The Millionaire's Virgin (Mills & Boon By Request)

by Susan Stephens

Maggie looked rueful and did so as she found a small bottle of dish detergent and squirted some green liquid into the sink. ‘The thing is—’ she turned on a tap ‘—is it ethical?’

  ‘To offer people who hold out more money?’ he mused. ‘There’s no law against it.’

  Maggie eyed the mound of bubbles building in the sink. ‘It’s going to drive Sophie and Ernest mad for the rest of their lives.’ She switched off the tap.

  ‘Don’t you think the heart of this dilemma might lie elsewhere?’

  She turned to him. ‘Elsewhere?’

  ‘Such as…’ he paused ‘… Ernest jumping at the chance to get out of a property he was finding too much for him—and even the original price was a very fair one, believe me—while Sophie wanted to stay? A marital lifestyle dilemma, in other words.’

  Maggie started to wash the dishes in silence. ‘Perhaps,’ she said eventually.

  ‘And did you know, Maggie, that I always exceed the town planning regulations regarding open spaces, sports fields and community centres like kindergartens? They may appear to you like little boxes, the houses I build, but they’re always well provided with those facilities. And while my houses may not be mansions, they are not shonky.’

  ‘I’ll… I’ll have to take your word for it, Jack.’ She rinsed the last dish, then turned to face him. ‘On the other hand, I could not but regret this property, for example, being scraped bare and built on.’

  He was sitting back looking relaxed, even amused, although she wasn’t sure why.

  ‘What?’ she asked with a frown.

  ‘I’m in agreement with you, that’s all.’

  She blinked. ‘But you said—’

  ‘I said I was contacted about it with a view to urban development. As you probably know that would mean applying for a re-zoning that I doubt I’d get, but that’s not why I came to look at it personally.’

  ‘It isn’t?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m interested in providing a buffer zone now.’ He ruffled his hair. ‘So I’m looking for the right properties to provide it. I’m also looking for one that I might live on. This could be it.’

  Maggie stared at him with her mouth open and all sorts of expressions chasing through her eyes.

  ‘I felt sure the irony of that would appeal to you,’ he drawled. ‘Why don’t you sit down and have another drink with me before you explode?’

  ‘I… you… this… I will,’ Maggie said. ‘Of all the…’ She couldn’t find the words and she dropped into a chair and accepted the glass he handed her.

  ‘Double standards?’ he suggested.

  ‘Yes! Well…’

  He laughed softly. ‘But at the same time preserving the rural environment? That is a tricky one.’

  ‘I was thinking about you joining the ‘‘ivory tower’’ club after all you said on the subject,’ she returned arctically.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any chance of that,’ he drawled.

  Maggie sipped some Scotch gratefully. It was getting cold. As she felt the warmth of it go down she watched him covertly.

  He had his hands shoved in his pockets, he was sprawled back and he appeared to be lost in thought.

  It suddenly struck Maggie with a peculiar little pang that Jack McKinnon was actually in a class of his own. Much as she would like to, she couldn’t deny his ivory-tower-club theory, although she’d certainly fought her own battles against being drawn into the socialite/debutante kind of society he meant: the polo, the races, fashion shows, winter skiing/summer cruise followers.

  She’d always longed for a broader canvas. She wanted to work; she wanted to travel, but a different circuit from the one her father and his friends travelled from one exclusive resort to another.

  She wanted, she realized, to know people like this man and overcome his basic contempt for her kind. Yet, it struck her with some irony, only hours ago she’d been so angry with him, her thoughtless expression of it had reinforced everything he disliked about her ‘kind’.

  The mystery of it all, though, was why did it matter so much to her? There was a whole world of unusual, interesting people out there…

  ‘So what do you suggest?’

  She came out of her reverie at his question to find him watching her narrowly, as if he’d got the vibes that her preoccupation was to do with him, and she moved a little uncomfortably.

  ‘Uh—what do you mean?’

  He shot her a last lingering look, then got up and stretched. ‘Where do we sleep, Miss Trent?’

