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

by Charlotte Maclay

  “It’s lonely at the top,” he said, trying for a long-suffering tone. “All those people relying on you to make the right decisions. The stress can really get to you.”

  “Why don’t you quit?”

  He scowled. She was supposed to be sympathizing with the sacrifices he was forced to make, not finding an easy solution to his imaginary problems. “And throw all those people to the wolves? I couldn’t do that.”

  “It seems to me if your companies are so successful, a good many corporations would be happy to buy you out. You could retire.”

  “But then it wouldn’t be Creighton Enterprises anymore,” he stubbornly countered. “My dad started the company.”

  “Being happy with what you do is important.”

  “Well, yeah...”

  “Exactly what is it you do for the company?” Kathryn asked, suddenly very curious about the man who was so persistent in his pursuit of her.

  In his thoughtful pause before answering, she detected a change in his cavalier attitude, as though he took his business activities far more seriously than she had suspected.

  “Lucy and I are majority shareholders. Making decisions is about the extent of my involvement. We have a very competent CEO—Arnold Beaman—who handles the day-to-day operations.”

  “What sort of decisions do you make?”

  Gazing out to sea, he appeared to weigh his answer, and she sensed an intelligent mind that examined issues with the same care as an appellate judge. “Last week Arnie came to me with this idea to shut down a small plant we operate in Alabama. I nixed the deal.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged as though the decision was of no consequence. “The place employs about a hundred and twenty people making fancy lingerie for our Seduction catalog. The whole town has a population of maybe two thousand. If we closed the plant and moved the operation to Taiwan, like Arnie wanted to, it would kill the town’s economy.”

  “But wouldn’t the move have made good sense in terms of profit?”

  “Sure. That’s why Arnie suggested it. He’s always watching the bottom line—which makes him a dynamite CEO. Sometimes, though, he forgets there are people involved. That little town was where my mother grew up. Two generations of folks have worked in that factory. I figure we owe them our loyalty.”

  Curt’s revelation knocked Kathryn back on her mental haunches. She hadn’t expected him to be the corporate conscience of Creighton Enterprises. That was a whole different image than the one portrayed in the tabloids. A very appealing one, she admitted.

  Shifting his position to the corner of the blanket opposite Kathryn, Curt picked up the wine bottle and poured each of them a fresh glass. He hadn’t intended to talk about business. That wasn’t something a guy intent on romancing a woman was supposed to bring up. But Kathryn had seemed curious, and he admitted to being flattered by her interest.

  “Are you happy working for Weston?” he asked.

  “Mostly. The firm is fair with its employees and the people I work with are nice.” She accepted the wine, but didn’t immediately sip from the glass. “I’ll like the actual work even more after I pass the bar.”

  “You’re that ambitious?”

  “I’m not sure it’s so much ambition as it is a desire to be independent.”

  “Independent,” he echoed under his breath. “That’s not exactly the answer a guy wants to hear.”

  She visibly stiffened. “You don’t approve of a woman being self-reliant?”

  “Of course I do. Careers for women are fine. It’s just that...” He speared his fingers through his hair. With Kathryn he always seemed to be a little off balance, not nearly as self-confident as he was with other women. What could he say now? He’d been idly wondering if marriage and family were important to her. That kind of question would really be sticking his neck out.

  For now he’d be better off with a neutral topic.

  “How ‘bout a walk along the beach?” He levered himself to his feet.

  “Should we take the picnic basket back to the hotel?”

  “This is a private beach. They’ll take care of things.”

  “The hotel manager seemed to know you pretty well.”

  “I’ve played a few rounds of golf here over the years.”

  Kathryn guessed it had been more frequent than that. The two men had been quite cordial, with the manager showing Curt considerable deference. “Yes, I can see being a corporate mogul is an onerous task,” she teased. “So stressful and exhausting.”

