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

Cory considered her answer, forgetting she wasn’t going to drink any more wine and taking several sips as she surveyed him through dreamy eyes. ‘A he-man type,’ she stated.

‘And they don’t cook?’

‘I don’t know.’ Wrapped in contentment and lulled into a false sense of security she forgot to be careful. ‘They might do. You do, so other men might, I suppose.’

‘What about William?’ Nick asked softly. ‘Didn’t he spoil you by at least cooking breakfast now and again?’

‘I never had breakfast with William. I’ve never had breakfast with anyone.’ She finished the last of the wine, holding out her glass for a refill as she spoke out the thought in her head without thinking about what she was revealing. ‘I suppose you have to sleep with someone to wake up to breakfast with them.’

There was the merest of pauses before Nick said, ‘It helps.’

There was a quality to his voice which brought Cory back to earth more effectively than a bucketful of cold water.

Much later she realised that at that point she could still have saved the situation if she hadn’t lost her head. She could have made some light innuendo which suggested that bed wasn’t the only place people made love or deflected the assumption she had heard in his voice in some other way. Then maybe—maybe—she might have fooled him.

As it was, she stared at him with wide horrified eyes, the effects of the wine completely burnt up in the mortification she was feeling. She set the wineglass down on the table. ‘Not that I haven’t had lots of offers though,’ she blurted out before realising that made everything ten times worse.

Jumping to her feet she took the coward’s way out. ‘Can I use the bathroom?’

‘Sure.’ Nick was magnificently unconcerned but it didn’t help. ‘First door on your right outside the kitchen.’

Cory fled.

She stood in the bathroom for a good few seconds feeling utterly wretched before her surroundings registered through the maelstrom. Then she glanced about her in awe. The white tiled walls and floor were offset with midnight-blue granite surfaces and illuminated recesses which stored white bath-linen and toiletries, and the massive raised bath, shower cubicle, pedestal basin, toilet and bidet were white with elegant silver fittings. Two exquisitely worked granite sculptures of storks stood either side of the shower cubicle, a mosaic of white and blue taking up almost one wall over the bath.

The stark use of white and blue, the voyeuristic ceiling which consisted totally of glass and the carefully positioned lighting made this a bathroom where modesty would go out of the window. Cory walked gingerly across to the basin, fiddling about for a few moments before she realised it had a thermostat mixer and sensor which was activated when the occupant held their hands beneath it.

But of course it would, she told herself cantankerously. What else? She wouldn’t be surprised if you only had to wish for the bath to fill up and it happened.

She glanced up at the ceiling again when she had dried her hands on the big fluffy towel and then her eyes moved to the huge bath which would easily take two people, if not a whole rugby team. This room had been designed for other activities than merely getting clean. She put her hands to her hot cheeks. Which made what she’d revealed to Nick doubly humiliating. He wouldn’t have any concept of how she felt.

She stayed in the bathroom for as long as she dared but eventually she squared her shoulders and lifted her head. She would have to go and face him and get it over with. She breathed very deeply. But definitely no more wine. No more wine, no more leading conversations, no more of anything!

He was sitting where she’d left him, but now their plates had been cleared away and dessert dishes and spoons were on the table. ‘Hi.’ His smile was easy and unhurried as she joined him. ‘Vanilla parfait with chocolate rum truffle or apricot whisky mousse?’

Cory forgot to be embarrassed as she stared at the two rich concoctions in front of her. ‘You made these?’ she asked in amazement.

‘Almost.’ His eyes drifted over her face. ‘But my local gourmet store helped a little.’

Her smiled was strained. She didn’t want to eat dessert with him in this gleaming super-technological kitchen. She wanted to go home and lick her wounds.

As soon as she had finished her portion of vanilla parfait with chocolate rum truffle, Cory slipped off her seat. ‘I must go home and do that work,’ she said quietly. ‘Thanks for a lovely day. I’ll hail a cab from the end of the street.’

‘Don’t be silly, I’m coming with you.’

‘There’s no need.’

He inhaled deeply and audibly, and let his breath out. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he repeated steadily, rising to his feet.