  ‘That’s not a problem. I’ve already worked it out,’ she told him as her mind moved like lightning. ‘I’ll use the back seat of the car. You can—’ she gestured ‘—use the settee.’

  He grimaced. ‘Quick thinking, that.’

  ‘You’re too long for the car,’ she pointed out reasonably.

  ‘I’m too long for the settee and it looks filthy.’ He crossed over and tested it, then looked down at it critically. ‘On the other hand, if this is what I think it is,’ he said slowly, ‘I might not be so hardly done by after all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He pulled off the cushion seats, pulled up a bar and the settee converted itself into a sofa bed. What was more, it was made up with fairly clean-looking sheets, a thin blanket and two flat pillows.

  ‘Diagonally, I might just fit if I bend my knees.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ she said rather tartly.

  He cocked his head at her. ‘While you’re left without a blanket or any covering—is that what you’re suggesting?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘The penalty for such quick thinking,’ he murmured, and laughed at her expression. ‘Here’s what we’ll do. Did you happen to see a pair of scissors in the kitchen cupboards or drawers?’

  Maggie went to check and came back with a rusty pair. ‘Only these.’

  ‘They’ll do.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘This. Not our property obviously, but desperate circumstances call for desperate measures and we can replace them.’

  He made several cuts then, using both hands, he ripped the double blanket and two sheets in half. He handed her hers ceremonially along with one of the pillows. ‘There you go. I may never belong to the ivory tower club, but I can be a gentleman of sorts.’

  She knew from the wicked look in his grey eyes that the joke was on her, but not what the joke was. She suspected it could be more than the ivory tower club, but…?

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Maggie Trent,’ he said softly, but with more humour apparent in his eyes. ‘Go to bed.’

  Maggie turned away slowly. Before she did go to bed, she removed her boots, released her hair and paid a visit to the bathroom. Then she climbed into the back seat of the car, only to climb out again.

  ‘What?’ He was seated on the sofa bed taking his shoes off.

  ‘I think it would be a good idea to leave the light on.’ She gestured widely. ‘Might deter the mice from getting too friendly.’

  ‘You’re scared of mice?’

  ‘Not scared,’ she denied. ‘I just don’t like the idea of close contact with them. Do you?’

  ‘Not particularly. OK. It can stay on.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She hesitated as she was struck by an amazing thought—that her arbitrary organization of the sleeping choices might have been a miscalculation. Or, put it this way, she would feel much safer and more comfortable if she were to share the sofa bed with him, purely platonically of course.

  Her eyes widened as she combed her fingers through her hair and posed a question to herself— You’re not serious?

  ‘Maggie?’

  ‘Uh—’ some colour came to her cheeks ‘—nothing. It’s nothing. Goodnight,’ she said and could have shot herself for sounding uncertain.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Mmm…’ She marched over to the car and got in again.

  Jack McKinnon waited until she’d closed the door, wound down a window and disappeared from view. Then he la
y back, pulled his half of the thin blanket up and examined his very mixed feelings on the subject of Maggie Trent.

  Something of a firebrand, undoubtedly, he wouldn’t be here otherwise—he grimaced. Plenty of hauteur, as well, a good dose of her father’s genes, in other words, yet her personality was curiously appealing in a way her father’s could never be, not to him anyway.

  How so? he asked himself. She’d exhibited just about every failing you might expect from a spoilt little rich girl, even to ordering him to sleep on the sofa.

  Perhaps it was the power of her emotions, then, he mused. Even if misguidedly, she was passionate about the environment. She felt deeply about the plight of the Smiths—he grimaced again. But there was something else…

  Her peachiness? That damned word again… OK, then, she was lovely. About five feet four, he judged, her figure was trim, almost slight, but he got the feeling it might be delightful: delicately curved, velvety nipples, small, peachy hips—yes, the word did fit somewhere!—satiny skin and all that tawny hair, not to mention stunning eyes to set it off. But what was it that puzzled him about her—an aura of sensual unawareness?

