The Millionaire's Wish (7 page)

She stared at him, her hand frozen on her wineglass. “You're really that cynical?”

“Yes.”

“You can't honestly believe a woman would only be with you because of money.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Tell me again why you're here tonight?”

That made her blush, but she didn't back down. “This deal was your idea, not mine—and I'm not interested in dating anyone, so you know it's not personal. But even though I'm not exactly a cheerleader for romance, I know there are lots of women out there who would fall for you even if you didn't have a dime.”

Which was the last thing he wanted.

He shook his head. “I'm not interested in a serious relationship. I guess I'm like you—more interested in work. Even though I'm not as passionate about my work as you are.”

She rested her chin in her hand as she looked at him, the candlelight making her skin glow. “You're not?”

“Well…not lately.”

“But you were passionate when you designed ‘Magician's Labyrinth.'”

He remembered the long, feverish nights at his
computer. “Yeah, I was. But that was a long time ago.”

“My sister says that when you love your work, you'll do it till you bleed. And that's how you'll know you're in the right job.”

He thought back again to his design days, to sleepless nights and blurred vision and the gnawing in his stomach when he realized he'd forgotten to eat. “What does your sister do?”

“Jenna's a musician. I found her practicing guitar one day when she was thirteen or fourteen, and her fingers really were bleeding. She'd only had the guitar a week and her hands weren't callused yet. That's the day she told me she knew what she wanted to do with her life.”

She leaned forward. “When's the last time you designed something?”

That made him think of Carol, and his VP of product development. The two of them were always bugging him to get back to the creative side of software, rather than sticking to the business side.

“It's been a while,” he said.

She was studying him, her eyes much too intelligent, and he wished he hadn't been so persistent in asking her questions. It made turnabout seem like fair play.

“How old were you when you first thought of ‘Magician's Labyrinth'? When the idea first came to you?”

“It was my freshman year in college, so I guess I was eighteen or nineteen.”

“How old were you when your mother died?”

His jaw tightened. “I was seventeen.”

“So it was pretty soon afterward you started working on the game.”

His face felt stiff. “And that's significant because?”

“I'm just thinking about that character, the one Julie was playing. He got killed, remember? But you saved him. There was that healing spell woven into his armor. The spell that brought him back from death.”

The stiffness spread into his muscles, hardening his spine. “So?”

“I think the game was your way of dealing with all the emotions you felt after losing your mother. You created something that came out of real feeling, out of the love you had for her and the pain you felt when she died. That's why the game connects with people, why people like Julie love it so much. Because it came out of something genuine. If you could connect with that part of yourself again, with your imagination and creativity, I think you could make something new. Something even more wonderful.”

Rick knew Allison wasn't probing his soft spots because he'd probed hers. But the fact was, he'd pushed her to talk to him when he wasn't willing to talk to her. Not about this kind of thing.

“Let's change the subject.”

She looked at him for a moment, and something about her eyes made him feel like it didn't matter if he talked about himself or not—that she could still see inside him, somehow.

It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

“Of course,” she said after a moment. “I'm sorry I got so personal. I think it must be the wine…I don't usually drink so much.” She finished the last bite of her ravioli and pushed her plate away, propping her chin on her hand again. “What do you usually talk about on a first date?”

He drank the last of his Burgundy and set the empty glass back on the table. “Nothing too earth-shaking. Music, movies, sports. Current events if they're not too political.”

She smiled at him. “Well, you know I like movies. Let's give that a try.”

The waiter came by with the dessert menu.

Though not as charged as their earlier conversation, it turned out that talking with Allison about movies was just as stimulating. It wasn't the topic—it was her. She was fun to talk to.

And to look at.

He watched as Allison savored the last bite of her molten chocolate cake and set her spoon down beside her dish. Not satisfied, she used her index finger to capture the last streaks of chocolate from the inside of the bowl and popped her finger in her mouth, licking the chocolate off with obvious enjoyment.

His body tightened and he struggled to tamp down the sudden flash of desire. He knew Allison had absolutely no idea how sexy she looked doing that and she'd be shocked if he told her.

But he was starting to think this dating deal was going to be harder on him than it was on her.

The ride back to her apartment was quiet. He looked over at Allison as he pulled up in front of her apartment building, and saw that she'd fallen asleep.

He turned off the engine, thinking that might wake her, but her eyes stayed closed and in the sudden silence he could hear her soft, even breathing.

