The Millionaire's Marriage

by Catherine Spencer

  Today, he wasn’t so sure. There’d been something in her voice, something in the way her expression closed up when he’d suggested she might be happier working for someone else. He’d been reminded of a dog prepared to fight to the death defending its territoxy all the time it was wagging its tail in a show of apparent friendliness.

  Scowling, he paced to the window, all too aware of the potential fallout if he didn’t handle the situation deli cately. Given the turn of events with Gabriella, the ideal solution would be to transfer Willow, preferably to one of the overseas branches. But given today’s climate in the work place, he knew well enough he’d leave himself wide open to a suit of sexual harassment if he tried to force the issue. The best he could do was keep their relationship thoroughly professional, and hope like hell that she’d show up one day soon with a ring on her finger, and a letter of resignation in her hand.

  The damnable thing was, a week ago he hadn’t much cared which way it went. She could accept the status quo, or she could leave. But then, a week ago, he’d had nothing to lose if she stayed. The last thing he’d expected was that his marriage which had seemed doomed from the start, might be worth saving, after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GABRIm.LA had made an eight o’clock reservation at a restaurant in White Rock, a residential community famous for its beaches and spectaculars views, some forty-five minute drive south of the city. The rush-hour traffic was long over by then and he’d normally have made it out there with time to spare. Coming home to find her all rosy from the shower and wearing only a silk camisole and bikini panties, though, threw the schedule seriously off track.

  Leaving her parents happily sipping thy sherry down stairs, Max locked the bedroom door behind him and ded icated himself to stripping his wife naked and pulling her back into the shower—this time, with him.

  “We’ll be late,” she said, wrapping her long golden legs around his waist. “Max, they won’t hold our...table if we’re...ah...!”

  Her protest, halfhearted to begin with, died as he parted the sleek folds of her flesh and slid inside her. He’d have preferred to take her at leisure, to track the curls of steam writhing around The tips of her breasts. To watch the flush riding up her neck as he edged her closer to the brink of orgasm. He’d have liked to taste the lush ripeness of her mouth and muffle her little cries .of delirium as she con vulsed helplessly around him.

  But almost immediately, the ache lurking all day in his lower belly tightened excruciatingly, and before he could help himself, he had her cushioned between him and the

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  glass wall of the shower stall, the pulsing urgency gushed free, and he was left drained and gasping.

  “That’s what comes of being celibate too long,” he panted ruefully, dropping his forehead to hers. “Now that you’ve reminded me what I’ve been missing all these months, I can’t hold out long enough to make it worth your while.”

  But the unfocused dreaminess in her eyes put the lie to his allegation as surely as the diminishing contractions clenching her body. “Don’t say that!” she cried, her breath sweet against his mouth. “It was—you are...” Her eyelids drooped fetchingly. “...out of this world!”

  Reluctantly, he set her back on her feet and lathered a sponge. “Much more of that kind of ego-stroking and I’ll be fueled up and ready to go another round—which wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it weren’t that you can’t afford to miss a meal. Turn around, sweetheart, and I’ll scrub your back.”

  She was as beautiful from behind as she was in front. Her spine ran straight and delicate, bisecting her in perfect symmetry from her tail bone to her nape. Her ribs, too thin still but elegantly fashioned, tapered to the kind of narrow waist which women used to lace themselves into steel corsets to achieve. As for her hips.. .oh, brother! Dangerous territory and not a good idea to let his thoughts linger there!

  “You’re done,” he said, sounding as if he’d just swal lowed a pail of coarse sand.

  Eyes and smile alight with mischief, she pivoted to face him and made a grab for the sponge. “I’ll be happy to return the favor, if you like.”

  He slid open the shower door and practically shoved her out of the stall. “Get yourself dressed and downstairs

  before your folks come looking for us, wenchkin! The sherry decanter must be empty by now.”

