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

by Charlotte Maclay

  “He denied everything.”

  “You could have proved his paternity. Blood tests and all.”

  “By that time, I didn’t even want him to be the father of my child. I’d been such a fool.” She drew a shaky breath. Obviously, as an adolescent, she’d confused sex with love. She hoped she hadn’t repeated the same error some twelve years later. “I left Waverly because my father threw me out of the house.”

  Curt sat bolt upright. “Your father threw you out? His own kid? When you were in trouble?”

  He looked so offended, Kathryn almost laughed, but the depth of her father’s betrayal still hurt too much. “He’s the local bank president, elder in the biggest church in town and, generally, the self-appointed keeper of morality in all of Waverly. Image was everything for my father. It wasn’t simply that I had gotten pregnant. Word of my fallen-woman status had spread all over town. He couldn’t handle that.”

  Curt let loose a string of expletives that would have stunned the members of her father’s church. “I’ll kill him. So help me, I’ll kill him.”

  Kathryn touched two fingers to his lips. “Don’t. It wouldn’t help.”

  “My God, Katie, how did you survive?”

  “He gave me half an hour to get out of the house. I used the time to pack and filch the extra cash I knew he kept hidden in his desk. Then I hopped a bus to L.A.” She shuddered at the memory and her stomach churned. “About three years later, I sent him a money order for the amount I’d taken. I didn’t include a return address.”

  “That phone call you were making the night we met? To your sister?”

  “I’ve been trying to build up the courage to face that part of my life again...and to see my father.”

  In almost a growl, Curt said, “I’m not sure he’s worth it.”

  “He’s the only father I’ve got,” she persisted. “And I do miss my sister.”

  Curt pulled her into his arms and simply held her, held her in the way she’d wanted to be held twelve years ago. Then she’d had no one. Now she had Curt.

  “The baby, sweetheart,” he said after a while, so quietly she almost didn’t hear his voice. “What happened to the baby? How did you manage?”

  “I was lucky. I made my way to a home for unwed mothers, and after the baby came I relinquished her for adoption. I didn’t have my high-school diploma. No job. No prospects. I wanted more for her than I had to give. There hasn’t been a day since when I didn’t think of her. And not many when I didn’t have to force myself not to cry.”

  “Do you have any contact with her?”

  She shook her head. “When she’s grown up... If she wants to, she’ll be able to find me. I wouldn’t want to disrupt her life now, or her family, or hurt her in any way.”

  “I understand how you feel, honey. About the baby and all. As much as any man can, I understand.”

  Kathryn believed him and that lifted a burden she’d carried a long time. She snuggled against his hard, masculine body, letting him absorb some of the pain she’d shouldered alone for so many years. Tension that had kept her an emotional prisoner drained away as she drifted off to sleep in his arms.

  She didn’t know how long she lay like that, warm and secure in his embrace. More than once, Curt woke her with gentle caresses that quickly unleashed a full range of passionate responses. A skilled lover, he thought of her needs first, never leaving her wanting—until an hour or so later, when he would adroitly resurrect desires she thought he had fully satisfied.

  Eventually her eyes fluttered open on their own. Though she knew it was daylight, the heavy drapes on the hotel windows allowed only a trace of sunlight into the room. She couldn’t guess the time.

  Gingerly, she shifted her position and discovered she was the tiniest bit tender in the most intimate of places. Kathryn’s smile was profoundly feminine as memories of her night with Curt came flooding back. He was undoubtedly the most sensual man she had ever met—or ever hoped to meet. Everything he did—his kisses, his touch, his voice, his dimpled grin, the wicked sparkle in his eyes—was created for a woman to feast upon. She imagined she would never tire of the banquet of hedonistic pleasures he provided.

  “Mornin’, Katie.”

  “Hmm.” She cuddled closer, loving the raspy way he said her name in his sleepy morning voice. “I suppose it’s time to go get Antoinette.”

