The Millionaire's Snowbound Seduction

by Sandra Marton

  He’d come to North Mountain for closure, and he’d ended up winning back the only woman he’d ever loved.

  A grin lit Nick’s face. He peeled off his jacket, turned on his computer and set up the fax machine. Then he picked up the carton, and strolled into the kitchen. He had a feeling this wasn’t quite what the radio shrinks had in mind when they talked about closure, but it sure as heck was good enough for him. Perfect, if you wanted to be accurate.

  He paused in the doorway and looked at Holly. She was standing at the stove, stirring something in a skillet that was sending up clouds of fragrant steam. God, she was lovely.

  And she was his.

  He put down the carton, propped one hip against the table edge, folded his arms, and happily observed his wife.

  She had the same effect on him today as she’d had when he was still a kid. She’d been so sweet and innocent…from the first minute she’d walked into his life, he’d wanted nothing more than to cherish her and protect her.

  Now, at least, he could.

  He knew why their marriage had failed. It was his inability to accept his guilt over having taken his beautiful Holly from a life where she’d had everything, to one where she’d had nothing. That was why he’d accused her of trying to play house, because it had killed him to see the change in her—a change that was his fault. Her graceful hands, reddened by housework. Her midnight-blue eyes, shadowed by worries over money. Her back, achy after hours spent hunched over the ancient sewing machine she’d rescued from God only knew where.

  Oh, yeah. It had damn near killed him, all right, especially since he knew he’d stolen her from the life she deserved, one of grace and beauty and wealth.

  It was guilt that had made him work a thousand hours a day, that had driven him to school at night so he could improve himself and improve their lives. It was his fault she’d lost her old friends, and been too weary to make new ones. No wonder she hadn’t been as excited as he’d wanted her to be about his successes. What could he possibly have expected the night he came home all excited about winning a contract and she’d said she really didn’t give a damn?

  He’d thought it meant she didn’t give a damn about him.

  Nick shook his head. He understood now. What she’d really meant was that he’d neglected her. Well, he’d never neglect her again. Hell, he’d pamper her as she’d never been pampered, fill her life with luxuries, see to it that she had everything she could possibly want.

  Love, swift as an avalanche, swept through him.

  ‘Holly,’ he said, and when she turned to him, her face lighting with as much joy as surprise, he was lost. He crossed the room with quick, purposeful steps, took the spoon from her hand and pulled her tightly into his arms. ‘I love you,’ he whispered, and kissed her.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, laughing when he let her breathe again. Her eyes were bright with happiness. It thrilled him to know he’d put that glow on her face. ‘What did I do to deserve that?’

  Nick grinned. ‘It’s not you,’ he teased, ‘it’s whatever you’re cooking up in that pan.’ He leaned past her and took an exaggerated sniff. ‘Man, oh, man, what is that? Some secret French sauce?’

  ‘Oh,’ Holly said with a coy smile, ‘it’s just something I whipped up.’ She laughed, gently shoved him away, and turned off the gas under the skillet. ‘It’s drawn butter, you big jerk. For the lobster.’

  ‘Ah.’ Nick laughed. ‘Well, that’s pretty exotic.’

  Holly smiled. ‘You’re right. After all, this is a special occasion.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He grabbed her around the waist, spun her towards him, and kissed her again. ‘Darned right it is.’

  * * *

  An hour later, Nick stared in amazement at the pile of lobster shell fragments heaped on the plate between them.

  ‘Tell me we didn’t eat all that,’ he said.

  ‘Okay. We didn’t.’Holly grinned. ‘You ate most of it.’

  Nick slapped his hand over his heart. ‘The woman’s trying to hurt my feelings! Me? Eat all that lobster?”

  ‘You liked it, hmm?’

  ‘Liked it? I loved it.’ Nick reached for her hand and twined his fingers through hers. “Fess up, babe. That wasn’t just plain old butter.’

  Her smile broadened. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘So, what was it?’

  ‘It’s a secret.’

  He laughed. ‘A secret?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Holly batted her lashes. ‘You want to know what it is, you’ll have to buy a copy of my next cookbook.’

