“Wait till I tell my friends—”
“Kathryn,” her father said in warning. “If you step forward as this Creighton fellow’s alibi, your name may well be linked with a lot of negative publicity. It won’t do your legal career any good.”
She set her coffee cup on the counter. “Dad, he’s innocent. Surely you wouldn’t want me to stand by and let an innocent man go to jail.”
“I was only thinking of your future.”
She patted her father’s hand. This time she wasn’t going to worry about what anyone else might think of her. “If I have my way, Curt Creighton is my future.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Sorry, lady. You can’t go in there.”
“I’m Mr. Creighton’s attorney,” Kathryn announced in her most professional tone as she headed toward the door that permitted entry to the jail cells. Not breaking stride, she flashed a very impressive-looking library card in the police officer’s direction. With any luck the young man wouldn’t notice the significant absence of anything official about the ID.
“He’s not there.”
She all but skidded to a stop. “Where is he?”
“Upstairs. He and his real attorney are talking to the chief of detectives.” He grinned at her. “You reporters are a real case. You’re about the tenth would-be lawyer who’s shown up this morning. Along with three mothers, two sisters and about five phony wives. Why don’t you leave the poor guy alone?”
“No. You don’t understand.” Five wives? Not if she had anything to say about it. “I’m Tom Weston’s assistant. He’s the attorney of record and I’m his paralegal. He called,” she lied, “and asked me to come down to the station.”
“Sure, honey. And my name’s Sylvester Stallone.”
The heat of embarrassment mixed with fury, rose up Kathryn’s neck. The man was so condescending it was all she could do not to fly across the counter and rake his eyes out with her fingernails. “What I just told you, Officer—” she peered at his name tag “—Officer Maloney, is absolutely true. You can call up to the chief of detectives, if you’d like, to confirm my story. And if you don’t,” she warned, leveling her eyebrows, “I’ll have you up on charges of sexual discrimination, harassment and impeding justice. Trust me, it will cost you your job. Do I make myself entirely clear?”
Taken aback by her vehement statements and obvious anger, the young officer mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She nodded with authority toward the phone. “Then if you’ll make your call to the chief...”
Minutes later it was Curt who appeared in the lobby. He snagged her by the arm and tugged her into a private corner of the room.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered harshly.
“I should be asking you the same question. Since when do they let people under arrest wander around the police station?”
“I’m out on bail. Now tell me what you’re up to.”
“I’m here because I’m your alibi.” And because I love you, she wanted to say, grateful that Tom had arranged for Curt’s release so quickly.
“Don’t you know the paparazzi haunt this place? I’ve got to get you out of sight.” He dragged her to a doorway leading to the stairs, signaled the officer at the desk and hustled her through the door when the policeman buzzed it open.
The stale air in the stairwell chilled Kathryn. She shivered, as much because Curt looked so haggard as because of the frigid temperature. “You should have told them you were with me in France when the assault on Roz happened.”
“Katie, sweetheart, nobody can prove where we were over the weekend. I did a hell of a good job erasing every sign of us being in France. If you stick your nose into this mess, you’re going to get your face plastered all over the media. Not just the tabloids, honey. This is big-time news. You’ll be prime fodder for both TV and the press.” His hands formed concerned parentheses around her face. “I’m not going to allow you to put yourself in that kind of an unpleasant public position.”
“I can prove we were in Paris,” she said stubbornly.
“It’s not possible, and I don’t want you to. This mess will all blow over when they can’t find any evidence to place me with Roz this past weekend.”
She held up the rolled sketch they had made in front of the café in Montmartre Place. Knowing she’d have to have more proof than her word could provide, she’d stopped at her apartment en route to the police station. “The artist dated and signed this picture of me. I’d say that pretty well substantiates your alibi, along with my word about where we were. The police will have to drop the charges.”
He looked at her with a stunned expression. His hair was rumpled, as though he hadn’t slept in days. Her fingers itched to comb through the waves, to smooth them, to feel the sinuous sensation of silken strands caressing not only her hands but every part of her body.
“I’m not going to let you make that kind of a sacrifice,” he insisted.
“If you stop me from telling the truth upstairs, I’ll call a press conference on the front steps of the police station. I’ll show this sketch to any reporter who will listen and tell them every detail of our trip to France. Well, almost every detail,” she hastily amended, aware of the heated flush that crept up her neck. “At some point, the cops will have to let you go.”
“Katie, you don’t have to do this. It’s my word against Roz’s. They’ll figure out she’s lying.”