  “I was thinking there’d be time for us to take a shower first.” His palm slid down along her back and he cupped her buttocks.

  Deep inside, her body clenched in reaction to his familiar touch. Perhaps her one glorious night in Paris wasn’t quite over yet. “May I assume you mean for us to take that shower together?”

  “You assume correctly, Ms. Prim. I always knew you were a clever girl.”

  She let her hand drift across his flat belly, finally letting it wander to the evidence of his arousal. “And you, Mr. Creighton, have an astounding amount of endurance.”

  He made a little choking sound as she gently closed her fingers around him. “Must be all those aerobics classes I’ve been attending lately.”

  “Very possibly. Or all that tennis. Speaking of which, I still can’t figure out how you and the twins managed to beat Stefan.”

  “Well...I have kind of a confession to make about that.”

  She lifted her head from his chest. “Confession?”

  “I sort of bribed him to throw the match.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I was a desperate man. I didn’t want to lose our wager, so I fixed him up on a date with the twins in exchange for a few missed shots.”

  “Oh, you men! You don’t know how to play fair.” Not really angry, she dug her fingertips into his ribs. “Lucy said you were ticklish. Let’s see if she was right.”

  “Hey, no. Don’t do that.” Laughing, he tried to escape her roving fingers.

  “You deserve worse than this for cheating.” She added an old-fashioned stomach blow to his punishment. “How about that day I went to your house? Did you bribe Clarence Middlebury, the other paralegal, to stay home sick?”

  “No, no. That was pure good luck.”

  “There’s nothing pure about you, Creighton.” She tortured him further.

  “Stop! I call a truce!”

  In one swift, athletic movement, he was on his feet with Kathryn in his arms, en route to the bathroom. Walls of mirrors reflected marble counters and gleaming brass fixtures that bounced back the sound of laughter filling the room.

  Moments later, warm water, billowing suds and Curt’s familiar hands slicked over Kathryn in a cascade of carnal delight until she was drowning in the sensations he created.

  “Enough,” she pleaded breathlessly. Her legs lacked the strength to hold her upright.

  “It’ll never be enough.” Lifting Kathryn so she could wrap her legs around his waist, Curt slid into her with a powerful stroke that brought cries of pleasure from them both.

  Chapter Twelve

  Possessive. Protective. That’s how he felt. Responsible, too. And filled with pride that Katie had shared with him both her passion and her secrets.

  Walking with easy strides across the hotel lobby, Curt figured this was as good as it got. A terrific woman beside him. A night to remember. And—

  Damn!

  He spotted the guy lurking behind one of those man-eating indoor plants. A photographer. A free-lance joker from the States known for selling his wares to the highest bidder and sleaziest tabloids—Bernie Zimmer.

  Doing a quick one-eighty, Curt ushered Kathryn down a corridor in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. “I thought we were going to check out.”

  “We are. I just have to, ah, check on something first.”

  She seemed to accept his explanation, until he led them through an empty banquet room and into the hotel’s stainless-steel kitchen that was bustling with activity.

  “Curt, are you planning to play some kind of a trick on me? Like make me wash the dishe
s to pay off our bill?”

  “Not a chance, sweetheart.” He found a spot for her out of the way of all the hustle and bustle, and placed their small pieces of carry-on luggage next to her. “Stay right here. Don’t budge an inch and I’ll be right back.”

  A scowl pleated her forehead. “What’s going on? Why can’t I go with you?”

  He brushed a kiss against her lips. “Trust me.”

  Hurrying away before she could make further objection, Curt soon found a young Frenchman who looked like the sort he needed—someone ambitious who knew the value of money. Their conversation was short and to the point. Once in agreement, Curt peeled off a good many bills from the stash of U.S. dollars he had in his pocket. In exchange, he received a set of car keys.

  “A Fiat?” Kathryn questioned a few minutes later as Curt helped her into the vintage car. “What happened to the limousine?”

  “Pierre was busy.”

  “I thought he was your employee. Couldn’t you simply tell him to pick us up?”

