Millionaire's Woman: The Millionaire's Prospective Wife / The Millionaire's Runaway Bride / The Millionaire's Reward

She had spent most of the day in the house of a family who hadn’t a clue about personal hygiene or the most elementary social graces, trying to ascertain if the children were neglected out of intent or simply because their young parents didn’t have a clue.

She had returned home exhausted and stinking of the smell peculiar to the Massey family—a mixture of cat’s urine, dirt, cooking smells and body odour—which permeated every nook and cranny and ingrained itself into clothes, hair and nails. After washing her hair and having a long, hot bath she had gone round to her aunt’s house for dinner as she did every Monday, only to find that the odour seemed to have lodged itself somewhere between the end of her nose and her brain.

She could just imagine Nick’s reaction if he had seen her earlier. She almost laughed to herself. Nick, with his incredible flat, cars, designer clothes and immaculate appearance. No, they were miles, tens of thousands of miles apart. It was never going to come to anything. He was like a bright shooting star and she was like a damp squib.

‘Not yet?’ Joan was the original British bulldog when she wanted to be. ‘When then? Now your parents are gone I feel responsible for you.’

Now Cory did laugh out loud. ‘You know as well as I do that Mum and Dad barely knew I was alive,’ she said, just the merest trace of bitterness showing through. ‘And they would never have claimed to be responsible for me.’

‘Their loss.’ Joan sighed, looking into the lovely young face opposite her and wondering how two intelligent people like Cory’s parents could have been so criminally blind to their own daughter’s needs. ‘But I do worry about you. I can’t help it. And I know you are a perfectly modern woman who is in control of her life and her destiny, but still…’

Cory wasn’t at all sure about the control bit. ‘Maybe in a couple of months,’ she said placatingly. If they were still seeing each other then. Which she doubted. The tug at her heartstrings which followed was worrying.

‘I shall keep you to that,’ Joan said with great satisfaction. ‘Now, have a piece of the shortbread I made this afternoon with your coffee. I’m really getting the hang of this cooking lark, aren’t I, Rufus,’ she added to the dog sitting drooling at her feet. ‘After all those years at work when I ate out or had a ready meal in front of the TV, I’ve found it’s very satisfying to start a meal from scratch with fresh ingredients.’

‘You and Nick are going to have a lot to talk about,’ said Cory wryly.

They did. Two months later—months in which she and Nick had seen each other almost every night—Cory found herself watching him charm his way into her aunt’s affections. He had arrived at the house with a vast collection of herbs, all in little plant pots—‘thought it’d go down better than a bunch of flowers’, he’d murmured to Cory, who’d arrived early to help her aunt with the dinner—and an enormous hide bone for Rufus. The dog had promptly claimed Nick as his own personal companion, sitting on his foot all through dinner and then plonking himself down at the side of Nick’s armchair when they’d retired to Joan’s conservatory overlooking her pretty little garden.

The doors had been open to the warm August evening and in the distance somebody had been cutting their lawn, the drone of the lawnmower soothing. When Nick and her aunt had begun an in-depth conversation concerning the merits of certain herbs in certain dishes and other gastronomic delights, Cory had found herself beginning to doze. She’d had a hard week with a particularly harrowing case, and now the big meal, comfortable chair, mellow evening sunshine and general sense of well-being was seductive.

She was woken by a lingering kiss on her lips. She opened her eyes to find her aunt was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where’s she gone?’ she asked Nick drowsily.

‘Your aunt? Taken Rufus for a quick walk in the park. Apparently they have a little routine at nights now her leg’s better. Rufus has a chance to meet Oscar—an Old English Sheepdog,’ Nick explained knowledgeably, ‘and Periwinkle—a German Shepherd. According to your aunt, they are the canine version of the Three Musketeers and Rufus is bereft if they don’t meet up.’ His expression changed. ‘Were you bored earlier?’ he asked softly.

‘Bored?’ She gazed into the hard handsome face and wondered if he was aware of how devastatingly gorgeous he was. ‘How could anyone be bored listening to the merits of basil and thyme, or curd cheese over butter icing?’

