The Millionaire's Marriage Demand

by Sandra Field

  THE MILLIONAIRE’S MARRIAGE DEMAND

  Sandra Field

  A convenient proposal

  Julie Renshaw is shocked when millionaire Travis Strathern makes an outrageous demand: marriage! He's everything she has ever desired in a man—intelligent, devastatingly good-looking and heir to his father's estate. But is she ready to marry; especially for convenience?

  Julie is the first woman Travis has ever considered marrying, and he's used to getting his own way. But Julie makes certain he won't get it this time… unless their marriage is based on love as well as passion…

  CHAPTER ONE

  She had the place to herself.

  Heaven, Julie thought blissfully. The rocks and salt spray of the coastline where she’d grown up were what she missed most of all when she was overseas.

  The tide was lapping at the wharf. She slipped her feet out of her sandals and with scant regard for her pretty summer dress sat down on the rough wood, dangling her legs over the edge. A wave grabbed at her bare toes. She gave a laugh of mingled shock and dismay; the water was icy cold.

  What did she expect? After all, this was Maine and it was still June. She splashed her feet vigorously, watching how the golden light of early evening tangled itself in the foam. She was home again. Temporarily, to be sure, and not for the happiest of reasons. But home, nevertheless.

  The wharf was at the end of a dirt road. To her ears wafted the sigh of wind through the pines and the chirping of sparrows in the underbrush; overlying everything was the steady hiss of surf against the shore of the nearest island.

  Her destination was further out. She was spending the weekend on Manatuck Island, owned by Charles Strathem, whose son Brent had invited her to Charles’s sixtieth birthday party tomorrow.

  She’d been late leaving work this afternoon. By the time she’d driven from her apartment in Portland to this isolated shoreline, she’d missed the launch that was to have taken her and some of the caterers to the party. Now the launch had to make a return trip just for her.

  She should be feeling guilty. But she wasn’t. She splashed her feet again, hoping Charles Strathem had a heated swimming pool at Castlereigh, his estate on Manatuck. One thing Brent had made clear was that his father was very rich; the inference being that Brent, also, was more than comfortably off.

  Julie sighed. Brent was handsome, charming and out for a good time. This meant, no doubt, that sooner or later she’d be fighting him off. Her spirit of adventure, that had caused her to live for the last few years in faraway places not always known for comfort or safety, didn’t extend to sex. Or marriage, for that matter.

  But for the space of a weekend, surrounded by Brent’s family, she’d be safe enough.

  Abruptly she turned her head, straining her ears. What had she just heard? A vehicle coming down the road? She didn’t want company. Not right now. Oliver, captain of the launch, had been quite explicit that she was the only guest expected this Friday evening.

  The unmistakable crunch of tires on gravel grew louder and louder. Julie scowled at the gold-tinted trees, inwardly urging the unknown interloper to stop at the last cottage a quarter of a mile from the wharf. To stop anywhere but here.

  To leave her alone.

  As the tires of his sleek black Porsche skidded in the gravel, Travis eased his foot off the accelerator. He was driving too fast. Partly, of course, because he was later than he’d wanted to be. He’d been doing fine until that emergency in intensive care, which had ended very satisfactorily for the patient but had put him way behind schedule.

  Lateness wasn’t the only reason he was driving fast. Gut-wrenching anxiety was the other reason. His lips stretched in a humorless smile. On a beautiful Friday evening in June, when he could have been sailing on Penobscot Bay or going to the local opera with that nurse with the come-hither eyes, he was traveling to the one place in the world where he was guaranteed to get the cold shoulder.

  Another quarter mile to the wharf. He’d use the phone on the dock there, contact Oliver and ask for the launch to be sent over. Once he was on the island, they couldn’t very well send him back. Or if they tried, he’d put up one hell of a fight.

  Through the open window he caught the scent of spruce resin mixed with the sharp tang of the ocean; he breathed deeply, filling his lungs, and for an instant was a little boy again, roaming the cliffs and rocky shoreline of Manatuck Island. Happy. Secure. With no inkling of what was to come.