His left arm rested on the steering wheel as he watched her. Her lips were parted and looked impossibly soft. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, and even
her heavy suit jacket couldn't entirely hide the curve of her breasts beneath.

“Allison,” he said softly, then reached over and shook her gently. “Allison.”

Opening her eyes, she blinked at him. “Did I fall asleep?” She sat upright and scrubbed her face with her hands. “Wow, that's embarrassing. I bet none of your real dates ever did that.”

She glanced out the window. “Oh, we're here.” She opened her door and got out of the car before he could say anything.

“Sorry,” she said, looking up at him when he joined her on the sidewalk. “I should have waited for you to come around and open the door, right? Isn't that the proper dating etiquette?”

“As you keep reminding me, this wasn't a real date.” He hesitated a moment. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did, actually,” she said, sounding almost surprised. She leaned back against the car, her hands in the pockets of her jacket, and he leaned back, too. “It wasn't boring,” she added, and that made him smile.

They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, their shoulders almost touching, looking at Allison's apartment building and the three quarter moon that hung above it.

If this were a real date, he'd make his move right now. He'd step in front of her, and press her back against the car so she could feel him against her, chest to knees. Then he'd slide his hands into her hair and capture that soft, sweet mouth with his…

Of course this wasn't a real date. But almost without realizing it, he moved just a little closer to her, until his shoulder brushed against hers.

She pushed herself away from the car like a shot, turning back to face him after she was a few feet away.

“Good night, Rick. And thanks for dinner.”

He held himself still. “Good night, Allison. I'll call you this week to set up our next date, okay?”

“Sure.” She gave him a quick smile and then hurried toward the door of her building. She fumbled with her key for a few seconds, turned to wave, and then disappeared inside.

After a minute, he saw the lights in her apartment go on.

After another minute, he realized he was still standing there, picturing Allison finally taking off that heavy jacket as she got ready for bed.

He shook his head slowly.

One date into their bargain, and he was wishing he was up there with her. He wondered what kind of shape he'd be in after three months.

And if she'd ever look at him the way he wanted her to.

A
t seven the next morning, Allison's phone rang.

She reached for it without opening her eyes. “Hello?”

“Allison, is that you? Do you realize you're in the
newspaper?
Apparently you were on a date last night with Richard Hunter. The CEO of Hunter Systems. The man featured in
People
magazine as the Playboy of the Midwest. I tell you all this because it obviously slipped your mind. Otherwise, I'm sure you would have mentioned it to your family.”

Allison sat up in bed, now fully awake. “Good morning to you, too, Mom.”

Irene Landry sighed. “I just don't understand it. You're such a wonderful girl, so smart, so caring, so beautiful. Every night I lie awake, thinking that you're going to die alone, surrounded by cats—”

“Dying alone is not possible when you're a Landry,
my building doesn't allow cats, and you go to bed every night at nine-thirty and sleep like a log, so I find it hard to picture you lying awake thinking about anything, much less your perfectly happy single daughter who—”

“Who, apparently, is no longer single!”

“Mom! Would you calm down for a second, please?”

“Oh, for goodness' sakes. I'm calm. Just tell me about this young man of yours. It'll be good practice for you, because as soon as the rest of the family wakes up and sees the paper, your phone will be ringing off the hook.”

Allison groaned. “Which paper?”

“The
Gazette.
It's in the local news section.”

“Local news? That's ridiculous. The most a story like this should rate is the gossip column. What's journalism coming to?”

“I guess it was a slow news day. Anyway, it's in there. Three photos—you look very pretty in all of them, although it looks like you're wearing a business suit. The headline…wait a second, let me get it…oh, yes. ‘Has The Playboy of the Midwest Finally Found Love?' I must say, they wrote some very complimentary things about you and the Star Foundation.”

“You know, Rick warned me this would happen, and I meant to call you yesterday, but I—” spent an hour standing in front of her closet, only to pick out a business suit. “I guess I forgot.”

“Apparently. Well, fill me in now, before I explode.”

She hadn't really thought through exactly what she'd tell her family. The whole truth? Well…maybe not. Not
at seven in the morning on a Sunday, when she hadn't even had her coffee.

“The newspaper blew things way out of proportion. Rick and I met because of a patient I'm working with, and because he's made a big donation to the Star Foundation. We went to dinner last night as friends. No romance, Mom. Rick did warn me there might be a newspaper story or two, but—”

“Don't be silly.”

“What?”