He was used to her chaffing him. She had decided in the very early days that the only way she was going to hold her own in this relationship was not to fall foul of his charm.

He grinned at her now and she caught her breath as the blue eyes crinkled sexily at the corners. ‘Worked though, didn’t it,’ he said with a great deal of satisfaction. ‘Your aunt is putty in my hands.’

So was she but she wasn’t about to let him know that. ‘I’ll set her straight another time,’ she promised drily.

‘Come here.’ His voice had changed and as she stood up he pulled her into his arms, his tone husky as he said, ‘I’ve been wanting to do this all evening.’ His kiss was fierce, hungry, and she matched him in fierceness and hunger. It was always like that. And she knew the day was fast approaching when he would want it all, want her in his bed. She wanted it too. It had never been that way with William. Nothing was as it had been with William. That ought to be comforting but it wasn’t because she just couldn’t bring herself to believe that the bubble wouldn’t burst.

They stood moulded together and swaying slightly as their hands explored each other while their mouths fused. Nick nipped and sipped and savoured the sweet taste of her, pressing the tip of his tongue against her throat where her pulse pounded in reaction. He knew just what buttons to press, exactly how to please her. She knew going to bed with this man would be an experience she’d never get over. She would be his slave for ever.

‘Pity your aunt’s going to be back any minute.’ Reluctantly he raised his head, his voice husky as he adjusted her clothing.

His eyes had turned a deeper blue than usual and she smiled at him, the thrill she always felt at knowing how much he wanted her sending little ripples down her spine.

‘I want you, Cory.’ He ran one fingertip down her throat and into the dip between her breasts and she shivered. ‘And you want me. Not in little snatched moments or an evening here and there.’

Wanting was dangerous. Needing even more so. She stared at him, her eyes enormous in the shadows which were encroaching as night fell.

‘I love you,’ he said very softly. ‘Do you love me?’

She had known it would come to this one day. The summer had been so wonderful, so magical, but underlying every day had been a complicated web which had got stickier the more they had been together. The gap between them was as immense as it had ever been. He spoke of love but what he really meant was that he wanted her. Not just physically, she knew he wasn’t as crass as William and that he enjoyed being with her, but as for it lasting…

She drew back a little in his arms as she looked up at him. She had to be honest here. It was the only way but she was frightened this would be the moment he would get tired of her. ‘I’m not sure I know what love is,’ she said carefully. ‘My parents had this feeling between them they said was love but to me, on the outside, it was more of an obsession. It made them cruel to…to other people without them even knowing it.’

‘To you?’ he murmured, retaining her in his hold, his eyes narrowed on her face which was pale with emotion.

She nodded. ‘One of my flatmates at university said I’d been programmed from birth to accept the fact I was unloveable and unworthy. I hated her for it at the time—she wasn’t a particularly good friend and was always analysing everyone because she was doing psychology—but she might have been right. She said because I’d never experienced love when I was young—the old thing of give me a child until he’s seven and I will give you the man—I’d never know it in my adult life.’

Nick swore, just once but so explicitly Cory was shocked. ‘Get that out of your head,’ he said roughly. ‘That’s rubbish and the woman wants locking away.’

‘She got a First.’

‘She’d get a darn sight more if I got my hands on her.’ He shook her gently. ‘Listen to me, Cory. Life is what you make of it, OK? You don’t play with the cards you would have liked, you play with the ones you’ve been dealt and some of them can be lousy. Look at Lucinda. The woman was built to have babies—big, fat, Italian babies—but can you honestly say she is grieving her life away? Look at her at her birthday party; she was happy and making the most of what she did have.’

They had had a whale of a time at the party, which had gone on all night until everyone had been served breakfast, but now Cory said, ‘She knows John loves her, really loves her, and she loves him. She’s not confused or inhibited. She trusts him.’

‘Dead right. But if they could have had children their love would have flowed over and encompassed each one. You see that, don’t you? Because it’s real, it’s not selfish or restricting. You said yourself what your parents had was more obsession than love, so how the hell can you weigh anything they said or did to you in the balance and find yourself wanting? Of course you’re loveable. Damn it, I could eat you alive.’

