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

by Charlotte Maclay

  Fortunately Curt enjoyed a challenge. He also liked Kathryn more and more each moment he spent with her. He felt as if he was on the verge of an enormous breakthrough that would finally reveal her secret passions, the real Kathryn Prim she tried so hard to hide.

  He slid his hand to the small of her back, moving in rhythm to the music so her pelvis gently discovered his arousal. She sucked in a quick breath and her startled gaze flew up to meet his.

  “Curt?”

  “Easy, Kate, nothing’s going to happen here on the dance floor. You’re safe.”

  “For now,” she said with obvious apprehension.

  “For as long as you want. Count on it.”

  “I counted on beating you at tennis, with Stefan’s help, and look where it got me.”

  He guided them out a set of French doors onto a sheltered patio where they could still hear the music. The waves rolling onto the beach provided a subtle counterpoint to the melody. “I admit there are some men you simply can’t rely on. Jocks, in particular, are like that.”

  “Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Lulled by the music, the wine and the warmth of Curt’s arms around her, Kathryn rested her head on his shoulder. She liked the feel of his strong body, the press of her breasts against his unyielding chest. It would be so easy to give herself over to the feelings he created. A part of her felt disengaged from reality, floating like a kite suddenly free of its earthly tether.

  With a single finger, he lifted her chin and his lips pressed gently against hers. At first the kiss was tentative, like rays of sunlight probing the morning fog along the beach. When there was no resistance, he grew more insistent.

  Kathryn tasted wine and chocolate and the sweet flavor of strawberries...and the uniqueness that was Curt. His velvet tongue probed with talented expertise. Unbidden, her hands swept up his broad shoulders and her fingers curled through the fine hair at his nape, threading themselves among the silky brown waves she’d longed to explore.

  Her heart pounded like crashing breakers on a rocky shore; her breathing raced like the wind across an open beach.

  A throaty sound escaped her and she heard a responding groan.

  “Curt, we can’t do this,” she whispered against his lips.

  “Not here. Upstairs.” His breathing was as ragged as her own, the press of his arousal urgent and demanding against the sensitive apex of her thighs. “Your place or mine. Name it, Katie. Whatever you say.”

  She froze. The name he’d called her, the realization that all of his plans led to one single destination, chilled her like an arctic blast. In high school she’d been Katie the Kissable. Hungry for love and affection, she’d flirted outrageously with the boys. Led them on, she admitted. And a couple of times she’d actually believed they cared for her. She’d learned otherwise quickly enough, at the cost of heartache and an already shaky reputation. She’d been the talk of the town, the kind of girl every guy thought he had an absolute right to bed...then brag about later, whether anything had happened or not.

  Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. Dear God, she couldn’t go through that again.

  “No.” Her refusal came out a hoarse whisper as she steeled herself against her baser instincts and gritted her teeth. “The date’s over. I’ve paid the wager. In full. Now I want to go home.”

  “But, Katie—”

  “The plane and pilot are still waiting, aren’t they?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then send the bellboy up to the rooms to get my things, because I’m leaving. On your plane, if you can manage to get it off the ground, or I’m going to hire a taxi to take me all the way back to L.A. and I’ll see you get the bill.”

  She whirled away only to be confronted by an impish woman with a huge camera in her hands.

  “Hi, Mr. Creighton,” the young woman said. “How ‘bout a pic to remember the evening by?”

  Kathryn quickly averted her face from the camera. What she didn’t need was a photo of her near foolhardiness, or a condemning camera shot that might appear on a grocery-store tabloid for friends and co-workers to see. Or, God help her, a picture her father might see. Her stomach roiled at the very thought.

  “Not tonight, Connie,” Curt said tersely. He pulled a few bills from his pocket and stuffed them in her camera case. “Maybe next time.”

  “Thanks, Mr. C.”

  “No sweat. Take good care of my favorite kids.”

  Kathryn fled from the open-air terrace before she could hear if the children mentioned were Curt’s, or if he simply had an affinity for sexy young women.