  He gave her an innocent look that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Smiling, she stood and brushed the sand from her skirt. In a way, Curt reminded her of a sixth-grade boy intent on impressing his first girl. He needn’t bother. She had already moved beyond impressed to seriously attracted. He simply didn’t understand that a picnic at the local park would have created the same feelings.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t help wondering how long it would take a person to get used to the perks wealthy people took in stride. Your own airplane. A private beach on a nearly deserted stretch of sand. Servants and hotel managers at your beck and call. With an effort, Kathryn repressed that secret part of her that would love the chance to adjust to extravagant living. Little wonder, after surviving on her own for twelve years, she might be lured by such luxury.

  When they reached the edge of the water, she slipped off her sandals and carried them dangling by the straps. The moist sand pressed through her toes, the breeze fluttered her skirt gently against her bare legs and flicked the lose strands of her hair against her cheek like the hurried kiss of a lover. Hypnotically the waves rolled up the beach to leave a curving rim of white foam that quickly vanished. Kathryn wasn’t sure when Curt had taken her free hand in his. She simply knew within the sensual play of sound, sight and texture, his warm hand stood out as the strength she wanted to hold on to. But she didn’t dare think about that.

  A towheaded child of about six came running backward down the beach, dragging a kite that kicked and bounced along the sand.

  “Whoa, young fella,” Curt said, scooping the boy off his feet before he could crash into them. “What’s your hurry?”

  The child’s legs freewheeled in midair. “I’m flying my kite.”

  “Funny, I thought kites where supposed to go up in the sky, not bounce along the sand.”

  “My mom’s boyfriend said I hadda run real fast a real long way. Then it’ll go up all by itself. He said so.”

  A quick glance down the length of the beach made it clear to Kathryn that the boyfriend had something else on his mind besides flying kites. By now the child was well out of shouting range of his mother, assuming she ever bothered to check on his whereabouts. Kathryn felt a twist of anger at the woman’s negligence, followed by a sense of longing that was almost as painful.

  “We’d better walk the boy back to his mother,” she suggested, fighting the sudden tightness in her throat.

  “I don’t think she’s real interested in maternal activities right now,” Curt said grimly. “My father had some lady friends after Mom died who shared the same view.”

  “I wanna fly my kite.”

  Kathryn’s gaze met Curt’s aqua eyes, and she watched as a moment of sorrow was replaced by a contagious spark of mischief.

  “I used to be pretty good at this kite-flying business,” he said. “How ‘bout you?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever flown a kite. My father never had time to—”

  “Say no more.” Curt knelt in front of the boy. “What’s your name, kid?”

  The child puffed out his bare little chest. “Paul Carter Cogswell Maguire the third, sir.”

  “That’s quite a mouthful.”

  “It’s the same name as my dad ‘cept he’s number two. He doesn’t live with us no more but I can spell our whole name. P...A...U...”

  “I’ll tell you what, Paul Carter Cogswell Maguire the third, how’d you like to help me teach this nice lady how to fly a kite?”
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  The child’s expression clouded over. “I’m not real sure I can.”

  With his hand, Curt ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’ll do fine.”

  Curt retrieved the bright red-and-yellow kite, then made a quick inspection of the crosspieces, taking a moment to adjust the tension on the bowstring.

  “She looks sound to me,” he announced. “Katie, I want you to walk the kite about fifty feet that way.” He indicated a direction opposite the water’s edge. “Hold the kite up. When you feel me tug on the string, let go.”

  “You mean I don’t have to race up and down the beach like Paul was?” she said with a laugh.

  “Not in this kind of a breeze.” As though to emphasize the strength of the currents, the wind kicked a lock of Curt’s hair down over his forehead, giving him a devilishly attractive, boyish appearance.

  “I gets to hold the string,” Paul insisted.

  “You bet, kid. As soon as I get her up there for you.”

