The Millionaire Takes A Bride

“You sound surprised. Don’t you think I have one?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Once again, she tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held her firmly, forcing her to look directly in his eyes. Somehow, she’d managed to sound calm and unmoved, she thought, despite the tremors that shook her within. His face was so close to hers, barely a breath away, and as his gaze dropped down to her mouth some inner alarm sounded, warning that he was about to kiss her.

“Ridiculous…yes, of course,” he murmured in a husky tone, still staring hungrily down at her lips. “I assure you, Ms. Price, I’m trying very hard not to be…”

Then his dark head dipped toward hers, and his hand lifted her chin. Georgia thought to pull away, to make some forceful protest, but all she could do was lift her hands and press them again his chest. The sensation of his firm muscles against her fingertips wasn’t the dash of cold water she needed at the moment. To the contrary, making contact with his hard, warm body had just the opposite effect, shutting down her powers of reasoning completely.

Georgia sighed and closed her eyes—as much a sign of pure frustration with herself as a sign of her surrender. It was all the encouragement Jackson needed, and in a heartbeat she felt herself pulled into his hard embrace, her mouth covered by the seeking, seductive touch of his lips.

It was shocking.

It was wonderful.

It was a pure revelation.

Despite all rational and moral objections Georgia might have voiced in saner moments to kissing a man she barely knew—especially this man—she found herself swept away by the moment, giving herself over to the wave of sensual pleasure that suddenly crashed over her, body and soul.

Her arms moved up to circle his shoulders, her fingertips toying with the thick, damp strands of his hair. His mouth glided over hers, coaxing, tasting and teasing until she couldn’t help but respond. She moaned quietly in the back of her throat, and the small sound inspired him with a new surge of ardor.

Heavens, it had been months—no, years—since she’d been kissed like this. Had she ever been kissed like this?

Then, just as Georgia began to call a halt, she was saved. A small voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and Georgia heard it as if it echoed from miles away.

“Mommy?”

Noah. He’d woken up.

Georgia sprang away from Jackson’s hold as if she’d been stuck by a cattle prod. She ran over to the staircase and started up, toward her son, some part of her mind reflecting that it was funny how a child might sometimes sleep through a tornado—then wake up to the sound of a toothbrush dropping on the floor three rooms away.

“It’s okay, honey. Everything’s all right,” she assured him. “Go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.”

He rubbed his eyes sleepily but didn’t budge until she reached him at the landing. “I heard voices. It sounded like you were talking to someone…. Is someone here?”

Georgia wondered for a moment if she should tell one of the little white lies that help adults survive parenthood, for she could make Noah believe all he had heard was the TV. Then she thought best not to, realizing that Noah could easily get out of bed again and see Jackson Bradshaw.

With a hand on Noah’s shoulder she gently guided him back toward his bedroom. “Mommy has a visitor. But he’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

“A visitor?” Noah sounded confused. And rightly so. Georgia rarely dated and never had men over for the night, out of consideration for her son. “Who’s here?”

“Just a man who got lost in the rain on the road,” she said. The explanation satisfied her as it wasn’t a total fabrication, from what Jackson had told her of his journey. “His car broke down near our house and he needs to call up for a ride to town.”

There, that should appease even Noah’s eight-year-old, insatiable mind, she decided.

She flipped back the comforter on Noah’s bed. “Okay, back to bed now.”

“How is this man going to get a ride to town?” Noah protested as he climbed back under his quilt imprinted with the infamous Curious George. “He’ll never get a ride into town in the middle of the night, Mom,” Noah assured her.

“Hmm, we’ll see.” Georgia tugged the quilt up over his small body and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

As she descended the stairs again, she realized that Noah was correct, as usual. The only way Jackson Bradshaw could get back to town at this hour was if she packed up Noah and drove him or lent him her vehicle. She guessed the time to be close to 2:00 a.m., and neither solution seemed appealing.

When Georgia entered the living room, Jackson was standing at the far end, gazing out at the rain again, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He turned to look at her with a bland, distant expression, and it was as if their intimate encounter had never happened.

