Marooned with the Millionaire

by Nina Milne

  ‘And it doesn’t bother you?’

  Her question held an element of timidity that seemed totally out of character.

  ‘No. Why should it?’

  ‘Because... Well, it’s occurred to me that Gabrielle is right. All eyes are going to be on us. You never take a plus-one to events like this, and you don’t ever give interviews.’

  He shrugged. ‘I have no problem with people looking at us.’

  ‘And you have no problem with me wearing whatever I choose to wear?’

  ‘No.’ He had absolutely zip idea where she was going with this.

  For a long moment she studied his expression, and a small sweet smile tipped her lips. ‘You mean that, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ Marcus frowned. ‘Are you worried about what I choose to wear?’

  ‘Of course not. You can come in your pyjamas for all I care—’ She broke off, a ludicrous look of dismay on her face. ‘If you had any, I mean...though... I mean... Well...obviously I’d prefer you to be wearing something.’ Suddenly she giggled. ‘Though if you weren’t I guess at least no one would be looking at me. Whatever I wear.’

  Her laughter was clear, melodious and infectious, and he couldn’t help but join in. Then somehow the whole conversation, her sheer beauty, and their shared laughter prompted a change in the atmosphere and their mirth subsided.

  They stared at each other and then he stepped forward, reducing the gap between them. She followed suit. Now they were so close he could count the smattering of faint freckles on the bridge of her nose.

  ‘April...?’

  But before she could answer there was a knock on the door. April jumped backwards and turned away from him as Gabrielle re-entered.

  She looked from one to the other but said nothing. ‘I have found this,’ she announced, holding up a long black dress, her nose slightly wrinkled in disapproval.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll try it on.’ Without looking at Marcus, April said, ‘Do you mind waiting outside?’

  ‘No problem.’

  Right now fresh air was exactly what he needed—that or a long cold shower, or a brisk run.

  Ten minutes later April emerged from the shop, a bag held loosely in her hand.

  ‘Successful?’ he asked.

  She glanced down at the bag and then back to him. ‘Time will tell.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  APRIL SURVEYED HER reflection in the hotel room’s mirror and wondered if she had perhaps run a little mad, even lifting a hand to her forehead to check her temperature.

  What had possessed her? What still possessed her?

  She had no idea.

  But as she’d stood in that room with Gabrielle she had looked at the black dress and then at the other one.

  Gabrielle had given a small Gallic shrug. ‘It matters not which dress you wear. He will not take his eyes from you. That is plain.’

  April shook her head. ‘It’s not like that. I am writing an article on him. That’s all.’

  Gabrielle had given her a look of polite disbelief but said nothing as April had continued to look at both dresses.

  Then, ‘Perhaps I will try it on. The first one.’

  ‘Bon! Good!’

  Gabrielle had ushered her into the fitting room and minutes later April had stared at her reflection. The same reflection she stared at now. Of a woman she barely recognised. With the emphasis on ‘barely’. The dress was strapless, showing off her shoulders and arms, discreetly tantalising with a hint of cleavage. The nude underlay was covered by a layer of red lace and a bold swathe of red stripes that swept to the floor. The whole concoction magically hinted at sensuality.

  What had she been thinking?

  She knew the answer to that. In a moment of insanity she had wanted to make absolutely sure that Marcus had eyes for no other woman than her—had wanted to wear a dress that would dazzle him and court his admiration, would summon that dark appreciation and desire to his eyes.

  But now caution blew a cold cloud over the idea. Last time she had dressed to dazzle it had been for Dean. But Marcus wasn’t Dean. He might be good-looking—OK, gorgeous—and he might be charismatic, but he wasn’t controlling and he had no interest whatsoever in a trophy date. Not a jot. And yet she had chosen this dress in all its tantalising glory.