  Kathryn paced off the distance as instructed. Turning, she watched Curt and the little boy with their heads together, conferring so seriously they might have been debating the merits of a new stock investment. An ache tightened in her chest and the sharp breeze off the ocean suddenly made her eyes water. Curt, she realized, would make a wonderful father. Heavy corporate responsibilities or not, he hadn’t yet outgrown the ability to have fun. Somewhere along the way she’d certainly lost the knack.

  She wondered if she could relearn the gift of easy laughter, the joy of innocence...with the right teacher.

  “You ready?” Curt called to her.

  She swallowed uncomfortably. Ready for kite flying, yes, but she wasn’t so sure about the rest. “Whenever you are.”

  “‘Atta girl!”

  At the tug of the string, she released the kite. It rose a few feet, dipped precariously, then caught the breeze once again. As Curt let out more line the kite soared upward. Smiling, Kathryn craned her neck to watch its flight. The kite shrank in size until the red and yellow colors blended into a bright orange.

  “My turn! My turn!” Paul insisted.

  “Okay, son, but you’ve got to hold on tight. We don’t want to let her get away from us.”

  Kathryn strolled back to join the master kite flyer and his eager young apprentice. Standing at the boy’s side, unobtrusively holding the string for safety’s sake, Curt let Paul fly the kite until the child became impatient standing in one place for so long.

  “I wanna run with it some more,” the child announced.

  “In a minute, son. First we’ve got to give Katie a turn,” Curt said. “Is that okay?”

  For the second time that afternoon, Kathryn didn’t put up a fuss when Curt called her Katie. Maybe, for the moment, the sea breeze had blown her bad memories away.

  With a shrug, the child relinquished his grip on the string, then danced around in the sand to let out some of his pent-up energy.

  Kathryn took control, surprised by the powerful pull of the kite, acutely aware of Curt standing so close to her. His hand held hers and his body brushed against her shoulder, his thigh against her hip. His spicy after-shave mixed with the scent of the sea, a seductively masculine combination.

  When he slid his free arm around her midriff, Kathryn’s breath caught. The warmth of his lips feathered tiny shivery kisses on the side of her neck, sending waves of desire curling through her body. She shuddered with each new cascading swirl of pleasure, instinctively leaning back against the warmth of Curt’s body.

  And all the time the beautiful dancing kite tugged at her, luring Kathryn to follow its lead to freedom, in much the same way Curt tempted her to reach beyond the rigid limits she’d set for herself. But she knew where that temptation could lead...to heartbreak and loneliness.

  “Curt.” His name was little more than a husky whisper, and she cleared her throat of the tightness she felt. “It’s getting late. I think we’d better get Paul back to his mother.”

  “She hasn’t seemed very interested in the boy so far.”

  “I know.” Kathryn removed Curt’s arm from around her waist and eased herself away from his strong male physique. At the sudden absence of the heat radiating from his body, gooseflesh rose on her arms. “It’s getting cold, too. We’d better call it a day.”

  “It’ll take me a few minutes to reel in the kite.” He studied her with eyes darkened with the same desire she had felt. A desire she refused to acknowledge. “You’ll wait?” he asked.

  She nodded. If she had good sense, she ought to either take the next commercial flight back home, or go for a very long, cold swim in the ocean to cool down her raging hormones. But something about Curt Creighton always managed to dull her wits. A truly intelligent woman never would have agreed to this date in the first place.

  * * *

  THEY RETURNED PAUL to his mother, who seemed surprised to learn the boy had even been missing. Then Kathryn and Curt went back to the hotel and settled down in the cozy, well-appointed bar for a drink. Not quite trusting herself sober, much less tipsy, Kathryn stuck with a designer water. Curt had a beer.

  As the dinner hour approached, Curt announced that their rooms were ready.

  “Rooms?” Kathryn questioned suspiciously.

  “So we can change for dinner.”

  “Oh.” He’d obviously thought through all the details, and probably had additional plans for the rooms later.

  “Separate rooms,” he stated in response to her troubled frown. “Adjoining, of course.”

  “How convenient.”

  “With a locked door between them. If that’s your choice.”

