The Million-Dollar Question

Evan’s kiss was everything she remembered and more.

Unhurried but hungry, it promised all kinds of pleasures to come, and pure want drowned out any caution from her higher brain functions.

He tasted like the whiskey on the rocks he’d been drinking earlier—only hot and far more potent. Then he leaned into her, pressing her back against the cool cinderblock wall, deepening the kiss and blocking out everything that wasn’t him.

And his hands … One was gentle against her cheek, but the other was strong against her hip—and both of them were caressing her, stoking the fire kindled by his tongue.

She slid her hands under his jacket to feel the hard muscles of his stomach hidden under fine cotton, then wrapped her arms around his waist to pull him against her.

A groan echoed off the walls and she wasn’t sure if it was hers or his. Evan’s lips were hot against her neck, sending shivers over her skin.

Dear Reader

You may remember from my bio that I used to dance. Not at Olivia’s level, of course, but writing this book was, in many ways, a trip down memory lane—taking me back to some of the best (not to mention thinnest and most flexible) days of my life. Ballet was always my first love, and the first dream I chased, and it was so much fun to revisit that world. Thanks for indulging me in this!

Had I ended up with Olivia’s career, I like to think there would have been an Evan in my story, too. (Hey, if I’m going to dream I might as well dream big!) Evan … sigh. So cocky and sure, yet still haunted by his own insecurities. Plus, he’s hot and not threatened by Olivia’s success. Yeah, I fell in love with him pretty easily.

I hope you come to love Evan and Olivia as much as I do. As always, I’d love to hear from you, either through my website, www.BooksByKimberly.com, or on Facebook or Twitter.

All the best

Kimberly

KIMBERLY LANG hid romance novels behind her textbooks in junior high, and even a Master’s programme in English couldn’t break her obsession with dashing heroes and happily-ever-after. A ballet dancer turned English teacher, Kimberly married an electrical engineer and turned her life into an ongoing episode of When Dilbert Met Frasier. She and her Darling Geek live in beautiful North Alabama, with their one Amazing Child—who, unfortunately, shows an aptitude for sports.

Visit Kimberly at www.booksbykimberly.com for the latest news—and don’t forget to say hi while you’re there!

The Million-Dollar Question

Kimberly Lang

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DEDICATION

To Marilynn, Terri, Sunny, Angela, Stacey, Marbury, both Melissas, Anna, Andrea, India, Kelly, Buddy, Chris, Susan, Nelson and the whole ASFA dance department for all the stories that start with,

“There was this one time, during Nutcracker …”

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“SOMEBODY’S GOT A hot date.”

It was hard for Olivia Madison to both roll her eyes and apply mascara at the same time, but she managed it—just barely. Rehearsals had run long today and she was now running late. She didn’t have time for this. “It’s not a date.”

Her roommate, Annie, flopped across the bed and examined the outfit Olivia had laid out for tonight. “Hmm … Silky top, the ‘good butt’ jeans and ‘take me’ boots. You curled your hair, you’re wearing makeup, and …” She stopped to sniff the air delicately. “I smell perfume. All signs point to a hot date. And it’s about time. I was getting afraid we’d have to get a couple of cats soon and the lease doesn’t allow pets.”

“First of all, neither of us is in Cat Lady territory just yet. Getting married and having babies is what your thirties are for. Second, it’s just dinner. Pretty much a business dinner, at that.”

Annie still wasn’t convinced. “In that outfit? Please. Did you shave your legs?”

Olivia had, but that was neither here nor there and had nothing to do with the person she was meeting for dinner. “It’s with my brother’s college roommate, for goodness sake.”

“Is he cute?”

Olivia had to admit he was. She’d looked him up online to see if he’d changed much in the past nine years, rather hoping to find that he’d developed a paunch or lost a lot of hair, only to be disappointed in that hope. If anything, the past decade had been quite good to Evan Lawford, maturing his features—and even the attitude he projected in the photos—light-years past the frat rat she remembered. The sun-bleached hair had turned darker, probably meaning he didn’t spend as much time on the beach as he used to, but the color offset his blue eyes nicely. The cheekbones and the jawline she remembered quite well, only the two-day stubble look was also gone. The difference between boy and man was stark and startling at first.

Objectively speaking, Evan Lawford was hot. Male-model-broodingly-advertising-expensive-suits-in-a-glossy-magazine hot. “It doesn’t really matter. He’s a jerk.”

“Which means he is a hottie, and that’s just wrong.” Annie sighed and rolled to her back. “Why can’t the really nice guys be drop-dead gorgeous, too? Is that really too much to ask?” she pleaded to the universe.

“All signs point to yes.” Olivia tossed the mascara tube back into her makeup bag. Jerk was a nice word for Evan. He was a cocky, arrogant, ego-ridden player. But he was a successful cocky, arrogant, ego-ridden player, and that was what was important at the moment. She’d have to suck it up and deal with the rest.