“Allison, go get the paper. Look at the pictures. Then try telling me that you and Richard Hunter are just friends.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Just do it. Go get your paper and call me back.”

What could she be talking about, Allison wondered as she put on her pink bunny slippers and plaid robe.

The doorbell rang before she was halfway across the living room.

She opened the door to find the
Gazette
lying on the mat, and Mrs. Kiersted from the apartment next door peering at her nearsightedly. “You're in the paper. Did you know? You look pretty good, too. Even though you're dressed like an undercover policewoman. Next time, put on a skirt. Is he in there with you? If he hasn't woken up yet, you should take a shower before he sees you. Your hair's sticking up all over the place.”

Allison blushed and grabbed the paper from the mat. “Shame on you, Mrs. Kiersted. When have I ever had a man in my apartment overnight?”

“Never, sweet pea. I guess even a blind squirrel finds an acorn once in a while, eh?”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Kiersted,” Allison said with what
she hoped was frosty dignity. Then she shut her door and retreated back into her apartment.

She decided caffeine would be required to cope with this situation, so she carried the paper into the kitchen and dropped it on the breakfast table before turning on the coffeemaker. Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, she drummed her fingers on the counter as the hot fragrant liquid filled her red mug, adding cream and plenty of sugar before finally sitting down at the table, taking a sustaining sip and opening the paper to the local news section.

Three photos of them at dinner, just like her mother had said.

In the first one, she was talking with her hands as she leaned forward across the table. Rick was smiling as he listened to her, his eyes on her face.

In the second picture Rick was laughing, his eyes crinkled up, and she was resting her chin in her hand as she looked at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

In the last picture their expressions were more serious, almost intense. Rick was talking in this one, his wineglass in his hand as he leaned toward her. She was leaning forward too, her posture dynamic, and the energy between them seemed…charged.

All three had one thing in common. The man and woman captured in these photos seemed completely absorbed in one another, as if nothing else existed.

Allison sat back in her chair and frowned. Then she called her mother.

“Okay, I see how you could get the wrong idea from those pictures. But that's just because we were interested
in what we were talking about. I probably look like that when I'm talking to my female friends, too.”

“Allison, the attraction between you and that man practically zings off the page.”

“Sorry, mom. If anything was zinging it was our conversation. And in that last picture I think we were arguing about something. That's not romantic.”

“Are you kidding? Your father and I argued all the time when we were dating. I think that's why he fell in love with me. I was the only person who ever stood up to him.”

Her parents seemed so comfortable together it was hard to imagine them ever dating, ever falling in love, ever anything but married. Allison put that disconcerting image aside and focused on the issue at hand. “Mom, I think I would know if I was in a romantic relationship with Rick Hunter. And I'm definitely not. In fact, we made a point of telling each other we're not physically attracted to each other. So there wouldn't be any misunderstandings.”

“You made a point of that, did you?”

“Yes.”

Irene's snort was clearly audible. “I'm going to make a wager about this, and you know my track record.” Her mother was famous in the Landry clan for having never once lost a bet.

Allison felt a wave of unease. “Look, Mom, no betting. Okay? Don't even finish that thought. I'll see you in two weeks for Jenna and Jake's birthday. In the meantime, please try to accept the fact that Rick and I are just friends.”

It was a few more minutes before she managed to actually say goodbye, but Allison barely had time to
breathe a sigh of relief before the phone rang again. This time it was her aunt Beth, wanting the scoop on her niece's exciting new boyfriend.

A few hours later, she was sitting in the living room with a book and her third cup of coffee when the phone rang for what had to be the seventeenth time. She grabbed it and hit the talk button.

“What,” she growled.

“Wow. Not a morning person, huh?”

Rick.

A rush of sensation shot through her. She almost dropped the phone.

“Sorry,” she said. “I thought you were another member of the Landry family, calling to give me the third degree.”

“They saw the paper?”

“A big yes to that.”

“What did you end up telling them?”

“I just said we were friends and that the
Gazette
blew things out of proportion.”

“Did they buy it?”

“Of course,” Allison said. “I mean, why wouldn't they?” Her eye fell on the newspaper she'd set down on the coffee table, and she wondered what Rick had thought when he first saw the pictures.

“No reason. I'm just wondering how rough your morning was.”

“I'd call it medium rough. The phone's been ringing off the hook but at least they all believe me.”

“Well, that's good. My grandmother also saw the paper, by the way. And she heard from Shirley Donovan last night.”

