The Millionaire's Christmas Wish

When she married it would be to a man who wanted a stable home life, not someone who drifted from one adventure to another. She wanted somebody who would consider her to be an equal partner, an important part of his life. She did not want a relationship built around the idea that marriage and home was a burden to be endured because it was expected of you, something where you settled for less than what you wanted out of life.

Her father had been a dreamer who had always believed there was a greener pasture just over the next hill. He had pulled up stakes and moved the family so many times that she had not been able to spend more than a few months at a time in any one school. Her mother had finally sent her to live with her grandmother so she could have a secure home environment and attend all four years of high school at one place.

Her mother had died when Marcie was barely sixteen. She had never been very close to her father, his life-style leaving her with very definite opinions about responsibility, commitment, and what marriage should and should not be. And one thing it should not be was a union entered into with a man who could not commit to the responsibility of maintaining a stable and secure home life.

She glanced at the newspaper photograph again. The caption made no mention of the woman standing next to Chance Fowler, but from the way the woman was staring at him, it was obvious that they knew each other very well. She again noted the very skimpy bikini the woman was wearing. The woman looked exactly like the type she imagined he would be attracted to. “Take-A-Chance Fowler,” the tabloids had dubbed him. She touched her fingers to her lips. She could still feel the heat of his kiss even though she wished it was not so.

Marcie slowly sipped what little coffee remained in her mug, leaving the newspaper unread as she became totally absorbed in thought. Chance Fowler... never in a million years had she thought she would ever run into someone like him, but now that she had it was easy to understand why women vied for his attention. A ringing sound startled her out of her reverie.

She grabbed the cordless phone from the base station. “Hello?”

“Marcie...it’s Sandy. I’m afraid I won’t be at work today. I’ve been awake most of the night with the stomach flu.”

It was not what Marcie wanted to hear. Sandy had been a dedicated employee for five years and had proven herself invaluable. Marcie had come to depend more and more on her.

“Okay, Sandy. I’ll see you when you’re feeling better.”

“What about the wholesale flower mart in the morning?”

“Don’t give it another thought. I’ll take care of that. You just take care of yourself and get well.”

“Thanks, Marcie. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

What Marcie had thought would be a leisurely day had suddenly turned into a very busy one. Saturday and Sunday were the busiest days for the nursery regardless of the time of year. Even though the flower shop was Sandy’s primary domain, she usually helped out in the nursery on Sunday when the flower shop was closed. Marcie hurried through her shower and dressed for work. An hour later she was in the nursery preparing to open for the day’s business.

A young man in his mid-twenties walked in the back door. “That does it, Marcie,” he said as he removed his work gloves. “Everything’s watered, dead leaves cut away, walkways all hosed down. I have Don restocking the wild bird feed right now. He’s already straightened the bird feeder display and put out the two new birdhouse designs that came in a couple of days ago.”

“Thanks, Glen. As soon as Don’s finished I’d like the two of you to move the planters on the north side to make room for the Christmas trees.”

Glen laughed as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Being from Michigan I still have a little trouble thinking in terms of Christmas without snow. And a Santa who arrives on water skis, wearing sunglasses and dressed in Bermuda shorts...well, that’s definitely beyond my scope of reality.”

She smiled as she handed Glen an order form. “Could you pull this order together sometime today? Mr. Adams’s gardener is coming by to pick it up first thing in the morning.”

Glen took the order form. “Sure.” He offered her a weary smile that said they were not even open for business yet and already it had been a busy day. “I’ll get to it this afternoon.”

Glen was another one. Like Sandy, he was a dedicated employee Marcie had come to depend on. The expansion of the landscaping business had put an additional workload on the nursery employees. Sandy ran the flower shop and Marcie spent most of her time with the nursery, but Glen needed another person on the nursery payroll in addition to the four other employees who already worked under his supervision.

Marcie had run an ad a week earlier, but none of the applicants had measured up to what Glen considered suitable. He occasionally pulled one of the workers away from the landscaping crew when things got really backed up, but it was not an ideal situation. Glen had said he would rather work short-handed and know things were being done right than spend all his time following someone around, correcting sloppy work.

Marcie opened the nursery for business promptly at ten o’clock. There was a steady flow of customers in and out all day, keeping her very busy—but not too busy to prevent Chance Fowler from entering her thoughts again and again. It had been a random encounter, nothing more. She would not even have known who he was if his picture had not been in the newspaper that morning.

There was absolutely no reason for them to ever bump into each other again. They traveled in completely different circles. He lived in the heady realm of yacht clubs, world travel, and high-dollar society functions while she belonged to the world of backyard barbecues and walks on the beach. And even if they did meet again, there would be no reason for him to remember her. So why was she having so much difficulty exorcising him from her thoughts? She touched her fingertips to her lips, to the heat of his kiss—a gesture she had done so often the past couple of days that it had almost become a habit.