Just as well, Georgia decided. She was quite happy to skip any commentary or analysis. The moment had seemed like a dream, a wild fantasy. She couldn’t begin to understand her reaction to him—no less explain it.

“Is your boy all right?” he asked politely.

“He’s fine,” she assured him.

“I’m sorry I woke him. I hope he wasn’t scared, hearing a strange voice in the house in the middle of the night.”

His consideration for Noah surprised her. Was it an act, designed to put her off guard? Had that impetuous kiss been a ploy, as well? she suddenly wondered.

“I explained that your car got stuck on the road and you walked here for help. He said he didn’t think you’d be able to get a ride back to town tonight.”

“From the looks of your town, I suspect he’s right. If I’d sneezed while driving down Main Street, I might have missed it.”

“It’s not quite that dinky,” Georgia protested. “But Sweetwater doesn’t have a twenty-four-hour taxi service. We don’t have any taxi service at all, actually,” she admitted.

“And I suppose that, even if I could find a ride somehow, there probably aren’t any motels around here, are there?”

“Sure, there’s a motel,” she replied agreeably. “The E-Z Rest. About thirty-five miles north on Route 6. The truckers seem to like it.”

She tried to picture Jackson Bradshaw spending a night at the E-Z Rest. The image made her secretly smile. Well, it certainly was not the Ritz….

“I might have guessed,” he replied in a grim, resigned tone. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Well, maybe you could kindly lend me an umbrella, then. It looks as if it’s still raining a bit, and I do have a rather long walk back to my car.”

“Your car? I thought you said your car wasn’t working.”

“That’s correct. And the rental agency can’t get a replacement out here until sometime late tomorrow. And that’s only if the rain stops.”

“Well then, why, may I ask, are going back out to your car? If you’ve left any valuables there, you needn’t worry. This area may be a backwater, but we are just about crime free.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, Ms. Price. At least I won’t fear for my life, sleeping out on the roadside. Do you have an extra umbrella or not?” he queried.

She suddenly understood. The poor man. He thought she was going to toss him back into the rain and make him sleep in his car. As if she could treat her worst enemy in that fashion. She almost wanted to laugh, but restrained herself.

“Don’t be silly. You needn’t sleep in your car. You can stay here, on the sofa.” As if on cue they both glanced over at her old couch. The lumps looked even larger than usual to Georgia and she had no doubt that his feet would hang well over the edge. She might feel sorry for him…if he wasn’t such a bullheaded pain in the neck. Besides, it certainly beat his alternatives. After the way he’d insulted her tonight—all in the name of his “quest”—he was lucky she’d allowed him to stay at all.

He must have been thinking the same. “Thank you. That’s a kind offer. All things considered.”

“Yes. All things considered, it is, isn’t it?” She brushed by and headed up the stairs to get some bedding. Then she remembered that his clothes were probably still wet and would be horribly uncomfortable. “Would you like a dry T-shirt or something?” she asked, stopping halfway up the stairs.

“Uh…sure. That would be excellent,” he replied, seeming surprised at her thoughtfulness. “That is, if you can find one that will fit me.”

“I think I can dig up something,” Georgia replied as she continued up the stairs. She had some super-large T-shirts on hand that she used for cover-ups while exercising or when she took Noah to the town pool. One of them should be large enough to fit her unexpected houseguest, she thought. There might even be some baggy sweatpants around, too.

She gathered the necessary bedding, clean towels, some toiletry items she thought he’d find useful and also a large black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. She returned with her armload to find Jackson in the rocking chair, his head tipped back, his eyes closed.

He was breathing heavily—practically snoring, she noted. But in sleep, his stern expression had relaxed, displaying his appealing features to full advantage. He’d opened his shirt to the waist, and Georgia felt herself blushing as she surveyed the contours of his muscular chest, covered with whorls of dark hair down to his flat belly.

Easy girl, she coached herself, as she pulled her gaze away. She released a small, quiet sigh, dumped her burden on the armchair, then quickly made up the bed.