She didn’t return his smile. How could she explain to him that she knew deep inside the day would come when he didn’t want her any more? She didn’t have the power to inspire real love. If she didn’t have it for her parents then why would anyone else love her? ‘William said he loved me,’ she said flatly.

‘William was a piece of dirt.’

She raised tortured eyes to his. ‘You can’t say that. You have never even met him.’

‘Let’s hope I don’t, for his sake,’ Nick said grimly. ‘Cory, the guy was on the make and he strung you along. There are men like that out there but we’re not all the same. I have never lied to you and I never will.’

No, but that wouldn’t make it any the easier when he got tired of her. He could have any woman he liked. Why on earth would he stay with her?

‘You think if you let yourself love me I’ll treat you like William, right?’

She could tell he was struggling to remain calm and she couldn’t blame him. She wished he would let go of her. She couldn’t think clearly when he was holding her. She shook her head. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t think you’re like him. Maybe at first, but not when I got to know you.’

‘So where is the problem, for crying out loud?’

Me. I’m the problem.

The sudden arrival of Rufus shooting through to the conservatory followed by Joan calling out she was back brought the very unsatisfactory conversation to a close. Cory got her wish because Nick let go of her, bending down to stroke the dog as Joan came bustling through.

‘Sorry we’ve been a while but Rufus is so popular it’s always difficult to get away,’ she said, for all the world as though she’d been accompanying a sought after celebrity to some event or other. ‘Now, coffee, yes? And you must try one of my demerara meringues, Nick. They don’t have the cloying sweetness of meringues made with white sugar. Have you ever tried your hand at meringues?’

Cory made an excuse and left them to it. When she reached her aunt’s neat pink and cream bathroom she locked the door behind her and sank down on the edge of the bath. She was trembling and she didn’t seem able to stop. He had said he loved her but he’d probably said the same thing to the women he’d had long-term relationships with in the past. Love didn’t necessarily equate to staying together or fidelity or dependability or any of those sorts of things.

She ran her hand through her hair before groaning softly. Was she being too possessive and clingy here? Thousands of women the whole world over were quite happy to give themselves body and soul to a man without the promise that it was going to work out, or even that they would stay together for more than a short while. If things went wrong they picked themselves up, brushed themselves down and got on with their lives. She worked with women like that and there had been plenty among her friends at university. Strong, determined, independent women.

She got up and walked over to her aunt’s basin, washing her hands with a rather strong-smelling lavender soap before drying them on a rose-embroidered towel, her head buzzing.

When William left her life so unpleasantly she hadn’t crumbled. She might have been crying inside but she’d gritted her teeth and presented the normal capable Cory to the rest of the world. Only her aunt had understood what his betrayal had meant to her. Of course she hadn’t given herself wholeheartedly to William, not in mind or body. But if she stayed with Nick she would do that.

She raised her head and stared at the wide-eyed girl in the mirror. Because she loved him, she thought sickly, facing it for the first time. She had been lying to him downstairs. She knew what love was since Nick had come into her life, and the affection she had felt for William before he had hurt her was a pale reflection in comparison. Her pride and fragile self-esteem had been hurt when William had treated her so badly but her heart hadn’t been broken.

She sank down on the edge of the bath again, staring at the rose tiles without really seeing them. Right, she thought grimly. Where did she go from here? If she went into this for real it would involve staying at his place and him at hers, that much had been clear from what he’d said downstairs about not wanting her in little snatched moments or the odd evening. It might even involve them living together. How would she survive if—when—it finished?

A coldness invaded her limbs in spite of the warm August night and she shivered. What sort of heartache would she be letting herself in for? How would she pick up the pieces and carry on? True, she’d have her work. Somehow that was supremely unimportant. And her friends and Aunt Joan. Not even in the equation.

She squeezed her lids tightly shut and tried to think. She was afraid to care and afraid to be cared for. That was what it boiled down to. Nick would expect that she would trust him and she would, in so far as other women were concerned. He wouldn’t play the field when he was with her; he wasn’t like that. But if he fell out of love with her and in love with one of the glamorous, exciting businesswomen he met every day…

She took a long shaky breath. And she couldn’t expect anything else to happen long-term, not realistically. He had made it clear when they first met that his work was his life and women fitted into the niche he’d allowed for them. He needed his independence, he’d said, had found he liked autonomy, no complications in his love life.