“So why are you having dinner with him then?”

Because I’m forced to sell myself out in order to further my career. That wasn’t entirely exactly true: no one at the Miami Modern Ballet Company expected her to actually sleep with someone for their money, but the trade-off still gave her icky vibes. “I need him to sponsor me.”

Annie’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “Like a twelve-step kind of sponsor? Are you okay?”

Olivia kept the sigh—and the smart-ass comeback—behind her teeth. It wasn’t all that unexpected of a speculation, and at least Annie was asking it from a place of concern. Olivia had left home at fifteen to spend the next decade in studios and on stages, driving herself to reach this point: a contracted principal in an established, prestigious ballet company. Therefore, everyone assumed that she had to have something wrong with her—drug habit, an eating disorder, or even just a flat-out psychotic break à la Black Swan picked up along the way. She nearly snorted. There probably was something wrong with her, only they didn’t have an official diagnosis for it yet.

And while she’d known Annie for only a few months—trading the privacy of having her own place for the opportunity to live near the beaches and nightlife of Miami, even with an unknown roommate—they were getting along very well. “Not that kind of sponsor. An actual please-donate-your-money kind of sponsor.”

Annie looked confused. “You’re fundraising?”

“In a way. Money is tight all over, and the arts are really feeling the pinch,” she explained, slipping into her jeans. Annie averted her eyes as Olivia dressed, but Olivia had lost any kind of modesty years ago through one too many quick changes backstage in view of the entire corps and stagehands. “Our state funding has been slashed, ticket sales are down and corporate sponsorship in general is not as strong as it used to be. So nowadays, rich people can adopt a dancer of their very own. In return, they get all kinds of perks—tickets, backstage passes, first dibs on tables at the En Pointe Ball and for the big spenders,” Olivia continued, as she pasted a smile on her face and added a chipper tone, “the chance to have their dancer appear at their corporate—or sometimes private—events.”

“That sounds cool.” Her forehead wrinkled. “But kinda creepy, too.”

“Tell me about it.”

“And you need one of these sponsors? I thought you had a contract.”

Annie, who worked as a Spanish-language interpreter for the city, was getting a crash course in the state of the arts in America these days. “I do, but my contract isn’t cheap. And while MMBC has the option to pick up my contract for next season, there’s no guarantee that they will—especially if I’m the only one without sponsorship to offset my cost. Sponsorship doesn’t guarantee anything either way, but it won’t hurt.”

“I see. So you’re hoping your brother’s college roommate has that kind of money?”

“I know he does. I haven’t seen Evan in years, but he and Jory are still real tight.” Why that was, she didn’t quite know. Evan had nearly succeeded in turning Jory into a carbon copy of himself in college, and while Jory had turned out okay anyway, she didn’t really understand what the two men could possibly have in common. “He’s got the money.” She frowned at the mirror as she finger-combed out the curls and sprayed her hair into place. “I just need to figure out how to ask him for it.”

“Why can’t you just ask him outright? It seems pretty straightforward, and it’s a tax deduction to boot.”

“Yeah, but it’s …” She wasn’t sure how to explain it, even if she wanted to. Which she really didn’t. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Annie’s forehead wrinkled again, then smoothed out as understanding dawned. “Oh. That kind of complicated.”

“Let’s just say that it’s not complicated enough to keep me from asking, but complicated enough to make me want to handle the situation delicately.”

“If it’s going to be awkward, why not just call your brother instead? Get him to play middleman.”

“No.” No way. That was a can of worms she definitely wasn’t going to open.

“Then maybe your brother or your parents could sponsor you, instead?”

She knew Jory. Telling him she needed sponsorship—or any money, really—would lead him to opening his checkbook. He’d tell Mom and Daddy, and they’d want to do the same. And that was not going to happen. Jory needed to be investing his money into his own business, and Mom and Daddy needed to be saving for retirement.

Mom and Daddy were comfortable enough, but they’d sacrificed greatly over the years to support her dream. So had Jory, in fact. She wasn’t going to take another blessed dime from them. Any of them.

She shook her head. “They’re in Tampa, and the sponsors need to be local.” Even as she said it, she had no idea if it was true. The company probably assumed sponsors would be local—and that was how the donor rewards were structured—but she couldn’t imagine any company turning down money, regardless of the source. Still, it was a clean and quick explanation, and Annie accepted it at face value.

“That’s a problem, then.”

“And I’ve been in Miami for only three months. I don’t really know anyone else.” She paused in zipping up her boots to look hopefully at Annie. “Unless you happen to have thousands of dollars tucked away and a hidden, burning desire to support the arts in your community?”

