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

by Charlotte Maclay

  Curt had never seen her so animated. No staid Kathryn Prim now—she’d turned into an adventurous sprite, an energetic imp who couldn’t stand still. Her infectious enthusiasm caught the other tourists off guard and they smiled at her indulgently.

  The cooling breeze teased at her hair, sending flyaway strands of gold and red across her face. She brushed them out of the way. In the setting rays of sunlight, the subdued rose shade of her simple dress took on a vibrant hue. Mirth sparkled in her eyes, and when she smiled up at Curt, he felt a tightening of muscles low in his body and a strange constriction inside his chest. God, she was beautiful, ripe with the fullness of womanhood.

  So very different and far more special than any woman he had ever known before.

  She looked out across the skyline again, sighed deeply, then announced, “Let’s catch the next elevator down. I want to go to the Champs Elysées now. You promised me a cup of coffee.”

  “That’s it for the Eiffel Tower?” he asked incredulously, reluctant to give up the incredible sight of Kathryn with the whole of Paris as her backdrop. Pity he hadn’t thought to bring along his camera. He wanted to capture her spirit on film, though it would take a true artist to do her justice.

  “You mean I paid the exorbitant admission price to this amazing tourist attraction,” he grumbled good-naturedly, “and you’ve seen everything you wanted to see in ten minutes?”

  “Time’s the most valuable commodity right now.” She stood on tiptoe to plant a flirtatious kiss on his cheek. “And I plan to spend each minute wisely, Mr. Creighton, bachelor millionaire extraordinaire. I certainly hope you can keep up.”

  “I’ll manage.” An admiring grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He wasn’t entirely sure he could handle this “new” Katie.

  Once back on ground level, she hurried him into a taxi, announcing their destination to the driver in absolutely rotten French. For once the cabbie didn’t seem to mind his mother country’s language being botched. Who could resist someone as irresistible as Katie Prim?

  The driver let them off in front of a fashion design house on the boulevard, and Curt commented, “Sorry the stores are closed. I’d buy you an elegant gown for a keepsake if I could.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She slid her arm around his waist, and with his arm he circled her shoulder. “What would I do back home with a designer dress? Wear it to lectures on corporate law? I’d much rather stroll along the sidewalk, enjoying the ambience. You can almost taste the romance in the air, can’t you? Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Curt could smell her light fragrance and figured that beat the hell out of the vehicle exhaust from passing cars. Katie didn’t seem to notice. And the fact that she truly didn’t seem in the least disappointed that she wouldn’t own a Paris original shouldn’t have surprised him. But he’d known a lot of women. For most, however they might protest otherwise, the trappings of wealth were important fringe benefits only a man like Curt could provide. Katie was different. She simply didn’t give a damn.

  Amazing.

  As they walked, her hip hugged hard against Curt’s and her leg brushed his slacks-clad thigh with each step. The rhythmic contact created a vibration from skin to bone to visceral awareness that set Curt’s teeth on edge—among other parts of his anatomy. He wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. And decided it didn’t matter. If she kept up this assault on his senses, no amount of resolve would keep his baser instincts in check.

  As they attempted to cross an intersection, Katie paid particular attention to the sculptured water fountain at the center of the traffic circle, leading Curt around the greenstone cherubs twice before halting. The intricately formed statue glistened with water in the lights from the passing cars.

  “Have you noticed all the fountains in Paris?” she asked with a wistful note in her voice. “How many do you suppose there are?”

  “I don’t know that anyone has bothered to count them.”

  “I wish we could.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because I’ve been watching, and young couples always stop beside a fountain to kiss. It’s like a ritual. If you and I could count the fountains together, then we’d be able to kiss a hundred times. Maybe even a thousand times.”

  The tightness in Curt’s chest grew to giant proportions and filled his throat with emotion. Her eyes held such longing, so much need, he ached to ease her pain. And his own. “If that’s the case, I’m ready to start counting right now.”

  With a wickedly sexy smile, she slid her arms up his chest and linked them behind his neck. “It’s so sad we only have one night in Paris.”