His tone was exactly what one would use with a difficult and annoying child, and it caught her on the raw. She stared at him and piercingly intent blue eyes stared back. He seemed very big and very dark and Cory couldn’t help looking at his mouth as he stopped speaking. It was a sexy, cynical and purposeful mouth. She swallowed. ‘As you like,’ she said casually, shrugging as she turned away.

The next moment she was turned around again by a firm hand on her shoulder. ‘I do like,’ he said with silky control. He put his mouth to hers, stroking her sealed lips as one hand held her in the small of her back and the other brushed her hair away from her face.

When her lips opened slightly beneath his he plunged immediately into the undefended territory, his hand leaving her face to thread deftly into her hair, supporting her head. The kiss deepened with a sensuality that started her senses reeling.

‘You’re delicious, you know that, don’t you,’ he murmured, a sound—almost like a groan—coming from deep in his throat. ‘Specially tasting of rum truffle.’

The hand that had been tangled in her hair had shifted to fit her face into the curve of his neck and now he stood cradling her close, so close she could feel every inch of his arousal. Cory stood absolutely still. She was having trouble with her breathing and her heart was pounding. The overpowering passion which ignited every time this man touched her had taken her unawares again, and now all her doubts and fears came back in a rush to reproach her.

Act nonchalant, she told herself silently. Finish this with a modicum of self-respect. If nothing else, let him remember you as the one who got away.

She straightened, pulling away and smoothing her hair with a light laugh before she said, ‘Red wine, white wine and now rum truffle. You’re a bad influence.’

‘I hope so.’ The unreserved warmth in his eyes brought colour into her cheeks, especially as the feel of his body was still imprinted against her. ‘But we’ve a long way to go yet.’

Cory looked at him guardedly but made no reply. The only place she was going was home, and then from this night on she’d make sure she refused any invitations from Nick Morgan. If he asked her to see him again, that was. She ignored the chasm that her stomach had fallen into at the thought of never seeing him again, and said brightly, ‘Shall we find a taxi now?’

‘Let’s.’ It was dry.

They didn’t say much on the way to Cory’s flat, but the air in the back of the taxi was electric with tension. At least, Cory felt so. Nick, on the other hand, sat with his arm round her, the hand resting on her shoulder playing idly with a lock of her hair and his legs stretched out lazily in front of him.

His kisses didn’t mean anything. The refrain went over and over in her head as she tried to convince herself. Not a thing. To a man like Nick, kissing a woman was little more than a social habit.

Why had he stopped kissing her? The thought which had assailed her as they had left his flat kept jabbing at her. Because it hadn’t been her who had stopped initially. It should have been, she acknowledged miserably, but it hadn’t. Was it because of what she’d unwittingly revealed? Had it put him off? Did he feel he couldn’t be bothered with someone as inexperienced as her? Or perhaps, like her friends at university, he thought she was too intense, too emotional—slightly…odd?

She continued to go round and round in circles until the car drew up outside the house and then, to her surprise, she had a feeling of very real panic at the thought of not seeing him again. Which was ridiculous, utterly and absolutely. Nevertheless it was there.

‘I’ll see you to your door,’ Nick said, and this time she didn’t object. He told the taxi driver to wait and then escorted her across the pavement, following her inside the house after she had opened the front door.

When they were finally standing outside her own door, she looked up at him. How had he managed to become such a part of her life in two days? It was scary. So, so scary.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said roughly.

‘Like what?’ she asked, genuinely hurt by the thread of anger.

‘Like you expect me to treat you badly, manhandle you, hurt you.’

She supposed she did expect him to hurt her if she got involved with him, but not in the physical sense he was talking about.

‘Hell, Cory.’ He was suddenly furious and it showed. ‘Give me a break, won’t you. I don’t know how this William guy behaved but I’m not him. OK? It might be stating the obvious but I need to say it.’

‘I know you’re not him,’ she said shakily.

‘Do you? I don’t think you do, not yet.’ And then he echoed her earlier thought when he said, ‘It’s been two days and yet it feels like much, much longer. Do you feel that?’

She wanted to make some clever, witty comment and then send him on his way, or even just shake her head. She nodded instead.

‘Do you see the age gap as a problem?’