Memo: The Billionaire's Proposal

She hurriedly undid the buckle. Unfortunately, three more needed her attention and kept her in the uncomfortable, embarrassing position.

“All done,” she said finally, laying the last piece of leg armor into its spot in the container.

“Thank you.”

Chaney turned. The words “you’re welcome” died on her parted lips.

Drake stood wearing chain mail that molded his muscular shoulders, arms and chest. The metal shirt fell to his hips. Talk about hot.

She swallowed.

He was every woman’s fantasy and her worst nightmare. But that didn’t stop her knees from going weak and her blood from boiling.

“The chain mail attaches in the back,” he said.

Chaney forced herself into action. She fumbled with the first hook. Her fingers wouldn’t do what she wanted them to do.

She blew out a frustrated breath.

Darn the man.

His soft-looking hair tempted her to touch it, to see if the strands would curl around her finger.

“Having trouble?” Drake asked.

He had no idea. “I’m getting there.”

Or would. As soon as she reminded her traitorous body and out-of-control hormones she wasn’t interested in Drake Llewelyn. He couldn’t give her what she wanted: a forever kind of love. Not to mention she was taking a break from dating, from men.

An almost two-year break, a voice—maybe her heart—mocked.

Shut up.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

Oh, no. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Sorry, I was just trying to quiet the voices in my head.”

“What were they saying?”

“That it was past my bedtime, but don’t worry. I won’t leave until the job is finished.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

Chaney didn’t understand his confidence in her when she wasn’t sure she could count on herself in this situation.

Finally the snap came undone. Slowly, much too slowly for her liking, she opened each of the remaining ones. “They’re all unsnapped.”

“Can you help me out of it?” Drake asked.

“Sure.” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

“Open the back.”

As she did as he asked, Chaney realized how much the chain mail weighed. He shrugged out of the shirt so it rested on his upper arms.

“Now come around in front of me,” he said. “Be careful, it’s heavy.”

Chaney held on to the shirt as he pulled one arm out and then another, never once leaving her to hold the entire weight of the chain mail.

He placed it in the container. His damp, quilted shirt clung to him. He pulled the tails out from the waistband of his pants. “Much better and cooler.”

Maybe for him.

“I should go.”

“Stay.” One soft word in that sexy, accented voice.

She sucked in a breath. “But we’re done.”

His eyes lit again with that wicked, wicked laughter. “Darling, we’re just getting started.”

He walked—no, strutted—toward her, the set of his jaw full of purpose.

Drawn to his strength and heat, Chaney leaned toward him. She tilted her chin.

His gaze smoldered. His lips parted.

Chaney stood transfixed.

Drake stopped in front of her.

She could barely breathe, let alone think. She stared up at him, confused, afraid, attracted. He lowered his mouth to hers.

He was going to kiss her.

The realization ricocheted through her brain. She wanted him to kiss her. Badly. Except…

She ducked her head and stepped back so the only thing his lips touched was air.

“I should so not be surprised by this.” Her voice sounded shrill. She didn’t care.

His head drew back. “Excuse me?”

“I probably shouldn’t ask, given your reputation, but why would you choose to make a move on me now, when you know I’m so tired?”

“I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Why would you think that?”

“The way you leaned toward me. The tilt of your head. The look in your eyes that said kiss me.”

Oh, boy. Shame flooded her. She’d done all those things and probably more. “I’m sorry if I misled you.”

“Don’t be sorry.” His smile could have charmed a starving mouse out of its last nibble of cheddar. “We can try again. Let me show you what you missed out on five years ago.”

Sex. That was all he’d ever wanted from her.

Anger surged. Disappointment, too. She glanced to the bed and back at him. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not about to be another notch on your bedpost or wherever else you keep track of your conquests.”

“If that’s all I felt about you, Chaney, I wouldn’t be here.”

Even though she was upset at him, his words piqued her curiosity. “What are you talking about?”

“I decided to host this episode so I could see you again.”

The air in his room sizzled. Drake saw a mix of disbelief and hope in Chaney’s eyes. He wanted hope to win. That way he would win, too.

“You thought I was married and you still wanted to see me?” she asked.

“See you, yes. Nothing else.”

“And if I hadn’t agreed to fill in for Gemma?”

“But you did and you’re here. Not to mention unmarried.” He moved closer to her. “We’ve been given a second chance, Chaney. Let’s make the most of this opportunity.”

She put her hands on his chest to stop him. “Why don’t you park yourself at the round table and cool down.”

Her anger confused him. He hadn’t expected that reaction.

She walked away from him. “You can’t actually expect me to believe you.”

“What I said is true.”