  Maybe, he thought, then amended the thought to— sometimes… When he’d mentally stripped her she’d got all hot and bothered as well as angry. Now, though, being trapped in a shed with a strange man, virtually, who had mentally stripped her, appeared not to faze her. Why not?

  Had a habit of command kicked in that didn’t allow her even to contemplate things getting out of hand? Whatever, he concluded with an inward smile, it was rather intriguing and refreshing. Not that he’d do anything about it…

  So why—he posed the question to himself—was he not more… absolutely furious about the current state of affairs? True, he’d been frustrated and irritable when trying to saw through the door, he’d been incredulous and angry when it had first happened, but…

  He shrugged. All the same, he was going to have to come up with something tomorrow. He stared upwards. If he could figure out a way to get up to the roof, that might be his best shot after all.

  Maggie arranged herself as best she could on the back seat of the car, only to discover that sleep suddenly seemed to be the furthest thing from her mind.

  She was confused, she realized. Confused, tense and annoyed with herself. What an incredibly stupid thing to do! Would she ever grow out of these rash, hot-headed impulses that plagued her from time to time? When would they get out of this wretched shed?

  Well, that explained the tension and the annoyance, she reasoned, but what was she confused about?

  Jack McKinnon, it came to her. It seemed to be impossible to tear her thoughts away from him! Because she didn’t understand him? Was that so surprising? She barely knew him, but, going on what she did know of him, his reactions had been rather surprising.

  Yes, there was still that underlying contempt, there had been open contempt, but he could have made things much more uncomfortable for her. He could have treated her far more severely and scathingly… Had she misjudged him? Well, no, he had offered the first insult. Then again, that had obviously been based on her father’s reputation.

  All the same, she hadn’t expected to end up liking him…

  She sighed exasperatedly and closed her eyes.

  Jack woke up at three o’clock.

  As he glanced at his watch he was amazed that he’d slept so long; he didn’t need much sleep. What also amazed him was the sight of Maggie Trent asleep at the table with her head pillowed on her arms.

  He sat up abruptly and the rusty springs of the sofa bed squeaked in protest.

  Maggie started up, wide-eyed and alarmed. ‘Who… what…?’

  ‘Only me,’ he said reassuringly. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I… just couldn’t sleep. It was like being in a coffin, no, a hearse,’ she corrected herself. ‘I felt seriously claustrophobic.’

  ‘You should have told me earlier!’

  She eyed him, then smiled, a faint little smile of pure self-mockery. ‘I do sometimes find it hard to admit I could be wrong about—things.’

  He grimaced, then had to laugh. ‘OK.’ He got up. ‘That admission earns you a spell on the bed.’

  ‘Oh, you definitely wouldn’t fit into the car, so—’

  ‘Don’t argue, Maggie,’ he ordered. ‘I have no intention of trying the car anyway.’

  ‘But it’s only three o’clock,’ she pointed out. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Seriously apply myself to getting us out of here. Come on, do as you’re told.’

  Maggie got up reluctantly, but she sank down onto the sofa bed with a sigh of relief. Then she frowned. ‘Does that mean you haven’t been serious about getting us out of here until now?’

  He glanced at her. Her hair was spread across the pillow and even in the feeble light her eyes were discernibly green—he couldn’t remember knowing anyone with those colour eyes, he thought, then remembered her father. Of course. His mouth hardened.

  ‘Let’s just say I don’t like being thwarted.’ He turned away.

  ‘Did that annoy you,’ she asked, ‘me saying you weren’t serious?’

  He shrugged. ‘It reminded me that I’ve been in this damn shed for long enough.’

  ‘You’ve been—for the most part—you’ve been pretty good about it. I do appreciate that.’

  ‘Yes, well, why don’t you go to sleep?’

  She didn’t answer immediately, then, ‘The more I think about it, the roof is the only way to go. I hate to say I told you so, but if we could get up there somehow, it is only an old tin roof and maybe we could prise one of the sheets open or apart or something. I’m actually quite good at climbing.’