  “We’ll find a way to make the most of it.” That was a promise, Curt told himself as he lowered his head in response to her open invitation. Whatever she wanted, however much she wanted, he was more than willing to grant her wish. Her soft, sweet lips parted in eager welcome and he plunged his tongue into the warm depths. Exciting, exhilarating, she tasted of the bright lights of a Paris evening, the vibrant colors of autumn, the flavor of romance.

  She pressed herself against him, her breasts soft mounds that singed through layers of clothing to burn him. She nudged into the cradle of his hips and he groaned a low, throaty sound. Need rocketed through him.

  “Sweet Katie, if you keep this up I’m going to embarrass us both.”

  “It doesn’t look to me like Parisians embarrass easily.”

  “Well, I do.” He’d never imagined Katie kissing with such uninhibited verve while standing in the middle of a public sidewalk. Private Kathryn Prim would never have acted so spontaneously, in fact, she had electrified him in a way he had never previously envisioned. Sweat suddenly beaded his forehead.

  Taking her by the shoulders, he fought for control. “Let’s get that cup of coffee,” he pleaded.

  “And see if we can find a few more fountains to count?” she asked mischievously. Womanly self-confidence sparkled in her eyes. She was set on seducing him, Curt realized, one torturous step at a time.

  The hell with nobility! Because of Kathryn he’d been carrying around a supply of condoms for weeks. He hoped to God he’d get to use them. Soon.

  One cup of coffee and three fountains later, Curt decided it was likely to be a very long, painful evening. She had him in a constant state of arousal. It wasn’t just her kisses that were driving him crazy. At every opportunity she touched him. At the café her hand had been busy under the table nonchalantly stroking his thigh, and causing him to grind his teeth in order to contain the urge to toss her over his shoulder and haul her back to the hotel. As they walked along, he never knew when she was going to brush her fingertips to his face in a caress that was half sexy and half innocent. Or curl her fingers through his hair. And every time she did, he had to fight the explosive need that gripped him.

  She had him totally off balance and unprepared for whatever new stunt she had up her sleeve.

  Even a short taxi ride turned into a full-scale erotic adventure that left him gasping for air when she hopped out to gaze at the next tourist attraction.

  Damn! Where had she learned to be so innately provocative? And how had she managed to keep all that sensuality bottled up for twelve years? He’d suspected since the first night he met Katie that she was a passionate woman. Now she was peeling away her staid, professional image layer by enticing layer, like a skilled stripper teases her audience into a frenzy. In this case it was an audience of one—namely him. And he was very nearly coming unglued.

  The woman Katie was revealing was even more intriguing than the one he had pursued these past few weeks.

  Along Montmartre Place du Tertre, a young artist with a narrow face and well-rehearsed patter lured Katie to his easel set up in the light from a café. “A portrait, mademoiselle,” he offered. “For your memories of Paris. Only a few francs.”

  She gave Curt a questioning look and he shrugged. “If you’d like,” he said. He doubted he’d ever be able to deny her the slightest wish. Certainly no
t tonight.

  “Do make me beautiful,” she urged the artist, laughing and taking a seat in the chair opposite the young man.

  “With your beauty, mademoiselle, my task is très simple.”

  Curt felt a sudden stab of jealousy. He didn’t want any other man to make her smile so radiantly. Only he should be allowed that privilege.

  As she unconsciously licked her lips, Curt had to wonder at the power of that simple gesture and the instant reaction of his body.

  In a few quick strokes of colored chalk, Kathryn saw her portrait emerging on the sketch pad, the laughing, smiling image of a woman in love. Was she so transparent? she wondered. Or was the artist that perceptive? He’d caught the glow in her cheeks she’d been feeling all evening, the glitter of joy reflected in her eyes. Perhaps in Paris, artists were trained to depict women through romance-tinted glasses.

  She glanced up at Curt. Could he possibly know what she was feeling, too?