  * * *

  DOGGEDLY, CURT FOLLOWED in her footsteps, but she refused to slow down long enough to talk until they were back on the plane. What happened in the next hour or so—his ability to get her to open up and tell him about the pain she was carrying around—was going to make or break their relationship. He knew that. And knew if he handled the situation wrong, he was going to lose somebody special.

  Sitting in a swivel chair facing Kathryn, Curt waited to speak until the plane reached cruising altitude and the engines settled into a comfortable hum.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Katie. All of a sudden you bolted, just when we seemed to be getting along so well.”

  Her head snapped up and she glared at him. “You mean it was about the time you thought you were going to get into my pants.”

  “Come on, Katie. You know there’s more between us than sex.”

  “Do I? You’ve spent weeks trying to seduce me. And you almost succeeded.” Kathryn hugged her arms to her stomach to block out the painful realization she had very nearly given in to her desires. “But I’m not sixteen anymore. I’ve got enough sense not to fall for a guy with a smooth line, and I don’t want to be just another conquest some guy can brag about to his buddies in the locker room.”

  “I’d never...” Confusion leveled his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

  “I haven’t always been Ms. Prim, Curt. In fact, twelve years ago, in high school, my reputation was quite the opposite. Katie the Kissable they called me, among other unpleasant nicknames. All of them earned and most of them I wouldn’t want to repeat in polite company.”

  “You mean all of this is because some kids in school picked on you?”

  “No. It’s because I learned to hate being gossiped about. I learned that you can’t trust men, and you sure as hell can’t trust sex.”

  He looked more puzzled than shocked by her confession. She’d expected him to react more strongly, perhaps even with revulsion. For so many years she’d kept her past a secret, had created a whole new image for herself, that when a large chunk of the truth had unexpectedly slipped out, she’d anticipated the worst. Instead, Curt had barely blinked.

  “That’s why you go into your frozen ice-maiden act when I call you Katie?”

  “You’re a little slow, Creighton, but you’re finally catching on.”

  “My God, are you telling me you’ve been celibate for twelve years? That’s got to mean you’re scared, Katie, scared of being with a man.”

  She flushed and trembled at how close he’d come to a truth she didn’t want to face. “I’m not afraid. And I’ve asked you not to call me Katie.”

  “I told you before, sweetheart. When you’re with me, the past doesn’t matter. If I call you Katie, it’s because that’s my name for you. Nobody else’s. A bunch of punk kids from high school sure as hell don’t own it. You’re my Katie now and you’re going to learn to trust me.”

  She drew on her inner strength, lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Curt, in the past thirteen years I’ve learned to take responsibility for my actions. Dating you is wrong for me. It can’t lead anywhere because I won’t allow myself to be connected with a man who attracts gossip like ants are drawn to honey. It simply won’t work.”

  “I won’t accept that, Katie. When I’m with you, I feel something powerful is happening between us. You can’t throw that away. And I don’t intend to give up on
us.”

  “You have to.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rudy whipped the eggs into a froth and, with a flourish, he poured the mixture into an omelet pan. Hot butter sizzled.

  “Très bon! The omelet, she will lift your spirits,” he promised.

  Kathryn didn’t think a few eggs would do the trick. Resting her elbow on the breakfast counter as she watched Rudy fuss in her kitchen, she rubbed her temple. How could she have been so foolish as to go anywhere with Curt Creighton? She’d barely escaped the master of seduction with her good sense intact.

  Yesterday at Pebble Beach—last night, in particular—had taught her just how fragile a hold she had on her self-control. A little soft music, a sip or two of wine, a single kiss, and she’d been oh so close to tumbling into bed with Curt Creighton.

  God, hadn’t she learned anything since she was a teenager?

  With a shudder, she pulled the tie of her terry-cloth robe more snugly around her waist.

  The shrill sound of the telephone made Kathryn jump. It didn’t take a genius to know who was on the other end of the line.

  “Chérie, do you wish me to answer the phone for you?”

  She shook her head.

