The Millionaire's Wish

by Abigail Strom

  They saw each other twice that week, once for lunch and once with a group of her friends. On Thursday he had a late meeting and on Friday Allison answered phones for a telethon, so they didn’t get to see each other. By Saturday he was so impatient to be with her again that he pulled up at her apartment building twenty minutes early to pick her up for the charity ball.

  He couldn’t go up yet, so he settled back in the driver’s seat with the radio on. He was thinking about Wednesday, when he’d gone to movie night at her apartment, and how cute she’d looked curled up in a corner of the couch with her feet tucked under her. He’d sat next to her for most of the evening, trying to watch the movie and not the way her face lit up when she laughed.

  It had been hard being that close and not touching her, but how much harder would it be tonight?

  Wednesday had been fun and casual. Tonight was black tie and champagne, men in tuxedos and women in gowns, a thirty-piece orchestra and a bachelor auction. The whole damn night was themed around couples and romance.

  He remembered her threat to wear puce and orange. Considering her sense of humor, the odds were better than even that she’d do it. He started to grin, picturing Allison on a quest to find the ugliest dress in existence, just to tease him. He imagined festoons of taffeta, feathers, sequins…and Allison’s face laughing up at him.

  She’d still be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  He checked his watch: six-thirty on the dot. Time to find out what she’d chosen for the occasion.

  Allison had never spent an entire day just indulging herself. She’d answered phones for the telethon until midnight, so she slept late this morning, waking with a smile on her face, thinking about Rick. She stretched luxuriously, still smiling, before she got out of bed and made herself brunch.

  Early in the afternoon she went to a salon for a manicure and pedicure. It felt wonderful to be pampered, like last week when Jenna had taken her here for a massage and a facial and to get her legs waxed, something Allison had never done in her life.

  Jenna had informed her that the little red bumps and irritation from the waxing would be gone by today, and she was right. Home again now, relaxing in a bubble bath, Allison leaned back in the tub and stretched out a leg, running a hand from her ankle to her knee to her ankle. Her skin was as smooth as glass.

  She’d never taken so much sensual pleasure in a bath, so much pleasure in her own physicality. She took her time toweling herself dry, and then smoothing rose-scented lotion into every inch of her skin.

  She listened to an Ella Fitzgerald CD while she got dressed. Jenna had made her buy real French silk stockings, thigh high wisps of gossamer so fragile she held her breath pulling them on and attaching them to the garter belt Jenna had also insisted she buy. After they were finally in place she went to look at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door.

  In the black lace bra and panties, garter belt and stockings, Allison felt downright sexy for the first time in her life.

  She went into the bathroom to put on her makeup—not much, just a little eyeliner and shadow and some rosy lip gloss. Then it was time to put on her dress.

  She was glad, now, that Jenna had convinced her to buy this one. It was black lace and strapless and slit to the middle of her thigh, and in the boutique she hadn’t even wanted to try it on. But Jenna and the salesclerk both had insisted, and once Allison had seen herself in it she could hardly believe it was her.

  The bodice was like a corset, outlining her torso and making her breasts look—well, good. The floor-length skirt was elegant and simple, except for the slit, which would have revealed her garter belt if it had been cut a few inches higher.

  She’d practiced walking in her high-heeled sandals all week, so she wouldn’t embarrass herself by tripping over her own feet. She felt comfortable in them now, and she tried a few dance steps around her living room while she waited for Rick to pick her up. Rachel was a ballroom dance nut and had shown her some basic moves at work this week.

  She looked at the clock—six-thirty. Rick would be here any second.

  Her heart began to pound.

  Rick could hear music coming from Allison’s apartment as he walked down the hallway. It was Ella Fitzgerald singing with Louis Armstrong, and he whistled the melody as he knocked on the door.

  A few seconds went by. Then the door swung open, and the whistle died on his lips.

  Allison was wearing a strapless gown. Her arms and shoulders were bare, her skin like porcelain against the black lace. The top was tight, outlining her breasts and pushing them up a little, and when he realized he’d been staring at her cleavage for a good ten seconds he jerked his gaze away.

  There was a twist of silk at her waist, and the lace skirt fell in a graceful column to the floor. It was narrow enough to restrict her movements if it hadn’t been for the slit up the side.

  The slim leg showing through was encased in a sheer black stocking. Her shoes were black patent leather with three inch heels.

  His gaze traveled up her body again to her face. Her short hair had been brushed back and there were jeweled clips gleaming in it, the same sapphire blue as her eyes.

  She was wearing makeup, light and subtle—something around her eyes that made them look even bigger than usual, and something on her lips that made them shine. Her cheeks were pink but he thought that was probably natural. Considering he was staring at her like a hungry wolf, he was surprised her face wasn’t bright red.

  He’d better pull himself together before he backed her up against the wall and took her gown off with his teeth.

  “Nice dress,” he said.

  He was glad to see that Allison was smiling at him as opposed to, say, calling 911 or running for her life.

  “Did you bring the smelling salts?”