  He was the cause of her joy, she realized. It was because of him she felt suddenly freed of the constraints she had worn like a sackcloth all these years. If she’d been alone in Paris, the newness of it all would have made her nervous; with any other companion her carefully nurtured reserve and caution would have remained very much intact. But not with Curt. With him she felt liberated.

  With a dramatic flourish, the artist signed and dated his work. “Now you shall not forget your visit to Paris,” he promised.

  The bittersweet realization that one night in Paris—one night with Curt—would never be enough, constricted her throat. “No, I won’t forget.”

  * * *

  THEY ARRIVED BACK at the hotel very late—Kathryn only slightly tipsy from the wine she’d consumed with dinner.

  She giggled when Curt fumbled with the key, trying to open the door to her room. “I’m the one who’s drunk, not you.”

  The key slid into the slot and he opened the door with a courtly bow. “Absolutely, mademoiselle. A true Frenchman never gets drunk.”

  “I didn’t know you were French.”

  “My adopted country. Same thing.”

  “Of course.”

  He pressed on her the souvenirs they’d collected during the evening. “Your portrait. I assure you, it does not do you justice.”

  She accepted the rolled sketch, knowing she would treasure the memories it represented.

  “And this.” From his pocket he withdrew a champagne glass.

  She giggled again. “Such a naughty boy. But then I suppose I shouldn’t have made you take that from the restaurant.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll send them a generous check in the morning.” He ran the back of his fingers lightly down her cheek, his blue-green eyes gazing at her with undisguised hunger that equaled her own. “I only regret we ran out of fountains to admire.”

  Acutely aware of the large, inviting bed in the room behind her, Kathryn staunchly ignored a sudden flutter of anxiety. She had atoned for her sins for twelve long years, perversely avoiding even the slightest hint of scandal and denying her own basic needs. Surely she’d earned one night of love.

  “We could pretend,” she suggested, her voice rough and filled with emotion.

  “That there’s a fountain in the hallway?”

  Stepping inside, she held the door open wide. “I think we’d do better in here.”

  “Katie...” He cleared his throat. “If I come in there, I won’t be able to stop at a kiss.”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I want you, Curt.” Her voice was low and sultry, a husky invitation. “I have for a very long time.”

  In one long stride, Curt was in the room, shoving the door shut behind him with a kick of his foot. His hands shook as he framed her face. “Katie, my sweet, sweet Katie.” He groaned.

  “Please, Curt. It’s been so long.”

  His mouth found hers with a new urgency. He’d waited, too. Forever, it seemed, for this chance to explore the full range of Katie’s sensuality. But he had to go slow, he warned himself. In spite of her eagerness, twelve years of abstinence made this almost like the first time for her. He wanted to make it good, no quick adolescent act that was over as fast as it had begun. He’d always prided himself on his self-control. Katie, her busy fingers already unbuttoning his shirt, would put him to the test.

  Slowly, he thought with grim determination as she slid his shirt off his shoulders. If she would cooperate.

  Kathryn needed to touch him—the warmth of his skin, the springy cinnamon brown hair on his chest, his nipples that puckered as she skimmed her palms over his magnificent body. Passion long denied ached for release within her. She wanted this man—this sexy, persistent, undeniably virile male—to hold her and fill her and make her feel like a woman as only he could. Her desire was so great she was dizzy with it, dizzy with the sensation of him effortlessly lifting her dress over her head, of his long, tapered fingers slipping straps from her shoulders, of being bare to his hungry perusal.

  She groaned when his lips touched and teased, then gently suckled at her breast. “Curt...” She speared her fingers through his hair and drew him closer.

  His teeth raked tenderly across her sensitive flesh.

  “Curt, I can’t...”

  “I know, sweetheart. I know.” With easy insistence, he helped her shed the remainder of her clothes. In sibilant whispers, each bit of fabric dropped to puddle on the lushly carpeted floor.

  “Beautiful.” Like an artist, he drew his fingertips over the lines of her breasts, her waist and the intimate curve of her hip. “Truly lovely.”

