The Millionaire's Marriage Demand

by Sandra Field

  “Yes, I did. Not that you’re sleeping with him, of course.”

  Refusing to drop her eyes, Julie said, “I didn’t make love with Brent. Nor did I, in the literal sense of the words, sleep with him.”

  “Why don’t you tell the truth for once?”

  “Why don’t you listen when I do?”

  “I believe what I see. And what I saw was my brother leaving your room at two-thirty in the morning, in his bare feet and carrying his shirt over his arm.”

  “Too bad you hadn’t seen me threatening him with a marble statue of Aphrodite and then dragging a cedar chest across the door so he couldn’t get in again!”

  “Didn’t you like him as a lover?” Travis snarled.

  Hands on her hips, she railed, “You listen to me—I locked my bedroom door last night when I went to bed because the thought crossed my mind that Brent might try some funny business in the middle of the night. But Bertram, bless his doddery old soul, keeps a spare set of keys in the pantry where everyone can help themselves. Did I know that? No, I did not!”

  As she briefly paused for breath, Travis said nastily, “If you had, you’d have done the cedar chest routine when you went to bed. I bet.”

  As quickly as it had flared to life, Julie’s temper died, leaving her with a horrible emptiness in her belly. She dropped her hands to her sides. “You won’t believe me whatever I say, will you, Travis? You made your mind up about me the first moment you saw me on the wharf. Fine, believe what you like. See if I care.”

  She sounded like a kid in kindergarten, she thought in despair, and pivoted so she could hurry back down the path. Anywhere, just as long as she could run from the contempt in Travis’s face. Tears blurring her vision, she stumbled over a rock.

  Travis grabbed her around the waist. She flailed out at him, striking him on the wrist. “Take your hands off me!” Instead he pulled her to face him, lifted her chin and kissed her full on the mouth. For Julie, this was the last straw. She wrenched her mouth free, the tears now streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t! You’re no better than he is.”

  Travis stared at her, appalled. She thought he was like Brent. That was what she was saying. According to her, first Brent had attacked her, and now he, Travis, was doing the same thing. Acting instinctively, he smoothed away the tears that were dribbling down to her chin. “Don’t cry, Julie,” he said in a raw voice. “Please don’t cry.”

  She pulled a crumpled tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I’m not crying,” she said defiantly. “I never cry over men, they’re not worth it.”

  Her eyes were still shimmering with tears; he could feel them drying on his palm, in a way that seemed incredibly intimate. But before he could think of anything else to say, she hiccuped, “Do you know what was worst about last night? He let himself into my room while I was asleep and then he just sat there, watching me.” Her breath caught on another sob. “I hate the thought of him doing that. Besides, I was d-dreaming about you.”

  “About me?” Travis repeated stupidly.

  “Oh God, I shouldn’t have told you that. My tongue’s always running away with me, my mother says it’s one of my worst faults and she’s right. Forget I ever mentioned it. I’m going back to my room to pack, I’m going to eat a huge breakfast and then I’m going right back to the mainland with Oliver. I’ve had enough of you and your family and that horrible Disneyland heap of stone.”

  Travis said, a quiver of laughter in his voice, “I was planning to do exactly the same.”

  She gave him a look that was far from friendly. “You can go on a later boat. Not on mine.”

  “Surely there’s room on the launch for both of us.”

  “There wouldn’t be room on the Titanic for you and me. Besides, you came here to make peace with your father, that’s what you told me. So do it. And good luck to you.”

  Travis said carefully, “So you didn’t make love with Brent last night? You’ve never made love with him?”

  “Two brilliant deductions. You can add something else. I never will make love with Brent.”

  Could he believe her? Going to her room in the dead of night would be the sort of stunt Brent would pull. Travis said sharply, “Did he hurt you?”

  “He did not. Although I broke two fingernails on one corner of the cedar chest.”

  His breath escaped from his lungs in a small whoosh. But he had one more question. “What kind of dream was it? The one about me, I mean.”