An increase of pressure from somewhere inside her chest made it difficult for her to breathe. She had known from the beginning that she should have sent him packing after that first weekend. But she had miscalculated. She had thought it was Nick who was dangerous but in fact it had been her own feelings that were the real hazard. From the first time she’d met him she had known she could love him. But she had been too cowardly to face that then and do something about it. And now everything was a million times worse.

She couldn’t be what he wanted. She rose and began pacing back and forth. And that was it in a nutshell really. She wouldn’t be able to let him go gracefully when the time came; in fact, she wouldn’t be able to let him go at all. And then it would all turn horribly messy and nasty. It happened, all the time.

But not to her. She stopped the pacing and became very still. Because she wouldn’t let it. This was the point where she had to take control. OK, it was hellishly late in the day but better late than never. She smiled bleakly.

Nick and her aunt were sitting eating demerara meringues and drinking coffee when she joined them.

‘Excuse us starting, darling, but you were such a long time.’ Joan gazed up at her, her smile changing to a frown of concern. ‘Are you all right, Cory? You look terribly pale all of a sudden.’

‘I have a headache.’ It was true, she did. Her head was pounding fit to burst.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie.’ Her aunt jumped up. ‘I’ll get some aspirin.’

When Joan had disappeared into the house, Nick leant across and took one of her hands. ‘You’re cold,’ he said quietly. ‘You must be sickening for something. Do you want me to take you home?’

What she wanted was to turn the clock back to the time before she had met him. A time in which there had been no crazy highs and lows, just a steady calm stroll through life. She nodded, wincing as the movement sent pain shooting through her eyeballs. A migraine. She hadn’t had one of these in years.

By the time she had swallowed the aspirin and they had made their goodbyes, bright lights were flashing at the back of her eyeballs. Cory knew the signs. She had had a series of migraines at university which the doctor there had put down to excess stress. She would be nauseous soon; she could feel her stomach beginning to churn already.

She stumbled as Nick helped her into the car and didn’t protest when he fastened her seat belt for her. He could have stripped her stark naked and she wouldn’t have cared.

‘You need a doctor.’ His voice sounded so loud he could have been shouting, her hearing sensitised a hundredfold.

‘It’s just a migraine,’ she whispered through numb lips, praying she wouldn’t vomit all over his beautiful car.

‘Do you have them often?’

The engine was such that it fairly purred but tonight it resembled a jet preparing for take-off. ‘No, not often.’ Please don’t make me talk.

He must have heard the silent plea because he said no more, pulling out of her aunt’s drive and into the road beyond slowly and smoothly.

Even in the midst of the pain Cory appreciated his thoughtfulness. Slow was not normally a word which featured in Nick’s driving vocabulary.

When they reached her flat Cory just had time to dive into the bathroom where she lost Joan’s delicious plaice florentine down the toilet. She was vaguely aware of Nick helping her to her feet and then using a wet flannel to mop her face. ‘I’ll be fine, now, thanks,’ she whispered painfully. ‘I’m only ever sick once. I shall just go to bed and stay there for twenty-four hours.’

He made no reply to this, taking her arm and leading her through to her bedroom as though she was a frail old lady. Mind you, that was exactly what she felt like right at this moment, Cory thought painfully.

Once she was sitting on her bed, she said again, ‘I’ll be fine now. You go.’

‘You’re far from fine and I’m not convinced this is a migraine. What if you’ve got food poisoning or something?’

‘Aunt Joan would love to hear you say that.’

‘Not through her cooking; your aunt and I aren’t affected. What did you eat for lunch?’

She really didn’t want to do this right now. Forcing herself to reply, Cory murmured, ‘Tagliatelle and it was perfectly all right. I’ve told you, this is a migraine. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to go to bed.’

‘Fine. I’ll help you. Where’s your nightie or whatever you wear?’