Marcie glanced at the clock—five-thirty. Another half hour and she could lock up the nursery and call it a day. She started bringing in the plants and various display items that had been placed outside the front entrance. She managed the smaller items by herself, then looked around for either Glen or Don. Neither employee was anywhere in sight, obviously busy in the greenhouse or out in back on the grounds. She shrugged, took a deep breath, and began struggling with a large planter.

Chance Fowler pulled into the parking lot of the Crestview Bay Nursery. A delightful sight caught his attention before he could even get out of his car. The woman who had refused to leave his thoughts stood next to the front entrance staring at a large redwood planter containing some sort of a bush. She circled the planter, pushed at it with her foot, then stood with her hands on her hips and stared at it Finally she bent over and tried to pick it up.

He shoved open the car door, swung his long legs out, then quickly covered the distance to the front door of the nursery. Her back to him as she grappled with the task she had set for herself, Chance took a moment to visually trace each and every one of her curves with an appreciative gaze before stepping up behind her.

He put his arms around her to grab the planter as he whispered in her ear, “That looks heavy. Let me help you with it.”

The words came from out of nowhere just as a pair of strong arms reached around her. She did not know which came first, her surprise or her recognition of his voice. She jerked upright, startled by his sudden intrusion, and whirled around to face him.

His uninhibited laugh filled the air. “Marcie Roper, I presume? You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.” He gave her a quick wink followed by a mischievous grin. He glanced around as if to make sure no one could hear him, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If we don’t watch out, the neighbors will start to gossip, then pretty soon everyone will know about our clandestine meetings in out-of-the-way places.”

Two

Marcie’s eyes widened with shock. His devilish good looks, teasing grin, and tantalizing closeness momentarily drove every intelligent thought right out of her head. She quickly regained her composure. Just because he was the infamous Chance Fowler, it did not mean that he could get away with whatever he wanted. He had thrown her for a loop once with his aggressive and totally inappropriate behavior. She did not intend to allow him to do it again.

“You!” she snapped angrily, her words clipped. “What are you doing here? It’s bad enough that you accosted me on the street and were responsible for my losing one of my packages. Was it also necessary for you to track me down and grab me like that...again ? I don’t care if your name is Chance Fowler, that doesn’t give you the right to—”

He feigned a hurt expression. “You helped me out of a tight spot. I was just trying to return the favor by helping you with the heavy planter.”

She glared at him, then placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward. She hoped her aggressive stance covered the out-of-control excitement that raced around inside her. Chance Fowler touched her and she seemed to lose all reason and logic—twice now.

“That doesn’t explain your totally unacceptable behavior.” She was determined to stand her ground no matter how tempting she found his touch or how much his presence made her heart pound.

He cocked his head and looked at her quizzically. “It also doesn’t explain how you knew who I was.”

“Humph!” she snorted. The image of the bikini-clad woman hanging on his arm flashed in her mind. She was obviously typical of the type of woman he preferred—footloose and fancy free. “Your picture was in today’s newspaper in connection with the hobbies of the pampered and privileged.” She had not intended to reveal her disgust and disapproval of the idle rich in general, and specifically the life-style he had chosen for himself, but somehow her feelings had slipped past her words.

“Ah, yes, the regatta.” He stared at her for a moment. Her eyes sparkled with the fire of emotion and her stance declared a very appealing independence. She was certainly different from the type of women he usually encountered. They were either insipid clinging vines or manipulative cloyers, and the result was always the same. He felt suffocated and trapped. Yes, indeed. Marcie Roper was quite different—a breath of fresh air. He recalled the way she had felt in his arms, the taste of her delicious mouth. He fought the almost overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her again.

“Speaking of newspapers, I’d like to explain about last Friday. There was this tabloid photographer who spotted me and—”

“I really don’t care why it happened, Mr. Fowler. The fact is that it should not have happened at all. You had no right to grab me like that... no right at all. Maybe that kind of intrusion is normal behavior for your friends, but it certainly isn’t for me.”

Marcie caught a glimpse of Don out of the corner of her eye and turned her attention toward him. “Don, could you move the rest of these things inside?” She shot a quick glance in Chance’s direction, then continued her instructions. She carefully and deliberately chose her words. “Since we don’t have any customers, we might as well go ahead and close up.”

She threw Chance one last disagreeable look, turned her back to him and went inside the nursery. A moment later she began the closing procedures for the day.

Chance watched her walk away from him—for the second time since he’d first encountered her. She had turned out to be a very intriguing woman. He already knew about the golden flecks in her hazel eyes, her soft, pliable lips, her addictive taste, and how good she felt in his arms. And now he could add strong-willed, independent, outspoken, and deliciously tempting to that list.