  “Never you mind.”

  “Unprintable?”

  Hurriedly she changed the subject. “Did you spend much time here as a boy?”

  “Until I was six, yes,” he said shortly. “Then I was sent to boarding school.”

  “Which, by the look of you, you hated.”

  “Yeah,” he said dismissively. “Although later on I made a good friend there—we still keep in touch. Bryce was as big a rebel as I was.” He gave a reminiscent smile. “Once we took all the masters’ black gowns and draped them around the cows in a nearby field. They were Jersey cows, the ones with the big eyelashes, they looked very sweet. We nearly got expelled for that.”

  “I put banana peels in the church organ when I was nine. But I didn’t get caught.”

  As mischief danced in her eyes, Travis laughed. “Does that mean you’re smarter or sneakier?” Then, suddenly intent, he added, “Why don’t you cry about men, Julie? And how many men are we talking about here?”

  She put her head to one side, her amusement fading. “You and I are going our separate ways today. I don’t really think my romantic past, such as it is, is any of your business.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Portland. For now.”

  “So do I. It’s a small place—we’ll probably bump into each other.”

  “I doubt it—I won’t be there long.”

  She’d retreated from him in a way he couldn’t fathom, and that at some deep level angered him intensely. “What are you running away from?”

  “You’re a fine one to talk. You’re giving up on your father without a fight.”

  “You know nothing about my father and me. So lay off,” Travis said softly.

  She knew quite a bit; but she wasn’t about to reveal she’d eavesdropped on an acrimonious family discussion. By the look of him, he’d bite her head off. She said flatly, “I’m going to walk back along the cliffs. Goodbye, Travis. It’s been interesting meeting you.”

  Not so fast, he thought, and said with a lazy grin, “I’ll stay for the party if you will.”

  “That’s boarding school talk!”

  “Scared to stay, Julie? Surely you’re not scared of me?” One of the several ways she’d rebelled against the sterility of her upbringing had been to accept any dare that came her way; she still had the scars where she’d fallen off the high brick wall that surrounded her elementary school. Hadn’t every job she’d ever taken been a continuation of that dare?

  Travis was just a man. She’d been exaggerating her response to him; she’d never had any trouble handling men before. And despite what she’d said to him about going back to the mainland, she was intensely curious to learn more about the Strathems and their tangled family history. “If you stay, you have to make an effort to reconcile with your father,” she said, tossing her head.

  “If you stay, you have to keep your distance from Brent.”

  “No problem,” she said fervently.

  “Done,” Travis said, took her in his arms and kissed her.

  He’d intended it as a joke, a way of sealing their bargain. But as her body stiffened in his embrace, her palms pushing against his chest, it very soon changed into something else. Fire streaking through his belly. A searching for a response he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything before. He moved his lips over hers, one hand stroking her spine, the other moving lower to clasp her by the hips.

  With a suddenness that jolted through his body, Julie kissed him back. The resistance melted from her frame; her hands moved up his sho
ulders to lace themselves behind his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. In a surge of heat he felt the softness of her breasts against his chest, and deepened his kiss, easing her lips apart, drinking deeply of their sweetness.

  His groin hardened. But instead of moving away, she leaned into him, her hips pressed to his. “Julie,” he muttered, “beautiful Julie,” and thrust with his tongue. His whole body was aflame with need. And what better place to make love with her than here, his favorite haunt since he was a small boy?

  She was willing. He was in no doubt of that.

  He fumbled for the hem of her shirt, easing his hand beneath it to find the silky smoothness of her back, the curved ridges of her ribs. With another of those disorienting jolts he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra; as his fingers slid around her ribs to cup the soft swell of her breast, she whimpered with pleasure.