  “No,” he said. “But I didn’t realize how much I’d need them.”

  It was only a ten-minute drive to the hotel, but the fact that they made it there alive was a minor miracle. Rick’s eyes kept drifting to the passenger seat. Allison was sitting straight with her hands folded in her lap, and the contrast between her prim posture and the slit in her dress made his whole body tighten.

  When he downshifted his hand was inches away from her thigh. It was so easy to imagine reaching out for her that he hung onto the gearshift until his knuckles turned white.

  They pulled up in front of the hotel, and Rick was glad to have a minute in the cool night air as they crossed the sidewalk to the entrance. Once inside, he slid the velvet wrap off her shoulders to hand to the employee behind the coat check counter.

  “You’re wearing perfume,” he said as they walked into the ballroom. He hadn’t noticed in the car, but when he was taking off her wrap he’d leaned in close and caught the scent.

  “It’s not perfume exactly, it’s rose-scented lotion,” she said as they reached their table and he pulled out her chair. “Do you like it?”

  He liked it so much he wanted to lick it off her, but he didn’t think that was the answer she was looking for.

  “Yes,” he said instead, snagging two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.

  He sat down next to her as the orchestra finished tuning up and began to play. They started with a Cole Porter song, and the parquet floor filled up quickly.

  Some of the city’s most beautiful women were out there, but he only had eyes for Allison. “Do you want to dance?”

  She got that deer in the headlights look he knew so well, and he thought she might say no. Then she took a quick gulp of champagne and set her glass back on the table.

  “Yes,” she said with determination. “I’d love to.”

  Almost immediately, her look of resolve melted into her previous look of anxiety. “Or not. I mean…I’m not a very good dancer.”

  “That’s all right,” he said, rising to his feet and holding out his hand. “I am.”

  “You are?”

  “It’s one of my many talents.”

 
He led her to the edge of the dance floor and turned her to face him. He guided her left hand to his shoulder and put his right hand on her waist. He started them off with a simple sway back and forth, to get the rhythm.

  Her body was tense and she was frowning at his chest, her teeth sunk in her lower lip.

  “You don’t need to concentrate so hard.”

  “Sorry,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m not good at being bad at things, if that makes any sense, so I’m overcompensating. I’ll try to relax.”

  “Don’t try,” he said. “Don’t think about it. Just listen to the music and look at me.”

  So she did. And now her blue eyes were wreaking as much havoc on him as her body was in that dress.

  But it was working. He could feel her relaxing, and moving with the music.

  “Okay, that’s good,” he said. His voice was a little husky and he cleared his throat. “I’m going to try some steps now, all right? If I take a step forward like this, you just take a step back. That’s it. And if I step to the side…see how easy it is? Now we’re dancing.”

  He was only doing a simple fox-trot, but even so, it felt like no time before they were moving together like they’d been doing this forever.

  That’s what being with Allison was like. Like they’d known each other forever, and like everything he did with her was new.

  She was relaxing more and more, following his lead as if she trusted him. He smiled down into her eyes and she smiled back at him, radiant and glowing. His hand around her waist tightened a little.

  Her eyes were shining, her lips parted. “This is so fun,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve always wanted to dance like this, to a real orchestra. It’s like being in a Fred Astaire movie. Can we keep going? I mean, do we have to stop after this song?”

  “We can keep going,” he said, guiding her into their first turn. She followed his lead perfectly.

  “That’s good,” he said. “The more you trust me, the more you’ll be able to relax and let the music move through you.”

  “I trust you,” she said softly, and her blue eyes were serious this time.

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  “All right, then,” he said, his hand tightening on hers. The orchestra had moved into “Fever”, and the vocalist singing sounded exactly like Peggy Lee. The mood as well as the lyrics were a little too close for comfort right now, so he’d better kick the dancing into high gear to keep from kissing Allison right here on the dance floor.

  “I’m going to get a little fancy now,” he warned her. “Are you ready?”

  Her eyes sparked and her chin went up. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice strong and shaky at the same time, and the significance of those particular words didn’t hit him until he was halfway through a series of spinning steps that took them toward the center of the dance floor.

  I’m ready.

  He froze in the middle of a glide, and Allison bumped into another couple.

  I’m ready, she’d said. Not just the words, but the look in her eyes…

  The man and his partner had turned.

  Dancing be damned—he was going to get Allison alone right now to ask her what she’d meant by those words. Just as soon as he apologized to that couple for…

  It occurred to him that only he and the other woman were saying the polite nothings this kind of situation called for. Allison and the man she’d bumped into were staring at each other as if they’d each seen a ghost.

  After a second’s mental effort Rick recognized him as Paul Winthrop, an attorney who worked in the patent law office his company utilized.

  “Paul, it’s good to see you again.”

  No response at all. Paul and Allison might have been the only two people in the room.

  “Honey?” the woman asked after another moment of awkward silence. “Do you want to introduce me to your…friend?”