Annie shook her head. “Uh, no.”

“Then I’m off to dinner with Evan.” She took one last critical look in the mirror, then turned to Annie. “How do I look?”

“Amazing, as always. And, as always, I kinda hate you for it. If you can’t win Evan over with logic or reason, you should be able to flirt his checkbook right open.” Annie rolled off the bed and got to her feet. With a cheeky grin, she added, “I won’t wait up for you.”

Olivia had no intention of flirting with Evan at all. She could be polite and friendly, but this was merely business. She’d flirted with him that one time, and the lessons learned stuck with her to this day. But she was older now, wiser, and she could look back on it for the educational experience it was, without feeling the pain or shame.

Much.

The restaurant Evan chose to meet her at was only about six blocks from the condo she shared with Annie, and Olivia elected to walk it. Eventually, she’d have to buy a car—an expense she’d managed to avoid for at least the past five years—but for now, Miami’s public transport could get her pretty much anywhere her feet couldn’t.

It might be November, but she didn’t need a sweater. However, she grabbed a pashmina in case the air conditioning in the restaurant was set on “Arctic.” After spending so many winters in more northern climes, it was so so nice to be back in Florida, with her winter gear shipped home to Tampa to the storage unit she kept there. The sun had been down for an hour, but the temperatures were still in the high seventies, perfect for a walk, but it was a little jarring for it to be that warm as businesses took down their Halloween decorations and replaced them with a mix of turkeys and Santa Claus.

She could come to really love Miami. MMBC was a highly respected company with a great mix of classical and contemporary in their repertoire. It may be not as prestigious as some in New York, but the trade-off was a lower cost of living and fewer up-and-comers nipping at her heels all the time. She could still do the occasional guest artist thing when the traveling bug bit her or things started to feel stale, but Miami was a great base.

And she needed to start thinking about the future, anyway. If all went well, she could get another six, maybe seven, years in before retiring, but she was feeling the effects of the past two decades already and her chances of injury increased each year. She needed to be building some kind of foundation, and Miami was ideal for that.

Plus, it was only four hours from home.

All this was great. Provided she could keep the job she’d worked so hard to get. The fact she was willing to turn to Evan Lawford proved how much she wanted her contract picked up for next season. That would give her time to build a reputation and network here in Miami and increase her chances of further seasons exponentially.

She just had to get through dinner with Evan and get his agreement first.

Easy-peasy, right?

Oddly, Evan hadn’t asked many questions when she’d emailed him, saying hello and asking if he’d like to get together. She’d provided her phone number, but he’d stuck to email, setting up the place and time with the minimum amount of communication necessary. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a not.

It had taken courage—more than she thought she’d need for something so simple—to email him in the first place, but he’d accepted so quickly that she’d only had forty-eight hours to figure out how to actually pull this off.

Evan and Jory were friends, practically brothers. Although she’d not been there to see it, she knew Evan loved her parents and had spent a lot of weekends and holidays at their house instead of his own. Her parents loved him. But that had nothing to do with her, and she couldn’t cash in on her parents’ kindness or Jory’s friendship like some kind of promissory note owed to her.

But they weren’t friends. They were just two people in Jory’s orbit, basically little more than strangers.

Okay, they were more than strangers. She just wasn’t sure where on the hierarchy of relationships to place her brother’s roommate when he was also the guy you lost your virginity to in what turned out to be only slightly more than a one-night stand.

Ugh.

While she’d felt hurt and used at the time, perspective could offer the balm that it probably hadn’t been personal. And realistically, he’d most likely saved her from making a similar mistake later on—when she would have been alone, surrounded by strangers, and even more vulnerable. Naïveté was a dangerous thing.

The truly embarrassing part was that she’d known exactly what he was going in to it. Hell, he’d taken Jory into his decadent world of wine, women and song, debauching him quite thoroughly. But with the arrogance only a teenager could have, she’d believed she was different. Special.

Combined with Evan’s combo of charm, good looks and raw sensuality, that arrogance had easily overwhelmed and shouted down anything she’d known merely intellectually.

That was the rational, reasonable part of her brain. The same part of her brain that turned that burn into something useful, allowing her to focus on her training instead of getting wrapped up in messy entanglements that could have complicated her life unnecessarily. So that was good.

Parties, boyfriends … all those things she’d been told she’d have to sacrifice for her career didn’t seem like so much of a sacrifice after that. Or at least not an overly painful one.

Her inner eighteen-year-old still held a grudge about it, but she’d need to keep that safely hidden away.

Even if Evan felt remorse over the whole sorry incident, she wasn’t sure that was something she could—or wanted to—play on, either. She’d look foolish and ridiculous and hopelessly naive—and petty and manipulative to boot.

Nope. That little lost weekend needed to stay lost.