  Now, as she looked at her reflection, regret began to trickle in. Because whilst the dress lived up to all Gabrielle had promised it was more than the dress. Her eyes sparkled with luminosity and her whole bearing seemed...different. There was no escaping the fact that her hormones had kidnapped her common sense. But only up to a point. Yes, she wanted appreciation, but it would go no further than that.

  As she headed from her room, down in the lift and along the corridor to the lobby, anticipation built and scrambled inside her. When she saw Marcus her breath caught in her throat. Forget gorgeous—he looked stratospherically scrumptious. The tuxedo gave him a devil-may-care aura, and the shower-damp hair, the breadth of his shoulders and most of all the fire of approval that lit his dark eyes made her dizzy.

  His gaze raked over her, caused heat to flood her veins.

  ‘You look stunning.’

  He took a step closer and her heart hopped, jumped and skipped. Threw in a somersault for good measure.

  ‘But I knew you would look beautiful in whatever you wore.’

  Now her heart cartwheeled, and she didn’t know what to say except a whispered, ‘Thank you. But really it’s the dress...not me.’

  Silence fell and she sought to fill it before she threw caution to the wind, grabbed the lapels of his tux, kissed him and dragged him straight upstairs.

  No, no, no! Say something. Anything, however idiotic, will do.

  ‘I’m hoping it will give me confidence. I don’t usually attend events like this—I tend to interview people one on one—very civilised and arranged in advance, in a situation where the interviewees want to talk about themselves. To be honest I’m not very social, so I’m a bit nervous.’

  It wasn’t working. He was too close—so close she wanted to lean forward and sniff him, to try and identify the scent that seemed to be sending her hormones into overdrive.

  Don’t do it!

  ‘You can always talk to me,’ he pointed out, and his smile was so wicked that she suspected he knew damn well exactly what she wanted to do.

  She needed to get a grip—of something other than him.

  Stepping back, she nodded. ‘I plan to. After all, that’s what I’m being paid to do.’ The reminder was as much to herself as to him. ‘We’d better go.’

  The brief car journey whizzed by, and as she looked out at the dusky grey skies, inhaled the warm evening breeze tinged with mimosa and orange blossom, sensations were tumultuous within her. Everything seemed heightened—her skin was super-sensitive, her whole being attuned to every sound and scent. But most of all she was aware of Marcus.

  Then they arrived, and as she stepped out next to him somehow her nerves were quietened by his sheer presence and the reassurance provided by the effortless strength he exuded.

  The building itself was sufficient to catch her attention; the sandstone of the embassy gleamed in the moonlight, the turrets and pillars of a bygone era somehow adding to the fairy tale surrealness of the whole evening.

  The inside was no less splendid.

  ‘It’s magnificent,’ she said. ‘A pocket of history.’

  Without preamble she fumbled in her clutch bag and pulled out her notebook, scribbling down some key words so she could do the setting justice when she wrote the article. The familiarity of writing was a comfort, a nose-thumb at her hormones.

  See—I’m here to work, not to relish in physical allure. Ha!

  As she returned the book to her bag she looked up to see a familiar couple heading towards them: Rafael Martinez and Cora Derwent, the
evening’s hosts. Rafael, as ever, looked brooding, whilst Cora smiled in recognition—a smile that held radiance as her red hair glittered under the light of the chandeliers.

  ‘Marcus. Good to see you.’ Rafael held his hand out.

  Cora kissed April. ‘And April as well. I saw you’d been added to the guest list and thought how lovely it was that the two of you had got together.’

  April felt tell-tale heat flush her face. Cora’s voice held genuine approval and she knew the words had been meant in all sincerity.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, irritated that her voice held too much squeak, ‘I’m writing an article on Marcus.’

  Cora glanced quickly from April to Marcus and then nodded. ‘How exciting! That is even more of a coup—and if you do as good a job as you did with Kaitlin and Daniel’s wedding then Marcus is in safe hands. And, talking of weddings, how is the royal one going?’

  ‘A security nightmare, I’d imagine?’ Rafael interpolated.