  “I don’t like to take advantage.” He tossed their gear in the back seat and squeezed in behind the wheel.

  “But where did this car come from? It’s not exactly what I expected a company car from Creighton Enterprises to look like.”

  “I borrowed it from a friend.” When the darn thing took three tries to start, and then missed on a couple of cylinders, Curt decided his friend had conned him.

  “This is very strange, Curt. You decide not to check out of the hotel—”

  “They’ll bill the company credit card.”

  “Then you borrow an old clunker that sounds like it’s ready for the junkyard.”

  “It’ll warm up in a minute.”

  “Why do I have the distinct feeling you’re not telling me something? Like I’m being kidnapped?”

  He gave her an oblique look and grinned. “Damn! Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Curt...” she warned.

  “All right. All right.” He maneuvered the car out of the cramped parking slot into the heavy, slow-moving traffic. “There was a photographer waiting for us in the lobby.”

  “A photog—” She made a pathetic mewling sound at the back of her throat and sank deeper into the bucket seat. “I don’t want my picture in the papers, Curt. I really don’t.”

  “Precisely why we made a hasty departure, sweetheart. To dodge the guy.”

  “Thank you.” The color had drained from her cheeks. Her hands trembled and she folded them primly in her lap. “I can just imagine what my father would say if it was splashed all over the tabloids that I spent the weekend in Paris with you.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Gritting his teeth, Curt turned right at the end of the block. “Has it occurred to you that you’re twenty-nine years old and what your father thinks, or doesn’t think, shouldn’t matter anymore?”

  “It’s not just my father. It’s...” She verbally stumbled in search of another excuse. “The people I work with.”

  “Your co-workers can damn well mind their own business.” He slammed on the brakes to avoid colliding with a taxi. “Maybe you’re just plain ashamed to be seen hanging around with me.”

  She placed her hand on his thigh. “That’s not it, Curt. You know it’s not. Please try to understand.”

  “I’m trying.” He really was. But it hurt like hell that he wanted to shout from the rooftops that he and Katie Prim were meant for each other, while she wanted to keep their relationship a dark little secret.

  He glanced into the rearview mirror and swore under his breath. Bernie was back.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The guy I was telling you about must have spotted us leaving the hotel. He’s in that cab about two cars behind us.”

  She whipped her head around. “Curt...”

  “Stay out of sight. I’ll lose him.” Curt edged the Fiat between the curb and stalled traffic, then took a hard right into an alley. As he accelerated down the narrow service road, a restaurant worker dumping garbage in a trash bin had to duck out of the way or get clipped by a fender. The taxi that followed got the brunt of the Frenchman’s colorful language.

  At the end of the alley, Curt was met with a wall of unmoving traffic. He took a left onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians sprinted for safety in a dozen different directions.

  “Curt! You’re going to kill someone.”

  “Everything’s under control.”

  He bounded off the curb and across an intersection, then did a quick U-turn when oncoming cars filled all the lanes. With a gasp, Kathryn put her arm in front of her face as though to ward off the inevitable crash. Curt hadn’t counted on so many one-way streets, all of them jammed with traffic and none of them going where he wanted to go—which was away from the pursuing paparazzi.

  But Curt had played this game before.

  Remembering his student days, he crossed the Seine and wove his way through the narrow streets of the Left Bank. He checked his mirror regularly and glanced in both directions at every intersection.

  “I think we lost ‘em,” he said, finally slowing to a pace that matched the rest of the traffic. “You okay?”

  “Sure, if you’re not concerned about my heart palpitations and the fact that my entire life has flashed in front of my eyes about six times in the past ten minutes.”

  He leaned his head back and laughed in a burst of released tension. “You’re the greatest, Katie Prim. Terrific.”

  “Thanks. I think. Personally, I’m relieved to still be in one piece.” She wiped her palms on her slacks. “But now what? Are we still going to fly to Cannes to pick up Antoinette?”

