How To Marry A Millionaire (For Richer, For Poorer)

by Charlotte Maclay

  “Tell you what, Creighton. I’ll accept your challenge but with one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That we play mixed doubles. And I get to bring my own partner.”

  Curt’s forehead stitched into a frown. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

  “I know,” she said brightly. That was precisely why she was going to ask a very good client of the firm to come along tomorrow.

  Chapter Five

  “Played at Wimbledon, eh?” Curt eyed the graying tennis player. As trim and fit as a man twenty years his junior, the old pro definitely wasn’t over the hill yet.

  “Stefan was seeded in the top twelve professional tennis players for nearly ten years,” Kathryn said a bit too smugly, “and won men’s doubles twice at Wimbledon.”

  “Three times,” Stefan corrected with an easy smile.

  That news did not please Curt. He should have known Kathryn would try to outmaneuver him, this time with a devilishly good-looking silver fox. “Yeah, well, I asked LaVerne and LaVilla to be my partner.”

  “One at a time, I trust,” Kathryn said sharply.

  Amused at her tone, Curt lifted a mocking eyebrow. “That’s how I’ve always preferred my women,” he reminded her.

  Color stained her cheeks and she made a low, exasperated sound deep in her throat. Damn, she looked good in shorts. Nice legs, lightly tanned, calves that were made for a man to palm and well-turned ankles.

  She wore a sun visor that shaded the freckles that kissed her nose. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail took on the color of sunlight shot through with threads of fire. Curt itched to feel the weight of the silken strands wrapped around his fingers.

  “Can we get this over with?” she urged.

  Curt signaled the twins to join them.

  As the two long-legged young women promenaded across the tennis court, Curt noted Stefan’s interested appraisal. The silver fox still had a youthful eye for the ladies. Perhaps Curt could put that understandable human frailty to appropriate use.

  “Mr. Lunada,” the twins crooned in unison following Curt’s introduction. “What an honor to meet you.”

  “Could we get your autograph?” one asked.

  “Our little brother back home would be thrilled. He plays on the high school tennis team, you know.”

  “Varsity.”

  “Of course, the school isn’t all that big.”

  “My dears...” Stefan generously bestowed a light kiss on each young woman’s cheek. “It is you who honor this old man with your charming presence.”

  The twins giggled.

  Kathryn rolled her eyes.

  Smiling, Curt came up with a plan.

  In the first two minutes of warm-up shots, it was obvious that Curt and LaVerne—or LaVilla—were outclassed on the court. Stefan had a hundred-mile-an-hour forehand and a backhand that sliced the ball in half. Curt didn’t even want to consider the old pro’s serve, a speeding bullet that threatened to blast a hole right through the strings of his very expensive racquet, assuming he could manage to get his racquet somewhere in the vicinity of the ball.

  Kathryn was pretty darn good, too, fully a match for either of the twins. For Curt, as well, if he was honest with himself. He and Kathryn would make a pretty good team. Not that she seemed eager to consider that possibility.

  But neither of his opponents worried Curt. He had an unbeatable secret weapon—two of them.

  Taking a break, his breath sawing through his lungs more than he liked and sweat dripping down his face, Curt huddled with his partners at the baseline. Both ladies enthusiastically gave their support to his plan.

  Curt strolled with casual ease to the net, picked up a couple of balls he hadn’t been able to return and lured Stefan within whispering distance.

  “I could use your help, old buddy,” Curt said.

  “A few pointers on your backhand?” Stefan asked.

  “Not exactly. You see, winning this tennis match is my last chance to get a date with Kathryn.”

  “Yes. So she informs me. All we need do is beat you in two games, a feat that should not be difficult, and then—”

  “I’d like to arrange a trade.”

  Stefan looked at him curiously. “A trade?”

  “LaVerne and LaVilla would like to get to know you better, but they have one very firm rule about the gentlemen they date. They’re a competitive pair, you see, and they never, ever go out with someone who has beaten them at tennis.”