  It wasn’t just the family he was returning to. It was the island as well. Of the two, he wasn’t sure which had the greater potential for damage.

  Probably the island.

  Insanity to come back. Pure insanity.

  The car swung around the last corner, and from the rise Travis saw the bay spread in front of him, its velvet-green islands sprinkling the deep blue waters, foam edging them like white ruffs. His throat tightened. One reason he’d driven himself so hard the last few years was to bury the blend of yearning and emptiness that was popularly called homesickness.

  He jammed his foot on the brake. Someone was sitting on the wharf.

  His gaze narrowed. Was it a teenager from one of the cottages up the road? Dammit, he didn’t need company. If there was one time in his life he needed to be alone, it was right now, while he was waiting for the launch.

  It wasn’t a kid. It was a woman. She must be the driver of the blue car that was parked by the side of the road above the wharf.

  Travis swung the wheel, his tires grabbing at the gravel, and parked behind the blue sedan. It had a rental sign on the back bumper, he noticed absently. He got out of his car, slammed the door and strode down the slope toward the dock; as he did so, the woman stood up.

  He’d get rid of her as fast as he could and then he’d contact Oliver.

  Because the sun was behind him, she was bathed in soft light. His footsteps slowed. How could he ever have mistaken her for a young girl? Her flowered dress was full-skirted with a bodice that clung to her breasts and bared her shoulders and arms; her ankles and feet were soaking wet. Her hair was cut short, a gleaming dark cap that emphasized the slim line of her throat and her winged brows. She was exquisitely, unbelievably beautiful.

  She also, he realized, looked as displeased to see him as he’d been to see her. She said coolly, taking the initiative in a way that irked him, “Hello. Are you lost?” Giving him a quick survey that no doubt took in all six feet of him in his faded jeans and casual open-necked shirt, she added politely, “The road, as you see, comes to an end here. Perhaps you were looking for Bartlett Cove? The turnoffs about a half a mile back.”

  “No,” Travis said brusquely, “I’m not lost—but you’re trespassing. This wharf is on private property. It belongs to the owner of Manatuck Island.”

  “That’s where I’m going.”

  “Oh? The party’s not until tomorrow—did you get the timing wrong?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she replied crisply.

  His eyes clashed with her green ones. They couldn’t really be that color, he thought. Eyes of a deep true green were very rare, and made comparisons with emeralds inevitable. Hers, at the moment, certainly looked as unyielding as emeralds. She was several inches shorter than he; why, when his normal fancy was for laughing blondes who were nearly his height, was he lusting after a brunette who looked about as warm as the ocean in January?

  Light played across her high cheekbones, making him itch to stroke them; it took an actual physical effort to keep his hands at his sides. And all the while he was forcing himself to keep his gaze well above the entrancing shadow of her cleavage. What the devil was wrong with him?

  Think, Travis. Use your much-vaunted brains. “Let me guess,” he said
softly. “You’re arriving early on the island because you’re Brent’s date.”

  She bit one delectable lip. “How did you know?”

  “Brent’s always had a weakness for females with great bodies and more than passably pretty faces.”

  “When you’ve just complimented me twice over, why do I feel as though I’ve been thoroughly insulted?”

  The wind suddenly seized her skirt, flattening it to her legs, then tugging it free to briefly bare her thighs. As she clutched at the brilliantly flowered fabric, thrusting it down to cover herself, Travis said hoarsely, “Your eyes—you must be wearing colored contacts?”

  He’d had no intention of asking anything so personal; and was nevertheless furious when she disregarded his question. “Are you going to Manatuck as well?” she said bluntly.

  “I am.”

  “And whose date are you?”

  “Oh, I’m on my own,” Travis said, giving her a smile that in no way touched his eyes. Eyes that could look through you as though you weren’t there, Julie thought edgily, and heard him add, “I don’t belong to anyone, it’s against my principles.”

