Memo: The Billionaire's Proposal

“So how does it feel?” Drake asked.

“Pretty cool.” Chaney wiggled her toes. “I remember watching the premiere episode and thinking, wow, this is what all those ideas we were tossing back and forth turned into. Though I never thought you’d host the show.”

“Me, neither,” he admitted. “But I had a free weekend when they were set to shoot the pilot. We hadn’t found the right talent to host, and Gem said I should do it. I had fun, so I decided to make it a regular gig. Though we’ve started using guest hosts.”

“Gemma told me.”

“Do you have a favorite episode?” he asked.

“I’d have to say it’s the one with kite surfing on the coast of Greenland.”

“That was an exciting episode to tape,” he said. “The Google guys took a vacation there and gave us the idea.”

“Whose idea was it to use a medieval castle this weekend?”

“Gem after she nixed my idea of base-jumping in Norway.”

“Good call,” Chaney said. “Previews of you in your knight costume will bring in viewers and increase ratings a lot more than you doing a crazy stunt.”

He raised a brow. “You sound confident.”

“It’s my job to understand viewers and translate ratings into advertising revenue,” she explained. “All you have to do is take a look at yourself in any one of the gilded mirrors around here. The knight look will be huge with female viewers. You may span a whole new following with Sir Dragon Knight.”

He laughed. “And I thought women were only after my bank account.”

“I’m sure there are those, too, but all women are susceptible to the archetype of a knight. Even if they’d never admit it.”

“Do you admit it?” he asked.

“Well, I definitely had a thing for knights when I was younger. Galahad was my favorite, but the whole fairy-tale thing seems a bit…outdated. I don’t need anyone to rescue me. I can do it myself.”

Even if she still might dream of a happily ever after of her own someday.

“Very modern. Very practical.”

“I am practical.” She’d had to be. “Anything wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all.” The devilish look in his brown eyes matched the grin on his face. “I’m curious how your practicality has affected your current investment strategy philosophy. Do you prefer short-term, long-term or day trading?”

“None of the above.” She raised her chin and met his inquisitive gaze. “I’m currently on hiatus from…investing.”

Talk about a marathon session tonight. Drake had almost been grateful when the clock struck midnight and the chimes interrupted the taping.

Of course he was the executive producer as well as the host, or talent as the crew called it. He could have shut down production at any time except he had a helicopter to catch on Sunday afternoon so he could make a flight at Heathrow. He didn’t want to cause any delays.

Hot lights shone on him. Sweat dripped down his armor-clad body. Even though he was wearing a costume, the armor was metal not plastic. Drake was going to need a shower, and maybe a massage, when they were finished. He knew exactly who he wanted to help him with both.

Drake couldn’t see Chaney Sullivan. He surveyed the drawing room looking for a peek of her caramel-colored hair, but couldn’t see her with the two cameras in front of him and the crew milling about behind them. Maybe she was hidden in the back.

The antique one-of-a-kind clock continued to chime. Ten, eleven, twelve…

Quiet. Finally.

“Okay, people.” Milt, the director and producer, clapped his hands. “Let’s get this final scene wrapped up so we can call it a night.”

Drake was all for that.

“One sec.” The hair-and-makeup stylist, a woman named Liz who preferred soda to wine and pretzels to caviar, ran up to him. She fluffed, finger curled and sprayed his hair, making him feel like a fancy show dog. She smiled, satisfaction filling her eyes. “That’s better.”

For her maybe. At least the wardrobe stylist, a guy named Russell, wasn’t trying to spit shine the armor. Just buff it with a soft, white cloth.

“We only need the last line,” Milt said.

Drake stretched his neck. “No problem.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Milt’s eyes narrowed. “I only want you to do one thing differently this time. When you smile at the camera, make it really count. Make the female viewers wet between the legs.”

“I’m a businessman, not an actor.”

“You’re neither of those things tonight.” As Milt patted Drake’s shoulder, his ring clanged against the armor. “You’re Lancelot, knight and lover extraordinaire. Guinevere, your queen, is alone in the castle, naked in her bed, and watching you. Make her wish you were there with her.”

Drake fought the urge to roll his eyes. And laugh.