  It wasn’t. Not even close. But her parents had enjoyed the small amount they’d consumed. Either that, or they owed their rosy glow to whatever Gabriella was telling them when Max joined them in the living room, ten minutes later.

  “Don’t be too forthcoming about the way things seem to be turning around with you and me,” he warned her quietly, as they waited in the building’s main foyer for his car to be brought up from the garage. “We don’t know ourselves how well it’s going to work and it wouldn’t be fair to raise their hopes needlessly if, at the end of it all, we decide to call the marriage quits.”

  She looked a little hurt, which worried him. Sure, they were about as compatible as any couple could be when it came to sex—they always had been, even when things were at their worst. But she had to know they couldn’t predicate the future on a truce which had yet to survive the light of two days, let alone two weeks.

  “I haven’t mentioned a word,” she said. “Not that it would make any difference if I had. They’re already con vinced we’re a match made in heaven. I’m just hoping they’re right.”

  He squeezed her hand. “It’s early days still is all I’m saying.”

  “I know.” Her mouth drooped a bit, then turned up in the smile the Test of the world knew so well. Blinding. Stunning. “But I’ll take my chances. We’ve been given a second chance, and that’s more than I ever expected.”

  “You look lovely, you know that?” He fingered the collar of the little linen jacket she wore. “I’ll be the envy of every other man in the restaurant.”

  He wasn’t far wrong. From the commotion her arrival

  caused, she was obviously recognized. Conversation drib. bled to a halt. Heads swivelled to watch as the maître d’ did a double take, nearly tripped over backwards bowing her to their table, and just about wet his drawers when she began discussing the menu with him in fluent French.

  Hiding his grin behind the wine list, Max said under his breath, “You planning to talk dirty like that to me in bed tonight, dear heart?”

  Hidden by the tablecloth, she walked her fingers from his knee and all the way up his inner thigh to the danger zone. “I’ll do better than talk,” she promised him.

  He laughed, not only because her audacity amused him, but because.. .damn it, she made him happy.

  How had it happened? When they’d first married, he’d been so bloody angry that, once his pride had adjusted to her walking out on him, he’d embraced the peace she left behind. What others might have called lonely and boring, he’d viewed as a return to bachelor contentment. Any time he’d found himself inclined to wonder about her—even to miss her—all he’d had to do to snap out of it was think back to the emotional storms and manipulations which were her trademark, and count his blessings at being rid of her.

  Yet here she was again, creating a different kind of upheaval, but an upheaval nevertheless, and he felt alive for the first time in over a year. “I’m starting out with oysters on the half shell,” he told her, clamping his hand over hers before she got them both thrown out on their ears for lewd behavior in a public place. “I get the feeling I’m going to need them.”

  Another two days went by before the glow began to wear off. Then, early on the third morning, a Friday, the phone rang.

  “Mrs. Logan? It’s Willow McHenry, Max’s executive assistant.”

  Even b the woman identified herself, Gabriella recognized her voice. Noticed, too, the possessive way she wrapped her mouth around Max’s name.

  “I’m calling to arrange a time for your interview.”

  Gabriella stared at the phone. “I beg your pardon?”

  “YOur t
elevision appearance, Mrs. Logan. Max has al ready giien it the go-ahead in the hopes that it will satisfy the media’ preoccupation with your visit. Your being in town is causing such a stir, and he so dislikes being flung in the spotlight, asI expect you know.” She allowed a pregnant pause to spin out. ‘Or perhaps you don’t. In any event, this is something he and I have discussed at length—-the interview idea, that is. Am I to assume that he forgot to mentio it to you?”

  “We talked about my arrival not exactly going unno ticed by the press,

  She might as well have saved her breath. Willow McHenry tr right over her reply as if it amounted to yet one more tiny inconvenience in the lives of the rich and powerful, and continued smoothly, “Small wonder if he overlooked it, given how very busy he is, but that’s what he pay me to do—take care of the minor details he doesn’t have time for.”