As with most people who did not know him, she had categorized him according to tabloid misinformation and exaggeration. He seldom allowed such misconceptions to bother him. He knew who he was, as did the small group of people he counted as his true friends and work associates. He rarely felt the need to explain himself to strangers. Only with Marcie did he find himself in a bit of a quandary.

He had never been one to back down from a challenge, and Marcie Roper certainly fit in that category. He could still see the intense glare she had leveled at him before turning away. No one had ever told him to go to hell so emphatically without uttering a word. She was unlike any other woman he had ever met. He followed her inside the building, determined to learn more about this fascinating and desirable woman.

Marcie grabbed up a stack of receipts and credit card slips. She could not believe the audacity of Chance Fowler—the man’s arrogance was beyond anything she had ever encountered. It was obvious that he was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. Well, he was not going to get away with that sort of high-handed behavior around her. She paused for a moment as she once again touched her fingertips to her lips. His kiss was also beyond anything she had ever experienced.

“About that little incident the other day... I’d like to make it up to you.”

His smooth voice broke into her moment of reflection. She looked up, surprised that he had followed her inside. She quickly pulled her composure together, meeting his captivating gaze with a cool one of her own. “Are you still here?”

He refused to allow her the upper hand. Besides, he had not yet played his trump card. He made an exaggerated show of glancing around, as if attempting to seek out something, then returned his attention to her. “Yep... as near as I can tell, I’m still here.”

His response seemed to fluster her. Her gaze darted around the room. He stood his ground and waited, refusing to say anything to relieve her obvious discomfort. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he was enjoying the moment.

“Well, uh, unless you plan to buy something, I’ll have to ask you to leave. We’re closing for the day.” She returned her attention to the receipts on the counter.

“In that case, I guess I’ll have to buy something.” He flashed her a teasing grin and gave her a quick wink before turning away from the counter. He surveyed the room for a moment, then inspected the items available for sale. He did not look back at her, even though the temptation was almost too much to resist. He fought the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he picked up a bird feeder and examined it.

“I’ll take this.” He placed the feeder on the counter in front of her. He looked up, capturing her gaze and intimately holding it for a moment. He felt the warmth suffuse his body. He felt something else, too—a stirring that told him this was more than just a game. This woman had an effect on him far greater than he wanted to admit.

Relationships, commitment...he cynically reminded himself that it was all a sham. He had seen too many bad marriages to believe otherwise, not the least of which had been his father’s four subsequent wives after divorcing his mother. No man should be married five times. And with his father’s track record there was no reason to believe that the fifth ex-Mrs. Douglas Fowler—a woman who had been relegated to the position after only one year of marriage—would be the last one.

Not liking the path his thoughts seemed to be taking, Chance forced the distasteful topic from his mind.

“What kind of birds will I get with this feeder?”

Marcie made every effort to keep the conversation all-business. She also made no effort to be civil about it. “None, unless you buy some bird feed to go with it.”

“What would you recommend?” He was determined to prolong their meeting, as determined as she seemed to be to end it.

She brushed a loose tendril of hair away from her face. Her voice revealed her impatience with him. “Really, Mr. Fowler, is this conversation necessary? Don’t you have something important you should be doing someplace else?”

“I find this to be something important.” The words, soft and sincere, had slipped out without him meaning for them to. He quickly recovered his breezy facade. “As you said, the bird feeder is no good without something to go inside it. So—” he reached for a ten-pound sack of wild bird feed “—is this what I need?”

“Yes.” Her reply was curt. She did not intend to waste any more time on him by discussing the merits of one type of feed over another. She just wanted him to leave. “Will that be cash or charge?”

“Cash.”

He pulled his wallet from his pocket while she rang up the sale. She took his money, gave him his change, then placed the items in a box and shoved them across the counter toward him.

She tried to sound as cool and confident as she could even though her stomach churned and her nerve endings tingled with a surge of excitement when she caught a whiff of his aftershave. “Goodbye, Mr. Fowler.”

“Goodbye?” He leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands against the counter. He lowered his voice to a soft, intimate level. “I thought maybe we could have a drink when you finished here. It would allow me to apologize... and give us an opportunity to get to know each other better.”

It took all the fortitude she could muster to fix him with a stern look. “I believe we know each other as well as we need to. Goodbye, Mr. Fowler.”

He refused to be put off. It was definitely time for that trump card. He picked up the box containing his purchases and flashed a devastating smile. “I’ll see you later, Marcie Roper.”

She stared at his retreating form, her mouth hanging open in stunned silence. Even though she had accused him of tracking her down, she had been so startled by his sudden appearance that it had not occurred to her to ask him how he knew her name or where to find her. She started to call after him, but quickly closed her mouth. Nothing would be gained by making him think she had any interest in his detective skills.