This part of show business was something he would never understand. Still, doing the show was good publicity and PR for the channel and his company. He trusted his gut, and his instinct said do what Milt wanted. That was what Drake had done for the past two seasons and saw no need to change now. “You’re in charge, but let’s hope Guin’s covered herself with a blanket. Castles can be drafty this time of year.”

The crew laughed. Even Milt cracked a smile.

Liz came after Drake with the eyelash curler. “I forgot something.”

“Is that really necessary again?” he asked.

She winked. “Absolutely, Sir Lashalot.”

Drake grimaced, allowed the deed to be done and readied himself for the scene.

Holding a gold goblet precariously with his gauntlet-covered hand, he stood in front of an elaborately carved fireplace complete with an ornate coat of arms being held by two lion-faced cherubim.

“Ready, Sir Lancelot?” Milt asked.

Drake nodded once.

Milt looked at Tony, one of the two cameramen on the crew. “Let me know when you have speed.”

“Are the mikes working?” Tony asked the audio person, who gave him the thumbs-up. “Speed.”

A few seconds later, Drake saw his cue.

Show time.

Once he nailed this line, he’d be free to do whatever he wanted. And he knew what—make that who—he wanted.

Forget Guinevere.

The adulterous queen had nothing on his new associate producer. An image of Chaney wearing her sexy, smart-girl glasses flashed in his mind.

He raised the goblet and smiled at the camera. “And that’s why Abbotsford Castle is one of this billionaire’s favorite playgrounds.”

Luxurious and romantic, this castle would be the perfect place to play with Chaney. Five years hadn’t changed the smart, pretty American’s appeal.

Drake still wanted to taste those full, pink lips of hers that had tempted him during her internship. He wanted to see if the adorable dimple on her left cheek went as deep as it looked. He wanted to lend a hand as she wiggled out of those well-fitted jeans, cupping her bottom like a glove, so he could see if she wore a thong, boy short or other type of panty underneath.

Most of all, he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d turned him down.

Sorry Mr. Llewelyn. You’re targeting the wrong girl.

He’d been sorry all right especially since he’d stopped dating a woman, a supermodel if he remembered correctly, to pursue Chaney. But she hadn’t wanted him.

Drake had thought about that, about her, over the years. Now that he’d seen her again, and found out she wasn’t married as he’d believed, he wanted another chance.

Before the weekend was over, Drake wanted to hear the word “yes” fall from Chaney’s lips. A “please take me now” wouldn’t be so bad, either. He wanted to prove to himself and her that he hadn’t targeted the wrong girl. Far from it. Given the antics and partying that accompanied the production crew during their two and a half months on the road, he had high hopes.

His smile widened.

Milt counted down with his fingers. Five-four-three-two-one.

“Cut! That’s a wrap people.” Milt adjusted his LA Dodgers baseball cap. “Perfect, Drake. Keep smiling like that, and you’ll be a lock making this year’s Sexiest Man Alive list.”

Drake handed the goblet to Jesse, an intern working on the show, and took a bottle of water from her. “Thanks, but I’d rather top the Richest Man Alive list.”

As he downed the water, the crew, including a few locals hired to help due to the size of the castle and amount of work involved in this particular episode, moved gear in preparation for tomorrow’s shoot. The show had exclusive use of the castle for the next two days so they didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in the way. The castle staff had experience with film crews so would be no trouble.

He handed his empty bottle to Jesse, who scurried away to who knew where. Funny, but Drake couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to find a garbage can himself. Years ago, he’d dug through trash cans out of necessity for him and his dad. How times had changed.

As he made his way past the lights and cameras, he searched for Chaney. He found her standing in the doorway with her clipboard in hand and talking to the production coordinator. As he crossed the drawing room in her direction, desire rocketed through him.

He’d appreciated Chaney’s athletic all-American girl figure before, but now her clothes accentuated fuller curves. Her long hair worn in braids or a ponytail had always looked charming on the college co-ed, but the new sophisticated shoulder-length cut suited her face better. The biggest and most intriguing change, though, was to her eyes. Not the glasses, but the maturity he saw in the hazel-green depths.