Chaney gave him a look. “I only agreed to fill in for Gemma a few days ago. I realize you have enough money to have a custom suit of armor built for you at the last minute, but unless you’ve found a miracle formula to grow that much facial hair overnight, I’d say you spent well over a week on your beard. Probably longer than that.”

Damn. Most women would have pretended not to see through what he’d said and play along, but not Chaney. Drake didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused by the turn of events. “You may have misunderstood my intentions.”

“Oh, no. Your intentions are quite clear, but I want to make sure you don’t misinterpret mine.”

Forget annoyed. The way she dismissed him so easily and the strength she exhibited were total turn-ons.

She continued. “I’m sure whatever lines you normally use on women must work pretty well or you wouldn’t be so confident, but just so you know, nothing’s happening here tonight, tomorrow or any other day we happen to be in the same place.”

No one ever challenged him like this. Maybe he should try another tack or perhaps cut his losses and send her on her way. The truth was he really didn’t want her to leave. “Would you believe your being here gave me a reason to look forward to this weekend?”

Her clear, sharp eyes told him she wasn’t about to be swayed by empty words or careless compliments.

Guilt lodged in his throat. “I’m sorry to have dragged you up here.”

The tightness around her mouth told him he should be sorry. She picked up her clipboard from the table and headed toward the door.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” he offered.

“And tuck me in?” She pursed her lips. “No, thanks.”

“I don’t want you getting lost.”

“I’ll do fine on my own.”

“You said you hadn’t been to this part of the castle before.”

“I can find my way down a lit stairwell.”

The set of her jaw told him she wasn’t about to back down. Early in life, he’d learned what battles were worth fighting. He knew this one wasn’t. “Okay, you win.”

For now.

Her tired eyes widened behind her glasses. “I didn’t know it was a competition.”

“Life is a competition.”

“Only if you turn it into one.”

Chaney may be tired, but her mind was fully functioning. Still, he’d taken up enough of her time for tonight. Drake opened the door for her. “Thanks for your help. Get some sleep.”

Not looking back at him, she fled down the staircase into the shadows.

Once she was out of sight, Drake closed the door.

Frustration gnawed at him. He hadn’t been this off his game since Chaney’s going-away party in London. But that experience hadn’t left him feeling so damn guilty.

Regret swept over him. He’d taken advantage of her helpful nature to get her to his room. Not that she’d allowed him to take advantage of the situation at all.

He hadn’t liked how she turned him down the last time, given her near hero worship of him five years ago, but he’d understood she wanted more than he was offering.

Tonight, however, stung. He rubbed his chin, still not used to the hair against his fingers. She’d been angry and dismissive. Something had changed. She had changed.

I’m on hiatus from…investing.

He knew who to blame….

Her stupid jerk of an ex-fiancé-turned-brother-in-law.

The guy must have hurt her bad. Her sister, too.

Drake grimaced.

Chaney might be a romantic, but she was a wounded one who needed to learn how to have fun again. That was why she reacted the way she had to his overtures.

All he had to do was figure out how to show her she needed some fun. She needed him.

Not an impossible task.

He’d done it before, with companies he’d purchased, by showing them he had something they needed. He would do the same thing with Chaney. A win-win situation for both of them.

And he knew exactly where to start. Drake picked up the telephone and pressed the button for the staff line.

“Good evening, Mr. Llewelyn,” a propersounding male voice said. “What may I do for you?”

“Please deliver a large bouquet of flowers to Miss Sullivan’s room tomorrow. In the morning, if possible.”

“Roses?”

“No,” Drake answered quickly. She would take roses the wrong way and rightfully so. “A mixed bouquet will be fine.”

“What would you like written on the card, sir?”

He thought for a moment. “’Friends’ with a question mark.”

The man repeated the phrase.

“That’s correct.”

“I’ll take care of this straight away, sir.”

“Thank you.” Drake hung up the phone.

Friends would be the perfect place to start with Chaney. Friends could have lots of fun together.

Staring at the armor she’d neatly put away for him, he smiled.

And if things worked out the way he planned, he and Chaney would be more than friends very, very soon.

CHAPTER THREE

CHANEY stood on the manicured lawn of the castle, her boots sinking into the sodden grass. A touch of foreboding in the air made it easy to forget the crew running around as they prepared for this morning’s first scene.

She stared at the castle wall, rising up to meet the overcast sky. The ancient stones, battered by weather and war, had remained impenetrable, inviolate, over the centuries.

Shivering, she clutched her cup of Earl Gray. She’d forgotten how chilly English mornings could be.

Chaney had never been strong like the castle’s wall. She’d always crumbled in the past, allowing people to break through her weak defenses and take what had been hers—a fiancé, a promised job, the dream of a happily ever after. Afterward, she would never say a word. Always the quiet one, forever the peacekeeper, bendable to a ridiculous degree, a proverbial doormat. That was what how she made those in her life, those who loved her, happy.