  “Ah.” An amused smile curled Stefan’s lips. “It seems you are offering me a most creative bribe to throw a match.”

  “We men have to stick together.”

  “That is often true.”

  “The twins happen to be available tonight, if you don’t have any other plans.”

  Sliding a glance toward the waiting twins, Stefan’s smile grew broader. “A most enticing offer.”

  “They’re nice girls, Stefan, so don’t go getting any weird ideas,” Curt emphasized, his protective instincts leaping to the forefront. “We’re just talking about dinner and dancing. That’s it.”

  “And you, my young friend, is that all you have in mind for Kathryn?”

  “For starters.” Curt figured it would take more than one date to get past all of Kathryn’s self-defense mechanisms. But in the long run, the final outcome would be well worth the effort. “She’s special, Stefan. I know that, and there’s not a chance in hell I’d take advantage of her. Not when push comes to shove. What comes next will be the lady’s choice.”

  “Gentlemen,” Kathryn called. “Are we going to play tennis sometime today or just chat?”

  Stefan paused a moment, then nodding, he extended his hand to Curt to bind the agreement. “I shall look forward to a most delightful, circumspect evening. As I am sure you will, too.”

  “I’d rather Kathryn doesn’t realize what’s going on.”

  “I shall be the soul of discretion, my young friend.”

  Flexing his shoulder muscles and twirling his racquet confidently, Curt took up a position behind the baseline. “You can have the first serve,” he shouted. “It’s only fair since I did the challenging.”

  “As you wish,” Stefan agreed, tossing two balls to Kathryn. “You may begin, my dear.”

  Kathryn held the first ball in her hand and looked across the court at a waiting Curt. The poor guy—forget his spiffy white shorts and incredibly muscular legs—was going to lose so badly she almost felt sorry for him. But not quite. After all, he’d brought this on himself. However, a niggling bit of conscience forced her to make one concession.

  “Curt, it’s okay if you want to play right-handed,” she said. “I won’t hold you to that part of the bargain. Either way, it’s not likely to make much difference.”

  “That’s all right, sweetheart. The fact is, I always play tennis left-handed.”

  Kathryn’s jaw tightened as the sudden picture of Curt eating lunch came to her, his fork in his left hand. The no-account masher had conned her again!

  She tossed the ball in the air, acing the serve with all of the murderous fury she felt. She and Stefan were going to cream Curt and his pretty harem girls two sets to zip, or she’d know the reason why.

  * * *

  KATHRYN DIDN’T KNOW WHY the game was going so badly.

  She and Stefan had lost the first set six-two, and were already behind four-one in the second set. Stefan didn’t seem to be moving as fast as he should after the outside shots, and every time a volley landed between them, they messed up each other’s timing. She’d never imagined a former pro would serve quite so many double faults in what amounted to a recreational game.

  Of course, Curt was a pretty formidable player for an amateur. Exceptionally agile for a big man, she thought. He was a thinking player who knew where to place his shots to best advantage. He often forced their errors with an unexpected dink, or managed to send a shot right down the alley. And the twins were as fresh as sparkling daisies, she thought
unkindly, watching them alternate play every few games.

  Meanwhile, Kathryn was beginning to droop like a wilted dandelion, more so with each lost point. Perhaps Stefan’s age was finally beginning to catch up with him. She knew hers was.

  What about the bet? she fretted as she dived for the ball and missed with her backhand. Her knee stung as it scraped against concrete. How could she possibly make good on their wager if Curt won the match?

  Dragging herself up from where she had sprawled on the court, she gritted her teeth and renewed her determination. The match wasn’t over until the last point was played.

  “Hey, how ‘bout we take a breather,” Curt suggested.

  “Only if Stefan wants a break,” Kathryn replied grimly, lining up in front of the net to wait for Curt’s serve to her partner. “I’m fine.”

  “Stiff upper lip, my dear. We’ll have them on the run soon.”

  That didn’t happen. Stefan muffed the next return, and Kathryn was so arm weary she couldn’t handle the one after that, giving Curt and LaVerne a five-one lead in the set.