“The district attorney is filing charges, Curt, and the case is bound to be a high-profile one. Trust me, there is no way to predict how a jury will react if they don’t have all the facts. Besides, have you got something against telling the truth?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
“Good. Then let’s get upstairs and talk with the chief of detectives.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
Standing on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss to that spot where his cheek creased each time he smiled. “Because I love you.”
Not waiting for his reaction, she slipped out of his grasp and hurried up the stairs.
Curt almost fell on his face in his effort to follow her. Loved him? God, he hoped his ears hadn’t deceived him.
* * *
WITHIN AN HOUR Katie had the district attorney apologizing for ever having considered that Curt could be guilty of anything more than a speeding ticket. Shortly afterward, the police brought Roz down to the station where she tearfully admitted her boyfriend, Walter Simms, had beaten her, then threatened her with worse if she didn’t go along with his scheme. A poor loser who held a grudge, Walter wanted another chance to tap into Curt’s deep pockets. Not long after that, Roz was on her way to a shelter for battered women, with Kathryn’s insistence that no charges be filed. She was, after all, as much a victim as Curt had been. Ol’ buddy Walt was being interrogated by a very angry set of police detectives.
“Now let’s get out of here,” Curt insisted, taking Katie’s arm. “There’s an exit in the back.”
“But the press is probably waiting out front.” She veered in that direction.
“Yeah. Plus a phalanx of photographers and a half-dozen TV crews.”
“Good. Does my hair look all right?”
“Katie, you don’t want this. They’ll eat you alive.”
She smiled up at him with eyes overly bright with excitement. And anxiety, he suspected. “Does that mean my hair looks fine? Or should I take time to comb it?”
“You look gorgeous.” No perjury with that comment, Curt thought. Katie’s cheeks were flushed; her rapid breathing lifted her breasts beneath her tailored jacket in a way that made her look enticing rather than severely professional. A few strands of hair had escaped the loose bun at her nape and softly framed her face. She looked cool and sophisticated—and sexy as hell. No question, she’d wow them on the six o’clock news.
Only when she reached for the door did Curt notice that her hands were trembling.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” He halted her
with an arm around her waist. This time she didn’t resist when he pulled her into an empty hallway.
“You don’t want to go out there and face that mob, do you, Katie?”
“I can do it.” Her voice caught. “It’s no big deal for me to have my picture in the paper. Even my dad will understand.”
He lifted her chin when she didn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes were glazed with tears. “That doesn’t change who you are, Katie. You’re still a very private person.”
“But you’re not. If I’m going to...”
With his thumb, Curt wiped a tear that had spilled onto her cheek. “If you’re going to do what?”
“You need a woman who doesn’t flinch under the constant scrutiny of the press. Someone who can wave and smile no matter what they print. I understand that and I want to be that kind of person for you, really I do.”
Curt pulled her into his arms and hugged her hard against his chest. No woman on earth had ever wanted to change for him. She didn’t want his money or any of the perks that went with it. She’d proved that more than once. She wanted him. And she was willing to put herself in the most painful position she could imagine in order to publicly clear his name. Curt felt awed by her courage.
“Sweetheart, did you mean what you said earlier about loving me?”
She nodded her head against his chest. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Then why don’t you let me decide what kind of a woman I need?”
“I can go out there, Curt. It doesn’t matter if they gawk at me, or what they think. I’m a big girl now.”
“Shh.” Knowing everything she was saying was a sweet, tender lie, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. There was no way Katie would ever be comfortable being harangued by the press. Frankly he was just as glad. “How ‘bout instead of going out there, we issue a written statement saying we’re engaged and we’re going to get married as soon as humanly possible?”
She raised her head. “Married?”
He grinned at her surprise. “That’s what people usually do when they’re in love.”
“But you’ve never said a word—”
“I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. But then I’ve always had a weakness for a crying woman. Or so Lucy tells me.” He palmed her cheek. “Besides, if I’m an old married man with a half-dozen kids...”
She choked, but her broadening smile was irrepressible. “Six? We’ll need to negotiate.”
“...I figure the media will lose interest in me. That way I’ll have more time to devote to my family.”
“I suppose you’ll tell me next you’re going to take up raising corn and beans for a hobby?”
“I’ve already started. It’s a good way to work out your frustrations.”
She lifted mocking eyebrows. “I can think of a better way to get rid of frustrations.”