  Willow McHenry, Gabriella decided, came across as a tigress of a woman, formidably competent and immovably certain of her place in the greater order of things. A future CEO inher own right, she was most likely tall arid fright eningly attractive, probably wore a lot of black, with plum-red lipstick and nail lacquer for contrast—and was so ultra chic and efficient that lesser mortals cringed in her presence!

  Unaware of the impact she’d made, Willow forged

  ahead. “I’ve suggested to the person who’ll be conducting the interview that the taping take place at the penthouse, an idea which she quite likes.”

  Finally finding her voice again, Gabriella said,, “I’m not at all sure that I do. My home is private and I prefer to keep it that way.”

  Another tiny paused ensued. “But Max’s living room is so elegant—quite beyond anything you’d find in a tele vision studio, and the view from the terrace is breathtak ing. If you’re concerned about having to prepare for the event, I’ll be there ahead of time to run interference and make sure you’re inconvenienced as 1ittle as possible. All you need to do is look ravishing, which is something you’re quite used to and which will, I’m sure, require no effort at all.”

  “Thank you—I think.”

  The irony was lost on Willow. “Mrs. Logan, we need to settle on the date. How’s your calendar looking for Tuesday?”

  “I’ll have to check with my husband. My parents are visiting from overseas and we might have other plans.”

  “Not for Tuesday you won’t. Max is flying to New Mexico on Monday and won’t be back until Wednesday. And while we’re talking dates, there’s the Overseas Development Awards Dinner on Thursday—I’ve arranged extra tickets for you and your guests, by the way—so how about I pencil you in for ten o’clock Tuesday morning? Will that give you enough time to get yourself dressed and ready?”

  It was all Gabriella could do not to come back with, i’m a model, not a moron, i’ve been dressing myself since 1 turned five, and i’ve yet to show up in mismatched shoes! “I think I might be able to manage that,” she said from between clenched teeth.

  “Then it’s arranged. I’ve already run the time past the studio crew and they’re available. I’ll see you on Tuesday around half-past nine.”

  After dinner that evening, Max suggested he and Gabrielta take a stroll through the park, just the two of them. “I’m enjoying your folks’ company,” he said, link ing her fingers in his and leading her along a deserted path shaded by Japanese maples, “but I think it’s impor tant for you and me to spend time alone together.”

  “We’re by ourselves every night in bed.”

  “I know!” He leered at her disarmingly. “But we just keep covering the same old ground in there! Not that I’m complaining, you understand, but if we’re serious about trying to make this marriage work, we need to put it to the test in other areas, as well.” He swung their joined hands back and forth. “For instance, I thought you seemed a bit preoccupied at dinner tonight. Is something wrong?”

  Should she tell him, or would it be more prudent to push aside the misgivings which had dogged her ever since the conversation with Willow McHenry?

  Catching her hesitation, he pulled her to a stop and forced her to look him in the eye. “Okay, you just an swered my question. What’s up?” -

  “I haven’t said a word!”

  “You don’t have to. Something’s bugging you and I want to know what it is. Come on, Gabriella, this is ex actly the sort of thing I’m talking about! You can’t go sweeping stuff under the carpet and hope it’ll go away, because we both know that’s not how marriage works. So spit it out, whatever it is, and let’s deal with it.”

  “All right. Your assistant phoned me this morning.”

  “Yeah?” Was it her imagination, or did his gaze be-

  come a little less direct, a little mote guarded? “What did she want?”

  “It seems the two of you decided I should be inter viewed on television.”

  “Oh, that!” He made a wry face. “I wouldn’t put it in quite those words, but she was basically correct.”

  “Max, why would you give permission for something like that without asking me first?”

  “Honey, you’re already headline news around here— World Famous Model Comes Home, and all that jazz. Be cause the penthouse isn’t listed in the phone book, you’ve been spared any personal harassment, but the endless calls Willow’s had to field at the office on your behalf have really cut into the time she’d allocated for other things.”