Chaney Sullivan was no longer a girl. She’d become a woman. A woman who was hardworking, confident and, most important, smart. Her intelligence had always been the draw for him, Drake realized, even if he liked the package it came in, too.

He slowed his approach until the production coordinator walked away. By then most of the crew had left. “Hello, there.”

“Hi.” Chaney held her clipboard in front of her like a barrier between them. A barrier he had every intention of breaking down. “Great job tonight.”

“Thank you.”

She stifled a yawn.

Chaney should be in bed. His bed, if Drake had his choice. “Join me for a drink?”

“I thought you didn’t date employees.”

“I don’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

She was considered an independent contractor, and her paycheck would be coming from the cable channel as Gemma’s did, not the corporate office. So Chaney was, in effect, fair game. “You don’t work for me.”

“Not officially, but I’m—”

“Tired?”

“Exhausted.”

“I’ll have to let you go, then. But could you do a little something for me first, please?”

She readied her pen over her clipboard. “Sure, what do you need?”

Staring into her eyes, he smiled. “I need your help getting out of this costume.”

CHAPTER TWO

UNDRESS him? Chaney’s heart pounded in her ears. Surely she had misunderstood. “You want me to…”

“Help me out of this armor,” Drake finished for her. “I don’t know where Russell ran off to, and you’re the only one left.”

She glanced around the drawing room, now deserted. Where had everyone gone? The room had been bustling with activity a few minutes ago.

He stared at her, an expectant look in his brown eyes.

Face it, Gemma wouldn’t think twice about helping him. Neither should Chaney. He’d made a reasonable request, and she was acting as if he’d asked her to his room for a night of hot sex. Sure, the man oozed sensuality, but just because he’d wanted her once didn’t mean he wanted her now.

Time to stop overreacting and do her job.

Chaney straightened. “What do you want me to do first?”

“Come with me.”

She fell in step with Drake, noticing he shortened his stride to match hers. He’d always had lovely, rather Old World manners. She remembered the handkerchief he’d once offered her. Of course, that had been right before he propositioned her.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To my room.”

Her heart bumped. Okay, he was inviting her to his room, but sex was not on the agenda. Hers or, she hoped, his.

No worries, Chaney told herself. She’d heard he was staying in the king’s bedchamber and knew only a staircase led to the suite, not an elevator. He probably didn’t feel like stripping out of the armor and carrying it up to his room. She wouldn’t, either.

No big deal going up there with Drake. She would help him out of the costume then head to her room for some much-needed and wellearned sleep.

She yawned. The jet lag had finally caught up with her. “Will this take long?”

“It shouldn’t,” he said.

Relieved, Chaney stepped through an arched doorway into a hallway of stone. Stone walls, floor and ceiling surrounded her. Electric torches illuminated a circular staircase in front of her. She shivered. Those stone steps led to one place—Drake’s room.

Stop being melodramatic. No big deal, remember. It wasn’t as if she were going to be locked away in a tower cell with him. She was just going up there to help him undress. Chaney gulped.

Drake gestured up the narrow staircase. “After you.”

“Thanks, but I don’t know the way,” she demurred. “My flight was delayed so I missed the taping of the guest rooms this morning. Is it true Henry VIII slept in the king’s bedchamber?”

“That’s what they say.” As Drake ascended, his armor and chain mail clanked. The sound echoed through the stairwell. “He seems to have slept his way across England.”

She followed Drake up. “He did have six wives.”

“Six too many.”

“Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.” Chaney repeated the rhyme she’d memorized back in school. “I’m sure at least half of them would agree with you.”

“All of them should.”

The disdain in his voice surprised her. She remembered what he’d said earlier today in the great hall. “So you’re not interested in settling down or in marriage?”

“Beheadings, divorces and deaths sound about right when it comes to matrimony.”

“Don’t forget one of Henry’s wife survived those fates.”

“Sheer luck.” He glanced back at Chaney. “I prefer better odds.”

His take on marriage brought a twinge of disappointment, but she didn’t know why. “Don’t you want a family?”

He shrugged. “I have no time for a family.”

“Someday then?”