  ‘Which comes out…?’

  ‘A year from July. Of course, I have to write it first, but—’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Sure I do.’ Holly smiled and lifted Nick’s hand to her lips. ‘I have a contract that says so.’

  ‘Contracts,’ Nick said, dismissively. ‘My lawyers will get you out of that.’

  Holly’s smile grew puzzled. Gently, she disengaged her hand from his and sat back.

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘Because I’ll ask them to. You won’t have time to do that sort of stuff after we’re married.’

  ‘What sort of stuff?’ she asked, after a pause.

  ‘You know. This stuff. Mucking around in the kitchen.’

  ‘Mucking around in the…?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Nick shoved back his chair, stacked the plates, and rose to his feet. ‘I know you didn’t do this for the money,’ he said, as he scraped the leavings of their meal into the trash. He looked back and flashed her a smile. ‘As if there could possibly be much money, playing around with cookbooks.’

  Holly folded her hands tightly in her lap. ‘Really?’ she said, very calmly. ‘And how would you know how much money there is, playing around with cookbooks?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. Not exactly. But I figured—’

  ‘You figured wrong,’ she said, in that same calm voice, and then told him exactly how wrong he was.

  Nick’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. ‘Really?’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘Wow. I had no idea—’

  ‘As for doing it for the money…do you build hotels for the money?’

  ‘I don’t build them, baby, I own them.’

  ‘It was a figure of speech.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘Answer the question, please. Do you build them for the money?’

  Nick licked his lips. He had the sudden feeling that he was heading into deep water in a leaky rowboat.

  ‘Well, sure. I mean, I like what I do. Hell, I love it. But—’

  ‘But you like being paid, too. Surprise, Nick. So do I.’ She smiled tightly. ‘And, while we’re on the subject, I’ve always liked what you’d probably call “mucking about” the house. Sewing. Cooking. Fussing.’

  ‘Yes. I know that. I—’

  ‘No. No, you don’t know that.’ Holly kicked back her chair and got to her feet. ‘You never understood that I liked contributing what I could to our marriage.’ She grabbed the salt shaker and pepper mill from the table, marched to the counter and slammed them down. ‘Not money, but things that I hoped would make our lives more pleasant and take some of the burden, the worry about money, off your shoulders.’

  ‘Sweetheart, that was generous of you. I’m only trying to point out that none of that is necessary anymore.’

  Holly swung towards him, eyes flashing. ‘I hate it when you use that condescending tone with me!’

  Nick stared at her. What the hell was happening? ‘Holly, baby—’

  ‘My name is not Hollybaby! I might have been young when you married me, but I was a grown woman, not a—a starry-eyed Rapunzel, living in a tower, waiting for a man to come along and rescue me.’

  ‘Hey.’ Nick held up his hands. ‘How about we take a deep breath and calm down?’

  ‘I hate it even more when you patronize me!’

  Holly spun back towards the sink and plunged her hands into the soapy water. Six endless years had gone by but nothing had chan
ged. Oh, they were arguing, yes, instead of sulking in silence, but Nick still saw her as a helpless, spoiled little rich girl. All that was left, if time really was going to spin backwards, was for him to end this scene by saying he had work to do…

  ‘Do you want help with the dishes?’ he said, after the silence had become almost unbearable.

  ‘No.’

  He sighed. She didn’t want anything, not from him. He could read it in the set of her shoulders. Damn if he didn’t feel as helpless as he’d felt years ago, wanting to go to Holly and either kiss her or shake her until she understood that all he wanted was her happiness.

  The only solution was to get himself out of here before one of them said something they’d regret.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘In that case…I’m going to get my computer. I have some work to do.’

  Holly dumped a pot into the sink. Soapy water sloshed over the edge.

  ‘Important work, I’m sure.’

  ‘Yes. Of course it’s—’

  ‘Important. I know. After all, you don’t deal in cookbooks.’

  ‘Holy hell,’ Nick roared. He stalked to the sink, clasped his wife’s rigid shoulders, and spun her towards him. ‘You’re right. I don’t deal in cookbooks. I run a Fortune 500 company, baby, and I’ll be damned if I’ll apologize for it!’