She left the towels and other necessities on the end table, then stood next to Jackson. He was sleeping so deeply, she wondered if she should wake him. Then she thought she should, since she knew he’d wake up with a permanent dent in his back if he spent the rest of the night in that rocker, which certainly would not improve his cranky disposition.

She leaned over him. “Jackson?” she called quietly.

He didn’t open his eyes immediately, though she did notice a small smile shape his lips and guessed he had heard her.

“Come on, Jackson. Time for bed,” she called again, leaning closer.

“Georgia…” he murmured. She liked the way he said her name. As if he’d been calling to her in a dream. But when he added, “Yes…let’s get to bed, honey…” She straightened to her full height.

He suddenly blinked, coughed and stared up at her, his relaxed, soft smile replaced by a guarded look. “Guess I fell asleep,” he mumbled. He rubbed his face with his hand.

“Guess so,” she agreed. “The couch is ready, and there are a few things you might need on the end table. The bathroom is that way, just go left at the kitchen.”

“Left at the kitchen,” he repeated groggily. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Thanks again for the bunk…. No need to tuck me in,” he teased.

“That’s a relief,” she replied under her breath. She turned on her heel and started for the stairs. “See you in the morning.”

“Yes, tomorrow,” he echoed ominously. He got up from the rocker and stretched his long arms and legs. “Your wedding day. Of course, maybe my arrival on the scene has put a damper on the plans? Either way, I’ll guarantee you that you won’t be rid of me until I find my brother. I’ll camp out in your living room if I have to.”

“What a thought,” Georgia replied. She met his determined gaze, then looked away. Oh, dear. He was back on that again, was he? She honestly didn’t know how long she could keep up the charade.

She was suddenly tempted to admit all, then decided to leave her confessions for the bold light of day. There was no predicting how he might react. He might take off in the dead of night, still determined to hunt Will and Faith down.

No, let him stay right here in her living room, where she could keep her eye on him. And let him believe that she was the hopeful bride.

After all, Georgia reasoned, a man like Jackson Bradshaw deserved at least one torturous night on her sofa for trying to prevent her dear sister’s wedding.

Two

When Georgia came down the next morning, the couch was empty, the bedding neatly folded. The bathroom door was shut, and she heard the shower running. She had dressed in jeans and a dark-blue T-shirt after a quick shower upstairs. Her short honey-blond hair was damp and curling from the humidity. She hardly looked like a woman who planned to be married shortly, she reflected. Of course, try to tell Jackson Bradshaw that. His suspicious mind would reason that she was merely trying to trick him and perhaps had a wedding gown on underneath her outfit.

Never one to wear much makeup, she had taken the time to cover the dark shadows under her eyes with a dab of concealer and slap on a bit of lip gloss. She needed a little boost to her self-confidence this morning in order to take on the “dragon” again.

She swiftly got the coffee maker started and pulled out the ingredients for breakfast from the refrigerator. She was a good cook—a great cook, some said—and she now strategized that Jackson Bradshaw’s temperament might be improved by a tasty meal.

She imagined that he hadn’t eaten during his long, arduous journey last night and would appreciate a good breakfast—crisp bacon, blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice. And even if the good food didn’t mollify his contentious personality, the distraction of chewing and swallowing would at least slow down his interrogation.

For Georgia fully expected another interrogation this morning regarding the whereabouts of Will Bradshaw. Or perhaps Jackson thought all he had to do was hang around Georgia in order to catch the slippery groom?

She didn’t want him hanging around here all day, she reflected as she whipped the pancake batter with nervous energy. Something about the man positively…unnerved her. It wasn’t just his difficult personality. That she could deal with. If only he was short, paunchy, balding…why, she’d have no problem at all dealing with him. But no, he had to be so…so…outrageously attractive it made her brain blow a fuse when he so much as smiled at her. Thank goodness he was such a sourpuss he rarely did.

She lowered the heat under a skillet of simmering bacon and sliced some fruit into a colorful bowl.

No, she hadn’t been attracted to a man in such a way in a long, long time. It would have been funny actually, if it wasn’t so annoyingly perverse, that of all the men she’d met lately, she should have such a reaction to this one.