She was an adult; he was an adult. This was a purely business transaction, albeit with a personal glaze. But there was no crime in networking the contacts you had, personal or not.

Be friendly. Be businesslike. Evan was a successful businessman. According to Jory, Evan’s advertising agency was growing in phenomenal leaps and bounds, and he should appreciate a professional approach. There was no need to jump right in with the request—a little pleasant small talk always greased the wheels nicely. She would put the sponsorship out on the table early, giving him plenty of time for questions and plenty of time for her to convince him. If all went well, she could walk out of here tonight with his commitment and the ballet’s business manager could get the good news by class tomorrow.

If all went well.

And there was no reason why it shouldn’t.

“Good evening, Mr. Lawford.”

The valet at Tourmaine opened Evan’s door and greeted him with a smile. Tourmaine was his go-to place for entertaining clients—modern enough to feel on trend without being trendy, music loud enough to hear and enjoy without hindering conversations, and, most importantly, good food and a staff that knew him—and his tipping habits—well. “Good evening, Brian.”

“Enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you.” A banal, basic exchange of pleasantries, but one that he needed to remind him that the world hadn’t, in fact, gone insane.

Because barring that, he had no idea why Olivia Madison wanted to have dinner with him.

He knew, of course, that she’d moved to Miami. Jory had been ridiculously proud of his sister’s accomplishment, and they’d had dinner back in the fall when Jory came to see Olivia’s first performance with her new company. But Olivia hadn’t joined them, and Jory didn’t bring up his sister unnecessarily.

Evan hadn’t seen Olivia since she was eighteen, and that was definitely intentional. The only thing that had ever come between him and Jory was Olivia, and they’d nearly come to blows over her, doing damage to their friendship that had taken time to repair. He didn’t know how twitchy Jory might be about it these days, but it wasn’t something he wanted to stir up—not until he at least knew why Olivia had contacted him in the first place.

Miami was plenty big enough for them to never come in contact with each other at all, and he assumed that was exactly how Olivia—and Jory, as well—wanted it.

So an email out of the blue from her with a dinner invitation had to be viewed with some level of suspicion, yet there was no way he could not have come. If only to find out why.

Yep, that was his story and he was sticking to it.

He was a few minutes early, but Olivia was already there, the unusual coppery-blond hair both Madison siblings inherited from their mother easy to spot in the small crowd of people around the bar. She was in profile to him, reading something on her phone, giving him the chance to examine her at leisure.

She’d been baby-faced at eighteen, but far more mature in some ways than others her age—by then, she’d already traveled and lived abroad, a professional in her career when most others were still figuring out their future. She’d said she’d wanted a taste of real college life, the same as anyone else, and there hadn’t been a good reason not to indulge her—and himself at the same time.

The baby face was now gone, replaced by chiseled cheekbones and winged eyebrows that gave her a classical, elegant look, emphasized by the impossibly good posture and movements that were effortlessly graceful—even those as simple as ordering a drink or walking toward him … which she was now doing, a hesitant smile on her face.

“Evan. It’s good to see you.”

While her tone sounded sincere, he doubted it was completely true. There was a moment of hesitation, then she leaned in for one of those air-kiss things. Her cheek touched his accidentally and she jumped back as if she’d been scalded. He wouldn’t deny it: it sent a bit of a jolt through him, as well. He cleared his throat. “And you.”

The initial pleasantries finished, they stood there in an awkward silence, and he wasn’t used to awkward silences. “You look good,” he managed.

There was a small tug of her lips that stopped short of a smile. “So do you.”

More silence.

Thankfully, the hostess arrived to save them. “Mr. Lawford, we have your table ready.”

Following Olivia to the table gave him another chance to study her, and goodness, she was thin. She’d always been on the slight side, a necessity of dancing, but wraithlike was the word that came to mind. It was a good thing they were in a restaurant, because the need to feed her something was nearly overwhelming. She was also taller than he remembered, just a couple of inches shorter than his six-two, and only part of that height came from the boots she was wearing.

Long soft curls hung to the middle of her back, and a gold chain belt hung loosely around her tiny waist. Mile-long legs ended at slightly turned-out feet, giving her walk an unusual cadence that was still somehow graceful and smooth. Chin up and shoulders back, Olivia had presence.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And that had gotten him in trouble before.

He shook his head to clear it. Of course the woman was thin and graceful. She had to be. That was a job requirement, and from what little he did know, Olivia Madison was good at her job.

Safely seated in the high-walled booth he favored for its privacy, the awkward silence that had started in the bar was easy to fill with menu discussions and ordering. He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening as she ordered a meal almost as big as his, and as the server walked away, she noticed. “What?”

“That’s a lot of food.”

She shot him a look. “If it’s a problem, I’m perfectly happy to pay for my own dinner.”