  ‘Why would you? I’m sure the world turns at your command.’

  ‘You never gave me any credit for what I did, Holly. Well, try this on for size. I’ve got the biggest deal ever in the works right now.’

  ‘Imagine that,’ she said politely. ‘I’m just amazed a man of your importance would have chosen to rent a cabin like this for a weekend.’

  ‘I didn’t rent it. I own it.’

  He saw, with bitter satisfaction, that that stopped her.

  Her eyes widened. ‘You own North Mountain?’ she said incredulously.

  ‘Damn right I do. I’m going to build a resort right here, where this cabin stands, that’ll dwarf anything you’ve ever imagined.’

  ‘You mean…you mean, you’re going to take down this cabin?’

  No. Hell, no! He knew it instantly. He wasn’t. That was the reason he’d come to the mountain, to admit to himself that he’d never tear the cabin down…

  Holly wrenched free of his hands. ‘Good. That’s wonderful news.’

  ‘Holly, wait—’

  ‘Burn it down, why don’t you?’ Her heart felt as if it were breaking in pieces, but she’d be damned if she’d let him know that. ‘That’s the best way I know of to get rid of ghosts.’

  ‘Ghosts?’ he said in bewilderment.

  ‘That’s why I came here, Nick. Because, lately, I was plagued with memories. I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about us. About our marriage.’

  ‘I know. Holly—’

  ‘No. You don’t know. You never knew.’ She spoke quickly, running her words together, despising herself for letting herself think she still loved him, knowing she’d despise herself even more if she let him see her cry. ‘Our marriage was a mistake. I always knew that but I guess I just needed reminding.’ She lifted her chin and forced a smile to her lips. ‘Thank you for providing it.’

  Her words knifed through his heart. ‘No.’ He pulled her into his arms, though her body was stiff and unyielding. ‘You don’t mean that. Think of how it was between us, just a little while ago. The things we said, the things we did…’

  ‘Sex,’ she said. Her voice trembled, but her eyes were steady on his. ‘That’s what it was, Nick. And it’s not enough. It doesn’t make up for a lack of love.’

  Nick’s face whitened. His hands slid from Holly’s arms and fell to his sides.

  ‘Closure,’ he said softly.

  ‘What?’

  He didn’t bother answering. What was there to say, when the woman you loved confirmed your most painful suspicions? She’d never said she didn’t love him before, not even when they’d agreed to divorce. But he’d always known there’d come a time she’d look at him and realize that their marriage, that he had been a mistake.

  That time had finally arrived, and there was nothing more to say.

  He made his way into the living room, unplugged his computer, snapped it shut and tucked it under his arm. Then he slung on his jacket, stuffed his cellphone and the fax into his pocket and glanced up the stairs. His suitcase was up there, but he didn’t give a damn about something so trivial. A couple of more minutes in this place and, despite his pain, he’d do something stupid, like telling Holly that he still loved her, would always love her, whether or not she’d ever loved him.

  He heard Holly’s slow footsteps behind him.

  ‘Nick.’ Her voice was low and shaky. ‘Nick, I’m sorry…’

  ‘Yeah.’ He pulled the door open. ‘Me, too.’

  The door swung shut, and Holly was alone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  NICK took a hard right as he came down off the mountain and swung into the gas station with tyres squealing.

  The station looked deserted. He got out of the Explorer and put his hands on his hips.

  ‘What kind of a place is this?’ he growled. ‘You can’t sell much gas if you’re never open for business.’

  A bell jingled behind him. Nick spun around and his mouth dropped open. An old man was coming down the steps from the office. But it wasn’t the owner of the station. Hell, no. This bozo had white hair down to his shoulders, a big moustache and a bushy white beard. His red cap was trimmed with a perky white tassel; he had on shiny black boots and a bright red suit. ‘Santa Claus?’ Nick said, with an I-don’t-believe-it laugh.

  ‘Aye-up.’ The old guy swaggered towards Nick. ‘It’s Christmas Eve, you know.’