She watched as he left the nursery and crossed the parking lot to his car, every step and gesture indicative of a man who knew exactly who he was, where he was going, and what he wanted out of life. She hurried to lock the front door and put out the Closed sign. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath in an attempt to restore some semblance of order to the shambles his presence had made of her routine.

She returned to the cash register and began ringing up the totals for the day’s business. The sound of someone tapping against the front window drew her attention away from her work. She looked up to see Chance Fowler motioning for her to let him in. She shook her head and mouthed the words, “We’re closed,” while pointing to the sign.

He tapped on the window again and triumphantly displayed his hidden prize. He held up the sack so she could see it.

Marcie squinted as she stared at the object, at first not understanding the significance it held. Then the words came into focus—the sack was from the bookstore where she had picked up her order the day Chance Fowler had turned her life upside down. Could it possibly be the bag she had lost? She furrowed her brow in confusion as she made her way toward the door.

Again he motioned for her to unlock the door and let him in. She hesitated for a moment, then complied with his wishes... to a certain extent. She unlocked and opened the door, but did not stand aside to allow him entry. She stared at the sack without reaching for it, then shifted her gaze to him as her curiosity outweighed her impatience. “I’m really very busy right now, Mr. Fowler. Just what is it you want?”

“I believe I have something here that belongs to you. May I come in?”

She hesitated, then stepped aside.

Chance walked across the room and placed the bag on the counter. “You dropped this the other day. I tried to follow you to return it, but by the time I got to the corner you had disappeared.” He reached into the sack, withdrew the sales slip and placed it on the counter. “Fortunately, this had your name on it.”

She picked up the sales receipt and looked at it, then took the books from the bag. Her voice grew soft, conveying just a hint of embarrassment as she inspected the contents. “I—I thought they were lost for good. This one—” she held up the large volume about the Civil War “—is a birthday present for my father.” She ran her fingertips across the cover of the book, then looked up at the very handsome man standing on the other side of the counter.

Her manner softened considerably. “Thank you for returning my books.” Her words were unquestionably sincere.

“I’m just glad that I was able to track you down. I thought it was the least I could do in light of the fact that it was probably my fault that you dropped them.” Her shy smile captured and held him as tightly as if she had physically put her arms around him. A little twinge of longing told him it was an idea that he found very appealing—and definitely an idea worth pursuing. The memory of her taste and how she had felt in his arms told him there was no way he was going to let this just drift away like so many other things in his life.

“Well...” She glanced down, then looked up at him again. “Anyway, it was nice of you to go to all of this trouble. I really appreciate the gesture.”

“Enough to have dinner with me tonight?” He saw the way she stiffened in response to his invitation. The shy softness that had covered her features just a second earlier had changed into wariness.

“That’s impossible.” Her words were clipped, indicating her displeasure. “I have an employee out sick, so I need to be at the San Diego wholesale flower mart at five o’clock in the morning. That doesn’t allow me the luxury of socializing tonight.” She hurried toward the front door and held it open for him. “Thank you, again, for returning my books. Good night.”

Chance hesitated a moment. There did not seem to be anything to say that would change the situation, so he acquiesced to her wishes. “Good night, Marcie Roper.” He flashed a devilish smile that said she would definitely be seeing him again. “Pleasant dreams.”

Marcie watched as he crossed the parking lot to his car. The audacity of the man. Her disgust sounded loud and clear in her thoughts. He was obviously accustomed to thinking everyone would simply drop whatever they were doing to cater to his whims. Well, he had another think coming where she was concerned. Unlike other people, she was not impressed with whom he was.

Her fingertips lightly touched her lips. No matter what she tried to tell herself, she could not shake the very real sensuality of his kiss. He personified everything she found unacceptable, yet she was unable to dismiss him from her mind.

Pleasant dreams, indeed! She returned to her close-out chores as she made yet another unsuccessful attempt at shoving Chance Fowler from her thoughts.

The gray streaks of predawn light had not yet penetrated the black sky when Marcie pulled the nursery van out of the parking lot and headed south toward San Diego. She stifled a yawn, then reached for her travel mug of coffee. The night had been far too short, the alarm jarring her awake way too early. She had gone to bed in plenty of time to get enough sleep... if she had been able to sleep. As much as she tried to ignore it, however, thoughts and images of Chance Fowler kept circulating through her mind.

Regardless of how attractive she found him and how much he heated her desires, she knew nothing would be gained from speculating about where things might have led if she had accepted his initial invitation to join him for a drink, or his later offer to have dinner with him. He was an irresponsible, headline-grabbing playboy who did not know the first thing about hard work and commitment. That was everything she knew about him and it was everything she needed to know.

She drained the last swallow from her coffee mug just as she pulled into the flower mart. She parked the van, locked the door, then hurried inside to make her purchases. She stifled another yawn. It was going to be a very long day.