Cory opened one eye and then wished she hadn’t as the equivalent of a laser blast hit her brain. ‘I’m quite capable of undressing myself,’ she said irritably, wincing as her voice added to the drums beating in her head. ‘Now, if you’ll just go and leave me alone so I can sleep.’

‘I’ll wait outside until you’re in bed.’

For heaven’s sake! After the door had closed, Cory slipped out of her clothes without opening her eyes and moving the least she could. She didn’t bother trying to find her nightie, which was folded up in the bedside cabinet, sliding under the thin summer duvet with a sigh of relief.

A few minutes later she heard the door open and then a deep voice at the side of her said, ‘There’s a drink of water beside you if you need it.’

‘Thank you.’ Go, just go.

‘Are you warm enough? You were cold earlier.’

In actual fact she was still cold; migraines always seemed to make her feel that way. There was a quick debate in her aching mind as to whether she should admit to it or just send him home. ‘There’s a hot-water bottle in the bottom of the chest of drawers,’ she said, her eyes closed. ‘It’s got a Winnie-the-Pooh cover on it.’

A moment’s pause, and then he said, ‘I’ve got it.’

In no time at all he was back. When she heard the door open Cory slid an arm from under the covers. ‘Thanks.’ She was feeling worse if anything. She’d had special medication prescribed for her at university, but since the migraines had waned and then disappeared altogether once she was working she hadn’t renewed the prescription. She wished now that she had. Her aunt’s aspirin wasn’t even touching the pain.

‘Anything else I can do?’

‘No. No, thanks,’ she added, knowing she’d been too abrupt.

‘I’ll leave you to get some sleep then.’

She was aware of his lips brushing her brow and then the door closed again.

She lay completely still because the slightest movement jarred her head unbearably, and after a few moments she heard the front door close. He had gone. Tense muscles relaxed. If she was sick again at least she could do it without an audience!

Then she berated herself for being so nasty when Nick had tried to be so nice. But she’d lied to him when she’d said the nausea only happened once; often it was two or three times, and throwing her heart up in front of him wasn’t exactly the picture she wanted him to carry home in his mind.

The aspirin must have worked to a small degree because she dozed for a while. She had no idea of how long she’d been in bed when she suddenly knew she had to get to the bathroom again.

Throwing back the duvet, she struggled to her feet but after making the mistake of opening her eyes once she didn’t try it again, feeling her way out of the room. She reached the bathroom without mishap, only to find the waves of nausea receding. She felt behind her gingerly for the bath and sat on the edge of it as she tried to decide if she dared go back to bed.

‘What are you doing?’

The shock of Nick’s voice brought her eyes open and a thousand daggers pierced her brain. She was as naked as the day she was born and here he was spying on her! ‘What am I doing?’ she croaked furiously, grabbing a bath towel and pulling it round her. ‘What are you doing? I heard you go ages ago.’ She glared at him, colour flooding her face.

‘I went to a local pharmacy for something a bit better than aspirin,’ he said with magnificent aplomb. But then he wasn’t the one with no clothes on. ‘I was going to give you a couple of pills when you woke up.’

‘You’ve been here all the time?’ She shut her eyes again, partly because the pain was too intense to keep them open, but mainly because she didn’t dare look at him a moment longer. He had seen her stark naked and not in a nice romantic way either. No—his first sight of her totally in the buff had had to be when she was feeling like death and no doubt looking it too. And he had added insult to injury by switching on the light as he’d walked in the bathroom. Her cellulite would have been positively screaming at him.

‘I’ve been kipping in the chair in the sitting room.’

That would have been fine if he had stayed there.

‘Come on, get back to bed and I’ll fix you a hot drink so you can have a couple of these pills,’ Nick said comfortably, as though he hadn’t just put her through her worst moment ever. It didn’t help that in the brief glare she’d indulged in she’d noticed a dark stubble on his chin which made him look ten times more sexy than usual, if that were possible. That and the open-necked shirt and rumpled hair. ‘It’s three in the morning, so if you have a couple now you might start feeling better towards lunchtime when you wake up. I’m assured these knock you out like a light.’

She wished he’d woken her up when he’d fetched them then. Before she’d decided to lumber blindly about the flat in her birthday suit.