  ‘Is it?’ Nick shrugged. ‘I guess I forgot.’ He looked the old man over from head to toe. Just went to prove that you could never trust anything. Who’d have figured this character would go in for Christmas hype? ‘What’s with the outfit?’

  ‘Been doin’ it for near onto twenty years. You want this thing filled up?’

  ‘No, the gas is fine. But I’ve got a long drive ahead of me and the light on my dash says my oil’s running low.’

  ‘Don’t want that to happen, especially with a new storm comin’ in.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’

  Santa cocked an eye skyward as he opened the hood of the Explorer.

  ‘Storm’ll be here late tonight. Good thing you came down from the mountain or you’d have been snowbound for a week.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I…’Nick frowned. ‘You remember me?’

  ‘Oh, aye-up. Remember you well. Bought extra gas, some bags of sand…didn’t need any of it, I take it.’

  ‘No. No, the road was passable.’

  ‘And you decided not to stay, hmm?’

  ‘That’s right. I…’ Nick looked at the old guy. ‘I never said I was going to stay.’

  ‘Aye-up, that’s true enough. Let’s see…you’re a quart down. Regular, or the extra-expensive stuff?’

  ‘The extra-ex…’ Nick laughed. ‘Regular. Regular’s fine.’ He tucked his hands into his pockets. ‘So, you put on this outfit every Christmas?’

  ‘Just about.’

  Nick smiled. ‘And does it sell extra gas?’

  ‘Does it…?’ Santa shook his head. ‘Don’t do it for that. I’m headin’ over to the home down on East Main. Been turnin’ up there every Christmas Eve for the past—’

  ‘Twenty years,’ Nick said slowly. ‘You mean the Hunter Home for Boys, right?’

  ‘Aye-up, that’s it.’

  ‘Man, but it’s a small world! I grew up there. You used to show up at Christmas and give us each a toy.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Nick smiled. ‘Wow. You were the best thing that happened to me all year.’

  Santa shut the hood of the vehicle and wiped his hands on a bright red rag. ‘Thought as much, from the way you climbed up on my knee one time when you were maybe five or six, and whispered your one wish in my ear.’


  Nick blanched. ‘You couldn’t remember that… Oh. Oh, of course. It’s what all the kids did, right?’

  ‘“Give me somebody to love,”’ you said. Remember?’

  There were a couple of seconds of silence, and then Nick gave a little laugh. ‘Amazing,’ he said, ‘that we’d all have made that same wish.’

  ‘Then, when you got too big to climb on my lap, you said you had another wish.’

  Nick’s smile faded. ‘I suppose you remember that, too.’

  ‘“I want to make lots of money when I grow up,”’ you said.’ The old man looked into Nick’s eyes. ‘Well,’ he said softly, ‘your wishes came true, son. I just hope you managed to figure out that money can’t buy happiness but it sure as heck can get in the way of it.’

  Nick stared into Santa’s blue eyes. They’d seemed faded with age yesterday but now—now they were bright, and clear, and bottomless.

  ‘I found happiness,’ Nick said in a choked voice. ‘But I lost it.’

  ‘Lost it, or misplaced it? There’s a big difference.’

  Nick shook his head. ‘Lost it. I was a damn fool. I let the woman I loved—the only woman I’ll ever love—think that my becoming successful was the most important thing in the world.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ Santa asked softly.

  ‘No! Hell, no. She was the most important thing. She still is. She’ll always be. It’s just that…’ He swallowed dryly. ‘I wanted to give her everything she’d given up, to marry me. It killed me to see her doing things she’d never had to do in her life, scrimping, sweating, counting pennies just to keep us going…’

  ‘Ah. I see.’ Santa nodded thoughtfully. ‘So, while she was supposed to be grateful you were knocking yourself out to give her everything, she was also supposed to understand that you didn’t want her to give you anything in return.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I’m not talking about turning away her gifts. I’m talking about not wanting to watch her work. She sewed, she cooked, she cleaned…’

  ‘She made you a home,’ Santa said quietly. ‘And you didn’t want it.’

  ‘No!’ Nick’s hands knotted into fists at his sides. ‘God, no! Of course I wanted it. I wanted her. I wanted…I wanted…’