  “A principle I happen to share.”

  “I doubt that. Not if you’re Brent’s date.”

  The slight emphasis he put on the word date brought a flush to her cheeks. “His date is precisely—” she began, then broke off. Why was she defending her morals to a complete stranger?

  He gave a short laugh. “I’m glad you didn’t bother finishing your sentence. Brent’s reputation precedes him.”

  “I won’t ask if you’re a friend of his. Obviously you’re not.”

  “You got that right.”

  There was a depth of bitterness to his words that shocked Julie; she was suddenly aware of how tightly strung he was. As though he could explode any moment, she thought uneasily, and for the first time wished the wharf wasn’t quite so isolated. Not another person in sight, and the nearest house a quarter of a mile up the road.

  Normally she wasn’t easily scared. She’d had too many close calls for that, too many times when she’d had to depend on her own resourcefulness to get her out of threatening situations. And this was Maine. Not Lima, or Dares-Salaam, or Calcutta.

  When he’d walked down the slope toward her, he’d moved with the unconscious grace of the tiger she’d been lucky enough to sight in the mangrove swamps of West Bengal. Tigers might be graceful. They were also dangerous and had very sharp teeth.

  Get a grip, Julie scolded herself. She had a trick or two up her sleeve when it came to self-defense. And so what if he was the kind of man who’d guarantee that any woman worthy of the name would be chomping at the bit? She said with a valiant attempt at friendliness, holding out her hand, “My name’s Julie Renshaw.”

  With huge reluctance Travis clasped her hand, then dropped it as fast as he decently could. “Travis Strathem,” he said.

  She frowned. “Are you a cousin of Brent’s?”

  “No.”

  She flushed again at a reply whose brevity verged on rudeness. “Let me be honest,” she said pleasantly. “I was really enjoying being alone until you came along, and it’s pretty clear you’re not craving my company. But we have to wait here for the launch and share the trip to the island. Couldn’t we at least talk about the weather? Which, you must admit, is perfectly glorious.”

  Travis was known in some circles as a diplomat for his ability to smooth ruffled feathers under difficult circumstances; why had this ability been turned on its head by a pair of emerald eyes? He said incautiously, “If you think sunset’s beautiful, wait until you see the sun rise through a mist lying low on the water…”

  For a moment his gaze was lost in the past. Julie said curiously, “You’ve obviously been here before. If your last name’s Strathem, I’m surprised they don’t know you’re coming—Oliver said I was the only guest arriving today.”

  They didn’t know he was coming because he hadn’t told them. Simple. Restlessly moving his shoulders, Travis said, “There must have been a mix-up.”

  He was, Julie thought, a very bad liar. But why would he bother lying to a complete stranger? Intent upon learning more about him, she said easily, “Have you visited Manatuck often?”

  “Not for years,” he said shortly. “How did you meet Brent?”

  “Through mutual friends. We’ve only had a couple of dates. But I’ve always wanted to stay on one of the islands, so I must admit I jumped at the chance of this weekend.”

  To his horror, Travis heard himself say, “So you’re not Brent’s lover?”

  His question hung in the air. Julie said coolly, “You didn’t mean to ask that, did you?”

  She was much too astute for his own liking. “You’re right—it was the wrong question,” he said. “I should have asked if your eyes are really that green?”

  If her eyes were green, Julie thought furiously, his were a startling blue. Yet close up, they yielded as little information about what lay below the surface as did the ocean. “Why do you care what color my eyes are?”

  “Put it down to idle curiosity.”

  “I don’t think anything’s idle where you’re concerned,” she said dryly. “So if you’re not Brent’s cousin, who are you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What if I’m his elder brother?”

  “What if the launch is docking right now?” she replied with gentle mockery. “He’s never mentioned a brother to me.”

  “I’m sure he hasn’t. What if you tell me the real color of your eyes?”