Frowning as though considering her comment, while in fact he was fascinated by the enticing shape of her lips and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes, he said, “You’re right. Maybe I’ll let the back forty go to seed awhile longer.”
She grinned. “You did just propose to me, didn’t you?”
“I thought that was pretty obvious. I love you and I want to marry you. If you want, I’ll get down on my knee. But it’s going to hurt like hell on this concrete floor.” He waited a moment for her response. When there was only silence, he asked, “You are going to accept, aren’t you?”
“With conditions.”
He sighed heavily. “You can be a very contrary woman, Ms. Prim. What conditions?”
“I’m sure LaVerne and LaVilla are wonderful young women, but they’ve got to go. And no more wannabe starlets are going to get a key to your house as long as I’m hanging around.”
He tipped his head back and laughed aloud. “You’ve got it, sweetheart. From now on, you’re the only woman in my life.”
“Hey...” came a female voice from down the hall. “What about me?” Lucy objected.
Kathryn turned, embarrassed to be caught in a clench with Curt. She’d likely never get over this need for privacy, not after what she’d experienced as an adolescent. But with time, things would get better. They had already with her family, and she was looking forward to developing a closer relationship with both her father and sister.
“Not to worry, Sis. I don’t think Katie meant you.”
“No, of course not,” Kathryn quickly agreed.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Lucy said, tugging Tom Weston behind her, “because we’ve got some super good news. Tom and I are going to be married, and we want you both at the wedding.”
Kathryn felt Curt’s arm slide around her waist in a thoroughly, and totally welcome, proprietary manner. “In that case, Sis, maybe we can make it a double wedding.”
Lucy squealed in delight. There were hugs and kisses and handshakes all around. A few tears included.
Finally Curt said, “Tom, you’re going to have to go out there and deal with the media.”
“Why me? You’re the one they want to see, and you’ve got enough experience to handle a mob twice that size.” He slanted a hungry, totally unprofessional look at Lucy, who was all smiles. “Besides, I’ve got something else on my agenda for tonight.”
“Tough luck, guy. You’re my designated mouthpiece. From now on I’m keeping a low profile.”
“No!” Kathryn vehemently objected. She drew a steadying breath as the others stared at her in surprise. It was going to take a while to get used to being a media personality, but she would learn to put a damper on her bad case of nerves. “What I really want to do is shout it from the rooftops that I love you, Curt Creighton, and I’m going to be your wife. It seems to me that the best and quickest way to get you off the list of the top-ten most eligible bachelors in the world is to make our announcement right now.”
“And let the rest of the women get on with their weeping,” Lucy interjected with a teasing grin.
“Are you sure, Katie? We can still slip out the back door. I don’t want to subject you to—”
She placed a silencing finger on his lips. “As long as your arm is around me, I’ll manage.”
Curt took her at her word. On the front steps of the police station, he announced their marriage plans to the world. Then he kissed her—long and thoroughly—and Kathryn wasn’t even aware of the flashbulbs that burst from every direction. Or the laughter that turned to applause. She only knew she was in the arms of the man she loved and planned to stay there for a very long time.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, as Kathryn lay completely sated in Curt’s arms, he said, “I think I’ve finally figured it out.”
“What’s that, dear?” she asked sleepily.
“Remember how I never knew what my father did that finally convinced Mother to marry him?”
She mumbled a sound that resembled a yes.
“As I recall, whenever they talked about Paris, Mother got kind of a dreamy look in her eyes. Like she was remembering an especially romantic trip they’d taken together.” He gently rubbed his whisker-rough cheek on her forehead. “I’ll bet that’s it. Dad took her to Paris. Maybe they even stayed at the château and then he bought it for her. What do you think?”
“It’s possible.”
He snuggled her up even closer along the length of his body. “I’ll have to pass the word on to our son when he’s old enough. It’ll give him a leg up when he meets the right woman.”
“You do that, dear.” She smiled a secret smile.
Maybe later—years from now—Kathryn would explain to Curt that he needn’t have taken her anywhere. She would have fallen in love with his irrepressible charm right here at home. It was how he had tried to protect her, had been so concerned about even her irrational fear of publicity, that had really done the trick.
Meanwhile, she intended to enjoy as many trips to Paris as they could manage around the constraints of her studying for the bar exam and what she hoped would be an exciting law practice.
She’d mention that to their son, too. When the time was right.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8300-8
How to Marry a Millionaire
Copyright © 1995 by Charlotte Lobb
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
How To Marry A Millionaire (For Richer, For Poorer) Page 17