  Oddly, when Stefan took his turn serving, he seemed rejuvenated, a new man who refused to allow defeat. Four quick aces and Kathryn’s hopes flared, only to be shattered again when they lost the next game, set and match.

  Kathryn collapsed on a bench at the side of the tennis court. She leaned back against the chain-link fence to let the breeze dry the perspiration from her face. The air currents from the sea swept up toward the Hollywood Hills, cleansing the Los Angeles basin of smog. She closed her eyes, and her thoughts, against the dreadful tennis match. Things could not have gone more wrong.

  Someone wiped her face with a cool damp cloth, a gentle gesture almost sensual in its tenderness. She caught the scent of clean male sweat and the spicy aroma of after-shave. At some other level she was aware of a monotonous thumping noise, which she assumed was her heart slowing its beat. Carefully she opened her eyes to meet blue-green ones gazing back at her. The winner. Curt Creighton.

  She stifled a groan. He was close, really close. His hair was dark with sweat and his breath warm across the cool path he stroked with the damp cloth. His nearness invited a woman to caress his cheek, or finger comb his mussed hair back into place. His full lips were slightly parted, shaped to induce a woman to explore further with her own.

  Fighting temptation, Kathryn refused the unspoken invitation.

  “You okay?” he asked with what appeared to be sincerity.

  “Wonderful.” She would have felt equally content if she’d been asked to walk across a bed of hot coals.

  “You played a heck of a good game.”

  “Right. I guess that’s why we lost.”

  “It just wasn’t your day.”

  “Or Stefan’s.” She looked around, past the swimming pool and the neatly landscaped grounds, suddenly aware that her partner was no longer in sight. Nor were the sexy twins. The thumping noise of her heart accelerated. “Where is everyone?”

  “They had other things to do.” He slid the cloth to the back of her neck, lifting her ponytail as he rubbed the soft terry fabric along her flesh.

  “Oh.” Her throat constricted around the word. Ending up alone with Curt had not been part of Kathryn’s plan. Her failed plan, she mentally corrected.

  “You brought your own car, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, too intrigued by the sinuous movement of cool cloth against her overheated, sensitive skin to speak. Fascinated, too, by the tiny gold flecks she could see in Curt’s aqua eyes, and the sweep of his unfairly long lashes. The beat of her heart grew louder, so insistent she finally realized the noise wasn’t her heart but something outside...

  Her head snapped up.

  A helicopter hovered right above the tennis court, the spinning blades blurred against the bright blue sky.

  “Isn’t that guy flying awfully low?” she asked.

  Curt shifted his position to prevent the turbulent wind the rotors kicked up from blowing dust in Kathryn’s face. “Uh, it must be a training flight,” he explained, shouting to be heard as he curled his body protectively over hers.

  “Have you complained to the FAA? This is no place for a student pilot to be practicing. What if he had engine trouble?”

  The corners of Curt’s lips twitched into a smile. “I’ll have my attorney look into the matter.”

  “Good idea. I’ll have a letter to the FAA ready for Tom’s signature by the end of work on Monday. You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of a hazard in a residential neighborhood. Particularly an exclusive area like this. Surely you and your neighbors have political clout.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t happen often.”

  Kathryn watched as the helicopter finally moved on and blessed quiet returned. Into that silent vacuum came a new awareness. Curt had one arm draped casually around her shoulder, and his other hand rested...warmly...intimately...on her bare thigh. In bemused surprise, she studied the contrast in textures between his hard, masculine hand and her softer flesh. She imagined how the hand that had gripped his tennis racquet so surely and powerfully would feel caressing a sensitive path along her inner thigh. In response to that vividly tactile image, she felt a clenching and tightening low in her body, an uncoiling of longing that brought moisture to the apex between her legs.

  The nearly forgotten sensation of pure, unadulterated lust drove Kathryn to her feet in a near panic.

  “If everyone else is gone, I’d better be on my way, too.” With shaking hands, she slid her racquet into its carrying case.

