Millionaire's Woman: The Millionaire's Prospective Wife / The Millionaire's Runaway Bride / The Millionaire's Reward. CATHERINE GEORGEЧитать онлайн книгу.
had never realised there were so many nerveendings in one place. Should she ask him in and blow the consequences? The force of the temptation was so strong it was enough to kill it. Besides, he had already turned and walked to the head of the stairs.
‘Sleep well,’ he said lazily.
He wasn’t going to ask to see her again. Well, she’d expected pretty much that, hadn’t she? And if he had, she’d determined she’d say no anyway.
‘Fancy lunch tomorrow?’
Her heart did an Olympic leap and then raced for gold. The moment of truth. Remember William. She didn’t want to remember William, she wanted to say yes. Which was why it had to be no. ‘Lunch?’ she repeated weakly.
‘You know, that meal in between breakfast and dinner?’
It was easier when he was being sarcastic. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’
‘Why not?’ He rested his arms on the banister, his face full of sharply defined planes and angles in the shadows.
‘Because—’ She hesitated. Should she lie and say she had a prior engagement? But he’d only suggest another time. ‘Because I’m not dating at the moment.’
‘The work thing.’ He shook his head. ‘Not a good enough reason when your dog damn near broke my back.’
‘I’ve made recompense for that,’ she said indignantly. ‘And Rufus isn’t my dog anyway.’
‘You were in charge of him.’ He grinned. ‘Do you want to see my bruises?’
‘Not particularly.’ He was doing the charm bit again and it was lethal. Good job William had made her immune to such ploys.
‘There are women who’d die for the privilege.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ She was determined not to smile.
‘I’ll be back at midday. There’s a great little pub I know where the roast beef melts in the mouth and the Yorkshire puddings are more than puffs of air.’
‘I’ve told you, I’m not dating,’ she said severely.
‘And I’ve told you, this isn’t a date but more paying off your debt. I don’t like to eat Sunday lunch alone.’ He straightened. ‘OK?’ he threw over his shoulder as he began to walk down the stairs.
Not OK. Definitely not OK, but it was like saying no to a brick wall. She followed him to the top of the stairs, looking down at his back as she hissed, ‘Nick, I’m not having Sunday lunch with you.’
‘Twelve sharp.’ He turned just long enough for her to see the flash of his white teeth in the darkness. ‘And I’m not backing off, Cory, so accept with good grace.’
‘Nick!’
He was in the hall now and his voice was low and reproachful when he murmured, ‘Quiet, remember the dog.’
She muttered something very rude about the dog just as the front door closed behind him.
In spite of the late hour, after Cory had showered and removed her make-up she found she was wide awake. The events of the evening were spinning through her head like a fast moving film and sleep was a million miles away. She tossed and turned for an hour or more before getting out of bed and padding through to the kitchen.
A mug of hot milk and half a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits later, she tried to get a handle on the way her life had been turned upside down in less than twenty-four hours.
The man was a human bulldozer, she told herself irritably. It would serve him right if she was out tomorrow when he called.
But she wouldn’t be.
She sighed. This was madness. Getting involved with a man like Nick Morgan, even briefly, was asking for trouble. Unbidden, thoughts of William intruded and for once she was too muddled and over-tired to stop them.
When she had met him she had left university six months earlier and had been training for her present job. She and her colleagues had treated themselves to a Christmas meal at an expensive restaurant and it had been there she’d bumped into him—quite literally. The heel of one of her shoes had suddenly snapped and she’d fallen against him.
She reached for another biscuit, needing the sweetness to combat the acidity of the memories.
She had known from the beginning that William was wrong for her, that he was the type of man who would never be happy settling down with just one woman. But he had pursued her, probably because she was a challenge. Normally women fell into his lap like ripe plums and it had been something of a novelty for him to be the hunter for once. She had known that, in her head, but in spite of that she had found herself falling for him. Some little grain of sense, of sanity—call it what you would—had prevailed, however, and in spite of all his efforts he hadn’t got her into his bed.
Then he had asked her to marry him.
The packet of biscuits had almost gone now. Feeling mad at herself for the self-indulgence, Cory stuffed the remainder back in the biscuit barrel and turned off the kitchen light, padding back to her bedroom and climbing into bed.
She had been over the moon at William’s proposal. It had meant he wanted her, really wanted her and not just as a sexual conquest. For the first time in her life she had felt loved, the hang-ups from her lonely childhood and teens fading into the distance.
He’d suggested a weekend in Paris to celebrate the engagement, declaring he knew the most perfect little jeweller’s shop there where she could choose her ring. She’d said yes—who wouldn’t? Of course she’d known that ‘celebrating’ would probably mean more than the limited love-making she’d allowed so far, but they were going to be married…
Why she had called unannounced at the advertising agency William owned the night before they were due to leave for Paris, she didn’t really know. She had been visiting a problem family in Soho, and rather than go straight home she’d decided to stroll the mile or so to the agency in Mayfair. With hindsight it had been the worst—and the best—thing she could have done.
Nearly everyone had left by the time she got there, but after assuring William’s secretary—whom she’d met at the door—that she’d surprise him, she had made her way to his office on the top floor of the building. And she’d surprised him all right, as well as the partially clothed blonde he had been writhing with on the couch.
The scene which had followed had been ugly. He’d accused her of being frigid, an emotional cripple and plenty more besides in an effort to justify himself. She had walked out and had never seen him again from that day to this. A very messy end to an affair which never should have started in the first place.
Cory sighed, turning over in bed and hammering at her pillow, which felt as if it was packed with rocks. She had to get some sleep; she’d look like a wet rag in the morning. She began the technique she’d perfected in the months after William’s betrayal, relaxing all her muscles, one by one, from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head.
Half an hour later she was as wide awake as ever, but this time it was Nick Morgan who was featuring on the screen in her mind.
She must have drifted off at some point after it became light, because when the alarm woke her at nine o’clock she was in the middle of a particularly erotic dream which made her blush to think about it.
How could she imagine such antics with a man she’d only met the day before? she asked herself in the shower. She could still feel the electricity racing through her veins which she’d experienced in the dream when Nick had touched and tasted her, and the heat in her body was nothing to do with the warm water cascading down on her. Crazy. She turned the dial to cold. It didn’t help much.
He was early—fifteen minutes early—but as Cory had spent the last two hours agonising over what to wear, she was ready. Her bedroom looked like a bomb had hit it and almost every single