“Just my luck,” Georgia reflected wryly as she tested the griddle.

“What’s your luck?” a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

Georgia looked up, trying to hide her surprise. “Umm…just talking to myself about the weather. It’s still pouring out.”

“Yes, I noticed…. Though they say rain is good luck on a wedding day,” he added pointedly.

“Oh, yes. My wedding. I nearly forgot,” she replied dryly. She lightly slapped her forehead. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Not at all,” he replied politely.

She finally lifted her head and took a good look at him.

If he’d looked good last night in damp, rumpled clothes and a day’s growth of beard, he looked even better now. Fresh from the shower, he wore the borrowed black T-shirt that was attractively form-fitting and a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his slim hips. He’d obviously used the little plastic razor she’d found and had only nicked himself once, on the chin, she noticed. Her hands itched to test the smoothness of his lean cheeks.

She abruptly turned back to her cooking. “Help yourself to coffee. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Smells good in here.” He poured himself a mug of coffee. “I never have time for a real breakfast.”

“Well, this is a real one, a high-cholesterol special. I hope you’re not a health food freak or anything like that?”

“Even if I was, right now I could eat anything you put in front of me.”

She laughed. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Once I transferred from that back-breaking sofa to the floor.”

“Yes, I imagine the floor would have been more comfortable after all,” she agreed, the corner of her mouth itching to smile.

He leaned on the counter and sipped his coffee, watching her. The thoughtful expression on his face unnerved her. She wished he would go and sit at the table or something, but she didn’t want to ask him outright. His nearness made her self-conscious, and she focused on the pancakes. She didn’t want them to get overcooked and tough. She tested the edge of one with the spatula, then flipped it expertly.

“You do that very well,” he observed.

“I was a cook in a diner once,” she confided, “one of my many employment experiences. But you probably know all about the exciting chapter of my life from your…research?” she prodded him.

“My research?” His cheeks looked a bit flushed under his bronzed complexion. “Oh, yes, I do remember reading that,” he admitted. “It’s hard work for a woman, cooking in a diner,” he added thoughtfully.

“It’s hard for anyone,” she corrected. “But the lady who owned the place was a good sort. She let me take Noah along sometimes when I couldn’t get a sitter.”

“You took your baby to work with you?” he asked in disbelief. “Was that…safe for him?”

“He was fine. I’d set him up on the counter in his little infant seat. All the waitresses took turns holding him and playing with him. They made such a fuss over him, they spoiled him silly. You’d think he had about ten grandmas.”

She turned and looked at him. She and this man were obviously from different worlds—different planets, in fact. Clearly, he’d never known what it meant to struggle to pay the bills, pay the rent, stretch every dollar to the end of the month. There was no way to explain that reality to him. She would be wasting her breath even trying.

“It was either take him…or get fired,” she added. “And I needed my paycheck.”

“I understand,” he said thoughtfully.

“No, I don’t think you do,” she replied. Someone like Jackson Bradshaw could research someone like her for ages, and though they might get the facts in black-and-white, they’d never understand the whole story, she reflected.

The kitchen suddenly felt small, his presence distracting her. Disturbing her. The sound of the rain steadily beating on the windowpanes made the room feel close and airless.

She suddenly thought about the way he’d kissed her—and the way she’d reacted to him. Neither of them had spoken about it afterward, and she certainly wasn’t about to start the morning off on that topic. When she’d thought it over later, she wondered if he was perhaps testing her. Trying to see if she’d be faithful to his brother or willing to flirt with any guy who crossed her path. Yet his kiss had been so intense, so passionate, it was hard to believe it had been merely a test.

What did it matter? she finally decided. It had been a fluke. An aberration. It wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t allow it. He was a totally condescending snob, anyway. How could she ever be attracted to a man like him?

“Can I help in some way? Set the table perhaps?” he offered politely.

“Thanks, would you? The plates are in that cupboard and the silverware in this drawer,” she directed him. “Why don’t you turn on the radio so we can hear the weather report?” she added.