She'd forgotten for a moment what last night had been about. “And?”

“And we're invited to afternoon tea at Hunter Hall.”

“Afternoon tea? I didn't know people actually did that. Not in the New World, anyway. When does she want us to come?”

“Next Sunday at three o'clock, if that works for you.”

In spite of herself, her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing him again. “Um, yes. Yes, that's fine.”

“I just hope your family doesn't harass you too much between now and then.”

Allison sighed. “You know what they say when I beg them to leave me alone? They tell me that being pestered is just one of the consequences of being loved. How's that for an excuse to invade someone's privacy?”

He laughed, and Allison caught herself smiling at the phone.

“That sounds like something my grandmother would say.” They chatted for a few more minutes before saying goodbye. When he hung up, Allison sat listening to the dial tone for a moment. Then she turned the phone off and set it back down on the coffee table.

The only thing between them was a business deal.

So it didn't make sense that she already missed the sound of his voice.

 

Unless she was right in front of him, Rick didn't usually think too much about whatever woman he happened to be dating. Of course, he wasn't actually
dating
Allison, as he reminded himself every time she popped up in his thoughts that week.

But while his mind understood there was nothing between them but business, his body hadn't gotten the memo. The Sunday
Gazette
was still on his kitchen counter, folded to page thirty-six. Every so often he'd glance at the pictures, comparing them to his memory of Allison that night. They didn't do justice to her beauty, but they did capture a little of her energy. Even in black and white you could see how alive she was, how intense.

He remembered her sweetness, too. The openhearted generosity that had been so apparent when she talked about the families she worked with. And he remembered the way she challenged him about his own work, suggesting he go back to the creative side of his job.

He couldn't help imagining what it would be like to have her sweetness—and her fire—in his bed. A part of him—a very primitive part—wanted to be the man who could change her mind about staying single, who could make her want him as much as he wanted her.

Of course he'd never act on that desire. After all, it was her lack of interest that made her so perfect for his plan. Even if he could change her mind—which seemed highly unlikely—the last thing he needed was to get tangled up with a woman like Allison, a woman who deserved so much more than he could ever offer.

But knowing that didn't stop him from thinking about her.

The piece in the
Gazette
drew a comment or two at work. Carol let him know she wanted details at some point, and it turned out that his VP of product development, a software engineer named Derek Brown, had known Allison for a few years.

“I met her when my nephew was diagnosed with
leukemia. There was a bad time when we weren't sure he was going to make it, and the Star Foundation arranged to have someone bring in all my sister's meals, clean her house and do a lot of the other stuff she couldn't focus on. And Allison was with us in the hospital every chance she got. Jimmy's crazy about her. He's in remission now, but they still email each other once in a while. I'm telling you, man, Allison is something else. I hope you appreciate how lucky you are.”

Rick added the Star Foundation's website to his internet favorites. Every so often he clicked on the link and read a little about Allison or her company, and looked at the one picture of Allison posted there.

And one day after work he went to a bookstore and picked up her memoir, the one she'd published in college.

It sat on his nightstand for three days, untouched. He'd always avoided reading anything about cancer, although several well-meaning friends, neighbors and relatives had given him a variety of books to choose from after his mother's death.

This was different, of course. He was eighteen years older, and he was interested in this book because of Allison, not because of the subject. Still, it wasn't until Saturday night that he finally opened it.

He'd gone to see Julie that afternoon, a visit highlighted by the joyful news that she was doing well and would be going home soon. Her parents had been there, along with her sister and two brothers, and the day had felt like a celebration.

After a quiet night at home with Chinese takeout and ESPN, he went to bed around eleven, but found he was too restless to sleep. He debated turning on the TV,
hesitated a moment, and then picked up Allison's book from his nightstand. He looked at the back cover first, at the younger version of Allison smiling out at him. Then he turned to page one and started to read.

 

Once again Allison was standing in front of her closet, but this time she had Rachel with her. Rachel knew the whole story of the deal with Rick—Allison had broken down and told her the truth after swearing her to secrecy. It shouldn't have mattered to her what Allison wore today, but her friend was shaking her head back and forth with a pained expression on her face.

“This is just…wow. I've probably seen every outfit you own at one point or another, but to see them all together like this…wow. This is one depressing wardrobe.”

“Thank you. That's very encouraging.”

“I wasn't trying to encourage you. This is more in the nature of an intervention.”