  “But it is the third time he has called in the past hour.”

  “I know.”

  He’d started calling at ten that morning. Now it was noon, and this was the sixth time the damn phone had rung. Curt Creighton didn’t know the meaning of the word quit.

  On the third ring the answering machine switched on.

  “Time to rise and shine, Katie my girl,” Curt’s warm, baritone voice announced. “You can’t hide all day. I’ve been out and bought us a couple of kites. Figured we could go down to Venice Beach to try them out. Whatta ya say?”

  He paused but didn’t hang up.

  Tears pooled in Kathryn’s eyes. One damp drop managed to creep over the edge and slip down her cheek in a warm path. For a moment on Pebble Beach she’d been as free as the kite they’d flown together. All too soon, reality had brought her back down to earth.

  “Come on. It’d be fun,” he cajoled. Then with a trace of stubbornness bordering on desperation, he said, “Damn it, Katie, I care about you. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  She covered her mouth with her hand to prevent a sob. Please make him go away before I do something foolish.

  He sighed deeply, conjuring up an image of a man at least temporarily accepting defeat. Then he broke the connection. The answering machine clicked to a stop.

  “I think, chérie, this is a man who is good for you.”

  “No,” she wailed. “He’s all wrong for me. Absolutely wrong.” Her chin puckered and her lower lip quivered as if to contradict every word she spoke.

  “Ah, yes, now I see how it is with you and this tall, good-looking man who is so insistent.” Rudy slid the omelet onto a prewarmed plate and delivered it to Kathryn with the addition of two buttered slices of toast. “It was much the same for me and my sweet Annie...Antoinette Bilou. We were wrong for each other, you know? An impossible match. Her parents did not approve. And I had hardly a centime to my name.”

  To be polite Kathryn cut a bite of the omelet and levered it to her mouth. She had no appetite at all, and she’d agreed to let Rudy fix her a late breakfast only because she lacked the strength to argue with him.

  “But none of that mattered,” Rudy continued, “because Annie and I loved each other. Just as you, mon amie, love this man named Curt.”

  Her head snapped up. “I don’t—”

  “Do not deny it, chérie. I see your tears and the way your hand trembles, the flush on your cheeks since that first time he came to your door. He brings excitement to your life. Even when you do not answer the phone, your heart waits to hear the sound of his voice. I, too, tried to stay away from my Annie. It only made us both miserable.”

  “But you did leave her,” Kathryn protested. “You came here, to the States, to Hollywood.”

  “We had a plan.” He shrugged. “But it is folly for you to ignore the feelings of your heart. You must accept the truth, mon amie. You have fallen in love with the same man you work so hard to avoid.”

  The fork slid from Kathryn’s grasp and clattered onto the plate. She hugged herself, rocking back and forth on the bar stool at the breakfast counter. Rudy had ferreted out her awful secret as easily as if she’d given him a script. She didn’t know what had given her away. She’d tried so hard to hide the truth even from herself. Nor did she know the exact instant when her heart had taken over her life from her intellect.

  It might have been as early as the day Curt had nearly killed himself at aerobics, or as recently as when he’d taught her to fly a kite. But there it was. Guilty as charged. Dull, stodgy, bookish, boring, private Kathryn Prim, who had worked so hard at being just what she was, loved Curt Creighton, bachelor millionaire and darling of the tabloids.

  It hurt like hell!

  * * *

  IN THE MIDAFTERNOON SUN, Curt lay in a chaise next to the pool, soaking up the rays. A shower of cold water splashed across his chest.

  “Geez! What are you doing?”

  Pulling up a chair, Lucy plopped herself down next to her big brother. “You look positively morose.”

  “Tell me about it,” Curt grumbled.

  “That bad, eh?”

  “Worse.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I was surprised to find you at home. I figured you’d spend the whole weekend at Pebble Beach.”

  “I had high hopes,” he conceded.

  “If it means anything, I like Kathryn.”

  “So do I.”

  “Seriously?”

  He turned his head and lifted his dark glasses away from his bloodshot eyes. “Yeah. Seriously.”