  “No rush.”

  “I’ve got a ton of studying to do. Exams next week.” Keeping her head down, she refused to meet his gaze. She knew what he’d see in her eyes. Desire. A primitive urge she’d spent years repressing, and which Curt had rekindled as easily as if he’d struck a match to summer-dry grass. Damn. She never should have agreed to see him, even in a crowd.

  “Okay. If you’ve gotta go now, that’s fine. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  She whirled around to face him. “No.” The word came out as a painful croak.

  “Come on, honey. You’re not going to welch on our bet, are you?”

  “Not tonight,” she pleaded. Not when she was feeling so vulnerable, so very tempted by Curt’s charming smile and the residual warmth of where he had placed his hand. She felt hot all over, her lungs hyperventilating at the least little provocation.

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “That’s a work night,” she hedged. “I never go out on work nights.”

  In a deceptively smooth gesture, Curt extended his arms to trap her between the chain-link fence and his hard, unyielding chest. His face was only inches from hers, so close their lips were almost touching. “I’m not going to take no for an answer because I know you’d hate yourself in the morning for reneging on an honest bet. And I won’t have that on my conscience.” His voice dropped to a low, persuasive tone. “Name the day, sweet Katie.”

  She felt the color drain from her face. “Please don’t call me that.” Please don’t remind me of my foolish adolescent mistakes.

  “You don’t like Katie? It fits you better than Kathryn, it seems to me.”

  “The name brings back... Let’s just say I attach some rather unpleasant memories to that particular nickname.” Memories that included being the subject of gossip in the town of Waverly, hurtful words from her father and the knowledge that someday soon she had to face her past. The phone call to her sister had been a beginning. But only that.

  He twirled the tips of her hair between his fingers, slowly, seductively. “What we’re doing here, Katie girl, is making memories for the future. Our future. Nothing that happened before we met makes a fig of difference in the grand scheme of things. Can you understand that?”

  Unable to verbalize a response, or shake off the memories that had haunted her for so long, she shook her head. History couldn’t be forgotten.

  “So about our date. How ‘bout next Saturday?” he persisted
. “After your exams are over. We’ll make a day of it.”

  In the worst way she wanted to decline. But she’d made the bet in good faith and her basic sense of honesty and fair play required her to pay it off. The fact that she and Stefan should have won the tennis match hands down didn’t matter. They’d lost. Badly. And now she’d have to pay the price. Her only hope was in the next seven days she’d be able to steel herself against Curt’s determined assault on her reason.

  Numbly she nodded.

  A victorious smile creased Curt’s cheeks. “Great. I’ll pick you up at ten Saturday morning. Dress for a picnic and bring along a change of clothes for dinner.”

  He dipped his head and brushed her lips in a quick kiss that sealed the bargain and took her breath away. Her lips tingling, she stared up at him, prepared to announce her disapproval in no uncertain terms. But the words wouldn’t slide past the constriction of her throat. Lord, she was in trouble. Deep trouble.

  The sound of a woman’s voice jarred Kathryn back to some sense of reality.

  “Well, hi, you two. Looks like the game is just getting under way.”

  She was young and pretty, with flyaway brown hair, and she wore a vibrantly colored costume that made her look like a modern-day gypsy. Not very tall, her silver bracelets jingled as she scampered across the tennis court, her earrings catching the slanting rays of sunlight like colorful mirrors. When she stood on tiptoe to give Curt a kiss on the cheek, Kathryn barely suppressed a violent urge to sock the young woman in the kisser.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your playtime, big brother,” the woman said, her grin an impish replica of Curt’s.

  His sister! The steam quickly went out of Kathryn’s jealous fury. What on earth was wrong with her? Jealousy had never been her style. And she certainly had no claim on Curt—nor did she want any.

  Curt linked his arm around his sister’s waist. “Go easy, Lucy. Kathryn Prim is a very serious lady.”

  “Really?” Lucy extended her hand in friendly welcome. “I hope you’re also smart enough to keep my brother in line.”