He continued up the stairs, all armor and wide shoulders. “Perhaps, but I don’t see it happening.”

“You never know what might happen.” The torches flickered like candles, casting shadows through the stairwell. She touched the wall, the stone cool and rough beneath her palm. “It almost feels as if we’ve gone back in time.”

“Except this castle has electricity, heating, indoor plumbing and Wi-Fi.”

“My kind of castle.”

“Mine, too,” he admitted. “Though there is something to be said for a time when men were men. That isn’t always the case today.”

Armor aside, Drake was as manly as men came. “Many of those men didn’t live to see middle age, let alone old age.”

“True, but at least there were rules and codes to battles as well as relationships. That had to make things easier.”

“Easier doesn’t sound very romantic.”

“Let me guess.” His lighthearted tone teased. “You’re one of those romantic women who enjoy hearts, flowers and violins.”

“Well, I’m not all that into hearts and violins, but I do like flowers. If that makes me one of those romantic women, so be it.” She climbed the stairs behind him. “I do believe true love exists.”

“Love may exist,” he admitted. “But I don’t think it lasts long in the real world or really offers much.”

“My parents are still together after thirty-two years of marriage,” Chaney countered. “I doubt they made it that far by simply liking each other.”

“Like can go a long way. As can habit.” Drake reached the top of the stairs. “But I hope for your parents’ sake and for Gemma and Oliver’s, that their love lasts.”

Maybe Drake wasn’t all that bad. He obviously cared about Gemma’s happiness and future, but his words still bothered Chaney. “So you’re not a full-blown cynic about love.”

He stood in front of a massive wood door, looking every inch the lord of the manor or, in this case, king of the castle. “I prefer to think of myself as a realist.”

“We should agree to disagree, then, because I feel totally removed from reality right now.”

Smiling, he pushed down on the door handle. “Then enjoy the fantasy.”

The words Drake and fantasy did not belong in the same sentence. Okay, the guy might be a total hottie and physically appealing, but Chaney disagreed with everything he said about the subjects of love and marriage. Even though she didn’t want to settle down now, that didn’t mean not ever. One day she hoped to experience the kind of love that lasted, the forever kind. And she would never want to date a man who had such different views on relationships from her. Not that Drake wanted to date her.

He opened the door.

“You don’t lock your room?” she asked.

“Can’t. No place to put the key.”

“You could have asked one of us to hold it.”

“The castle is secure. The production crew top rate. Even the locals we’ve hired seem like excellent workers.” He held the door for her. “Besides I don’t have anything that can’t be replaced.”

Chaney tried to understand his way of thinking. Tried and failed. “One of the perks of being wealthy, I’d imagine.”

“For me, yes.” He didn’t sound boastful, simply honest. “Others might disagree.”

“Several others, I’d imagine.”

“Yourself.”

It wasn’t a question. “I don’t have expensive jewelry or electronics with me, but what I have I’d like to keep.”

“If I were yours, I’d want to be kept.”

Her cheeks warmed. Chaney crossed the threshold to his room so he wouldn’t see her blush. She couldn’t imagine Drake allowing any woman to keep him. Especially her. “Wow. Now I know what the production coordinator meant when she called this room opulent.”

No expense had been spared in decorating the suite, a series of rooms, each of which was larger than Chaney’s one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles. She stood in the sitting area, where a fire burned in the hand-carved fireplace. The golden flames added warmth and a romantic atmosphere.

Not romantic, she corrected. Nothing about her being her could be construed as romantic. She was here to do a job, nothing else.

Still she caught a glimpse of the bedroom off to her right. Gold and Wedgwood-blue silk curtains hung from a large canopy bed, a bed fit for royalty, heads of state or a corporate raider. Coordinating pillows made a pair of overstuffed chairs placed beneath an arched window look even more luxurious.

“This suite is so lavish,” Chaney said.

“It is rather regal looking.” He removed his gauntlets and placed them on a round table. “If you like it so much, we can trade rooms.”

