserved. “There are plenty of things I keep to myself.”

  “I’m sure there are. But the things you do tell me are honest, and that’s what I like. Most of the women I go out with are so busy trying to figure out what I think, and then agreeing with me, that I never have a clue what they actually believe in—if anything.”

  She stared at him. “Why would anyone do that? Hide their real opinions that way?”

  He shrugged. “Believe it or not, there are actually women out there who only want to marry a millionaire. And they’ll do whatever they can to make that happen.” There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice, and Allison felt an unexpected rush of anger.

  “That’s disgusting. Women shouldn’t go out with you because you’re rich. They should go out with you because you’re—” She paused.

  He looked at her. “Because I’m what?”

  “Because you’re nice.” Her cheeks felt hot.

  He waited a moment. “Just nice?” he finally prodded, one eyebrow raised.

  She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re fishing for compliments. And, anyway, you just told me how honest and forthright I am. Don’t expect any help from me in the ego-stroking department.”

  “Honest and annoying. Did I mention annoying?”

  “Nope, you left that one out.”

  They’d left the highway several minutes ago, and now they turned into a long, curving driveway that ran through a belt of oak trees. Allison sat up straighter in her seat, curious for her first glimpse of Hunter Hall. When it came into view as they emerged from the woods, she took a deep breath.

  “Oh, Rick. It’s beautiful.”

  And it was. The ivy-covered stone blended into the landscape of old growth trees, spring flowers made a splash of color here and there, and she could tell that in the full flush of summer the surrounding gardens would be absolutely glorious.

  She could understand why Rick loved this place so much. The neo-Gothic architecture appealed to the imagination, and the man who’d designed “Magician’s Labyrinth” had imagination to spare.

  As he came around to open her door—she waited for him this time—she pictured the house and gardens filled with kids and their families. This was the kind of place she wanted for her center. A place to spark the imagination, a place full of beauty.

  “You really like it?” Rick asked her as she got out of the car and stood beside him. The two of them stood looking up at the house for a moment, at the turrets and gables and the windows that sparkled like diamonds in the bright sunlight.

  “Are you kidding? Of course I do. This place is definitely worth bribing a woman to be your fake girlfriend.”

  He nudged her with his elbow, catching her in a ticklish spot, and she giggled. “It wasn’t a bribe, it was a negotiation.”

  “If you say so. Which reminds me…do we need to get our stories straight, or anything like that? Before we meet your grandmother.”

  “Not unless you’re going to exercise your talent for fiction like you did with Shirley.”

  She smiled. “Nope, no tall tales today. Actually, I don’t see any reason why we can’t stick pretty close to the truth. We met because of Julie’s wish, and because you made a big donation to the Star Foundation. After we visited Julie in the hospital, you asked me out. End of story.”

  “Makes sense,” Rick agreed.

  They were quiet for a moment, looking at the house. Allison turned to ask Rick when it had been built, but the question stuck in her throat when she saw him looking at her.

  “Ready to go in?”

  She nodded. He held out his arm the way he had in her apartment, and she only hesitated a moment before she slid her hand into the crook of his arm.

 
This time, though, he was wearing short sleeves, and her fingers tingled where they touched his warm bare skin. And as they walked side by side up the stone walkway toward the house, she prayed he couldn’t hear the sudden pounding of her heart.

  Chapter Six

  The heavy front door opened just as they reached it. And there was Gran, elegant in a Chanel suit and a cloud of expensive perfume, a welcoming smile on her face.

  Rick couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his grandmother at the door like this. Meredith, her long-time housekeeper, usually met visitors and let them into Hunter Hall.

  It was because of Allison, he realized with a twinge of guilt. Gran was excited to meet her.

  “My dears, how wonderful to see you!” She gave Rick a brief smile and turned immediately to Allison. “You’re as lovely as your picture in the paper,” she said, giving her a quick peck on each cheek. “Now come inside, you two. We’ll have our tea in the south parlor, but I thought Allison might like to see Hunter Hall first.”

  “I’d love that,” Allison said, and Gran smiled at her again before ushering them inside and launching into the tour Rick had heard her give a hundred times before.

  He fell in behind the two women as they went through the house, through the nine bedrooms, the upstairs and downstairs parlors, the game room and music room, the library and gallery, the conservatory, the dining room, the ballroom—and he let the old, familiar magic of Hunter Hall settle over him as his thoughts wandered, and as he watched Allison talking and laughing with his grandmother, who insisted she call her Evie.

  They made an unlikely pair. His grandmother was such a…finished product, her suit accessorized with jewelry and a Hermès scarf, her white hair exquisitely styled, her high heels clicking busily on the marble floor of the upstairs gallery.

  And then there was Allison, slim and graceful, a diamond in the rough with her khaki pants and blue cotton sweater and scuffed ballerina flats, no jewelry, no accessories, and the short, no-nonsense haircut that left her neck enticingly bare.