  Gabriella could well imagine how the super-efficient Ms. McHenry would resent that! Still, “I wish you’d dis cussed it with me before you went ahead. My reasons for being here are private, and I’m not about to air them in public.”

  Laughing, he slung a casual arm around her shoulder and resumed walking. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous in front of a camera! If anyone can handle herself, you cer tainly can.”

  “It’s not that so much as...” She gnawed the inside of her cheek, uncertain of the wisdom of airing her real con cern.

  “What? Come on, sweetheart, stop looking like Bo Peep about to be attacked by the spider! Tell me what’s really troubling you.”

  How could she say, We’ve never met, but I sense your assistant doesn’t like me any more than I’m inclined to like her—or the fact that she seems to be very familiar with the layout of our home!

  She couldn’t, it was as simple as that. Their truce was

  too new, too fragile. So she settled for a safer middle ground. “Okay, it’s the way I’ve been swept into this. I don’t mind telling you, I find Ms. McHeniy rather over powering.”

  “She does come on a bit strong at times, but she means well arid she’s very efficient. She’ll see to it that every thing runs like clockwork.”

  “She’s also very...protective of you.” Yes! Protective was a much wiser choice than possessive which was the word she’d have preferred to use. “I got the distinct im pression that she resents me. She as good as said my being here was interfering with your work.”

  “Then she was out of line and I’ll speak to her. It won’t happen again.”

  Gabriella flung him a sideways glance. Something—a certain tension threading his voice, and the same rare un easiness in his manner which she’d seen her first night back when the subject of marital fidelity had come up for discussion—set off warning bells and forced her to con front the suspicion she’d tried desperately hard to ignore. Willow McHenry was the woman who’d almost made him forget his wedding vows!

  “Is she right, Max?” she asked him quietly. “Do you wish I’d stayed away?”

  “Do you think I’d have agreed to try to revive our marriage, if that were the case?”

  It was still there, that twinge of disquiet he couldn’t quite suppress.

  Say “no”, and make light of the whole business. Change the subject. Don’t give him grounds to accuse you of uying to keep him on a leash like a per dog, the way he did when you were first married and couldn’t bear to be apart from him!

  “She sounded very sure of her facts.”

  “What about what I’m te
lling you? Shouldn’t that count for more?”

  “It does,” she said, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. Even if Willow McHenry was the other woman, he’d told Gabriella nothing had really happened beyond kissing. “Of course it does.”

  Bracing his hands on her shoulders, he held her at arm’s length. “I hope so. Because this attempt at a reconciliation is about us—you and me—laying our hearts on the line and daring to take each other on trust. No one else comes into the mix, Gabriella. And if you find yourself ques tioning that—”

  “I’m not,” she cried, turning her head to press a kiss to his hand. “I do trust you, Max.”

  He regarded her soberly. “I hope so,” he said.

  But the doubts she heard in his voice found an an swering echo in her heart. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Willow remained a threat, whether or not Max realized it. And because of that, Gabriella’s bright hopes no longer shone with untarnished brilliance.

  Nor, it appeared, did his. He didn’t hold her hand again, and the easy camaraderie they’d known when they started out dwindled into strained silence. He strode back to the penthouse immersed in his own thoughts and seemed al most to have forgotten she was there beside him.

  Why? Because he was thinking about Willow whose self-confidence was such that she’d never known a mo ment’s uncertainty in her I Was he wishing he was with her, instead of his neurotic wjfe?

  The questions nagged at her unmercifully.

  She and Max didn’t make love that night. They lay side by side, not touching, the unacknowledged rift between them slight and intangible as a moonbeam. He fell asleep before she did. In the glow of city lights infiltrating the

  bedroom, she could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, the dark blur of his head against the pillows.

  He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin, yet so far removed that a million miles of lone liness separated them. It was her fault. She should not have brought the ghosts out into the open. They belonged in the shadows.