  Shaking his head, Curt said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. That photographer was probably alerted when we landed, and he’ll have someone watching the airport. When we get out of this mess of traffic, I’ll find a place to make a few phone calls. I figure we can drive south and have Jackson and the plane meet us at Cannes.”

  “That’ll take hours for us to drive that far, won’t it?”

  “We’ll still have time to get you back to L.A. before you have to be at work. You can catch up on your sleep in the plane.” Though Curt could think of a lot better ways they could spend their time.

  * * *

  SOME MINUTES LATER, after he’d located a public phone, Curt realized he had seriously misjudged the efficiency of his flight crew, the loyalty of French butlers and the determination of Antoinette Bilou.

  “What do you mean we’re stranded in France?” Kathryn asked when he returned to the car where she’d been waiting, pacing up and down on the sidewalk.

  “It’s only temporary. It seems Antoinette’s butler tried to call me last night. Since I wasn’t in my room...” He let the words trail off, enjoying the quick blush that swept up Kathryn’s cheeks as she remembered where they’d been and what they’d been doing when he missed the call. “Anyway, he took matters into his own hands. He reached Jackson, my pilot, and got him to fly to Cannes to pick up madame. Jackson flew her directly back to the States.”

  “A very conscientious employee.”

  “Absolutely. He knew why we’d come to France.” And knew Curt was hoping for an excuse to stay an extra day or more with Kathryn—but Curt wasn’t about to admit that to her. He did plan to give Jackson a bonus, however, for his quick thinking. “Based on his conversation with the butler, he figured we were planning to go to Cannes. He left word he’d meet us there tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “With a fresh crew, of course.”

  “But, Curt, I have to be at work tomorrow.”

  He shrugged. “You can call in sick. Better yet, you can tell Tom the truth—that the two of us are having a terrific time in France.”

  She looked aghast. “I can’t do that! He’s my boss. And he’s very, very conservative.”

  “My guess is that Lucy is trying to rectify that little shortcoming of his. And having some success, too.”

  Kathryn didn’t buy into his idea. “We can take a comm
ercial flight home.”

  Folding his arms across his chest and leaning his hips back against the Fiat, he said, “Sure, if that’s what you want. Of course, that photographer and his buddies are likely to be hanging around the airport. Doesn’t bother me. It wouldn’t be the first time my mug shot hit the front page of some tabloid.”

  “You enjoy putting me in impossible situations, don’t you, Creighton?”

  He grinned. “Ease up, sweetheart. It’s a beautiful day, and we have a chance to see some of the loveliest countryside in the world. Why not relax and enjoy it?”

  Kathryn fumed and fussed, but what could she do? She was stuck. And if truth be known, somewhere deep in her heart she wanted to rejoice. She’d made an honest effort to get back to work on time. She’d come to France to help out her friend, Rudy. Things hadn’t quite worked out as she had expected, or planned, but her intentions had certainly been virtuous. Perhaps she was simply being rewarded for her good deed with one more day in France.

  Drawing a deep breath of brisk air touched with the promise of winter, she rubbed her arms and said, “How many hours to Cannes?”

  The victorious smile that creased both of his cheeks did fluttery things to Kathryn’s midsection. “As many as you would like, sweet Katie.”

  She hoped she wouldn’t have to pay too high a price for her indiscretions.

  * * *

  VINEYARDS PAINTED with autumn reds and golds stretched to the horizon through a rainy mist. The Fiat’s windshield wipers smeared half-moon paths across the dirty glass. The heater didn’t work at all.

  “I think we should have listened to the weather report this morning,” Kathryn mused aloud as she peered at the murky view. The lovely day had deteriorated into a gloomy, overcast afternoon.

  “We had other, much more important things to do.”

  “Locating a road map would have been a clever use of our time.” The narrow, unpaved road Curt had turned onto sometime back was clearly not a shortcut to the high-speed route to Cannes.

  “Surely you’re not suggesting we should have skipped our shower in favor of finding a map.”