  “Uh…” He tore his eyes away from Allison and turned to his companion. “Of course,” he said, looking and sounding flustered. “Marian, this is…Allison. Allison Landry. She and I went to high school together. Allison, this is Marian Sanchez, my fiancée.”

  Allison’s face was white and frozen, but she managed a nod in answer to Marian’s polite hello.

  The wheels were starting to turn in Rick’s mind. Paul Winthrop…high school. Jenna had said her boyfriend’s name was Paul. And while the thick head of blond hair was gone, replaced by a short cut and a receding hairline, he could see the resemblance to the prom picture in Allison’s photo album.

  Allison turned to him. “I’m going to visit the powder room,” she said. Her voice was trembling. “I’ll see you back at the table.”

  And without another word she was gone, moving quickly, almost stumbling, as she made her way through the dancing couples and back toward the lobby.

  Rick stared after her for a minute before turning back to Paul. The wave of jealousy he felt was almost crippling, it was so swift and hot and blinding. How the hell could this balding lawyer have such a hold on her after so many years?

  His hands clenched into fists. “How often have you two seen each other since high school?”

  “Never,” Paul said in a low voice. “This is the first time I’ve seen Allison in ten years.”

  He looked upset…almost sick to his stomach. Rick would have felt better if he seemed unaffected by the meeting. Judging by the expression on his fiancée’s face, so would she.

  The hot, nauseating rush of anger was making him shake. It felt familiar, too, in a horrible way, like remembering a nightmare. He’d better get the hell out of here before he said or did something unforgivable.

  “Excuse me,” he said abruptly. He left the dance floor and went to the restroom. It wasn’t until he was staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror that he realized what was so familiar about this feeling.

  He looked like his father.

  Gripping the edge of the sink with his hands, he remembered the senseless, jealous rages, when his father had accused his mother of being with other men.

  Shaking his head, he forced himself to calm down. A momentary flash of jealousy didn’t mean he was turning into his father.

  He just needed to forget about Paul and think about Allison.

  His mind went back to the moment before they’d bumped into the other couple, the moment on the dance floor when Allison had looked up at him with such resolve in her eyes.

  I’m ready.

  If that meant what he thought it did, an army of balding lawyers wouldn’t stop him from being with her.

  He made his way back to their table, but Allison wasn’t there. Carol and her husband had arrived, and Derek was there with his date, and Rick made small talk for as long as he could stand it. Then he excused himself and went to look for Allison.

  Allison paced back and forth across the empty conference room she’d found near the lobby. Her arms were wrapped around her waist and her stomach was in knots.

  Why should she let Paul affect her like this? He’d hurt her once, why should he get to do it again?

  Because she’d never dealt with it. She’d done exactly what Rick had done with his pain—denied it, ignored it, refused to give it any place in her conscious mind.

  She remembered that night in the hospital, after she’d sent her parents away to be with Megan. She’d lain awake with tears leaking out of her eyes, her injuries making it so painful to move she hadn’t been able to wipe them away.

  There were tears in her eyes now, she realized, just as Rick came through the doorway.

  They stared at each other for a moment. Her heart was beating so painfully her chest ached.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t feel well,” she said as she brushed past him. “I’m going to take a cab home.”

  “Allison, wait. At least let me—”

  She almost ran across the lobby toward the front doors.

  Rick was behind her, calling her name. She couldn’t face him now, she just couldn’t.

&
nbsp; All she could think of was the night she’d broken up with Paul. He’d been drinking—one of the many reasons she’d ended their relationship. It was after the spring concert at Fisher Academy and the school was mostly deserted.

  She’d tried to run, but he was faster and stronger than she was. She’d made it outside to the soccer field but he’d grabbed her by the equipment shed and dragged her inside.

  The hotel door was held open by an employee, and she walked swiftly through. Relief swept through her once she was outside, but then she realized she didn’t have her purse—or money for a taxi.

  She’d have to go back inside, but not right now. She couldn’t face Rick, and she didn’t want to deal with people.

  To her left a tree-lined walkway led around the side of the hotel. Other than tiny white fairy lights strung on the trees, the path was in shadow. She hurried down it, walking and then running, until she found herself in a walled garden.

  Dead end. She didn’t see a way out, other than the way she’d come. Before she could get her bearings, Rick was there. “Allison!”

  She retreated into the far corner of the garden, even though she knew there was no escape that way. Her hands clenched into fists as her thoughts, despite her almost violent efforts to keep them in the present, wrenched back to that night ten years ago.

  He followed her. “Allison, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Her arms were wrapped around her middle, and her muscles felt tense to the point of rigidity.

  “No, you’re not.” Rick put a hand on her shoulder and she twisted away from him, backing up when there was nowhere to go. There was a brick wall behind her, and Rick in front of her.

  And no place else to run.

  Rick went still. It was dark where they were, but he could still make out the fear and panic on Allison’s face. He took a step back.

  “I’m fine. You didn’t have to follow me. I was just looking for a way out.” She took a deep breath. “I want to go home.”

  “Because of Paul?”