“Thanks, but I’m happy where I am.” Coming back to England had been a good move, even with seeing Drake again. She’d been handed a golden excuse to miss the housewarming party at her sister’s new house this weekend. No having to tell friends and family she still didn’t have a boyfriend and that she wasn’t jealous her sister was living in a beautiful house in Malibu with a view and a guesthouse. Nope, this was much better than that anyday. “You belong here. This is the king’s bedchamber.”

Drake bowed. “I am but a mere knight, my lady.”

“A king in knight’s clothing.” And with a kingly bed. Chaney noticed the bedding had been turned down. The sheets must be at least 400-count Egyptian cotton. “You shouldn’t sleep anywhere but here.”

“It is a comfortable room.”

“Comfortable? It’s so spectacular I’m afraid to touch anything. I bet that table-and-chair set is worth more than I am.” She pointed the clipboard toward a four-foot-high vase on her left. “That vase probably costs more than my annual salary.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We were required to take out a large insurance rider in order to use the castle and grounds for the show. You’re safe.”

She didn’t feel so safe. Her gaze strayed to his inviting bed. Her bed would look just as good, she reminded herself.

“It’s late.” Chaney’s heavy eyelids kept wanting to close. The sooner she got to her own room, the better. She set her clipboard on the table. “Let me help you out of your costume so we can get to bed.”

“My bed or yours?”

Heat flamed her cheeks. “You know what I meant.”

“I always like to make sure and remove any doubt. It saves me from misunderstandings down the road as well as missed opportunities.”

“You’re not missing anything with me.” The words tumbled from her mouth. “I mean…”

Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “What do you mean, Chaney?”

He sounded so cool and collected, as if having a member of the opposite sex in his room after midnight was no big deal.

Okay, it probably wasn’t to him.

Still, the way he stood there looking sexier than anyone had a right to look dressed like a character from a summer blockbuster movie irritated Chaney.

No, he irritated her.

And that’s when she realized…

She was still angry with him for what happened five years ago, for shattering her illusion of him. She’d wanted to find her Prince Charming back then. She’d wanted him to be Drake. Instead she’d returned home and met Tyler, a man totally opposite from Drake. A man she’d thought had loved her. At least, he’d claimed to love her until he met Simone.

Chaney tucked her hair behind her ears. “How do you remove the costume?”

Drake lifted his left arm and pointed with his right hand. “Buckles are hidden underneath. They attach the armor pieces. You have to undo them.”

Okay, that didn’t sound difficult.

As she walked toward him, heat hit her. Not from the fireplace, but from Drake. She knew he was hot, but not literally. Heat emanated from him. His scent, sweaty, musky and male, filled her nostrils.

“I’m looking forward to getting out of this costume and into a shower,” he said.

She did not want to think about him naked with warm water shooting down on him. She glanced at the bed again. Thinking about him there probably wasn’t a good idea, either.

Chaney pulled apart the armor plates to find the buckles. “All I want to do is sleep.”

“That bed does look…inviting. They even left chocolate on the pillows.” He stared down at her. “Two chocolates.”

Uh-oh. She undid a buckle. “The staff may have assumed you’d have company.”

“I do. Are you interested?”

Her fingers fumbled. “What?”

His eyes danced with laughter. “In a chocolate.”

“I’m not company. I work for your company.” Unfastening another buckle, her fingertips brushed the chain mail underneath. “How many layers are you wearing?”

“A few, but once the chain mail is off, I can handle the rest. Unless you’d rather help with that, too.”

Her fingers trembled. No way would she respond to him. Anything she said would come out wrong and might even sound as if she were interested in helping with…more. She pressed her lips together.

Chaney focused on the armor, not the man underneath it. She caught glimpses of chain mail, a quilted shirt, dark hair. Intriguing images. Tempting impressions. Ones she ignored. She unbuckled the pieces around his chest and shoulders and placed each in a special container sitting on the floor of his room.

She knelt at his feet to remove the lower half of the armor. Reaching around his thigh, she found her hands between his legs and her head much too close to his, um, codpiece.

“I appreciate this, Chaney,” he said as if she were tying his shoes, not practically fondling him as she tried to reach a buckle. “I know you’re tired.”

She kept her eyes focused on the buckle, not allowing herself to look anywhere else. Or touch any part of him. “Almost done.”

Please, oh, please let me be almost done.