Millionaire's Woman: The Millionaire's Prospective Wife / The Millionaire's Runaway Bride / The Millionaire's Reward. CATHERINE GEORGEЧитать онлайн книгу.
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,