  Her nipple hardened beneath his thumb. He plundered her mouth, desperate for her, and felt her tug his T-shirt free of his jeans. Then her palm glided from his navel up to the tangle of dark hair on his chest. He freed his mouth long enough to mutter, “We’re wearing far too many clothes.” Easing her away, he reached for the top button on her shirt. “I want to see you. All of you. Lie down with me, Julie…”

  Her eyes were dazzled, her skin delicately flushed; her mouth was swollen from his kisses. He nibbled gently at her lower lip, murmuring between kisses, “I want you so much, you’re so lovely, so generous.” With a husky laugh he added, “But the buttons on your shirt are much too small… can you help me?”

  Taking her consent as a given, he hauled his shirt over his head. She was standing very still, watching him, her eyes glued to the taut lines of his body. Her face convulsed, and briefly she pressed her hands to her cheeks. She looked stunned, he thought. Stunned and frightened out of her wits. Frightened? Of him? “You don’t need—”

  She said faintly, as though he hadn’t spoken, “Travis, we can’t! We can’t make love like this. We don’t know the first thing about each other, and all we’ve done is fight ever since we met.” Her breath caught in a little sob. “It would be madness.”

  Her distress was all too evident; it was no act. Even so, he was almost sure that if he kissed her, he could change her mind. But did he want to make love with her and then have her regret it afterward? He said hoarsely, “Let me tell you this much—I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. And that’s the God’s truth.”

  She bit her lip. “You terrify me,” she whispered. “You make me into a stranger, a woman I don’t even know. I never behave like this. Never!”

  The tumult in his body was slowly subsiding. Travis said roughly, “Stay, Julie. Stay the whole weekend. At least do that.”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know!”

  She was like a hare cornered by wolves, he thought, with the same desperate need for escape. He’d been a fool to kiss her so passionately, frightening her away.

  What scared him was how little choice he’d had; how something about her called to him in the most primitive way possible. And explain that if you can, Travis Strathem.

  He should be begging her to leave, not to stay. He had enough on his plate right now without adding to the mix a woman as complex and desirable as Julie.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” she muttered. “I can find my own way back— I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  In full view of the family. He said, making no attempt to hide his frustration, “I don’t know the first thing about you—where you live in Portland, whether you’re working there, where you’re from.”

  She looked straight at him. “You know something about me I didn’t even know myself,” she whispered. Then, before he could respond, she’d turned and was running down the path. The shrubs closed over her passage, the leaves swaying and then still. As though he’d dreamed her, Travis thought. As though she didn’t really exist.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By the time Julie had crossed the ornately carved bridge over the stream, she was panting for breath. She’d run hard all the way from the cliffs; and it had helped her make up her mind. She’d go straight to her room to pack. Then she’d go in search of Oliver to find out what time he was leaving for the mainland; she could always tell Corinne and Charles that her headache was worse, not better.

  Running away, Julie?

  You’re darn right, she thought, bursting out of the woods, then stopping dead in her tracks. Corinne, tastefully dressed in tailored trousers and a pale pink sweater, was clipping roses in the garden, laying them in a basket that could have come out of a Jane Austen novel. She raised her head when she saw Julie. “Good morning,” she said cordially. “How are you feeling, Julie? Better, I gather?”

  Julie swallowed a tremor of laughter. She could hardly say her headache was worse, not when she’d been pounding through the woods as though she were training for a marathon. “It’s fine, thank you. What beautiful colors!”

  “I want them for decorating the buffet table tonight.” Corinne started naming the different varieties, giving Julie a brief history of each as she went. Julie listened with half her attention, wondering why Corinne couldn’t be as interested in her stepson’s welfare as she was in her roses. Then Corinne broke off to ask, “Have you seen Travis this morning by any chance?”

  “He’s out at the lighthouse.”

  “I should have guessed that’s where he’d be.” Rather too casually, Corinne added, “He did say last night that he may not stay for the party. Oliver could take him back around nine.”

  Julie didn’t know if Travis was going to stay. Even less did she know her own decision. She stared down at the petals of a rose called Ferdinand Pichard, its petals striped deep pink and white. Passion and purity, she thought, and forced down the memory of Travis’s devastatingly passionate kisses, and her own equally ardent response.