  Thoughtfully Julie gazed up at him. She was realistic enough to know that her eyes were her best feature. Her creamy skin she was apt to curse in these days of high UV and sunscreen; her body had gotten her into hot water too many times to be considered a desirable asset. As for her hair, she’d cut it short several years ago, partly because Africa and India were hot countries, partly because she’d read somewhere that waist-length hair turned men into lustful idiots. Quite suddenly she began to laugh. “I’m not wearing contacts at all, bright green or otherwise—I have twenty-twenty vision. Do you want to know something else? My mother always said I was stubborn. But compared to you, I’m a rank amateur.”

  Although his own smile was reluctant, it changed his face immeasurably. The strong nose, firmly carved lips and hewn chin were still the same, as was the unruly hair, so dark as to be almost black; but the smile brought his features to life in a way that was wholly masculine and incredibly, compellingly sexy. Male energy, Julie thought dazedly, that’s what powers him. Forceful, formidable and hugely charismatic energy. It enveloped her, almost as if he’d put his arms around her.

  She took an unconscious step backward, saying breathlessly, “I’ve met a lot of men the last few years, many of them very attractive. But you, I have to say, take the cake.”

  His lashes flickered. Then he said ironically, “Good line. Now are you going to ask for my phone number? Brent won’t like that.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not fighting the women off. Because I won’t believe you.”

  “Yeah,” he drawled, “I fight ’em off. Like I said, I don’t belong to anyone.”

  “Neither do I,” she said softly. “And that includes Brent.”

  A flicker of rage removed any vestige of Travis’s smile; Brent, unless Travis was very much mistaken, was the one who’d sealed his exile from Manatuck and from his father all those years ago. Was that why he couldn’t bear the thought of Julie Renshaw as his brother’s lover? But he’d only just met the woman. Why should he care what she did, or with whom? “Let me give you a word of advice,” he said curtly. “Keep your distance from Brent this weekend. For your own good.”

  She blinked. “You hate him, don’t you?” she said slowly.

  “No! But I wouldn’t want to see you out of your depth.”

  Too late, she thought with a flash of humor. Ten minutes of Travis’s company and she was seriously out of her depth. She said, “I’m not going to—oh, there’s the launch.”

/>   A sleek powerboat had just appeared from behind the nearest island. Travis’s head swung around, his whole body taut with tension. Julie gaped up at him, quite sure he’d instantly and completely forgotten her presence. It was as though he were steeling himself for an ordeal, she thought wildly. As though whatever had brought him here would require all the courage and endurance he possessed.

  He possessed a good deal. Intuitively she knew that.

  Her gaze dropped. His fists were clenched at his sides, the knuckles white. With a compassion that had gotten her into trouble before, she rested a hand on his bare arm. “There’s something really wrong here, isn’t there?” she said. “Won’t you tell me what it is? Maybe I can help.”

  Travis dragged his eyes away from the launch: the same launch on which, at the age of sixteen, he’d fled the island. He said with icy precision, “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

  She flinched, snatching her hand back. “Fine. Forget I asked.”

  In a whirl of skirts she ran away from him, along the length of the wharf and up the slope, her sandals scrabbling in the loose dirt. Once she reached her vehicle, she unlocked the trunk and took out a bag. Then she leaned against the side of the car, ostentatiously staring into the woods as though the pine trees were the most fascinating sight she’d ever seen.

  Travis’s jaw tightened. He. didn’t need her help. He didn’t need anyone’s. Ever since he’d first been banished from the island at the age of six, he’d managed on his own. And no woman, no matter how beautiful, was going to change that.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Moodily Travis stared out to sea, where the setting sun was glancing off the polished bow of the launch. Unimaginatively, she was named Manatuck, after the island. A boat named after a woman was not for Charles; despite his two marriages, Charles Strathem didn’t have much use for women.

  Even less use for his elder son.

  Or for his only daughter. Travis already knew that Jenessa wouldn’t be on Manatuck for her father’s birthday.