  She couldn’t catch her breath or find her voice. In the light cast by a single bed lamp, her senses seemed magnified. They collided one with another in hedonistic pleasure—the salty taste of his skin, his purely masculine scent, the hum of low, throaty sounds that might have been made by him...or her.

  With shaking hands, she shoved at the waistband of his slacks. “It’s not fair if I can’t see you, too.”

  With a swift intake of air, he lifted her in his arms and delivered her to the oversize bed, its satin quilt pulled back to reveal pristine white sheets. “I’ll take care of that little detail in due time.”

  “But I want to touch you. There.”

  “Later, Katie. Later you can touch me anywhere you want. But not just yet. I’m afraid I’d burst if you did.”

  She felt a smug, thoroughly feminine smile curl her lips. She had forgotten—or perhaps she’d never fully understood—how satisfying it was to have a man want her so much that he was afraid he’d lose control.

  A moment later, when Curt’s hand slid into the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs, Kathryn’s arrogant boast shattered like a fine crystal glass. She was the one out of control. She’d never felt such heat, so much trembling need. “Now, Curt. I want you now.”

  “Not yet. Not till I’ve driven you crazy, sweetheart. Just like you’ve been driving me wild all night long.”

  “Cruel...” she sobbed between shuddering breaths. “Really cruel.”

  “Yeah. And you’re going to love every minute.”

  His warm, teasing laughter played on her senses as erotically as his talented fingers stroked her body to new heights of self-awareness. He found erogenous zones she hadn’t known existed and taught her how amazingly responsive she could be to a man skilled in the art of love.

  She didn’t know when he shed his clothes, or if she’d had a part in it. She knew only the way the masculine texture of his skin felt beneath her hands, the taste of him in her mouth and his distinctive scent that was fast becoming a part of her.

  “Curt!” Only after she cried out his name in explosive release did he give her the final satisfaction of joining their bodies together in a perfect fit. Hard against soft. Conquest and submission in equal amounts.

  “Katie!” With a groan, he mimicked her plea and she felt him shudder in her arms. The satisfied sounds she made at the back of her throat mixed with the call of her name in consummate harmony.

  For
a while their heavy breathing rasped loudly in the room, a duet of satisfaction that slowly quieted into a contented sigh.

  Finally Curt propped himself up on his elbows. The half-amazed, well-satisfied look in Katie’s hazel eyes brought a sudden wave of tenderness to his heart. For the first time in his life he held a woman in his arms he never wanted to let go. Not ever. And he wasn’t in the least confident she felt the same way.

  “I must be crushing you,” he said.

  “I don’t mind. You feel good.” She finger combed his hair back from his forehead. “Usually... before...I didn’t know it could be like this.”

  He rolled to his back, bringing her with him so she was on top. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t know, either, sweetheart.”

  “You didn’t miss that big round bed of yours in the guest room?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Or the mirror?”

  “Katie, I told you I never used that room. I swear—”

  “I know.” With a troubled sigh, she slid to his side and rested her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest where she could feel the steady beat of his heart.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

  She wondered if she had the courage to tell him all the details of her sordid past. And what he’d think of her if she did.

  “Don’t freeze up on me, honey. There’s nothing in the world you can tell me that’s going to change how I feel about you.”

  “Are you a mind reader?”

  “No, but I could sure feel you withdrawing from me. I’m not going to let that happen. No turning into an ice maiden, Katie. Not this time.” He brushed a kiss to her hair. “It’s still those guys in high school who gave you such a hard time, isn’t it?”

  “Partly,” she admitted. “When I got...” She swallowed hard. “I was pregnant when I left Waverly.”

  The silence hung painfully in the air with Kathryn holding her breath for what felt like an eternity. Waiting for Curt’s reaction was like waiting for a time bomb to go off. She never should have admitted—

  “Ah, honey,” he soothed, “that must have scared you to death.” He squeezed her so hard, with such deep caring, she almost cried in relief. “What about the guy? He just let you go off on your own?”