  Stay or go. Which was it to be?

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Corinne asked.

  “I’m fine.” Julie gulped, and added impulsively, “I hope Travis will stay. He mentioned something about making peace with his father. Life’s too short for families to be estranged, wouldn’t you agree, Corinne?”

  Corinne snipped off a spray of creamy floribundas. “Travis isn’t easy to get along with. Nor do I want anything to spoil Charles’s party—we’ve gone to far too much trouble and expense for that.” Reaching for a delicate pale yellow rose centered with pink, she added, “Have you known Brent long?”

  “Long enough,” Julie said dryly, not really caring how Corinne interpreted that. “I’m going to have a shower, I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  She marched across the grass. Huge tents with striped awnings were being erected near the main door; baskets of blue and pink hydrangeas flanked the stone walls. It would be a beautiful party, she thought irritably. Appearance over substance. Just like her entire life with her parents.

  Would Travis stay? Or would he leave?

  When Travis entered the dining room, where breakfast was always served buffet style on the vast mahogany sideboard, Charles and Corinne were already there. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “No sign of Brent?”

  “Brent rarely eats breakfast,” Charles said shortly.

  “Did you sleep well?” Corinne asked with punctilious good manners.

  “About as badly as a man can sleep,” Travis said. “I’m staying, Dad. I’ll tell everyone tonight that I just got in from Angola, that’s why they haven’t seen me around. And before that it was Tanzania and Laos. Apart from anything else, it happens to be the truth.”

  “And when are you returning to Angola?” Charles rapped.

  “I’ve taken over a private practice in Portland for the summer, because the resident doctor wanted to go to Scotland with his family. So I’ll be heading out early in the fall. Although probably not back to Angola.”

  “All summer?” Charles croaked.

  Travis’s voice sharpened. “What’s the matter?”

  “You’re spen
ding the whole summer in Portland?”

  “That’s right.” Trying to ignore the fact that his father looked aghast, Travis gave him a crooked smile. “Maybe you’ll invite me out to the island in a couple of weeks, when we’ll have more time to talk.”

  Charles took a big gulp of coffee. “I want to talk to you now, Travis. Or at least right after breakfast. Corinne, would you pass the marmalade, please?”

  Travis poured a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. He had no idea what was going on. But at least Charles wanted to talk to him. That was a hopeful sign.

  Why hadn’t Julie arrived for breakfast? Had she already left? The launch had still been at the dock when he’d walked back from the lighthouse, and there’d been no sign of Oliver. How would he feel if he never saw her again?

  Then footsteps tapped across the oak floor and Julie walked through the door. She was wearing her flowered sundress with scarlet flat-heeled sandals; her hair was damp from the shower. Travis’s fingers tightened around his glass. What had happened out at the lighthouse had been no aberration; he wanted her now just as much as then.

  With old-fashioned courtesy Charles got to his feet. “Good morning, Julie. Did you sleep well?”

  “I woke up early,” she said truthfully, “so I went out to the lighthouse.” She smiled at Charles. “I can see why Travis loves Manatuck—it’s so beautiful out there.”

  Travis swallowed a smile. Charles said manfully, “I’m glad you’re having a good time. I hope you’ll join me in a game of tennis later this morning?”

  There was a fractional hesitation; Travis held his breath. Then Julie said, “That’d be lovely. Although I haven’t played for quite a while.”

  She was staying. Travis turned back to the sideboard, staring at a platter of sliced fruit as if he’d never seen melons and strawberries before. So the die was cast. For the next twenty-four hours the two of them would be together on the island.

  Julie started asking questions about the history of Manatuck, a subject dear to Charles’s heart. Travis helped himself to bacon and eggs, sat down and began eating. The legal complications of purchasing the island, and the logistical complications of erecting a castle on it, happily occupied Charles for the next half hour. Then he pushed back his chair. “Finished, Travis?” he asked. “Why don’t we go to the library? Julie, I’ll meet you at the courts in about an hour. The rackets are kept in the club house.”