  ‘I’ve had easier assignments,’ Marcus said. ‘But, more importantly, both Frederick and Sunita told me to convey their congratulations.’

  In that instant April realised the reason for Cora’s radiance, the glow that lit her from within. Cora’s hand went instinctively to curve over the swell of her belly and Rafael’s face broke into a smile so broad and awe-filled that tears prickled at the back of April’s eyes.

  Instinct and a learnt ability to deal with situations like this came to her rescue. She knew that Cora and Rafael deserved the happiness of parenthood, and she truly did wish them all the joy in the world. But still, this glimpse into that serenity could not help but be a reminder of all she had lost.

  It was a loss that she could never come to terms with, even while she had had to accept that life went on. That whilst her world had collapsed, everyone else’s kept on spinning.

  ‘Congratulations from me as well,’ she said, suddenly all too aware of Marcus’s intent gaze.

  ‘Thank you. We are beyond ecstatic. If you would like to write a lifestyle article on us at any point you’re more than welcome. After all, we have a lot to thank you for.’

  ‘You do?’ The turn in the conversation was a gift—as long as she could think of Cora as a subject, the current of emotion would be easier to control.

  ‘Yup. Your article on Sunita meant that Frederick found love, and that made Kaitlin very happy.’

  ‘Happy enough to forgive me? I was a thorn in her side when she was with Frederick.’

  ‘You were—but that’s because you were after the truth. You knew something wasn’t quite right, and now... Now all the Derwents have achieved what we thought to be impossible—a happy-ever-after. And Rafael and I are lucky enough to be having a baby.’

  This time April was prepared, and she didn’t so much as flinch. Cora glanced round. ‘Now, if there’s anyone else you have your eye on for an interview I’m happy to introduce you!’

  For an insane moment April wanted to refuse, to remain near Marcus. The idea of socialising sent a shiver of anxiety over her skin. During her ill-fated marriage there had been parties aplenty, and she’d grown to loathe them. Dean’s critical, watchful gaze had made her clumsy by default, filched all possible enjoyment from the event.

  But she wasn’t here with Dean, and once, in the dim and distant past before him, April had loved parties—had revelled in being in good company, exchanging ideas, dancing, talking, having fun. That April seemed like a stranger now—someone it was truly impossible for her to believe had been herself. Perhaps tonight she could find an echo of that carefree girl...

  Squaring her shoulders, she nodded. ‘Thank you, Cora. I’d like that.’

  * * *

  Marcus’s gaze lingered on the graceful sway of April’s walk, on the natural poise that nonetheless held a hint of trepidation. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure—but he did, and for a moment the urge to follow her nearly overcame his common sense.

  ‘You like her.’ Rafael’s words were not a question, and Marcus turned to face him.

  ‘She is a writer, on a mission to interview the “real” Marcus Alrikson. You know how I feel about the press.’

  ‘Yet you like her. You should act on it, my friend.’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘Just because you have succumbed to wedded bliss, don’t try and pull the rest of us in.’

  Rafael smiled. ‘Once that is how I felt. Then somehow Cora...she changed my mind and I have no regrets. And now with the baby... I feel truly blessed.’

  A twinge of something perilously close to envy pinched a nerve, and Marcus blinked in irritated recognition of the emotion. This was nuts. No way did he want a family—he knew his own limitations and was more than happy to abide by them.

  Rafael was shaking his head, almost as if he were questioning his own good fortune. ‘Who would have thought it? Not me a couple of years ago—I can tell you that. So, my advice to you? If you like her, at least admit it to yourself.’

  ‘It’s not a question of liking her or not.’ Now he sounded defensive. ‘In three days’ time she will go her way and I will go mine. End of.’

  Rafael raised one dark brow but forbore from comment.

  As if to prove his point Marcus made sure to circulate the room—though it took more effort than seemed strictly necessary not to check on April’s whereabouts. But he forced himself to succeed, and it was only when a gong was struck to announce dinner that he glimpsed her again as she headed to their table.