  “It’s one of my hard-and-fast rules.” Padlocks, dead bolts and a six-inch-thick metal bar would just about do the trick. He was too damn tempting, too completely sure of himself and far too accurate in his assessment of her reaction.

  As usual, his amused smile did fluttery things to her midsection. “I gather you don’t trust me.”

  “Not a chance, fella.”

  The low rumble of his laughter invited company and made Kathryn think about hot chocolate and long winter nights wrapped in a warm blanket in front of a crackling fire. Homey things. Loving things. Things a woman longed for in the secret darkness of night. Futilely, she fought a responding smile and the heat that suffused her body.

  * * *

  SHE WAS STILL FEELING that same heat after dinner as Curt smiled at her across the small table for two in a secluded corner of the restaurant. His white dinner jacket emphasized his ruddy good looks and made his shoulders appear even broader than usual. Every female eye in the room had turned in his direction when they’d entered the dining room, and a good many of the women, escorted or not, had pointedly glanced in his direction as the evening progressed.

  To Kathryn’s surprise, Curt didn’t return a single flirtatious invitation. The fact that he had eyes only for her gave Kathryn a sense of feminine pleasure she’d rarely experienced.

  “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look this evening?” he asked, casually covering her hand with his.

  “Several times,” she reminded him.

  “I wouldn’t want to overlook an important detail like that.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Every detail of the evening had been exquisitely planned. The single red rose at her place at the table. Soft, romantic music. A discreet waiter constantly filling her wineglass with a smooth vintage that left her feeling light-headed. A delicious meal of delicately flavored fish and crisp sautéed vegetables with a savory pilaf. All of that followed by giant strawberries dipped in sinfully rich chocolate. Kathryn was beginning to think Curt was working his way through Seduction Incorporated’s catalog of tricks page by page. Worse yet, she was succumbing to his charms.

  “I like the way a few hours in the sun brings out your freckles,” he commented.

  “They’re the bane of my life. I wish I could cover them but no makeup works.”

  “Oh, no, you mustn’t hide them. I particularly don’t wa
nt you to cover this one.” He lightly touched his fingertip to the bridge of her nose. “That one’s my favorite.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you’re right.” He studied her so seriously, Kathryn almost laughed aloud. “Perhaps this one,” he concluded, his finger skimming across her cheek to an alternate freckle. “Then again, I find your lips quite fascinating, too.” His exploring finger trailed a slow path to the new subject of his conversation.

  Kathryn shuddered as he rasped his finger along the shape of her lower lip. Her mouth opened instinctively, and she tasted the remnants of chocolate on the tip of her tongue mixing with Curt’s own salty flavor. When he removed his fingertip, she automatically licked her lips. Oh, he was very good at this, and she seemed helpless to resist his seductive talents.

  The persistent throbbing she’d felt deep within her all day long grew even stronger.

  “Isn’t it getting late?” she asked in what amounted to a plea. “Maybe we should be heading—”

  “And miss our first dance? Heaven forbid.”

  Before Kathryn could stop him, Curt had pulled her to her feet and was ushering her to the small dance floor in the center of the dining room. “I haven’t danced in years,” she protested. “I’ll probably step all over your toes.”

  “Go ahead. You’re probably as light as a feather.”

  Curt captured her in his arms and tugged her firmly up against his body, gratified to feel a shudder race through her at the contact. He’d wanted to hold her like this all day. Resisting the urge had been a torturous experience he hadn’t expected. She was pretty and inconspicuously alluring on an ordinary day. Now, wearing a lime-green silk dress that clung to her soft curves and flared at her hips, she was truly elegant. But what he’d like best of all would be to hold her in his arms without even the sheerest scrap of fabric between them.

  The fact that he knew she responded to him made his need all the more urgent. He could see her desire in the darkening of her eyes, see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her breathing accelerated whenever he touched her and feel her matching need as she trembled against him. But she was fighting it—like a trooper.