But the truth was she wanted to be more like the wall, solid and sure. That would make her happy.

The only person she’d ever been able to stand up to was Drake Llewelyn. And only twice. Five years ago and again last night.

His hitting on her as if she were still his naive intern infuriated Chaney. She had been even madder at herself for putting herself in a position where that could happen. Her anger had hardened her. Protected her from his charm.

Thank goodness.

Standing up to him, she’d felt strong, and she’d like that. Chaney resolved to be unbending, unconquerable and, for the remainder of the taping, immune to Drake.

The scent of green from the carpet of grass and rows of neatly clipped hedges filled the air.

She thought about the bouquet of flowers delivered to her room this morning with the oneword note—“Friends?” She couldn’t imagine they were from Drake. The only kind of friend he would want was a friend with benefits. Gemma hadn’t sent them. She would have sent something edible, most likely chocolate, as she always did. Not her parents, either. They hadn’t been happy with Chaney when she canceled out on the housewarming party. Besides, they’d never sent her flowers before. Why start now?

Chaney had asked the castle desk about the flowers, and they promised the delivery had not been a mistake. But who would have sent them? And why?

A breeze rustled through a nearby tree. She looked up and saw the branches sway. Three leaves floated to the ground as the sky darkened on the horizon.

She eyed the heavy skies with misgiving, her hands still curled around her cup for warmth. She really hoped it didn’t rain. A delay in the shooting schedule would force her to spend even more time with Drake. All she wanted was to do her job and avoid him as much as possible for the remainder of the shoot.

Milt motioned he was ready for the first take. The crew took their places and quieted.

She wasn’t sure where this morning’s scene would fit in the episode, a host shot or a wraparound. Maybe a teaser of some sort.

One of the cameras panned across the landscape, from the formal gardens to the acres of grass to a grove of trees. Something moved in the distance between the trees.

A white horse decked in armor.

And Drake, in his armor costume, on its back.

Despite the things he’d said and the way he’d acted last night, Chaney’s breath caught in her throat. She’d thought he’d looked knightly yesterday, but today…

He was Lancelot. Okay, not Lancelot. But he sure did look the part.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

A helmet covered the sides of his jaw, but still showed most of his face. Not that she could see any details from this distance. Still she had no trouble imagining his lips with a wry curve to them and his dark eyes full of excitement.

He sat tall in the saddle, holding the reins in his left hand and a battle standard in his right. A long pennant-shaped banner flapped behind him.

The horse cantered through the trees to the lawn, animal and rider in perfect rhythm.

She stood mesmerized.

The air crackled, the impending storm or some sort of magic. Chaney didn’t know which. But once again she felt as if she’d stepped back in time.

His gauntleted hand tightened on the reins as he sat back hard in the saddle. The horse tossed its head. Its armor jingled.

The knight raised the battle standard, a black dragon on a field of gold, before plunging the pole into the ground. The flag fluttered in the breeze. The horse arched its neck, dancing in place. The whole scene was like something from a movie or fairy tale, as far removed from Chaney’s real life as it was possible to be.

And yet this man had tried to kiss her, had invited her to stay in his room last night.

Hot blood flooded her face and flowed through her veins.

“‘My good blade carves the casques of men.’” His deep voice resonated, his words pure poetry. Tennyson’s poem about Sir Galahad, in fact. Chaney recognized the poem from the script. The horse looked to the left and then pranced to the right. “‘My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.’”

Pure. Right.

This wasn’t the Dragon Knight, a man who lived hundreds of years ago. This was Drake Llewelyn, a man from the twenty-first century.

He raised a shiny sword to the camera. His lips curved into the same come-hither-I-want-you-now smile he’d used in the drawing room and with her later in his room. The man was normally sexy, but practically smoldered now.

A good thing the noble-knight stuff was just an act, but even so, tingles filled her stomach.

As if on cue, a flock of birds flew overhead, their dark wings a stark contrast against the gray clouds. The horse stamped its front hooves, ready to rear or run away if given the chance.

But Drake was in complete control.

As usual.

Whether on horseback or sitting at a table negotiating his next deal, he was comfortable in any environment. Sure of himself and strong. That was how she wanted to be.

Milt gave a signal.

Drake allowed the horse to rear. The horse looked majestic, nearly standing perpendicular on its hind legs.

Chaney’s heart pounded in her ears. She knew Drake didn’t mind taking risks, but she couldn’t imagine him doing anything to endanger himself or the horse. Still every muscle tensed. She held her breath.

He didn’t fall. Drake seemed to barely shift in his saddle.

Amazing. She didn’t want to be impressed by anything he did, but she was. Anyone would be.

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