  Once they were seated, waiters circled with unobtrusive discretion so that it seemed as if wine and food appeared almost magically. A starter that combined baby artichokes with figs and huge tasty almonds was followed by a traditional paella that glistened with saffron-coated rice, embedded with enormous clams and bright red peppers.

  Marcus was soon monopolised by a man with decided views on Lycander’s overseas policies, but even as he focused on keeping his temper he felt a sudden tension still April’s body, and realised she was no longer a participant in the general hum and chatter of the table.

  Fragments of conversation drifted towards him.

  ‘We just can’t decide whether to have another baby or not...’

  ‘How many are you on?’

  ‘Three, but they are all so adorable and they seem to get better as they grow older.’

  ‘Mind you, I sometimes think teenagers are more work than toddlers...’

  ‘So amazing to watch them grow into people, if you know what I mean...’

  And then, ‘April, I am so sorry—you must be bored stupid. Unless, of course, you have children?’

  Her leg clenched next to his, so tightly his own muscles ached in sympathy, and surely the silence stretched just a little too long before she answered.

  ‘No, I don’t. But, truly, don’t stop on account of me. I’m a lifestyle writer, after all, so it’s interesting for me to hear how all of you mix motherhood, your jobs and celebrity.’

  The words were casual, and yet instinct prompted him to lean in. ‘I can see a way to combine our conversations. I’d be very interested to hear your views on education...’

  And from there the conversation flowed around a plethora of topics, from school reminiscences to weddings.

  Throughout, April deflected all attempts to elicit any personal information about her life, whilst garnering plentiful knowledge about others. So by the time the last decadent spoonful of dessert had been scooped up, and Rafael had risen to his feet to make a speech, Marcus knew no more about April than he had before.

  Not that it mattered, he reminded himself—after all, her life story was hardly relevant. Instead he focused on Rafael.

  ‘As you know, each year this dinner honours a different charity. This year, with respect and remembrance of Prince Axel, our donation is to Drive for Life. DFL is a charity that pioneers safe driving and helps the victims and survivors o
f car accidents, including those who are left behind. The parents, children, families and friends of those whose lives have been snatched without notice.’

  Although Marcus had known about the chosen charity—a charity he supported wholeheartedly on a personal level—the words touched him with renewed grief as Rafael spoke of those who had suffered through accidents such as the one that had taken Axel.

  He wasn’t surprised to sense April’s reaction—to hear her small intake of breath and feel the tension that stilled her body—Rafael’s words were emotive. What he hadn’t expected was for her to leave... But that was exactly what she did.

  A murmured, ‘Excuse me,’ an additional apology and she was gone.

  OK... It could be that she quite simply needed a bathroom break, but that was an unlikely scenario. To leave at this point in Rafael’s speech was...if not rude, then close to it. Perhaps the food had disagreed with her and she’d had no choice but to exit.

  The minutes ticked on. Rafael sat down to a round of applause and Marcus turned his head towards the door. No sign of her. He could sit here and wonder, or he could follow her.

  He headed towards the restrooms as a first port of call and halted outside the Ladies’. Obviously he couldn’t go in there, but as he leant back against the wall it soon became clear that no one was handily going to come out and answer his query as to whether April was inside.

  So with a quick glance down the corridor he opened the door and entered. Silence. No cry of outrage greeted him, so he called out, ‘April?’

  Further silence—and then he heard the slightest of shuffles.

  Feeling like a first-class idiot, he tried not to think of the ramifications if it wasn’t April in there... Lycander’s Chief Advisor caught peering under cubicle door in the Ladies’.

  ‘April? If that is you, please say so now as I’m less than comfortable in here.’

  There was a small sigh redolent of tears and his chest squeezed in the sure knowledge she’d been crying. ‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have followed me. There is such a thing as privacy.’