  He was stretching and he turned to her with his arms above his head.

  Maggie took a strange little breath as the full impact of his beautiful physique hit her.

  ‘Climbing?’ he said.

  ‘I used to do gymnastics, seriously, and I’ve done an abseiling course. I’m not afraid of heights and I have good balance.’ She looked upwards. ‘I wouldn’t have any trouble balancing on those beams.’

  He studied her thoughtfully, then stared around. ‘If I got onto the roof of the car and you got onto my shoulders, you might just reach a beam.’

  Maggie sat up. ‘Yes!’ She subsided. ‘But what to use to attack the roof with?’ she asked whimsically.

  The toolbox he’d got the saw out of was lying on the floor next to the table. He bent over and pulled out a short chrome bar. ‘Heaven alone knows what this is for, but it might do, although—’ he grimaced ‘—whether you’d have the strength—’

  She cast aside the blanket and got up. ‘I could try!’

  He hesitated a moment longer, then shrugged. ‘We’ll give it a go.’

  Five minutes later they were both on the roof of the car.

  ‘Just as well they built them solidly in those days,’ he commented with a fleeting grin, and squinted upwards. ‘OK, here’s what we’ll do.’

  He had both halves of the blanket. ‘I’m going to try and throw these over the beam. That should give you something to work with. Look—’ he stripped off his shirt ‘—take this up with you. Once you get up there, if you do, you’ll need as much protection from splinters as you can get and I’ll also tie the bar into one sleeve. You sit down while I throw.’

  This time she did say it— ‘Yes, sir!’—but good-naturedly and even with something akin to excitement in her voice.

  He looked down at her. ‘You’re a strange girl, Maggie Trent.’

  ‘I know,’ she agreed.

  He opened his mouth as if to say more as they gazed at each other, but changed his mind.

  Maggie sat down cross-legged and tied his shirt around her waist. It took him several attempts, but he finally got both bits of blanket dangling over the beam.

  ‘Now for the tricky bit.’ He knelt down. ‘Climb onto my shoulders. Don’t worry, I won’t drop you and I won’t fall myself—I also have good balance.’
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br />   ‘Are you a gymnast too?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘No, but I did some martial arts training in my misguided youth.’

  Maggie climbed onto his shoulders. ‘Well, I’m happy to know I wasn’t completely wrong about you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I took you for a much more physical guy who’d prefer to be climbing Mount Everest rather than building housing estates.’

  ‘Really.’ He grinned. ‘That should provide an interesting discussion at another time. Are you comfortable, Miss Trent? If at any stage you would rather not be doing this, for heaven’s sake tell me. I won’t hold it against you and we can all be wrong at times.’

  Maggie looked down at the top of his head and placed her hands lightly upon it. ‘Up you get—I was going to say Samson, but your hair’s not long enough. I’m fine.’

  ‘Here’s hoping you don’t have any Delilah tendencies,’ he commented wryly and brought his hands up to wrap them around her waist. ‘Here goes.’

  He got to his feet slowly and steadily. At no time did Maggie feel insecure and at all times she had to appreciate his strength and co-ordination.

  When he was upright, she carefully lifted her hands until she was able to grasp the blankets.

  ‘All right?’ he queried, his breath rasping in his throat.

  ‘I’ve got them.’ She tied the ends together and wrapped her hands in them. ‘If I could stand up, I could reach the beam. It would be just above waist- height and easier to vault onto. I’d also have the blanket as a sort of safety strap.’

  ‘Are you very sure, Maggie?’

  ‘Yep. Can you handle it, though?’

  ‘No problem. Easy does it.’

  Putting her weight on the blankets, Maggie levered herself up onto her feet. ‘I’m not hurting you, am I?’ she asked anxiously as she felt his hands close round her ankles.

  ‘What do you think I am?’ he countered.

  ‘Very strong. Well…’ she swallowed ‘… here goes again.’ A moment later as he rocked beneath her but stayed upright she was straddling the rafter.

  ‘Well done, Maggie!’