The lively chatter of a local morning radio show helped ease the tension in the room, Georgia thought. But the news was not good. “And the record rainfall is expected to continue throughout the day, folks, with flooding reported on Route 6, west and north of town, and most of the side roads washed out. In other words it’s a great day to stay indoors if you can. Unless you’re a duck,” there was a loud quacking sound accompanied by the announcer’s chuckle. “And if you do go out today, don’t forget those hip waders. We’ve got mud out there up to our dang eyebrows, don’t we, Wally?” he asked his partner.

“Up to the old…wazoo, buddy boy,” Wally rejoined. There was a funny, twanging noise—a mouth harp, probably—that made Georgia smile. “Look for a break in the clouds sometime tomorrow afternoon, friends.”

“Can’t they just give a blasted forecast, without the comedy?” Jackson scowled, his expression darkening. “I don’t suppose the rental car company can even get a tow truck out here in this weather, much less a replacement car.”

Georgia glanced over at him as she set a platter of golden pancakes on the table. “I’d doubt it.”

From the looks of things, she was going to be up to her old wazoo with Jackson Bradshaw for the rest of the day, short of some miraculous break in the weather. The twist of his fine lips told her he was thinking the same.

“Blueberry pancakes! Cool! And it’s not even Sunday!” Noah’s chipper voice broke the heavy silence as he raced into the kitchen and headed for the table. But suddenly noticing the stranger in the room, his sneakered feet skidded to a halt near his mother.

“Noah, this is the man I told you about, the one that got stuck on the road last night. His name is Jackson.”

Georgia carefully omitted adding Jackson’s last name. Noah was so bright, he’d surely make the connection between Will—who he’d recently started addressing as Uncle Will—and his older brother. One slip from Noah, and her charade would be blown. Could she possibly keep this farce afloat until the rain let up?

“How do you do?” Jackson said politely. “You must be Noah.” He held his hand out to Noah, and they shook in a manly fashion.

“How d’ ya do,” Noah echoed, puffing himself up to his full height.

During encounters like this one she was always amazed to see how much her boy had matured. He’d always been a good kid, never causing her much trouble. But it was clear to her lately that his baby days were well and truly over. At times like this he seemed to be a little man. His eyeglasses which he’d needed since age four—with their owlish, tortoise-shell frames—also added to the impression. His remarkable intelligence made him seem older than most children his age.

Teachers had told her that Noah was more than simply intelligent, he was actually gifted. He’d skipped second grade and might skip fourth, too. But he was still a bit bored with school. Unfortunately, there weren’t any special programs in their small public school system for gifted children, and Georgia couldn’t afford a private school.

She hoped that later, when Noah was older, she could somehow provide the type of educational environment that would challenge and nurture his intellectual potential. But for now she did what she could by buying him books, educational toys and encouraging his varied interests. This summer he was going to spend two weeks at a special science camp, and she had nearly saved enough to buy him a computer for Christmas. Will was going to help her choose something suitable. While Faith and Will were visiting, Noah and Will had struck up a great rapport. Noah was fascinated with stories of Will’s scientific research, and Georgia thought her son’s new uncle was going to be a wonderful influence.

She wondered now about Jackson. What kind of influence, if any, would he have on Noah? For, in fact, though he had no idea of it, they were all related now by Faith and Will’s secret marriage.

Georgia brought the rest of the food to the table. She sat at one end of the small table, and Jackson sat at the other. Noah sat between them. Everyone was quiet for a while as they fixed their plates and began eating.

“Is a tow truck coming to pull your car out of the mud?” Noah asked, chewing a slice of bacon.

“I hope so,” Jackson answered. “I haven’t made any calls yet.”

“The storm front isn’t expected to pass this area until late tonight. A front of cooler, drier air is moving south, through the midwestern states, at about twenty miles per hour,” Noah explained in a patient tone to the adults. “It could reach us tonight. Or could be stalled out by another low pressure system coming in from the Gulf region,” he warned.

Jackson stared at the boy, wide-eyed, a forkful of pancakes held halfway between his plate and mouth. “You don’t say.”

“Noah is very interested in the weather,” Georgia explained. “He has a weather-band radio up in his room.”