  “About time.” With a sigh, Lucy leaned back in her chair and propped her feet on a low table. Her shorts were about as short as they came, and her top was downright miniscule. Silver earrings dangled from her ears. “There are days when I wish we were poor.”

  “Poor? Remember what Mom said. Poor means scratching in the dirt, going hungry and raising the world’s worst corn.”

  “Well, maybe not that poor.”

  Curt laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “You’ll find somebody, Sis. You’re one terrific lady.”

  “Thanks.” She stared off toward the distant haze of Los Angeles for a few moments and sighed again. “The trouble is, most of the guys I meet are in show business. Which is okay, of course, but sometimes they’re a little flaky, and I never know if they’re interested only in getting their hands on enough money to produce a colossal box-office flop, or if they really like me. I’d kinda like someone more down to earth. You know, a nice, steady accountant. Or truck driver.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” She grinned and then her expression grew more serious. “What went wrong between you and Kathryn?”

  “She’s carrying around a whole lot of hurt.”

  “You sure you didn’t come on too fast? You do have a tendency to do that, you know.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded. “But mostly somebody’s laid a whole lot of pain on her.”

  “When we were kids—after Mom died—you were pretty darn good about kissing my hurts away when I skinned my knees. Rhetorically speaking, I mean. Or rebuilding my shattered ego when some jerk in high school teed me off. Maybe you can do the same for Kathryn.”

  “Think so?”

  “Yeah, I do. In case you didn’t know it, big brother, I’m your number-one fan. You’ll think of something.”

  “I hope so.” He gave her a wry grin. It was one thing to distract a kid sister when she’d stubbed her toe and make her smile again. Kathryn’s revelations had been a whole lot more serious. So far, his ploy of offering a day of flying kites hadn’t worked. He’d have to think of something else.

  Restless energy drove Curt to his feet.

  “Where’re you going?” Lucy asked.

&nbs
p; “I’ve got to do some serious thinking.”

  He made his way to the part of the Creighton property his mother had always referred to as the “back forty.” From a toolshed he dragged out a hoe and started hacking at the weeds that had grown nearly waist high. This seemed like a good time to get in touch with his roots. Maybe through osmosis he’d learn something from his mother.

  * * *

  AT NEARLY MIDNIGHT, Curt stood in front of Kathryn’s door. He had an urge to lower his shoulder and smash the damn thing in. Instead he leaned a kite against the doorjamb. She’d find it in the morning. Maybe then she’d get his message.

  He wasn’t real good at accepting rejection. Lack of experience, he supposed.

  Tugging his motorcycle helmet back on, he wondered what his dad had finally done to win his mother. Curt wished he’d asked when he had the chance.

  * * *

  LYING SLEEPLESS in her bed, Kathryn heard the sound of the departing motorcycle, just as she’d heard its arrival.

  When the engine noise faded into the sounds of distant traffic on the boulevard, she got up.

  Making her way in the dark, for fear Curt had circled back and was parked somewhere nearby waiting to spot her telltale light, she walked from the bedroom through the living room. Cautiously she opened the front door. In the dim glow from the hallway fixtures, she saw the beautiful butterfly kite decorated in bright shades of a rainbow.

  She lifted it into her arms as though it were the most precious artwork in the world. This gift, she vowed, would be the one she kept. A memory to cling to in the empty years ahead.

  * * *

  “I IMAGINE you had a really nice weekend,” the smiling receptionist drawled by way of greeting the next morning.

  “It was fine, thank you,” Kathryn responded levelly. Fine if you didn’t mind going sleepless for two nights and feeling as if you’d been dragged through the worst final exam of your life.

  She walked through the plushly furnished law-office lobby, down the hallway and into the small lunchroom where a never-empty coffeepot beckoned. Heavy doses of caffeine might keep her going through the day.

  “My gracious, Kathryn!” gushed Evelyn Hall, one of the secretaries. “Aren’t you just the one? Nobody even guessed. And I’m sooo envious.”